#and let me ramble about it for the next three years | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justabigassnerd · 7 months ago

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Finally Safe

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 6,179

Warnings - kidnapping, drugging, talks of malnourishment, sad Tim hours, angst, fluff, inaccurate medical scenes, swearing

Summary - after being missing for years, you and Tim are finally reunited

A/N - hey y'all! this was an idea suggested to me by @scarletstarrs so I hope I did your idea justice because I loved exploring this idea so much (and all the angst that came with it). anyways I won't ramble, as per y'all please send in requests, feedback, and enjoy!!!

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When Lucy entered the station, ready for the morning roll call, she was both shocked and confused to find Tim Bradford missing from the building. Other than being forced to take leave after being shot, Tim had always shown up to work no matter what.

“Hey, have you seen Tim?” Lucy asks, sitting down in between Jackson and Nolan who both shrug, shaking their heads. Before the three could begin theorising about where Lucy’s training officer had gone, Sergeant Grey stepped up to the podium and began to talk, detailing what was going to be happening during the day. Just before he sends everyone off to start the day, he addresses Lucy.

“Officer Chen, you’ll be riding with me today. Dismissed.” Grey says, his dismissal causing everyone to stand up and make their way out of the room to start their day. As Grey begins to exit, Lucy follows after him.

“Sergeant Grey, while it’s an honour to ride with you today. Where’s Officer Bradford?” Lucy asks, trying her best to sound respectful while enquiring about where Tim is.

“Officer Bradford is taking a personal day,” Grey replies simply, gesturing for Lucy to go and get the war bags to load the shop. At Grey’s gesture, Lucy began to make her way to get the bags, silently wondering to herself why Tim had taken a personal day and whether he was okay.

Across LA, Tim was sitting at home. He had barely had the energy to move out of bed when he woke up but he had managed to drag himself over to the sofa after making sure Kojo had his breakfast. Kojo, while not having lived with Tim long, had picked up on Tim’s melancholy mood and curled up next to him, whining softly as Tim studied a picture on his phone. Tim let out a soft sigh, tears filling his eyes as he studied the picture, a picture of him and you, his wife, on your wedding day. He was embracing you happily, lips pressed to yours.

“I miss you so much,” Tim whispers, unable to remove his gaze from the image of you. You had gone missing three years ago to the day, and Tim could never forgive himself for it. At Tim’s whisper, Kojo shuffled around, resting his head on Tim’s lap, sensing Tim’s pain. Kojo’s movement briefly pulled Tim’s attention away from his phone.

“I’m sorry buddy,” Tim says softly, stroking the top of Kojo’s head. Since you had been taken, Tim had consistently taken a personal day on the date you were taken with each passing year you remained missing. Most detectives involved in your case had told Tim that it was time to give up. The chances were high that whoever had taken you had killed you and had moved on. But Tim wouldn’t just give up on you. He couldn’t. Deep down he knew you were still out there somewhere, and he needed to find you. As Tim continued to swipe through the album of photos he had of you and him, Kojo began to paw at his leg slightly, as if trying to drag him out of his slump.

“I know. Come on, I’ll take you for a walk.” Tim says, knowing that keeping Kojo inside because of his upset would just not be worth it. Tim manages to get up from the sofa, shower and change before grabbing Kojo’s lead. As he left the house with Kojo trotting along by his side, he was silently grateful for the dog’s presence in his life. Before Kojo came around, Tim just wallowed in his house, hiding away from the world when he missed you too much. But now he had someone relying on him, and he couldn’t let Kojo down. After reaching the park, Tim let Kojo off the lead so he could explore while he sat on a bench. As he watched Kojo, he couldn’t help but imagine you sat by his side. You had always wanted to get a dog since long before marrying Tim and he had always put it off, claiming he wanted to wait. He felt so guilty for owning Kojo while you were missing but he knew that when he found you, you’d love Kojo and you’d so quickly become his new favourite person.

After a while, Tim whistled for Kojo to come back over so they could walk back home and as they made their way home, Tim’s phone buzzed, alerting him that he had a message but he opted to wait until he was home to see what it was. When he finally made it home, Tim collapsed onto the sofa and pulled out his phone to see a text from Angela.

‘How are you?’

That simple message was enough to bring the smallest of smiles to Tim’s face. Angela had been Tim’s entire support system since the day you went missing. She had checked in with him regularly and was someone to lean on during his bad days. When she had been promoted to detective, Angela had promised Tim she would do what she could to try and pick up any leads in your missing persons case. Tim had been so grateful for Angela’s support over the last few years, she was the person he needed to help him navigate your absence in his life.

‘Could be better.’

Tim could never lie to Angela. She had ways to see right through him, even over text so he knew there was no point even attempting to act like he was feeling okay on a day like this.

‘Do you want to come over? Have some company?’

Angela’s offer of company was not unusual, although the last few times Angela had asked if he wanted her to come over after her shift had finished, but now with her on maternity leave, both she and Tim had a whole day to console each other.

‘That would be nice. I’ll be over in a few.’

Tim types out and sends his response, once again forcing himself up from the sofa and petting Kojo, promising him he’d be back soon before grabbing the keys to his truck and making his way to Angela’s house.

When he arrived he barely even knocked on the door before Angela opened it, a soft gentle smile on her face as she took in Tim’s appearance. It was obvious to her that he hadn’t slept well the night before but she couldn’t blame him. If Wesley had gone missing she knows she’d be absolutely beside herself with worry and anticipatory grief.

“Come and sit down,” Angela says softly, resting a hand on Tim’s back and guiding him to the sofa, easing herself down alongside him, her gentle hand never leaving his back as she moves it up to rub his shoulder lightly. For a few minutes, the two of them sit in silence before Tim lets out a shuddering breath.

“I miss her so much.” Tim manages to say, his voice choking as tears begin to well in his eyes.

“I know, Tim,” Angela says sympathetically, her hand continuing to rub soothing circles on his shoulder in an attempt to keep his breathing steady.

“It hurts.” Tim manages to say, hand hovering near his heart, swearing he could feel his heart pounding louder and stronger with each second.

“I can’t imagine the pain. But I’m here for you. You’re not alone.” Angela says softly, feeling her heart break more and more at Tim’s broken state. She was the only person who got to see this side of Tim in these moments and it made her more and more determined to find you. After a few moments of comforting whispers from Angela and teary sniffles from Tim, he turned to face her, eyes still shining with unshed tears.

“Do you think we’ll even find her alive?” Tim asked, uncharacteristically pessimistic about your case, making Angela shocked.

“She’s got to be out there somewhere. And we’ll find her.” Angela says, pulling Tim into a careful hug.

“It’s my fault she’s gone,” Tim mutters against her shoulder, a confession no one had heard from him before.

“Don’t say that. You’re not to blame.” Angela says, pulling away slightly to look him in the eyes as he shakes his head.

“I am.” Tim insists, his right hand moving to fiddle with his wedding ring, a movement Angela didn’t miss. She knew he would take the ring off when he was on duty, but when he was off duty it would be restored to its rightful place and he’d often find himself twisting it around on his finger out of habit.

“Why do you say it’s your fault?” Angela asks tenderly, hoping she’d be able to help Tim realise that it wasn’t his fault.

“We had an argument that night. A stupid one at that, I can’t even remember what it was about, maybe about chores or something? But y/n got pissed at me and she said she needed to go on a walk to clear her head. I was pissed too and the moment she left I just decided to go to bed. I was too angry to do anything else. If I had gone after her none of this would’ve happened. She’d still be here with me.” Tim whispers, feeling like his throat is closing more tears welling in his eyes as he relives that night.

“Where are you going?” Tim asks, pausing his angry pacing to glare at you from across the room.

“For a walk. I can’t be around you right now.” You reply, your voice just as venomous as his as you grab your keys, reaching for the door handle.

“Fine.” Tim spits angrily, turning on his heel and stalking off again as you open the door, exiting and angrily closing the door behind you while Tim storms to the kitchen, grabbing himself a beer from the fridge.

After a couple of beers, Tim decided it wasn’t worth staying up waiting for you any longer. You had taken your keys and he knew you’d come back whenever you were ready to so he took himself to bed, practically passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Tim woke up and found your side of the bed still empty, and when he reached across to search for any remaining body heat, he found that your side was still cold, like no one had slept in it all night. Figuring you had spent the night on the sofa, Tim sat up and got himself out of bed, all anger from the night before gone.

“Hey, Baby, I’m sorry about last night.” Tim enters the living room, rubbing his eyes as he enters, stopping in his tracks when he realises you’re not in the room, nor was there any evidence you had even slept on the sofa. At the sight of the empty room, and your keys still missing from the key bowl, Tim felt his stomach turning with anxiety. He just knew something bad had happened to you. You wouldn’t just go silent on him or not come home at all.

After trying to call your phone and getting no answers, Tim knew he had to file a missing persons case when he got to work. He wasn’t going to rest until he found you.

“Tim, listen to me. It is not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Neither of you could’ve known there would be a psycho out there. You can’t blame yourself for something you never could’ve anticipated.” Angela says softly, her voice shaking Tim from his thoughts. She could imagine the guilt Tim was feeling, but she knew it wasn’t his fault.

“It is. If I had just-”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. There’s nothing you could’ve done. I know just as well as you that y/n is stubborn as anything, so if she wanted to go and get some air after your argument then she would’ve done it regardless. You can’t predict the future and y/n wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.” Angela says, her voice was soft yet firm so she can get her point across to Tim. She knew Tim had a habit of blaming himself for things out of his control but she had no idea that he had carried guilt from your disappearance silently and had been beating himself up about it for so long.

“I just need to find her. I need her safe and home with me. I didn’t even tell her I loved her the last time I saw her.” Tim says, fiercely wiping at his eyes to stop any tears from falling.

“I’m working with detectives to pick up the dead ends from y/n’s case. One of them will lead us somewhere I’m sure. Between you and me, working y/n’s case is the only work Wesley is okay with me doing while on maternity leave. He knows how important it is to us and he’s promised me that if we catch the asshole he’d ensure he spends the rest of his life behind bars.” Angela says reassuringly, wanting to help restore Tim’s faith in finding you.

“Thank you, Angela,” Tim says quietly with a nod. With the topic seeming to be at an end, Angela decides to change the subject and while Tim had always jokingly complained about helping Angela with wedding planning, he was more than happy to do so on this day. While he helped Angela plan various parts of her wedding, he couldn’t help but think about the time he had spent planning his wedding with you.

“Tim, we can’t seat my uncle next to your brother-in-law!” You exclaimed with a laugh, curling further into Tim’s side as he wrapped his arm around you, chuckling lightly to himself, both of you focusing on the seating chart Tim had drafted.

“Sure we can. It would be hilarious.” Tim says, squeezing you closer, his hand winding around your waist.

“You want our wedding to result in a fistfight?” You say, an amused tone to your voice as you raise an eyebrow.

“Mmm, might not be the best idea then,” Tim murmurs, leaning close to press a kiss to your cheek.

“The best idea is to make sure they stay as far away from each other as possible.” You muse, unable to stop the smile covering your face as Tim continued to press kisses to your cheek.

“We’ll figure it out.”

By the end of the day, Tim had spent most of his time at Angela’s house and he had been beyond grateful for her company and her willingness to help him through a day like this. When Wesley got home, Tim decided that was when he should be heading home himself, knowing Kojo was probably waiting for him.

“I’ll see you around,” Tim says quietly, giving Angela a gentle hug, pulling away and giving Wesley a friendly nod before making his way out of their house, heading to his truck to head home. Unbeknownst to Tim, the moment he left, Angela’s phone buzzed and when she read the text she knew she had to step into work again. Whether Wesley liked it or not.

The next morning, Angela made her way to the hospital, meeting with other detectives once she got there before being led to a room that had a girl inside. Angela figured she couldn’t be any older than her early twenties. After getting a quick brief from the other detectives, Angela made her way into the room, smiling softly to let her know she wasn’t a threat.

“Hi, Bella. I’m Detective Lopez, but you can just call me Angela.” Angela introduces herself, easing herself down onto one of the hospital room chairs as Bella eyes her carefully. Angela could tell that the last thing Bella wanted was to be questioned but it was protocol, whether she liked it or not.

“I promise I’ll make this quick, just tell me what happened,” Angela assures, pulling out her notepad and pen.

“A few months ago, some guy grabbed me off the street while I was making my way home. He kept calling me ‘Samantha’ the whole time. No matter how many times I told him my name was Bella he just ignored it.” Bella explains, tears welling in her eyes as her arms wound around her middle.

“Can you describe this man? And where he was keeping you?” Angela asks carefully, making notes on her notepad as Bella nods.

“He looked like he was in his forties, his hair was greying and he had a huge burn scar on his right arm, like all up it. He was keeping us in the woods. It sounds really cliche now that I say it out loud. He’d moved us around a bit before he found this old abandoned cabin on the outskirts of the city. He managed to get power and water so he figured we could just stay out there, like some delusional family or something.” Bella says, and Angela immediately picks up on her choice of words.

“I’m sorry, you said ‘us’. Was there someone else?” Angela enquires, glancing up from her notebook.

“Yeah, there was another woman, she might’ve been in her thirties? The guy kept calling her ‘Vivian’ but I’m guessing that wasn’t her name.” Bella explains with a nod while Angela pulls her phone out of her pocket, hurriedly scrolling through it and finding a picture with you in.

“This other woman. Did she look like this?” Angela flips the phone around, showing Bella the picture, watching as her eyes widen in recognition.

“Yes! That’s her!” Bella exclaims, looking over at Angela.

“She’s alive,” Angela mutters to herself, unable to believe the news.

“Do you know her?” Bella asks, noticing Angela’s reaction and how hurriedly she was typing into her phone.

“She’s a friend of mine. She’s been missing for a while.” Angela says, tucking her phone away as she talks.

“She’s the one who helped me escape. She saw the opportunity and she encouraged me to go for it.” Bella says, watching Angela’s reaction carefully.

“That sounds like y/n. She always looked out for others.” Angela says with fondness, remembering how you had always put others above yourself.

“I want to help her,” Bella says, a strong, newfound determination in her voice.

“Can you recall where the cabin was? If you can that would help us track her down.” Angela asks, listening carefully as Bella explains all the details she can remember of her escape from that cabin. After getting as many details as Bella could remember, Angela excused herself, exiting the room and immediately calling Grey on her way out, informing him of everything and letting him know that he and the LAPD needed to act fast before you were moved again.

Back at the Mid-Wilshire police station, police officers were starting to prepare for an operation on the outskirts of Los Angeles just as Lucy and Tim entered, ushering their recent arrest to be processed. They quickly became aware of the atmosphere around them so while Lucy was processing the arrest, Tim stepped out to find Grey.

“What’s going on?” Tim asks after tracking down Grey.

“I’m getting some people together for an operation. But I need you and Officer Chen to stay on patrol.” Grey says, gathering his war bags and barely glancing Tim’s way.

“I want to help,” Tim says, confused as to why Grey isn’t letting him get involved with an operation, not when he had as much experience as he did.

“This isn’t a matter to discuss Officer Bradford. You’re one of my best patrol officers and I need you out on the streets with Officer Chen while we do this. Is that understood?” Grey asserts, facing Tim and staring him down as Tim straightens up.

“Understood, Sir,” Tim says, feeling his heart sink at not getting to be involved with an operation.

“You’ll get in on the next operation,” Grey says, clapping Tim on the shoulder quickly before making his way towards his shop, leaving Tim to head back to Lucy, finding her after she had just finished processing their arrest.

“Hey, did you find out what everyone’s doing?” Lucy asks, looking up at Tim curiously.

“There’s an operation going down. I don’t know what it’s for but Grey wants us on patrol.” Tim says with a shrug, beginning to turn on his heel and make his way towards their shop, annoyance evident in in his body language.

“Do they know this would be a great learning opportunity for me? I want to get as much experience in operations as possible. Why aren’t they letting us help?” Lucy asks, following behind Tim.

“I don’t know, Boot. But it’s not my place to challenge Sergeant Grey’s orders.” Tim says firmly, glancing over his shoulder at Lucy who nods, still obviously upset about not getting to help with an operation while she’s still in training.

“Come on, get in. We’ve got a patrol to finish.” Tim then says with a shrug, both of them reaching the shop and getting in, ready to continue their patrol.

After a couple of hours of patrolling, Tim and Lucy had stopped to grab some coffee and while they stood outside their shop, talking and sipping at their drinks, Tim’s phone rang, making his eyebrows furrow when he saw Angela’s name displayed across his screen.

“Angela.” Tim greets as the phone reaches his ear.

“Tim, you need to get your ass to the hospital right now,” Angela says, making Tim raise an eyebrow before he thinks of a reason why she’d be asking him to come to the hospital.

“Are you having the baby already?” Tim asks, a panicked expression crossing his face.

“What? No. Look, just come to Shaw Memorial as soon as you can.” Angela says, an urgency in her voice that Tim hasn’t heard in a while.

“Okay, I’ll head over now.” Tim concedes, bidding Angela goodbye before hanging up the phone and shoving it away in his pocket.

“We’re going to the hospital. And no Angela is not giving birth.” Tim says, able to predict what Lucy was about to ask from a single look.

“Then why are we going to the hospital?” Lucy then questions, both of them getting into their seats just before Tim starts the drive to the hospital.

“No idea. Maybe one of my C.I’s ended up in hospital and they wanted to talk to me.” Tim says, shrugging lightly, wondering to himself why it was Angela had summoned him to the hospital when she’s not supposed to be working. The closer they get to the hospital, the more Tim starts to suspect that it has something to do with you. Angela had assured him that the only case she was working while on maternity leave was yours. But as he parked in the car park for the hospital, he started to picture the worst possible case scenario as he bursts through the hospital, tracking down Angela within minutes, practically leaving Lucy behind.

“What’s happened?” Tim asks, studying Angela’s expression carefully as she grabs his wrist leading him to a nearby hospital room and letting him look through the window. At the sight, tears immediately began to well in his eyes, stepping forward slightly towards the door before Angela stopped him.

“The doctors are working on her now. They’ll get you when she’s stable. I just wanted to show you that we found her.” Angela explains softly, watching as Tim refuses to tear his gaze away from the window.

“She’s alive,” Tim whispers, tears in his eyes as he watches the doctors hooking you up to an IV drip and heart monitors.

“She is. We found her.” Angela says softly, carefully guiding Tim back to the waiting room and helping him ease himself into a chair just as Lucy finally found the pair.

“What the hell? Why did you leave me behind?” Lucy demands, approaching Tim who barely processes her words, his gaze locked on the floor in front of him as his knee bounces impatiently.

“Not now, Lucy,” Angela says, holding a hand out towards Lucy to silence her while her other hand rests on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Lucy then asks, noticing the unusual behaviour Tim was exhibiting and how Angela was protecting him fiercely.

“We’ll tell you later,” Angela says, knowing that with the state Tim was in, she shouldn’t go spilling his personal life.

After half an hour of waiting, a doctor approached Angela since they only recognised her but she made sure to bring Tim into the conversation as well as make sure the doctors knew he was your husband so that he would make any and all medical decisions that you couldn’t make.

“y/n had been drugged upon being found, I assume something that was something done so that the perpetrator could move her without the risk of her running away. She’s also showing clear signs of dehydration and malnourishment so we’ve got her on IVs to give her what her body needs. She’s still asleep but would you like to see her?” The doctor explains, glancing at the tablet in his hand before looking at Tim who nods. The doctor gestures for Tim to follow him to your room but before he leaves he turns to Angela.

“Message me if you need me,” Angela says softly, watching as he nods once more before following the doctor and being granted access to your room. As soon as he enters the room, he grabs a chair and pulls it up along your bedside, one hand taking your hand in his while his other hand runs through your hair.

“I’m here, Baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.” Tim says, repeating the three sentences like a mantra as he squeezes your hand softly. He felt more tears welling in his eyes as he took in your form. Your cheeks were hollowed and you had dark circles under your eyes. The more Tim watched you as you slept, the worse his guilt got. He couldn’t help but hate himself more and more for letting you leave the house that night. As the day progressed, Tim found himself uncharacteristically talkative with you, rambling about everything you had missed.

“I’ve got a new rookie. Her name’s Lucy Chen. You’d like her a lot actually. She reminds me of you in a way.” Tim says, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing the back of your hand as he talks. He knew you and Lucy would get on well. After all, Lucy was someone who was unafraid to speak her mind around Tim and you’d admire her fire. By the time night fell, Tim was sure he’d covered everything that had happened since you had gone missing. He felt a yawn slip past his lips which made him attempt to shake the sleepiness off. He didn’t want to fall asleep and then risk waking up to find out that this had been a dream. He couldn’t bare to wake up to find you missing again. However, as the night progressed, Tim got more and more tired and he began to struggle to keep his eyes open so he laid his head down on your bed, making sure he was facing up at you, keeping your hand in his the whole time before letting his eyes slip closed, hoping this wasn’t all a dream.

You woke up slowly in the early hours of the morning and as you slowly open your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile tearily when you recognised the sleeping face of your husband. The face you had dreamed of seeing for years. You watched Tim quietly for a moment, admiring the man you loved so much before your need to talk to him overtook you and you squeezed his hand softly, rousing him almost instantly. His eyes blinked open and you felt a tear slip down your cheek.

“Hey, Tim.” You whisper softly, your voice slightly hoarse from lack of use. Tim couldn’t even bring himself to talk, he just squeezed your hand, tears welling in his own eyes.

“You’ve grown your hair out a bit.” You observe quietly, gently extracting your hand from his to run your hand through his hair, having been used to his shorter haircut for too long.

“You like it?” Tim asks with a teary laugh.

“I love it. I did always tell you it would look nicer if you grew it out a little.” You muse softly, enjoying the feeling of running your hand through his hair with the slight added length. As another tear rolls down your cheek, Tim reaches out and wipes it away, his touch as soft and as gentle as you remembered it.

“I’m so sorry, Baby. I let you down.” Tim apologises, his hand lingering on your cheek as you lean into his touch, desperately craving the love and comfort only Tim could provide you with.

“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who left that night.” You say, slowly retracting your hand from Tim’s hair, returning it to your lap as Tim shakes his head.

“I should’ve stopped you.” Tim argues, making you shake your head in response.

“You couldn’t have known, Tim. Look, let’s not argue. We haven’t seen each other in years I don’t want to ruin this by arguing. It’s no ones fault but the ass who took me.” You say, your voice soft yet firm as Tim nods lightly in understanding.

“I missed you so much.” Tim then whispers, his face displaying every emotion he was feeling in the moment.

“I missed you too.” You reply softly. Glad you were reunited with your husband again.

After a few days stay in hospital, you had finally been cleared to go home which you were excited for. Your days in the hospital were mostly spent talking to lawyers and detectives to get all the evidence needed for the case against your kidnapper. But Tim had all but refused to leave your side through it all, and some of your friends came to visit you after news had spread that you had been found. You even got to meet Tim’s newest rookie, Lucy, who like Tim predicted, you got on brilliantly with. And while you had appreciated people wanting to visit you, and that the detectives and lawyers wanted to get that guy behind bars as soon as possible. But you just wanted to go home, to spend some time with Tim in the comfort of your own house, as well as getting to know the family member you had missed the arrival of. When Tim had told you about Kojo, he had not missed the way your eyes lit up and he knew it was going to be love at first sight for both you and Kojo. After all the paperwork had been sorted and Tim had brought you a comfy change of clothes from home, you finally headed out to Tim’s truck, letting him help you into the vehicle and settling in to the passenger seat.

The drive back to yours and Tim’s shared house was relatively silent, you listened to what was on the radio and occasionally chatted with Tim until he pulled into the driveway. You waited upon Tim’s orders for him to round the truck and open the door for you, helping you out carefully before leading you to the front door.

“Are you ready?” Tim asks softly, hand interlocked with yours as you both stand in front of the door, staring it down before you nod lightly, giving Tim the sign he needed to unlock the front door, easing it open and ushering both you and him inside, quickly coming face to face with Kojo.

“Hey, you must be Kojo. Tim’s told me all about you. I’m y/n.” You introduce yourself to the dog, watching his reaction carefully as he approaches you, sniffing at your outstretched hand for a few seconds before gently licking your hand and allowing you to pet him.

“Oh, aren’t you the sweetest boy?” You praise, petting Kojo happily while Tim jokingly rolls his eyes.

“It took less than a minute for me to be replaced by the dog.” Tim jokes, making his way into the kitchen to grab some drinks and by the time he returned, you had curled up on the sofa with Kojo and Tim couldn’t help but smile at the sight of having you home again. After placing the drinks on the coffee table, Tim sat down on your other side and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you into him and pressing multiple kisses to the side of your head as you smile softly, cherishing the attention and love Tim was giving you.

By the time night fell, you were ready to crash and Tim knew it. He chose to carry you to the bedroom, sitting you down on the bed and finding one of his old police academy shirts he knew you loved to wear and a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms, handing them to you before turning around to get changed himself. When you were both ready for bed, you climbed under the covers while Kojo curled up at the foot of the bed. You instantly curled into Tim’s side, burying your face in his chest.

“I’ve missed this so much.” You mumbled, smiling to yourself when Tim tightens his grip around your waist.

“Me too. I love you so much.” Tim whispers, kissing the top of your head before you tipped your head up so Tim could press the softest of kisses upon your lips.

“I love you too.” You reply softly, eyes full of love as you look up at Tim before curling back into him, quickly falling asleep in his arms the way you had been dreaming off the past few years.

In the middle of the night, Tim stirred, aware of the way the two of you had shifted throughout the night. You were now lying with your back to Tim and his arm was wrapped around your middle but he quickly withdrew it when he noticed you twitching and crying in your sleep. He instantly knew you were having a nightmare so he flicked his bedside lamp on and reached out to gently rouse you, placing his hand on your shoulder and calling your name softly until you bolted upright, eyes wide open and tears staining your cheeks.

“y/n. Baby. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.” Tim says softly, his hand reaching down to hold yours, his actions only stopping when you practically curled into him instantly, changing his action from holding your hand to holding your sobbing, shaking form instead. Tim continued to reassure you and comfort you quietly, his hand rubbing up and down your back while Kojo rested his head on your leg, whining softly in his own way to comfort you. Tim then began to coach you through slowing your breathing, using techniques you had used when he suffered with nightmares and when you began to calm down, he began to wipe your tears away.

“I thought I was really back in that cabin.” You admit with a sniffle, making Tim hold you closer, taking your hand in his and placing it above his heart.

“You feel that? I’m here and so are you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.” Tim promises quietly as you focus on the steady thumping of his heartbeat while your other hand reached down to pet Kojo softly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.” You apologise, pulling away with your eyes still shining with tears as Tim shakes his head.

“Don’t apologise. I’m going to be here for you when you need me to. I’m your husband and after what you went through I’d be a shit excuse of a husband if I did anything but look after you when you needed me. Don’t ever apologise for having a nightmare. I love you and I’m going to help you through this.” Tim says, pulling you back into his arms and feeling you settle your head perfectly above his heart so you could focus on his heartbeat once again.

“I love you too.” You mumble, soothed by Tim’s repeated action of running his hand up and down your back as well as his melodic heartbeat and soon your eyes slipped closed again. In the arms of the love of your life and feeling safe for the first time in years.

Tim watched you sleep peacefully for a few minutes, just to make sure no nightmares tried to attack you again as you slept but after not as much as a twitch, Tim switched his lamp off and cuddled you closer as he let himself drift off to sleep. You were finally back where you belonged. And Tim wasn’t going to let anyone hurt you again.

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x fem!reader

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teaspacebar · 5 months ago

Text

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!��

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes

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alsofoundinpeas · 29 days ago

Text

Crossing the Line

Summary: Y/N never expected to fall for her roommate, Spencer, but when she becomes unexpectedly jealous of a girl flirting with him, she realizes she's in love with him. The problem is... how does she tell him that without ruining everything?

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Roommates/friends to lovers/two idiots in love trope. Jealous reader. Heavy making out. Dry humping (huge supporter of this I say bring it back!!). A small teensy bit of angst as reader struggles to accept her feelings. Insecure Spencer (sweet angel boy).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

Requested fic!! 🥳: I absolutely loved the fic you just wrote about Spencer and reader friends to lovers (and omg you write smut so well 😍) and I was wondering if you could write another one but maybe they’re roommates or something?

A/N: College!Spencer AU ahh!! Thank you so very much to the anon that requested this :’) <3 I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know this isn't my usual, all-out smut buttt there will be a part two for these two, so stay tuned. :') As always, please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

Y/N never imagined she'd be rooming with a man, let alone one as… peculiar as Spencer Reid. Not in a bad way, of course—just, well, peculiar. Spencer was the last person Y/N expected to respond to her ad for a roommate, but she was glad he did.

At barely twenty-one, he already had two bachelor’s degrees and was deep into his third PhD. He’d graduated high school at twelve (an IQ of 187 had a way of doing that, she supposed), skipping the years most kids spent developing their social skills. As a result, he was incredibly awkward and nerdy, but Y/N found this more endearing than off-putting.

As a roommate, he was exceptional: he kept things tidy, wasn’t obnoxiously loud (even with their paper-thin walls), never had people over (which meant Y/N spent more time with him, as she didn’t have guests either), and even helped her study, despite her insistence she could handle it on her own (they both knew better). As a friend, he was even better—always listening to her ramble about anything and everything, joining her for their now-regular movie nights, and offering a shoulder to cry on when needed (and she was always there for him in return).

In the six months they'd lived together, they'd grown incredibly close. Y/N was even smugly certain that they had avoided the classic 'falling for your roommate' scenario—until Spencer came home ranting about a girl in his class.

“I mean, seriously! How hard is it to grab a paper without touching someone?” Spencer huffed, plopping down onto the couch next to her and reaching for the popcorn bowl that sat securely in her lap.

It took about three months of living together before Spencer felt comfortable enough to do things like share snacks during their movie nights or indulge in the occasional moment of physical affection.

Y/N never took it personally, understanding his aversion to germs (one of the first things he’d said when they met was that kissing was safer than shaking hands, and she’d almost jokingly taken him up on it). Every time Spencer felt comfortable enough to share food with her (like he was doing now) or lean into her on the heavier days, letting her hold him until the world felt a little lighter, her chest swelled with pride. It made her happy to know he trusted her enough to let his guard down like that.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she listened to his rant. Apparently, a girl in the class he TA'd for had been getting on his nerves for weeks, but this was the first she’d heard about it. It didn’t surprise her—Spencer tended to bottle things up until they reached a breaking point, and then he'd unload it all at once, just like he was doing now.

"She’s always staring at me, too. Every time I glance up, there she is—staring and chewing on the end of her pen. It gives me the creeps," Spencer grumbled, a shiver running down his spine as he recalled it.

"Wait wait wait," Y/N stopped his rant with furrowed brows. "What did you say this girl's name was?"

"Her name’s Wren Davidson. You might know her—or at least know of her. I'm pretty sure she's in a few of the same classes as you," Spencer said, pausing to snack on some popcorn, though by now, their movie was all but forgotten as the starting menu looped on the screen. "She’s about 5'6", has dark brown hair with some highlights, and green eyes."

