#but the semester is ending and i have a summer job back home

[biborispavlikovsky]

i'm quitting my job tonight i feel so unwell over it #thoughtsandprayers for me

[compacflt]

Your last top gun fandom act? Did I miss the 1812 AU?

No u didn’t 😭 just not sure it’s happening anytime soon & don’t wanna make any promises

[innielove]

i legit might not make it to graduate 😀👍🏻

[bbybaku]

BOY NEXT DOOR SHIG

i actually really like this one. like might be my fav thing I've ever posted lol. slow burn i fear. ends w smut. as always

follows the American academic calendar sorry its all i know and it'll make sense why at the end

5k ish words (sorry idk how this one got so long)

warnings: uhh slow burn, smut, multiple positions, make out, dirty talk, choking, dom shig, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism

you went to college a little over an hour away from where your parents lived.

which meant you only really went home and stayed with them on school breaks. Summer, Thanksgiving, Christmas break.

You didnt think or wish to be back at your parent's house, your whole life was at college. Your friends, your stuff, your job.

That was until your parents got a new neighbor over the summer.

He was tall and kind of lanky. He had long fluffy blueish-white hair that was a little past his shoulders and always slightly in his face.

You saw him and what looked like his dad moving in.

Their new house was the one right next to your bedroom window.

Your parents went next door to introduce themselves. They came back and told you that the boy was only a year older than you and he was also in college.

You asked more questions, what school? What is his name? Does he live at home? is he on social media?

but they said they didnt know. They told you to go over and introduce yourself but you had a better idea.

You knew better then to open your bedroom window. For all you knew the new boys dad could be in the room directly next to yours.

But you did it anyway. You took down the curtains, opened the blinds and opened your window.

It was summer after all.

You never got the opportunity to talk to the boy over the summer.

You saw him in passing.

He was akward. When you saw him in the neighborhood he would give you one of those closed-mouth smiles and lift his hand in a wave. he was so hot in one of those loser-man type of ways.

You also saw him doing yard work. He never took his shirt off but he had more muscle on on than you initially thought.

Luckily, the neighbor boy also took the bedroom across from yours and he seemed to notice your open window.

Sometimes in the evenings he would open his too.

there was a little bit of distance between the houses but you could still occasionally hear the music he was listening to, you could hear him talking while he was gaming, and sometimes you would wait until he was in his bedroom with his window open to change clothes.

you hoped he would notice. maybe even take interest.

but as the summer ended and you packed up for school you knew you had to accept that it was too soon. you knew it needed time.

as the semester progressed you tried to forget the neighbor boy. you went out with you friends, you went to class, and you lived your life but he was always there in the back of your mind.

no matter where you were or what you were doing you couldn’t help but think of him. what he was doing, where he was, his long slender hands, the veins on his forearms. when you would listen to him talk to his friends. if he had a girlfriend.

obsession is a big word but you were swiftly approaching it with how often you thought about him.

when you went home for thanksgiving in mid-november you were actually ecstatic, unlike your usual sadness to have to leave your life behind. not this time, you were going to get to see him.

even if if was in passing or if it was just listing to him play video games through his window.

something was anything.

and anything was something.

just like he did over the summer he opened his window in the evening.

you tried not to stare into his house but it was much more decorated and lived in than it had been over the summer.

he had posters on his walls, better lighting, furniture arranged to be more fung shiu, and dirty clothes on the ground.

what you would do to get a hold of his dirty laundry.

he still played video games at night and listened to music.

you still changed infront off the window.

you two saw each other in passing and he did the same thing he did over the summer.

a closed mouth smile and his hand would lift up as a wave.

but now your parents and his dad were friends so they had more to tell you about him.

you had to play it cool they couldn't know that you were obsessed, no you were asking out of morbid curiosity.

your parents told you his name was tomura shigaraki. his dad adopted him, it was just the two of them, he was a year older than you and he was in computer science.

and no it did not seem like he had a girlfriend.

you had to hide your excitement.

how much did he know about you? was he even interested?

as your excitement began to dwindle and you got ready to leave home and go back to school for the last few weeks of the semester you herd someone call out your name.

you looked up and sure enough getting out of his car was the neighbor boy, tomura.

“hey! you’re (y/n) right?”

you tried to control yourself. you knew your face had to be beet red.

“oh yeah hey”

“well i just wanted to say hello" a pause. he looked around a little awkwardly, then finished his train of thought "im tomura.”

you gave a small smile “it was nice to meet you tomura, i guess ill see you around”

he did his little wave and went inside.

you could feel the butterflies in your stomach.

you couldn’t get his devious little grin out of your head.

he had to be interested. you two were the same age and the same demographic. he was a loser and you were beautiful.

if you weren’t obsessed before, now there was no denying it.

the last three weeks of the semester went by agonizingly slow. even your friends noticed your distracted demeanor.

you chose not to tell them. you didn’t want to ruin the magic. and you didn’t want to sound delusional about the neighbor you’ve been stalking and only spoken to once.

when the semester finally ended you were practically already packed and ready to head home.

you spent the entire drive trying to calm yourself down. knowing you had to play it cool around the neighbor boy. around tomura.

you got home and pulled into the driveway, you noted that his car was in his driveway.

you walked in the front door and were met with not only your parents, but also tomura and his dad.

your eyes instantly met.

you dropped the bag you were carrying.

“oh hey” you said not breaking eye contact.

“uhh what’s up” he said sounding nervous but there was no denying that he was happy to see you.

your parents introduced the two of you. he awkwardly shook your hand. you could feel how clammy they were.

your mom announced that tomura and his father would be coming to their yearly holiday party that they throw every year.

you had to rein in your excitement.

“oh, I'm excited to see you guys there”

they left and you immediately went upstairs to scream into your pillow, with your window closed of course.

the holiday party's theme was to wear holiday-esc clothes, you knew who would be there so of course you wore a little black dress and a santa hat.

you saw tomura walk in but you didn't approach him, not yet.

he was wearing a collared shirt under an oversized dark green sweater with Christmas symbols on it that looked thrifted.

you helped yourself to the access of alcohol that both your parents and their guests provided.

you had left your window closed the last few days in anticipation of seeing him tonight.

you noticed he was drinking a beer. your eyes met from across the room. he was standing next to his dad, talking to a group of neighbors.

you were talking to a different neighbor, an old lady who was telling you to dress more modestly.

you risked a glance. he was checking you out. how little you left to the imagination in your little dress.

he caught your eyes and blushed, looking away instantly. he was back into the conversation as soon as he looked away and you looked back.

you excused your self for more alcohol.

you talked to your mom

felt the warm effects of the alcohol.

made eyecontact with tomura.

talked to some more of the party guests

more prolonged eye contact.

You were laying it on thick with your "fuck me eyes"

after what felt like an eternity of dancing around each other finally, your parents were talking to him and his dad.

you joined the circle, only a little motivated by the alcohol you had been drinking all night.

the alcohol that mad the blood rush between your legs a little more than usual.

your parents were asking him about college. he answered their question but was staring at you.

"- yeah I dont really have plans after graduation I'll probably just go wherever the wind takes me kind of thing"

he didnt take his eyes off you. even after he finished talking. he was a good head taller than you. his hair had gotten longer but it still looked good on him. you noticed the contrast of his light hair against his dark eyebrows. he was well-groomed. clean shaven. you wondered what he would look like first thing in the morning with stubble and no shirt on-

"Y/n?"

"Sorry?"

"they were asking about your plans after college"

"Oh um- Im also not sure yet, Ive been looking into grad school but I'm still on the fence,"

your eyes flicked to tomura, an invitation.

"Now, if you'll excuse me I'm gonna go get some water."

he took the bait, "I think im gonna get some water too"

he followed you to the makeshift bar on the kitchen island.

you poured yourself another drink.

he cracked open another beer

“so what are you drinking?”

he shrugged and took a sip

“doesn’t taste very good”

you simply nodded. you could feel the heat on your cheeks. all these months of thinking about him and now you have absolutely nothing to say.

“so you study-“

“can we quit it with the small talk?”

he stepped closer to you and wrapped his free a hand around your waist, he leaned down so that his mouth was right next to your ear.

he said it just quietly enough that only you could hear, “i don’t want to act like i haven’t been jerking off to you changing in front of your open window and you can’t act like you’re not the little slut who opens her window and gets naked for me.”

you flushed. your blood should be cold from the embarrassment but it wasn't.

it was the opposite.

you felt like you were on fire.

it felt like your excitement was pooling in your underwear.

you realized he was still holding on to you, he hadn't moved.

it was like you and tomura were the last two people on earth. your surroundings a blur,

"wanna get out of here"

"yes. yes please" you whispered.

"thats what i like to hear"

he took your hand and walked you to the back hallway of the party since so many people were blocking the front door and the stairs.

he stopped you in front of one of the doors.

you wanted him so bad that a drunk makeout next to the guest bedroom was enough.

your back was against the wall and one of his hands was leaning against the wall next to your head.

"do you ever think about me when you're away?" he whispers.

you run a hand down his chest. stomach. brush your fingers against something else.

something hard.

"all the fucking time" you whisper back.

he doesn't say anything.

he pins your back to the wall with his body. his hand runs through your hair.

his hand does it again.

youre looking down.

his hand grabs your jaw and forces you to look up him.

he inspects your face, eyes lingering on your lips,

and then he kisses you.

not a little gentle kiss.

your mouth is met by his wet open mouth.

your hands locked around his neck, one of his hands found your waist and the other was in your scalp.

you could feel his hard on.

you rubbed your sex on him and he sucked in a breath while kissing you.

his tongue was exploring your mouth, he wanted in while simultaneously sucking on your bottom lip and biting your tongue.

tomura was warm, he smelled like ocean and spice and laundry detergent. he was all you wanted and more.

he pulled away from the kiss and took a step away from you. he wiped your mouth with his sleeve and then wiped his.

an old man you recognized as one of your moms coworkers wandered back into the hallway.

you quickly understood why tomura just pulled away.

“this isn’t the bathroom” he said looking between the two of you.

you and tomura look at each other and fake a laugh.

his face was flushed, his hair a mess, and your there was a tint the color of your lipstick around his mouth.

"oh yeah we were just talking about college. the bathroom is that way." you pointed to where the party was happening

the man smiled and walked away.

once he was gone you and tomura went right back to what you were doing.

this one wasn’t like the first one though.

it was rougher. it was something more

tomura grabbed your jaw with one hand and squeezed your ass with the other, saying between passionate kisses,

“you have no idea how badly i’ve wanted this”

he pulled on your hair, forcing your head to angle up towards his face.

you can’t ignore his big strong hands, the length of his fingers, the veins on his arms just peeking out from under his rolled up sweater sleeves.

your santa hat must have fallen off a while ago.

his other hand on your ass kneaded it like it was bread dough.

he grabbed at your ass by the handful, pulling on the skin and fat and muscle before letting it go, occasionally feeling your waist, the swell of your hips, and then going right back in for your ass and repeating the process.

his tongue explored the inside of your mouth like it belonged to him. he sucked on your bottom lip, shoved his tongue in, sucked on your mouth with his entire mouth all in no particular order.

you pressed your hips into him and liked what you found.

with one arm wrapped around his neck, you other massaging his scalp and occasionally pulling his hair, a signal to him to come closer to you.

you moved back and into him again. grinding against him. he was hot and hard.

you removed your hand from his scalp and palmed his member.

he pulled off your mouth but not your body and let out a shaky breath.

“if we start with that i won’t be able to stop” he whispered into your hair.

“who said that’s a bad thing” you whipered back.

you could feel his smile against you even though you couldn’t see his face, “i never said it was bad but maybe we should find somewhere more private”

“can we sneak out to your place?”

this was when he pulled his body off of yours and you could see his smirk, “i think that’s a great idea.”

the two of you tried to tidy each other up as best as you could but there was no denying the fact the the two of you just did something. both of your cheeks were flushed, hair was ruffled, and clothes disheveled.

there was also no denying his excitement. you pulled his sweater down to help him attempt the hide the tent in his pants.

he mumbled out a "thanks" and looked away blushing.

he walked out into the party first, raising his eyebrows at you as he said to meet him outside in ten minutes.

you counted to 100 before entering the party so as not to look suspicious.

you didn’t want your parents old and nosy friends know yours and tomura’s business.

you found your parents and stood in on their conversation. casually looking around every chance you got to find him. you spotted him in the kitchen standing next to his dad talking to a woman.

he was standing with his hands in his pockets, slouching, his cheeks still pink, his lips a little swollen, and his his looked like someone had just ran their hands through it.

you noticed you were staring. then you noticed he was staring at you too. he gave you a small smile and he pointed his head toward the front door.

you gave him a small nod in agreement.

you whispered to your mom that you were going to go sit outside and to not worry about you.

she had a few drinks in her system and was more concerned about her holiday party than whatever nonsense her daughter was up to, so it was easy to slip away.

you instantly started walking towards the front door when you felt a hand grab yours. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

the next five minutes were a blur.

your hand in his.

running over to his house.

his frantic effort to unlock the front door.

instantly making out against the front door once inside.

running up the stairs with him right behind you.

hands intertwined.

barely making it to his room before, once again, aggressively making out against his closed bedroom door.

tomura peeled your desss off in one fluid motion and picked you up throwing, you on his bed.

he whipped his sweater off, and climbed on top of you.

you began to undo the buttons on his white button down but he stopped you,

"ah ah, not yet. its my turn"

he pulled one of your breasts out of your bra, nipple already hard, and put his mouth around your nipple.

his right hand finds yours, interlocking fingers and pressing you to the bed.

his left hand finds your other breast and kneads on it. pulling on your nipple, grabbing the flesh with his palm and fingers.

all while milking your other.

his mouth sucking and teeth bruising there was nothing you could do to conceal the unholy wimpers he coaxed out of you.

his eyes find yours.

“look at me” he says then resumes what he was doing.

your mind couldn't form coherent thoughts.

the only thing you could focus on was the pleasure you were experiencing at his hands.

and mouth.

your hips find his.

you could feel his rock-hard member in his pants.

your free hand finds his member between the two of you and you rub your hand up and down him over his pants.

he inhales shakily.

"mmm not yet" he whispered into your breast.

he maneuvers to switch sides, his mouth now on the opposite breast and his hand cupping the breast his mouth was just on.

your back arches and you moan as his mouth makes contact.

you couldn't stop yourself from grinding your hips against his again.

he bit your nipple in response, getting a yelp out of you.

you knew for sure by now that you were soaked through your panties.

since Tomura had taken your dress off your arousal was evident but his attention was still on your breasts.

he was holding one of your hands and the other was in his hair, nails scratching circles on his scalp and occasionally pulling on his hair.

your hips still moving against his you gave a tug on his hair for his attention.

he kept his mouth where it was but stopped what he was doing, lazily looking up.

you pet his hair and whispered "can we please?" pushing your hips into his for emphasis.

he raised his eyebrows slowly.

he removed his mouth from your nipple dramatically with a loud sucking noise.

he sat up and switched the position he was in to now hold down both of your wrists with one of his hands and to hold your hips down with the other,

"I said not yet,"

and he turned his attention to the nipple he had previously been working on.

you thought you couldn't have been more aroused but with his new found control over you? you could have come just from the sight of him.

your hips struggled against his arm, seeking any form of release as you whimpered in pleasure from the love he gave to your nipple.

you came out of your trance and realized he was still fully clothed and you were still wearing your bra and underwear.

he removed himself from you slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pushing his mane of hair out of his face.

you were breathing heavily and slightly disoriented from what he had just done.

"lets get rid of these, shall we?"

he started to pull off your underwear. and you went ahead and removed your bra.

"it cant be fair that im the only one who's naked?"

you motioned to him still being almost fully dressed save for the sweater he had been wearing over his now half unbuttoned button-down shirt.

shigaraki sighed and began unbuttoning his shirt

"I thought you preferred to be naked?" he looked up at you and smirked "or are you just a show off?"

you didnt really have a good response to his call out so all you could do was stare at him.

you watched him undress making sure to emphasize one of your signature looks, the fuck me eyes.

he definitely noticed your gaze.

he smirked back at you as he stood up and shucked off his pants.

Leaving him in nothing but a pair of blue plaid boxers.

your favorite.

he crawled back onto the bed and sat on his knees in between your legs, where you lay on your back. head propped up with pillows and still panting from what his magic mouth and fingers just did with your nipples.

he locked eyes with you, hooked his hands underneath your knees, and pulled your bottom half up to him.

he pushed your legs up, essentially folding you in half as he brought his mouth down to yours.

He kissed you sweetly and deeply. with care but also disrespect like he would stop if you asked you him to but you were pulling him closer, scratching his back, and grinding against his member.

so he squeezed your thigh, groped your boob a little tighter, and explored the cavern of your mouth a bit deeper with his tongue.

his hand previously on your tit found your throat. he choked you as his mouth pulled from yours.

the pressure of his hand caused your mouth to open, searching for air and only getting a little bit of it.

he squeezed tighter as he licked down the column of your neck and back up.

kissing your mouth lightly one last time as he released your throat and started kissing down your body.

kissing down to your soaking wet sex.

his hand stroked your face at first. he kissed your jaw, your neck, your chest, booth boobs, your navel, then he found the space between your legs. he lifted your legs over his shoulders and started kissing you there too.

he kissed your clit similarly to how he kissed your mouth at first. softly. respectfully. passionately. like he was waiting for permission.

you gave it to him by grabbing a handful of hair and rubbing yourself against his face. you could feel his nose and his smirk on your sweet spot.

he took your invitation, and you could hear him inhale through his nose he grabbed two handfuls of your ass and went to work.

with his mouth on your clit you could feel him sucking on it, lapping his tongue against it, and eventually sticking two fingers into your sopping entrance.

you couldn't hold your moans in. especially once his veiny, long-fingered hand was pumping in and out.

your first orgasm didnt even build it just ripped through you, without anything you could have done to stop it.

shigaraki, satisfied enough with his handy work sat up and whipped your wet from his mouth with the back of his hand.

you could have orgasmed again from the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair in the ambient lighting of his bedroom.

"your so fucking hot" you couldn't stop yourself from saying.

his hazy eyes found yours "You should see yourself right now" he gave you that smirk after he said it.

there was no hiding his arousal. he pulled his boxers down and his member sprang free.

he was hung.

8 inches long and thick.

all you could do was stare your mouth slightly open and your blood pumping between your legs.

"you like what you see i take it," he says that fucking smirk on his face.

all you could do was nod your head.

he spits on the tip and starts pumping himself as he moves forward toward you.

he hooks his arm under your right leg and maneuvers himself between your legs.

"you ready?"

you hum in response

"mmm i need a yes"

"yes, I am ready"

"good girl, thats what i like to hear,"

he inserts himself slowly, you feel the familiar sting of being stretched out

tomura pauses, looking at you as if asking permission to continue.

your hand is covering your mouth but you nod for him to continue.

he does.

you look down to see that he is not even halfway in.

"oh my god" you whisper "its so fucking big"

he just smiles, not losing his focus on what he is doing.

once hes almost all the way in he pauses again, looking at you for permission to continue.

"can you start moving slowly?"

he doesn't acknowledge your words other than thrusting in and out as slowly as he can,

with each thrust in you couldnt with hold your whimpers.

tomura was slowly increasing speed and how deep he was going,

"is this okay" he asked his breath slightly shaking

"oh my god yea" you struggle to get out

he pushes the leg hooked. under his arm up higher and finally bottoms out in you,

you both moan.

"fuck, youre so tight,"

"you youre so big"

his hand hound your face and stroked your cheek before he took your jaw in his hand,

"youre so fucking beautiful"

you could feel your heart flutter in your chest as he pounded in and out of you and an unholy speed.

"lets switch positions"

you hum in response, so fucked out that you couldn't form coherent words.

he grabs a pillow and flips you over, shoving the pillow underneath your hips.

he taps the small of your back, you spread your knees and arch your back for him, grabbing one of the other pillows to hold in your arms.

tomura grabs hold of your hips and inserts himself, going in smoother this time.

just because the entry was easier did not mean the new angle was any mind boggling.

and tomura was not holding himself back in the slightest, he moaned once he was all the way in and wasted no time in absolutely fucking the shit out of you.

you didnt know it was possible for a human being to experience pleasure like this. your second orgasm of the night rips through you with an inhuman moan.

tomura gathers up your hair and pulls you toward him,

"came again so soon? thats my girl"

he wraps one hand around your throat the other finds your shoulder to use as leverage as he continues to fuck you from behind.

his thrusts begin to stutter losing speed and consistency,

"im close i wanna see your face"

"okay" you say through breaths

he once again flips you over, pumping himself as you readjust the pillows under your head and hips,

tomura heaves your legs up and enters you one last time.

your hands find the back of his head and you pull his face up to yours as he resumes his no longer consistent pace.

his hand finds your throat and your other hand finds his bicep, squeezing at the cords of muscle,

you look up at him slowly, from the sight of his cock entering in and out of you, his muscular upper body, to his big red eyes staring down at you. watching you watch him.

one last orgasm rips through you, starting in your stomach and then spreading to your core and to the rest of your body.

tomura finishes at the same time as you, pulling out and coming all over your stomach and boobs.

the two of you just sit there for a moment. both of you breathing heavy. both of you fucked out of your minds.

tomura is the first to break the silence.

he swallows and rubs his jaw,

"do you think we should go back to the party because I kind of want to do that again?"

m.list

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

End Game 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, stalking, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your gaming buddy asks to meet up but it doesn't go exactly as planned.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: get ready for the hate.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The tunnel lights up ahead of you, revealing the cubic rock walls as you plant torches in your stead. The eerie soundtrack of night time and the ominous groan of zombies looming somewhere in the cave have you uptight. Silently, you press on, digging and mining mindlessly, fingers mashing the buttons on your controller. 

“Hey, where are you?” Jacob’s voice startles you. 

You nearly forgot you’re playing co-op. You sniff and shake your head, cursing aloud as your shock has you succumbing to the arrow of a sneaky skeleton. You sigh as your possessions scatter and you spawn back in your bed. 

“Back home,” you say glumly, “just ate it.” 

“Ah, damn,” his deep voice rolls in your noise-cancelling headset, “sorry, hope that wasn’t me.” 

“No, I wasn’t paying attention,” you hum and sigh.  

“Ah,” he accepts and lets silence linger before he clicks his tongue, “what’s going on? Everything alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you put the controller down, your avatar sitting on the geometric bed, “I just...” you stretch your neck and massage your scalp around the thick band of the headset, “got a lot on my mind.” 

“Right. I thought you were all done exams,” he says. 

“I am, but... packing. Going home. I called my old boss and turns out I’m not gonna have a job this summer. Gotta start over,” you yawn and rub your eyes, “what about you? Final exam tomorrow?” 

“Uh... yeah,” he hesitates as if he forgot. You do wonder why he isn’t cramming right now. You could never play minecraft all night the day before a final. “Easy stuff. I’m not worried.” 

You scoff. You wish you could say the same. All you’ve done is worry those last two weeks. Exams, getting home, getting a job. Your grandmother won’t very happy to find out you’ll be slumming it for a while. At least you tucked away some money through the semester. 