Y/N pressed her tongue to her cheek, thinking for a moment. The name sounded strangely familiar…

"Oh! I know who you mean—she's in my 8:00 AM lecture with Professor James on Tuesdays and Thursdays," Y/N said, snapping her fingers as she remembered. She popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth, then tilted her head. "So, just to recap—she's asking you questions instead of the professor, touching you whenever you hand out papers, staring at you… and what else?"

Spencer adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, clearly frustrated.

"She’s been bringing me coffee lately, even though I’ve told her a million times I don’t want it because you always make it just the way I like before I leave and I don't need more. And when she doesn’t bring coffee, it’s some kind of baked good. I don’t get it! If she’s looking for favoritism, why not try to suck up to the professor? I’m just the TA."

A sudden tightness gripped Y/N’s chest as she processed his words. It was clear now—Wren was flirting with him. But why did that thought send an unexpected wave of discomfort through her? Jealousy, maybe? No, that didn’t make sense... Why would she be jealous?

“She’s not looking for favoritism, Spence. She’s looking for a way to get into your pants,” Y/N snickered, ignoring yet another wave of unease that crashed into her at the mental image of Spencer actually having sex with Wren. Anyone would be uncomfortable thinking about their roommate having sex… right? That was a perfectly normal reaction.

Spencer suddenly choked on the popcorn he’d just popped into his mouth, coughing violently and startling Y/N. Without thinking, she leaned over, gently patting his back as concern flooded her expression. When the coughing finally subsided into a weak wheeze, she reached for his glass of water on the coffee table and handed it to him with a worried glance.

"Jesus, Spencer! Are you okay?"

"Why would you say that?"

Spencer's voice was unnervingly high, his face flushed from both the coughing fit and his growing embarrassment. He took a slow sip of water, trying to steady his racing heart. Setting the glass down with trembling hands, he adjusted his crooked glasses, his gaze avoiding hers. "For the record," he muttered, his voice tinged with insecurity, "I highly doubt she’s trying to… get in my pants."

Y/N's expression softened from concern to sympathy as her hand moved to rub his knee in comfort.

She remembered the first (and only) time she’d gotten Spencer to drink with her, how, in his tipsy state, he’d opened up about his painful past. In a rare moment of vulnerability, he’d shared how brutally he’d been bullied as a child prodigy, and how those experiences had led him to avoid romantic relationships for fear of humiliation and rejection. That night marked the turning point in their relationship, transforming them from roommates who got along to actual friends—a change she would forever be grateful for.

"You’re too hard on yourself," Y/N said gently. "Trust me on this one. As a woman, I can tell you with absolute certainty—she's flirting with you." She added, her tone matter-of-fact.

Spencer gave her a doubtful look, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped in reluctant acceptance as he began to entertain the possibility. "We’ll see," he muttered, grabbing the remote and finally starting their movie night.

It turned out Y/N had been right.

Three weeks had passed without a word from Spencer about it, and Y/N figured Wren had gotten the message and moved on. But then she began to notice Wren walking into class with a little extra bounce in her step, a shy, almost giddy smile lighting up her face as she sat down. Y/N shrugged it off… until she noticed Spencer doing the exact same thing.

Spencer began coming home later and later after class, a goofy grin on his face as he wandered through the apartment or headed to his room. Y/N didn’t ask any questions, knowing he’d share whatever was making him so happy when he was ready—though she had a pretty strong hunch about who it was. By the fourth week, he finally felt comfortable enough to confide in her.

"You won’t believe this, but I finally just asked Wren straight up if she was flirting with me… and she said yes!" Spencer said, his excitement clear as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching Y/N cook. "We’ve been spending time together after class, and, uh… I asked her out on a date for this Friday!"

Y/N froze mid-stir, caught off guard by the sudden pang of sadness that hit her. Why did she feel this way? She should be happy for him—he was her closest friend, after all. She cleared her throat, forcing herself to keep stirring as she pushed the unsettling thoughts aside for the moment.

"That’s great, Spence!" Y/N said, though her voice came out a bit tighter than usual. "So… what do you have planned for your date?"

Spencer began to ramble excitedly about what he had planned for Friday, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke. All it did was seem to make the feeling of dread and hurt creeping up on her worse, though she couldn't for the life of her understand why Spencer talking about his date had her so bothered. Maybe it was because she hadn't been on a date in over a year, having avoided the dating scene after her last breakup. That had to be it.

Y/N nodded absentmindedly, her mind fixated on the uneasy feeling growing inside her rather than his words. It had been so long since she’d felt anything like this, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make sense of why it was happening.

She wasn’t blind. She knew Spencer was ridiculously attractive (even if his wardrobe seemed to be straight out of an elderly man’s fashion catalog). And he was kind, thoughtful, and attentive—anyone would be lucky to date him. Yet, despite all that, she’d always seen him as nothing more than a friend. Or at least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

Fortunately, the timer went off, cutting Spencer off mid-sentence. He quickly shifted gears, helping her dish out their food. They moved to the living room, ready to enjoy their meal and unwind with TV, as they always did.

Spencer couldn’t help but notice that Y/N was quieter than usual. She didn’t join in with her usual banter during the show, instead taking absent-minded bites, taking bites between distant, unfocused stares at the screen. His brow furrowed as he put his fork down, observing her slowly push her food around without really eating.

"Y/N… are you alright?" Spencer asked, lowering the volume on the TV. "You’ve barely touched your food."

"Hm?" Y/N looked up, offering a faint smile as she shrugged. "Yeah… I’m fine, Spence. Just a little tired, I guess."

He didn’t fully buy it, but he decided not to push further. "How about a nap in my lap while I grade papers, then? After dinner, of course. I don’t want your head in my food," Spencer joked, pleased with himself. His lame humor had her rolling her eyes and grinning, stifling a laugh.

That had become normal for them: napping or cuddling, quick pecks on the cheek or top of the head when one of them left, cooking and eating together… the list went on. But the more Y/N thought about it, the more she realized it didn’t exactly align with typical roommate behavior. Or maybe it did, and she was just overanalyzing, letting the strange feeling she couldn’t shake make her paranoid.

"That sounds perfect," Y/N agreed, silently hoping the nap would help clear her mind.

They finished dinner, chatting between bites about their day. Spencer, ever the gentleman, told her to stay on the couch while he cleared their plates and rinsed them. After grabbing the stack of papers he needed to grade for Professor Hartman from his room, he returned, settling back onto the couch with a grin as he patted his lap.

Y/N eased into his lap, stretching her legs out across the couch as she nestled her head into the crook of his neck with a contented sigh. Spencer ran a hand down her back as she settled in, giving her hip a gentle pat before picking up the first paper to grade.

It didn't take long for Y/N to drift off in his arms, her breath warm against his skin as he graded papers. The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of her breathing, the rustling of the papers as he flipped through them, and the occasional hum of a car passing outside. Spencer paused his grading, his gaze drifting down to Y/N as she slept peacefully in his arms. A fond expression softened his features as he watched her, her calmness soothing him. Slowly, he reached up and caressed her cheek with his knuckles, then resumed his work, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer.

Spencer’s eyelids drooped as he made his way through the last few papers, small yawns escaping him between each one. When he finished, he quietly set the stack on the coffee table, taking care not to disturb Y/N. With a gentle shift, he settled back into the cushions, bringing one hand to cradle her head as he adjusted their position on the couch. He carefully maneuvered so he could stretch out before pulling her closer, tucking her into his side.

It was late enough that Spencer didn’t see the need to wake her; he knew if he did, she’d be up for hours. Reaching behind him, he turned off the lamp, letting the room fall into darkness. The soft rhythm of her breathing eased him, and soon, he drifted off, her warmth grounding him. In minutes, they were both asleep, entwined in the quiet comfort of each other’s arms.

As the week passed, Y/N found it increasingly difficult to cope with the thought of Spencer going on his date with Wren. Every time he brought it up, she quickly steered the conversation elsewhere or found an excuse to slip away, guilt gnawing at her with every evasive move. She hated herself for it—he was genuinely excited, and she didn’t want to ruin that. But every mention of the date made her stomach twist, and she couldn’t bring herself to face it without feeling like she was being torn apart.

Y/N finally understood why the idea of him going on a date was so devastating to her nervous system.

Late Tuesday night, as Y/N lay awake in bed, a sudden, jarring realization hit her: she had fallen in love with Spencer. Somewhere over the past seven months, amid shared laughs, quiet moments, and unexpected tenderness, she had fallen hopelessly for the brilliant, quirky man she had sworn she'd never fall for.

And now, because she was a spineless coward who was too afraid to risk their friendship by speaking up, she found herself helping Spencer get ready for his date.

"Spencer, seriously—hold still! I'm almost done," Y/N grumbled, her tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she fixed his hair.

Spencer let out an exasperated sigh but stopped shifting, almost going cross-eyed as he tried to focus on her. She was so close now that he could almost taste the minty freshness of her gum, her breath brushing his face making him more flustered than he expected. He nervously twiddled his fingers in his lap, his curiosity piqued as he waited to see how she had tamed his unruly strands.

"There you go. What do you think?" Y/N grinned proudly, stepping back to give him space as he stood from where he was sitting on the toilet lid, turning to face the bathroom mirror.

Spencer turned his head from side to side, eyes lingering on his reflection. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he examined himself. For the first time, he felt it—he felt good. Like he could finally see what Y/N saw when she insisted he was handsome. Instead of his typical gelled, slicked-down look, she'd arranged his hair to accentuate his face, giving his features a more defined, natural appeal.

"I... Y/N, I love it. Thank you," Spencer breathed earnestly, turning to pull her into a warm hug.

Y/N smiled gently, wrapping her arms around him. The newfound confidence in his eyes was enough to ease the ache in her chest about his date. At least, she thought, he was finally seeing himself the way she always had—worthy and deserving of feeling this good.

“Of course, Spence. Anything for you,” she murmured, the words feeling heavier than she intended. She meant it, though. She would do anything for him—even if it meant shattering her own heart along the way.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N released a long, shaky breath, pressing her forehead against the cool wood for a moment before slowly making her way to Spencer's room. He had told her not to wait up, mentioning he planned on going to Wren’s afterward. So, she curled up in his blanket, clutching his pillow to her chest, trying to let the comfort of his familiar scent quiet her restless mind.

Less than five minutes passed before the tears began to fall, each one soaking into the fabric of his pillow as a sob broke free from her chest. She felt pathetic. There she was, crumpled in his bed while he was out on a date, all because she couldn’t find the courage to tell him how she felt—too afraid to admit the truth, convinced that he could never feel the same way about her.

The hours slipped by in a blur, her tears long gone as exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Too weary to move to her own bed, she simply tossed her pants to his floor, closed her eyes, and let sleep take over in the comfort of his sheets. She'd remake his bed in the morning before he got home, hoping he'd never know about the quiet, tearful night she'd spent there.

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, his fingers grazing his scalp as he quietly unlocked the door and stepped into the dark apartment. The date had gone fine, nothing awful… but there was a difference between nice and right. Wren was nice, but she wasn’t the one his heart had been quietly waiting for. That person was the other half of this apartment, likely fast asleep in her room, just as he’d told her to be—and he couldn’t shake the feeling she should’ve been the one he’d been out with tonight.

Spencer hung his jacket on the coat rack and slipped off his shoes, setting them neatly by the door. He headed toward his room, eager to leave the awkwardness of the evening behind and looking forward to starting the next day with the one person who truly made his world feel right. Though Y/N wasn’t his, there was a quiet comfort in knowing she was always the first face he’d see each morning. Maybe one day, he'd find the courage to tell her how he felt. But for now, he was content cherishing their friendship.

He couldn't shake the slight guilt he felt for Wren, a cringe running through him as he replayed the moment she'd tried to kiss him when he dropped her off. When she leaned in, he'd jerked back instinctively, his eyes wide in shock, leaving her face flushed with embarrassment. He’d apologized immediately, of course, and she’d been kind enough to accept it before hurriedly retreating into her house. Still, he couldn't help but feel the discomfort linger, knowing their interactions in class would be uncomfortable from here on out.

Spencer pushed open his door, too exhausted to bother with the light as he shrugged off his clothes, blindly stumbling toward the bed. He let out a sigh of relief as he collapsed onto the mattress—only to freeze when something beneath him let out a loud, panicked yelp. He scrambled back in shock, crashing to the floor in a clumsy heap, cursing loudly.

"What the fuck?" Spencer gasped, reaching for his lamp from the ground as he quickly sat up.

Y/N blinked at him in startled surprise, her brow furrowed and mouth slightly agape as she took in the sight of him sprawled on the floor. Spencer felt a wave of relief wash over him, his body sagging as he realized she wasn’t some weird, perverted burglar waiting for him. Still, as the shock wore off, confusion crept in. Why was she in his bed?

“Are you alright?” Y/N squeaked, instinctively reaching down to help Spencer back onto the bed. Her mind was still foggy with sleep, and her heart was racing from the jarring wake-up call.

Spencer quickly slid under the covers, suddenly self-conscious of his state of undress, his face flushing as he glanced at her. He cleared his throat and gave a small nod. "I'm good, just… uh, why are you in my bed?"

Y/N hesitated, her teeth gently catching her lower lip as she searched for an excuse that wouldn't sound ridiculous. But nothing came to mind. With a deep breath, she finally decided to just tell him the truth.

"I… I wasn't handling your date with Wren very well," Y/N confessed, her voice low. "I came in here hoping to get some peace because being near you usually makes me feel better. But instead, I just ended up crying myself to sleep in your bed. I'm really sorry," she added, her brows knitting together as she looked at him. "Wait—why are you here? I thought you were going to stay at Wren's."

Spencer’s expression softened as he took in her words. “I chose to come home,” he said quietly. “Wren’s nice, but tonight made me realize there’s really only one person I want across from me, or kissing me, or… anything else.” He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “But what do you mean you weren’t handling my date well? Why did you cry yourself to sleep, sweetheart?”

Y/N’s heart clenched at his words, a wave of worry washing over her as her fatigue made it harder to hold back what she was feeling. Who could he possibly be talking about? She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself before she finally spoke.

“I’ve been trying to figure this out for a while,” she began, her voice soft but steady. “And, Spence… I think I’m in love with you. I’ve probably been in love with you for a long time, but I was too afraid to admit it to myself. Every time I thought about you with her, I felt so… sick. So jealous. Because I wanted to be the one you were with. I wanted to be the one you fell in love with.”

The words hung in the air between them, raw and unguarded. It was out in the open now. There was nothing left to hide.

To her surprise, Spencer let out a soft chuckle. Before she had a chance to take offense, he reached for her hands, holding them gently as he spoke.

"Y/N… you're already the one I've fallen in love with," Spencer confessed, his voice steady as his eyes held hers. "You're the reason I came back. As I sat across from her, it hit me—there’s no one else in this world that I’d rather be with than you."

Y/N blinked hard, ensuring that she wasn’t asleep and that this wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t. He was still there when she opened her eyes, sitting cross legged and vulnerable (and enticingly bare under the covers) before her as he waited for her to respond. He tilted his head at that, laughing softly as his face scrunched in confusion.

“What are you doing, silly girl? I confess my love to you and your response is to blink at me like an owl?” Spencer teased, his nose twitching as he grinned.

Y/N huffed out a laugh of her own, gently squeezing his hands as she shook her head. “I’m sorry! I just— I wanted to make sure this was real,” she murmured, her eyes falling to their hands in her lap.

“Would… would a kiss help to solidify that it’s real?” Spencer offered, a shy smile on his face.

Y/N’s eyes widened at that, baffled but pleased with his newfound confidence. Maybe she should do his hair more often. Without a word, she nodded eagerly, leaning forward to gently capture his lips with her own.

The press of his lips against hers sent her spinning, as though reality itself was slipping away and all that remained was the grounding warmth of his hands cradling her face. Spencer’s kiss was all-encompassing—like she was the very breath he needed to live. She craved more, desperate to fan the flames between them until the heat ignited, consuming them both from within.

Spencer’s lips never left hers as he gently tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a slow, deliberate movement. He carefully lowered her to the bed, his hands supporting her as he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. "Feel real enough for you, yet?" he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, the faintest brush of his lips lingering as if he couldn’t bear to pull away for even a second.

Y/N rolled her eyes at his teasing, lacing her fingers into his hair to tug gently in retaliation. The whine he let out sent a sharp pang of desire up her spine, and she tugged harder just to hear it again.

“Mm, not yet. I think you’ll have to do it again to really convince me.”

The words barely filled the space between them before his lips were back on hers. She let out a soft exhale as his hips settled against hers, unable to help the giggles that slipped free when she felt his hard cock pressing against her through his boxers. She wasn’t laughing at him, not at all. She was just lost in pure, blissful joy, reveling in the realization that he was finally hers.

“Stop giggling and kiss me back,” Spencer muttered, his voice laced with playful frustration, but her laughter was contagious, and soon he was laughing too. Their lips remained pressed together, but it was more of a chaotic, shared moment than an actual kiss. As they pulled away, both of them breathless, the last of his nerves melted away, and they simply stared at each other, the connection now clearer than ever.

Spencer had imagined plenty of times what it would look like to have her splayed underneath him in his bed (thoughts that were shamefully fueled by her soft sounds of pleasure through their shared wall whenever she thought he was asleep). Nothing his imagination had dreamed up could ever compare to the sight before him. She looked utterly captivating, her cheeks flushed, lips slightly swollen from their kisses, eyes looking up at him with that familiar warmth. He always thought she was beautiful, without a doubt. But in this moment? She was a living, breathing work of art. A stunning, half-dressed masterpiece who was wrapping her legs around his waist with a shit-eating grin and—

“Oh—!”

Spencer squeaked as Y/N arched her hips into his again, grinding against him in a way that provided delicious friction against his aching cock. Spencer had never been more turned on than he was in this moment, the need thrumming through his veins driving him to rock gently against her in return.

Y/N’s grin faltered as her breath hitched, her brows pinching together as he began to thrust shakily against her through their underwear. Her mouth dropped open into a silent gasp as the head of his arousal brushed against her clit through the thin fabric, a helpless whine leaving her lips shortly after as he repeated the movement.

They were both too tired and too in love to rush their first time together (and Spencer’s first time in general), so they settled for this: the steady push and pull of their hips grinding together as their lips began to devour each other’s once more. The room quickly filled with their muffled noises of pleasure; soft moans and whimpers between passionate kisses and the rustling of his covers as they moved against each other creating an explicit symphony.

Spencer’s movements became more fervent as Y/N licked into his mouth, her nails dragging across his shoulder blades encouraging him to keep going. His body trembled as he felt her arousal dampening the front of his boxers, a guttural moan wrenching its way from his throat. She was soaked. All because of him.

Y/N’s head tipped back against his pillows, her eyes squeezed shut as she felt the pleasure coiling tightly in her lower stomach. His lips immediately moved to the crook of her neck, nipping and sucking gently at the skin there between whimpers of her name. It felt erotic, the both of them so turned on despite their exhaustion that they couldn’t help their movements, desperate to experience the other falling apart.

She’d make it up to him later, when she could actually take her time with him and make his first time something special, something memorable. But for now, she was perfectly content with this.

“Spence I’m—“ Y/N gasped, tangling her fingers into his hair as she began to writhe underneath him. “I’m about to—“

Her orgasm washed over her like a cold bucket of water, yanking the air from her lungs and making her body tense up as she cried out his name and clung to him. Spencer groaned alongside her, pulling his head from the crook of her neck so that he could watch her in awe. The sight alone almost had him cumming, his movements growing frantic as he chased his pleasure.

Her soft whines urged him closer and closer to the finish line as he rutted against her, and all he could manage was a soft shout of her name before his climax took hold of him, his cock throbbing against her as he spilled into his boxers. He collapsed against her, thrusting weakly with small whimpers to ride out both of their highs before his hips finally stilled.

Their chests heaved as they laid together, catching their breath. Y/N’s hands raked through Spencer’s hair, fighting to stay awake long enough so that they could clean up. When Spencer could finally move, he lifted up onto his forearms, pressing small, gentle kisses to her lips with murmured thank you’s before he climbed out of his bed to grab a towel from the bathroom. Once they were cleaned and stripped out of their cum-soaked clothes (to which Y/N and Spencer both giggled excessively about as they wriggled out of them), Spencer reached over to turn off his lamp.

Drained but happy, they collapsed into each other’s embrace, winding together in Spencer’s bed and surrendering to the pull of sleep. Just before sleep claimed him, Spencer pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead, whispering, "I love you, my sweet girl."

A soft smile tugged at his lips when he heard her whisper back, "I love you too, my sweet boy."

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

#Spencer Reid smut #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fanfiction #criminal minds smut #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x y/n #two idiots in love #roommates to lovers #Spencer Reid x self insert

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underoossss · 2 years ago

Text

Head over Heels - S.H

masterlist

pairing: steve harrington x grumpy!f!reader

summary: Steve falls for Robin’s grumpy friend, and he falls hard.

warnings: family problems mention, trust issues, angst, hurt/comfort, no spoilers, (there’s fluff I promise!!!)

grumpy x sunshine trope

an: I know this is the first Steve fic I’ve posted IN FOREVER and I’m sorry! my writer’s block, personal problems, work and health, have all contributed to how long it took me to finish this. But I promise to make it worth your while, this is the same length as babe baby beautiful and I hope it makes you happy. I dedicate this to all my grumpy beloveds out there, who, like me. don’t relate 100% to the sunshine tropes bc sometimes life just freaking sucks. I poured my heart out with this one so, I hope this comforts you and that you like it! Please let me know. 💘

——-

The September breeze pushes Steve’s hair back as he makes his way to the Hawkin’s start-of-autumn fair, a new thing the town is trying out to make the citizens feel more upbeat after all the incidents they’ve experienced. His friends trail after him, Mike and Lucas arguing over something he doesn’t understand, Max listening to Dustin complain about some prank the soccer team played on the Hellfire Club and Robin walking by his side. Everyone shouts food orders over their shoulder, running towards the picnic tables in search for an empty one, and leaving Steve and Robin alone.

His friend is rambling by his side, and Steve nods along to what she’s telling him. She has a new friend this year, met her at homeroom when she was introduced as a new student. A senior like Robin, she got along with her just fine. I talk a lot and she doesn’t, it’s a good fit, I think she really needed a friend that day, Robin says, and now she’s friends with all of us. Steve hums in understanding, switching schools in senior year sounds awful, and he wonders why you chose to do that. He wouldn’t, unless it was for something serious.

“Anyway here she comes!” Robin says excitedly, waving you over. “I can’t believe she actually came, she’s not comfortable with strangers and she doesn’t know you. I thought she’d sit this one out.”

Steve follows Robin’s line of sight and spots you walking towards them in the distance. Baby blue sweater, light washed jeans and black high-top converse, make you stand out from the orange foliage around you. Your face is serious as you get closer, only breaking into a small smile when you wave at Robin and accept her hug. When you step back your face morphs back to neutrality, a slight furrow to your brow as you hide your hands in your back pockets.

Robin says your name and motions towards Steve. “This is Steve, the friend I told you about.” She explains, “He’s our chauffeur, monster-fighter and designated babysitter.”

Steve furrows his brows and looks sideways at Robin before he looks at you and grins. “Hi, nice to meet you.” He offers his hand and you give it one quick shake before pulling back and looking away. Steve wasn’t expecting that reaction, but he guesses what Robin said is true, you don’t like strangers.

“We’re going to get Apple fritters! They have massive ones here and they serve them with big scoops of ice cream.” Robin tells you, glancing down the line as it moves. There are only three people left to order, so the three of you step into line. “Let me check if they’re still doing the ice cream on top.”

With that, Steve is left to wait next to you until Robin is back. You shift from one leg to another, almost nervously and Steve glances at you. Your eyes meet his and then look away, not scared or nervous, just looking away like you can’t be bothered to make conversation with him. Is he intimidating? Steve asks himself or are you just a massive buzzkill that can’t even comment on the weather.

Steve tries again, scratching his cheek. “So, uh, you’re in senior year like Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your feet before looking at him. “Yeah, we have a lot of classes together. I know the guys over there as well.” Your hand lifts to point at Eddie, who’s just arrived at the table, and the kids talking around him.

Huh, so you do speak, Steve notes, but only when prompted. “Cool.” He nods, looking at your face and noticing the way you look away immediately. “So why did you move to Hawkins all of a sudden? I mean senior year, that’s gotta be rough.”

You press your lips together, looking uncomfortable by the question. Steve has the faint idea that he asked the wrong thing. “I should go say hi to everyone.” You say after an awkward cough. “If there’s ice cream can you tell Robin I’m good with cookie dough?”

Steve wordlessly takes the 5 bucks you hand him and sees you rush away from him. In the distance he can see everyone’s faces light up when they spot you, beckoning you over with excited waves, and your reluctant barely there smile as you greet them and sit down. Steve doesn’t get it; he is half mortified and half confused when Robin comes back. How is it that everyone is your friend when you’re so closed off and Steve doesn’t want to say it but… grumpy.

“Are you sure your friend wants to be here?” Steve asks Robin, looking over at you again. You’re sitting with your elbows leaning on the table, listening to everyone talk around you, neutral expression on your face. Bored, even.

“Of course, she does.” Robin is quick to say. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, she doesn’t look too thrilled to be talking to you.” Steve shrugs.

“You clearly don’t know her.” Robin shakes her head. “What did you do?”

“I only asked her about her move to Hawkins.” Steve holds his hands up defensively, then adds. “She said she likes cookie dough ice cream.”

They pause their conversation to order the fritters and pay, then continue talking while they wait.

“Okay, you shouldn’t have asked that. First of all.” Robin rolls her eyes, “Second of all, she’s friends with all of us.”

Steve huffs in disbelief. “Oh so she likes you? That’s her I like you face.”

“She adores us, you… not really but that’s cause she doesn’t know you.” Robin nods with certainty, then worries her bottom lip. “The move question is just tricky for her.”

Steve moves to say something when their order is called, and she go back to the booth to take the trays laid out in front of them. There are eight apple fritters with ice cream they have to juggle back to the table but manage to fit in their hands and arms.

“Look Steve.” Robin says seriously, lowering her voice after a sigh.” She slows her pace, so they take longer to get back to the table. “She has been through a rough time; I won’t tell you what because it took her a long time to trust me enough to open up.”

“Okay…” Steve nods, going over her words and feeling a soft pang of guilt. He wouldn’t have judged you so harshly if he knew you were struggling with something. He wouldn’t have asked you about you changing towns. “You could’ve told me that before I messed up earlier. Before I was bitchy too.”

“You’re always bitchy.” Robin huffs, then hums when she looks at you sitting in the distance. “She’s wonderful Steve, in her own way, so don’t judge her by the way she presents herself. When she trusts you, you’ll see what I‘m talking about.” She gives him a pointed look.

Robin’s words echo in his head as they reach the picnic table and hand over the food to their friends. Steve places yours in front of you with a nod to which you say thank you. Now that he knows a little more about you, Steve guesses you were both left with a bad first impression. They aren’t his forte, and it’s not his fault you weren’t the same person with him as you are with Robin. You don’t know each other, of course it was going to be awkward. Steve sees what Robin means as everyone chats and eats; he sees it in the way your eyes soften, and lips smile slightly when Max begins to tell you something. He sees it in the way you lean closer to the redhead and whisper something that has her laughing soon after; you smile as well before turning your attention back to the group. Dustin and Eddie are planning some sort of revenge on the jocks from the soccer team who messed up something in their Hellfire Room.

Steve tries to focus on what they’re saying but he’s too busy looking at you, trying to figure you out. What happened? What’s the thing that you told Robin that made you keep the gentleness you showed to Max tucked away? You feel him looking at you and meet his eyes, it’s a distrustful glance from the way you narrow your eyes at him. Okay, Steve probably stared at you too long. He looks away and hears you sigh before you do too, tuning back into the conversation between the Hellfire club sitting at the other end of the picnic table.

“That’s a horrible plan.” You say plainly, making Max snort and Eddie pause the conversation. The metalhead rolls his eyes –no annoyance, no malice in sight. Steve supposes Eddie knows you like Robin does.

“Why is that, buttercup?” Eddie asks.

“They’ll know it was you, and they’ll beat you up, Munson.” You tell him seriously with an eye roll of your own –Steve doesn’t need to know you to catch the concern in your tone. “Put some laxatives in their protein powders instead.”

Steve lets out a bark of laughter that startles the table; that would be a good prank if he’s being honest. Everyone turns to look at him, including you and Steve clears his throat. “It’s a good idea.” He mumbles rubbing his chin, then meets your eyes briefly to find something like amusement in them.

“No, no, no.” Dustin shakes his head. “It is an objectively good plan, there’s no way they’ll know it’s us.”

“Yeah, we’ll wait for them to leave and then sneak into the locker room.” Eddie adds. “We’ll seal their lockers shut, they can’t change into their gear the next day and their coach yells their ears off.”

“The perfect plan.” Dustin says proudly and looks around the take to see who agrees.

“You sure they won’t be able to trace the prank back to you? See it as immediate revenge for what they did?” Max asks nodding towards you, “She’s right.”

“We’re absolutely sure.” Eddie confirms with a nod, clapping his hands in front of him.

“Can I read the eulogy at your funeral then?” You ask Eddie and Dustin with fake enthusiasm. “I call dibs.”

Steve chuckles and next to him, Robin fakes discontent as she rolls her eyes. “Damn, I wanted to do it.”

You send a smile her way before you clear your throat. “Eddie and Dustin died as they lived.” Your words are solemn as you speak. “With bad plans and too much confidence that they’ll work.”

“They always work.” Eddie says, chuckling at your words with everyone else. You simply raise one eyebrow at him, which Steve must admit is hot, and Eddie shakes his head. “I guess they sort of work.”

“So, laxatives?” Dustin asks Eddie after a minute, a defeated hunch to his shoulders.

“Laxatives.” Eddie and the rest of Hellfire repeats before the table bursts into laughter– including Steve.

His eyes don’t leave you though. You’re not laughing like everyone else but there’s a small smile on your face. It is reserved but softens your face in the loveliest way. It shows him you are enjoying their company despite the otherwise inexpressive look on your face. Steve begins to wonder then… if he wins your trust, the one you have with Robin and Max, will you smile at him the same way you do with them? Bright and beautiful enough to blind him? He guesses it would be worth a shot, getting to know you more, because if he’s being honest, he’s intrigued.

--------

The next time Steve sees you it’s at a party. It’s mid-October and the cold weather turns it up a notch with the cold bite to the air. He wouldn’t have gone to the party in the first place, if he’s being honest, but Robin forced him to go. Everyone will be there she’d said but Steve didn’t know who everyone would be. Only when he arrived at Kevin Rotner’s house did he begin to recognize some familiar faces. Nancy, Johnathan, and Eddie arrive at the same time he does and the five of them walk up the driveway and the small path leading to the front porch. There’s loud chatter inside and a boombox playing to the loudest volume in the dinning room. There are people sitting in the staircase laughing at a joke and more loud conversation coming from the backyard. He navigates the house with his friends until Robin spots you in the kitchen, and Steve doesn’t know why he’s so nervous when he sees you. You greet Robin with a hug and shrug when she tells you something, he can hear. Your face is pretty and serious as you look over Robin’s shoulder, spotting everyone else coming to say hi. Steve sees you take a deep breath before you greet everyone — almost as if you’re preparing yourself for small talk and hugs. He greets you last, more open and approachable than last time, and he’s surprised when you wave. “Hi, Steve.”

Something inside Steve jumps, but he thinks it’s only his own surprise. He’s about to say something, when Robin and Nancy take your hand and drag you away with the promise of some new gossip, they have to tell you.

Steve talks to a few people here and there; mostly the ones he’s kept in touch with after high school. Other than that, he doesn’t know anyone else; he doesn’t know if it’s cause he’s grown up but he’s not really having fun. There are people jumping into the pool despite the weather while those who mind the cold have gathered inside the house. Steve’s mostly avoiding the crowds, where the air is too hot despite winter being near, while keeping an eye out for his friends. Nancy and Jonathan are talking to some people he doesn’t know in the kitchen, Robin is trying not to combust while she talks to her crush —her lab partner in biology— and Eddie is walking around the entire party with his lunchbox.

When Steve sees you again, you are people watching in the living room, eyes trained on a few people in the middle of the room. He moves to stand next to you, and you shift your gaze towards him but say nothing; Steve thinks it means it’s okay if you stand here. Your foot taps to the music –Tears for Fears’ Head Over Heels –and your head moves almost imperceptibly to the music. The two of you are quiet for a while, and it’s not awkward like Steve expected it to be, not after the way he messed up at the fair. He’s pleasantly surprised, and relaxes a bit more next to you, slouching slightly against the wall. One of your arms is crossed over your chest while your other elbow rests on it, a red cup in your hand. The music continues to play and your eyes are still trained on the people talking in the living room, they’re some old Hawkins High students Steve kind of recognizes. There’s Angela and Karen, Bradley and Peter and some other people he doesn’t know the names of. Steve leans his weigh on his right leg, which brings him closer to you.

You don’t move away, simply pass him your red cup. Steve moves to shake his head no and say he’s driving, but you speak up before he does. “It’s only soda.” You say and nod at the cup that Steve takes the cup from you shortly after.

“What’re you watching?” Steve asks.

“The only interesting thing that’s going to happen in this party I think.” You look at him finally and lean closer, Steve isn’t sure you’re aware of it. “I think there’s going to be a fight.”

Your eyes hold amusement in them, like you’re excited for what’s about to happen. The tiniest movement of your mouth has Steve glancing down, you’re grinning, barely; he thinks it’s cute.

Steve’s eyebrows raise, interest spiked, and is about to say something when you turn your head again. Bradley is saying something to Angela, his voice loud and slurred but incomprehensible over the music, and not a second later an equally intoxicated Peter swings a punch at him. Another girl, who Steve doesn’t know, confronts Angela they start arguing with Karen joining the fight. Bradley and Peter fall to the ground, wrestling each other while others try to break the fight.

“Wait isn’t she?” Steve’s mind catches up the everything that happened puts two and two together. He’s pretty Angela is dating Bradley, not Peter.

“Yup.” You say with a shrug, tilting your head. “It was all a matter of time before it happened.” It’s all you say, then chuckle. Steve does too, he can’t help himself at the sound of your own laughter, until the two of you are giggling at the fight in front of you.

The music changes then, to something more upbeat, and Steve’s mind can only think about asking you to dance. Would you say yes? Probably not. Before he can ask you though, you step away from the wall. More people have gathered in the living room to watch the fight, and you decide to make your way to the front door. Do crowds bother you? Steve wonders.

“Wait.” Steve goes after you and closes the door behind him. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” Your back is turned to him. The cream-coloured sweater you wear over your lilac skirt and your black boots look lovely on you, and so does your hair. Steve doesn’t know why but he thinks it frames your face perfectly. There’s also a hint of remaining lip-gloss on your lips that shines with the streetlamp’s light… and Steve, well Steve thinks You’re so pretty.

“It’s cold, don’t tell me you’re going to walk.” Steve speaks again, shaking away his previous thoughts.

You shrug, “I usually do, it’s not too far.”

Steve doesn’t know where you live but he knows Rotner lives far away from almost everyone in Hawkins. Your house is probably far away. “I’ll drive you.” Steve offers, but you sigh and look away.

“Go back to the party Steve, you can drive Robin home.” You say simply. “I’ll see you around.”

“No, she can go with Nancy.” He follows you until he’s walking next to you. “It’s not safe for you to walk home, come on.”

You sigh again and look up at the sky, annoyed. If you’re annoyed, then he’s too, because you’re making a dumb decision for the sake of being stubborn. And you probably don’t know that he’s stubborn too, so you might have to argue all night about whether this decision is right or not. Why is it so hard for you to accept a ride home? You offered him soda and were talking to him just now; it was nice. More than nice.

“I won't stop asking.” Steve says, crossing his arms and stepping in front of you.

Your eyes meet his in an intense half-glare, and Steve can’t help but think how nice your eyeliner looks on you. It does something to him he hasn’t felt in a while. He feels like he can’t breathe while heat creeps up the back of his neck —it’s October, he shouldn’t feel hot at all. A moment later you roll your eyes, though backing down first, and giving Steve some time to breathe as you turn around.

“Alright.”

Steve can’t help smiling in triumph, knowing he just won, and follows you as you walk towards his car further down the road. Amusement paints his eyes as he looks at you; your lips are pursed, and a huff escapes you.

“You’re pouting” Steve says, looking at your lips and the annoyed look on your face. It makes him smile. You’re pouting.

“I’m not” You look sideways at him.

“Oh, you are.”

“Shut up, Harrington.” You say and he laughs, opening the passenger’s door for you.

-------

From then on Steve does his best to increase his charm and be a gentleman. He offers you his help as well as rides home whenever he can, especially when you’re alone. The last thing he wants is for you to think that he’s only being nice when your common friends are around. Steve sees you more often now, not as much as he’d like, he must admit, but enough to know more about you. What you’re okay with sharing, more like.

As he suspected from the party, you don’t like crowds (they make you nervous), and when Steve asked why you’d changed the topic. You work at the Deli on Main Street, have a younger brother named Chris, and you love coffee. He always sees you drinking one in the morning when he gives both you and Robin a ride to school, and whenever he stops by at the deli for lunch during your shift. Most important of all, Steve is starting to see what Robin meant when she said not to judge a book based on its cover. Because, despite your grumpy exterior, there’s a whole personality hidden underneath.

Steve can tell. There are hints and pieces; from the way you dress, to the music you like, and comic books you read and often exchange with Max. When he takes the time to look, he sees the gentleness with which you do things, and the care with which you treat your friends. He also sees your distrust for what it is: fear. You’re afraid, to let new people in, to get hurt, and Steve doesn’t know why.

He wishes there was something he could do to fix it, to make you see the glass half full instead of half empty, or to change your sporadic pessimism. But then he figures, he would be changing you, and that’s not something he wants. If he’s being honest, your friend group (Steve isn’t sure if he’s your friend, officially at least) needed someone with an objective outlook on life to set their heads straight. And if he’s honest with himself, he likes all the things that make you you. He likes your confidence when you don’t care what people think about you. He likes it when you fight with Robin over who chooses the music, despite it being his car. And he's pretty much obsessed with your face; the hard set of your jaw when you get impatient, the brow you silently arch that makes him feel things he shouldn’t, and the silent way you listen to conversation, only speaking up when you think it’s necessary. Steve is more than a bit obsessed.

He had been wrong that first day. He didn’t know you and wrongly assumed you weren’t happy to be there with them, when you actually were. He reflects upon it now that he knows your facial expressions; your eyebrows had been relaxed, and your eyes didn’t have a hard edge to them. You had been at ease, only closing yourself off when Steve tried to dig into your move to Hawkins. He really started off with the wrong foot, but it all takes a turn on a Friday night.

You visit FV for a tape mid-afternoon, surprising Steve at work. The weather is more than chilly outside, and Steve notices right away how you have no jacket on, only a dark red sweater. He’d been doing some paperwork behind the counter when the bell over the door for his attention. It rewarded him with the sight of you walking in, looking around before your eyes settle on him.

“Hey, Steve.” You say voice light as you approach him and lean your elbows on the counter. “Do you have karate kid available? My brother is begging us to watch it again tomorrow.”

Steve doesn’t know why but he struggles to speak for a moment —it probably has to do with the fact that you look very pretty, and two, this interaction is so different from your first one he shortcircuits. After a long pause you raise a questioning eyebrow, “You okay?”

Steve clears his throat. “Yeah. Um, we have it, let me go get it.”

“Thank you.” You nod as he dashes away from the counter.

“Did you walk here?” Steve asks once he’s cleared his head and reaches the action movie aisle. He sees you shrug over the stands.

“I usually do, I don’t mind it.” You explain simply.

“You’re not wearing a jacket though.” Steve grabs Karate Kid and goes back to the counter. Why are you always out in the cold without a jacket? It’s a miracle you haven’t fallen sick, he thinks.

“I left school in a rush, I was gonna be late for work.” You shrug again, eyes visibly lighting up when you spot the movie. “Thank God. Chris would have been insufferable if someone beat me to it.”

Steve crouches down behind the counter and retrieves his own jacket —a grey bomber— before placing it on the counter in front of you. “Here.”

“Steve,” You tell him seriously, rolling your eyes. “I’m not taking your jacket.”

“Why not? You’re the one walking out in the cold, I only have to walk towards my car.” He dismisses your refusal with a wave of his hand.

“Hey!” Robin says, calling your name as she emerges from the back room. “Perfect timing, I was going to call you.”

“Here to rent karate kid.” You tell her, a small smile on your face.

“And choosing hypothermia over my jacket.” Steve chimes in, sliding his jacket pointedly towards you.

“It’s not that cold Steve.” You roll your eyes at him again, “But I know you’ll annoy me until I say yes.”

Steve gives you a triumphant smile and you shake your head, Steve would even say it’s shyly, before you take the jacket and shrug it on. “The movie? Please.”

Robin speaks up while Steve rings you up. “We’re gonna hang out at Nancy’s tonight. The kids will be there too, you should come.”

Steve risks a glance at you, in his jacket; a huge mistake. He seriously underestimated his reaction to seeing you in his clothes, because it is downright adorable and something he was unprepared for. The sleeves go past your hands and the whole thing is oversized on you, his shoulders being broader than yours and his torso longer. Steve bites back a smile —he hopes you never give it back to him; this is a sight he’d love to see more often. He turns back to the computer to hide his grin from you and silently hopes you’ll say yes.

“Will there be other people?” You ask Robin, and Steve is quick to shake his head no and reassure you. Too quick.

“Just the usual gang.” Steve tells you, clearing his throat to hide his eagerness. “No one else.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Robin insists with a smile, then moves her gaze towards Steve, who tries to ignore the way she raises a knowing eyebrow at him. He’s gonna have an earful once you leave, he can bet on it.

“Okay, I’ll be there.” You nod, then exchange some cash for the movie Steve hands to you. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve leans his forearms on the counter, trying to give you his most charming smile to see if he’ll get one of those you give Robin in return. “We’ll pick you up after work.” Steve says and you look into his eyes for a long second before nodding.

“Sure.” You shrug, eyes shifting away from his. “I’ll see you guys later.”

------

At Nancy’s, chaos ensues. The kids argue over what board-game to play while Eddie and Robin argue over what record to play next. Steve is listening to Nancy and Jonathan talk about a volunteering drive she’s organizing and from where he stands, he can see you leaning against the wall next to Robin. Your face is neutral as you listen to the record that’s currently playing, tuning out Eddie’s argument for the most part until you speak up.

“Or you can let me choose?” You ask calmly, glancing at them briefly before going back to looking down at your feet.

“No!” Both Eddie and Robin say at the same time, and Steve notices the corner of your mouth twitch upwards.

“You chose this one, buttercup.” Eddie says with a sigh. “You’re only gonna choose one to annoy us.”

This earns Eddie an eye roll. “How exactly do you know that?” You ask. “It could’ve been a great pick, now you’ll never know Munson.”

Steve tries to tune back into Nancy’s explanation when Max pushes the board game she wanted to play away with a huff. It clatters to the ground as she stands from her place in front of the coffee table. You spot her and call her name only a moment later.

“Hey Max, I got the new Wonder Woman!” You say after a moment when the read-head stops glaring daggers at the boys.

Her eyes light up, a dramatic change from the look in her eyes moments ago. “Really? Can I see it?”

“‘Course, I brought it for you.” You roll your eyes, this time full of fondness, and nod towards the kitchen. “It’s in my bag.”

Steve can’t follow your conversation because the doorbell rings, signalling the pizza Nancy ordered arrived. The weather feels much colder than earlier as he opens the door and steps outside, he pays for the pizza, tips the delivery guy and goes back inside. Arms full of pizza boxes, he walks back to the dining table, shooting a pointed look at Dustin and Mike. “Zip it or you don’t get a single slice.”

The high schoolers move more discarded boardgames away from the table in a heartbeat, scrambling to undo their mess and opening the pizza boxes in a hurry. Steve spots you still standing in the kitchen talking to Max as everyone helps themselves to pizza and decides to let you both know the food is ready.

“So, you skate too?” Max is asking you excitedly, leaning her hip against the kitchen counter.

You chuckle — it hits Steve in the chest and Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. “I do,” You grin, “I mean I used to when I lived in Indianapolis, but I haven’t since I moved here.”

“We can go to the skate-park tomorrow.” Max proposes raising her eyebrows, “If you want.”

You nod, “Sure. I’ll look for my skateboard tonight, let’s hope I still remember how to use it.”

“Pizza’s here.” Steve says, interrupting and smiling at you both. When your eyes meet his, your lips move to smile but in a matter of seconds you stop yourself.

It makes Steve furrow his brows and walk over to you as Max leaves to grab a slice. “You okay?” Steve asks, and your eyes meet his again briefly before they dart away as you sidestep him.

You make your way to the front door in a rush, this time though you do grab your jacket—his jacket— on the way. Just like he did the night of the party, Steve follows you, worried and confused at your reaction. Robin glances at him from the dining table, an unspoken question in her eyes but Steve can only shrug. He is certain he didn’t do anything wrong just now, but somehow, he messed up because you just fled from him.

“Stop.” Steve says after calling your name. “What happened?”

“Nothing, I just need some air. You should go back inside Steve.” Your back is to him, shoulders tense and close to your ears defensively.

“No,” He shakes his head. His lips go down into a frown briefly as he looks at your back. He voices the question he always asks himself when you shut him down. “Did I do something?”

“No.” You say when you turn, eyebrows meeting in the middle as you glare at him but Steve sees the way you struggle to hold it in place. After a second it falls, and your face just crumples to exhausted look. “I want to be alone.” You whisper.

“You think a glare and a pout are intimidating enough to drive me away?” Steve shakes his head.

“I don’t pout.” You say, lips pursed and jaw tense. Pouting.

“You do and it’s not working.”

You change tactics then, raising an eyebrow and staring him down like the night at the party but Steve shakes his head. “That’s not working either.”

“Why are you insisting so much on this!” You finally ask, raising your voice and crossing your arms in front of you. Your jaw clenches as you look away and Steve sees your eyes squeeze shut.

He runs a hand down his face and breathes out. “Whether you like it or not there are people who want to get to know you.”

“What, like you?” Your eyes cut a suspicious look Steve’s way and he can see your walls come back up right in front of him. A tear falls down your cheek and you’re quick to wipe it away, harshly. “Why?”

Steve throws his hands up in the air, exasperated but not raising his voice, “To be your friend! Just like Robin and Eddie are your friends.” His shoulders move up and down, trying to cover up how much he likes you and looks forward to your company. “Why are you so distrustful, is it something I did?”

“It’s not about you, Steve.” Your eyebrows meet in the middle again, and you look away from him, directing your gaze to the snow-covered lawn. “If… If it bothers you so much, why do you even want to be my friend? Because you’re wrong Steve. No one else does, and I’m more than fine with that.”

Steve shakes his head, knowing you’re lying to him and trying to convince yourself. His voice softens. “Because despite it, I like you, I think you’re… cool.”

“Cool?” The way you raise your eyebrows makes Steve chuckle.

Funny, caring, fucking beautiful, Steve wants to say but he just nods his head at your question.

“Yeah, and you’re interesting, and I… want to be your friend.” Steve’s hands settle on his hips as he shifts his weigh to one leg, looking down to the ground. Glancing at you briefly, he drops his voice to whisper your name. “Don’t leave. I’m not lying… that’s what worries you right?”

Steve assumes that’s where your distrust comes from; you told him it wasn’t something he did, then it must be that you’re scared to trust him. He’s known there are many feelings behind your hard exterior, one of them being fear. Steve doesn’t want you to fear him, and he wonders who broke your trust in the past. Silence settles between the two of you; you seem to be going over his words and Steve is giving you the time to do so. He’d wait an hour if necessary and reassure you a thousand times if it would mean you believe him. Steve panics when he sees you swallow hard and shift your eyes at the sky, the last thing he wanted to do was make you cry.

But you don’t cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and look into his eyes. There’s a vulnerability there that awakens an urge in Steve to hug you. “You promise?” Your voice is a whisper, but he hears you clear as day. You’ve never spoken so softly before, and Steve wishes it could have happened under other circumstances.

Steve looks into your eyes and nods with sincerity, hoping you can see he’s being completely honest with you. “Yes.”

“I do like you, Steve. You just scare me.” You look down at the ground for a moment and nod to yourself as Steve’s eyebrows shoot hop in surprise. A moment later, your eyes drift back to Steve and there are emotions dancing around in them he’s never seen before. “I’m sorry.”

Steve nods and something inside him tightens when you offer a small smile. It’s like something shifts between the two of you despite neither of you moving. In a matter of seconds, everything feels easy, natural, like the brief moment your shared at the party in October. Steve realizes it’s because you’ve let your guard down; you stand differently in front of him, more comfortable, less apprehensive. You scare me. “You wanna tell me why?”

You press your lips together and shake your head. “Another time, maybe?”

Steve tries to hold back a smile, but he can’t, it takes over his entire face. When he sees you shiver, he offers his hand. “Let’s go back inside, or I can drive you home if you want to leave.”

“I can stay a bit longer.” You say when you grab his hand –an electric shock goes up his arm. “I really want some pizza. But if they play Monopoly I’m definitely leaving.”

Steve’s laughter follows you as he leads the two of you back to the house.

The coffee cup Steve places in front of you at work the next Monday lands with a soft thud on the counter. It’s black coffee with some milk and sugar; the way Steve’s learned you take it every day. The sound and his presence make you look up at him over the top of your book, a doubtful eyebrow raised and a serious look on your face. Fuck your pretty, Steve thinks. Your eyes shift from the coffee to his face a couple of times before you close your book.

“What’s this?” You ask, leaning back on your seat and tilting your head.

Steve leans his elbows on the counter in front of you and tilts his head right back. “Considering you drink around 5 of these a day, one would think you’ll know what it is.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I actually drink 10.” You deadpan, looking at him with fake disappointment. “I thought you knew me, now that we’re friends and all.”

Steve laughs, looks down and shakes his head. When he looks at you again, there’s a half smile on your face. “Come on.” He says. “Let’s go grab some food.”

“I literally work at a deli, Steve.” You tell Steve seriously, motioning to your surroundings. “We’re surrounded by food.”

Steve copies what you just said with a roll of his eyes and smiles again. “I mean something else, babe. Come on.”

With a sigh you stand up from your seat and round the counter, leaving your apron behind. “You’re lucky I get a break in a couple of minutes.” You tell Steve before yelling over your shoulder. “Hank I’ll be back!”

Steve’s eyes light up and he considers his visit a triumph. He’s becoming surer and surer his feelings for you go beyond friendship and fondness and lean more towards: I want to hold your hand all the time, and cuddle you while we watch movies then forget about the movie and get lost on you. He wants to put his arm around your shoulder freely, have you lean your weigh against him and steal a kiss, probably more than one. No. It won’t ever happen so Steve shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He opens the passenger’s door to his car for you and smiles when you get in, your coffee in your hand.

It becomes a routine of sorts, either you visit him at Family Video bringing sandwiches for him and Robin or he picks you up, a coffee waiting for you in his car and drives you wherever feels right that day to eat your lunch. You talk about your day, or whatever gossip you heard that day. One day you even confessed to be scared about graduation.

“Everyone is so excited to finish school, and here I am so terrified about the future I haven’t opened any of my college application letters.” You muttered, picking at a loose thread on your sweater.

“Why are you scared?” Steve asked you and you swallow hard.

You turned your body on your seat, facing him as you shrugged. “I feel lost, I don’t know what I should major in. I also don’t know where I’d like to go, and I can't even research these colleges without panic settling on my chest.” Your eyebrows furrowed and your jaw got tense and Steve knew that meant you felt angry and this time it was at yourself.

Steve took your hand without a second thought, but you let him. “You know, you don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

“It feels like it.” You whispered looking at him, frustration and embarrassment shining in your eyes. “Everyone else has it figured out.”

Steve shook his head; you shouldn’t feel embarrassed with him. “If there’s something I’ve learned about you, is that you don’t care about what other people are doing. What do you want?”

“I ask myself that question every day.” You mirrored his head shake and looked away. “Let’s talk about something else. Please?”

Steve was happy to change the subject, anything to cheer you up. By the time you go back to the Deli to continue your shift, he realized it was the first personal thing you’ve told him. Ever. It made him happier than he cared to admit.

-----

Two months after your talk in Nancy’s driveway, you invite Robin, Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan and Steve to your house. It’s the first time you’ve let anyone other than Robin into your home, this time for movie night. Your father and brother went back to Indianapolis to pick up other stuff from your old house, you said, it’s perfect timing. Steve and Robin arrive together, and shortly afterwards Eddie’s knocking on the door.

Your house is cozy and simply decorated with a forest green comfy looking couch, a dark brown coffee table and a TV in the living room and all the basic stuff in both the dining room and kitchen. There’s a record playing somewhere, and Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his face when he sees the way you’re mouthing the words as you move back and for the between the kitchen and living room bringing snacks, drinks and pizza for everyone. You’re wearing a cream-coloured sweater he recognizes from the party back in October and something funny happens in his stomach when he realizes just how far your friendship’s evolved since then.

“Babe come on take a break, we can help.” Steve stops you from going back to the kitchen with a hand on your shoulder and a fond look on his face.

You open your mouth to say something when Eddie and Robin appear on either side of you, presenting the movies they –surprisingly– were in charge to pick. “The best horror movies.” They say in unison.

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise as you take the three VHS tapes from them. “Oh. Um, great! Thank you.” Your reaction hides behind the grin you shoot both, who nod and disappear to the kitchen.

“You’re pouting.” Steve says stepping closer to you again in the living room; your eyes that were fixed on the VHS tapes drift upwards to meet his own. Steve smiles.

“I’m not pouting.” You tell him with a roll of your eyes, lips settling back into a pout as you scan the titles of the movies once more. “These are just scary.”

“You’re still pouting.” Steve whispers, like it’s a secret. His eyes drift down to your lips, a mistake that has him swallowing hard, before the doorbell rings, signalling Johnathan and Nancy arrived. He’s quick to turn and go let them in. It’s a perfectly timed distraction. He shouldn’t think about kissing you, because despite no matter how badly he wants to, you’d never let it happen, or feel the same way he does to let it happen. “Just saying!”

Once the first movie plays, Eddie and Robin settle on one end of the couch, while Nancy and Johnathan sit on the floor in front of them. Steve shoots Robin a I know what you’re doing look before sitting next to her and feeling the couch dip under your weigh when you settle on the empty seat next to him. A sweet floral scent he now recognizes as your shampoo or your perfume reaches him and Steve actively decides to focus on the movie, not the way he wants to pull you over his lap and breathe you in. Eddie and Robin laugh every now and then and the four of you turn to look at them, there’s nothing funny about the movie. You begin covering your face with the bucket of popcorn as the movie progresses, your face grimacing as the suspenseful music picks up.

Steve leans closer to you, his voice a whisper as he speaks. “It’s just special effects don’t worry about it.” You turn to look at him, worried puppy dog eyes gazing into him and dammit you make it so hard to keep his distance. “Trust me.” Steve winks, lightening the mood only to jump and scream when he turns to the movie once more and a jump scare comes on.

It seems like the perfect medicine for your fear. For you forget about it and lean your head back laughing, a full-on belly laugh, that’s so contagious and beautiful Steve laughs with you. Nancy and Robin share a knowing look he doesn’t notice before they shush the two of you, shoving at his elbow and your knee. You cover your mouth with your hand and your shoulders shake as you lean your head on Steve’s shoulder, turning your body towards his; Steve’s never been so happy to be scared in his life.

Everyone leaves after 3 movies. Robin gets a ride with Eddie, and Nancy leaves with Jonathan as well. Steve though, stays behind insisting on helping you clean up, but it’s a weak excuse to check on you before he leaves. He noticed you getting nervous, fidgeting with your hands anxiously when everyone started to leave. The films were long done, so Steve knows something else is worrying you and it doesn’t sit well in his heart to leave you like this. Which is why he is currently picking up trash in the living room while you do the same in the kitchen.

You’re finishing placing the dirty dishes in the sink when Steve enters the room. He noticed right away the way your shoulders hunch and you take a deep breath. “Steve…”

“You okay?” Steve closes the trash bag and moves to the sink. His eyes roam your face as he looks sideways at you and washes his hands.

“I um… I wanted to apologize to you.” You tell him quietly, passing him a kitchen towel before moving away from the sink. “For how closed-off I was when you met me.”

After drying his hands quickly, Steve turns and leans on the edge of the sink. “It’s okay, it’s not easy to trust new people right away.” He reassures you –it’s something he understands now; he understands you.

You sit on the counter opposite to him and stare at the floor for a bit, polka dot sock clad feet dangling in the air. “It’s more than that. I’m just scared of getting close to people since…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Steve shakes his head, keeping his eyes on your face.

“I trust you, Steve.”

Those four words make Steve’s chest flutter –relief, happiness, nerves– but he pushes the feeling to the back of his mind and patiently waits for you to continue. Your lips are pursed as you stare at the floor, gathering your thoughts.

“My mom…” You swallow, getting chocked up with those to words but soldiering on. With a shake of your head, you look up to the ceiling and will your tears away. “My mom left my dad, brother and I last April. She’d been cheating on dad for years… and that’s not even the worst part.”

You wipe your eyes quickly, lips pulled downwards into a deep frown when you pause again –an upside-down U Steve wishes he could smooth out with his thumb. But he stays where he stands and lets you continue.

“The other man was married too” Your eyes find Steve’s and where there’s usually a spark –like that night at the party– there’s only sadness directed at the memory. “He’s the father of a popular kid at my old high school, so you can guess what happened when everyone found out.”

Steve’s mouths opens again and this time a soft no escapes him.

You press your lips together and nod, “So not only did the news wreck our home… they made life at school unbearable for my brother and I. People who I thought were my friends just threw me away as if I was trash for something I didn’t do. Something I had no fault in.”

“Is that why you moved here?” Steve asks softly, walking closer to you. The answer to the question he asked many months ago, right in front of him and it doesn’t make him feel any satisfaction. No, it hurts him to know this. Moving away from everything you’ve known and starting over again during senior year sounds brutal.

“Yes.” You whisper and close your eyes briefly; more tears fall down your cheeks and Steve’s heart aches. Teary eyes move away from his and fix themselves on the kitchen window instead, your lips are pressed so hard against each other they’re losing colour. “She packed her bags right after school the day we found out. We saw her leave with that man, no other explanation, not even a goodbye or a note. Everyone except my dad and my brother decided to leave me that day.”

A sob escapes you then, finally breaking free and shaking your whole body; another one replaces it once it stops. Your hands move from the counter to your face, covering it as cries continue to escape you in succession. Steve wastes no time and walks to stand in front of you; he hates seeing you in so much pain. God, it must have hurt so much, just being left behind like that. His hands move to your hips and gently urge you to hop off the counter before he wraps you up in his arms. His shoulders shake with the force of your sobs as you cling to him.

“Stevie.” Your hands are bunched up in the back of his polo, holding onto him like a lifeline.

Steve can’t even relish the sound of your calling him Stevie so softly. He swallows hard as he witnesses the pain, you have felt inside of you for so long. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers.

“She left us, Steve. She just disappeared and left us grieving her despite her being alive.” You say between your tears, they soak the right side of his shirt, but Steve couldn’t care less, his arms just tighten around your waist. “She’d been pushing us away for years, treating us like garbage and now I can see it’s because we weren’t good enough for her anymore. She didn’t love any of us anymore. We… we didn’t make her happy.”

Your voice sounds hoarse from crying, and your hands tighten behind Steve’s back. When you bury your face in his chest, Steve hunches his shoulders and forms a cocoon to protect you from the past. His protective nature takes over as he holds you flush against him; his hand moves up and down your back firmly ��you need to know he’s there, that he’s got you. Steve puts his cheek over your head and whispers his next words. “I’ve got you; you can cry as much as you need to, I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a few minutes, but your sobs soon transform into soft sniffles even as you press yourself closer to him. Steve doesn’t want to upset you anymore, but he’s itching to comfort you and let you know what he wishes someone had told him years ago. “I know my own shit experience with my parents isn’t the same as what you went through.” He starts, taking a small step back so he can look at you.

His fingers take a gentle hold of your face until puffy and teary eyes meet his; Steve wipes away some stray tears. “But what your mom did to you doesn’t say anything about you alright? You’re more than good enough for anyone. If she didn’t see that, then she made the worst mistake of her life.”

You close your eyes at his words and look away, but Steve shakes his head and urges you to face him again with a whisper of your name. “You don’t have to prove your worth to anyone because your mother left. All of us see it, and we’re so lucky to have you here.”

Steve’s thumb catches more tears as your lips begins to tremble again. “I’m so fucking lucky that you trust me, and I understand why you didn’t at first, okay? I understand you.”

Your hands on his waist tighten again as your forehead drops to his right shoulder. “I didn’t used to be like this… I’m sorry that this is the me that you met.”

Steve shakes his head, sure that you feel it when he does, and pulls you flush to his chest again. Is this how you’ve felt since last summer? He wonders. Like this version of yourself is wrong or unlikable.

Sure, you’re not a smiley person, but that makes your rare smiles even more special –and they drive Steve crazy. You see the glass half-empty most times to protect yourself if things do indeed go to shit, but you also recognize genuine goodness. You don’t hesitate to encourage or celebrate everyone else’s happiness; he’s seen it firsthand, with the kids, with Robin and even himself. Steve doesn’t think he could ever get tired of your dark humour or that pretty pout that settles on your lips when you get annoyed, not to mention that making you laugh is his favorite thing in the world. Steve understands your anxiety and panic at your college decision, you don’t want another change; you don’t want to choose something you don’t like and face another disappointment again. Most of all, Steve finally understands your hesitance and the root of your gruff exterior, and he wouldn’t change a thing about it. He’s stupid in love with you; your grumpy and soft looks; your frowns and your smiles; your heart; and that tender way you’re holding onto him right now.

Steve places a kiss to the side of your head to keep himself from saying all of this out loud –it’s not the right time, not yet. Instead, he whispers above your ear, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”

For a moment, stillness surrounds the two of you in the kitchen and there’s no other sound but your quiet sniffles against Steve’s shirt again. Steve doesn’t mind, he’s happy to hold you for as long as you need, which ends up being five more minutes. You take a step back and look at him with those pretty eyes of yours; they’re teary and red-rimmed but lovely all the same.