“Hey, if you need a few bucks...” Jacob offers. 

“What? Are you crazy? No way,” you exclaim, “really, no, I couldn’t. I’ll be fine. I just... I hate looking for jobs. You know how it is. Friggin awkward.” 

“It’s not a big deal. My dad sent me my birthday money so...” 

“Uh uh,” you deny him again, “that’s way too much. I couldn’t-- we haven’t even met.” 

“Mm, yeah, about that,” he exhales into his microphone, “I, uh, got an extra ticket to this Con. I figured out that’s it like the midway point between us so...” 

“A con? Oh, wow--” 

“Yeah, but I get that it would be expensive so maybe I could pay for your trip?” 

“Jacob,” you wiggle the controller restlessly, “I can't accept that. It’s so nice but... it’s a lot.” 

“I wouldn’t offer it was too much,” his voice is soft, meek, and defeated. You feel bad but you would feel worse taking advantage of his kindness. “We’ve been talking all year. I just figured it would be a good chance to meet up. It would be in public and something we both like so...” 

You scratch your neck as it speckles with heat. You don’t know what’s more insulting; yes or no. 

“Can I think about it?” You ask thinly. 

The line is quiet. You look at the screen and it goes dim from your idling. You hit the analog stick and fix your headphones. 

“Jacob?” You murmur. 

“Sure, think about it,” he says, his voice raspy and rocky. It’s strange. You’ve seen him in pictures and his voice doesn’t really match his appearance. He sounds a lot older than he looks. “It’s next month so lots of time.” 

“I’m sorry,” you cringe. “I just wouldn’t want to waste your money.” 

“Trust me, it wouldn’t be a waste,” he insists, “this last year has sucked. So much. You got me through it all.” His microphone scuffs, “studying, exams, all that stuff. It’s tough making new friends. Seems like everyone here knows each other from high school.” 

“Yeah, totally,” you agree.  

You’re not exactly the most popular person. You have people you know in each class but not too many friends you hang out with outside the lecture hall or library. So far, not too many people want to spend hours mining digital gold or racing cartoon characters around a rainbow track. 

“Well, you should probably get some sleep,” you yawn, “you got your big exam and... I gotta keep packing. Gotta catch the greyhound tomorrow night.” 

“Sure, uh, yeah, right,” his disappointment is potent, “hey, will you text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it.” He snorts, “god, I sound like my dad right now.” 

“Oh, of course,” you chirp back, “I’ll try to remember. Might be late.” 

“That’s fine. Just as long as you let me know.” 

“Don’t worry about me,” you assure him, “not ‘til I have to face my grandma. Ha.” 

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, “well... er...” 

“Good night,” you finish for him, “let me know how the exam goes too.” 

“Will do,” his timbre gets even lower, “night.” 

You sign off and shut down the console. Another yawn flows through you and waters in your eyes. You should sleep, you got a long day waiting for you, but you know it won’t be easy. Not with so much on your mind, not least of all, Jacob’s invitation. 

🎮

You text Jacob as you get on the bus, to make sure he doesn’t worry. It’s so sweet that he does, even some of your girlfriends don’t bother that much. Not that you mind the ‘hey, bitch’ Janet sends you every now and again to make sure you’re still alive. 

You fall asleep on the bus. You’ve never been one to sleep while travelling but you’re exhausted from a night of anxious tossing and turning. After spending all day packing up the last of your things and scouring your dorm room, you’re beat to hell. 

It’s midnight as you get to your grandmother’s house. She’s up reading another Stephen King classic in her rocking chair. She’s always been a night owl and a voracious book hound. She grumbles at you but doesn’t bother to ask how your trip was. 

“Hey, grandma,” you hike up your bag and smile.  

She growls again, eyes not leaving the page. You should know better by now not to interrupt her. You shoulder on and head down to the spare room where you spent most of your high-school career. You shut the door gently as the old hardwood floors creak with your weight and you drop your bag on the squeaky bed. 

You fish out your phone and plug it in as the battery flashes red with only two percent left. You leave it on the night table and stretch out, not bothering to change out of your hoodie and jeans. It’s not long before you descend back into the same dreams that marked your journey home. 

You wake up to buzzing. Your phone shakes the nightstand, rattling it against the bed frame. You groan and roll onto your side, reaching blindly for offending object. You hit the side button to dismiss the call.  

You blink away the bleariness and focus on the screen. Along with the missed call are several text messages. You squint as you expand the notifications. Jacob! You forgot to message. 

‘Hey, you home?’ 

‘Checking in. Must be busy getting settled in. Just let me know when you’re safe.’ 

‘Not meaning to be weird but everything okay?’ 

‘Please answer me. I’m worried.’ 

You drag your thumb around the keyboard, letting it predict your words; ‘sorry! I was so tired. Home now and safe 😊' 

Three dots pop up then swoop away. You frown as the same thing happens several times before a response appears. 

‘Was really worried. Thanks for finally answering. Been up all night.’ 

You’re stunned by the terse response. Yeah, you forgot to answer but he doesn’t need to worry that much. You frown and shift onto your side. 

‘Srry again. Tired. Talk in morning. Night.’ 

You turn your phone on silent and plug it back into the cord. You do feel bad but you’re too exhausted to let it keep you up. Besides, you need your sleep. You have lots of job hunting to do in the morning. Not to mention, your grandmother to face. 

🎮

You let Jacob cool down after your return home. Rather, he doesn’t text and you’re too distracted to do the same. As much as you’d like to sit around and game, your grandmother was as disappointed as you expected with your employment status, even when you gave her the money you had left in your emergency fund. 

After a week, you finally get a bite. It’s nothing special. There’s a seasonal ice cream shop in a booth shaped like a vanilla cone that needs a cashier on weeknights. It’s less than full time hours but it’s better than nothing. It will be strange working with high school juniors but you can’t afford to be picky. 

‘Game tonight?’ The text interrupts your first shift. You don’t have a chance to answer as a family approaches the window to order. 

You get them the soft serve and take their payment, bidding them a good evening with their vanilla points already drooping in the summer heat. You glance around at the mostly empty picnic tables. Soccer practice will end soon and you’ll be overloaded with eight-year-olds. 

‘Srry. New job. 1st shift. Maybe tmrw.’ 

‘New job? Congrats. Why didn’t you tell me?’ 

You sigh.  

‘Time got ahead of me.’ 

‘Same. Catch up tomorrow then. Minecraft?’ 

‘Sure. Tmrw.’ 

You slip your phone away. A mother and daughter approach and ask for a sundae and a banana split. As much as you love ice cream, working with it hasn’t tested your cravings very much. In fact, you might be falling out of love with it. The smell of vanilla and overly sweetened strawberries is kind of gross when it’s all you breathe. 

As you watch the happy customers walk away, you smile. Maybe it will be good to get some mining done. It will take your mind off of everything else. Hell, it might even make you feel like you’re doing something useful. 

🎮

“Shit, oh, sorry,” Jacob corrects himself. You always think it's kind of funny how he doesn’t like to swear. “My diamond armor.” 

“Oh no,” you utter, “where are you? I’ll grab your stuff.” 

He gives his coordinates and you turn around, leaping over the green blocks to make your way there. Despite your reticence at the beginning, you’re feeling better about the session. He wasn’t as tense as he seemed in his texts. 

“So, uh, did you think about the con?” Jacob asks. 

“The con? I almost forgot. When is it?” 

He gives the dates and you hum. Your chest flutters at the thought still. You’re not stupid. Meeting people IRL is not like online, no matter how many hours you’ve mined together. As much as you enjoy chatting with Jacob, you don’t know about meeting up. 

“I get it if you can’t get the time off but my offer still stands to cover the trip. If you wanna stay the night, I’ll even get an airBnB.” 

“Oh, wow, that’s a lot. I’m working now. I could put in,” you offer.  

“Is that a yes?” He asks hopefully. 

“I don’t know... I mean, I’ll have to look into it,” you say evasively. “Talk to my boss and grandma and all that.” 

“Right, right,” he tries to sound unbothered, “makes sense. Of course, no pressure. How about I send you the ticket either way? Haven’t got anyone else to bite.” 

“Oh, well, hold off, I wouldn’t want to take it and not use it,” you collect his weapons and armor from the ground in the game. 

It’s silent as you focus on getting every little thing. 

“Sorry, did I freak you out?” He asks, “I’m really not trying to pressure you, just got excited thinking about it.” 

“I know, Jacob, it’s not that, it’s just... a lot.” 

“Totally get it,” he intones, “let me know whenever you got an answer. Uh, where are you? I’m tryna find you.” 

“Just stay there, I'll come back to the house,” you assure him, happy to focus on the game instead. 

Still, you can’t entirely lose yourself in it. You’re sure he��s a nice guy. From pictures, he’s less than scary, and he’s never been anything but friendly. It’s not like the other dudes you meet online who jump to asking about your bra size and all that. It just isn’t smart. 

Well, maybe if you don’t show up alone. You know what con he’s talking about and Kara from Econ lives near there. You could probably convince her to meet up. Hm, that might work. 

Just like you told him, you’ll have to think about it. 

[bookyeom]

pairing: vernon x reader word count: 3.7k warnings: angst (she did it y’all!!!!), swearing, kissing, wet!vernon

Author’s Note: this fic is part of the Thirteen Valentines event, but can be read as a standalone! also, i would suggest listening to the song listed below to get a feel for the vibe of the fic, but it’s not necessary. Happy Birthday, Bononie!

kissing in swimming pools by holly humberstone

do you think we were made to last in the coldest of weather? maybe i don’t have to leave so soon you look heavenly in this shade of blue

Vernonie [8:48pm]: finally back from dinner

Vernonie [8:49pm]: everyone’s gone btw, so i’ll come get u now?

Y/N [8:51pm]: yeye! Just text when ur outside 

You hear his car before you see it. 

His parents must have kept his old, beat-up car from high school for when he came back for the summer, you muse, and it makes you smile. You’d spent a lot of time in that car, listening to whatever new indie band Vernon had “discovered” that week, or eating take-out in the department store parking lot after hours, or your personal favourite: with the engine shut off at the lookout Vernon had discovered on his way home from work one day, tucked away from most of the world as the two of you reclined in his car seats and looked at the night sky. 

You used to wonder if it was there that you fell in love with him, but the truth is that you loved him long before he showed up at your door at 1am, eyes wide with excitement over his new discovery, and brought you there in your pajamas. 

You still have the hoodie he’d leant you that night in the closet of your childhood bedroom.

Tonight, you shut the door quietly behind you out of habit, twisting the knob so it doesn’t make a sound. You’re long past the days of sneaking out, but your muscle memory won’t quit. 

It’s been eight months since you last saw Vernon. You only came home for two days at Christmas, claiming you couldn’t take that much time off from your part time job, and had managed to avoid him. You had still needed the space from him, then. December had only marked four months since he’d broken your heart, and you weren’t sure at the time if you’d ever be able to look him in the eye again. 

The months after Christmas break had finally begun to heal you. Your new semester had started, and you had decided to dive headfirst into both academic and social endeavors instead of wallowing away in your dorm room. You’d finally made new friends, your grades had improved, and while it still hurt to see his name when it popped up across your social media platforms, it wasn’t all you thought about anymore.

Right now, you kind of can’t wait to see him.

“Hi,” you say, breathless, and when Vernon meets your eyes, you know you’re not breathless because of the jog from your front door to his car. 

He looks good. His hair is a bit longer, curling at the ends and falling softly across his forehead, and you think his shoulders have filled out. His jaw is just as sharp, eyelashes just as long, and you immediately wonder how you’d gone so long without him. 

“Hi, stranger,” he says, and you’re terrified that the sound of his voice might tear you apart — but it doesn’t. You hold firm, despite the sound of your heartbeat roaring loud in your ears. It hurts, but it’s a dull ache instead of the sharp pain you’re used to. Seeing him sends a wave of relief through you instead of the dread you’d been half expecting, and you can feel the tension in your chest ease just the slightest bit. You can do this. Because it’s Vernon, and because life sucks without him. 

You stare at each other for a few moments, and then he raises an eyebrow as if in a challenge, and you can’t help it. You break into a smile, and then you’re surging across the middle console and pulling him in for a hug. He laughs against your neck, and you know he’s just as happy to see you as you are him. The hand that was on the steering wheel finds your back, and your eyes fall shut. 

“I missed you,” you say honestly, and you swear you can feel him exhale.

“Yeah,” he says before squeezing you tight, once. Brief, but enough for you to feel it, to understand, as he adds, “Me too.”

You pull back. Vernon puts the car into drive as you click on your seatbelt, and you fall into an easy, comfortable silence as he begins to make the familiar way back to his place. 

When you texted him a few weeks ago, your hands trembling but determined, you hadn’t been sure what he would say. You hadn’t spoken in months.

For a while, you didn’t think you’d ever get over the rejection of last August, but a year away at university had done you good. It was full of distractions; you’d even had a couple of flings here and there. Vernon had texted you a bit at first, because you’d insisted that you were fine, but it had hurt to see his name show up on your phone. You had responded slowly, using any and all excuses to explain away the days that passed without you answering. You’d texted sparingly throughout the year on birthdays and holidays, and you knew he watched your stories the same as you watched his. You knew he knew the real reason why you were distant, but he never pushed. After all, he’d broken your heart, not the other way around. 

Eventually, you had recognized that the distance was helping, and conversations between the two of you had become even more sparse after that. It had been hard — one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do — but you’d needed the space. So when his response to your text a few weeks ago had come quickly and enthusiastically, a Vernon-esque “bet :)” in response to your ask to hang out when you got home for the summer, you had been so relieved that you’d cried. Though you’d known he would never hate you, deep down a small part of you had still been afraid that you’d pushed him away for good.  

The silence in the car tonight is comfortable, and you’re grateful. Vernon is tapping in tune to the beat on his steering wheel while you hum along in quiet contentment. After a couple of songs that you recognize play in a row, you turn to him in surprise. 

“Is this the playlist I made you for your birthday two years ago?” 

Vernon simply nods, eyes on the road as he makes a turn. “Yeah.” 

“Oh.”

Vernon laughs. “Am I not supposed to listen to it?”

“Just surprised me, that’s all.”

”Okay, weirdo.” 

The conversation moves on, but you don’t forget about it, even as you pull up to Vernon’s childhood home. 

It looks almost exactly the same. You follow Vernon up the steps and to the front door, through the foyer and to the kitchen where you used to help his mom prep for their summer barbecues. He tosses you a bottle of water wordlessly before he’s slipping out the back door without warning, and you trail behind without question. His peculiar mannerisms don’t faze you, even after all this time apart, and that realization brings you a warm sort of comfort.

As soon as you step through the back door and into the warmth of the summer evening air again, you can’t help but smile. This, too, remains unchanged. The heated pool with its blue and white tiled sides; the metal table with its umbrella, a single tip bent out of shape so that it sags just in one small part; the overgrown trees whose leaves spill over the sides of the wooden fence. You’d spent many days and nights here, too. 

You join Vernon, who’s already sitting on the edge of the pool with his legs hung over the sides. 

“Damn, you didn’t waste any time, Sol.” The nickname falls out before you can stop it. It’s been so long since you’ve been around him, since you’ve even let yourself think of him as anything other than Vernon. If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t say.

”It’s hot out,” he points out, simple. “Why wait?” He takes a swig of his own water bottle, and you’re smiling again.

You join him without further comment. 

Quiet settles between the two of you again, which would be fine if you weren't suddenly itching to ask him a million questions. How was his first year of university? How are his parents, his sister? Is his favourite food still carne asada tacos? Does he still only own t-shirts and jeans? Is he… seeing anyone?

Is he happy?

Had he really missed you?

“I’ll be right back.”

You’re surprised when Vernon gets up, barely missing you with the water he sends splashing as he does. But you don’t question him, your legs swinging back and forth in the water. You watch the underwater lights distort in the ripples you make, distracted by the simple movements and your racing thoughts. When you hear him re-emerge, you turn to find him with two towels in hand. Your eyes widen and you frantically shake your head.

“I didn’t bring a bathing suit, Vernon.” And I am not getting into that pool with you in just my underwear.

He pulls something out from under one of the towels, and you recognize it as one of his favourite band tees that he’s had for years. He raises his eyebrows at you, eyes twinkling in a teasing challenge, and you narrow your eyes at him. The smile on his face briefly sends you reeling back — back to before that night last summer when everything changed. Back to when he was just your best friend who liked to tease you for fun, who brought you your favourite ice cream every movie night, who took you to your high school graduation dance even though you knew he would have rathered gouge his eyes out with a spoon. 

Back to when you were in love with him, but he didn’t know yet. 

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll get in.”

He grins, and your chest does a little flip-flop. You forcefully ignore it as you take the shirt from his outstretched hand. He turns around to give you privacy, and you keep your eyes on his turned back as you remove everything except your underwear and his shirt. Though he’s grown up now and wears things that fit him better — you had noticed the bomber jacket in his backseat, and the t-shirt he’s wearing that fits him just right — he used to love things that were three sizes too big. The old, worn shirt just brushes your thighs, but you don’t have time to think anymore about it when he moves to pull his own shirt up and over his head. 

You watch the muscles in his back contract, and you swallow. Don’t go down this road again, you tell yourself. It’s just going to hurt like hell.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re starting to wonder if you’d ever really strayed from that path in the first place.

Because when he turns back to you with raised eyebrows and a smile, when he pulls you with him by the hand, it hits you with as much force as the cool water you jump into. And when you resurface and your eyes find him already looking back at you, his hair sticking up every which way and water dripping from his lashes down onto his cheeks, it hits you again.

That you don’t know if there will ever be anyone else for you but him.

You turn away from him, running your hands through your hair, trying desperately to keep your cool. You feel like you’re being punched in the stomach, like that sharp pain you’d felt since last August had never left. You thought you were ready to see him again, and you had been so, so wrong. 

You can feel all those months of mending, of trying desperately to get over your feelings for him so you could have him back in your life — you can feel them as they slip away. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he’d said that night, and your heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. You could tell through blurry eyes that he was hurting, too, because he loved you, you knew he did. Just not like that. He hadn’t said anything else, even though it looked like he wanted to, and you just didn’t understand. You thought for sure that he felt the same, because he’d kissed you back, because you knew him just as well as he knew you. 

And it really felt like you’d healed. Just an hour ago, you’d even been excited to see him again.

You will yourself to breathe.

“Hey. I’m sorry I pulled you in with me.”

You don’t respond.

“Are you okay?”

You don’t answer as his voice breaks through your racing thoughts, your back still turned to him. 

“…Y/N?”

He sounds concerned, like he cares. You know he does — know that he always has. And it hurts.

You can feel the water moving behind you when you still don’t respond. You can feel it as he takes a step or two closer, and you can almost imagine the look on his face as he tries to figure out what he did wrong. You feel like you’ve been burned when he reaches for you, when his hand tries to find your arm to turn you back to him. You can hear his inhale when you flinch away, your skin on fire where his fingertips just barely brushed your shoulder.

He tries again, because he loves you. Because he loves you — but not like that. “Talk to me?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, and you take a deep breath. You know you have to face him in order to get through this, to leave here in one piece even if it’s by pretending. You have to. You don’t want him to know, don’t want him to know that you’re still the reason you can’t be close to him, that you still love him, that you probably never stopped. 

But when you turn to find him right there, find him so close, when you see that his eyes are full of worry, you can’t find a single word. He looks beautiful in the dim blue light of the pool, and it makes your heart ache.

“Y/N.” Your name is nothing but a whispered breath as he says it, his eyes locked so intently on your face that you suddenly feel warm all over despite the slight chill of the water. His gaze pierces through you, and you watch as it travels across your face, down to your lips, where it lingers. 

You’re not sure you’re breathing, not sure what to do, not sure how to possibly move on from what feels impossible. Why isn’t he moving away? Why is he so close? 

“I…” He tries again, eyes still on your mouth. Then he snaps his gaze up again. “I’m… I’m really happy that you’re here.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You…”

“I missed you.” He looks hesitant before he says it, but he says it anyway, and your breath catches when you hear the tender, soft tone of his voice. It makes your head spin. “I really missed you. So much.” 

You take a steadying breath at the same time as he does. The air between you feels charged — charged with something you won’t let yourself name.

Then he’s stepping even closer, a hand lifting to your face, and you freeze. You can’t move — you don’t even know if you want to. You’re confused, but you don’t move, and all you can manage to say is a single word.

“Sol,” you caution.

He takes a deep breath in, and then he says, “You haven’t thought about it?” 

His hand is gentle on your jaw, thumb tracing lines back and forth across your skin. You feel goosebumps everywhere he touches. Your eyes search his, trying desperately to understand. You hate that you’re finding him extra hard to read right now — now, when you need to know what he’s thinking more than ever. 

“Thought about what?” Your voice is small, and you hate it.

Vernon’s other hand lifts to your face, tilting your chin up towards him. His eyes search yours as he speaks, his voice low. “Last summer.” He pauses. “Us.”

The words hit you like a truck. 

“What the fuck, Vernon?” You finally manage. You can feel the tears begin to well up, and you pull his hands away from your face. “Don’t you dare.”

He takes a step back, eyebrows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

You stare at him incredulously, frustration bubbling to the surface the longer you look at him. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and all you can hear is the water gently hitting against the side of the pool. You frustratedly tuck a lock of wet hair behind your ear before crossing your arms.

“Why would you say that to me?” You’re hurt, and he knows it.

“I just…” He searches your face for a moment before he breathes out, “I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time.”

You can feel angry tears pricking at the back of your eyelids. You blink them away rapidly as you spit out, “You were the one who kissed me back and then pretended like nothing happened. You—“

“Would you have gone?”

You blink when he interrupts you, and it takes you a second to try and understand what he means. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. “What?”

“Would you have gone to school there if I had told you I loved you last summer? Or would you have chosen somewhere closer?”

You’re absolutely dumbfounded as you process what he’s saying. You’re blinking away furious tears, mouth agape as you try and settle on something to say. “Was that your fucking choice to make?”

“I was trying to make it easier for you. It’s your dream school.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “What the fuck? I was in love with you, Vernon!”

“I was in love with you, too!”

The silence is deafening. You stare at him with wide eyes, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it. Then you squeeze your eyes shut, your hands lifting to cover your face as you try and regain your composure. 

“I thought I was doing what was best for the both of us.”

His voice is quiet. You know he’s telling the truth. It hurts, but you know he’s being honest. That he thought he was doing the right thing. 

“I thought that maybe the distance would make it a little easier,” he continues, voice carrying softly across the water in the space between you. “But it didn’t. Not for me.”

Moments pass, and you realize you’re shaking. Your hands stay covering your face as you take deep breaths, waiting until you’ve recovered enough to say, voice low, “I have never been more upset with you than I am right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know, and I deserve it. I’m sorry that I made that decision for you. I really am. I shouldn’t have done it.”

You nod after a minute, after you force yourself to breathe, letting your hands fall from your face. You can’t look at him, though, eyes instead focusing on your fingers that begin tracing patterns in the water at your sides. “Okay.”