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips until your gaze drops to his shirt and embarrassment shines in your eyes. “Sorry I cried all over you.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve shrugs and looks at you softly, hands still on your waist. “I think I know what we should do.”

You look at him curiously. “About what?”

“To cheer you up.”

The head shake you give him is immediate, just as he imagined. “I don’t–”

“You deserve a happy life.” Steve states as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world and sends a wink your way hoping to amuse you. “And I think, ice cream is a good way to start. I should know, I worked at an ice cream shop remember.”

He leaves your side and walks over to the freezer to grab the ice cream he saw earlier that night when he got up mid-movie to get more ice. It’s cookie dough ice cream, which he knows to be your favourite –he’s known since that first night he met you. Knowing he’s completely serious now, your eyes stare into his eyes for a moment before you turn and grab two spoons from a kitchen drawer.

“I guess we’re having ice cream then. Considering you’re an expert.” You say with an eye roll Steve can only describe as fond when you approach him again. A moment later, you sit on the counter and Steve follows suit, sitting next to you. “Spoon?”

“Thank you.” Steve says and takes it from you after opening the ice cream tub. He offers the tub to you first, letting you scoop some ice cream with your spoon which you pop in your mouth. Your arms brush from how close you’re sitting, and Steve has to lean forward to look at you, but he doesn’t mind. He’s happy with the proximity.

A sigh escapes you and you close your eyes as you savour the ice cream. Steve feels heat creep up the back of his neck at the sound, but he shakes the feeling off; you’re only eating ice cream, to make you feel better. “You were right Harrington, this is like medicine.”

“Told you, I’m an expert.” Steve chuckles and eats his own spoonful, the creamy ice cream melting in his tongue before he laughs as you search for the cookie dough in the tub. “This is going to be just plain vanilla ice cream if you keep doing that.”

“Finders keepers.” You tell him with a shrug as you bring the cookie dough to your mouth. “It’s arguably the best part of this ice cream.”

“You’re supposed to eat the ice cream with it!” Steve argues, holding the tub away from your reach. “I want cookie dough too you know.”

You roll your eyes at him, but there’s a soft look on your face as you look at him and nod. The two of you go back to eating ice cream in silence until Steve speaks up again. There are so many things he wants to know about you still –he thinks he’ll always want to know more. “What’s something you miss from living in Indianapolis?”

You pause mid-scoop and concentrate for a few moments going over his question. A moment later a tiny smile makes its way to your lips. “There used to be a wonderful campsite my dad used to take my brother and I; we’d camp for three days and do all sort of activities.”

Steve smiles. “Like what?”

“Dad and Chris love fishing, so we’d do that. There was also hiking, swimming, s’mores. Oh! We’d all tell each other stories sitting next to the fire. They were all completely made up of course, and I think the more ridiculous they were, the more fun we had.”

Your eyes wander around the kitchen, like you’re back in the forest with your family and not next to Steve anymore. Light dances in your eyes and Steve can almost picture the three of you laughing around the fire as the catch of the day roasts on a grill nearby. He knows better than to ask about your mother, he’s got a pretty good idea what the answer would be. Besides, you’ve cried enough already, so much that Steve’s own heart feels bruised from seeing you in pain.

“You haven’t camped here in Hawkins?” Steve asks after a minute, voice quiet to avoid disturbing your memory.

You shake your head and sigh, the mirage in front of you disappearing as your eyes drift back to Steve’s. “Dad’s not the same person he was during those camping trips… he hasn’t scouted a good place for us to go. I don’t think he even wants to go camping anymore.”

Steve puts the ice cream tub on the counter and takes your hand instead. “Maybe we could go camping someday, invite everyone, have fun…”

Your head moves to rest on his shoulder, the dizzying smell of your shampoo and perfume reaching Steve’s nose at the proximity. He leans his cheek on top of your head and feels the faint nod you give him. “Maybe.”

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you, your hand still in Steve’s grasp. Until he gives it a squeeze that makes you jump, as if you forgot you were holding hands in the first place. Steve chuckles. “What?”

Your head leaves his shoulder in an instant and for a second Steve is sure you’re going to hide behind your walls again, like you did so many months ago. His fear though, is replaced with concern when you hop off the counter and check the time with a frown.

“Babe come on, what’s going on?” He hops off the counter and stands in front of you. His eyes search yours until finally your gaze meets his, your embarrassment clear in them.

“I just hate being home alone at night. It makes me anxious.” Your hands fidget in front of you, as if you’re waiting for Steve to laugh at you. Oh, so that’s why you were nervous earlier. “I can’t sleep. At all.”

He looks down at his watch and sees that it’s midnight already. “I don’t mind staying over.” Bringing his eyes back to yours, he speaks up again. “Would that make you feel better?”

You close your eyes and let out a shaky exhale before you nod. “A lot better.” When your eyes open again, they’re full of gratefulness and surprise, as if Steve wouldn’t do anything for you.

A smile grows on Steve’s face, and he takes your hand before you can thank him, threading your fingers together as he speaks. “Come on, you’re probably tired.”

Steve, however, is everything but tired. His heart is racing at the thought of spending the night here with you. You’ve never spent so much time together in a day, he’s never seen your bedroom, and there’s something about this impromptu sleepover that makes heat creep up the back of his neck. No. He’s here to give you emotional support; you were so anxious earlier and there’s nothing he wants more than to see you happy and comfortable. If staying here, despite it sending his feelings into a frenzy, is the key for you to rest then so be it. He can stay for one night.

You don’t let go of his hand as you lead him upstairs, passing various pictures of you and your family that hang from the wall opposite the handrail. There are three bedrooms upstairs and yours is the last one down the hall, its view towards the backyard. You open the door a moment later and let go of his hand as you step inside. Now that he’s here, Steve remembers neither of you made sure the doors were locked downstairs. He should do that.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You tell him as you walk towards your dresser.

Steve nods and swallows hard, using the excuse of your safety to be downstairs while that happens. “We forgot to lock everything downstairs. I’ll go do that.”

“Oh, right.” You press your palm to your forehead; Steve can see you reprimand yourself. “Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem.” Steve is quick to shake his head as he takes a step back from the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Once Steve is back downstairs, he makes sure to check the windows and lock the front door. He fiddles with the light switches for a while before he finds the right ones and turns the lights off. The whole process takes him less than five minutes, and the shower is still running when he’s back in your room. With a deep breath he finally looks around, gazing through a metaphorical window into your world, which he surprisingly already knew a lot of. The pastel walls make him smile, and he walks along the furthermost wall where various posters have been hung –all bands and singers Robin and you have played in his car. There’s a small vanity by the closet next to the bathroom, full of tiny bottles and a couple of lip-gloss tubes. Steve also spots a purple bottle of perfume on top, and a grin makes its way to his face –that’s the one that drives him crazy, he’s sure of it. He’s about to move closer and look at the pictures you’ve pasted in the vanity’s mirror, but he’s startled to a stop when you speak.

“I left a shirt for you to sleep in, if you want it.” You say and Steve turns around.

His heart summersaults when he sees you, fresh dewy face, hair out of your face, an oversized grey t-shirt with a pink Queen logo on the front and pink cotton sleeping pants. The overhead light of the bathroom makes a small rectangle in the carpeted floor, and some steam from your shower still circles around behind you. It takes all Steve’s self-control to stay where he is and not walk up to you and pull you into his arms; no tears between you this time, just Steve holding you the way he wishes he could all the time. He looks at the t-shirt you left on your bed to distract himself and laughs when he notices the colour.

“How’d you guess I love pink?” Steve asks you, glancing your way as he walks towards the bed and holds up the t-shirt. It’s very oversized like yours, and it has a black and fuchsia print of Blondie’s lead singer on it.

“Dunno, just thought it would suit you.” you chuckle, and Steve sees you hold back a smile as you point towards the bathroom. “There’s a spare toothbrush on the sink.”

Steve nods and hurries to the bathroom, lest you notice him blushing. He finds the toothbrush instantly and proceeds to brush his teeth, and though he doesn’t know why, Steve feels extremely happy to know both of you use the same toothpaste. He glances around and looks at all the details that are entirely yours around the room. There are some facial creams on a shelf next to the mirror, a vanilla scented hand soap on the sink, and a look towards the shower shows him two purple and pink shampoo and conditioner bottles –the ones that make your hair smell like flowers. Steve rinses his mouth, then takes off his sweater and jeans before he puts on the pink t-shirt you gave him and, like a freak, smells it to find that somehow your scent still lingers in the soft cotton.

If he was panicking before, he’s panicking even more now. He’s obsessed with you, he realizes, stupidly head over the heels and all of this is making it worse; lying on a bed next to you will make it so much worse. He’s got to pull himself together. He’s doing this because of fear of being home alone, that’s all. He can sleep alongside you for a night without making a fool of himself –or worse, accidentally confess his feelings. So, pushing all bed related thoughts to the back of his mind, he walks out of the bathroom to find you already under your duvet in bed.

Not letting himself think too much about it, Steve turns off the lamp on your nightstand and slips under the duvet too. He keeps his body still, tense more accurately, as he lies next to you. That is until you turn to face him, and he immediately does too, like a magnet naturally attracted to you.

“Do you ever fear that you’ll wake up one day and everyone you know will be gone?” you whisper in the dark; your voice is almost silent, but Steve hears you loud and clear with how close he is to you. The minty smell of your toothpaste mingles with his own breath. Is this how things are going to be between you now, deep conversations and secrets you only trust to each other? He really hopes so.

Steve shakes his head, trying to make out your face in the dark as his heart constricts in his chest. “No,” he says just as quietly, “But sometimes I’m afraid that something terrible will happen and I won’t be able to help.”

Steve closes his eyes and exhales through his nose as he voices one of his fears for the first time. He’s sure that everything that happened in the Upside Down that they managed to fix was thanks to the brains in his friend group. Steve is all physical strength, which has proved useful in the past, but against monsters or whatever the hell could come next, he’s not sure it will be enough. The thought of being useless like that and everyone suffering because of it terrifies him. Even more now that you’re a part of said friend group. He’s sure of one thing though, he’d protect you and all his friends no matter what.

Your hand slowly moves to his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “Knowing you, Steve, I’m a thousand percent sure you’d find a way to help. Your stubbornness can be a good thing.”

A breathy chuckle leaves him as your words punch the air out of him. He’s silent for a moment, scrambling for something reassuring to say back. Words aren’t his forte, not unless he’s flirting. He’d rather pull you close to him and comfort you that way, the way he did in the kitchen. “You know… if we were to disappear for whatever reason, you can bet I’d fight my way to you. You won’t be alone.”

Steve sees you nod your head in the dark, his only sign that you haven’t fallen asleep yet. Your hand goes back to your side, in front of his before you stifle a yawn. Assuming your eyes are tired from all their crying, Steve moves his hand to cup your cheek gently.

“Go to sleep, you need to rest.” He whispers; he wants to give you more comfort, pull you close and rub your back until you fall asleep. He doesn’t because he can’t, that would make things weird.

“Thank you for staying with me.” You whisper back.

Remaining silent to avoid saying something that’d give away just how deep his feelings for you run, or the fact that the opportunity to be lying here next to you is something he should be thankful for, he only rubs his thumb softly on your cheek once more before letting go. With another yawn you turn around, your back facing Steve as you whisper goodnight.

Steve doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he knows he sleeps more peacefully than he has in a while. Not that he doesn’t sleep well often, but most days his dreamless sleep is a result of the exhaustion of the day and not peacefulness. Last night though, there were no nightmares, no tossing and turning, just a distant dream of a campfire in the woods, fireflies, and a silhouette standing peacefully by the water. At some point, early in the morning, he finds himself waking to the light sneaking into the room from a small gap in the tulle curtains. His eyes that were too sleepy to open, blink awake at the awareness that you’re in his arms. Lovely floral scent and cozy softness pressed to him.

It seems that during the night, you’d shifted to your side and burrowed yourself on his chest, an arm around his waist and leg thrown over his hip. His left arm is around you, settled between your shoulder blades, holding you to him. He lifts it and checks his watch, barely 6am but Steve knows he should go. The last thing he wants is your father getting back home and finding him in your bed. Steve doesn’t know him and that’s not the first impression he’s looking for. Besides, there’s a pressing problem in his briefs, that has appeared from being tangled up with you, that he needs to hide in his jeans before you notice. Shifting his hips way from you he looks down at your sleeping face, brushing hair away from your face before he whispers your name.

“Hmm,” You frown, eyes still closed. “What?”

“You’re a cuddler,” Steve says as he smiles; it’s something that should surprise him, but it doesn’t. Not at all.

“I’m not.” You mumble and, contradicting yourself, press closer to him.

“Yes, you are.” He chuckles, shifting his hips backwards again. “I have to go.”

You frown but move away from him, turning and facing away. “Why?”

Steve slips from bed and puts his jeans back on, adjust himself, before pulling his sweater over his head and on top of the pink t-shirt. Call him a lovestruck fool, but he’s not giving it back. “I don’t know when your dad’s gonna be back, I don’t want him to find a boy he doesn’t know in your bed.”

You chuckle, then yawn as you shift and sit up in bed. Steve stares at you longer than he should. His eyes take in your messy hair and your still puffy eyes from all your crying the night before. He smiles widely.

“I have drool on my face, don’t I?” You sigh, moving the back of your hand to the corner of your mouth.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “No, you don’t; you look pretty that’s all.”

His words reward him with an eyeroll and a headshake before you stand up. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

You remain silent as the two of you walk side by side all the way down to the front door. Steve takes his car keys, and you move to open the door, but pause after a moment. Steve’s eyes look into yours as he wonders if there’s something wrong but when your eyes shift up to him, a small smile settles on your lips. Next thing Steve knows, your arms go around him in a hug.

He can’t help but sigh at the feeling and leaning his cheek on top of your head. “You okay?”

You nod and look up at him. “Thank you, Steve.” You say, stepping on the tip of your toes and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t thank me.” Steve smiles, letting his arms fall to his sides as his heart skips several beats. “Wanna get a coffee later?”

Is he bribing you with caffeine just to see you again? Of course, he is. Steve is charming, and he has a lot of work to do if he wants to make a move soon.

“Only if I get to pay.” You raise an eyebrow but smile nonetheless, that rare big smile he loves.

Steve huffs and opens the door. “Sure, babe.” He says though he knows you don’t believe him.

He walks to his car when you nod –heart pounding– and smiles as he drives away. Your figure on the rear-view mirror watches him leave until he turns at the end of the driveway. Steve leans his elbow on the door, his hand settling over his mouth as he thinks about the events of last night and this morning. Hope fills his chest, and Steve feels like this is the beginning of something really good for both of you.

---

There’s a small shift in your dynamic after that late night conversation in your kitchen. It’s like almost as if it brought you both closer: like a barrier breaking between you and Steve. Steve knows he should take it slow, that he should better conceal his feelings to avoid scaring you off. But another part of Steve wants to throw caution to the wind because there’s been a change in you too. I trust you, Steve, you’d said, and it shows. In the way you sit closer to him, how you give away more pieces of your past and yourself when you talk. There’s less apprehension and more curiosity from both of you and Steve can’t help but fall and fall and fall. He only hopes it doesn’t end up with him crashing down painfully.

The two of you make a new habit of visiting a small the café on the weekends; you sitting sideways on the couch and Steve talking nonsense to make you laugh. It starts the day after the sleepover, and the two of you use it as time to catch up on the events of the week. It delights him; every Saturday, he wants nothing more than to lean close and kiss your smile, the one he never thought he’d be at the receiving end of. You have bad days too, days in which Steve knows you’ve been crying, days where all you want to do is sit in silence with him. Steve doesn’t mind, at all, in fact he loves all your mood equally and now that he knows the backstory of what you went through, he offers you the quiet reassurance of his presence next to you, so you know you’re not alone.

Weeks pass like this, until winter leaves and spring comes. Overnight, the breeze has no bite to it anymore, the flowers bloom again and you begin to wear the prettiest floral dresses that give Steve a whole new reason to be obsessed with you.

“You two are adorable; when are you going to tell her, dingus?”

Steve and Robin had stopped by the Deli to get something to eat during their lunch break while you were on your lunch break too. The three of you had spent the 30 minutes talking between bites of your own sandwiches until the moment Steve had to drive away and you had to go back to your shift. He hears Robins words but his eyes follow your retreating figure until you’re out of sight –his mind is begging him to find you and steal a kiss just so he doesn’t go crazy. Robin snaps her fingers in front of his face and laughs when Steve startles. He rolls his eyes and gets in the car while Robin asks him the same question again.

Steve rolls his eyes again, “Tell her what?”

“That you’re obsessed with her dummy!” Robin hits his arm, Steve sends her an annoyed look, “You love her come on, you have to tell her.”

“No, I can’t.” He’s been thinking about it more often now. Keeping it to himself has been almost impossible lately and he knows he should do it before he breaks.

“Yes, you can, and you have to.” Robin asserts, setting her converse on the dashboard. “She clearly feels the same way.”

“She doesn’t.” Steve’s answer is instant as he focuses on the road and getting back to FV, his fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard they turn white. It’s a half-lie, and they both know it.

“She does and you know it.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Robin shake her head. “The way she looks at you Steve… it’s unbearable to watch, coming from her.”

Steve knows it, he’s seen that change. He’s felt the pitter patter of his heart, the way his hands shake when you look at him like that, like he’s all you want. But Steve is a coward in denial, he doesn’t want to assume wrong and send you running away from him. But if Robin’s seen it… “You really think so?” He says as he parks his car and Robin nods enthusiastically.

“Duh!”

He nods to himself, “Okay... I can tell her tonight. We are hanging out at my place anyway.”

“I’ll make myself scarce, just say the word and I’ll disappear.” When Steve nods Robin cheers, opening the passenger door and stepping outside. “Don’t mess it up, Steve.”

“I’ll try.” Steve grips the steering wheel, trying to calm himself down.

Steve doesn’t get a chance to though, for that afternoon with greying clouds in the sky you show up at Family Video as soon as your shift at the Deli ends. Steve is about to go to the back and finish some inventory he has procrastinated all week when he sees you pacing in front of his car, arms crossed over your chest. His heart soars, then fills with dread –somethings wrong. He knows it right away which is why he rounds the counter and rushes outside in a heartbeat.

“Babe, what’re you doing here?” Steve says as soon as he opens the door. “It’s gonna rain come on, let’s go inside.”

But you shake your head and look at him with a look he can’t name. It’s a sad look, and it makes Steve panic; he panics even more when he sees your eyes are teary and red-rimmed. “Did something happen? At work or at home?”

“I love you.” You say, at the same time thunder cracks in the distance. Your trembling lips press together when Steve’s move to smile, and your headshake makes Steve pause. “But I don’t think we should see each other again.”

“What?” Steve’s question is a whisper, almost lost to another booming thunder. “Why would you say that? Did I do something?”

“No, Steve.” You sigh, voice shaky, looking everywhere but his eyes. Steve knows this tell though; you don’t want to be caught in a lie. “We just don’t fit–”

“No.” He says simply, shaking his head as he interrupts you. This is that night in the Wheeler’s driveway all over again, you trying to shut everyone out. His hands still shake slightly though, at your confession, your words afterwards, at the idea of losing you.

“Steve it won’t work.” You tell him, it cracks halfway with feeling, and you swallow hard before repeating yourself. “It would never work.”

“Yes it will, it’s us.” Steve tells you, shaking his head. He remembers how far you’ve come, how close the two of you have gotten. He should’ve have known it would scare you, after what happened with your family. “Of course it will! It has worked for months.”

“It won’t! It won’t work regardless of our feelings. Because I’m me! And you’re you –you’ll get sick of me and then leave. And it’ll hurt more than anything I’ve ever experienced.” You tell him, shaking your head and looking at him with reddening eyes. Both your arms are crossed over your chest, as if you’re physically protecting your heart from feeling what if feels for him. I love you, you said. Around you, the sky begins to open, bathing both of you with big droplets of water. “I told you before, you scare me because I’ve never felt this way before.”

Steve tries to take a step closer, but you take a step back; it makes him groan in frustration. “You can’t make that decision for me! How can you think I’d just leave you?”

“Because the person who I thought never would, LEFT.” You yell, eyes brimming with tears that roll down your cheeks. They mix with the raindrops that fall on both of you and Steve’s heart aches.

“Then she didn’t love you enough, not the way you deserve.” Steve places his hands on his hips, looking at the wet concrete underneath his shoes. His eyebrows meet in the middle as he swallows hard. He can’t put into words how angry it makes him that someone hurt you so much, that you’re scared of being happy again. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I do.” You tell him, hands falling to your sides. Your voice is so quiet that the rain falling around you almost drowns it out. “You know I do.”

“Then let me love you!” You’re stunned into silence by Steve’s words, confessed loudly in an outburst as he brings his hands to his hair. He meets your eyes and feels his own tear up; he really doesn’t want to lose you. “Let me prove to you that I love you like crazy, baby. Because I do, you have no idea how much.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and Steve knows you can see all of his feelings reflected on his face. “I don’t want to be heartbroken again Steve! Can’t you see you’re sunshine, and I–”

“Don’t say that.” He whispers and steps closer to you, holding both of your hands. The way you cling to them sparks a fire in his heart, keeps his hope alive. “I told you I wouldn’t change a thing about you, that I’d fight my way to you.”

You try to let go of him, but Steve only pulls you closer even as you look away from him, lip trembling. “You know my issues, especially after what happened last year.”

“I do know them, and I’m telling you now that I don’t plan on ever letting you go. This isn’t just a fling, and you know it.” His hands go to your face, holding it gently and looking into your eyes. Those beautiful eyes he’s seen tear up, the ones that crinkle in the corners when you laugh and turn steely when you’re mad. He wants to look at them forever.

You close them, bracing yourself, as the sky continues to fall all around you. Big drops of water hitting your skin and soaking your clothes every second that passes. “Even if I have bad days, or get exasperated with you, or I’m a grump?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. If only you knew. “I love it when you’re a grump, I want to kiss your pout so badly every time.”

“I don’t pout,” You roll your eyes, but Steve can see you’re trying to hide your fear. He’s learned every little detail about you to memory, this is you trying to build a wall. Well then, Steve knows how to break them down.

“I promise,” Steve says, like he did that November night you fought outside in the cold. His nose brushes against yours as tenderly as he can, rainwater sliding down between your faces –his breath catches on his throat. “I love everything about you, everything baby, trust me. It’s you and me, that won’t change.”

You nod, trust shining in your eyes as a teary smile makes its way to your face when you let it free. It knocks the air out of Steve’s lungs. “Stevie, I love you.”

He leans his forehead against yours, happy beyond words and because he’s not good with them he says, “I really want to kiss you.”

“Then kiss me,” You urge him.

Steve leans down, holding your face in his hands and lingering close as he braces himself for this; this moment he’s wished for so many times. He smiles, and thinks finally, before leaning in and kissing you. A noise dies in the back of his throat, his chest feels full of helium and his mind reels at the everything he’s feeling. It’s even better than he dreamed it would be. Your lips soft against his, your hands in his hair, the sigh that escapes you when one of his arms wraps around your waist and presses you flush against him. His skin is buzzing, his fingertips are tingling. So he kisses you until you’re both dizzy, brushing his tongue against yours, matching your intensity head-on. Everything is intoxicating, the sweet scent of your perfume, the softness under his hands, the way your face feels like it’s on fire as his hand remains cupping your cheek. Steve is so in love he could faint, so he breathes you in as he kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck and just below your ear until the two of you pull back. Soaked in rain, without a care in the world.

“Does this mean you’re my boyfriend?” You ask him softly, stepping impossibly closer to him.

Steve smiles proudly, heart soaring. “Yes it does, I’m yours.”

“I want to kiss you again.” You confess after a minute, blinking away that raindrops that have gathered in your eyelashes and smiling at him. “But I’m cold.”

Steve laughs when you frown and pulls you closer to him. “Yeah, we should probably get out of the rain.”

----

thank you for reading! reblogs are really appreciated and so is any feedback 💖

(I also wrote this tiny insight to grumpy reader’s feelings here )

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington x you #steve x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst

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w2soneshots · 3 months ago

Text

Two becomes three -George clarkey

words: 2.4k+

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, sickness, worrying, birth.

summary: you and your husband George’s journey to unexpectedly becoming parents along with your social media posts during your pregnancy.

notes: hello my loves! Here’s the request. I love writing fluffy fics like this🥹. I hope you all enjoy this extra long one shot!!🧸🎀🤍 (please lmk what you think!)

Liked by wroetoshaw, mollymae and 934,125 others

y/username: baby has entered the chat @georgeclarkeey

-comments-

chrismd10: congratulations guys❤️

faithloisak: how cute!! So happy for you two🥹✨

max_balegdae: ahhhhhhhhh

y/nfanpage21: there's no fucking way!!🙊

user27549810: the random George jump-scare at the end lol

user60286430: didn't they just get married like five seconds ago?😅

I met my now husband George four years ago. He followed me on instagram, I followed him back and not long after that we were dating. Last year he proposed and just under a month ago we had our wedding, which was beautiful and only had our closet friends and family.

An hour ago I took a pregnancy test. I was only a day late on my period but I took it just in case. I could hardly believe it when I saw two lines and it was so faint that I convinced myself I was seeing things so I decided to sleep on it and then tell George when I knew for sure.

But I just couldn't keep it a secret. I blurted out, "George, I think pregnant." As soon as he walked through the front door after his shoot with Arthur tv. He was baffled. "You- woah- you think?" I nodded. He took a moment to process what I just said. "And you took a test?" He finally asked. "Yeah, the lines were really faint though. I was gonna wait until tomorrow to tell you but- it just came out."

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I let out a soft sigh of relief. "If you are then I'll be so happy," he whispered into my hair. I smiled, though he couldn't see me. "I'm so overwhelmed," I mumbled. His hand made its way up to my hair and he gently ran it over my scalp, silently reassuring me.

That night everything felt so strange. You're supposed to take the tests in the morning anyway for the most accurate results so we were just waiting and trying not to get our hopes up in case it wasn't positive.

The next morning I woke to an empty bed. I reached for my phone and then read the text George had sent me just ten minutes ago; "gone to buy more tests, hopefully I'll be back before you're awake x" I sighed softly then got up.

As I was brushing my teeth the front door clicked open and soon George was walking into the ensuite. He smiled softly as he wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, looking at me through the mirror. "Ready, love?"

"You look. I can't." I quickly passed the upside down test to George as we sat on the end of our bed. Just seconds before, the alarm on my phone rung but I couldn't bring myself to look at the test.

He took it and flipped it over. A wide smile spread across his face as an excited chuckle escaped his mouth. "Seriously?" I asked, shocked. "Y- yeah, you're pregnant!" He shot up of the bed. I giggled. "I'm gonna be a dad!" He pulled me up and into a bone crushing hug.

The next two months weren't very fun. At the beginning we were both so ecstatic. Then the morning sickness hit. I could barely eat, sleep and it was becoming impossible to make up excuses for why I couldn't go out.

George was like my rock through the entire ordeal. He was by my side every time I had to run to the bathroom, he held me and gently stroked my back as I tried to get some sleep, he pleaded with the doctor when we went for my first appointment hoping there was something, anything they could do and he let me ramble on about how I just wanted to feel normal again.

Slowly our friends figured it out and offered their help. The girls put together a basket and Faith made sure to include everything that helped her through her first trimester, Chris came round to keep me company while George had to go and film something for a brand deal and George's sister sat with me as we online shopped since I couldn't really go out.

When the sickness slowly started to ease off everyone was so relieved, George especially because he hated seeing me constantly upset. I was finally able to enjoy pregnancy, announce it on instagram and suddenly the last few months were erased from my mind.

Liked by faithloisak, arthurtv and 513,290 others

y/username: love, hate relationship with the heat

-comments-

taliamar: you're glowing babe!!💞

-> y/username: 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

georgeclarkeey: 🐊

y/nfanpage21: the puppy🥹

user85299106: this is adorable

At twenty two weeks we went on our little baby moon. I spent twelve days relaxing in the sun while George fussed about suncream and making sure I was in the shade. Since becoming pregnant he's been much more protective, which I don't mind since it's never overbearing. He's just trying to help in anyway possible.

"Good morning sleepy head." George greeted me quietly, sitting on the side of the bed next to my sleepy form and gently pushing the messy hair from my face. "Mornin'" I mumbled, shuffling slightly. He leaned down to press a soft kiss to my forehead before asking if I wanted some breakfast, to which I immediately nodded.

We left our little apartment after getting ready and walked hand in hand down the street towards the cute little outdoor café we'd spent quite a few mornings in the past week and a half.

"Thank you." I smiled at the young girl handing me my pancakes. "Will that be all?" She asked politely after placing George's breakfast in front of him. I nodded and she walked away.

"Mmm, I'm so glad I can actually enjoy food again," I said after swallowing a mouthful of food. George just stared at me. "What?" "I just love watching you." I chuckled. "That sounds a bit creepy babe."

When the day came that our baby moon was over I was sad to be leaving such a beautiful place that I'd made life long memories in but I was secretly very excited to be going home and getting back into normal life.

Liked by chrismd10, taliamar and 623,309 others

y/username: clearing out my camera roll✨

-comments-

arthurtv: fifth slide?😭

-> georgeclarkeey:🫃🏼🤰

faithloisak: stunning!!!

y/nfanpage21: you, the bump, the flowers, all so cute💝

user10479624: you're both going to be the best parents

The next few months were spent relaxing and preparing for the arrival of our baby, who we found out the sex of just after our baby moon. We had a little gender reveal at our apartment with our families and a few special friends. We decided on a cake, classic, cute and delicious.

"I can't tell!" George announced. I stood next to him, my hand holding the knife that was cutting through the cake. Both of us were trying to peek at the sponge but it wasn't until I pulled the slice out that we spotted the pink.

Immediately the room erupted into cheers. I placed it down on a plate along with the knife and I turned to my husband. Tears welled in my eyes and when he wrapped his arms around me and pulled my body off of the ground the commotion around us seemed to disappear and all I could focus on was us.

"We're having a girl," I whispered, as though I was trying to convince myself that this was actually real. He gently placed me down, his hands landing on my hips. "I knew it. Dad intuition goes crazy." I giggled before pushing onto my tip toes and placing a loving kiss to his lips.

After that day I was suddenly obsessed with buying baby clothes, what the nursery was going to look like and the realisation hit me that I was actually going to have to push a human being out of my body, though George was quick to reassure me about that.

"Baby's the size of a small pineapple this week," I informed George as we sat on the couch, my feet resting on his lap as he slowly massaged them through my socks. I turned my phone around so he could see the app that keeps track of the baby.

"That's huge." He muttered, eyes widening slightly. I chuckled. "When she's done cooking she'll be the size of a pumpkin." "Oh god, I'm sorry." My brows furrowed, an amused look on my face. "What are you apologising for?"

"You're gonna have to lug around a pumpkin sized baby," he replied, deadly serious. I just laughed, though I wasn't particularly looking forward to that.

The months flew by and suddenly I was actually carrying a pumpkin sized baby in my stomach. At thirty seven weeks my back constantly ached, I needed to pee every five minutes, I wasn't sleeping properly since I had a future gymnast kicking around in my stomach and all in all I was just uncomfortable.