“And I'm…” He trails off, and you wait. He takes so long that you look up to find him looking at you, waiting, and something in his eyes has you stuck there. He searches your face, and then he says, “I’m sorry that I made you think that I don’t love you back. Because of course I do.” 

Your heartbeat has begun to roar in your ears again. “You do, present tense?”

Vernon freezes, eyes wide. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he finally settles on something. “Shit. Sorry, fuck, I—”

“Is that a yes?”

He inhales sharply. “Yeah — yes. I don’t expect anything from you, though. I promise I’m not —“

“You are such a fucking idiot.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. “I know. I know. I’m—”

“I spent so long figuring out how to put myself back together,” you say softly, and he cuts himself off. You can feel tears pricking at the back of your eyelids again. “Without you.” 

Vernon’s shoulders sag, and he nods, looking down at the water. “Yeah.” 

Your breath catches before you steady yourself and you say, “It’s literally always been you, Sol. Even though you’re a fucking idiot.”

His eyes are wide when they shoot back up to meet yours. You inhale a shaky breath, watching as he waits, unsure. 

“It’s still you,” you add quietly, and you’re certain that you hear his breath catch.

“I’m in love with you,” he breathes out before you can say anything else. “I love you back. I did then, and I do now, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I wanted to, I swear. I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m…” He trails off, a hand running through his hair as he finishes, “I’m just really fucking sorry.”

“I believe you,” you say softly, because you do. You believe him, and you’re not sure your heart has ever beat this fast. Because he loves you — the same way that you love him. Vernon looks down at the water again, and you think you can see the faintest hint of a blush on his cheeks as he thinks. “Sol?”

Your soft voice makes him look up. He still looks uncertain, like he doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do. 

“Come here?”

You’re in his arms so fast you can barely process. He’s hugging you so tight against his chest that you can feel the warmth of him through your wet t-shirt, and it sends shivers down your spine. He doesn’t say anything else as he holds you, and neither do you. Your arms are wound around his neck, and you can feel the way his nose nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder. 

You pull back, your hands finding either side of his face. He blinks, slowly, taking in every part of you in the same way that you’re taking in every part of him. You brush away a stray drop of water that falls from his hair down onto his forehead, and you’re certain you’re dreaming. He’s so beautiful, a perfect juxtaposition of sharp edges and soft lines, so… Vernon. 

And he’s gazing at you like you hung all the stars in the sky — because he loves you, in the same way that you love him. 

For the second time in a year, you kiss him first.

A/N: thank you so much to everyone for all the love on the other fics so far :) Here’s the sixth of our Thirteen Valentines in honour of Bononie’s birthday. Please please please reblog if you can to spread the word, and check out the Thirteen Valentines masterlist! If you want to be added to the taglist, send me a message :) Your kind comments and reblogs don’t go unnoticed, I promise.

Taglist: @waldau @wqnwoos @tae-bebe @gyuminusone@savventeen @eoieopda @minisugakoobies @wheeboo @lvlystars@darkypooo @christinewithluv @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @bella-l (Strikethrough means it wouldn’t let me tag you, sorry!)

[shixcherie]

Best Student Ever | Song Mingi ☆

~ ~ call me chérie ☆

Navigation | Kinktober List

☆ Day 10 : Edging/ Oral

↬ [ Synopsis ] : If Mingi had to describe you in two words, they’d be unpredictable and heavenly. After all, who shows up unannounced and sucks the life out of him, doing it exceptionally well? Only his best student.

Word Count : 1.5k Genre : Smut, Professor Au. Pairing : Professor! Mingi x Student! F.Reader

WARNINGS : Pure smut (18+), Oral (m recieveing), messy blowjob, slight throat fucking, best BLOWJOB he had ever recieved, teasing, massive thick dick Mingi, gag reflex, pet names, student teacher relationship, forbidden relationship.

Tag list OPEN! - let me know if you want to be tagged for this Kinktober list

☆☆☆ NOTE : Day 10 and its our giant princess Mingi’s turn. Hope you like it my loves. Enjoy! ma chéries ☆.

Overwhelmed by pleasure, Mingi felt on the verge of passing out. His eyes fluttered shut as he bit down on his arm, muffling the groans that threatened to spill out.

And who had this giant man breathless and at her mercy? You, Y/n!

What’s your relationship with Mingi? Student,he taught you anatomy.

—

It all started on that one random afternoon. Semester break it was.

“Y/n, how are you pre-med studies going on ?Any doubts or something” your dad, Hongjoong asked.

“They are going great. Just a few doubts here and there, but I have’em all covered up, daddy.” you replied confidently. You were a good student, an exceptional one at that so keeping up with pre-med stuff wasn’t really that hard.

But what really hard was to keep you eyes from wandering over you extremely hot, freshly single, deep voiced anatomy teacher. Song Mingi.

“Is Mingi doing a good job ?” he enquired, checking if his friend was teaching his daughter well or not.

Being Hongjoong’s daughter you did recieve special attention from your peers and teacher, Mingi being no different. He showered you with a lot of attention, extra private hours for doubts, a first hand look at revision questions all being part of the special treatment.

Was Mingi your professor at university?Yes.

And he’s also your dad Hongjoong’s friend?Yes, a very close one.

Wait, is your dad the college dean? Also yes.

“Yes daddy. Perfect. He is perfect…I mean his lectures are perfect” you stuttered, going off track a bit but gaining composure again. “I do have doubts with some Anatomy concepts, but I get’em sorted out later” you admitted honestly.

Daddy being dean you gotta be honest else your ass gonna be whipped.

"Get them sorted now. Mingi is spending his break at home anyway. He’ll be happy if you show up to discuss studies." Hongjoong advised, urging you to visit Mingi at his home.

"Are you sure, daddy?" you asked, just for confirmation. Not that it was needed,you were going to go anyway.

You had missed his pretty face all summer, and not seeing him had been frustrating. But showing up unannounced didn’t feel quite right, so you decided to send him a quick text. Mingi usually responded fast to his students.

No reply. Text sent 10 minutes ago.

You gave him a call. No answer. You called again. Still, no answer.

Why isn’t he picking up? And why am I not turning back to go home?

And just like that, you ended up in front of his house, a few blocks away from your own, within walking distance.

It was supposed to be a simple teacher-student doubt-clearing session, after which you’d leave.

But, of course, he had his phone silenced and didn’t know you were coming.

As you had to walk in on him sitting on the living room couch, fisting his massive length as he tried to cool off the tension in his body, boiling in the summer heat, made worse by the fact that he was correcting your semester papers.

Dumbass!, he forgot to lock the door while he was moaning with that deep, hoarse voice.

The sight before you had your mouth watering, your professor, the man you’d fantasized about more times than you could count, whose wet dreams left you hot and drenched, was now in such a vulnerable state, looking extra hot as he rubbed his massive hands up and down his equally massive, hard length.

"May I help, Sir?" Your voice froze Mingi, halting all his actions in an instant, blood rushing to his face as he turned to face you.

What is she doing here? Why—how the hell did she get in? Fuck, I forgot to lock the front door. Idiot! Absolute motherfucking idiot!

A million thoughts ran through Mingi's mind, along with excuses he was desperately trying to come up with.

"Umm... help? Help with what, Y/n?" he asked, laughing nervously, desperately trying to ignore the elephant in the room. Ignoring his question, you walked towards him, kneeling in front of him. You definitely got your daddy's confidence.

"With that. I can help." you said with a playful smirk, pointing to his angry cock, hard and desperate for release.

"Y/n! No, that’s not right. We shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be here. Why are you even here?" Mingi blabbered.

The poor professor was a mess, and your confidence wasn’t helping. You took one swift kitten lick along his tip, and that was it. His brain shut off, a wave of newfound pleasure registering as his complaints turned into compliments.

"Oh my god… yeah, just perfect… you’re so good."

His approval made you shoot him a glance through your long lashes, blinking innocently. But you were anything but innocent.

Your fierce kitten eyes, without the glasses he was used to, sent a shiver down his spine. Never had he seen eyes so intense. Your smirk grew as Mingi whimpered while your tongue swirled around his tip, cleaning off the pre-cum he’d released while jerking off earlier.

"Y/n, baby, stop teasing your professor." he groaned, almost pleading as he watched his favorite student take him entirely into your mouth like the good girl you were. His hands ran across his forehead, wiping the thick sweat from both the summer heat and the pleasure your mouth was giving him.

He brushed a few stray hairs off your face, eventually gathering them all into a makeshift ponytail as your mouth worked in perfect rhythm, bobbing and licking up his massive length. Your hands, bored of sitting idle, shifted—one to hold his base while you continued to work him, and the other to play with his balls. Mingi inhaled sharply at the sudden touch on his sensitive balls.

Your jaw was hurting, pleasurably stretched by his unbelievably girthy cock, but the sensation of his tip hitting the back of your throat was too addictive to care about the pain. You hollowed your cheeks, trying to fit every vein that popped out as Mingi breathed heavily, holding back with all his might not to mouth-fuck you.

"Close… ahh… close, baby." Mingi whined, your ferocious tongue work sending goosebumps all over his body. Unable to hold back any longer, Mingi harshly yanked you down, forcing his entire length into your mouth, his tip deliciously hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

You moaned at the sudden rough treatment as he rolled his hips into your mouth. Despite the intensity, your tongue continued to lick and satisfy him, while he used your mouth like his personal Tenga, sending vibrations through your entire being.

"Arhh, fuck... fuck!" Mingi grunted. You could feel him twitch inside you—he was almost there, ready to release. Your hands massaged his balls, giving them one cheeky little squeeze, pushing him off the edge of his pleasure mountain as he emptied himself into your mouth.

Thick ropes of white cum spurted into your mouth, some of it leaking from the corner of your lips. Mingi's thighs shook, and his hips stuttered from the intensity of the release he just experienced, all thanks to your wonderfully heavenly mouth.

Mingi pulled out slightly, only to jerk back into your mouth, the roughness causing you to gag again as he gave the last of himself. Your flushed face, eyes teary, cheeks a shade of crimson, with his slick all over your mouth, made him hard again. You swallowed it all, the sight driving him wild.

Mingi had never experienced anything like this—especially not with one of his students. It was an unbelievable, forbidden sin he was tasting for the first time. The experience was so intense and heavenly, he couldn’t help but wonder if it would be the last of its kind.

You stood up, wiping your mouth. No words were spoken; just a smirk danced on your lips, your eyes twinkling as you admired the huge man, a mess before you, feeling proud of the blowjob you’d just delivered.

"See you after the break, Prof" you said, glancing at the clock. You turned around and walked toward the door. Mingi watched you wave goodbye as you disappeared, still breathless, recovering from the best orgasm of his entire life.

Having experienced many blowjobs in his life, he could tell this was by far the best and most intense. You hadn’t uttered a single complaint about his sheer size and had satisfied him like the best student you were.

"Goddammit. What is this girl doing to me?" Mingi thought, groaning and rubbing his hardened member again as the pleasurable moments replayed in his mind like a movie reel.

He began imagining all the positions and places he could take you in once the semester break was over cause this isn't over yet.

Would Hongjoong be mad? Only if he finds out.

Anyhow, Best Student Ever!

—

"Ahh, Y/n! You're back." Hongjoong said as you returned after almost an hour and a half. Not a single hair was out of place, and you looked just as fresh as when you had left the house. Your best friend Ryujin deserved the a big fat thanks for letting you drop by to clean yourself up.

"Yes, daddy. Got all my doubts cleared,. you replied with a wide grin.

"That's good. Mingi definitely deserves a raise after this." he mused, thinking about his friend as you headed to your room.

Sure, Daddy… for fucking sure.

I deserve one too...but from the Prof.

~ ~ Chérie ☆ signin’ off

DISCLAIMER: This is totally fictional and not a real depiction of the ATEEZ members. It's all just for fun only so please don’t take anything seriously and keep the mood light around here.

© ShixCherie.

[janeyseymour]

Potential part 2 to Bridge Over Troubled Water. Maybe something about them finally confessing their feelings, or the reader finishing their degree and Mel is worried about seeing them less thinking they're going back to working in the suburbs but maybe they get transferred to Abbott. That's if you're feeling up to it of course

So... this took way longer than anticipated, but it's here, and she's done (and as always unedited). I hope you enjoy!

Bridge Over Troubled Water Pt 2

Part 1.

WC: 5.5k (exactly!)

Since the two of you finally confessed your feelings for each other, you’ve found the balance between work and home life as well as the dynamic between the two of you as teacher and aide. Really, not much has changed- you can’t blame Ava for having figured the two of you out before even you two knew what there was with the two of you. 

That was two semesters ago, and you’re quickly approaching the end of your masters degree. You’ve been seeing Melissa for a little over a year, and it’s been great. She’s your best friend, the best mentor, and the biggest supporter for you when you need to be told it’s going to be okay in terms of your graduate degree. But now that’s almost finished. You have three more final papers to write, one group presentation, and a speech to finish, and then you’ll have your masters in reading.

“You’re doing great, hon,” your girlfriend tells you as you type away furiously at your laptop at her kitchen island.

You jump nearly a foot in the air. You had been so focused on your paper that you didn’t even realize she had moved from her station at the stove to right behind you. 

“Jesus, Mel,” you chuckle once your shock wears off. “Give a girl some warning first.”

She wraps her arms around your shoulders and kisses the top of your head. “I thought you saw me move from the stove. Sorry, babe.”

You turn red. “My bad.”

“It’s alright, amore. You were focused on your paper, and I’m so proud of you.”

“I can’t wait to be done with it all,” you sigh. 

“You’re almost there,” she tells you. “And then you can just relax through the end of the school year with me and figure everything else out during the summer.”

You worry your lip through your teeth. “I think I’ve figured out what I’m doing already though.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

You close your laptop and turn around in her arms. “I think I’m going to go back to the school I was at before- at least for a little bit. I know I have job security there, and the principal already asked me about returning to finish out the school year for one of the old second grade teachers who has to go out on maternity leave- at least to finish up the school year.”

“What?” she sounds shocked. “And you’re going to-“

“I think I have to if I want any sort of job security for next year,” you tell her. “But I’ll still do everything I can to-“

“You’re just going to leave the kids like that? Leave me like that?”

“Baby, it isn’t like that,” you whisper and pull her in closer. “You know how the teaching career paths are. And I know that my old school finishes before Abbott, so I can come in for the last week with you, and-“

Melissa takes a shaky breath. “You have to do what’s best for you, as much as it kills me… have you told anyone else?”

“Just Ava,” you mumble. “I was going to tell you tomorrow when we went out for dinner.”

“Okay.” She bites her lip. She knows you have to do what’s best for you, and she knows you’re right. You need job security. And she’ll be fine with the two classes together again; the two of you have pretty much figured out how to teach both classes seamlessly. But now she’s worried about how this is going to affect the relationship between the two of you- she won’t see you nearly as much.

“Please tell me you’re not mad,” you practically beg her.

“I’m not,” she tells you truthfully. “Just thinking about how the kids are going to miss you… how I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me,” you promise her. “We’re dating.”

“I know,” she sighs. “But it’ll be different. I’ll have my classes, you’ll have your class, and when we’re together, we’ll both be swamped with grading and planning.”

“I’m sure we can figure it out, hon. We’ll set aside time to grade together, we’ll see if at least our second grades line up to plan together for, and I’ll make sure that we have our time together to focus on things other than schoolwork.”

“You better,” she chuckles nervously, reaching down to palm your ass. 

“I love you,” you whisper as you set your forehead against hers.

“I love you too,” she tells you, but she’s still nervous.

When you get your degree, Melissa is the first one to wrap you up in a hug, peck your lips, and tell you how proud of you she is. Your parents are second, and they grin when they see how happy you are with your girlfriend. They had been wary in the beginning of your relationship, but now they fully embrace the fiery redhead in your life as family.

The four of you have a wonderful meal provided by Melissa at her house, and your parents sing her praises.

“My god,” your dad chuckles. “What you do with food woman… you should’ve been a chef instead.”

“I thought about it,” your girlfriend laughs. “But I’d say being a teacher worked out just fine.” She gives you a nudge and squeezes your thigh just slightly.

Dinner is wonderful, your parents head out with warm hugs and kisses to both yours and Melissa’s cheeks, and then it’s just the two of you.

“I’m so proud of you,” she tells you as you curl up on the couch together. “So proud.”

“I know you are,” you chuckles softly. “You’ve only told me a million times today.”

“Because I am,” she grins brightly and kisses you again. “My girl’s got her masters, and she’s going to do great… wherever she might end up.”

That night ends with the two of you in bed, sweaty and grinning as she pulls you into her arms. You both get good rest that night.

On your official last day at Abbott as Melissa’s aide, the kids shower you in presents, cards, poems, drawings… anything and everything you could think of- one of the kids brought it in for you- even a jar of pickles. You chuckle at that one.

“I’m assuming this is your doing?”

“I had it put on the list,” she laughs. “And I had to specifically ask for the dill, because I know you refuse to eat gherkins.”

“You’re the best,” you hip check her. 

“I do my best, babe,” she whispers back. “I am going to miss working with you.”

She hands you a note to go along with all of the kids’ stuff.

“Can I read it now, or should I read it later?”

“Maybe later,” Melissa tells you. “For now, enjoy your party, and then we do have dinner with the crew after school today.”

“We do?”

“You think we’d send you off without a true Abbott celebration?” she laughs. “Of course we have a special outing for you- down at Oscar’s- your favorite skanky dive bar.”

“You’re getting the Barbara Howard to my favorite skanky dive bar?”

“I am,” the redhead chuckles. “She loves you a lot, and I promised her it wouldn’t be too much since it’s a Wednesday at four in the afternoon.”

After many tearful goodbyes (even though you promise the kids they’ll see you for the last week of school), you walk out of the school hand in hand with your girlfriend.

“Can I open it now?” You clutch the envelope Melissa had handed you earlier in the day.

“If you really want to,” she rolls her eyes playfully as she opens the door for you. “But you can’t get all weepy. We have our friends to meet, and they don’t need to know I’m soft for you.”

“Everyone knows you’re soft for me,” you tease her. “Janine fully walked in on you massaging my back the one day in the teachers’ lounge because I had terrible cramps.”

“And I told the kid that if she told anyone, she’d regret it,” Melissa tells you.

“And then she told everyone, and you still haven’t made her regret it because you love me too much to harass our friend.”

“Shut up. Are you going to read it or not?”

“Maybe later if it’s going to make me cry.”

“I really am dating a softy, aren’t I?”

“You really are,” you grin innocently. “And you love me for it.”

When the two of you walk inside, everyone else is already there with drinks in hand.

“Aye, there’s our girl!” Jacob grins and wraps you up in a hug. “You did it!”

“I did,” you chuckle as you awkwardly pat his back before pulling away and being passed around to your friends. 

You make eye contact with your usual bartender, who just smirks and starts pouring your drink for you. He slides it over to you with a wink and a nod of the head. “Congrats, kid. We’re gonna miss having you come around here.”

“I think everybody forgets that I’m not really going anywhere,” you laugh as you take a sip of your beer and find your way into Melissa’s side again. “This one’s keeping me around for a long time, so I’ll be around.”

“But it’ll be different,” Janine argues. “You won’t be at Abbott with us anymore, and you won’t get to see half the stuff we talk about!”

“I wish I didn’t have to see half the stuff we talk about,” you joke. “And I will be back for the last week of school. It’s really just these three weeks that I’m filling in at my old school.”

There’s a nagging thought in the back of your girlfriend’s mind that tells her that might be your actual last day at Abbott if you decide to go back to your school in the suburbs.

“I, for one,” Ava cuts in. “Am glad that I will no longer have competition over who is the hottest in the school.”

“Ava!” Melissa rolls her eyes. 

Everybody raises their glasses towards you and cheers to you and your accomplishment.

After quite of few hours of drinking, exchanging silly Abbott stories, recounting how you and your girlfriend tiptoed around each other’s feelings for quite a bit before finally just biting the bullet and dating and how Ava won a shitload of money off of Mr. Johnson over their bet, and some good bar food, your crew starts to head out.

“You did good, sweetheart,” Barb hugs you gently. “Gerald is here to pick me up now, but I assume I’ll see you on Saturday for shopping?”

“You will,” you mumble into her shoulder.

“I’m just going to miss you so much!” Janine wipes a tear as she lunges forward to hug you.

“I think she had a little too much to drink,” Gregory takes his girlfriend by the hand to pry her off of you. “Congrats, Y/N. Hopefully, you’ll rejoin us at Abbott soon.”

“I’m with them, but it was really great getting to work with you!” Jacob grins. “And getting to see our favorite toughie soften up for you has been-“ he cuts himself off at the glare from your girlfriend. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.” The three of them exit quickly, Jacob and Gregory half carrying Janine.

That leaves you with Melissa, Ava, and Mr. Johnson.

“I’m actually going to have to do my job in that room now that you’re leaving,” Mr. Johnson sighs. “It was nice having you around, kid.”

“Thanks, Mr. J,” you chuckle. He gives you a gentle pat on the back, downs his beer and heads out.

“I know you’re going back to your old school, but…” Ava tells you. “Know Abbott will always welcome you back with open arms- even if that means I’ll have competition for who is the hottest.”

Your girlfriend rolls her eyes as she pulls you closer by the hip. “It isn’t a contest, Ava. It’s Y/N, and then me… The Philly twelve and Philly eleven.”

“Yeah, whatever,” the principal laughs. “My mans is here, but I’ll catch you later.” She heads out.

“I’ll take the tab now,” you tell your bartender. 

“It’s all covered,” he waves you off. You glance to your girlfriend, who shrugs. “It’s on us… for our favorite teacher crew, celebrating one of our favorite teachers from the crew.”

You leave a generous tip before you and the redhead head out of the bar.

“Did you have a good day?” Melissa asks you gently as you get into the car.

“I did,” you smile softly. “It was a bit over the top, considering I’ll continue to see everyone, but… it was all very sweet.”

“You know we all love you,” your girlfriend tells you as she pulls her car out of the parking spot. 

“I know,” you say softly, resting your hand on her thigh. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about your note. I’m waiting to read it when we’re inside.”

“I do need to get ready for work tomorrow… my first day without my gorgeous girl next to me. So I have to shower when we get home.”

“That’s fine. I’ll read it then.”

Your girlfriend tries to tempt you with a dual shower, but you politely decline.

“I actually need to shower, you actually need to shower, and we both know nothing gets done when we shower together,” you tell her pointedly.

“Actually,” she smirks. “We both get done.”

“Melissa!” you groan.

“I’m not wrong,” she grins as she strips her clothes, hoping to entice you. It doesn’t work, but she knows you’re watching as she heads into the bathroom.

With a shaky breath, you take the card out of the envelope that she had given you at school today. It’s a beautifully decorated card- one that she clearly put a lot of effort into making special just for you. You open it to see her beautiful penmanship.

Y/N, it reads. Congratulations, amore. I’m so unbelievably proud of you- you did it! I never had a doubt in my mind that you could do it, and I truly consider you to be one of the brightest lights there is in this odd profession we’ve found ourselves in. 