Since I could now go into labour at any second George was watching me like a hawk. Every grimace when I felt an extra strong kick, every sigh and every time my hand touched my stomach he would sit upright and just wait for me to say something.

"I'm fine, George," I'd say. "Just checking," he'd reply and that interaction would repeat itself another one hundred times before the day ended.

"I won't go if you don't want me to, Chris can find someone else last minute," George whispered as we lay in bed, my back pressed against his chest as he gently drew circles on the side of my bump. "No, I'll be okay. It's only a few hours," I mumbled back, half asleep. "Okay, just promise you'll call me if anything happens?" "Promise."

He left early the next morning to film the football video for Chris' channel, meaning I woke up alone. I went about my routine like normal though it felt like it was taking me longer to do my usual things, like I was moving at snail pace, which was slightly strange but I brushed it off.

An hour later I lay on the couch scrolling through instagram when I felt a twinge in my lower stomach. My brows furrowed slightly. "That was weird," I thought but I continued to scroll.

Until I felt it again. This time I decided to keep my promise to George and phone him. It ring a few times before he picked up. "Everything okay? Is it the baby?" He said immediately in a rushed tone. "I'm not sure, I just feel... weird."

He took in a shaky breath. "I knew I shouldn't have come today! I'm coming home." "It's fine, I'm- we're fine. Calm down-" "no no, I'll be there in twenty minutes, love you." And with that he ended the call. I sighed, feeling slightly bad that he'd had to leave the shoot but also a little relieved.

Just under twenty minutes later he burst through our apartment door. I stood in the kitchen, hands on the countertop as I took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut. I heard his bags drop then the sound of his feet racing towards me.

"You said you just felt weird!" He placed his hand on the small of my back. I looked up at him as the pain subsided. "I did! It started getting worse after I called you."

George collected himself. "Okay okay, you're having contractions?" "Mhm, think so," I responded quietly. "How far apart?" "Like five minutes." He thought back to the birthing class we'd gone to last month. "I think we've got some time and the woman said the first kid always takes a while so let's not stress," he tried to reassure me and himself.

"I'll go get the bag, you just- uh... breathe." I chuckled softly, already calmer now that he was here. He emerged from our bedroom minutes later with the small suitcase in hand.

It took half a hour to get out of the door, drive to the hospital and get checked into a room. After that we could both relax.

The contractions weren't unbearable but I wanted the epidural as soon as possible. "Hmf-" I squeezed George's hand. "Another one?" He asked softly. All I could do was nod. "You're doing amazing sweetheart, so so good. I'm so proud of you."

Once I got the injection I felt like a million bucks. I couldn't feel the contractions, just a little bit of pressure. I sat in the bed happily as I ate my ice chips. Before I knew it, it was time to push.

Liked by sidemen, prettylittlething and 1,004,586 others

y/username: we've been in our little baby bubble this week but I wanted to officially introduce you to Maddie Clarke🤍👼🏼💫

-comments-

georgeclarkeey: my girls❤️

max_balegdae: yasss mother

taliamar: congratulations🥺💓

y/nfanpage21: I'M CRYING

user02781643: they're literally living the dream life omg!!

"She looks just like you," I said as I watched George's eyes fill with tears, his arms secured around his daughter, just ten minutes after she'd entered the world. He glanced down at me. "I love you so much, this is officially the best day of my life," he whispered. I smiled fondly and somehow I fell in love with George all over again, in a completely different way.

We spent a day and a half in the hospital before being discharged. It had been just me, George and the baby in a little room so it felt amazing to go home. I waddled after my husband as I watched him carry our newborn -who slept soundly in her car seat- out and toward the car. He strapped her in then helped me into the backseat.

"I get what people were taking about now," I said as he stared the engine. "Huh?" "I saw a video about the 'hot dad walk' out of the hospital and I totally get them." He chuckled, though he was cautious of the sleeping baby.

After a few days and once we were in somewhat of a routine his family came over to visit. His slightly younger sister was so excited and could barely keep quiet. "She's adorable. Oh my goodness, look at her little feet!" "Okay everyone, no touching until you've washed your hands!" He announced, pointing towards the kitchen sink.

I watched with a smile on my face as he fussed over whether Maddie's head was supported, it was extremely sweet how much he cared for and loved our daughter. I couldn't wait to watch as he became the best dad ever.

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 6 months ago

Note

imagine like reader being a detective or something, being on the case to catch Red Hood (while he’s still a crime boss)/ the Arkham Knight, but being in a relationship with Jason, unaware of his nightly business. And then boom, they find out one day and it’s all angsty 🤞🤞 love ur work btw hihi

Betrayal

Hi, nonnie! I thought I had this done earlier, but then I had to keep world building. Stuck with Red Hood on this one. Hurt/No comfort warning. Non-graphic, very minor character death. ~1.8k words

Gotham is cursed. That's what they told you when you transfered to the GCPD. Yeah, you've heard the stories, but they're just messing with you, right? Trying to scare the newest rookie cop.

Except they were telling the truth. A few years later, more cases than you can keep track of, enough masked rouges to fill arkham three times over, and a promotion to detective, you tell the rookies the same thing they told you. Gotham is cursed.

"Alright, Detective, this one is yours." You make a face at the case file the Commissioner drops on your desk.

"Sir, I took care of The Penguin robbery last week, isn't it someone elses turn to deal with the high profile cases?" You gingerly pick up the file, reading over the name Red Hood stamped on the front.

Gordan sighs at you, already turning away to move onto the next poor detective. "We cycled through everyone else after the Black Gate breakout. Anyone who didn't work on it has active cases. That makes this one yours."

You grumble reluctantly, cases like this lead to more press coverage than you want to deal with, but start flipping through the file, mentally noting down the sparse facts and theories about the up and coming crime lord.

That was four months ago. In such a short amount of time, Red Hood has taken over more territory in Gotham than any other crime lord and completely changed the game. No dealing to children, no human trafficking. You hate to acknowledge it, but crime technically has dropped since he took over the majority of gangs in Gotham under an iron fist.

The work is exhausting, he's always one– no, five steps ahead of you and your growing team of detectives and beat cops. You don't think you've even gotten a real glimpse at him that he didn't mean to let you have.

The closest you've gotten to Red Hood was out of uniform, weeks after you got the case, when he was still a new name on the streets.

It was a robbery, some desperate punk in a mask that didn't conceal anything, was dragging a little girl out of the store as a hostage.

"Take me instead, she's just a kid." You had protested, heart sinking at the terror in the little girls face.

"Not a chance." He barked back at you.

"Look, she's scared, she'll only slow you down."

The gunman stares at you, you see his fingers twitch. "Fuck it. Fine. Both of you are coming with me." That's how you ended up in some alley, familiar sirens wailing in the distance and your hand curled protectively with the child's.

"Shit. Man. Shit. The cops weren't supposed to be here. What am I gonna do? I can't go to jail." He's snapping. Rambling and desperate. Your eyes dart for some kind of plan, a way to help the little girl stay safe. But the alley is empty, not even a dumpster to seek shelter behind. "I just gotta get rid of the witnesses. Yeah. The witnesses."

Your eyes dart to him, he's lifting the gun. You don't hesitate to grab the little girl, wrapping your arms around her and turning your back to the man, tucking her to your chest to provide as much cover as you can provide.

A gun fires.

There's a thud.

You look over your shoulder, the girls face still hidden against you. He's not moving, gun unshot and laying next to him on the ground. There's a pool of dark liquid forming around him. You look up.

You manage to see a red glint, the shine of a gun, the eerie glow of a luminescent eyes. Red Hood.

That's all you manage to see before you're swarmed by cops, guiding you and the girl to safety.

It's a memory that plays in your mind sometimes, when you hear testimonies of how Red Hood saves people in crime alley, despite his crime lord status. It's confusing, exhausting even, to try and sort between the good and the bad, the duality of one man. At least you have your loving boyfriend to come home to.

Jason. He makes you feel like Gotham might not be so cursed. It's great, he gives you butterflies. He makes you happy. You cook meals together, and you both work the weird twilight/night shift hours. He holds you like you're precious under your shared comforter. You think you might love him. He whispers sweet nothings into your hair when he thinks you're sleeping. You kiss his palms when his eyes get that far away, haunted look he can’t seem to explain.

He's insisted on cooking dinner tonight as you watch him, a little starry eyed. You can't really blame yourself when he's shirtless and working over your favorite meal.

"Oh, Jason, I need to wash my clothes. Do you need anything done?" You ask, finally remembering that you do actually have a job and responsibilities and you can't stare at your handsome boyfriend all day.

"No, I'm good, baby. Go ahead and do your thing. Dinner's almost done." He answers idly, shooting you a lazy grin as you stand.

You smile back before leaving the kitchen to gather your clothes. As you dump the dirty laundry in the washer, you realize you never refilled the detergent. Mumbling an annoyed curse, you head to the spare bedroom you rarely use. There should be some extra necessities stock piled in there. You know, for the next time a criminal messes with Gothams chain supply.

You're more focused on the delicious smells floating through the apartment as you open the closet door, idly looking around for the detergent. That's why it doesn't really click in your mind what you're looking at. Guns. Armor. Your thoughts freeze to a stop. Are you dating some kind of henchman? A bright red helmet takes up your vision. Nope. You're dating a crime boss.

The helmet is in your hands and you're fumbling your way to the kitchen before you even have your thoughts sorted. Should you call for back up? Shouldn't you try to catch him by surprise? Sure. But, you need answers. You want this to be a misunderstanding. You want Jason to be your partner– not– not what the evidence that's heavy in your hand says he is.

Statistics run through your mind. Stories of Red Hood saving working girls. Stories of him leaving bodies of dealers that sold to kids. Then, memories of your boyfriend. How he leans down to kiss your forehead. How runs his hand up and down your arm while you watch movies together. If there was a sign. If you were too blind and in love to realize.

He turns to look at you when you stalk in. You throw the helmet at him. The helmet you'd recognize anywhere, even if you've never gotten close enough to touch it before. He catches it with the grace of a predator. "The hell is this, Jason?"

"It's a helmet." He says evenly, turning off the stove and placing the helmet down on the counter.

"No, duh, it's a helmet, Jason. Don't patronize me. Is it yours?" You nearly hiss, hands curling in anger and frustration and heart break you're not ready to admit you're feeling.

He studies you, eyes dark and calculating. It makes you bite the inside of you cheek. His eyes never looked at you like that before. "It is."

You laugh out of disbelief, stepping back. "So you've been using me? Is that what all this was? Just a way to get information about the GCPD and what we had on you?"

"What? No." He says your name a little pleading, "it's not like that. Not anymore."

"But it was." You bite out, cursing yourself for the sting of tears in your eyes.

He steps closer, you step back, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He whispers your name, and you think you see hurt flash in his eyes before it disappears. His voice goes steady, even. "It was. But I haven't tried to get anything like that since–"

"Since when, Jason?" You cut off, anger and hurt clear in your voice, in your face. "Was it before we raided the warehouse at the docks? Is my computer bugged? Did you hack my phone?"

He winces. You don't need to be a detective to know he has. "I haven't used them since we started getting serious."

"And when was that, Jason?" You ask, voice breaking at his name. "Because it's been serious this entire time for me."

He doesn't answer at first, gaze leaving you to stare at his helmet. "Since I– I saw you save that kid. Instead of going after that shooter. When I realized you weren't just another one of the corrupted cops. That you care about this city. And the people. I realized I couldn't keep doing that to you."

You go quiet. What can you say to that? "Were you ever going to tell me?" You settle on.

"I don't know." He shrugs helplessly, eyes leaving the helmet to meet your teary gaze. "I didn't know how. I don't– think I wanted you to know. " He stutters over his last sentence, and then says your name, pleading coming back to his tone. "I can't lose you over this."

"You never had me!" Your voice raises, a shout in anger before you can bury it down. You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively and lowering your voice. "You never had me if everything this was was built on a lie."

"It's not a lie." He says firmly, snapping to attention and stepping towards you. He gestures between the two of you, says your name like he demands your attention. "This is not a lie."

"It is, Jason! You're only here to gain something from me! From my job!" You push back, throat tight and head spinning. Maybe you shouldn't be yelling at Gothams most dangerous and deadliest crime boss, but your heart is too broken for your head to think straight.

"No, pretty." You think he's pleading. You think his mouth might even be trembling as he speaks, but you can't make it out through the tears in your eyes. "No. It was like that at first. I know. I know that hurts you, but, it's not like that now. It's nowhere near that now."

"I don't care." You choke out.

"You don't mean that." Jason protests, but he doesn't sound certain.

"I don't want to see you anymore." You say the words before you're even sure you want that.

His face drops. "You don't mean that either."

"I do." It tastes like a lie. It sounds like the truth. You're turning and leaving before he can speak again, before you can unpack what you really want, locking yourself in the bathroom.

You fall asleep to the sound of your own tears, curled on the cold tile floor. You wake to silence. His helmet is gone from your counter when you enter the kitchen.

Your favorite dinner is wrapped in plastic when you open the fridge.

It makes the truth of it all worse. Gotham really is cursed.

Part Two

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #hurt/no comfort

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s-4pphics · 1 year ago

Text

click! 1 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a reputation :p, they’re both rude as shit, crack, all ocs are black coded yeeahhh yeah, awkward meetings, slut-shaming, brief cunninglingus, mention of eviction, smut later yall know tha vibes

two. three. four.

A/N: short part just stay w me lemme cook... excited 2 write this lets get this shit yall

“W-What do you mean you’re moving?”

Your roommate and best friend wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling you close. Tears flooded in your eyes as she whispered the daunting news, your heart cracking in your chest.

“I’m moving soon, stink.” Too soon, according to her. She’ll be gone by next week. Amaya snickered sadly as she cooed in your temple. “It's for good reason, though.”

Your ears perk, a curious hum vibrating her shoulder.

“I got that internship— “

All sadness melds into excitement for your favorite person. You leap into her arms with squeals of congratulatory joy, planting smacking kisses all over her squishy cheek.

“Oh my god! You should’ve said that first, bitch! What the fuck!” You wipe your tears on her hoodie.

Her laughter rattles through your neck, “I just found out after class! I almost got hit by a fucking bus reading the email.”

Amaya sets you down, rambles about her new position as a songwriting intern spilling from her like an overfilled glass. Tears of joy flow from you and her as she retells every detail about her acceptance. She’s leaving in a week and a half and going farther than you thought.

“Girl… you’re really moving to New York?”

“Only for like… four months, max. But yeah… Boutta be on BET come next year— “

“Maya.”

“Hm?”

“… I can’t pay rent by myself,” you whisper, cringing and embarrassed.

You hate to ruin her moment, but you’re concerned; Living off campus isn’t cheap and moving in the middle of the semester is less than ideal. It’d be a fucking hassle, and — to be frank — you’re not a people person.

People like having you around because you’re fun, sure. But your reputation isn’t what you hoped for it to be when you moved out of your dad’s place for school. You wanted to be recognized for your creativity, and while your professors never hesitated to praise your talents, your peers failed to see past the status that was placed upon you.

Frankly, you’re deemed as a dumb whore, especially after your falling out with one of the campuses best softball pitchers.

It wasn’t even your fault. One raunchy snap to the wrong person and people think you live for sex and sex only! Just when you think everyone is over slut-shaming…

“You thought I was gonna leave you to fend for yourself? Guess what I did.”

Oh God. “What?”

She twiddles her fingers together villainously, “I may or may not have set up an application on the student homepage— “

The small glimmer of hope washes away, shoulders dropping, fingers coming up to massage your temples.

“Maya…” You exhale, trying to keep calm, “You know those things don’t fucking work!”

Roommate compatibility is a fucking scam. No one ever notes how they actually are in the application. You think you’ve found someone that’s clean, quiet, stays out of your space without permission and the next day you find dead roaches under your couch. College attendees have no idea what bleach is and it makes you sick.

“Damn… you’re usually optimistic.”

“I’m optimistic about good ideas. I’m gonna be living with a fucking freak from Craigslist, thanks a lot.”

“C’mooon! You’ll be fine, babe, trust me.” Amaya wraps her arms around your neck once more, wetly smacking your cheek before turning to paddle to her room. “Plus, you’ll meet someone new!”

When you don't follow, she spins. She must’ve noticed your impassiveness, poutingly asking to help me pack? Tears overwhelm your ducts once more, quietly taking her extended hand as she leads you to her bedroom.

DAY ONE of roommate searching began, and you were already prepared to move back in with your dad. Amaya had enough time to orchestrate the housing agreement with you, making sure to highlight some of your most important characteristics in a roommate. One of the main ones being cleanliness. Some form of organization.

DAY TWO was easier… Someone finally made it to the in-person interview stage. They didn’t make it far, though; They wouldn’t stop smacking their gum and it drove you crazy. Back to square one.

DAY SIX came around and you were losing hope; Why are frat boys applying to live with you? You’d rather jump into oncoming traffic than house with any of Abby’s annoying, dirty friends. You've seen their house on numerous occasions and it never fails to make your skin crawl.

It’s DAY THIRTEEN, and Amaya’s gone. After the sobbing fit with your best friend at the airport earlier, you got back to work.

DENY REQUEST.

…

DENY REQUEST.

…

DENY REQUEST.

You sigh in exhaustion and lean back in your chair. If you don't take a break from your screen in the next five seconds, your eyes will bleed.

Why are people… so odd?

The number of applications you’ve had to deny in the last week is criminal; Why are cis-het men continuously filling out applications knowing they’re not welcome in your space?!

Even the people that made it to the in-person interview stage are incapable of being… not strange. You’d rather die than live with someone who collects dead maggots in mason jars (yes, you did almost call the police when they described their fascination with death in depth)!

All you need is one fruitful application with an identity to match! Just one.

Amaya still calls from New York whenever she has a moment of peace to see how the roomie-search is going, but you can’t ignore the sadness that fills your heart every time she misses a call. Her laughter is gone, and your day-to-day life feels empty.

They’re already working your bestie to the bone; You hope she can feel your encouragement from thousands of miles away.

You scroll and click, scroll and click, scroll and deny deny deny until you pause, your eyes skimming over the application with a familiar name.

ELLIE WILLIAMS.

Ellie from stats, you instantly recognize. Curiosity perks and your brows furrow, sipping lukewarm tea as you skim over her contact information, her pet preferences, all the way down to her additional commentary. A snicker left at her blunt statement.

temporary request. my last roommate moved and i’m poor. just waiting on this job approval.

… Ellie in a nutshell. How relatable.

At least she’s not a complete stranger. Every interaction with her stirs in your mind as you jot her number down on a lone sticky-note. They were nothing special from your perspective: the two of you exchanging notes, her holding the door open as everyone scurried out of class, you asking for a pencil (and her asking for it back after the lecture), and you can’t help but wonder why she would want to apply to share a space with anyone, let alone you.

She's only ever been described as standoffish by your peers. From the outside, Ellie’s blank. Flat tone, flat expression, plain appearance, and the fact that you never know what she’s thinking is unsettling. You’re thrown off your game whenever she’s near and you hate it.

But the spot is temporary; Amaya will be back in a couple of months, and it seems Ellie’s leaving sometime soon by her small note.

You down the rest of your tea and stretch where you sit, pondering. Trying to imagine Ellie in your space.

“I don’t know why I can’t take Maya’s spot. I’d make an excellent roommate.”

Your expression flattens, glare piercing through your good friend.

Abby scoffs, “C’mooon! I mind my business...” She pauses, leaning across the table, nearly knocking your coffee over. Her whispers send a shock down your spine, “…and I give good head. I’m a package deal.”

A brow raises. Abby’s sweeter than candy and she puts it down, but you already made the mistake of living with someone you fucked before, and you vowed to never do it again. If Amaya hadn’t given you a place to stay after the blow up between you and your ball-throwing sneaky link, you’re not sure where you'd be. Definitely not a student; The stress would’ve forced you to collapse. And drop out.

“Sorry, stink. Not happening.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever.” She takes a sip from her drink, “Can’t believe you’d let that freak in before me.”

You pause. “You’re a freak, too— “

“I’m the good kind!” She searches like someone’s watching her, voice dropping to a whisper, “Ellie’s fucking weird, dude. When’s the last time you’ve seen her interact with anyone? A literal fucking NPC. All she’s programmed to do is stand and look.”

“And give out pencils,” You interject with a snicker, “Who cares. I don’t like most of the idiots here, either. I barely put up with your ass.”

Abby raises her glove-covered palms in surrender, “Fuck it. When I see an alert about a missing student, I’ll know who it is.”

“You’re so fucking extra— “

DING!

Your neck cranes towards the opening cafe door, shock surging through your body at the sight of the NPC in question. Ellie silently stands at the back of the line, headphones secured on her head and nose red from the cold, classically bored expression plastered on her face.

“Oh, this is hilarious,” Abby huffs, “Go greet your new housemate.”

Another glare is sent in her direction, “Can you shut up? Her name’s not on any lease. I barely talked to her.”

“Do it now, then. Triple dog dare you.” Abby smirks behind her cup.

You sigh and raise from your seat, “You’re a cunt.”

“The wettest. Go.”

You flick her forehead before making your way over to Ellie, who’s mindlessly scrolling through her phone. Her sniffles get louder with each step you take, metal music blasting through her speakers.

You tap her shoulder and she jumps, sliding one of her ear cups over to hear.

“Hey, Ellie,” you smile politely.

“… Sup,” she mutters hoarsely, turning her body towards you, eyes filled with… nothing. Expected.

Silence passes, and you fill it, “I got your app yesterday. Just wanted to come and introduce myself.”

“Alright.”

More silence. You can see Abby out the corner of your eye, mockingly swiping her tongue between her index and middle finger. You flush and stutter, and Ellie’s staring like you have two heads.

“I, uh… yeah. I’ve been having interviews with some people that submitted a form. You free sometime this week?”

“Uhh…” She glances down at her phone. “Yeah. Around five tomorrow.”

More silence. Fuck, this is awkward.

“… Cool.” You pull your phone out and text her saved number, the alarm ringing from her phone. “That’s me. Just call before you stop by.”

She nods and turns her back to you, cranking her music to full volume. You gawkily shuffle where you stand before hustling back to your table, Abby cackling to herself. You plop down and kick her under the table, but she laughs harder.

“What’d I say!”

“Not a thing,” You hiss, “She’s just a little awkward. It’s not that serious.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Oh yeah what.”

“She’s definitely your fucking housemate.” She tsks in disappointment before a smirk appears, her eyes darkening. “Can I eat it one last time before she moves in?”

A jolt surges in your tummy, your hand closing into a fist. You kick her again and she giggles.

Time passes as you and Abby’s conversation carries on like normal. Another ding rings through the coffee shop after some time, and you watch Ellie’s backpack bounce as she rushes down the sidewalk; Abby’s rambles about a soccer player she’s trying to smash sound like gibberish.

Ellie has a Spider-Man charm and laminated polaroid latched onto her zipper.

… Cute.

You’re going to fail statistics over a random.

Your professor’s voice sounds like white noise; Every pause she takes is used as an opportunity to sneak glances at Ellie. None of your notes are useful; The doodles and sloppy scribbles are solidifying that incoming F, for sure. Only fifteen minutes until you’re out of here.

She’s two seats down from you, jotting down whatever she deems necessary for the midterm. You didn’t even register her answering the professor’s question, her rosy lips curving around her teeth with each syllable.

Ellie blinks slowly, twice, three times before her eyes lock with yours, brows furrowed, evidently confused at your gawking.

Your stomach drops with your gaze, fingers curled tightly around your pencil.

The lecture finally comes to a close as your thoughts flurry, wordlessly shoving your books into your bag. A light tap on your shoulder yanks your attention.

Ellie stands before you, puffer cinched under the bands of her backpack and cheeks just as rosy as before.

“Hey. Can we switch the time?”

“Huh?” Don’t stare, don’t stare.

She sighs, “The time for the interview. Can we change it?”

You blink dumbly, “Uh… sure. To what time?”

Agitation creases her brows. “Now. Something came up and I can’t miss it.” She pauses, eyes flicking awkwardly around the room, weakly adding, “If that’s okay.”

“Um… yeah, no problem…” You peer at the clock on the wall, “You want a coffee?”

A slight wince from her. “… Yup.”

She clearly doesn’t by the way her fingers are anxiously tapping on her thigh, but you nod nonetheless, hurriedly grabbing your belongings and leading her down to the student lounge.

“I don’t want you thinking this interview is one-sided,” You pray your gentle smile is calming the evident nerves of the freckled girl. “You can ask me anything you want, as well. If you have any concerns, any questions, shoot.”

Ellie’s eyes are glued to her coffee cup, but her head bobs, expression void. Silence simmers between you.

“I usually start these off with an icebreaker to get the jitters out! Just list three facts about yourself and I’ll follow.”

Ellie’s lone hand comes up to scratch underneath her ear before meeting your gaze. Her eyes are so pretty; Too bad there’s nothing behind them.

“Or I can go, sure, so!” Your hands clap together, “I’ll start with myself. I’m majoring in graphic design, I’m secretly a theater nerd, and I dream about owning an eggplant farm.”

The girl before you clearly didn't expect that last statement. Her brows crease and the corner of her lip arches upward in a barely-there smile. Foreign to her face.

“That’s not a fact,” She mutters, the shell in her pupils cracking. Just slightly.

“Who cares, I love eggplant. Best vegetable by a landslide.”

“Sike.”

You scoff in disbelief, “What?”

“Everybody on the planet knows that squash is god-tier— “

You squint, “Squash? Are you deadass?”

“It’s fucking versatile!” Ellie’s voice pitches higher, and your grin widens, “You can put it in everything and you don’t have to do much. Eggplant sucks up everything in the pan and still comes out soggy and tasteless— “

Choked laughter leaves your mouth, “If you don’t know how to cook, just say that.”

Her mouth drops in exaggerated shock. “I know how to fuckin’ cook.”

“Right.”

“I do, what the he— “

“Fun fact about Ellie: she can’t cook!” You kiddingly sneer. She chuckles and shakes her head, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. You almost miss her statement, “I take pictures.”

“Hm?”

“I wanna be a professional photographer... At some point. I take pic— “

Ellie’s phone vibrates on the table and she leaps into action, snatching her bag from beside her and standing from her seat.

“Wait— “

“I gotta go,” She mutters as she straps her bag around her shoulders. “Sorry. See you later.”

Ellie throws some bills on the table before dipping, her phone pressed against her ear, rambling about making time. She barely touched her coffee.

Could’ve been worse, you utter to yourself.

Days pass, and you don’t hear from Ellie.

When you saw her in stats two days after the interview, she hardly acknowledged you, morphing into the hermit that you knew her to be. You noted how tired she looked, though. You would’ve asked if she were okay if she hadn’t run out of class without a word.

You’re weighing your options: allowing a random oddball into your apartment, or allowing a random oddball who hates eggplant into your apartment. Rent is due next week, and Amaya’s space is still vacant.

At this point, the roster is almost nonexistent, and Ellie was the least concerning candidate. Despite Abby’s concern, she doesn’t seem like the type of person to bury dead bodies in the front lawn.

“I dunno, friend. She’s a little weird. Getting mad incel vibes from her.”

Your eyes roll back into your skull as you munch on cashews, “You’re getting vibes from someone you never talked to. She seemed cool at the interview.”

“Yeah, 'cause vegetable debates are so note-worthy,” Amaya scoffs.

She’s starting to sound a little too much like Abby, “I think y’all are forgetting that this is a temporary solution. I’m not tryna spend the rest of my fucking life with her! I need rent paid and she needs a place to stay for a few months.”

Your best friend’s sigh drags through the line, “Alright… It seems like you made up your mind.”

“Like I said, rent is due. I don’t have many options.”

“Stop stressing. You found my replacement, apparently.”

She pauses before hollering, “BITCH, IT’S SATURDAY! WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU INSIDE? WHERE’S ABBY?”

“Out smashing soccer players.” You huff.

“Damn… My fault.”

“I’m chilling. I just need head.”

“Go out! Find somebody!”

You groan, “Then I’ll have to shave— “

“Nair exists, you bonehead! Just go! You keep calling in a bad mood and it’s getting on my nerves!”

You ponder and glance at your digital clock. It’s not even ten… Abby did tell you that Kappa was throwing.

“I can hear the engines turning in your big head. Bye.”

Laughter explodes from you at the dial tone.

“Hey, Siri… call Abby.”

“CALLING ABBY BIG DICK SLUT— “

Tonight has been a blur since you left your apartment.

You remember making it halfway through Blam Boom before your speaker died, downing your last couple of shots of 1800, and Ubering to the location Abby pinged.

It only took a few minutes for her to scoop you up onto the packed kitchen counter and shove her tongue in your mouth. One shout of I’m horny from you and she was yours for the rest of the night.

Now you’re pressed up against some bathroom sink upstairs, Abby’s head shaking between your legs, your jeans and underwear flung onto the shower rail. Each flick of her tongue is both clumsy and precise, applying pressure exactly where you need it.

Your clit’s throbbing under her tongue, the muscle igniting the flame in your tummy as your climax builds, zaps in your spine. Cries of her name meld with the booming music from outside, the walls rattling like nerves in your toes.

Abby’s gorgeous under you, you know it, the drunk part of your brain knows it, your desperate cunt knows it, but you’re no longer thinking about her compared to earlier. Your mind is elsewhere, somewhere it shouldn’t be.

You’re thinking of freckles. Green eyes instead of blue. Chapped, rosy lips, and you don’t know why. But you succumb to it. Ellie’s trapped underneath your eyelids, crowding your senses, your empty head suddenly full of images of her in any way you could conjure.

Your orgasm shatters you, but you’re silent, trembling hand glued over your mouth as Abby groans in your cunt. She’s a doll, easing you back down to earth, dragging your underwear and pants up your shaky legs and getting you back home safely.

When you’re showered and your teeth are brushed, she tucks you in, gently kissing your forehead. You beg her to stay with you, but she declines with I know how you get before silently departing.

Your phone is squeezed between your fingers after minutes of trying to sleep, eyeing Ellie’s saved contact until darkness overtakes you.

The pounding on your door is worse than the ones from inside your skull. Fuck Tequila, from the bottom of your heart. Waves of nausea crash over you with every waddle, hobbling your hunched form over to yank the front door open.

A bored Ellie stands in front of you, a large camera and headphones hanging from her neck, seemingly cozy in her sweater and puffer, large duffel bags packed to the brim with clothes dangling from her shoulders. Your cheeks warm instantly. Gray sweats, gray sweats—

“I’m here,” She states plainly.

“… Why?” You croak.

Ellie’s seems just as confused as you, her eyes piercing as if her appearance is obvious.

“To move in.”

“… Why?”

Ellie sighs and snags her phone from her jacket pocket, swiping a few times before nearly blinding you with her screen.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor. When the fuck did you send that?

“So, I’m here,” she slips her device back in her pocket. “Which room am I in?”

“E-Ellie, uh… there's been a mis— “

“Look,” she holds her pale, veiny hands up. “I don’t wanna beat around the bush anymore. I got evicted and I need a place to stay until I secure this job. I’m willing to put down whatever’s needed for rent but I don’t have time to bullshit.”

Ellie proceeds, sarcasm slipping, “Respectfully.”