I want to take this time to tell you how eternally grateful I am to have found you. I know we got off to a rocky start- I was angry at Ava and my last aide, and I was about to admit defeat when I stormed into her office. When I looked at you though, all that stress melted away. I would realize later that any time I looked at you, I would feel more at peace. 

I expected you to waltz into my room and add to the mayhem, much like Ashley did, but you proved me wrong from the start. You immediately proved that you were a pro- that you were worth keeping around. From your organization to the way that teaching and classroom management just comes so naturally to you… you’re the real deal, babe. 

And somehow, in the middle of the absolute chaos that we call our classroom, I fell for you. I was able to see every side of you- the professional and the personal. I was able to see the way that you worked seamlessly between organizing papers and handling the students in a matter of minutes of you being there. I saw the woman who is tough on the kids when they need it, but also knows how to soften up for a student who needs some extra love. I saw the goofball who isn’t afraid to be the butt of a joke because you create the joke and embrace it. I’ve loved watching you maneuver all of the staff- who even I haven’t figured out quite yet. I watched you grow professionally, but I also watched you grow personally. I’ve loved being able to be here for you through it all- all of the highs of celebrating when you got a 100% on an essay you worked your ass off to write by a deadline, to loving you through when your professor gave you a wrongful failing grade and we worked our asses off to write a better paper. I’ve loved watching you come into your own and figure out who you are. But mostly, I’ve loved loving you. I’ve loved being able to hold you on a good or a bad day, being able to cherish our time together and make memories that I never thought I would have. I’ve loved being your person, and you being mine. Thank you for being my person, thank you for letting me be your person, and here’s to you, my love. Congratulations.

She signed her name at the bottom with a heart scrawled next to it, and you can’t help but wipe a few tears away. You look towards her bathroom and smile when you hear her voice singing softly. You strip down before heading into the bathroom.

“Hon?” she calls.

You step into the shower with her, and her eyes are immediately all over you. You crash your lips into hers.

“I read your note,” you mumble against her lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

That night, the two of you hardly get any sleep.

You take the next few days off to ensure that you’re prepared for your new second graders, and then that weekend, you and Melissa find yourselves diving into your work to make sure that everything is just as it should be. You know you’re in good standing with your school, but you want to make sure that you still impress.

You end up staying at your apartment out in the suburbs (you aren’t even really sure why you have it anymore- you almost stay exclusively at your girlfriend’s in Philly) on Sunday night so that you’re closer to work.

“I’ll be fine, Mel,” you promise her over the phone as you’re driving.

“I just know that you’re nervous, and sometimes your anxiety gets the best of you,” she sighs into the phone. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay over with you?”

“I mean… you know you’re more than welcome to, but that commute for you is going to be a bitch tomorrow,” you chuckle. 

“It’s a worthwhile sacrifice for you, my dear,” she tells you. “Let me pack a bag, and I’ll be there not long after you.”

After a night of Melissa assuring you that you were going to be just fine- it’s just first day jitters, you wake up to an empty bed. You can smell breakfast being cooked. You yawn, get yourself dressed for work, and stumble into the kitchen. Melissa is already ready for school, and she’s just plating breakfast when you walk in. She smiles gently at you, pouring a cup of coffee for you as you slowly make your way into her arms.

“Good morning, my love,” she whispers, kissing your head. “Are you ready?”

“I’m gonna have to be,” you mumble into her shoulder.

“Well, I have to head out if I’m going to make it in time for the news, but I’ll drive back here to hear all about your first day? We’ll cook up somethin’ nice?”

You nod. “I love you. Thank you for staying over with me to help calm my nerves.”

“Anything for you,” she kisses you softly before slinging her bags around her. “Keep me updated throughout the day.”

Your first day is great. The kids are so excited to see you, your old coworkers are thrilled to have you back, and you don’t necessarily miss the piss stench that would waft itself in from the streets at Abbott.

But you find yourself comparing this school to Abbott- the odd little school in center city that has your heart. You find yourself missing sitting in the teacher’s lounge with your girlfriend and your friends, joking over whatever happened that day. You find yourself missing the knowing glances from Melissa when one of your kids says something funny. You catch yourself looking for someone to share a look with, even if it’s just one of the camera men you’ve grown fond of. 

After your first day, you drive yourself back to your apartment, fully ready to pour over quite a few notes and start planning for the next few weeks. Melissa strolls in not too much later, a grocery bag in hand.

“There’s my girl,” she smiles and makes her way over to you. She kisses you deeply. “How was your first day, amore?”

You shrug. “It was nice being back.”

You don’t fail to see the way her shoulders shrink slightly. 

“But I missed you today.”

“Well, you have me now, before I have to head back to my house,” she tells you. “I’ll cook us up some dinner?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you smile as you wrap your arms around her.

“I can’t really cook if you don’t let me go,” she quips. Begrudgingly, you let her go. “So tell me about your day.”

You do. She cooks dinner. The two of you find your way into your bedroom. After quite a few rounds, she sighs and cleans you up.

“So…” she sighs softly. “When will I get to see you again?”

You bite your lip. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Baby, that’s… four days away.”

“I know, but I’m already drowning in planning, and the kids are working on some of their projects from their teacher that I’ll have to grade, and I-“

“It’s okay, love,” she promises you, knowing you’ll get worked up. “I’ll see you on Friday?”

“I’ll come down for the weekend,” you tell her. “I promise. I might have to do some work, but we can spend the weekend together.”

She nods, kisses your nose, then your cheek, then your lips before slipping out of bed. 

You don’t end up seeing Melissa on Friday, or Saturday, or Sunday. You actually don’t see her until the following weekend until she comes over to your place after you hadn’t texted her all day on Friday. She’s worried about you.

“Y/N?” Melissa calls as she uses her key to let herself in. You’re asleep on some papers that you’re attempting to grade. “Oh, hon,” she sighs.

She shakes your shoulder gently, and you immediately sit up straight in a panic. Who was in your-

“It’s just me, amore,” she whispers and kisses your head. “It’s just me. You’re alright.”

You bring your hand to your chest as you continue to try to steady your breathing. “You had me so scared.”

“I’m sorry to just drop in on you,” your girlfriend apologizes. “I got worried when I didn’t get a text this morning or at all today.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately say. “I’ve been up to my eyeballs in grading… and I may have taken a cat nap.”

“I think the cat nap took you, love,” she chuckles. “Have you slept at all?”

“I slept for like forty-five minutes last night?” you blush. “I was up making sure that all of the things for the last week of school were ready.”

“Babe,” the redhead says sternly as she lifts you into her arms. “We’ve talked about how that’s not healthy.”

“I know, I know,” you sigh as you cuddle closer to her. “I just-“ you yawn. “I want to make sure everything is perfect for them next week.”

“You need sleep. And you always could’ve called me to ask for help.”

“You have both classes though,” you mumble, sleep already threatening to take you. That’s really the last thing you remember until you wake up again. Your girlfriend’s warm body is pressed up against yours, and you roll over to look at her.

“Sleep,” Melissa grumbles against your head. You feel her press a delicate kiss to your temple.

“I have to finish everything up,” you sigh as you try to pull away.

“I graded everything, and I made sure their bags were all made up, and I made sure the stuff for their party is in order… you really need to utilize your classroom parents more; how much did you spend out of your own pocket?”

“More than I’m willing to admit,” you mutter. You pull away from her slightly as you realize everything she did for you. “Mel. You didn’t have to-”

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to while you got some much deserved sleep. Now, did you eat before you fell asleep grading?”

You shake your head sheepishly against her chest.

“So if I order Korean, you’ll be happy?”

“You know how to treat a girl right,” you sigh in content. Your eyes flutter shut again.

“I’ll call it in and wake you the food gets here,” she chuckles as she kisses your head again.

Your final week with your second grade class passes quickly, and while you grew to love those kids, you find yourself thrilled to be able to set foot back in Abbott with your girlfriend. Ava had graciously added you back on as an aide, even if just for the last week of school- the lord knows Melissa needs help calming down over thirty children during the final few days of school.

You’re greeted with whoops and hollers as you enter the break room. It’s like nothing changed. Melissa makes your coffee in the mug you usually drank, you sit in between the two veteran teachers while you watch the news, and then the two of you walk hand in hand down the hall to your classroom.

“Do they still remember me?” you ask her quietly as you perch yourself on her desk.

“They’ve been chattering about you nonstop,” your girlfriend tells you. “They’re so excited to see you ag-”

“Miss Y/N!” one of your kids comes running in. She immediately tackles you in a hug, and you have to place a hand on Melissa in order to steady yourself before you wrap her up in your arms.

“Hey, baby,” you grin. “I missed you!”

“We missed you!” the little girl grins.

As the rest of the kiddos come trickling in, they greet you with bear hugs and lots of chatter about all of the things the redhead has been teaching them. 

Before you know it, you’re saying goodbye to the Abbott crew for the summer, and probably for the foreseeable future. You had been offered your position back at your school in the suburbs, and you hadn’t been offered a position at Abbott- as much as you would love to come back. You leave the school helping your girlfriend carry a few things out of the classroom with a sigh.

“It’s been a good run,” you sigh softly. “I’m going to miss this place.”

“Abbott’s gonna miss you,” Melissa mumbles quietly.

You spend the summer with the fiery redhead, often times at the beach. Occasionally, Barbara would join you, but for the most part it’s just you and your girl.

The beginning of the school year starts to creep up on you quickly though. You’re actually in the middle of decorating your new classroom, Melissa holding the push pins for you when your phone starts to ring.

Your girlfriend glances over at your phone. “Ava’s callin’.”

“Hand it here,” you request, a confused look on your face.

“Hey,” you say into the phone, as you cradle it between your ear and your shoulder. You continue to try to pin up the bulletin board. “Trying to get ahold of Melissa?”

“If I wanted Schemmenti, I would’ve called Schemmenti,” she tells you bluntly. “No, girl, I’m trying to get ahold of you!”

“Oh?” You pause your actions.

“Girl, Latisha just quit ‘cause she got a new job. Suburban white girl couldn’t handle it,” the principal of Abbott says. “So, naturally- as owner of the school: I thought I would bring you back! As a third grade teacher!”

Your eyes grow wide. Melissa’s do too; she can hear the loud woman through the speaker. 

You stammer out a “W-what? R-really?”

“Of course!” she grins into the phone. “So, what do you say?”

“I- I have a contract at Old Eagle,” you say softly, a frown on your face.

“So break that bitch!”

“I-“ you pause. You glance at your girlfriend looking at you hopefully. “I can try. When do you need an answer by?”

“Today,” she sighs dramatically. “If you can’t take it, I gotta hire someone else, and it’s gonna be a bitch trying to find someone two weeks before school starts.”

“Let me- uh, I have to go talk to my principal, but I- okay,” you start to think out loud as you climb down from the desk you’re currently standing on.

“Get back to me soon. I can’t hold this job for you forever,” she tells you before hanging up. 

Melissa is looking at you with curiosity. “So, what’re you gonna do, hon?”

“I’ll be back,” you tell her as you give her a quick peck on the cheek. “I have to try to quit.”

You practically sprint down to the principal’s office. You speak with the principal about your situation, and despite his efforts to keep you at Old Eagle, you tell him your heart belongs to Abbott. 

Two hours later, after far too much paperwork, you return to your classroom- your almost classroom. Melissa had finished your bulletin board for you, and now she’s scrolling through her phone with her cat-eyed glasses on.

“Sorry, hon,” you apologize. “I didn’t think it would take that long.”

“Well?” She looks at you imploringly.

“I have to call Ava and tell her I will be accepting the second grade position at Abbott,” you grin brightly. “And then I have to take all of this down to set it up in my own classroom- right next to yours.”

Ava is delighted with your news, telling you she’s thankful that she won’t have to interview “any boring ass people who will leave in three weeks anyway”. Then she tells you to get your tasty ass into Abbott today if possible to sign your contract and start decorating for your class.

“I know we were supposed to have a nice dinner tonight, but-”

“You signing the papers to get your contract at Abbott is way more important than our dinner, amore,” Melissa says as she starts taking down the things you’ve place around. “And besides, we can always have a nice dinner afterwards.”

The two of you head down to the school in Philly, you sign your papers, and start to set up your room before heading back to her house. You pull your laptop up, eager to sign back in to your Abbott email and check your roster for this upcoming school year. She cooks, and by the time dinner is ready, you’re looking for apartments to move into in Philadelphia.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, hon?” she asks as she slides your plate over to you. “I know you ain’t still looking at your roster.”

“Apartments,” you sigh. “I figure now that I don’t have any ties to my suburban school and my lease is up in October, I might as well make the move out here.”

Your girlfriend bites her lip nervously before blurting out, “What if you just moved in with me?”

You have to stop yourself from dropping your jaw. “What?”

“I mean… you’re always here and spending the night anyway. You have a drawer at my house. Why not just- move in?”

“Are you being serious right now?” You ask her as you stand and make your way to her side of the table. 

She gives a noncommittal hum. “It’d make sense. If you-”

“I would love to,” you tell her as you crash your lips together.

The next few weeks are hectic for the both of you. In between preparing for the school year, packing up your apartment, and then development week, you both are up to your eyeballs in work. But you’re always together, and that’s what matters.

There really isn’t even a big shift in moving in with your girlfriend. She was right. Half of your things were there anyway; now it’s just official that the two of you share a home. And it truly feels like a home- much more of a home than the dingy apartment you had out in the suburbs ever was. 

On the first day of school, the two of you walk in hand in hand, having taken only one car. You watch the news together with your crew, and then you head off to your own classroom. She heads to hers. And when you go to stand outside of your room to greet your new students, you catch a glimpse of Melissa. In that moment, you know you made the right choice. Abbott is home. Melissa is home. 

[togrowoldinv]

The Internship

Professors!WandaNat x Female Reader

Professor Maximoff rewards you for such an excellent job interning for her. Her wife is a part of the celebration

Warnings: Smut! 18+ please! Kissing, cursing, mommy and daddy kink lol, oral (R receiving), strap on sex, both of them being a little degrading

Note: Hehe professors are backkkk. Enjoy this one!

WandaNat Masterlist, Main Masterlist

When the semester came to an end, you were itching to get started on your summer internship. Working under Professor Maximoff was your dream.

It was highly competitive, so only you and one other student were selected. You knew a lot would be expected of you, but that it would be well worth it in the end.

You had no idea just what the reward would be though. But tonight as you sit across from Wanda at the dining room table in her home, you begin to realize just what might be in store.

Dinner is a formality for the internship finishers, but you don’t think the way Professor Maximoff is looking at you is at all formal. In fact, she’s been flirting with you all summer and making comments that send you home with an odd feeling in your gut.

And her wife doesn’t seem to care. You thought maybe she didn’t notice, but she steals glances at you in a way that makes you think she notices everything.

The dinner ends and Peter goes out the door first. You are about to follow when Wanda calls after you.

“Hey, can you wait back?” Professor Maximoff asks you.

You bid your friend a goodnight and turn back to the women.

“Would you join us in the sitting room?” Wanda asks.

“Oh- um- sure,” you reply.

“Excellent. Natasha, sweetheart, can you get us some more drinks?” She asks her wife, dropping a kiss to her lips.

You try to look away. But they both see how you stared.

“Absolutely,” Natasha says.

Wanda gestures for you to follow her into the next room. It’s got a brown leather couch and a love seat that matches it. The room is lined with bookshelves and photographs. It’s all very academic and homely.

“Have a seat,” she says, patting the couch cushion next to her. “So, I wanted to talk to you more about your performance this summer,” Wanda says.

“Oh, okay sure.”

Natasha returns then with three glasses of wine. Wanda accepts hers with a kiss. You hope they don’t notice the way you rub your thighs together to relieve some pressure.

The redhead sits on the loveseat across the room from you and Wanda. She doesn’t bother sitting with her legs together and her short dress leaves little up to your imagination.

“You were an exemplary intern,” Wanda says. “You listened to everything I said and you even took my relentless flirting with grace.”

You look down at your feet shyly and Wanda scoots closer to you. She turns your face to look at hers.

“Natasha, don’t you see why I flirted with her?” Wanda talks to her wife like you aren’t there. It sends shivers up your spine.

“I do. She’s a pretty girl,” Natasha says. You can feel her eyes burning into you.

“Come here,” Wanda says to her wife.

Natasha crosses the room and sits on the other side of you. Her hand rests on your shoulder.

“Are you okay with this?” Wanda asks, speaking to you again.

You don’t really know what this is but you find yourself nodding.

“That’s a good girl,” Natasha says. Her hand finds its way to your waist as she pulls you back onto her lap. Your backside feels something hard under her dress.

“I want to worship you,” Wanda says. Her lips hover over yours.

“Please,” you all but whimper. The closeness of it all becomes so much.

“Relax detka,” Natasha says. She lifts your dress up your legs and reveals you to Wanda.

The brunette gets on her knees front of the couch and she presses featherlight kisses to your thighs. She can feel and smell the arousal pooling in your panties.

Wanda kisses your pussy through the thin material and your hips shake.

“Oh, god Natasha, she’s so wet for me,” Wanda says. Her voice has dropped an octave.

“Yeah?” Nat teases. “I think it’s time to make her feel good.”

“Please,” you say.

“Please what?” Nat says. You’re silent. You’re not sure what term she’s looking for, so she supplies it for you. “Tell Mommy what you want.”

“I- I want you to fuck me,” you say. “Please Mommy.”

“There we go, baby. Good girl,” Nat rewards you with a kiss to your cheek.

Neither woman has kissed your lips yet. But Wanda moves your panties to the side and licks a long stripe up your pussy. She expertly spreads your folds and her tongue keeps working.

Natasha’s hands massage your breasts as her wife eats you out.

“How does she taste, Wands?” Nat asks.

“Perfect,” Wanda mumbles against you. The vibration spurs you on further.

Your hips shake and you feel yourself letting go.

“Come for mommy,” Nat instructs.

And you do. Wanda cleans you up and relishes in the taste of you.

She gets off her knees and you think she’s going to kiss you but she kisses Nat instead. You watch as Natasha tastes you on Wanda’s tongue.

“Your turn, baby,” Wanda says to her wife.

Nat slips you off her lap and onto the couch next to Wanda. Wanda takes your dress all the way off you and immediately sucks on your nipples.

Natasha stands in front of you and takes off her dress as well. She reveals a strap that makes your eyes go wide.

“Think you can take it, detka?” She asks you.

“Yes please,” you say. She gives you a look and you correct yourself. “Yes daddy.”

“Oh, yes. So good,” Wanda jumps in.

Natasha takes the tip of the strap and brushes it against your folds before she slips into you. It makes you gasp in pleasure.

She starts slow but is soon going in and out so quickly that you can’t stop yourself from moving into an orgasm quickly.

“Fuck y/n,” Natasha says.

She pulls out of you and Wanda takes her strap into her mouth, once again tasting you.

Natasha leans down and pulls her wife into another kiss. You let out a whine. You wanted to kiss them too.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Wanda asks, her tone slightly condescending.

“I- would you kiss me please?” You answer.

“Oh, how sweet,” Natasha says. “Go on Wands. Give her a kiss.”

Wanda leans in and presses her lips against yours. The kiss is soft but hungry. It’s everything you’ve been imagining all summer.

“You have to kiss her, Natasha,” Wanda says once she’s pulled away.

“My pleasure,” Nat replies.

She takes your face in her strong hands and kisses you. Her tongue wastes no time moving against yours as she kisses you for what feels like forever.

“I think it’s time for her to take care of us,” Wanda says.

“I have to agree,” Natasha says.

The two women share a look and you know you’re in for a long night. The payoff of this long, grueling internship is indeed well worth it.

[wandussyfantasy]

Free Use (WandaNat)

Summary: After the events of Feeling Twenty-Two, Wanda invites you to stay with her and Natasha as long as you please. With the condition that they can have you whenever they want.

Word Count: 2.1k

WARNINGS:

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT READ & DO NOT INTERACT!!!

bottom fem reader, g!p Wanda, g!p Nat, oral, threesome, legal age gap, praising, degrading, creampie, and freeuse

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓. 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

“I just don't understand why you won't tell us where you're moving to?” Kate gripes as she moves a box of your things into the moving truck. Wanda was happy to pay for it and even offered to hire movers but you didn't want to explain something you couldn't afford to your friends. After your trip to your home town, you returned to start a new semester at school. But you couldn't stop thinking about the women who made your twenty second birthday the most memorable birthday ever. They even took care of you the next morning and you never wanted to leave but you told them you had a flight a couple days from then that you couldn't miss. They understood and Wanda made you an offer that she allowed you to think about. She didn't want an immediate answer. She wanted you to think about it.

Which you did, every moment of every day. It was an unusual offer. But it was also a very beneficial one. It took her until the end of her summer break to feel confident in an answer. She had gone on several bad dates within that time and no one caught her eye enough to have a one night stand with. But she had plenty of nights by herself, masterbating to the memories of that night. 

“Kate, will you please drop it? I’ll come visit when I can. Besides, we have a few classes together. It's not the end of the world,” you say to comfort your friend. When you finally called Wanda and agreed, she invited you to her office. She is a lawyer, so she had a few legal documents of the arrangement drawn up. There is a discretion clause, meaning that you couldn't just parade around that you agreed to be a sex object for the couple. She said that you are allowed to have outside relationships and even have friends over at the house. But until you could figure out a way to explain your situation without explaining it, you didn't want your friends and family to know anything.

“Alright, I guess I can't say anything to make you stay,” Kate throws her hands up in defeat. “Just know, it's your fault if I end up in prison.”

You laugh at the thought of her blaming you for her actions. “How would that be my fault?”

Kate shrugs, “You keep me from doing stupid stuff. Now I can do all of the stupid stuff I want.”

You shake your head, “I’m sure your new girlfriend will supervise you.”

“Yelena will be in the cell with me, excuse you,” she pretends to be offended. 

The two of you share a laugh. You look around to see that everything you own is inside of the moving truck. “I’ll see you in class next week,” you pull your now former roommate into a tight hug. 

“I’m not going to see you for a whole week!” she is upset by the idea, but you couldn't promise any sooner. Not when it's your first week on the job. 

Live-in Nanny, is your official title. They don't have kids or even pets for that matter. But it looks good on paper for when you have to get a job after graduation and employers won't ask too many questions. “You’ll be fine without me for a week,” you say as you shut and lock the truck. 

You pull Kate into a quick hug before getting into the cab of the vehicle. You are anxious to get to Wanda and Natasha’s. Wanda had messaged you that they have a special welcome home celebration planned. You wanted to be there several hours ago. 

Arriving at the mansion again, your pussy gets wet at the first memories made here. The night of fucking and the morning of aftercare. Oh how excited you are to be back here. Once you park the vehicle, a moving team is ready to unpack the truck. You climb out and look at Wanda and Natasha with confusion written all over your face. “As excited as we are for you to move in, we aren’t going to waste time with that,” Natasha explains. 

“It’s not a waste of time,” Wanda corrects her wife. “We would have been happy to help you move in,” Wanda guides you into the house with an arm around you. “We just thought it was to preserve our energy for… other things.” You shift as you think about what the energy will be spent. 

“The little whore wants to ride our dicks while the movers work,” Natasha says to her wife in a low tone. Wanda shakes her head.

“Well, she will have to wait. I made a special dinner.” Wanda surprises you with a kiss on your neck. “But don't worry, babe, we'll have fun as soon as your stuff is moved in and the audience is gone,” she promises. 

“Of course, uh, what are we having?” Walking into the dining room, your question is answered without either having to say a word. Displayed among an extravagant dining table is a full spread of delicious looking food. “You really didn't have to,” you say to Wanda. 

“We know,” Natasha says as she pulls a chair out for herself. “But that's what makes Wanda so amazing,” she blows a kiss to her wife. She blushes and you love the way the couple interacts with each other. Wanda informed you that they've been together for close to eleven years but only married for four years. You asked her why they wanted to include you if they were happy with each other. Wanda told you that they have always wanted to have a more polyamorous relationship. But never could find someone that worked for both of them. Sure, there were people that were okay with being with a married person. But there weren't many that were okay with being with both Wanda and Natasha. You are the first. 

The meal is fun and easy. You were worried that although there is a great sexual chemistry, there might not be any other connection. But, those fears fade as the three of you engage in conversation for hours without an awkward silence. The food was amazing and you made sure to compliment Wanda. She flushed and asked you to stop raving, “You can thank me later,” she continued suggestively.

“I most definitely will,” you say as you imagine what you're going to do with her once you can. 

The three of you move to the living area to watch a movie. They insist that you sit in the middle and snuggle up to you shortly after the film starts. Halfway through the movie, the manager of the moving crew informs you all that they are finished. Wanda gets up to pay the man and his team. She leads him away and once the front door shuts, Natasha nudges you onto her lap. You comply out of curiosity and feel her erection at your entrance. She tries to pull down your yoga pants but finds it difficult to do so. Annoyed, Natasha rips the pants open so that your ass and pussy are exposed. She roughly massages your ass as you continue to watch the movie while getting increasingly aroused. 

Then, Natasha unzips her jeans and pulls herself out. She rubs her cock along your entrance, getting it covered in your juices. “Of course, you're ready for me,” she slips inside and you let out a low moan. Natasha bounces you on her cock. “Oh I hate this part of the movie,” she says. 

“Yeah, it's, it's, it's not my favorite,” you respond. When Wanda returns, she has a bowl of popcorn and she sits comfortably next to you and Natasha. You get turned on even more as they go about things as normal while Natasha is fucking you. When you had signed the contract and agreed to the FreeUse clause, you had no idea just how much you were going to enjoy it. 

Natasha cums inside of you and plops you back onto the sofa. She tucks her softening cock away and they pick the next movie. Wanda takes your hand and places it over her bulge. You hungrily release her penis from the tightening pants and put it in your mouth. You love the taste of her cock, especially her cum which you are working hard to earn. Already on your first day, you have cum dripping from your pussy and cum in your mouth. You are going to love it here.

A few weeks later, you are laying on your bed as you study for an exam when Wanda enters the room. Her cock is standing out of her pants and she climbs onto the bed, hovering over your body from behind. She enters you without warning and you gasp. “Hey Wanda,” you greet as she slowly humps into you. 

“Hey darling,” she kisses your neck. “What are you working on?” 

“I have an exam at the end of the week, just getting some studying out of the way,” you say. Wanda reaches around your body to play with your clitoris, causing you to clench around her thick cock. 

“That’s great, I love how studious you are.” Wanda praises. “You’re going to make a great business woman one day.”

“Thank you, baby. That means a lot coming from you. Oooh,” Wanda picks up her pace a little bit and you start to lose focus on your notes. She rubs your clit harder and harder until your body is spasming around her cock, milking her cum out of her. 

Wanda doesn't leave before eating out the mess from your pussy, giving you another organism. She kisses you and wishes you luck with your studying. You thank her and she is gone. 

A couple days later, you are making breakfast when Natasha walks in with her morning wood. “Wanda already left for work,” she says as she roughly enters you. She doesn't have a lot of time so she pounds into you until she is ready to cum. She pulls out and shoots her sperm on your back. “That looks good, have a plate ready for me when I come back down, please.” 

“Of course,” you say as you finish making the meal. 

One day, you arrive home after class to find Wanda and Natasha fucking on the kitchen table. You drop your things to join them. Gravitating to Wanda’s cock to suck on her as Natasha rams her cock into the woman's pussy. “Welcome home,” Wanda says through gasps. “How was your day?”

You pop her cock out of your mouth to answer. “It was good, I'm happy to be home though.” You take her cock back into your mouth and Wanda's head falls back at the over stimulation of her cock and pussy at the same time. When she is cumming, Natasha swiftly pulls out of her and pulls you off of Wanda by your hair and shoves her cock into your mouth. Wanda's cum continues to shoot out, making a mess on her stomach and table. Natasha fucks your face ruthlessly until she is releasing her orgasm in your mouth. 

“We’re so happy to have you back,” Natasha says through her grunts. She pulls out of your mouth breathlessly and looks at her dirty wife. “Clean her up,” she orders you as she walks away. 

Dutifully, you nod and start to lick up all of Wanda’s cum. “Thank you, baby,” she says as she lazily strokes your hair. You kiss her belly once it's only glistening with your saliva. She looks so beautiful and delicious splayed out naked on the table. You can't help kissing the rest of the way down to have your tongue in her sensitive pussy. “Ohhh,” Wanda says as you lick her just the way she likes. “I’m so happy you agreed to love us,” she says. 

“Not as happy as I am,” you reply sweetly. “Besides, it's easy loving the two of you.” 

Your words make Wanda emotional and she sits up on the table, requesting that you stand up. She pulls you into a deep kiss as she wraps her legs around your middle and her arms around your shoulders. “Please don't leave us.” 

“Never,” you promise, because you have no plans on ever doing so. 

“Nat and I have been wondering,” she starts a little nervously. Suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “Would you start sleeping in our bedroom, with us?”

You grin, feeling giddy as the relationship progresses, “Of course!” 

Wanda mirrors your expression. “I’m glad because,” she pulls your ear close to her lips, “I want to wake up with your tongue inside of me,” you get wet at the idea of how much more access the three of you will have to each other now. You never thought when you agreed to go home with her almost a year ago that this would be your life. But you are so grateful that it is.

[avonne-writes]

AVONNE!! :O

tell us about the hs au summer before university - what did they do, where did they go, what dates did they plan, gifts they gave eachother, apartment shopping, spending time w georgia. tell us pleaseeeee!

I loved thinking about this question, thank you ❤️

Immediately after school is over, they have a lazy week, with lots of sleeping, not doing anything, and trying to process the sudden emptiness that comes at the end of high school. At the end of the week, Gale starts reading books and Bucky dives into planning their living arrangements for the first semester. They already have a place secured (probably through a friend of Georgia's), they just need to furnish it.

They go on a road trip with their friends, part of it camping in tents. Hold each other by the campfire, kiss under the stars, drink (mostly Bucky) until they're drunk and giggly and horny. Attempt a risky blowjob in the forest at night, get stung on the arm and hands by nettles (Bucky), collect 20+ mosquito bites (Gale). Get sappy and talk about transcendence and life, joke about kids and marriage. Joking feels easier than saying they're gonna bet on the two of them.

They go to a few concerts and sports events, mostly with their friends, unsure if that’s the last time they'll see them until their first high school reunion. Some moments happy and carefree, others full of uncertainty. When the shadows hit, Gale gets quiet and serious, Bucky clings. Nobody mentions it.

They visit some of Georgia's relatives, who live in a nice surfer town. Georgia brings Neil along too, which is something new for Neil, but he handles it well. Bucky and Gale spend a lot of time at the beach. Gale gets a tan, Bucky freckles.

They go on simple, silly, nostalgic dates, visit secret spots where they used to make out, take lots of photos of each other. Reminisce about high school, talk about fear. Have sex in the afternoon, careful to be quiet, always careful, just in case. Fantasize about having their own space and privacy. Talk about not doing things so safely anymore once they've moved in together.

Gale spends a few weeks doing a seasonal part-time job, Bucky trains with some other boys who also received sports scolarships, to make sure they aren't terribly out of shape by the start of the semester. Gale visits his parents, sometimes without telling anyone about it, but it’s more of an emotional toll than any help. He just can’t stop himself from reaching for them again, even if it ends in disappointment.

The boys go shopping for furniture and trinkets for the apartment several times, both with Georgia and alone. Gale thought he'd enjoy doing this with Bucky, but he doesn’t. He struggles with it. He doesn’t want to choose anything, and he feels guilty for not contributing as much as Bucky (=Georgia). They buy small things for each other that they think the other will like.

They start planning what their daily life is going to look like. Look up what's around their apartment, what their campuses look like, where they're going to grocery shop, go to cinema, go on a night out etc. Plan all the exciting things they're going to do together (Bucky), hide any trepidation with blind hope (Gale).

They move into their new place with Georgia's and Neil's help. Say goodbye to Georgia and Neil, promise to call and visit often, tear up a little while hugging Georgia (Bucky), feel dizzy from the silence that follows because it sounds like the point of no return (Gale). Go out and discover the neighbourhood on foot, pet all the cats they find, race each other on the way home and then kiss and kiss and kiss until their bed calls.

Gale cuts his hair short. Bucky mourns it. They make love without holding back, then go to sleep smiling in each other's embrace, confident that college is going to be the best time of their lives.

[puck-luck]

new beginnings | may 27 - june 2

note: before i start this, i just want to warn y'all that it's 24.4k. if you want to read this in one sitting, i recommend locking in.

please hit me up in my inbox to give me feedback! or your thoughts! or speculation on what's coming next! i want you guys to talk to me all the time and tell me every thought you have. if i could send each of you the google document and force you to leave comments, i would.

also, i think by the time this fic is finished, it might be long enough to be a novel. should we all work together to get it published?

1:90 – TREVOR

“Do we really think it’s a good idea to spend the summer down here instead of the Michigan house?” Jack asks. “We own that one, after all.”

“Everyone knows about the Michigan house,” Trevor points out.

Cole, who had plotted this with Trevor after last summer’s debacle, sighs. “We can’t keep having the same conversation. We decided that we would train at the Checkers’ rink when we can get down to Charlotte and use the cement slab as our own rink in the yard of the rental house in the meantime. So that’s not your problem. So, what is, Jack? You’re gonna miss the girls?”

Jack fixes Cole with a cutting glare. “Fuck off.”

“You know, there are girls in North Carolina,” Cole says, a grin dimpling his cheeks. “Sweet, southern belles, even.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I can’t wait for the rest of the goons to get here. We’ll put it to a fucking vote and I’ll get to go home.”

“If you want to go home so bad, why don’t you?” Trevor asks. “We’re not forcing you to be here.”

“You triple-belted me in the backseat,” Jack argues. “You’re taking me away from Michigan and you can’t even let me have shotgun.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” Trevor mocks. “You have hands. And fingers. You’re not helpless.”

Jack huffs from his spot in the back, stubbornly turning his head to the right to watch the trees pass. Cole does the same from the passenger seat, tapping his fingers along the pane of the window.

There are twenty miles, an hour total, still on the GPS. Trevor hasn’t seen a town since they stopped at the gas station at the bottom of the mountain, the closest city being Winston-Salem almost an hour and a half ago, barely more than sparse houses and fields in the time since. They’re driving along a stream now and the latest exit off this small, two lane highway said “Love Valley.” Trevor snickers at the sign and goes to point it out to Jack, but Jack beats him to it.

“Don’t, Z.”

“It’s funny, dude.”

“It’s not, though.”

Cole cranks the volume up, drowning out the continuing argument that floats forward from the backseat. 

They drive on and Trevor thinks about it– everything. They have three unobscured months in Litchton, the only people knowing about their whereabouts are their families and coaches. The goons, as Jack referred to them, would be joining them sometime in the next day or two. Quinn and Luke had to wrap up some loose ends at home (Quinn, closing up his apartment for the summer; Luke, visiting some college friends as their semester comes to an end.

Litchton was the safest bet and Krebs had mentioned North Carolina to Trevor in passing the one time they caught up throughout the year, heaving heard from Leschyshyn that the mountain towns of his home state were notoriously quiet and drama-free and that their inhabitants, although lovers of gossip, kept to themselves. 

After those girls had snuck into the Michigan house at the end of the summer and started showing up wherever the boys went in the evenings, Trevor just wanted a summer off. He wanted time with his friends the way they used to have it, just working out together and drinking until they dropped, swimming and parading around the town like normal guys in their early twenties. 

In Litchton, they could pretend to be guys that were home for the summer, ready to start some corporate finance or everyday-tie job. It was a look into what could’ve been, had they not dedicated their lives to their sport. 

For three months, he gets to be Trevor Zegras, the kid who complained about his name being last on the roster in every class growing up and the kid who worked in his mom’s store after school. But he’s also Trevor Zegras, NHL superstar, ninth overall pick, owner of the best Michigan goal in the United States, so he might toss his name around in Litchton this summer. Just to see if it gets him anything.

If it doesn’t, his good looks certainly will. What’s flirting with a few old ladies on the street? It’ll be the highlight of their year.

Trevor misses the driveway the first time the car passes it. It’s hidden by brush and along a curve. The GPS reroutes them– but they have to drive an extra fifteen minutes along this road before they can turn around. 

They drive into a small town, a strip of eclectic stores littering the main road. There’s a small grocery store with a fruit stand out front that Cole points to.

“We could pick up some food while we’re out here,” Cole suggests. Upon hearing Jack’s mouth open in the backseat, he continues, “Just so we don’t have to come back later.”

Jack slouches against the backseat, huffing about being cut off at the opportunity to express his discomfort. 

“Jacky, will you relax? We’re going to have fun this summer.” Trevor tells him, turning into the parking lot and choosing a spot close to the entrance. 

Cole laughs when Jack unbuckles his three seatbelts in the wrong order and has to untangle them. Trevor flips the mirror down and fudges his hair, fluffing the ends. He had gotten it cut just before they left for this trip, so the edges were still even and sharp. 

Jack is the first to exit the car, practically throwing himself onto the pavement with his excitement to leave the vehicle behind, if only briefly. They’d been driving for hours. Cole flew into New York from Montréal, so Trevor had to pick him up from the airport. They picked Jack up in Jersey in the early morning and started driving south. 

Trevor can’t blame Jack for his annoyance. They’ve been in the car with him for ten long hours and they forced the first stretch of driving on him, having spent about two hours in the car before getting him. He had just woken up and had to drive four hours through the traffic of Philly and into Baltimore. He napped while Cole drove down through most of Virginia, and then woke up grumpy anyway when Trevor took over to take on North Carolina. 

It’s been a long fucking day.

They shop together, but they bicker quietly. After years of friendship, their arguments seem more like brotherly spats. The knowing smiles from the women in the grocery store prove that they’ve heard encounters like this before, likely in their own homes. 

Eventually, Trevor rolls his eyes and goes to sit in the car. He leaves Cole and Jack to pay for the groceries. Upon leaving the store, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and pulls up Instagram, hoping to catch up on the posts that he had missed on the long drive.

Walking past the fruit stand out front, Trevor bumps into someone and he stumbles back.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor apologizes, reaching out and steadying the girl with a touch to her elbow. “I didn’t see you.”

“Hard to see me when you’re on your phone,” she replies with a tilted smile. 

Trevor lets out a little laugh at her reply, barely a breath. “I’ll be more careful next time.”

She nods with an approving hum and turns back to the stand, picking up a peach and turning it over in her hand. 

Trevor turns and walks to the car, climbing into the vehicle and settling behind the wheel. He watches the sliding door for his friends, but his eyes drift back to the girl.

She’s tied a red bandana in her hair and she slips peaches into her mesh bag. She talks to the vendor, using her hands to speak. She’s pretty, he realizes, far prettier than the girls he knows from California. The vendor hands her a basket of strawberries, which she takes carefully, inspecting the red berries by twisting the basket’s handle from side to side, spinning it. Trevor can see her profile this way– the slope of her nose, smooth. Her eyelashes, long. Her lips, pink and pursed into a little smile. Her stance is tilted, one hand on her hips.

Trevor is back outside the car before he can think. He approaches her as she pays for her fruit, standing behind her when she turns around.

She jumps when she sees him. “You’re still here?” She asks.

“No, but I’m back,” Trevor replies, realizing just how lame he sounds. “My friends and I are staying here for the summer and I just wanted to introduce myself.”

When he falls silent after explaining himself, she looks at him expectantly. He can see the bottoms of her teeth as her lips part. “So introduce yourself.” She gestures for him to go on.

“I’m Trevor,” he says, sticking his hand out. “My friends call me Z.”

Her eyes drop to his hand briefly. She considers it before reaching up and taking his hand, shaking it. “Why?” She asks.

“My last name starts with a Z,” Trevor supplies. “Zegras.” The smile he gives her is strained, expecting her eyes to light up in recognition. They do, but it’s not in the way he expects.

“You’re Greek?” She asks, her interest piqued. 

“Yeah,” Trevor replies. “But not, like… Greek. I’m from New York, but I live in California now.”

At the mention of California, her face stiffens. She hums disapprovingly. “Got sick of the West Coast, I take it? Is that why you’re back east this summer?”

Trevor flounders for a moment. “I love California, but the guys and I always spend our summers together. Usually we’re in Michigan.”

“So y’all travel all around, huh?” She asks. She doesn’t sound impressed, which makes Trevor nervous. In fact, she sounds almost disdainful, but the look on her face appears as though she’s holding back a laugh. Whether that is at his expense, he doesn’t know.

“We’re very lucky,” Trevor confirms, nodding tightly. “Most of our travel is for work, though. We all work in the same industry and it involves a lot of, um, business trips.”

“Business trips?” She asks, letting the laugh overtake her this time as she looks him up and down. “You?”

Trevor looks down at his own outfit, the basketball shorts and loose t-shirt. They’re two of the few clothes he owns that are not branded with the Ducks logo. He scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “We’ve been driving a while and I wanted to be comfortable.”

“You certainly look comfortable,” She agrees with a nod, her grin knowing and wide.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Trevor says with a similar grin, shuffling forward just a step now that he’s got her smiling and laughing.

It’s then that Cole and Jack exit the grocery store, each with a hefty load of grocery bags on their arms. They’re laughing, so it appears Cole has managed to cheer up the sullen Jack in Trevor’s absence. Trevor watches the girl’s eyes leave his, drawn to the movement and volume of his two friends. He curses them in his mind, watching as they find him and decide to approach.

“I thought you were warming up the car, Z,” Jack accuses, his eyes flickering between Trevor and the girl. “D’you get distracted?”

Trevor bites his tongue before forcing a smile on his face. He turns back to the girl. “These are the some of the friends I mentioned, Jack and Cole. The other ones, Jack’s brothers, aren’t here yet.” Trevor knows he’s overexplaining, but he can’t help it. Something about this girl has him awkward and tongue-tied, yet his tongue can’t stop forming words and pushing them out.

“Yeah, your business partners.” She rubs a hand over her face, smoothing out the half-smile that was clearly keeping a laugh at bay. “Are they also from California?”

Cole snorts. “Business partners?” He repeats. “From California? No way. You’d never catch me dead in Anaheim, unless we’re playing there. Believe me, I’d be on the quickest flight back.”

“I just said we all worked in the same industry,” Trevor corrects, throwing on his most charming smile to try and salvage the situation. He wasn’t lying, but this girl might think he is, and that would be disastrous. He doesn’t know why, but it would be. He wants her to think highly of him and now he’s made two bad first impressions.

The second one is his friends’ fault, of course.

And she does think he’s lying– Trevor can tell by the way she looks him up and down, then Cole, then Jack. Her eyes squint imperceptibly at Cole’s mention of “playing” in Anaheim, rather than working. It was a statement that could have extended the conversation, but this girl seems to decide that she is uninterested.

She nods sarcastically, then scoffs quietly. “I have to go,” she says. “It was nice to meet you, Trevor. Have fun in Litchton this summer, boys.”

“Oh, we will,” Jack assures her. Trevor hates how his eyes rake over her, combing through each detail of her skin, her clothes, and her hair.

“Nice meeting you!” Cole calls after her as she walks away.

Both boys turn to Trevor, equally annoying smiles on their faces. 

“Shut up,” he hisses before they can say anything. 

“Who was that?” Cole asks.

“I didn’t get her name,” Trevor growls through gritted teeth. “She was just about to tell me and then the two of you showed up.”

“Boo-hoo,” Jack teases. “So you won’t be the first to bed a girl this summer, for… how many summers in a row is it now, Coley?”

Cole’s laughter breaks his face, but Trevor interrupts before he can speak.

“It’s not even a real competition, Jack. You only act like it is because you fuck the same girl every summer as soon as we get to the lake house. It’s trashy.”

“Being a winner isn’t trashy, Trev. In fact, maybe I should go follow after the girl you were just chatting up. I’ll show her how a real man flirts.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Trevor feels a flare of anger well up inside of him when Jack insinuates taking this girl for himself. It should be anger about questioning Trevor’s manhood, but it is not. “Get in the car.”

He stalks off, starting the car this time and situating himself behind the wheel. Jack vies for the passenger seat unsuccessfully, souring his mood yet again. Despite Cole’s smaller stature, Jack is the one left in the backseat with the bags of groceries around him. Soon, Trevor’s shirt joins him after a misguided throw to the trunk of the car where their luggage resides.

When they arrive at the house, Jack only carries the groceries inside. He claims he’s been stilted all day and Trevor can’t really do much to prove otherwise. Cole carries in his and Jack’s luggage into the home– a rental that Trevor paid good money to book for the entire summer. 

“I get the best room!” Trevor yells after them. “I paid for it! I want the ensuite bathroom!”

“Go fuck yourself,” Jack replies. He’ll leave the room for Trevor to take anyway. 

The three boys had planned this ahead of time. They would be in Litchton the whole summer, so they will take the three bedrooms that have king beds. Quinn and Luke will take the queen beds in the other bedroom, and the various guests throughout the summer will take the bunk beds in the basement. From the pictures alone, Trevor realizes that the house could sleep more than ten people. If they can find ten people, maybe they could throw a party. 

and invite that girl, Trevor thinks.

He’s taken aback by the thought and its suddenness. He doesn’t even know her name or if he’ll see her again– so why is he thinking of her?

Trevor shakes the thought and grabs his bags from the back of the car. He used an extra practice bag from the bottom of his closet in Anaheim to pack his clothes for the summer, so he has a free hand to open the door that Cole closed behind him. 

He finds the big bedroom easily and drops his bag in the closet, not bothering to unpack. He looks out the sliding door onto his porch, the wrap-around that encircles the entire back of the house. His porch holds two rocking chairs and a wooden bench. The house is built out of wood– almost overwhelmingly so– and the decorations match. His bedframe, his dresser, his bedside table, his small desk, the fan, even the blinds on the window… all of them are made of wood. 

His bathroom has double sinks and a granite countertop. The handles are gold in color, but likely not in material. The spout of the sink is more like a water spigot that one might find outdoors, but it’s classy. When Trevor enters his bathroom, he’s in awe of the jacuzzi tub and shower on the other side of the room. 