She pushes past your stunned form, bags accidentally brushing against your bare legs. You can't even move to stop her; You merely watch Ellie shuffle to inspect the living room, the small kitchen, pausing in front of the abstract painting you made for your dad before eventually moving down the hall and into Amaya’s empty space. How the fuck did she get in the building, anyway?

Your deer-like eyes lock with her void, mossy ones as she peers over her shoulder.

“I still have some stuff to pick up. Please leave my key under the mat if you go somewhere.”

Before she enters the empty room next to yours, you hear her gruffly say, “Leave the lease on the table so I can sign it, too.”

Amaya’s — Ellie’s door slams shut seconds later, the soft click of the door locking follows suit.

…

What the fuck just happened. Gall almost surpasses your anger. The audacity...

For the first time, you’re grateful that your shift is in two hours. You need to get the fuck out of here before you cause a scene and catch a case.

tagggiiiesss missed yall ;3 : @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane

#ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #lesbian #black!oc #black!reader #ellie williams tlou #works 𖧧࣪#click! ☾⋆⁺₊📸✧

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gretavangroupie · 7 months ago

Text

Imber

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x Reader

Word Count: 21.5k

Warnings: Camping Jake, Cursing, Alcohol, Arguing, Pining, Angst, Severe Weather, Kissing, Graphic Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Fluff.

A/N: I had a thought and couldn't let it go. Special thanks to @gretavanmoon and @builtbybrokenbells for always supporting me and listening to my rambling voice memos. Love you both.

You watch as the familiar white Jeep pulls into your driveway, a cloud of dust filling the air as the car shifts into park. It’s only seconds before Clara is bounding out of the passenger door, running up to meet you on your porch.

“Clara…” you say, a suspicious look on your face.

“Josh said he wanted to tag along since he’s home…I couldn’t say no! Don’t be mad!” she whines nervously, knowing good and well this was supposed to be a girls weekend.

You squint your eyes at her and let out a faux huff of annoyance, “It’s fine,” you say, sending her a playful smile.

“Are you sure?” she asks, bending down to help you grab your camping supplies.

“Of course, Clara. I was just kidding around. You know I love Josh, and I know you hardly ever get to do stuff like this together. In fact, if you two want to just go, I can stay–”

“No way. You’re absolutely coming! Don’t start!” she shouts, slinging your duffle bag over her shoulder. “Let’s get you loaded up and on the road.”

The two of you spend the next few minutes organizing your things into the trunk, tetrising a few items until the trunk door would shut. You climb into the backseat, taking up residence next to the cooler packed with food for the weekend.

“Hi Y/N! Thanks for letting me crash your camping trip!” Josh says, turning around in the driver's seat to flash you a smile.

“Of course! I mean, if I knew that you were going to be home we could have planned like, a whole thing. It’s really no big deal. The more the merrier!” you answer, feeling Clara’s hand reach back to squeeze yours in thanks.

“Just a little break, only three weeks or so then we are back to it. Germany next,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at you in the rearview mirror.

You listen to him and Clara talk about the next leg of his tour, seeing the city start to taper off outside the car window. The trees are growing thick and the signs of humanity are next to none.

“So where exactly are we going on this camping adventure, Clara?” you laugh, never really discussing a location in your earlier planning.

“We’re going out to Leiper’s Fork, have you ever been there?” Josh answers.

“No, but I’ve heard of it!”

“Yeah, it’s a super cool little spot. Super secluded and gorgeous this time of year. Been out here a few times,” he says, letting his hand move to rest on Clara’s thigh.

“How did you even find this? I feel like we are in the middle of nowhere!” you laugh, letting your eyes focus on the multicolored trees out the window.

“Oh this is Jake’s spot. He’s always out here. Likes to come out here to write,” he pauses, turning to look at Clara. You can sense the nervous energy in his voice, “He’s um, he’s actually going to be joining us.”

“Oh?”

You feel a rush of panic wash over you. To say that your relationship with Jake was a bit rocky would be an understatement. You weren’t sure if there was ever really one thing that started it, one thing that made him dislike you so much, it just kind of evolved into what it is. You always seemed to find yourself in the same room as him, at the same parties with him, and attending the same shows, thanks to Josh and Clara. Though, neither of you ever bothered to speak to each other, let alone acknowledge the other's existence. It turned into an unspoken feud, filled with harsh whispers and judgemental glances, letting Josh and Clara be the buffer between the two of you.

The thought of him joining you this weekend had you wishing you never agreed to the trip in the first place, and you know that they waited until you were this far out of town to break the news to you.

“It will be fine babe, don’t worry. He will keep to himself like usual,” Clara says, sending you a guilty look.

“Clara…”

“She’s right. He is different when we come out here. He might even be nice, who knows,” Josh laughs. It eases your anxiety just enough and you find yourself agreeing to this set up.

“Alright, it’s fine. I mean, it’s only two days anyway.”

–

The three of you spend most of the afternoon setting up your tents, wrestling the skinny fiberglass poles through the brightly colored fabric in fits of laughter. You took up shop beneath an old Oak tree, hoping it would provide a bit of shelter from the sun and the wind. Clara and Josh set up their tent just across from you, closer to the car and the fire pit.

You organized your things in your tent, listening as Josh got chairs set up around the fire pit. He and Clara pulled the cooler from the car, tossing you a beer and as the sun started to dip in the sky, you talked about dinner and made plans for tomorrow's adventures.

It was nearly sunset before you heard the rumble of tires as Jake’s Jeep pulled up to the campsite. You all snap your heads in his direction, seeing him jump out of the drivers side with a smirk on his lips.

“Glad you could join us,” Josh teases.

“Can’t rush these things,” he counters, nodding his head to Clara as a hello. His eyes flick over you and you watch as the expression on his face changes. His jaw tightens and his lips flatten into a thin line. A grumble of something leaves his lips in a whisper, and you don’t even have to hear it to know what he said wasn't pleasant.

You look away quickly, turning your attention back to the vegetables you were cutting up for dinner. He turns back towards his car, gathering his things from the trunk as he continues to gripe incoherently.

You focus on Josh and Clara, who are working on their own dinners, trying to keep the conversation flowing and ease the obvious tension.

Jake tosses his things to the ground, preparing to set up his tent next to yours. You don’t dare tell him that it’s yours, and he doesn't dare ask. You continue to fill the tin foil with vegetables and meat, letting them marinate just long enough to get the fire started.

“Jake, let’s go,” Josh says, motioning him over towards him.

“Go where,” he asks.

“Need to gather firewood and I’m not making Clara carry it,” he says. Jake nods and gets up, jogging over to meet him. The two of them disappear into the thick woods, leaving you and Clara by yourselves at the campsite.

“This is going just great, wouldn’t you say?” you taunt, elbowing Clara from your camp chair. Her gaze is completely fixed on her phone, her eyes frantically flicking around the screen.

“Hello? Earth to Clara?” you continue, still unable to break her away from her phone.

She gets up and walks around, holding her phone to the sky in hopes of strengthening her signal.

“What's up, is everything okay?” you shout, starting to feel a little nervous.

“Yeah, um, it’s fine. I think? I don’t know. I just got a weird text from my sister, and now I don’t have any service,” she says, biting at her bottom lip.

“You can use mine if you want, I don’t know if my service is any better though. We are kinda in the middle of nowhere.”

“It’s– It’s fine. I think,” she says, sitting back down in her chair next to you.

“Anyway, what were you saying? Sorry, I suck,” she says, turning to look at you apologetically.

Just as you go to speak you hear the crunching of leaves and sticks, and see the shadowy figure of the two men returning with an arm full of firewood.

“Well, nothing now,” you laugh, motioning to Josh and Jake.

“Oh, okay, later?” she asks, hoping you will fill her in.

“Yes, later,” you mumble.

Josh and Jake step up, tossing the wood into a pile next to the fire pit. “That should be enough for two days,” Josh says, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

Jake’s eyes meet yours, only for a second before storming off to his car. You shake it off and try to focus on Josh as he builds the fire in front of you, using an obnoxious amount of lighter fluid in the process.

“Clara he is going to light us all on–”

Her phone ringing interrupts you, grabbing her attention as she rushes to answer it. She stands up and walks away towards the car, and you watch as her demeanor shifts into panic. Your eyes meet Josh’s, both of you feeling uneasy about whatever is happening on that phone call. She rushes back over to you, her face fear stricken and her hands visibly shaking.

“Josh, we have to go! We have to go right now!” she shouts, frantically rushing around and grabbing things from inside their tent.

“What? Clara, what's going on?!” he asks, trying to calm her down.

“Ashton! She’s going into labor! She’s on her way to the hospital right now! She wasn’t due until next week! I don’t know, I don't know! But we have to go right now!” she says, pulling out of his grip and continuing to grab her things and throw them in the car.

“Oh shit! Okay, yes, yes we can go, um…” he pauses, looking over towards Jake at his tent and you sitting in the chair in front of him, “Fuck, um…Y/N, do you uh, want to come with us, or–”

“Shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I had no idea or I wouldn’t have– fuck, you should just… stay, enjoy the campsite and just relax. I’m so sorry I promise I will make this up to you!” Clara cries, her nervous energy transferring to you.

It’s mere seconds before her and Josh are jumping into his car and pulling out of the campsite, abandoning their tent, their dinner and the rest of their belongings.

Fuck.

You stand up from your chair, processing what exactly happened as you stare at the roaring fire.

“Where uh, where did they go?” Jake asks, appearing from his tent as he hears the car peeling out of the campsite.

You turn to look at him, shocked that he even spoke to you, while also realizing that now it’s just the two of you. Alone.

“They– Clara’s sister is having her baby. Early. They just…left– I–”

“Left?” he asks, “Like for good?”

“I…think so…” you answer, watching as he drags his hand across his face. The hem of his flannel lifts in the process revealing the tiniest peek at his tanned torso, so you quickly divert your eyes before he notices your staring.

“Of course,” he gripes, kicking at the pile of firewood. He mutters something under his breath and you feel a wave of embarrassment at the thought of him dreading being around you this much.

He huffs out a breath and turns to you, “Well, do you want to stay here or–”

“I mean, do you want to stay?” you question, shrugging your shoulders noncommittally.

“I have no issue with staying. I know you were only here for them, so if you want to leave I promise it’s not going to hurt my feelings. I’m used to being out here alone anyway,” he says, his tone a little clipped. “Prefer it.”

“Are you going to be mad if I do want to stay?” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You let your eyes meet his for a few seconds, both of you looking at each other as he thinks of his answer.

Again he rubs his hand over his face, shaking his head, “No, no I won’t be fucking mad– I just– Do you want to fucking stay, yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Okay. Then we’ll stay,” he says, lowering the sound of his voice. His eyes flick around your face for a few seconds before turning to look at the fire. You can tell he is agitated, but when is he not?

“Jesus, he always uses too much fluid,” he gripes, turning his attention to the flames. “Pyromaniac.”

“Well, I guess we can throw these on?” you say, picking up the tin foil packets.

“Yeah yeah, um, just set ‘em there,” he says, looking up to you from his crouched position next to the fire pit.

“Do you…want a drink or something?” you ask, feeling the awkwardness between you growing quickly. You can feel the hostility pouring off of him, and getting a drink seems to be you only escape plan.

“What’s in there?” he asks, looking over towards the cooler.

“Beer?” you pause, “I don’t know, Josh packed it.”

“Whatever’s in there is fine,” he says, tossing the foil packets onto the flames.

You make your way to the cooler, grabbing two icy cans and returning to your chair to see Jake sitting in the one on the opposite side of the fire pit. You hand the can to him, seeing a side smile pull across his lips as he nods his head in thanks.

“Got something stronger in the car if you want it,” he smirks, popping the tab on his can.

The small sliver of a smile nearly takes your breath away. “Oh, um, no this is good. Thank you though.”

It’s quiet between the two of you, both of you sipping at your beers as you watch the fire in front of you. You want to say something to him, start a conversation, maybe even chip away at his tough exterior, but you know that comes with risks. Risks you aren't willing to take while stranded in the woods for the next two days.

It’s him though, that strikes up a conversation, but it’s not to make small talk, it’s to get answers.

“Why do you even want to stay if Clara left?” he asks, bringing his can to his lips.

You take a second to think about it, “Well, because I bought all this camping stuff, mostly. I’ve been looking forward to this little trip. I like being in nature, and I don’t get to do it often enough. Going in the woods alone as a woman isn’t exactly the safest either. So yeah, it sucks they had to leave but I’d rather be here than back at my place staring at my camping supplies sitting at my front door.”

“No other reason?” he asks, lowering his voice a little as he pokes at the foil packs with a stick.

You shake your head slowly, “Not that I can think of, no.”

He scoffs and flips the packets over before sitting back in his chair. You can feel him judging you, and the silence as he snickers at you confirms it.

“Don’t be like that, Jake. You wanted to stay, too.”

“Yeah, but I come out here all the time. This is my damn spot,” he snaps.

“Well excuse me for intruding! I can call a fucking cab but I don’t think they will find me out here!”

“Jesus, relax,” he groans, “You know what? That's your problem. You’re too…you’re too uptight.”

“I’m uptight?!” you gasp, “What about you?! Mister, brooding misunderstood rockstar, can't stand to be in the same room as a person that doesn't fall at his feet and sing his praises,” you bark.

“No, see, that's where you’re wrong. I’m not brooding or misunderstood. The people that I want to know me, know me just fine. I just don't put my feelings on display for everyone I meet. I have a certain way I like to live my life. And if that comes across as brooding and misunderstood, then so be it.”

“You know, you’re insufferable sometimes…” you grit.

“Well thank you for your input. I’ll be sure to put that in my diary later,” he snickers.

“Do you have any respect for anyone?” you shout from across the fire.

“Of course I do. Those who earn it,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re so–” you pause, grunting in frustration when you struggle to find the words.

“Sorry I have standards, sweetheart,” he says, taking another long pull of his beer.

“Standards? What is that supposed to mean?” you shout, feeling yourself getting a little worked up.

He glances up at you over the fire, “I don't let just anyone come into my life and get all up close and personal. You have to earn that. Which means my standards are a little higher than most.”

You cut your eyes at him, “Why are you like this? All cold and cryptic…I don’t even know what I did to make you dislike me this much.”

His eyes are dark and unyielding, his lips turning into a smile as he laughs, “I never said I dislike you. You just don't like how I present myself because it goes against what you’re used to. You're used to easy going guys, who let you do anything you want because you’re pretty. Not guys who are a little closed off and reserved. You don't want a little bit of a challenge.”

“Who said I even want you at all?” you bite back.

“You didn’t need to say it, sweetheart. You’re easy to read,” he says, sending you a smug grin.

“Well, find a different book.”

“You’re also a smartass,” he says, leaning forward to pull the foil packets from the fire with a stick. He carefully opens up the hot foil, and checks them to make sure they are cooked through. His eyes flick up to yours, “Hungry?”

“Yeah, I am,” you say begrudgingly, leaning forward to reach for the foil wrapped food. You unroll the foil and reach for the plastic forks, offering one to Jake. He takes it with the raise of his brow, casually picking at the food in the silver wrap.

“Explains a few things,” he mutters with a smirk.

“Is this how this is going to be? Are you just going to dig at me all weekend until we go our separate ways?” you ask, starting to feel a little fed up.

“You tell me. Is that what you want?” he asks, biting a carrot from his fork.

“No, I want us to just get along the best we can. I want this to be at least a little enjoyable.”

He looks at you for a moment and seems to soften a bit. “Fine,” he says, “So what would you like to talk about then, sweetheart?"

You roll your eyes at the pet name you’ve adopted, “I don't know, what do you enjoy talking about? Pretend it's not me. Tell me about life on tour or something.”

He nods and picks at his food, seemingly thinking for a minute before he speaks. “Well,” he begins, “The tour has been good, a few bumps along the way. We hit some bad weather in Huntsville that delayed one of our shows for a night, but other than that it was a good run. I think everyone is holding up fine.”

“What about you, though. Are you holding up fine?” you ask.

He seems taken aback by the question. He looks at you with a surprised expression, almost as if it’s the first time someone has asked him about himself. He looks down at his food and is quiet for a moment before mumbling, “Yeah…I’m fine. Why?”

“I don't know, you just seem...agitated with everything lately. Every time I see you, you just seem quiet.”

He looks up at you again, holding eye-contact for a minute. He is tempted to deny it, to tell you everything is fine, but he doesn’t. Maybe there’s a part of him that wants to be honest with you. The other part terrified of letting you see through the walls he has worked so hard to build up.

“That’s just how I am,” he says quietly. He glances up at you and then back at the fire again, “That’s how I present myself. And it’s always been that way. It’s how people expect me to be most of the time and I don’t blame them. Most of my music is written about heartache and struggle whether personal or not. It’s everything I am. But I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m always fine.”

You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to pry anymore, feeling satisfied with the little bit he’s allowed you,. “Okay.”

The two of you eat in silence for a few more minutes, the wind starting to pick up, as the leaves rustle behind you. Jake seems to have softened a bit since your earlier banter, and you wonder if he is feeling a little guilty for his hand in the taunting.

He looks at you again with a raised eyebrow, “What about you, then? Are you fine?”

He’s asking about you?

“I mean, yeah. I think I'm fine. There are some things I wish were different, but that's life,” you offer, not wanting to delve too far into things. Not that he would care anyway.

He seems a little taken aback with your response. Not that it surprised him that you have personal problems, but he wasn’t expecting you to be honest with him. Almost anyone else would have painted a perfect picture and made themselves appear significantly better than they actually were. There was a moment between you two when the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the chirping of Cicadas before he quietly spoke again.

“What do you wish were different?”

“Ahh, it’s nothing really. Just sometimes I wonder if I am where I am supposed to be. You know, the normal stuff,” you say, offering him a smile.

He looks at you for a beat and nods slowly, seeming to take that in. “I don’t think anyone truly knows if they’re where they’re meant to be. One of the mysteries of life, I suppose.”

“What?” you nod, encouraging him to continue. “What were you going to say? You look like you wanted to ask something.”

He suddenly looks uncomfortable, looking back into the fire and away from you.

“It’s nothing.” He shakes his head as if dismissing whatever he was just thinking and stands up. He walks towards the treeline with an unreadable expression on his face, and you wonder what he could possibly be thinking. The wind sends a shiver through you, and you decide to grab the s'mores ingredients from the cooler before he comes back. If he comes back.

He walks away, disappearing into the trees as he goes to relieve himself. He stands there for a moment, his breath coming out in visible puffs in the cool night air. He runs a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath as he replays your conversation. He hates that you can break him down so easily, that you seem to understand him better than he understands himself, and worse that you even care enough to ask.

He zips up and turns to head back towards the tent, feeling frustrated and conflicted. He knows he's being unfair to you, knows that he's acting cold and distant for no good reason. But he can't help it. It’s all he can do. He doesn't want to get close to people, doesn't want to let them in. Especially not you.

You work quickly trying to place the marshmallows on sticks, finding it to be a lot harder than you thought. With a little elbow grease and a dream you shoved the sticky blobs on the ends of the sticks, dangling them gingerly over the open flames.

With both hands occupied it's hard to shield your arms from the cool wind that is dancing through your campsite. A chill rises to your skin despite the warmth of the fire. You quickly forget about it though as you see Jake reappearing through the treeline. He walks up with his hands in his pockets, his eyes studying you as you roast the two marshmallows.

“What are you up to now?” he asks, raising a brow.

“I mean…Roasting marshmallows, what do you mean?” you ask, confused as to why he was confused.

His eyes roam over you and a small smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. He leans a little bit closer to study what you’re doing, laughing under his breath.

“You’re going to burn them, sweetheart.”

“No I’m not. I know what I’m doing, thank you,” you quip, rotating the sticks.

He laughs and shakes his head, “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up with a mess of black, gooey, sugar.”

He moves a little closer behind you, until his chest is mere inches away from your back. His voice drops to a teasing whisper against your ear. “But, by all means, continue.”

If the goosebumps weren’t already taking up residency on your body, they would be now. He takes the chair next to you this time, instead of his previous one across from you. You don’t question it, and he doesn’t mention it, so you leave it at that.

You watch as the marshmallows start to puff up, knowing they are done and ready to be put on the graham cracker, but that's when you realize you only have two hands, and this is in fact, about to go south quickly.

“Here, hand one to me,” he says, grabbing the stick from your hand. “Put that one together, and then do this one.”

You work quickly to assemble the marshmallow, chocolate and graham cracker, your fingers growing into a sticky, sugary mess as it starts to deflate. It’s melting the chocolate perfectly, and you think you may have just made the perfect s’more. The wind starts to whip a little harder, blowing your hair around your face just a little too much. Jake hands you the stick back, letting you assemble the other s’more, trying to push your hair out of your face with your wrist.

From his spot next to you, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching you struggle, giggling a little under his breath as you fight through the mess of hair in your eyes.

You place the chocolate on the cracker before trying to position the marshmallow on top, a huff of frustration falling from your lips as you push your hair back with the side of your arm. “Fuck,” you growl.

You hear him laugh again, but this time it's accompanied with him standing up from his seat. You turn your head and watch as he pulls a black hair tie from his finger. His fingers brush against your neck for a moment, gathering your hair into his fist and pulling it up into a quick ponytail. It is an unexpectedly sweet and careful gesture on his part, taking you completely by surprise.

He steps back and looks over you, now with your hair out of the way. “There,” he says, taking his seat once more.

“Th–thank you,” you squeak out, still reeling over the feeling of his hands on your skin.

There is a beat of silence between you where he just looks at you. His eyes drift from your face down to your fingers and the gooey mess you had created from assembling the s’mores.

He suddenly snickers,“You’re a mess, sweetheart.”

You shrug your shoulders and offer him the perfect s’more, reaching for your own and sinking your teeth into the melty goodness. You were right, it was perfect. Probably the best you’d ever made. Screw him for saying you were going to burn it.

You turn to look at him, ready to see his reaction to the perfectly made treat. He bites into it, staring at the fire as he chews, swallowing down his first bite before he turns to you.

“You know, I kind of hate these,” he smirks.

“What?” you ask, taking another bite.

“I never have liked them. My whole life, really.”

“Then why– Why are you eating it? You didn’t have to eat it,” you say, suddenly feeling guilty.

“I dunno. I want to. I guess ‘cause you made it for me.”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, watching him intentionally take another bite as he settles back in his camp chair. There is a new tension floating in the air now, it's less uncomfortable and more heavy with things unsaid.

He turns to look at you again, his face glowing in the orange fire light, “It actually isn’t terrible. I will admit.”

“So what you’re saying is that you love my cooking?” you tease.

He laughs, as he swallows his last bite, “Well, I didn’t say that. The fact that you call this cooking is questionable.” His tone is teasing, and you watch as he licks a dribble of chocolate from his thumb. It causes more of a reaction within you than you ever anticipated, and again you thank the wind for causing the goosebumps.

“I think I have some paper towels in the car, I’ll be right back.” he says, standing and walking over to his car. You can hear him digging around in his trunk as you stare off at the trees in the distance, trying to make any sense of the feelings rushing through your body right now. Why is he sort of sweet? Why is he sort of really sexy when he’s not being an asshole?

A flash in the trees catches your eye, snapping you from your thoughts and raising your blood pressure. You stare intently, watching for it again, hearing Jake approaching from your left. You see the flash again, accompanied by two others, and a smile crosses your face.

Jake steps up behind you, tossing a thick flannel in your lap as he takes his spot next to you, offering you a handful of wet wipes to clean your sticky fingers. You glance down at the shirt laying across your legs and turn to him in surprise.

“Noticed you were cold, that's all.”

You clean your hands the best you can before sliding the thick flannel shirt over your arms, letting the warmth and the smell envelop your senses. This was not helping with the thoughts you were having a few minutes ago. You turn your sights back to the trees, watching the little orbs buzz around overhead.

“Fireflies…” you whisper, watching a few zaps of yellow buzz around in the old Oak trees.

He hums as he sees them light up, “They are in all of the trees out here. One of my favorite things,” he admits.

“Jake?”

He turns to look at you, nodding for you to continue.

“Why do you come out here alone all the time?” you ask, genuinely curious.

His expression darkens slightly as he hears the question, and he is quiet for a moment before answering. “It’s just peaceful I guess,” He shrugs and looks out into the darkness of the trees instead of you. “Not everyone is cut out to be around people all the time.”

“You don’t ever get lonely?”

A beat of silence passes and he glances back at you. This time, his usual smirk has disappeared and is replaced by a more serious look. He doesn’t answer the question, but there is a look in his eyes that makes you think maybe he is more lonely than he wants to let on.

“I’m comfortable with my own company,” he says quietly. The fire is still smoldering in front of the two of you, the flames gone now, leaving a pile of glowing embers snapping and popping as they work to extinguish themselves.

You pull the sleeves of his flannel over your hands, catching his attention and pulling a tiny smirk to the corners of his lips. He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he tries to focus on the fireflies again. It feels nice sitting with him like this. Just talking, no witty remarks or snappy comebacks. Just two people, talking.

“Don’t you ever wish you had someone to share this with, though? Your spot?” you ask, giving him a playful grin.

He watches you for a moment, considering the question. There is a part of him that wants to be defensive and cold, shutting you out and telling you he doesn’t want that. But the look in your eyes and the softness of your tone tells him he can’t lie to you about this. He breaks eye contact momentarily, his gaze falling downward to his hands in his lap.

“Sometimes…” he mumbles under his breath.

You aren’t sure why, but that goes straight to your heart. Sure he said he was fine earlier, but now you’re starting to see that maybe that isn’t completely true. It’s quiet for a moment, and you spend each second gathering up the courage to continue the conversation.

He glances at you again, this time having a look on his face that says he wishes he hadn’t confessed that to you. He suddenly becomes much more uncomfortable, trying to cover it up by acting nonchalant, adjusting his position in his chair and fidgeting with the fire. He clears his throat and looks to you again, “It’s late. We should get some sleep.”

It catches you off guard. Him not only abruptly ending the conversation, but the rest of the evening. You know he is right, you probably should go to sleep, but part of you feels like the conversation is unfinished, and you think he knows that, too.

“Oh, um, okay. Yeah, you’re probably right.” you say, standing from your chair with a stretch. You can feel his eyes on you, burning holes into your skin. “Is the fire going to be okay?”

He laughs a little, nodding his head, “Yeah, yeah. Just embers now. It will smolder out in an hour or two,” he says.

You nod your head and pull your flannel covered arms across your chest tightly. You start to make your way over to your tent, your mind flooded with the vision of him just moments ago, soft and glowing in the firelight. You look back at him, still standing at the fire, watching you walk to your tent. He nods with a smirk and starts walking toward his own tent. Before going in, he looks back at you, his eyes meeting yours.

“Night.”

“Night, Jake,” you answer, reaching for the zipper. He nods and watches as you step inside, waiting until you’re safely inside before he lets out a deep sigh.

He can’t quite put his finger on why he suddenly feels so off-kilter. You’ve shaken him in a way no other has been able to. There was something about that conversation earlier, you asking what he wanted. How he was doing. How he feels. The way your features softened as you listened to him and made him want to tell you the truth. He didn’t like how it made him feel, like every falsity he had built up about you in his mind was exactly that. He had spent so long pushing you away and talking you down to himself that now, here, where he can’t escape you, he is faced with the fact that you’re exactly the girl he thought you were, and everything he has always known deep down is true..

Inside your tent, you rummage around in your duffle bag looking for something to sleep in. As you pull an old t-shirt from the bag you pull his flannel from your body, setting it aside while you change. You don’t know why, but you find yourself reaching for it again and layering it over your shirt. You pull it to your nose to breathe it in now that you’re alone in the confines of your tent. It smells of smoke and tobacco, a sweet earthy undertone pulling you into its spell as your eyes flutter closed.

You can hear him zipping his tent, the faint glow of his lantern casting a shadow of his figure against the tent fabric. You hear the buckle of his belt as he pulls it from the loops on his jeans, and you do your best to look away. But with the smell of his cologne invading your senses, you claim temporary insanity and watch as his shadow pulls his shirt over his head and slides out of his jeans. You swallow heavily as you watch his shadow settle down into his sleeping bag and turn off the lantern.

You do the same, turning off your headlamp and getting inside your sleeping bag, doing your best to get comfortable. Even though the air is warm, the ground is cold and you shiver slightly. It’s difficult to get comfortable in the new environment and you find yourself rolling over and shifting around a lot, almost matching the state of your brain. Eventually, the sound of the cicadas lure you to sleep, and as your eyes shut it's a soft, fireside Jake that is on your mind.

—

The birds chirping in the tree above you wakes you. Your eyes crack open and you immediately notice the cool chill in the air. You sit up and yawn, stretching out your limbs and buttoning the buttons on the flannel for a little extra warmth. As you step outside of your tent a cool fog envelops you, causing you to shiver. You see a small fire has been built in the fire pit already, so you gather that Jake is already awake.

You make your way to your camp chair, noticing it has been wiped of the dew already, and is ready for you to occupy it. Your eyes search the foggy landscape for any sight of him, finding him standing at the tailgate of his Jeep fiddling with something. He catches sight of you, and nods, motioning that he will be over soon.

Minutes later he is approaching with two camp mugs filled with what you can only assume is coffee. The steam is swirling from the tops of the mugs blending in with the fog surrounding you.

“Morning,” he says, offering you the blue speckled mug.

“Morning,” you smile, accepting it from his hand. “You have all the accessories, don’t you?”

He smiles, and nods gently, “I’m very serious when I commit to things.”

“Oh, is that right?”

“It is.” His gaze travels over you for a moment. He can’t help but appreciate just how good you look in the morning. The messy hair and the sleepy expression, combined with his flannel, you’re practically driving him insane.

“Do you think we will be able to see the sunrise through the fog?” you ask, sipping at the black coffee.

He squints thoughtfully out into the fog, taking in the thickness of it. He can’t see anything through the haze and honestly doubts you will be able to see much of anything.

“Hard to say,” he shrugs. “Depends on how long it hangs on.”

You nod in understanding, returning to the quiet morning, listening to the chirping of the birds in the distance. “You know it is really beautiful out here, I see why you come out here.”

He smiles a little, appreciating your change of attitude from last night.

“I thought you’d like it,” he said with a hint of a smirk. He glances back out into the fog where everything is hazy and unclear. “It’s nice and quiet here. No one around for miles, other than us of course. I like that best of all.”

“You know, I might even come back here one day,” you smile, feeling your chest grow warm at his last words.

He suddenly looks surprised that you’re considering returning. He usually had a comeback for anything you said, but for this, he was quiet for a moment, considering your words.

He glances around at the surrounding area, the trees and shrubs all covered in the dense fog. He feels almost defensive about you seeing this place as beautiful. It was his place, his special place, and he wasn’t sure why he felt so weird that you were appreciating it. He falls silent for a moment as he watches you enjoy the surroundings, sipping the coffee he made for you as you sit in his flannel. The peaceful look on your face as you look out into the fog causes his chest to feel warm. He would never admit it, but he wants to bring you back here as often as you want to come.

He clears his throat and looks back at you. “Maybe we can take a walk before it clears up.”

You can feel the blush creeping up your chest, your cheeks burning at the thought that he might actually want to spend the day with you.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that. Anything cool to see out here?”

He takes a moment to think, rubbing his fingers against his lips, “There’s a pretty decent hike to a creek not too far, we could go that way. Only if you’re not scared of a little wilderness along the way,” he smirked.