The tub and shower are both built from dark marble, bespeckled with lines of darker ore. The tub has wooden cabinets beneath the feet of marble on either side of the tub, which holds towels and toiletries on the right and left respectively. The tub has jets and a handheld spout that’s detachable. Trevor considers them. He can think of a use for both.

The shower is spacious with an overhead spout, wide and fancy. It has ledges for toiletries, as well as a seat in the corner. The door is glass and there is a hook for towels next to the opening. The shower stands from ceiling to floor, completely confined. Despite the windows to the side of it, the occupant of the shower would be completely hidden from sight, once the glass door steams up. 

Trevor explores the house further, but doesn’t take up residence anywhere. Cole and Jack seem to have put the groceries away while he found his room and looked around. Now, they’re nowhere to be found. They’ve likely taken up residence in their bedrooms for the night, tired from their eleven hour drive.

Lord knows Jack needs sleep before he braves this vacation. He always gets grumpy when he’s tired, part of the reason why he naps prior to every game. 

Trevor is glad that all of the boys can make it up for the summer. He can’t wait to get things started.

2:90 – HONEY

She wakes with the sunrise, as she does every Tuesday. It’s her first day of the week at the bookstore and she has to open. The Reading Nook is always closed on Mondays and she is one of three workers– the owner, Ada and her best friend since childhood, Bea. Ada opens the store on Thursday, whereas Bea opens it on Friday. Every other day of the week, the responsibility falls on her.

She makes her coffee and drinks it on her couch, looking out the window towards the mountains in the distance. It’s clear today and she can see the rows of mountains clearly– ten rows back. Once, her father had told her that if you could count ten rows back, you were looking at the mountains across state lines. If you could count ten mountains, then you could count all the way to Tennessee. 

She believed him, until she realized that the sun always rises behind those mountains. She faces east. Tennessee is to the west.

Still, the memory comes with fondness. It was before she moved away from home to pursue a life of quietness in the mountains, her favorite place in the world. Those days are long in the past. She has no interest in returning to them, given how far she’s come. The only person from her hometown that was welcomed into this new life was Bea and she has proven time and time again that she is deserving of that role.

Not only did they grow up together, but she got her nickname because of her friendship with Bea. As children, a long-forgotten teacher had made a comment about the two being attached at the hip, stuck together like glue. She had corrected herself with a laugh, evidently feeling clever when she said: “No, more like a bee to honey, right, girls?” From that day on, she had only gone by Honey and Bea had shortened her name from Beatrice to keep the analogy. 

She drives to The Reading Nook and unlocks the store, wiping the counter and sweeping the main room while she waits for her regular patrons to enter the store.

On Tuesdays, the “founding” women of Litchton convene in the bookstore and knit. Some days, Honey joins them. Others, she just wishes to sit and read at their table, listening in on the gossip of the week. The women are not so much founders as the grandmothers who lived in Litchton since their birth, having married and worked and raised families here. They are true Appalachian women– driven by superstition and fantastical solutions, lovers of a good story, and wonderful bakers who only crave to share their gift. They are churchgoers, often multiple times a week, and headstrong believers in their chosen politician. These are the attributes that Honey does not share with the women– she was an outsider, although she has been welcomed into the Litchton society since moving here. She attended church when the ladies asked her to, usually for the rare wedding or baptism. Rarer for a funeral, luckily. Honey does not feel any particular way about politics, at least not out loud, and she’s lucky that the ladies try to reserve that topic for the debates of their husbands over dinner parties, not the knitting circle on early Tuesday mornings.

Sacha is the first to arrive to the bookstore that morning, armed with blueberry muffins in a tupperware that Honey will have to wash in the little sink in the back while the women are knitting. Sacha has left one too many tupperwares and bowls in The Reading Nook and Honey won’t allow her to leave another behind. 

Honey plates the muffins for Sacha while the elderly woman secures the long table in the store for her friends. It does not take long for Scarlett, Gillian, Vera, and Rosalind to join. The women each knit their own project, waking up over coffee and muffins before the gossip starts.

It begins with Vera’s son’s divorce, something she had been dreading since he proposed to his soon-to-be ex-wife while they were still students at NC State. They had moved to Raleigh permanently, an action that Vera believes started this whole thing. When her son left home, and his wife finally revealed that she didn’t want children, Vera knew it was over. Or so she said. Honey thinks that she’s just butthurt about her son fleeing the nest… ten years ago. She wonders, briefly, if her own mother feels this way about her.

Honey shakes herself out of her thoughts as soon as Scarlett introduces the next topic, the topic that Honey knew was coming since the night before.

“Did you see those young men at the store yesterday? I know you always do your shopping on Monday evenings, Rosalind.” Scarlett tilts her head like she’s conspiring with Rosalind, like Rosalind has been holding information from the group.

Rosalind nods, eyes glinting behind her wired glasses. “They were such handsome boys. Lord, I tell you, if I were a young lady nowadays…”

She trails off and Honey stifles a laugh, looking down at the counter. She can feel the ladies’ eyes on her, no doubt hoping that the mention of boys piques her interest. Honey knows how these ladies were in their day– boy crazy but also efficient, looking for the perfect match and settling for no less. All of them prevailed, although from their complaints, you would never know their husbands were the loves of their lives.

“Ladies, you know this conversation would be better suited for Bea,” Honey teases. 

“Bea is too forthcoming, you are still somewhat of a mystery.” Gillian lifts an eyebrow. 

“Where is Miss Bea?” Vera asks. “Wasn’t she supposed to be here half an hour ago?”

Honey doesn’t stifle her laugh this time. “Miss Vera!” She exclaims. “It is a Tuesday morning. You know Bea has no interest in showing up to work for at least another hour.”

Vera shakes her head. “You and Ada have got to stop allowing her to show up so late.”

Sacha laughs. “As if they could stop her if they tried!”

All of the women, and Honey, laugh at the joke. It’s well established in Litchton that Bea is the tardy sort, whereas everyone else prefers to be early or on time. Bea has the attitude of a city girl, to quote the old ladies, but the work ethic and priorities of a Litchton woman. She likes her men, she likes her job, but she loves a nice lay-in.

“Besides,” Honey tells the women, hesitating with a coy smile before dropping the bomb of information: “I’ve already met those men.”

The effect is instantaneous. All of them drop their knitting onto their laps and gasp. Gillian clutches at her chest, always the most dramatic of the quintet. 

“My darling,” Rosalind marvels.

“Well?” Scarlett questions. “How? When? Tell us everything.”

Honey moves from behind the counter to an empty seat at their table. She sits next to Sacha, the woman taking her hand and holding it tightly. 

“You ladies seem to forget that I go to the fruit stand outside the store on Monday evenings,” Honey begins. “Which is where I ran into them. Literally, too– one of them had his nose buried in his phone and bumped into me. He could’ve knocked me over!”

“You should have fallen so that he could have helped you up,” Rosalind suggests. The women murmur in agreement.

Honey rolls her eyes. “I did not. He apologized, I told him that he only bumped into me because he was caught up in his phone, and he said he would be more careful next time.”

“Next time,” Gillian repeats, nodding. “So he wishes to see you again?”

“Turns out, ‘next time’ was about five minutes later, when I went to leave the stand and he was right behind me!” Honey reveals, purposefully lacing incredulity into her voice. She places a finger on her lips and widens her eyes, playing into the dramatics of the ladies as if to say “What do you think of that?”

The women gasp in time. 

“Which one was it?” Scarlett asks.

“I only saw the other two for a moment, so I don’t think I could describe them well enough to you,” Honey says. “The one I spoke to is named Trevor.” She pauses to roll her eyes before adding sarcastically, “But his friends call him Z.”

Scarlett and Rosalind nod and look to each other. 

“It must have been the one who left earlier than the other two,” Scarlett says. “With those awful tattoos.”

Honey bites back a giggle. Once a southern mother, always a southern mother. “He did have tattoos,” she confirms.

“You two would get along,” Vera suggests, not so subtly casting a glance at the leafy vines that crawl up Honey’s arm.

Honey goes quiet, glaring at Vera. She has worked to try and get the ladies to stop commenting on her body and habits over the past few years, but the ladies are stubborn and traditional in most senses.

“How long will they be here? Or were they just stopping through?” Gillian asks.

“They’ll be here all summer, so I’m sure we’ll get our fill of them.” With that, Honey effectively ends her role in the conversation. She returns to the counter and opens her book, pretending to read it.

She knew the ladies would have caught wind of the men’s arrival by now and would want to discuss it. She knew that the ladies would be interested in setting her up with one of these new arrivals. They were cute, she’d give them that. At a glance, any of the three could have been nice company at a brewery, but Honey wasn’t looking. She was perfectly content with finding herself and making her own life, even if it meant that she wasn’t finding a husband like most women in Litchton wanted her to do.

The other thing was this: Trevor hadn’t made the best first impression. He bumped into her, then startled her, then told her some story about business partners or colleagues that definitely was not true, and he was from California. He’s a yuppie, a hipster who probably enjoys the bustle of Los Angeles and can’t handle the slow, satisfying life of a small town. To her estimate, Trevor has got a week before he leaves Litchton for something more glamorous and fast-paced.

The ladies relay the news to Bea when she finally shows up for her shift, a travel mug of coffee in hand from which she sips throughout each tantalizing detail of Scarlett’s retelling. Upon Honey’s information, Bea’s eyes flicker knowingly toward the counter and Honey just shrugs. Bea’s eyes then narrow, accompanying a questioning tilt of her head. Honey shakes her head at that, and Bea lets it go.

“Well, I heard the reason that Mr. Mayes wasn’t at church last week wasn’t his hip acting up,” Bea says to the ladies when it’s her turn. That starts a whole new tangent for the knitting club, one that will keep them occupied and in their seats for a number of minutes. It gives Honey the time to slip into the back and cut up one of the peaches that she brought from home to snack on during work. 

The ladies leave The Reading Nook about an hour after Bea’s arrival, leaving the store empty except for the two girls and floaters looking for their next novel.

Bea leans against the counter with a smug smile, blinking innocently at Honey. 

“What do you really think about them?” She asks.

“I think they’re trouble,” Honey says. “They didn’t seem on the same page about their jobs, they don’t know anything about living in a small town, they travel a lot, and I think I saw one of them carrying a 48-pack of beer.”

“Are they cute?”

Honey fixes Bea with a stare that could put a stop to anyone else’s questions. Unfortunately, Bea is immune to Honey’s intimidation tactics and her sarcastic jabs. She sees right through them. Honey’s silence is another thing she sees through.

“Interesting.” She draws herself up to her full height. 

“I think you would find them cute,” Honey says.

Bea hums. “You can’t backtrack now. You said enough without saying anything at all.” She crosses her arms over her chest then leans back down onto the counter. “So, tell me, Honeybear,” she muses. Fortunately, she changes the topic. “Did you get my strawberries from the stand, or were you too enthralled by the pretty boy in front of you?”

“He wasn’t pretty.”

“Sure he wasn’t.”

Honey scoffs, then leaves to the back to grab the basket of strawberries. She does so carefully, not touching the strawberries in case she breaks out in hives like she did last time. Bea swears that more exposure to the fruit would “cure” her allergy, but Honey only picks up the baskets to humor her. Honey doesn’t think she’s missing out on much, being allergic to strawberries. It’s her peaches that she would miss, and the blackberry pie that Ada makes when her vines turn ripe. That’s something to look forward to– blackberry season is starting and Ada could show up with a pie any day now.

The day continues slowly, with Ada making an appearance to close down the shop with the girls and help unpack a new shipment of books. After they’re done, Honey and Bea head to their respective homes.

Honey curls up with her book in her bed and listens to some music before the soft noise of the background and the comfort of her blanket draws her to her sleep.

3:90 – TREVOR

They have to go to the hardware store today. 

Yesterday, the boys wasted the day, sleeping later than they have in weeks. They ate a late breakfast, which turned into their lunch. They played pool on the pool table, ping and beer pong on the foldable table, and sunbathed out on the porch. Cole watched lazily as Trevor and Jack tried to outline half of a rink in chalk on the cement slab. They never finished the other half of the rink.

Today, they have to go get some wood and tools to make the rink into a 3D structure so the pucks don’t go flying into the woods when they shoot them. Trevor and Cole are the ones who are supposed to go to the store– Jack has decided to stay behind and wait for Quinn and Luke if they show up while the other boys are at the store. 

A convenient excuse, even though the goons are planning to show up today. Trevor expects the brothers to try and weasel their way out of working on the rink, claiming that they’re too tired from travel or they need more time to unpack. The thing is, the boys are flying into Charlotte and renting a car for the summer so that there will be two at the house, so they’re only driving for like an hour compared to Trevor’s eleven. They have no right to be complaining, but they will likely enact a vote and outweigh Cole and Trevor because if the Hughes are anything, it’s lazy and loyal to each others’ laziness.

They’re very driven, but only when they choose to work. When it comes to hockey, they’ll work all day. When it comes to creating the hockey rink or putting together equipment, they would much rather watch. Jim spoiled them that way– he was always the builder of the family and the boys were left to go do whatever they wanted as long as they weren’t annoying their father.

Trevor and Cole put off the trip as long as they can, hoping that maybe the Hughes brothers will show up early and they can force them to go to the store before they can even get out of the car. 

When the clock hits two, Trevor decides that the waiting is useless. They could’ve done so much during the day instead of sitting around waiting, but no. He was lucky enough to sit around and do nothing all day and watch stupid daytime TV with Cole while Jack read his texts with his brothers out loud.

The hardware store would be heaven compared to this.

He leaves without Cole at first, driving slowly down the driveway until he sees Cole’s figure run out of the house and after the car. Trevor can imagine what he’s saying as he yells after the vehicle– something about not being left with Jack in case the other Hugheses show up, something about how Trevor is a dick. 

They follow the one road on the mountain up to the strip where all the stores are. The hardware store is just a few doors down from the grocery store, so they park in the same parking lot.

Cole and Trevor walk side by side, Cole’s eyes on his phone as they walk while Trevor takes in the brick walkway beneath them. Names are etched on some of the bricks– Jude Doyle, Frederick Lawson, Ansley Hood… Grandma. Trevor has seen stuff like this before, but there’s something different about these names being etched on the bricks of this small town. Everyone probably knew these people, or knew someone who knew them, when they died. It’s so personal.

When they reach the hardware store, Trevor holds the door open for a man leaving. They give each other a curt nod, just a passing glance. Trevor sees absolutely no recognition in his eyes and comments on it. Cole doesn’t care, and says so. Trevor punches his shoulder.

“Welcome in,” the elderly woman at the counter greets. “What are you boys looking for?”

“Hi,” Cole replies, a charming smile on his face. “Could you point me towards the power tools? I can find my way from there.”

The woman smiles and points toward the back of the store. “They’re on the left, sweetie.” She turns to Trevor. “And what about you?”

“We’ll be needing some plywood,” Trevor says. “We’re building a little roller rink.”

“Oh, how fun!” The lady, named Vera if her nametag has any truth to it, claps her hands. “How much do you need, dear?”

“How much have you got?” Trevor asks. 

Vera waves her hand. “I don’t know. I’ll call Earl, he’ll send you off with what you need.” She turns and takes a breath before shouting the man’s name. Trevor’s heard that shout before– his grandmother used to do the same thing with his grandfather. 

The balding, age-spotted man appears at the door to the back of the shop. “I done told ya I have my hearing aids in, woman,” Earl grumbles to his wife, fond and mean and familiar in the way that only a couple who has been married for fifty years can be. 

Vera smacks Earl’s arm as he ambles by her. Earl pulls his arm away and puts another foot between them. 

“What do you need, young man?” Earl asks.

“Lots of wood,” Trevor says. “A couple of sheets of plywood and some 2x4s, maybe?”

“Boy, you do not think I have all’a that laying around.” Earl fixes Trevor with a stink-eye. 

“Don’t you tell him that!” Vera chimes in. “I know you’ve got plenty of wood out back because you bought all of it and never finished our damn basement.”

“I’m going to finish it!”

“Earl, you’ve been saying that for thirty years, you ain’t never finishing the basement.”

Trevor wants to laugh at the absurdity of this conversation. He wants to laugh at this domestic argument and how unreal it is that it’s unfolding in front of him. Instead, he clears his throat. “Excuse me,” he interrupts gently. “I don’t know if I want thirty year old wood for this. We’ll be hitting pucks off the boards all day and I’d like to keep the pucks inside the rink, please.”

“You’re a hockey boy?” Earl questions with a raised brow. When Trevor nods, he lets out a grunt. Trevor can’t tell what that means. Nonetheless, he waves Trevor to follow him into the back.

Trevor squeezes past Vera– she pinches his butt, he thinks– and catches a glimpse of her knitting under the counter when he walks by. She’s knitting something green. It’s too bundled up for him to tell what it is, though. Maybe he’ll ask later.

When he enters the back room, Earl gestures around. “Take your pick of the wood and make a pile over there–” he points to the corner– “and you can drive around back and we can put the wood in your truck there.”

“Oh, I didn’t drive a truck down,” Trevor says before he can help it. Earl makes a face. “But my friend and I can carry the piles ourselves to the car, don’t worry about that.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Earl gripes, shuffling away to sit at a bench with a circular saw and a half finished product on the table. 

Trevor sifts through the wood, all neatly arranged into piles of similar sizes– but labeled completely wrong. Trevor thinks that Earl might’ve refused to follow Vera’s labels when she first put them up in the shop, but realized that they’re more helpful than harmful. He’s just petty enough of an old man to ignore the labels, but follow the categorization.

Trevor ends up with a pile of ten sheets of plywood– four that are as long as lunch tables, and six that are just squares. Those will go behind the goals, while the long ones will go around the sides of the slab. He picks up a couple of 2x4s, just in case he needs them, and throws them on the pile with a clatter.

“I’m going to go grab my buddy,” Trevor says to Earl.

Earl grunts, but doesn’t budge. He also doesn’t look up from his station.

Cole is chatting up Vera when Trevor rejoins them. He’s leaning over the edge of the counter, asking about Vera’s knitting and her grandchildren. He’s got a bag of goodies next to him– powertools and nails, Trevor assumes. 

“Coley, come help me,” Trevor interrupts.

“No manners, this guy,” Cole says to Vera, scoffing and pointing his thumb at Trevor with a shake of his head. 

“Well, don’t keep the bear waiting,” Vera replies. Trevor watches her pinch Cole’s ass as he passes, but Cole just laughs and bats her hand away.

Fucking annoying. Always so good with the grandparents.

“The bear?” Trevor asks once Vera is out of earshot. “Is that me?”

Cole smirks. “We’ve got nicknames.”

Earl looks up when they reenter the back. He lets out a laugh, just a short bark. “This is your friend who’s going to help you carry all that wood?”

As the smirk falls off Cole’s face, Trevor picks it up.

“I can carry some wood,” Cole insists. “Probably all of it. I’m stronger than Z is, anyway.”

Earl’s gaze slides over to Trevor. “Z,” he repeats. “I hope you don’t stick with that one.”

Trevor laughs. “You sound like–” he cuts himself off. He never did learn her name, anyway. What’s it to this old man, who he sounds like?

Cole picks up on it though. “Like who, Z?” He asks with a tilt of his head.

Trevor glares at him. 

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who I sound like and I don’t want to hear your smug little bickering,” Earl admonishes. “Get your wood and get outta my shop.”

Trevor laughs in Cole’s face, then pushes him over towards the pile of wood. “Go on, strong man.”

Cole makes like he’s going to throw a punch at Trevor– Trevor doesn’t flinch, because he hasn’t fallen for that since their first stint on the US team– and puffs up his chest before deciding to pick up the long pieces of wood.

“Compensating for something?” Trevor asks.

“Go fuck yourself,” Cole replies cheerfully, turning on his heel and swinging the wood around with him, hoping to hit Trevor in the stomach. Trevor jumps away.

He picks up the rest of the wood and follows Cole out of the shop, bidding Earl a quiet farewell.

Earl grunts.

Trevor nods to himself, not surprised by the response. Vera is much more sad to see them go, gushing over how strong they are and telling them to come back soon. 

“What’s your nickname?” Trevor asks suddenly, as they load the wood into the back of the car.

Cole grins, crooked and smug. “Sweetie.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not. I’m a real hit with the ladies.”

“Yeah, you’re a real fucking hit with the married seventy year olds,” Trevor scoffs. “Don’t fucking talk to me, dude.”

Cole laughs, tossing his head back. He looks over Trevor’s shoulder. “Hey, isn’t that your girl?”

Trevor spins around. “Where?” He asks, looking to his left and right. 

When Cole starts cackling behind him, Trevor takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I’m gonna fucking kill you, dude.”

“Bear, you wouldn’t know what to do without me.” Cole pats Trevor on the chest before rounding the car, settling in the passenger seat.

“Fucking passenger princess,” Trevor seethes. 

“You wish you were me.”

“I fucking don’t.”

“The more fucks you say, the more fucks you give.”

“Fuck off.”

They drive back to the house in silence, Trevor’s knuckles white as he deliberates driving off the mountain and taking Cole with him. There are pros, certainly, the top one being that Cole would no longer be part of this vacation. The cons, unfortunately, outweigh the pros: without Cole, Trevor would be alone with the Hughes brothers all summer, except for the occasional visiting savior.

Quinn and Luke have arrived by the time the duo returns to the mountain house. They brought with them another SUV, this one only slightly bigger than Trevor’s vehicle. It’s got a third row of seats, but it’s cramped– they’ll definitely have to take both cars down to Charlotte when they go to practice. Because of the limited trunk space in Quinn’s rental car, Trevor’s car will likely end up being the gear car. 

Which is lucky, because who wouldn’t want to spend three hours total in the car with smelly gear while the other car gets to have fun and smell nice?

On second thought, the time alone might be good for Trevor. He loves his friends, he really does, but it’s hard to be around them for so long. He’s lucky that they’re all on different teams, that they keep up when they can, and that it’s not constant. Jack can’t escape his brothers, especially not Luke, but Trevor can escape all three of them.

He spends the evening building the outdoor rink, mostly alone. Quinn helps a little bit, mostly chalking up the lines on the remaining half of the slab. He holds the wood for Trevor while he screws some nails into the pieces to keep them in place. They work mostly in silence, as they often do. Trevor is itching to talk with Quinn, see how he is, but he knows that Quinn is a man of few words. He also knows that Quinn is quick to say that Trevor talks too much. They’re at the point in their relationship where Trevor lets Quinn dictate how much they speak.

Luke tries to cook dinner, he does. Trevor can’t fault him for trying. Jack had to jump in to save them from burnt steaks and soggy vegetables, and even if he can’t salvage everything, he does a pretty good job. Luke apologizes and does the dishes. He’s quiet for the rest of the night, falling asleep on the couch during the movie they picked out, and Quinn wakes Luke like a good big brother and shoos him to bed. 

It’s more calm than the lake house, Trevor thinks. They’re not really doing anything differently, are they? And yet, here they are, sitting together in calm silence. They’re drinking bottled beer and laughing over the same jokes they’ve heard a million times, reminiscing about summers past and what they’ll do this summer. Quinn wishes for a lake. Jack tells him they’ll find one.

Trevor goes to bed when the movie ends, frogs croaking past his bedroom window in the depths of the night.

4:90 – HONEY

It’s a Thursday, so Honey gets to sleep in until nine. Sleeping in until nine means that she really wakes up at eight, because she just can’t sleep in late after working at the bookstore for five years now. She sits on her couch on Thursday mornings and reads. She does the crossword in the Litchton Local, the newspaper that comes out weekly on Wednesdays. 

There’s an immeasurable stillness in the mountains.

Honey noticed it the first time she came up to this house as a child. Everything moves, like the bugs outside and the leaves on the trees, but everything is so still. Like it’s being held in place by something bigger. She knows the feeling well, but it’s comforting here. 

At home, it was uniforms and piano lessons after school. She loves piano, even still, but there was something so crushing about the weight of her perfect posture on that bench when there was all the pressure of beauty breathing down her neck.

Home, Honey thinks again, and laughs. 

In the mountains, all of the beauty of the world is there and present and taking up space– but it’s not forced. It’s not the idealized version of everything. It just is.

And everything is so green, especially on a rainy day like this. Honey thinks there’s something sacred about the greenness of the mountains, but it’s the melancholic side of divine that leaves you waiting for another whisper or breath in the wind that never comes.

She used to have a piano that she could play in the mornings. She toted it to the antique store down the road when she made the mountain home hers. Sometimes, she wonders why she did that and regrets it, staring at the dents on the floor where its legs used to stand.

But then she remembers that she’s thinking about the past again and she shakes herself out of it. Five years later, but it’s hard to forget all of the things you grew up knowing.

Honey picks Bea up on the way to work, relishing in the girl’s consistent lateness because it allows her the chance to catch up with her friend. They see each other every day, yes, but the bookstore isn’t suited for some topics.

Such as Bea’s current woes:

“I’ve run out of dating app men,” she complains.

Honey bites back a smile. “Did you run out, or did you just swipe left on all of them?” She asks knowingly.

Bea cuts her eyes at Honey. “All the ones I swiped left on are ugly,” she says. “I can promise you that.”

“Is anyone good-looking in Litchton, Bea?”

Bea’s silence speaks for itself.

Honey laughs, her hair whipping around her face in the breeze from the rolled-down windows of her car.

“If I had known you were dragging me to the Ugly Capital of the World, I wouldn’t have come with you,” Bea announces, like it matters. She’s a liar. She wouldn’t have let Honey leave their hometown without her, no matter where she was going.

“You couldn’t turn it down, you had to come,” Honey replies. “Especially since they asked you to be Mayor.”

Bea gasps, affronted. She stares at Honey, her jaw hanging open. “Are you mad at me? Be honest.” She pouts, her voice whiny.

“Oh my God,” Honey groans, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m not mad at you.”

“Okay, well, stop being a cunt, please,” Bea sasses. If Honey were more annoyed, she’d reach out and slap Bea’s arm for the attitude. “We have to go to work and I need to put all my focus into pretending to like you.”

“Yeah, because it’s so hard to like me,” Honey says. Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, monotone and grating. 

“Yeah, it is, you suck.” Bea flips her hair over her shoulder, digging through her bag to find her Walmart lip gloss. She smears the cherry flavored gloss over her lips and puckers up, batting her eyelashes at Honey exaggeratedly. “Gimme a kiss.”

“No.” Honey pulls up to The Reading Nook and parks on the street in front of the building, parallel parking with the practiced ease of someone who’s been dealing with nothing but parallel parking (except in the grocery store and church parking lots) for the last five years.

“Ugh, one day you’ll kiss me,” Bea mutters, staring forlornly out the window. 

Honey rolls her eyes. “Bea, we’ve already kissed. You weren’t that good and I didn’t like your lip gloss then, either.”

Bea cringes. “That was like ten years ago, Hon. Things have changed since then. Number one, I’m not in middle school. Number two, I’ve had boyfriends and I’ve had sex since then. Number three, you know it wouldn’t mean anything. I want you to try my lip gloss so bad, come on.”

Honey stares. Bea’s got a stupid smile on her face, teasing and annoying. They hold each other’s eyes for too long before Honey speaks. 

“You’re insufferable, did you know that?”

Bea nods. “You are so easy to work up.”

Bea and Honey exit the car at the same time and enter the store through the front, the bell jingling behind them. Ada greets them from behind the counter, teasing Bea for being late again and threatening to cut her pay. She never will, never. Bea is too good with the kids, too happy to talk to mothers, and just dry enough to understand the miserly old man that walks through the door looking for a new World War I book. 

In the back, Ada has a bowl of biscuits and jam that Honey reheats and eats over the counter before she starts her day. 

She’s supposed to reshelve some books from their Borrow Before You Buy section, the part of the store that acts as the town’s public library. It’s a small task. The pile of books that were returned yesterday is less than a hundred. A good portion of the books are little kid chapter books, the kind you could finish in an hour as an adult because the font is so big and there are full-page pictures twice a chapter. 

Bea has to read to the kids at noon– some of the mothers bring snacks, like the end of a youth soccer game. It’s like a potluck lunch and the kids love Bea. Most weeks, it’s just her, but since it’s summer, she’s starting to bring in guest readers. Honey refuses to do it every time. Well, that’s not true– she acts as guest reader once a summer, right before school starts. It’s her one moment of the year. 

As she’s restocking the books, Honey hears the bell twinkle with each new customer that walks in. She’s grown used to the noise over the years, so it doesn’t draw her eye anymore.

What does draw her eye, however, is the blunt tap on her shoulder. When she turns around, Bea is blinking innocently at her– no doubt the offending hand in this scenario– with Trevor by her side.

“I was just talking to Trevor here, Honey,” Bea says. “And he was wondering if we had any books that a man his age might like. I thought maybe you should talk to him.”

Honey glares at Bea, purposefully obvious about it so that Trevor sees. What does she know about book recommendations for a man in his twenties? He probably wants some shit sports biography, or worse– he’s embracing his inner old man and he’s ready to venture into the world of World War I non-fiction. Either way, book recommendations are Bea’s thing, not Honey’s. She just stocks the books, builds the shelves, and bonds with the old ladies who come in on Tuesdays.

Bea shrugs with a coy little smile– Honey wishes she could slap it off of her face– and disappears behind the stacks. Honey can tell that she’s still listening from a few feet away, always nosy and overly interested in Honey’s exploits. If she can’t indulge in her own, she’s happy to butt in on Honey’s.

“Trevor,” Honey says, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn’t wear a bra today. She doesn’t trust him not to look. She also doesn’t trust her nipples not to peak in the cold air. 

“Is Honey your real name?” Trevor asks. 

She balks at him. “What is it with you and my name?”

Honey expects Trevor to back down, to act timid and normal and earnest like he did at the fruit stand on Monday. She expects him to apologize, yet again, for another inadvertent mistake that Trevor seemed unable to avoid. It’s because he doesn’t think– he just says the words as they come to mind, hoping that the sentence comes out fully formed and making sense.

And yet, he doesn’t.

“Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come,” is what Trevor answers. 

Honey gathers her wit quickly, scrambling to find a response to Trevor’s bold statement. She wants something clever, something to turn him down, something to tell him that he’s a cocky prick for saying such a thing while she’s at work, but she comes up with none of the above. Instead, she settles for: “It’s a nickname.”

A smirk tugs at Trevor’s lips and Honey wants to reach out and strangle him. He’s smirking because he thinks he bested her– bested her– and that he’s got the upper hand.

“What kind of book are you looking for, Trevor?” Honey changes the subject, trying to get back on task. She turns, continues restocking the Borrow Before You Buy shelves. 

“I’m not sure, Honey,” he replies, really milking his use of her name. “What kind of books do you think I’d like?”

She glances at him, looks him up and down. She tamps down a smile and says in a curt, monotone voice. “Guides on how to make the best of your business trip.”

Trevor laughs at that, more of a shake of his shoulders than a real laugh. “You’re funny, Honey.”

Honey raises her eyebrows and waits for him to continue.

“Hey, that rhymed. Maybe a book of poetry? I need to study my craft if I’m going to be waxing poems about you.”

He’s bold, she thinks. He’s really bold, much more sure of himself than he was on Monday. He’s much more confident, a sharp 180º from where he was the other day.

“Why don’t you keep your waxes to yourself?” Honey asks.

“How can I?”

She turns to him, planting a hand on her hip. “Don’t you have something to do today other than bother me at my bookstore? You don’t even know me. Why are you here?”

“I’m here to get a book. I’m not trying to bother you, I’m just trying to make conversation.” Trevor shoves his hands in his pockets and has the decency to look ashamed, even if it’s just for a split second and just to see if Honey will crumble. She knows his type. She’s seen them before.

“You’re flirting with me,” Honey accuses. “Not making conversation.” She puts air quotes around the last two words.

Trevor smiles. “You caught me,” he says simply, no shame evident in his voice. The smile stays on his lips as he and Honey look at each other. He raises his eyebrows and she takes it as a challenge.

“I’m not interested, Trevor.”

“I could show you a good time, Honey.”

“In Litchton?”

“Don’t you hear how good it sounds when I say your name? It’s like we’ve been hooking up for ages and I’ve got a special little name for you.”

“A name that everyone else uses.”

“It’s special to me.”

“How about a self-help book?”

Trevor clutches at his chest, jaw dropping in fake-misery. “You think I need help?”

“If you’re not going to buy a book, then you need to leave me alone.” Honey places the last book in her stack on the shelf and looks at Trevor expectantly. The silence sits between them, suspended for a moment.

“Do you have any books about space?” He asks. 

Honey notices that his voice is softer, a little more genuine. She examines his features, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She waits for the joke about not wanting space from her, needing her in his orbit, or whatever. It doesn’t come. She scans his figure one last time, realizing that her brow is furrowed and she’s chewing on the inside of her bottom lip as she does so. She smoothens her expression, hoping Trevor didn’t pick up on her calculating stare.

“How do you feel about creative nonfiction?” Honey asks.

Trevor scrunches his nose.

“Memoirs, personal histories, stuff like that,” Honey supplies. She softens her voice to match his tone. She almost feels a little shy. “We only have one book about space that I’ve read and it’s creative nonfiction, but it’s really good.” Quieter, then: “I liked it.”

Trevor nods, a little hesitant. This is the Trevor she met on Monday. “Okay.”

“Follow me.” Honey leads him to the nonfiction section, to the rows of books whose authors bear a last name that starts with ‘D.’ She runs her fingers along the titles of the books at the height of her chest while scanning the upper shelves. “It’s there,” she says, pointing to the row just out of her reach. “It’s by ‘Dean.’” She looks down, around her on the floor. “Where’s my step ladder…?”

“I can reach it,” Trevor says, stepping forward. He places a hand on the small of Honey’s back and reaches up, fingers hesitating as he searches for the right book. When he finds the spine bearing Dean’s name, he bounces up on his tiptoes for just a second to slide the book from its position on the shelf. 

Honey has never been more aware of a hand in her life. His touch is light, just a passing glance really, but it weighs on her. It’s like she’s standing in quicksand and she waited too long to try and get out.

He’s so close to her when he stands flat on his feet again. He’s got the book in one hand and his other still rests on Honey’s back.

She steps away.

His eyes follow her, but instead of saying anything, he just flips the book over in his hand. He reads the back cover and as he does so, Honey puts more space between them. She takes a breath, trying to stay quiet, and grounds herself.

“Is it really any good?” Trevor asks. “Do I have to buy it?”

“Yes, and, um.” Honey throws a look over her shoulder. She lost track of Bea while she and Trevor went to find this book. Fuck, her nosey best friend could be anywhere. “You can borrow it. We just usually give people a week or so to bring it back, and if you don’t, we track you down.”

“Track me down?” Trevor asks, chuckling. 

“Yeah.” Honey nods. “Small town. Everybody knows everybody, or knows somebody who knows everybody.”

“Stalking me, Honey?” Trevor teases.

“We’ve met twice, and both times it was because you came up to me. If anyone is the stalker here, it’s you.”

Trevor turns the book over in his hand again, looking down to avoid Honey’s gaze. “Leaving Orbit, huh?” He bites his lip and takes in the sight of Honey in front of him. He taps the book with his other hand. “I’ll let you know if it’s any good.”

“I know it’s good. I read it.”

“Baby, if you knew good, you’d be all over me.”

Honey scoffs. “Alright, fun’s over. Get out of here, Trevor.” She shoos him away, practically pushing him out of the shop. She sticks her tongue out at him through the glass after closing the door behind him. She watches him laugh, run his hands through his hair, and turn away.

‘Zegras’ is written in bold letters across his back, the number 11 in the center of his t-shirt. The detail catches Honey’s eye as she watches him walk away, down the street towards a car with a New York license plate that looks far too perfect and expensive to belong in Litchton. She bites the inside of her lip again, pondering. If anyone asks, she doesn’t care, but Trevor’s different than anyone she’s ever met. She wonders why.

But no, she doesn’t care.

Bea does.

“He plays hockey,” Bea announces, revealing herself. “He’s good, too. NHL. He was a top ten pick when he was drafted.”

Honey just nods. Twice. That’s all she needs. They’re small movements and she’s still chewing on her lip.

“What did he get?”

Honey clears her throat. “Just the, uh, Dean book about space.”

Honey can practically hear the face Bea makes behind her back. “You think he’ll enjoy that?” Bea asks. “It’s really personal.”

“It was the only book I could think of,” Honey replies with a shrug. She finally turns around to face Bea. “You’ve got to stop spying on me. I know you listened to our whole conversation.”

Bea pouts and stomps her foot, the sound echoing along the stacks around them. “How could I not?” She demands. “‘Just wanted to know what name I’ll be saying when I’m telling you to come?’ Honey, girl. Be serious.”

“Bea, you know I’m not looking for that right now.”

“You’re never fucking looking for that,” Bea hisses, pinching Honey’s wrist until she flinches away. “It’s falling into your lap and you’re pushing it out the door! What’s wrong with you?”

Honey glares at her with a tilted head. 

Bea relents. “One of these days, I’m going to kick your ass,” she threatens. “You can’t be a spinstery old maid forever, Honeybear. They’re only here for the summer. Maybe you should embrace it.”

“He’ll be gone within the week.”

Bea sighs. “Whatever you say.”

5:90 – TREVOR

“We need to throw a party,” Trevor says over breakfast.

“Why?” Luke asks, voice scratchy from lack of use. He yawns and runs his fingers through his hair, further messing up his already messy curls. He’s not wearing a shirt– none of them are– and Trevor is astounded by how pale Luke is. 

“We need to get you outside more,” Trevor mumbles, then clears his throat and continues speaking. “It’s like a housewarming thing.”

Unimpressed, Cole rolls his eyes. “Who do you want to invite?” He asks.

Trevor pauses, side-eying his friend. “Nobody,” he deflects. 

Quinn snorts, the spoon he’s using for his cereal clinking against the side of his bowl. “Not much of a party.”

“He wants to invite the girl that he met the other day,” Jack says, butting into the conversation. 

Luke frowns. “What girl?”

“Some townie that he met at the fruit stand when we went to the grocery store,” Jack explains. “He doesn’t know her name.”

“Her name is Honey, actually,” Trevor interrupts. 

The table stills. Each of the boys’ eyes turn towards Trevor and he suddenly feels like an ant under a child’s magnifying glass, boiling under the glare.

Cole pushes up an invisible pair of glasses and raises a finger, pursing his lips. “Actually,” he mocks, then drops the tone. “How do you know her name, Z?”

Trevor shrugs noncommittally. “I ran into her when I went into town yesterday.”

“Oh, when you were supposed to pick up laundry detergent and you came back with a book instead?” Cole asks. “That makes sense, much more sense than what Luke said.”

Trevor blanches. “What did Luke say?”

Jack snickers.

Trevor turns to Luke. “What did you say?”

Quinn smiles and hides his face, taking a large mouthful of his cereal to leave Luke hanging if he asked for help.

Luke flushes. “I mean, you know… that maybe you confused the two.”

“How the fuck would I confuse laundry detergent with a book?” Trevor snaps. “They’re two completely different things, fuckface.”

Luke throws his hands up in surrender. “We were just thinking of reasons why you might’ve come back without the one thing we needed.”

Trevor looks around the table. “You guys are such assholes.”

“Bro, you’re the one that forgot laundry detergent because you were too busy chatting up some chick,” Jack defends the group. “Now we can’t even do our laundry.”

“If it’s so fucking important to you, go get the detergent yourself!”

A smile breaks out on Jack’s face. “Maybe I will,” he says, his voice shit-eating. “I might need to grab a book for myself, too.”

Trevor’s anger increases tenfold, for no fucking reason. “The fuck you do,” he snaps. “You don’t even know how to read.”

Jack’s face twists, his emotions finally aligning with Trevor’s own. “Fuck you, dude. You know I can read, I just don’t like to.”

Trevor scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I just want to have a party,” he mutters, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. 

The boys fall into silence, finishing their breakfasts. Trevor pouts, frustrated that the boys weren’t immediately on board with his idea for a party. 

If they were in Michigan, the Hughes brothers would have the front door of the house unlocked past 10pm. The people they know from the golf course, from the lake, from the pickleball courts would all be pouring through the doorway and into the party. Everyone knows that on Saturday nights, the Hughes brothers invite people over and they have a big bonfire. Apparently, that only applies in Michigan.

Trevor leaves the breakfast table first, to jeers from the other boys about being pouty and bitchy for not getting his way. Trevor knows that he’s going to invite Honey and her friend– Bee? Bea? B?– over tomorrow night no matter what the goons say. There’s not much to do in Litchton, he knows that, so he doesn’t want to leave the girls out. Otherwise, they might just sit at home all night. Trevor can’t have that.

Obviously, that’s his only motive. He would never have any other reason to invite Honey and Bea over to the house at night. Never.

Maybe one other reason.

But that’s irrelevant. 

He spends the morning outside, using the extra wood from Earl to build a fire pit in the half-circle clearing near the edge of the forest. When they were younger, Trevor’s sister might’ve thought this area was where the fairies lived, and maybe she would have built them a house. He wonders briefly if Honey was the same way when she was a child, when she was growing up in rural Litchton with nothing else to do but imagine.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t know if Honey grew up here. She seems so intimately integrated into the town that she has to be from here, has to have grown up here. She must know all the town secrets and all the town gossip and fuck, Trevor wants to know all of that and more. 

He can’t explain the feeling he has about Honey. He’s just… drawn to her. It doesn’t make sense– he doesn’t know her. He’s barely met her. She did not exist in his life a week ago and yet, she’s popping up in his thoughts like they’ve known each other for years. Like they’ve been inseparable for years. When he thinks about it, he decides that Honey is like one of the girls he would have met in elementary school in Bedford. Honey is one of the girls that he would have grown up with, one of the neighbor girls from down the street with whom he rode his bike on hot summer days. 

She’s got a hometown charm feel to her. Trevor has to see her again.

He finishes building the wooden part of the fire pit before realizing how stupid it was to build the pit out of wood. A lightbulb seems to go off in his head, though, because it’s an excuse to go see her, to invite her to his party. He can go to the hardware store on the way, pick up some stone and gravel to line the wood, protect it from catching flame. He can pick up some firewood from the grocery store for their first fire and pick up the laundry detergent he forgot yesterday. Jack won’t be so annoying then.

Trevor doesn’t bother telling the boys where he’s going– he just gets in the car and drives away. 

It takes all of fifteen minutes to make his way to the bookstore. It’s still early, so he doesn’t even know if it’s open yet. Trevor and the boys are so used to waking up early for hockey that they’ve been up for about two hours and the whole day is still ahead of them.

When Trevor pulls at the front door of The Reading Nook, it doesn’t swing open the way it did yesterday. He knows the doors are easy on their hinges, considering how easily Honey slammed the door behind him yesterday, but today, the wood is barely budging. He knocks on the door, loud. 

Honey’s friend’s head peeks out from behind a stack, confusion written all over her expression. Trevor waves at her, gesturing at the door. She laughs, then approaches the door. She points down at the ‘Closed’ sign hanging near the handle.

Trevor tilts his head, unimpressed. “I have to talk to you,” he says through the glass.

Bea unlocks the door and opens it with a snorted laugh. “What’s up, Trevor? Honey’s not here yet.”

“I have a proposition for you.”

Bea steps aside and lets him into the store. “You want her.”

Trevor sputters at her honesty. “I don’t know her.”

“You want her,” Bea repeats with a nod and a knowing smile. “And you want to know how to get her.”

“Well, yes,” Trevor says. “But also, no. I wanted to invite you– both, you both– to a party tomorrow night.”

Bea smiles. She crosses her arms over her chest. “You want my best friend and all I get is some measly party? Come on, Trevor. What’s in it for me?”

Trevor thinks for a minute. “What do you want?”

Bea laughs. She pokes her tongue into her cheek and looks expectantly at Trevor.

“Whoa,” Trevor says, taking a step back. “That’s really… forward, but–”

“I don’t want you, Trevor,” Bea scoffs. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “So self-centered, Honey was right about that. But, I’ll help you get her and I’ll make sure we make it to your party if you give me what I do want.”

Trevor hums, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want?”

Bea smiles, devilish and conniving. “The dating pool up here is pretty dry, and I hear you’ve got a few friends.”

Trevor nods.

Bea blinks at him. “Do you have any pictures of these friends? I would’ve looked you up, but Honey and I swore off Instagram years ago.”

That makes sense. That’s why he couldn’t find Honey when he looked her up last night– not that he had much to go off of. Still, “Honey Litchton NC” didn’t reveal many results.

Trevor fumbles with his phone, showing her a picture of the group from last summer. He watches her fingers pinch and zoom in on the picture, on each individual. She keeps her expression neutral, a poker face that impresses Trevor. She hums, thoughts racing behind her eyes too quick for Trevor to understand them. 

“We’ll come to your party,” Bea says simply, handing the phone back to Trevor. She snatches it back at the last second. “Wait,” she says, and clicks around for a second. 

Trevor waits, then she hands the phone back. On the screen is a contact page for ‘Bea McLean.’ 

“It’s pronounced like McLane,” Bea tells Trevor. “Since you’re so obsessed with names.”

“Okay,” Trevor cuts her off with a sarcastic nod. 

Bea laughs. “Don’t get sassy with me, I have all the power here.”

“Yeah, but I have your number,” Trevor flaunts.

“I could just block you, easily,” Bea points out. “Then where would you be?”

Wisely, Trevor bites his tongue. After a deep breath, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now get out, Honey’s supposed to get here soon and I don’t want her seeing you. She’s annoyingly on time. She’ll know we’re in cahoots.” Bea, much like her best friend did yesterday, pushes Trevor to the door and shoves him through it. She slams it behind him, flipping the sign so it says ‘Open’ instead, and waving Trevor off with a blown kiss.

she’s a flirt, Trevor thinks. those guys will not survive her for a second.

He doesn’t know which boy she has her eye on, but it doesn’t matter. Quinn’s too quiet for her, Luke is too awkward, Jack is too cocky, and Cole is too… short. 