“I’m not scared,” you answer, raising a brow in challenge.

“You bring a bathing suit?” he asks, tipping back the last of his coffee.

“Of course,” you laugh.

“Good, I’ll meet you back out here in say, fifteen?” he says, standing from his chair.

You nod and both make your way back to your tents, changing into your bikini that you fully did not prepare to wear in front of a man, let alone Jake. You pull a pair of denim shorts and a cut off tee over top, grabbing your hiking boots and your backpack as you make your way back out to the camp chairs.

Jake is still in his tent, so you use the time to lace up your boots and pack a few snacks into your bag. It’s not long before Jake is stepping out, in a pair of red swim trunks and a black button down, barely hanging on to his tan frame. It seems a strange ensemble for hiking, but he is unlike any other man you knew, and it kind of just fit.

He joins you at the chairs, putting on his own hiking boots. You feel his hand reach over to check the tautness of your shoestrings, grabbing your attention.

He looks up at you from his bent over position, “Just making sure they are tight enough, don’t need you getting blisters before we even make it to the trail head,” he smiles.

With your bag packed and your sunglasses perched on your nose, the two of you set off into the treeline, leaving your camp behind in search of adventure. You head down the winding trail that is lined with overgrowth on either side. You can tell that not many people walk this path, and you wonder how Jake even found it in the first place. The thick brush and branches scratch at your legs as you trudge on, but you welcome it. This is what you wanted, after all.

He walks just a step behind you, watching your feet as you walk along the trail. He can’t help but notice how your legs look in your denim shorts, and he does his best not to stare. Not that you would notice.

You turn around to look at him, noticing him a few strides behind you, “You gonna keep up with me Kiszka?”

He scoffs playfully, a bit miffed at that comment, “I’ve walked this trail a hundred times, pretty sure I can handle it.”

He takes a few quick steps to catch up to you, walking next to you now rather than a few steps behind. His shoulder brushes against yours as he walks, catching you both by surprise.

“Why am I leading the way anyway if you know where we are going?” you tease.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “You’re not ‘leading the way’ sweetheart, I’m guiding you.”

You huff in annoyance, “Guiding me? I’m not a dog…”

He smirked, thinking about how you definitely weren’t as obedient as a dog. You were much harder to control and a hell of a lot more stubborn.

He suddenly snickered and said, “Never said you were, I just don’t trust you not to wander off.”

“And go where? You’re all I’ve got out here!” you giggle, the words leaving your lips before you consider the weight of them.

He snickered again with amusement, though his heart skipped a beat when you said that. You were all he had as well. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks as he walked next to you, avoiding any more of the shrubs that were trying to grab onto him.

“There’s plenty of places to get lost around here if you wander off the trail. That’s why I’m making sure you don’t drift away too far.”

“Why would I want to?” you ask, a hint of flirtation evident in your tone.

He picks up on your flirty tone, letting a smirk pull across his lips. He glances over at you with a look in his eye as he registers what you meant by that comment.

“If I didn't know any better I would say you're enjoying spending time with me, sweetheart.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jacob,” you quip.

He snickers and glances over at you again, seeing that look on your face he's all too familiar with. “I don’t have to flatter myself, sweetheart. You’re the one getting all flirty.” He grins.

“Flirty? I’m not being flirty,” you lie.

He snickers again, seeing through your lie immediately. “You have a terrible poker face,” he says. He walks closer to you as he speaks, his leg brushing yours as you walk.

You feel a chill run down your spine at the contact and you wonder if he feels it too. You decide to change the subject, worried that this conversation may have you backed into a corner.

“Tell me how you learned to play guitar so well,” you ask, hoping he will be willing to accept your topic change.

He lifts his gaze to the trees as he contemplates your question. He hadn’t thought about it in a while, but he still remembers those nights all too well.

“Practice, mostly. Spent hours and hours alone in my bedroom just practicing until my arms were sore and my hands locked up. But how do you know that I play well? You watch me, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, letting your hands push away a few branches, “I mean, you have to play pretty well if you're selling out arenas…”

He lets out a scoff and a smirk. He was used to people complimenting his skill but for some reason, hearing you do it makes him feel a little flustered.

“I suppose so, but you didn't answer my question,” He chuckles.

“What, have I watched you play? Of course I have. I've been to a few shows with Clara.”

He seems surprised by your confession. In that moment, he begins to wonder how many times your eyes have sought him out through the lights and over the crowd.

He clears his throat and says, “Clara dragged you out to them?”

“No, I went willingly,” you admit.

There’s a moment of silence as he processes what you just admitted. For some reason, the thought of you going to one of his shows because you wanted to go was making his heart pound a little harder in his chest.

He looks at you with a smirk to mask how thrown off he was by that. “How come I never saw you backstage?”

You look at him with a confused look, "Did you ever look?"

Something about that question stung. The way you said the words so casually felt like a knife through his chest. He shakes his head as he responds, “No. No, you weren't there. I would remember.”

“You're right. I never went back with Clara after the shows. Didn't want to put myself in that position. I mean, that's your space, ya know? And you and I can barely be in the same room together. We haven't even had a civil conversation until, well, right now.”

He stays silent for a moment, processing your confession. After a minute he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “I never wanted it to be like that sweetheart.”

You huff a laugh, “Your actions over the last, oh I don’t know, two years have shown otherwise.”

He grimaces when you say that, knowing that you’re right. He knows he has been a jackass to you, but for some reason hearing you confront him about it was causing a strong pang of guilt to flare up deep within his chest. He tries to shrug it off and maintain his cool, but even he can’t deny that your words were hitting him right where it hurt.

The two of you walk for a few moments in silence, the only sound being the crunch of branches and twigs under your feet. He glances over at you, watching the way your face looked as you focused on where you stepped along the path, and he suddenly blurts out a question.

“Why is it so easy for you to make me feel guilty?”

What?

You snap your head to look at him, “I don’t know, you tell me?”

He lets out a scoff and shakes his head, pushing a limb out of the way to let you pass. “You’ve just got this way of bringing out sides of me that I don’t understand,” he grumbles.

“What do you mean?” you ask, feeling a wave of nerves wash over you.

He falls silent as he considers how to explain what he means. It’s a hard thing to describe. It’s more than just the way you make him feel things he doesn’t usually feel around other people. It’s more than just the way you look at him, or talk to him, that makes his heart beat harder. It’s more and he knows it.

“It’s nothing, nevermind,” he pauses, “We’re here.”

You decide to let it slide, not wanting to push him into a bad mood. The two of you walk up to the edge of the rocky creek, taking in the sights. There’s a small waterfall trickling over the rocks to your right, leading out into a swimming spot and you almost moan at how appealing a dip sounds after that hike.

Jake stands just beside you, his gaze skimming over the water. He takes in the rushing sound of the creek as it flows past the large rocks and branches. He’s secretly looking at you out of the corner of his eye, watching you stare out at the creek just like he did the first time he saw it. He takes a moment to just watch you. The way your hair looks in the sunlight is catching his eye, the way your lashes flutter as you blink, the look on your face that’s soft and calm. Watching you out here in this setting is making all sorts of different emotions swirl around inside him, but he just can’t bring himself to name any of them.

“This was worth the hike,” you say, turning to meet his gaze.

He keeps his eyes on you as you admire the creek. The way the sunlight dances against your skin makes you look as if you’re glowing. He can’t pull his eyes away from how goddamn good you look and how peaceful you seem despite everything that had happened between you two.

“Yeah. I suppose it was worth it, wasn’t it?” He agrees reluctantly.

You pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in your bikini top and shorts. You know you want to jump in, but you will wait for him to go first.

He’s completely caught off guard by your actions, his eyes growing wide. His gaze instantly travels down to take in your bare torso, raking over your skin and lingering for just a beat too long. He immediately clears his throat and looks away, shifting uncomfortably as he feels an unfamiliar pang of heated desire in his stomach.

“You ready to swim?” he asks. You unlace your boots and leave them on the embankment, turning to look at him as he does the same.

“Very,” you say, nodding towards the water.

He takes a moment to compose himself and avoid staring at you while you are basically half-naked. He pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing his tanned chest and arms, and sets it down beside yours on the bank of the creek.

He dips a toe into the water cautiously to test the temperature. It’s a bit cold, but it feels refreshing on his skin after all the walking you had done to get here.

“Good, let me show you why we really came here,” he says, motioning for you to follow him up a footpath. You quickly kick off your shorts and follow after him, curious as to where he is taking you. As you reach the end of the small dirt path your eyes land on the old rope hanging from the branch of an Oak tree.

“No, no way,” you stammer.

A mischievous smirk quirks up on his face as you look at the rope. He can tell that you’re nervous just by the look in your eyes. But he would be lying if he said that he didn’t find it cute.

“Oh come on, what happened to ‘I’m not scared’?” he teases.

“I’m not! But this is different!” you whine.

He walks up to the rope, grabbing a hold of it and giving it a few solid pulls to test how sturdy it is. He glances over his shoulder at you to watch your face, seeing the anxiety there in your expression.

He smirks and motions towards the creek below him, “See that spot down there? It’s perfect for jumping. It’s safe. I’ve done it a hundred times. I promise.”

“I don’t know,” you say, biting at your bottom lip.

He grins as he watches you bite your lip. Seeing you looking so nervous and cute was making his heart twist. He steps closer to you, still holding the rope in his hands. He smirks and cocks an eyebrow. “I’ll go first, okay?”

You nod and watch as he wraps his hands around the brown rope. He turns and looks back at you with an excited expression, “I’ll see you down there?”

“Okay,” you murmur, watching as he gets a running start and flies through the air before dropping down into the creek with a splash. You run to peer over the edge, watching him come up from the water with a shake of his hair. He smiles and waves you down, practically begging you to join him.

“Come on, you can do it! I–I’ll catch you! Promise!” he shouts, “Jump, sweetheart!”

You let out a deep breath, gathering all your courage as you wait for the rope to stop swinging so you can grab it. As you reach for it you hear him cheering, still floating in the water where he landed.

“Jump!” he yells, smiling up at you as he treads in the water. He grins as he watches you dangle from the rope, nervous to let go and jump into the water. “You’re gonna be fine! Just let go and I’ll catch you. I promise,” he yells.

With that you run, jumping off of the rock with the rope clutched tightly in your fists. Time almost seems to slow down when you jump, your body floating through the air and for a moment, it feels exhilarating.

“Let go, now!” he shouts, and so you do.

Jake waits with his arms open wide, watching as you fall down towards him from above. He can see the mixture of fear and courage on your face as you plummet towards him. He braces himself as you fall into his arms, catching you as best he can in the deep water. He pulls you close to him, his hands gripping your bare waist as your bodies press together. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he holds you, your chest against his and your faces just inches apart. He can feel your heart pounding as he looks into your eyes.

The moment you’re in his arms, something within him snaps. All of a sudden, everything feels heightened. The feel of your body against his, the way you’re looking at him, the sound of your breathing as it slightly catches in your chest. The air between you seems almost electrified and he can feel the tension brewing in his gut.

“You caught me,” you breathe, recognizing just how close the two of you are.

He can’t help but smirk and let out a low chuckle, still holding you against him. “I told you I would.”

You can feel your body pressed against his, the wet fabric of your bikini sticking to your skin. It’s making your brain go fuzzy and your skin tingle in a way you can’t explain.

“Thank you,” you whisper, neither of you making a move to let go of each other.

He swallows, the tension between you feeling almost palpable. His pulse is pumping, and his breath catches in his throat as he holds onto you. He wants so badly to press you against him further and hold you tighter. Closer.

He couldn’t help glancing down at your lips, his gaze drifting down from your eyes to linger there just for a moment. You let your tongue dart out over your lips, swiping away the water dripping over them.

He lets out a low, deep breath as he watches you. That small action has his heart racing even more, and every instinct inside him telling him to bring you closer. To claim your lips with his and taste you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart,” he whispers in a hoarse voice.

“Dangerous for who?” you question, biting on your lip.

He raises an eyebrow and chuckles, his grip on your hips tightening just slightly. He pulls you in closer, and you know he can feel your nipples hard and wet against his chest. Your bodies are pressed flat against one another, the cool water from the creek dripping down from your skin and onto his. He can feel your heart pounding against his chest and his pulse thrumming in his veins.

He leans his head down so that his lips are mere millimeters away from yours and whispers huskily, “You. For you, sweetheart.”

Suddenly he releases his grip on you, swimming on his back further down the creek. Your heart is still racing in your chest from the contact. You felt something just now, and you know he did too. You feel a sick feeling in your chest at the loss of his touch. You tread water for a moment as you watch him swim away, feeling the coolness of the water against your skin and the sun beating down above you. Your mind is racing and you’re trying to process all of the different emotions and sensations that he stirred up within you just now.

Jake turns, breaking the surface to look back at you. “You coming?” he calls out to you with a smirk.

You nod, starting to swim towards him, taking notice of the smile on his face and the small dimple in his cheek. For some reason you feel the need to be close to him, you want his hands on you again, and you think maybe he does too.

He watches as you swim towards him, your body moving gracefully through the water. He can feel his heart rate increasing as he watches you approach, and he has a sudden urge to reach out and pull you against him. But instead, he composes himself and continues to tread water as you swim up to him.

He grins as you get to him, his gaze drifting over your body. “Took you long enough,” he teases.

“Where are you taking me, anyway?” you taunt, treading water next to him.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

You shrug your shoulders in the water, and with that he spins around and starts swimming further down the creek, moving towards a more secluded area. He glances over his shoulder at you as he swims, making sure you’re following him. He swims over towards the bank, pulling himself up on a collection of flat rocks. It’s a nice shady spot, and you can tell the rocks will be warm to the touch.

He looks back at you, extending his hand to help pull you from the water. You take it, letting him pull your wet body up onto the rocks with him. He keeps hold of your hand for just a moment longer than necessary, hoping you didn’t notice, but of course you do.

“This,” he pauses, “Is my favorite place.” He grins and motions for you to sit down, taking a seat himself. Once you’re settled, he looks out at the creek that flows past you.

“I found it a long time ago. No one’s ever here. It’s like a little hidden treasure, I don’t even know if anyone else knows it’s here,” he says with a smile. “Actually, you’re the only person I’ve ever shown this to.”

“What? No one else?” You question.

He shakes his head, chuckling a bit. “No one. It’s my little secret hideout.” He looks over at you and grins, his eyes taking in your figure sitting next to him. “I guess now it’s our secret hideout.”

“Oh, ours now, huh?” you tease, turning to look at him as the sun hits his cheeks.

He laughs, his eyes still wandering over you, taking in the way the water is dripping down your sun kissed skin.

He takes a deep breath and nods, “Yeah, ours. No getting out of it now,” he says with a smirk.

You decide to push the envelope a little, swallowing nervously as you speak, “Wasn’t really planning on it.”

He grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief as he hears your flirty tone. He shifts his body towards you, his gaze drifting over your face and then down towards your chest and legs, still damp from the water.

He raises an eyebrow at you and responds in a low voice, “Good. I don’t think I’d let you, anyway.”

You decide to let the conversation end there, your pulse pounding as you look at him, the droplets of water drying on his chest. He’s hot, and you know that he knows it. The smirk on his lips hasn’t left since you made your way to the rocks and you can feel the tension between the two of you growing by the second.

He swallows, feeling his heart begin to beat quicker as he looks at you. He wants so badly to reach out and touch you, but he holds back, knowing that doing so would probably drive him over the edge. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He’s not used to feeling this out of control when he’s with a woman. Normally he’s the one in charge, the one in control. But there’s something about you that makes him feel like he’s losing his grip, like he’s teetering on the edge of something new and different, and he can’t help but be drawn to it.

He shifts his body closer to you, his gaze fixed on your face as he speaks. “You want to swim some more or do you want to head back?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, truly feeling like anything would be fun as long as it was him you were doing it with.

He grins at you, the sparkle in his eye betraying his true desire. He wants to touch you, to pull you against him and feel your body pressed against his. But instead of saying that, he shrugs, “I’m good with whatever you want. Can’t promise we won’t find ourselves in the water again, though.”

With that you push up off the rocks and dive back into the creek, pushing the hair from your face as you resurface from the water. You splash the water up at him, soaking him and causing him to jump.

“Oi!” he shouts, a bit of an accent peeking out from somewhere.

“What’s wrong Kiszka? Can’t handle a little innocent splashing?” you taunt, trying to lure him into the water. What you don’t expect is for him to jump to his feet with a vengeful look in his eye.

“Oh you just wait, sweetheart,” he pauses, charging towards you, “We will see how innocent–”

You cut him off with another playful splash, drenching him again.

He wipes the water from his face, shaking his head as if you have pushed him too far, “Mmhm, okay, now you’ve done it.”

He jumps into the water next to you, wrapping his arms around you as he drags you beneath the surface. He pulls you down with him, holding you tight around the waist as you sink beneath the surface. The feeling of your body against his is intoxicating, and he revels in the sensation for a moment before popping back up and pulling you with him.

As you break the surface, he keeps his arms wrapped around you, holding you against him as you gasp for air. He grins, his smirk returning as he looks down at you. “Payback’s a hell of a thing, sweetheart.”

You push playfully at his shoulders, feeling his hands still holding your waist. A wicked grin is on his lips, and you're certain you’ve never seen someone so beautiful. He laughs as you push at him, not loosening his grip on your waist one bit. He can feel the way your body feels against his, soft and warm in stark contrast to the coolness of the water.

“Watch yourself, dove,” he warns, his smirk growing wider as he looks down at you. “You’re playing with fire.”

“How do we keep finding ourselves here,” you breathe.

He looks down at you, his eyes locked on your face as he holds you in his arms. You feels the tension between you building, the heat of your bodies close together making your heart race in your chest.

He takes a deep breath, letting out a low chuckle as he replies, “I dunno, sweetheart, I sure don’t know.” His hand moves up to tuck a lock of your wet hair behind your ear. It feels like he wants to say more, but stops himself, settling for something else instead. “You want to head back?”

You feel a pang shoot through your chest, you don’t want to leave this spot, not now, not ever. “Sure,” you answer, and you wonder if he feels the same.

He nods, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. He had hoped you would say you didn’t want to leave, that you wanted to stay here just as much as he did. But he doesn’t argue with you, and instead just starts swimming towards the bank.

“C’mon, it’s starting to get dark anyway, we should get back.” he says, letting you follow behind him.

You find your belongings right where you left them, but the thought of putting clothes over your wet bikini has you cringing. Instead, you shove them into your backpack, holding Jake’s shirt up, silently asking him if he wants it. He shakes his head as he ties his boots, his hair still dripping down his back. You put on your own boots and sling the backpack over your shoulders, taking one last look at the creek you’d never forget.

“You ready?” he asks, starting down the path. You nod and follow behind him, the trail lit by the perfect afternoon sun. Your hair is drying in waves around your face, much the same as his.

He leads the way down the trail, his boots crunching on the ground below. His mind is wandering as he walks, stuck between the memory of holding you in the water just moments ago and the thought of possibly never doing it again. He sneaks glances at you out of the corner of his eye, admiring the way the sunlight is casting warm rays over your hair and face.

“Thanks for bringing me here, Jake,” you say, giving him a soft smile.

He turns to look at you, a small smile on his lips. He’s a little surprised at your sudden show of gratitude.

He shrugs a little, “You’re welcome. I come here whenever I need a break from things. It’s nice to have somewhere peaceful to escape to…” He trails off and looks away for a moment before continuing. “And nice to have someone to share it with.”

The two of you walk in content silence for most of the trail, the sun starting to dip lower and lower into the sky as the minutes pass. You notice a few clouds overhead, and thank them for a reprieve from the sun. You can feel yourself growing more and more tired with every step and before you know it you’re falling behind Jake.

It’s as if he can hear your footsteps slowing behind him, and he stops walking, turning to look back at you. You’re several feet behind him now, your steps much more weary than they were earlier.

He raises an eyebrow as he looks at you. “You good, pretty girl?”

Your heart hammers in your chest at the pet name, but the fatigue is setting in so quickly you pay it no mind. “I don't know, I think so. I am just so exhausted suddenly.”

He sees the fatigue etched on your face, the way your steps are slowing down. He takes a step back towards you, concern evident in his eyes.

“You want to stop for a minute?” he asks, his voice softer than usual.

“How much farther is it? I can probably make it,” you ask.

He takes a moment to think before responding, his eyes scanning over your face and your tired expression. He can tell you’re exhausted, but he also knows that you’re stubborn and determined to get back. “About another half mile, maybe a little less,” he replies. “You sure you can make it, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine, let’s just keep going,” you say, starting to walk again. It feels like you’re carrying a bag of bricks on your back, but you push through.

So he silently falls into step beside you, watching like a hawk for any sign of your energy giving out on you. But that's when it hits him, "What if I carried you?"

“Carried me?” you ask.

He looks at you, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Yeah, carried you. I could give you a piggyback ride the rest of the way.”

“Jake, no…” you whine, deep down loving the idea.

He laughs aloud at your protest, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Oh, come on, sweetheart, you know you want to. I can see it in your eyes. I bet your legs are going to give out on you any second now.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, feeling hesitant, but he is offering.

He grins, seeing the wheels turning in your head. “I'm sure. C’mere.” He motions for you to turn around, holding his arms open for you to climb onto his back.

You feel his arms wrap around your legs as you climb onto his back, feeling the warmth of his skin against your chest. You practically melt into him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as your nose brushes against his hair, still wet from the creek.

He grunts a bit as you climb onto his back, the weight of you against him sending a wave of warmth through his body. He wraps his arms tightly around your legs, securely holding you in place, and is suddenly acutely aware of how close you are to each other. He can feel your breath on the back of his neck and the way your chest is pressed against his shoulders, the sensation making his heart beat a little faster than usual.

“Are you sure this is okay?" you ask, splaying your hand against his chest.

He takes a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of your hand on his skin. He nods, his voice a little huskier than usual. “Yeah, it's fine. Don't you worry ‘bout a thing, sweetheart.”

He adjusts his grip on you slightly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs.

You walk like that for a little bit, your body quickly succumbing to the rhythmic bouncing from every step he takes. You find your eyes growing heavy, and your head starting to droop, and before you know it, your head is resting on his warm shoulder.

He can't help but smile to himself as he realizes you've fallen asleep on his back. He adjusts his grip on you, trying to keep you as secure as possible as he continues walking down the trail, humming softly and feeling oddly content with the situation he has found himself in.

It feels like seconds have passed before he gently taps your leg, waking you up as he speaks. “Hey, sleepyhead. We made it.”

He waits for you to regain your bearings and loosen your grip on him before carefully lowering you down from his back, his hands lingering at your waist for a moment longer than necessary.

“That felt like two minutes, tops,” you giggle.

He laughs, a soft chuckle that makes his chest vibrate. “Yeah, you passed out pretty fast there,” he pauses, “You hungry? I’m starving.”

“Starving,” you answer, maybe a little too quickly.

He laughs again, the sound still as charming as usual. “Yeah, figured as much. Let's get something going.”

He makes his way to the cooler, opening it up and pulling a pack of hotdogs from inside, “This looks like it,” he smiles, “Let me get the fire going and we will be cooking in no time.”

“Thanks for carrying me, Jake. Sorry I fell asleep on you,” you say, lowering your voice a little.

He grins as he sets the hot dogs down, looking up at you. “No problem. And no need to apologize for dozing off.” He glances up as he strikes a match, igniting the kindling. “It was kind of...cute.”

Cute? Oh.

A strong gust of wind blows through the campsite, taking both of you by surprise, tossing a camp chair to its side.

“Damn,” he says, moving to pick up the chair. He looks up to the sky, the clouds growing heavy and darkening. “We may be in for a bit of rain.”

“Tents are waterproof, right?” you ask nervously.

He chuckles at your question, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “Yeah, sweetheart, tents are waterproof.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” you whine.

He grins, enjoying your playful pout. “I can't help it, you make it too easy.”

He looks at you again, the fire casting a warm glow over his features. “How about you go change into some dry clothes, these hotdogs will be done soon.”

You nod and head into your tent, stripping out of your bathing suit and pulling a t-shirt over your sun warmed skin. You add a pair of leggings and his flannel before stepping back out and seeing him assemble the hotdogs. Your stomach is growling, and you quickly realize you hadn’t eaten all day.

He looks up as you come out of your tent, his eyes lingering on the way his flannel covers your form. He can feel his heart skip a beat at the sight of you in his shirt, but quickly composes himself.

He grins as he sees your expression, your hunger evident. “Ready?”

You nod as he hands you a paper plate, taking the seat next to you at the fire. The air is cooler than it was last night, and the humidity is growing by the second. Both of you quickly eat, very few words shared between the two of you.

You both toss the paper plates into the fire, making quick work of cleaning up. He disappears into his tent for a few minutes, emerging in warmer clothes. His cheeks have a pink glow from the sun today, and you can’t help but think it makes him all the more pretty in the fire light.

“So what do you think, you gonna make us s’mores again tonight?” he asks, crossing his feet on the ledge of the fire pit.

You turn to look at him, “What? I thought you didn’t like them?”

He laughs softly, turning to look at you, “I like them when you make them,” he says, his confession warming your chest.

“Are you getting soft on me, Kiszka?” you tease, standing up to grab the ingredients from the cooler.

“Me? Soft?” he scoffs, pretending to be offended. “Never in a million years, sweetheart.”

He grins, the corners of his lips curling into a smirk, betraying his feigned annoyance. He grabs the two sticks from last night, holding them out to you as you place the marshmallows on the ends. This time you give him his own stick to hold, both of you twirling the sugary puffs in the flames.

He carefully twirls his own marshmallow in the flames, occasionally stealing glances at you as you do the same. The air is quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of crickets, a rumble sounds in the distance but you both ignore it.

As the marshmallows puff up, you pull them from the fire, placing them gently on the graham cracker and chocolate. They melt perfectly and again, you offer him his first. He takes it from your hand, biting into it quickly, as you do the same.

“Truly, I think it’s something about you,” he admits, taking another bite. “They just taste better when you do it.”

“It’s all in your head,” you laugh, licking marshmallows from your finger. His eyes watch as your tongue swipes over the digits, his throat bobbing as he swallows back his nerves.

A yawn falls from your lips as he looks at you, the earlier exhaustion creeping up on you again.

“You look tired, sweetheart.”

“I am, it just hit me out of nowhere again,” you admit.

He chuckles softly, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Yeah, I can tell. You’ve been fighting it for the past twenty minutes.” He looks at you intently, studying your expression in the firelight. “Wanna call it a night?”

“What about you? I don't wanna leave you out here all by yourself?”

He shakes his head, a small smile on his lips. “Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I can handle myself.” He looks at you, a hint of playfulness in his gaze. “Besides, I don't mind being out here alone. It’s peaceful this time of night.”

“You sure?” you ask, a hint of guilt in your tone.

He grins, his gaze unwavering as he looks at you. “Yeah, I'm sure. I'll just hang out until the fire smolders and enjoy the quiet out here before I head in.”

He can see the tiredness in your eyes, and he wants nothing more than to tuck you into the tent and hold you against him all night. But he keeps that last thought to himself.

“Okay, well, thanks again for today. For showing me your secret place. I had a lot of fun with you," you say, clutching the cuffs of his flannel in your fists.

His heart skips a beat at your words, the sincerity in your tone making his chest ache. He looks at you, his gaze softening as he takes you in. “Don’t mention it, dove. I had a lot of fun too.” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod with a bashful smile, “Goodnight, Jake.”

He smiles at you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he replies. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

He watches as you disappear into your tent, his eyes fixated on the flaps even after you’ve gone inside. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he looks back to the fire.

He sits there for a while longer, his thoughts consumed by images of you. He can practically still feel the way your skin felt against his, the weight of you on his back as he carried you down the trail. He can still picture the way you looked in his flannel, your eyes tired but still filled with a spark that sent shockwaves through his body. He wanted you, and he always had.

Despite his best efforts he found the feelings that he pushed down for so long had resurfaced with a vengeance, briefly making him question whether they were ever really gone at all. He’d made up a hundred reasons why he shouldn’t want you, letting it show in his harsh words and hostile demeanor, all the while letting you root your way deeper and deeper into his heart with every caught smile and laugh. He’d done such a good job pushing you away that he started to believe the lies he was telling himself over the last two years. Although, that all came to a screeching halt the minute he decided to let you in last night. The minute you showed him that you wanted to know him beyond surface level, and the minute he realized you were everything he told himself you weren’t.

Inside your tent you are snuggling down into your sleeping bag, replaying the day over and over. The way his hands felt on you, the smile you drew out of him, all of it. You wanted to run back out there and beg him to join you in here, but you know you can't.

You can hear the fire still crackling, and the sway of the trees in the wind. Thunder is rumbling in the distance, growing closer and closer. You zip the window flaps on your tent for good measure, but that's when you hear it. The sound of a guitar, softly strumming in the breeze. You can tell he is trying to play quietly, but part of you wishes it was just a little louder.

You don’t recognize the song, but it's soft and sweet and twists your heart in two. You want to know the name. Did he write it? Is it even a real song yet? Instead you lay there, letting the music his hands are producing play you to sleep, wishing every night could be like tonight.

—

A crash of lightning pulls you from your sleep, the sound of the nylon ripping overhead, pulling a scream from your chest. Rain starts to pour into your tent, drenching you and all of your belongings before you even have time to process what's happening. You pull yourself out of your soaking wet tent to see the storm raging around you. The trees whipping wildly through the wind, and the rain falling so hard you can barely see. You turn to look at your tent finding a tree branch laying across the fiberglass poles, effectively ripping the top of your tent.

“Shit!” you scream, trying to pull your soaked belongings from inside. Jake must have heard the commotion, pulling on his boots as he rushes over towards you.

“What’s going on? What happened?” he shouts, dripping wet from the pouring rain. His eyes are panicked as they search yours for an answer.

“The tree! A branch fell and ripped my tent, everything is wet! I–”

He grabs your arms, pulling you a little closer to him, “Are you okay?” he asks, not caring about the tent. You came first.

“Yes, yes! I’m fine, I just– my tent!” you cry, feeling overwhelmed.

He curses under his breath, the sight of your slashed tent and your wet clothes fueling the anger inside of him. "Damn it," he shouts, trying to keep his cool as he surveys the damage. “Okay, look, just, go get in my tent. I’ll be there in a second.”

You nod graciously and head over to his tent, unzipping the flap and stepping inside. It’s much larger than yours and is filled with real camping equipment. It’s warm, and is lit with a lantern. You see his things laying neatly by his bag, and you do your best not to drip water onto everything.

Jake watches as you head towards his tent, disappearing inside and zipping the flap behind you. He lets out a breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair before he turns back to your tent. He grabs the offending branch, tossing it aside before he starts to gather your items from inside. He carefully picks up your belongings, dashing over to his car and tossing them in the backseat. His boots are caked with mud as he makes his way back to his tent, leaving his boots outside as he joins you inside.

“I tried to salvage your stuff, but everything is soaked. I put it in my car to dry out but…” he pauses, wiping the rain off of him as is drips down his face.

“Thank you,” you breathe, realizing that both of you are wet and freezing now. He has the same realization as he crawls towards his bag.

He nods in response to your gratitude, his fingers digging through his belongings to find a dry shirt for you. He pulls out a plain t-shirt, the fabric soft and well-worn. He turns back to you, handing you the shirt as his gaze flits over your soaked form.

“Here, put this on for now,” he says gruffly, trying to keep his train of thought focused on practicality and not how good you look wearing his clothes. “I just need to change into some dry clothes and then you can go back to sleep.”

“What?” you question, unsure of his logic.

“I’ll change and then I’ll go sleep in my car, you can take the air mattress,” he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world that you’d get the better accommodations.

“What? Jake, no. I’m not taking your tent and making you sleep in your car. No way.” you say, putting your foot down. “I’ll sleep in your car.”

He sits there, stunned at your words. He wasn't expecting resistance from you, expecting you to happily accept him taking the brunt of the damage.

“No, Y/N. Absolutely not. You’ll be much warmer here with the sleeping bag and the air mattress. You’re shivering, you’re not sleeping in the cold ass car,” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I’m not letting you sleep in the car,” you argue. “We can just– both share the air mattress. I’m fine with it if you are.”

He looks at you incredulously, his brain short-circuiting at your suggestion. The thought of sharing that small space with you, of being that close to you in the dark, is both tantalizing and terrifying. He opens his mouth to argue again, but the words get stuck in his throat. He swallows hard, his eyes flicking over your figure again. He wants to protest, to say no and keep his distance, but the look in your eyes dares him to argue.

“Fine,” he relents, his voice gruff and reluctant. “But only if you're sure you're okay with it."

“I’m okay with it Jake,” your voice softer now.

He nods, his eyes searching your expression to be sure you mean it. You nod again and he understands. He digs into his bag again producing a pair of worn gray sweatpants, handing them to you with a gleam in his eye.

You take the sweatpants from him, your fingers brushing against his for a moment. It's a brief contact, but it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He turns to give you a bit of privacy, despite seeing you half naked already once today. You quickly strip out of your soaked clothes, shivering from the cold air on your bare skin. You pull on the sweatpants, the warm, soft fabric enveloping your legs. You pull the wet shirt from your body and toss it to the ground before putting on the t-shirt that smells exactly like him.

“Okay, I'm good,” you say, your voice soft.

He turns around and his breath stutters at the sight of you in his clothes. The sweatpants are a little baggy on you, the legs pooling around your ankles. The t-shirt clings to your curves, the fabric stretched tight over your chest. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his body reacting to the sight of you more than it should.

He swallows hard, trying to keep his cool. “You look–” he starts to say, his voice cracking slightly.

“Warm?” you smile, suddenly feeling a bit shy.

He manages to nod in response to your question, his voice gravelly when he speaks. “Yeah,” he says, his eyes flickering to your face for a moment before darting away again. “Warm."

You turn to offer him the same privacy, listening as you hear his wet clothes hit the ground. He is quick to change, pulling on a pair of boxer shorts and a black long sleeve t-shirt.

“All good,” he says, moving closer to the air mattress. You try not to stare at him in his boxers, but it’s hard not to.

He motions towards the air mattress, and you crawl towards it, positioning yourself on one side as he takes the other. You notice that you must be occupying the side he was previously on, seeing a book and a water bottle sitting next to your head.

He crawls onto the air mattress beside you, the small space suddenly feeling much smaller with the two of you in it. He tries to keep some distance between you both, not wanting to get too close and make you uncomfortable. The air in the tent is thick with tension, the heat of your bodies so close together in the small space. The rain continues to pour outside, falling harshly against the nylon of the tent.

He can hear your breathing, the sound of each intake of breath filling the silence between you. He's acutely aware of your presence beside him, your body just inches away from his, and he is doing everything in his power from pulling you into him.

“Were you reading?” you ask, trying to fill the silence. He looks surprised that you've spoken, his eyes flickering over to you for a moment. He'd been caught up in his thoughts, lost in the feeling of being so close to you in the small space.

He nods, gesturing towards the book next to your head. “Yeah, I was.” he says, his voice a little gruff. “It's a pretty good book.”

“What's it about?” you ask, rolling to face him.

He takes a moment to remember the premise of the book, his mind still a little clouded with the feeling of being so close to you.

“It's um, it’s a crime thriller,” he replies. “It's about a detective trying to solve a series of murders in a small town. It's pretty intense, actually.”

You giggle, “I wouldn't have taken you for a thriller novel kind of guy.”

He raises an eyebrow at your response, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And what kind of guy did you think I would be?” he asks, his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

“I don’t know. Maybe a biography guy? History maybe?”

He chuckles at your response, a small laugh escaping his lips. “Biographies and history, huh? I mean, I read those too,” he says with a smirk. “But I like a good thriller from time to time.”

He glances over at you, his eyes trailing over your features as you yawn. He reaches over and turns off the lantern, leaving the two of you in darkness with the sound of the rain.

“You tired?�� he asks, his voice a little softer now.

“Yeah, a little, but that kind of woke me up. I can't lie,” you answer, shivering a little as you lay on the air mattress. Jake seems to notice and immediately sits up, unzipping his sleeping bag and tossing half of it onto your body. His movements are quick and practiced, his eyes flickering to your face to make sure you're covered up.

He lays back down, his body now closer to yours under the shared cover. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the racing of his heart. The silence hangs in the air again, the sound of the rain outside the only noise breaking through the tension between you. He can hear your breathing beside him, your body so close to his under the covers. He's acutely aware of the feel of your body heat radiating against his skin, the proximity of your bodies igniting a spark inside of him.

He tries to keep his eyes trained on the ceiling of the tent, but they keep drifting back towards you, taking in the way your hair fans out around your face as you look at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N,” he says, his voice barely a whisper.

You slide your hand up to rest on his cheek, warm and stubbly, “Thank you for coming to save me,” you breathe.

His breath hitches in his throat at the feeling of your hand on his cheek, the touch sending a shiver down his spine. He leans into your palm, his eyes fluttering closed for just a moment. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, the warmth of your touch making his skin tingle. He opens his eyes, looking over at you with a mixture of surprise and something else. Something...soft.

“I'll always come save you,” he says, his voice low and gentle.

Your eyes flick down to his lips, pink and full, before meeting his dark brown eyes again. “All this time I thought you hated me.”

He swallows hard, his eyes fixed on yours as he hears your words. He can feel the tension coiled tight in the space between you, the atmosphere thick with unspoken desire. He hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering over your face as if he's searching for something.

Finally, he speaks. “I don't hate you,” he says, his voice low and soft. “I’ve never hated you, I always liked you. Too much, probably.”

“What?”

He takes a deep breath, the words spilling out of him before he can stop them.

“I never hated you, sweetheart,” he repeats, his voice softer this time. “I always liked you, maybe a little too much. I remember when Josh met Clara, he told me that you, specifically, were off limits. Of course at that point it was already too late. I swear it just made me want you more. I knew I couldn't go against him, though. I knew he had his reasons. I just...I didn’t know how to deal with it, being around you and not being able to have you, so I pushed you away. It was the only thing that worked.”

His eyes meet yours, his expression vulnerable and open. “It was easier to be cold to you than to be myself and fall for someone that I can't have.”

“Jake,” you breathe, sliding your thumb against his cheek. He closes his eyes at the sound of his name on your lips, feeling your thumb glide along his skin. It feels like electricity zipping through his body, igniting every nerve ending all at once. He turns his face towards your touch, his cheek pressing into your palm as he revels in the feeling.

“He didn’t even tell me that you were going to be on this trip. He knew I wouldn’t have come if I knew you were going to be here, too. He knew I wouldn’t subject myself to that. Honestly, I was doing okay controlling myself, until today.”

“Today, at the creek…” you continue.

His eyes flutter open, his gaze locking with yours as he hears you mention it. The memory of that moment floods through his mind, the sight of your body in the water burned into his brain.

He swallows hard, his throat dry as he nods in response. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Today at the creek,” he repeats, his voice hoarse.

You nod your head and bite your lip as your mind replays its own memories.

He shifts his body subtly closer to you, the heat between you growing with each passing moment. He can feel the tension building to a fever pitch, the air thick with desire and need.

“I wanted to kiss you, sweetheart. I really did. I almost did. Touching you like that, fuck. You letting me carry you back. Just sitting by the fire with you. It’s the best day I have had in a long ass time. Didn’t want it to end, but I knew you were exhausted. I wanted to tell you tonight, but things just didn’t work out. I figured it was probably for the best,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your hand drops to his chest, the warmth of his skin evident through his t-shirt, “I wanted you to kiss me, Jake. I wanted your hands on me, everywhere. In fact, I never don’t want your hands on me,” you say, feeling his hand nervously slide up and over the curve of your waist.

He listens to your words, disbelief and desire warring within him as he realizes you feel the same way he does. He swallows hard, his hand on your waist trembling slightly as he absorbs your words. He slides closer to you, his body now pressed snugly against yours under the covers. Your faces are so close that he can feel your breath on his cheek.

“Well fuck me, sweetheart,” he growls. His eyes rake over your features, taking in the way your pupils are dilating with desire, the flush on your cheeks and the way your breath hitches when he moves closer to you.

He’s never seen you look so beautiful, and the realization that he’s the cause of it makes his heart swell in his chest. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispers, his voice barely louder than a breath.

“Jake,” you beg.

His heart clenches at the sound of you begging for him, the need in your voice nearly driving him mad with desire. He wants to hear you say his name again and again, to feel your body against his and your skin under his hands.

He leans closer to you, his breath warm against your neck as he speaks. “Say my name again, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“Kiss me, Jake,” you plead, unable to wait a second longer.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. At your words, he crashes his lips against yours in a desperate kiss, all of the tension and desire between you finally igniting in a blaze of passion.

His hands roam over your body, exploring all the curves he’s wanted to touch for so long. He kisses you deeply, his tongue teasing the seam of your lips, seeking entry into your mouth.

He shifts his body over yours, pinning you to the air mattress as he continues to kiss you hungrily. His hands slide up your body, fingers tangling in your hair as he holds your head in place, his tongue delving deeper into your mouth.

He moans lowly, the sound muffled as his body presses flush against yours under the covers. He can feel the heat radiating off of you, the sensation driving him mad with desire.

Your hands snake around his waist, sliding beneath his shirt, and pulling it up and over his head. He lets out a sharp breath as he feels your hands on his skin, the feeling of your fingers against his bare flesh sending a shiver down his spine. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, pulling back just enough to let you yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside.

He takes a moment to admire your flushed cheeks and the way your eyes trail over his now bare torso. He grins at the hungry look in your eyes as you take in his muscular chest and stomach.

“Don’t look at me like that sweetheart, it’ll get you into trouble.” he warns.

“I like trouble,” you say, drinking in the sight of him as he pins you to the air mattress.

He laughs at your response, the sound deep and gravelly in his chest. “You would,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. “I think that’s why I like you.”

He leans back down to capture your lips in another kiss, his bare chest now pressed against yours. He runs his hands up and down your sides, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips beneath your sweatpants.

As he kisses you, he slips his thigh between your legs, pressing his body even closer against yours. He runs his tongue along your jawbone, trailing kisses along your neck as he moves down to your throat.

He sucks lightly at your pulse point, nipping at the sensitive skin before soothing it with his tongue. His fingers reach for the hem of your t-shirt slowly dragging it up over your body. “Take this off for me, dove,” he whispers.

You lift up, letting him drag the old, threadbare shirt over your chest. His eyes take in the sight of your bare skin in the low light of the tent. His breath stutters at the sight of your body, the way the light dances across your curves making his throat go dry.

He lets out a low moan as he looks at you, his hands roaming freely over your bare skin. “Goddamn,” he says, his voice thick with desire. “You’re gorgeous.”

His hands trace the curves of your breasts, sliding down over your waist and to the waistband of your sweatpants. His eyes lock onto yours as his hands move down your body, his touch searing against your skin. He teases at the waistband of your sweatpants, his fingers tracing soft circles against your hip bones.

He can feel the warmth of your body beneath his palm, the way your skin twitches in anticipation under his touch sending a jolt of desire through his body. “Can I take these off?” he whispers, his voice rough with need.

“Please,” you beg.

He grins at your response, the sound of you begging awakening something primal in him. He slides his hands into the waistband of your sweatpants, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he slowly starts to pull them down your legs.

His eyes never leave your face as he exposes more and more of your body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation. Once he's removed the offending article of clothing, he lets his gaze roam over your body once again. His eyes trail over your bare skin, taking in the way the light from the storm outside casts shadows over your curves. He reaches out, his hands tracing over your legs, his touch gentle and reverent.

He can feel the heat radiating from your core, the way your body responds to his touch making him ache with desire. He leans down, pressing kisses over your stomach and hips, his lips roaming over your skin like a man starved.

You can hardly stand it, the feel of his lips on your skin is making you feel insane, “Touch me, Jake,” you plead.

He lets out a low groan at your words, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. He leans back, locking his eyes with yours as he reaches for your hips once again, gripping them firmly.

“I'll touch you, baby,” he whispers, his voice thick with desire. “As much as you want. Where do you want my hands, sweetheart?”

“Everywhere, Jake. I told you,” you beg.

“That’s quite the request, darling,” he says, the sound of the air mattress echoing as he repositions himself as carefully as possible. Your hands tug at the waistband of his boxers, eliciting a laugh from his chest.

“Impatient, baby?”

“I just want you, Jake.” you confess.

“I want you too, sweetheart, you have no idea,” he whispers, his eyes locking with yours.

He pushes his boxers down, kicking them off somewhere in the tent as he moves back over you. He braces himself on his forearms, his body pressed flush against yours again as he looks down at you. You get a wicked gleam in your eye, hooking your leg around his, and twisting until you are over top of him, straddling his waist.

He grins up at you, his eyes raking over your body. “Well I’ll be damned, look at you,” he says, a note of surprise and arousal in his voice.

You give him a proud smile, sitting happily on top of him, enjoying the view below. You can feel how wet you are as it coats your inner thighs, and you know he is privy to this as well as the light reflects from your thighs.

“You look so damn good on top of me,” he says, his voice rough and low. “Like you belong there. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

“You’re fucking hot,” you counter, brushing the hair off of his face.

He lets out a laugh at your words, a grin spreading across his face. “And so articulate too,” he teases, his grip on your hips tightening as he speaks. His hand moves towards your center, his thumb brushing lightly against your clit.

“Jesus,” you whine, his touch sending you soaring.

“Not here, love,” he smirks.

You grind yourself against him, a moan falling from his lips, “What was that you were saying?” you ask playfully.

“Oh shit,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter as you continue to move against him. He opens his eyes, locking them with yours as he tries to compose himself. “Don’t tease me sweetheart, it’s unbecoming.” he says, his voice rough.

You lift up to your knees, hovering over him enough to grab his length in your fist. A hiss leaves his chest at your touch, his jaw falling open as his eyes lock on yours. You drag his tip through your wetness, his eyes growing impossibly darker at the sensation.

“Fuck me,” he pants, “Listen, if we’re gonna do this, I want to go slow. I have fucking dreamed about this moment. That and if I fuck you how I want to fuck you, we will pop this air matress. That will be for another time.”

You nod as you slowly sink down over him, taking every inch he has to offer. “Another time, huh? What makes you think–”

He delivers a pointed thrust up into you, stealing the air from your lungs.

“That. That’s what makes me think, sweetheart,” he answers, grabbing your hips and helping you start to move on top of him.

“Fuck, Jake,” you whine, feeling him stretch you out so completely. So fully.

He lets out a low growl at your words, the sound filled with desire and need. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice low and gruff.

His hands grip your hips even tighter as you move above him, his fingers digging into your skin as his body responds to your movements. “You feel so good, sweetheart, better than I imagined.” he groans, his eyes locked on yours.

You start to move your hips in a wave pattern, his length hitting you right where you need him. A cry leaves your chest as you toss your head back, feeling his hand move to support your lower back. The heat of the tent combined with the friction between you is making things even hotter, both of you growing sweaty and breathless as you move against each other.

He lets out a low moan, his hands moving up your body to grip your shoulders tightly. “Christ, baby, you’re a fucking dream,” he groans, his body arching up against yours as he snaps his hips up to meet yours.

“Harder, Jake,” you plead.

He lets out a sharp gasp as you say his name, his eyes darkening with desire. “Harder?” he asks, his voice thick and rough. “You want it harder, sweetheart?”

“Please, baby,” you whine.

He lets out a low growl at your plea, his hands tightening on your shoulders. “Yeah sweetheart, I got you.” he murmurs, his voice low and guttural. “Give you anything you want.”

You lean down letting him capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as he pulls you closer against him. His hips buck upwards with more force now, his body moving against yours with increasing intensity. Your stomach is burning with need and you know it won’t be much longer until you burst into flames.

“Don’t stop, baby, please,” you cry out, feeling your stomach growing hot. He lets out a muffled groan at your words, his hands gripping you tighter as he continues to fuck you.

“God, you feel incredible,” he gasps, his mouth moving to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. His hands move towards your ass, his fingers gripping into the supple flesh as he thrusts up into you. Your skin is slick with sweat and arousal, the lewd sounds filling the tent with the sound of the rain. He can hardly contain his moans now, matching your energy in the small tent.

“Sit up, I want to look at your tits while I fuck you,” he growls.

You hear a hint of dominance fall from his lips and you can’t help but to obey. You sit up, straddling him again, as he leans up on his elbows to watch you.

He lets out a guttural moan as you do as he asks, sitting up above him and giving him an even better view of your body. He runs his hand up your thigh, his eyes locked on your face.

“You like this?” you say, swirling your hips in a figure eight.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips tightly. “I like this a lot.” His hand moves to cup at your tits, bouncing as you continue to fuck him. “You’re so fucking wet for me, baby.”

“I always am,” you say, biting at your bottom lip as you try to stave off your orgasm.

He smiles at your response, his hands still gripping your thighs. He leans up again, capturing your lips in another intense kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he pulls you closer against him. He bites at your lower lip, his teeth grazing your skin softly. The feeling of his teeth on your skin pushes you over the edge, and you’re sure he can feel you tightening around him.

“I’m close, baby,” you whine.

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice thick with desire. "Gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

He slides his hand down between your bodies, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it slowly and insistently. “Come for me, baby,” he whispers, his mouth moving to your ear. “Come right on my cock, just like this.”

“Come with me, Jake,” you beg, feeling his lips connect to the side of your neck.

He lets out a low groan at your words, his body shuddering as he nears the edge. “Yeah...yeah I'm there sweetheart, I’m right fucking there,” he gasps, his hands gripping you tightly as his body moves against yours. “Say you’re mine, baby.”

Just the thought of him wanting to claim you as his sends you over the edge, your body giving in to your orgasm as you fall apart on top of him. “I’m yours Jake. Yours.”

He lets out a deep, guttural moan at your words, his body shuddering as he loses himself in your arms. “That’s right sweetheart, you're fucking mine,” he gasps, his voice ragged. “Mine and no one else's.”

He holds you close as he comes, his body shaking and shuddering against yours. "Fuck," he groans, his grip on you tight as he rides out the waves of his own release, hot as it spills inside of you.

“Jake, fuck,” you pant, finally coming down from what is probably the best orgasm of your life.

“God you’re fucking sexy,” he pants, “Jesus Christ. Incredible, actually.”

“You’re incredible,” you smile, lifting up and off of him. His hands don’t leave you though, not wanting you to stray too far.

He grins at your words, his arms tightening around you as he holds you close. “You give me too much credit, sweetheart,” he says, his voice gruff and spent. “We just fucked on an air mattress,” he laughs.

He leans back and looks at you, a satisfied smile on his face. “God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that,” he admits, his eyes roving over your face.

“Probably as long as I have if I had to guess,” you smile.

He lets out a low chuckle, a grin spreading across his face as he nods. “You'd be right about that,” he says, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. “I've wanted you for a long time, sweetheart. Longer than I care to admit.”

“Well you have me now?” you say nervously.

His expression softens at your words, a smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I do,” he says softly. He cups your face in his hand, his thumb tracing over your cheek. “And I'm not letting you go. You're mine now, sweetheart.”

“I think I always wanted to be,” you confess.

He grins at your words, a possessive glint in his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nod sweetly as you reach for your clothes, the chill returning to the tent. You hand him his shirt and his boxers, pulling his sweats and t-shirt back over your body. He watches as you dress yourself in his clothing, a satisfied smile on his face.

“You look so fucking hot in my clothes, please never try to give them back,” he says, his eyes raking over you with a smile.

You giggle and shake your head, watching him pull his own clothes on before crawling back onto the air mattress. You snuggle into his side, feeling his arms wrap around you. He pulls you closer against him, nuzzling his face into your damp hair, his breath hot against your neck.

He lets out a content sigh, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin as he holds you close. “I could get used to this,” he murmurs, his voice soft and sleepy.

“Oh, no, I thought you liked camping alone,” you tease with a giggle.

He laughs, his chest rumbling against your back. “Yeah yeah, shut up,” he says playfully, giving your side a squeeze. He snuggles into you more, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply. “Don't get used to me wanting your company,” he jokingly warns you.

“Oh yeah? Want me gone by morning?” you taunt, letting your fingers trace shapes into his stomach.

He grins against your skin, his arms tightening around you. “Oh, I don't know if I'll wait that long,” he teases back. He presses soft, gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder, his lips moving slowly over your skin. “I might just kick you out now.”

“Ahh, there you are. I was wondering where you went. You were being far too sweet.” you tease.

He laughs, pulling back to look at you. “Oh? You prefer me mean, is that it?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you. He gives you a playful nudge, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I can be an ass if you want, sweetheart. It really is no problem.”

“No, no. I think I'll keep you just like this.” you say nuzzling under his chin. You listen to the steady beating of his heart, feeling your eyes grow tired. He runs his fingers through your hair, a soft, soothing gesture meant to lull you to sleep. He grins slightly as he feels your breathing begin to slow, knowing that you're on the verge of sleep.

“Tired, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, his voice soft and low.

“I am now,” you whisper.

He lets out a soft chuckle at your sleepy response, his arms still wrapped tightly around you. He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head, his fingers resuming their gentle caresses through your hair.

“Then close your eyes,” he murmurs, his voice even quieter now. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

“Goodnight, Jake,” you breathe, slipping quickly.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice low and soothing. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his fingers continuing to gently massage your scalp as he feels you slowly drift off to sleep.

—

You wake the next morning finding that the sun hasn't risen fully yet, and the air is chilly. You’re warm though, wrapped up in Jake beneath the sleeping bag. He feels you stirring next to him, a smile spreading across his face as he feels you wake up. He's been lying awake for a little while now, just watching you sleep and enjoying the feeling of you in his arms.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with sleep.

“Morning,” you answer, turning to look at his tired face.

He grins as you reply to him, his arms tightening around you. “Sleep well?” he asks, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin.

“So good. Did you?” you ask with a sleepy yawn.

He chuckles softly, his chest rumbling against your back. “Yeah, I slept great,” he replies, his voice still rough and gravelly. He shifts slightly, pulling you closer against him and nuzzling his face into your hair. “Best night's sleep I've had in a long time.”

You smile as you roll into him, placing a kiss on his warm chest.

He lets out a low groan at your kiss, his body shuddering slightly as he feels your lips on his skin. “Careful, sweetheart. You keep doing things like that and we'll never get out of this tent.”

“I’m kinda sad that we have to leave today,” you say, tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

He smiles down at you, his eyes soft and tender. “Yeah, me too,” he admits, his hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It's been nice having you all to myself. Don't want to share you with the rest of the world, now.”

You giggle against his chest, a warmth washing over you as you feel his fingers moving lazily against your skin, “Ugh, the rest of the world, don’t remind me…”

“Actually, speaking of, Josh texted me,” he says, a chuckle leaving his chest.

“Did he?”

“Yeah, said he hoped we hadn’t killed each other because neither of them had heard from us since they left,” he smiles, pulling you tight against him.

You gasp, realizing he’s right, “Shit, I– I totally forgot about them.”

He laughs, his chest rumbling beneath you, “Yeah, I did too. I guess we were just– a little preoccupied,” he grins.

“Do we tell them?” you ask nervously.

He considers it for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face, “I mean, yeah, we probably should,” he pauses, “They don’t need the details, but I think they should know.”

“Won’t Josh be mad?” you ask, scared of his answer.

He laughs at your question. “Yeah, absolutely he will. He'll give me one of his long winded lectures about being nice to you and treating you right. Make some threats about what he'll do if I hurt you. You know, the usual.”

You nudge him with your elbow, “Maybe that isn’t a half bad idea,” you tease.

He laughs, feigning offense. “Hey now, don't side with him,” he says, giving you a playful nudge in return. He pulls you closer against him, his arms wrapping around you tightly. “But seriously, I don't think Josh will be too surprised. I think he's always known something was bound to happen between the two of us whether he wanted it to or not.”

“I’m glad it finally did.”

He grins, his eyes locking on yours. “Me too, sweetheart.” He pulls you closer, his body enveloping yours as he holds you tightly against him. “I just wish we had more time alone together,” he says, his voice suddenly serious.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I mean, once we leave here it’s going to be different, you know? We’ll have the band, tour, media, friends, all of it. I just– I know it’s a lot to deal with. You’ve been around Josh and Clara, you know how it can be. I just– I want you around, but I don’t want that to scare you away.”

You smirk at him, “It’s not going to scare me away, Jake. I just want you to be really sure this is something you want to get into right now.”

He looks into your eyes, his expression serious. “I’m sure,” he says firmly. “I know it’s not going to be easy. I know there will be challenges. But I’m sure about you. About us.” He takes your face in his hands, his palms cupping your cheeks. “You’re all I want. Nothing else matters.”

You nod your head in his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm, “Okay, then I’m in if you are.”

His eyes soften as you kiss his palm, a smile spreading across his face. “I'm more than in,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I don't want you to ever doubt that. I'm yours, sweetheart.” He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly and holding you against him. “And I plan on showing you just how much I want you, every single day.”

“Well, everyday until tour starts back up, right?” you tease playfully.

He laughs, shaking his head at your taunting, “Yeah, alright, smartass,” he grins, giving you a playful pinch on the side. He rolls over on top of you, his body pressing you down into the air mattress as he looks down at you with a smirk. “Don't worry, I'll make up for the lost time.”

“Oh, tempting…Maybe on a real bed? Not an air mattress?” you smirk.

He chuckles, his eyes raking over your body, "Is this your way of asking me to take you home with me, sweetheart?" he grins.

“Unless you’d like a redo on my twin size,” you quip.

“Baby, have you ever been on a tour bus?” he giggles, pressing kisses to your neck.

You shake your head, laughing as his fingers tickle into your ribs, “No.”

“Mmm, you’re in for a real treat.” He grins down at you, his eyes glinting with desire. "Yeah, I think a real bed sounds like a good idea. And a real shower."

“A shower…” you breathe, the idea sounding desperately appealing.

He laughs, noticing the way you react to the idea. “Yeah baby, a shower. A big, hot shower with actual water pressure. And a nice bed with sheets and blankets and the best feather pillows you’ve ever laid your head on.”

“Mhmm, maybe we should pack up now and get there immediately,” you giggle.

“We should.” He presses his lips to yours again, warm as they linger there, “To be continued,” he says, pushing up off of the air mattress and stepping out into the sun.

You spend the rest of the morning packing up the campsite, tearing down your tents and loading them into his car, sneaking glances at each other every few minutes. Jake works to organize everything into the small trunk, with the addition of your tent and Josh and Clara’s. You drain the cooler as he closes the trunk, dusting his hands off on his pants. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yep! Just this and we are all set,” you shout.

He walks over to you, grabbing the cooler and walking it back to his car with you in tow. He opens the passenger side door for you, gesturing you inside, before joining you on the other side.

“You know, I really am kind of sad to leave,” you laugh, “I never thought I would be saying that, but–”

“It’s a magical place,” he smiles, “S’why I come here so much.”

“Maybe we can come back?” you ask, tilting your head against the headrest.

“Oh definitely,” he answers, “Whenever you want, sweetheart.” His hand comes to rest on your knee, his thumb stroking against your skin as he navigates the car out of the woods and back towards the road. You give him a warm smile, feeling the air conditioner bring chills to your skin.

“Hey, I was um, I was serious about you coming home with me,” he says, taking his eyes off of the road to meet yours in a quick glance.

“Oh, I mean, I would like that. If you’re really sure,” you answer nervously.

He gives your thigh a gentle squeeze, a smile coming to his lips, “I’m really sure. I want to be with you as much as I can before I leave. Want you in my bed, my shower, the whole house really. All of it. I just want you.”

You blush, his words sending a shockwave through your system, “Okay.”

He grins widely, “Good.” He squeezes your thigh, his palm hot against your skin. “Should be home pretty quick, now.”

“It is Sunday funday, right?” you giggle. “But, I guess that's kinda everyday for you, isn’t it?”

“Very funny,” he taunts, his expression growing serious, “But yes. It is,” he answers, grabbing your attention as you turn to look at him. He sends you a playful wink as he pats your thigh, letting out a deep breath that almost seemed like he was relieved.

“Let me make you dinner tonight,” he says, keeping his stare focused on the overgrown highway. “Real dinner.”

“Oh, real dinner, huh?” you tease, placing your hand over top of his. “I feel like I vaguely remember hearing about you being a good cook, but I can’t remember for sure.”

He laughs, “What else have you heard about me, baby?”

Just as you go to answer his phone rings through the car speakers. You can see on the display that it is Josh calling him, and he glances to you before accepting the call.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Dude, are you two alive? What the fuck is going on?” he asks, a tone of sarcasm in his voice.

“Yeah we are alive. You know there’s no reception out there. Kinda the reason I go,” he says, hoping to jog his memory.

“So you didn’t kill each other, that’s great news.” Josh says, and you can hear Clara laughing in the background.

Jake looks over at you, his eyes silently begging the question of if he should break the news to him. You take a minute to consider the risks but decide there really aren’t any. You nod eagerly at Jake, watching as he nods back in understanding.

“Hey, uh, you two busy tonight?” he asks, his one hand gripping the steering wheel.

“Not that I know of, why?” he answers.

“Well, we are just now on our way back. Need to unload, shower, all that. How about you guys come over for dinner tonight? I’m cooking,” he says. You can sense the nerves in his tone, his face serious as he waits for Josh’s reply.

“Um, yeah yeah that should be…good. You said we… Is… there a we?” he asks, his voice a little quieter.

“Just come over tonight. Both of you. Just got some things to tell you,” he says, a smile pulling across his lips.

A huff leaves his lips, “Things to tell me?”

“Hi Josh!” you say, speaking up on the call.

“Holy shit, hey Y/N,” Josh answers, a hint of bewilderment in his voice.

“See you tonight?” you ask, hearing him gasp in shock. You can hear him pull the phone away from his ear, doing his best to cover the microphone with his hand, “Holy fuck, Clara you were right. It happened,” he says in a mumbled mess. You know he did not intend for either of you to hear it, but you did.

“Josh?” Jake says, pulling him back to the call.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, clearing his throat, “Sorry, yeah– we will definitely be there.”

“See you tonight, Josh?” you ask, lacing your fingers with Jake’s, feeling his warm hand in yours. He leans over and kisses your cheek before settling back in his seat.

You listen to Josh laugh through the speakers, sighing as he speaks, “Yeah, I guess I will see you tonight.”

xo, N

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