Trevor snorts at the insult, laughing to himself. He heads to the grocery store, where he parked, and purchases two gallon bottles of laundry detergent and a Sharpie. He writes “JACK” on one and puts them both in the trunk of the car. Then, he walks to the hardware store. 

“Bear!” Vera greets from behind the counter, joints creaking as she moves from her chair behind the counter to give Trevor a hug. 

“Oh, Vera, you don’t have to come all the way over here,” Trevor says awkwardly, but hugs the woman back nonetheless.

“Of course I did!” Vera exclaims. “You look so handsome, young man.”

Trevor blushes, shying away from Vera’s examining fingers. She squints at the logo on his chest, one of his shirts from Anaheim. 

“I live in Anaheim,” Trevor explains to the woman, catching her hands in his and holding them securely in front of her body before letting go. “Do you have any stone that I could secure a fire pit with?”

“Yes, baby!” Vera claps and leads him to a section of the store that’s, somehow, even more peculiar than Earl’s workshop. There’s bags of gravel, sure, but it looks like fish food compared to some of the other bags and miscellaneous stones on the shelves. “Pick whatever you’d like. I’ll give you a discount for being so darn cute.”

Trevor chuckles. “I bet you give that to all your customers,” he teases.

“I had a local girl put it in the computer for me after we met you and Sweetie on Wednesday,” Vera teases back, batting her eyelashes. Her cheeks are red with blush, too much blush. “His discount is a little more because I see you’ve changed the body God gave you.”

Trevor follows her eyes to his tattoos. He rubs his opposite hand over them sheepishly. “Yes, ma’am.” He tries to smile charmingly. “Maybe I should’ve sent him to do the shopping today, since you like Sweetie so much.” He throws a wink into the mix to punctuate his sentence.

Vera laughs, a twinkling sound.

“Plus, it’d be cheaper for me,” Trevor says, like it’s a scandalous secret.

“I know that’s right!” Vera claps again, waves a hand at Trevor like she’s slapping her knee. She walks off, back to the counter, leaving Trevor to shop for his stones. 

He shops through the stones for about half an hour, choosing his favorites. He settles on a midsize gray stone, one that he can stack and seal with cement. He buys the quick drying cement as well, and carries it all to his car. Vera carries the quick dry cement and giggles when Trevor easily shifts the stones in his grasp when she complains about the bucket being too heavy for an old lady. He picks up the bucket and shifts the stones again, knowing he can carry more than this if he needed to. He swears he hears Vera sigh dreamily behind him as he packs the car up.

Like he said, what’s flirting with a few old ladies?

When he bids her goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, Trevor makes eye contact with Honey in the bookstore window. He grins at her and winks to her for good measure. He thanks Vera for her help while he escorts her back to the store, just for the sake of Honey seeing how selfless he can be. He’s not self-centered, no matter what she told Bea. 

Vera insists that Trevor and “his band of boys” join her and Earl at church that Sunday morning, pledging to introduce them to the other members of the community. Trevor agrees, thinking that being on Vera’s good side might get him even closer to Honey.

Trevor drives back to his home for the summer to find that the boys are playing in the rink he built.

Come to think of it, he’s making a lot of improvements to this property, and the only one who has actually helped is Quinn.

Not self-centered at all.

He deserves a party.

“We’re having a party,” Trevor calls out, carrying his stones toward the fire pit. He dumps his supplies on the ground. “And I invited two girls.” He wipes the dirt and dust from his fingers. “Someone else needs to finish this fire pit because I’m tired of building your shit. C’mon, Quinn.”

He leads the way inside, to grab a beer from the fridge, and Quinn follows after kicking off his skates, eager to avoid the work. The other brothers and Cole are left dumbfounded on the concrete. Jack makes eye contact with the cement mix first, and he smiles. 

They always did love a little project, and maybe they can hide a drawing of a dick in the cement for the owners to find at the end of the summer.

6:90 – HONEY

“Where are we going?” Honey asks. 

Bea has barely crossed over the threshold of Honey’s home before the question falls from her lips. Bea’s been cagey about it all day– just explaining that “we have plans” and that “you’ll enjoy them.” Honey loves her, sure, but this is absurd. She feels like she’s being kidnapped. 

“More like when are we going,” Bea corrects. “Let’s get you an outfit.”

Honey stumbles back, Bea pushing her out of the way. She closes the door behind her friend, following Bea as she stomps up the stairs to Honey’s bedroom. Bea knows Honey’s place as well as she knows her own, a little townhouse off of the main street in town. Honey’s lucky to live a little farther from city center, closer to the magic of the mountains. 

“What kind of plans do we have, at least?” Honey presses. She looks at Bea’s outfit– a jean skirt that falls like an old Poodle skirt and a white bandeau top. It’s sort of see-through– Honey can see the shadow and outline of Bea’s nipples through the skimpy top. “I don’t want to dress like you,” Honey says.

Bea scoffs and turns to Honey. “My plan tonight is to get laid, your plan tonight is to accompany me while I evaluate my prey.” 

Honey pretends to gag. “I hate when you say that.”

“Maybe you’ll find someone to flirt with,” Bea says. 

“So, where are we going tonight? Statesville? Winston?” Honey asks again, hoping Bea will relent since she now knows the purpose of their adventure. 

“Dude, I’m not telling you,” Bea laughs. 

She reaches Honey’s closet and throws the curtain open. She strolls into the closet, looking through Honey’s clothes. 

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Honey asks, looking down at her athletic shorts and little tank top.

Bea turns around and surveys Honey. “The shirt is fine.” She returns to her task. “Nice tits.”

Honey looks down. It’s a revealing top and she’s not wearing a bra, because it’s a Saturday and she didn’t know they had plans until Bea told her this afternoon. “Maybe not, then.”

Bea glares at Honey out of her peripheral. “But that’s your favorite tank.”

“I have a feeling I’m going to get hit on if I wear this shirt.”

“You’re going to get hit on anyway. Keep the shirt.”

“No, I won’t, because my bitch face will keep most of the guys away.”

“Most of the guys. Which is the whole thing. Those ones will come to me.”

“Ew, you’re going to have a threesome tonight?”

“A threesome?” Bea spins around. “God, no! One at a time for me, thanks. I’m just going to fuck the other ones.”

“Other than who?” Honey asks. “I’m not fucking anyone tonight.”

Bea rolls her eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Whatever.” She digs through the closet, finding a long-buried white tennis skirt, the back pleats of the skirt puffy. Honey would never wear something like that, but Bea would– it’s probably Bea’s skirt in the first place. 

“I’m not wearing that,” Honey states.

Bea wrestles her into it– seriously. She tackles Honey onto the bed and literally redresses her, the absurdity of the situation so bizarre that it completely bypasses both girls’ minds. Honey fights Bea the whole time, but Bea comes out on top. She gets her way, Honey wears the skirt, but she’s not happy about it.

“Do I, at least, get to drive?” Honey asks.

“Oh, I was going to force you,” Bea laughs. “You don’t expect me to drive you home, do you? I’ll be… indisposed.”

Honey scowls the rest of the time they spend getting ready– Bea does Honey’s hair and forces Honey to put on some light makeup, just a bit of mascara, eyeliner, and some lipgloss. 

The only problem with Bea and Honey’s relationship is that Bea likes to go out, likes to meet people, likes to have a wild time, whereas Honey prefers to stay in. She’d rather watch a documentary or read a book or be present in nature than packed into a club dancefloor like a sardine in a larger can. Not that that matters to Bea.

By the time they get in the car, Bea is jumping off the walls trying to keep her secret destination to herself. Honey keeps trying to push, hoping for the right moment, but Bea won’t reveal her plans. All she does is direct Honey to the main road and type away at her phone, sending text after text to an unknown recipient, an unknown recipient that Honey is sure they’ll be meeting up with later.

They drive further into the mountains, to Honey’s surprise. They don’t head towards Winston or Statesville. They drive up, farther from town, farther from their neighbors. Near the top of the mountain, the houses are miles apart.

Perfect for a party.

Perfect for a party… thrown by boys in their twenties.

It clicks in Honey’s mind as Bea tells her to turn into the hidden driveway along the curve. “You’re not,” Honey says.

Bea laughs. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to catch on. I thought for sure you would’ve clocked me when we turned left instead of right.”

“Bea,” Honey scolds, her voice sharp. They’re on the driveway now, safe from the curves of the road, and Honey stops the car. She turns to her best friend. “You can’t be serious.”

For all of her audacity, Bea manages to understand the gravity of the situation at hand. It finally clicks in her head, why Honey isn’t happy with her plans, and why she’s even unhappier that she was dragged out here without knowing what she was walking into. She can’t just drop Bea off and leave– she would be abandoning her best friend in a house of strange boys all evening. Bea might be outgoing, but she hasn’t been hurt like Honey.

“It’s not going to be like that,” Bea reassures Honey gently, grabbing Honey’s hand with both of hers. “I promise, they’re not like that.”

“You don’t know them, Bea,” Honey explains. 

“You don’t either,” Bea points out. “And this time, we’re together. The second they do something– I mean it, the second– we’ll leave. I’ll go with you. Fuckery be damned.”

Honey grimaces, rolling her shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension. She takes a deep breath, then squints at Bea. “Are you really going to fuck all of them?” She asks.

Bea grins, knowing that she’s convinced Honey to at least try and hang out with the boys. She’s smug, getting her way once again. She winks at Honey, coy. “Just the ones you don’t want,” she simpers, giggling. “You get your pick of the litter.”

“I don’t want to fuck any of them. I don’t know how many times we have to go over this.”

“So, you don’t want Trevor? ‘Cuz I was thinking–”

“Don’t fuck Trevor,” Honey groans. 

“Why not?” Bea teases.

“You’re better than that, Buzzy,” Honey scoffs with a shake of her head. “He’s weird and a flirt and annoying.”

“I’m weird,” Bea says. “And a flirt. And annoying.” She puckers her lips and blows kisses at Honey as she shifts the car into drive and begins to creep down the driveway again. “Maybe it’s a match made in heaven, me and Trevor.”

“You don’t want him,” Honey growls, her voice short. 

Bea shrugs and faces forward in her seat, her hands tapping her thighs. Whether it’s from nerves or excitement, Honey can’t tell. If she had to guess, though, it would be excitement. Bea is the least anxious person that Honey knows, the kind of person who can talk to anyone or anything no matter the situation.

While they might be athletes, they’ve never met anyone like Bea. Honey never has, not since she met her best friend all those years ago. They’re fucked– and she’s irresistible.

Honey and Bea pull up to the house and park under the cover, right next to the front door. This house was a point of contention when it was being built the first year Honey moved to Litchton. It was her first introduction to the gossip of the founding ladies. Scarlett and Gillian had felt particularly perturbed by the building– a five bed, four bathroom house complete with a hot tub and a game room and two stories of wraparound porches. 

And it’s all made of the same wood, the same stain, the same ugly pattern. Honey cringes when she thinks about the number of trees that were cut down to make this house match. She’d think the same thing if it was made entirely out of the same stone. 

Bea knocks on the door as Honey wipes her sweat from her palms. It takes a minute, but then Honey hears the scrambling of feet and the shouting between one man and his group of buddies, who are just giggling as they do what they can to cut him off from the door. Honey can see it through the thin windows bordering the door, how they rush up the stairs and down the hall. She can also see how they’re holding Trevor back as much as they can.

The brunet from the first day opens the door with a charming smile. “Hi,” he greets. “Can I help you?”

“Jack, you motherfucker–”

Honey bites back a laugh as Trevor curses and struggles, still in the grasp of the shorter boy from the first day and one of the newcomers– another brunet, a taller one. She looks at him carefully– the curl of his hair at the nape of his neck, partially hidden under a baseball cap, the curve of his eyebrows, and the slope of his lips give him away. He must be one of Jack’s brothers. 

“We were invited to come over tonight,” Bea replies.

No matter how many times she hears it, Honey is always impressed by the way Bea turns on her charm and makes the people around her melt. It worked on her, too, when they first became friends all those years ago, and then less and less when Bea moved into Honey’s place when they first came to Litchton together and shared a bed for almost a year before Bea found her own townhouse. Then, her charm just got annoying, like a younger sibling who tags along with you everywhere because Mom said they had to.

It’s better for them when Bea and Honey have their time apart. Honey, especially, needs her time alone.

Jack’s eyes finally find Honey behind Bea and he grins. “That’s right,” he says, tapping his forehead like he just remembered. Honey can tell that all he’s doing is messing with Trevor, though. “The party! You must be the girls that Z invited. Hi, Honey.”

“Hi, Jack,” Honey replies, short and sweet. She turns on her customer service voice just for this. She finds Cole next to Trevor and smiles when her eyes slide over the imprisoned boy, as passive as she can be. “Hi, Cole.”

“Hey, Honey,” Cole says with an easy smile. Honey wants to snort and laugh– he’s got a smile that could get him into or out of anything. She wonders briefly if he’s childish and impish, still, even in their adult age, just because he’s got the smile to match.

Jack steps aside and lets the girls enter the house. He closes the door behind them and Honey has a sneaking suspicion that if she turned to glance at him, he’d be staring at one of their backsides. She doesn’t look. It’s not worth the joke that she could make if she caught him.

Bea nudges Honey and points up.

Honey tilts her head, and– “A chandelier made of moose antlers. Wow,” she marvels. She makes a face at Bea, then continues. “That’s really… something.”

“Isn’t it sick?” Cole asks, finally dropping Trevor’s arm and joining the girls where they stand. He spreads his arms out from his sides and spins in a slow circle. When he makes a full turn, he looks at both girls and wiggles his eyebrows. “Want a tour?”

The girls agree and Cole takes them throughout the house, leaving the other boys behind. From their pounding feet, Honey figures they’re headed downstairs, while Cole takes them upstairs. He shows them the bedrooms, the bathrooms, the common areas, the hallways, the outlet in his room that doesn’t work, and much more. They go back downstairs and get the same treatment– Cole even opens the fridge and helps himself to a beverage before offering anything to the girls. They see the kitchen, the living room, the den, the dining room and patio. Cole shows them the wraparound porch and its chairs. Honey takes in the view– it’s just as good as the one from her living room. 

Finally, finally, they make their way down to the basement. It’s a smaller room, minimized by a covered porch and larger patio with a hot tub. The basement is clearly the man cave, the game room, or whatever you want to call it. There’s a pool table, a large TV, a ping pong table, a foosball table… everything a boy could want. 

As evidenced by the two boys sitting on the couches near the pool table, while the other two wield sticks and study the position of the balls on the table.

Honey finds Trevor on the couch with Jack. His eyes found her first as she walked down the stairs and he hasn’t stopped staring. Neither has she, to be fair.

“Pool,” Bea notices. She looks at Honey and Honey shakes her head. Bea nods. “Honey and I are next,” she announces anyway.

“Oh, yeah?” Jack asks with a little laugh. “Are you any good?”

“I’m okay,” Bea says. She pauses, lets a smirk on her face grow as she looks over to Honey. “Honey’s worse.”

The boys turn to Honey. “Are you?” Trevor asks. 

“I wager she could still beat you, Z,” says the only boy that Honey had not seen when they arrived at the house earlier. He’s got dark hair, but it’s also hidden under a backwards cap. The only difference between him and his brothers, assuming he is one of the brothers that Trevor mentioned on Monday, is that he’s smaller, more sullen. The telltale sign is that his comment is offhanded, delivered with the calm venom of an older brother who knows exactly where to bite. He doesn’t even look at Trevor as he lines up his shot and sinks the ball.

Honey likes him immediately.

When she looks over, she notices that Bea likes him too. Her lips are pursed in thought, only the minutest pout on her mouth. There’s a tiny smile pulling at her cheek and her eyes are twinkling under the bright lights, but they would be hazardous in a club.

It’s a game they’ve played before. Bea sucks at pool– she always has, but… when you suck at pool, either the person you’re playing with will laugh at you or they’ll try to give you tips. The night usually ends with Bea sinking the 8 ball with a little bit of help from her gentleman caller and a celebratory, “thank you” kiss. 

Honey, however, loves pool. She wasn’t always great at pool, but found that, like almost everything, the more she practiced, the better she became. When Bea’s celebratory kisses turned into rushed hookups in the Winston-Salem dive bar bathrooms, Honey got her fair share of tips and tricks from the other men around. Usually, she would try to shack up with the alcoholic middle aged men who had nothing better to do than sip on their beer and play pool after dinner with their wives. It was rare that they flirted with Honey and she liked it that way.

The game goes like this: Bea finds a group of men that puff up their chest at the idea of beating a woman at pool, she “lets them win” against her (as if she would’ve won in the first place), and then it’s Honey’s turn. Honey, of course, feints a few shots and lets the men get comfortable before coming from behind and beating them. Usually, her win results in two drinks for her and her friend.

Today, the drinks won’t be her bargaining chip.

“What would you wager?” Honey asks the boy who last spoke. “If it were a real bet.”

His stormy eyes look her up and down while Jack’s brother, the tall one, paces around the table to find his best shot. “Money, normally,” he drawls. “But I’d rather not lose my money betting on you if you’re worse than her.” He nods to Bea, who takes the chance to blatantly look him up and down.

“How about this,” Bea proposes, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. “I’ll play the winner of this game and then we’ll see if Honey can beat Trevor. If I win, I get whatever I want, obviously. If Honey wins…”

Honey meets Bea’s eyes. She nods, knowing that Bea is thinking back to the night when they visited ECU their junior year of high school and witnessed a rugby party in the flesh. It’s their usual punishment when their outings feature a house party and a pool table.

“...Trevor has to do a Zulu Run,” Bea finishes. 

Honey finds Trevor again and smiles, overexaggerated and sickly sweet. 

“What’s a Zulu Run?” Trevor asks, looking to the other boys and finding nothing but confusion. On the girls’ faces, he just sees plotted mayhem. 

“It’s fun, don’t worry,” Honey reassures him. “You only have to do it if you lose. Which, I mean, if I’m worse than Bea, then you should be fine.”

Honey sits on the loveseat across from Trevor and Jack, while Bea sits down next to Jack. Her knee presses against his, subtly, just enough that you can’t tell if it’s deliberate or just a lack of room on the couch and Honey presses her hand to her lips to hide a smile.

“So you’re Jack,” Bea says, interrupting the conversation that he and Trevor had been in when the girls walked down the stairs. 

Honey watches as Bea makes her eyes look wide and soft, very flirtatious and fairy-like. She’s got the perfect complexion for it– the light dusting of freckles over her skin, the ounce of baby fat still left in her cheeks and all the right places along her body, her expression just the right amount of interested but not desperate.

For a brief moment, Honey wishes she was more like Bea.

“You’ve heard of me?” Jack asks with a little smirk.

Bea scoffs and waves him off. “Don’t flatter yourself. Honey didn’t even tell me your name.”

Jack’s bright eyes turn to Honey. “Oh, yeah?” He tilts his chin up in challenge. “What is it with you and names? You wouldn’t tell Trevor yours, you haven’t properly introduced me to…”

“Bea,” Bea supplies.

Honey shakes her head fondly at her best friend’s eagerness. Honey bites her tongue to keep her comments at bay, and instead plasters a tight smile on her face. “I didn’t realize I would be seeing you all again,” Honey says, forcing politeness into her voice. “And I’m not the one who’s weird about names.”

Jack and Trevor share a look. Jack hides a snort poorly.

“What?” Honey asks, her eyebrows raised and her mouth in a straight, unimpressed line. 

Jack smirks and Trevor shakes his head. Jack speaks anyway. “I don’t know how you would have avoided us,” Jack says. “Considering.”

“Considering…?” Bea asks, leaning around Jack to look at Trevor. Honey catches Trevor’s panicked glance and can guess what Jack’s alluding to. She jumps in, hoping to switch the subject.

“Nothing to consider,” Honey and Trevor say at the same time. Trevor sounds rushed, Honey sounds indifferent. Both of their jaws drop and they stare at each other, Honey affronted and Trevor surprised. 

Cole, who had been sitting on the stool-saddles near the pool table, steps over the back of the couch and weasels his way between Trevor and Jack. “Creepy,” he says. “You’re like the twins from the Shining.”

Trevor cringes. “You know, I don’t think we are.”

Honey just hums, picking up her drink and taking a sip. She clears her throat and turns back to Jack. “So those are your brothers?” She nods over to the pool table, where the shorter boy is lining up the 8-ball with the corner pocket. “Trevor said you had family coming.” 

Honey doesn’t miss the smirk and blush on Trevor’s face when she says his name, even as he dips his head and takes a gulp of his beer to cover it up.

Jack smiles, a genuine smile. It’s easy to tell the difference with him, when he’s really smiling or if he’s smiling because he thinks he’s supposed to. 

“Yeah, the goons.” Jack looks over his shoulder and grins as his taller brother loses his game of pool. “C’mon, Rusty, you brought that pool stick all this way and your game still sucks?”

The taller boy glares at Jack and sulks, re-racking his stick. He walks over and stands awkwardly behind the couch, but flicks Jack on the back of the head and Honey giggles before she can help it.

She looks down at her lap after letting out the little laugh and misses the way Trevor’s eyes light up and train on her. 

“Luke, you fucker,” Jack swears, flinching at the impact of Luke’s flick. Jack frowns, his eyebrows furrowed as he rubs the back of his head. “He’s my little brother.”

“Little brother,” Honey repeats. “And you’re just going to let him flick you like that?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Honey. Obviously I’m not going to let him get away with it.” He reaches around and half-asses a punch to Luke’s dick, just hard enough that it expels an “oof” from the younger boy and he doubles over a little bit.

The other boy interrupts. “Quit it,” he says. He glares at his brothers, then his eyes fix on Bea. “Your turn.”

Bea stands and smiles, a smug little smirk reserved for her conspiratory looks with Honey that signifies that she’s getting what she wanted. She joins the man by the rack of sticks and clasps her hands behind her back, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Which stick should I use?”

Jack looks a little put out by the loss of Bea at his side, and casts a glare toward his other brother. “And that’s Quinn,” he says curtly. “Pool master, or whatever.”

“So he’s the best in the house?” Honey asks.

“We’ll tally scores at the end of the summer,” Luke jumps in as Quinn says, “Absolutely.”

Jack scowls. “You just think that because you’re older. Remember, Quinn: first is the worst. Second is the best.”

Trevor snorts and takes another sip of his beer. 

He’s unnaturally quiet, Honey thinks. Trying to be cool in front of his friends, maybe.

“I take it you’re the second child,” Honey says. “That makes sense.”

“That makes sense?” Jack asks, repeating her statement like he can’t believe she dared to say that. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Honey looks over at Bea, who presses her lips together and raises her eyebrows. Daring Honey.

Honey rolls her head back, stretching the muscles of her neck. “You…” She starts, trailing off because she’s not sure how to finish the sentence without sounding mean. She scratches her eyebrow and scrunches her nose. “You like attention,” she decides, trying to keep her voice as free of judgment as possible. 

“Do I?” Jack asks, sounding unimpressed.

Honey shrugs. “You– I mean. Jack, you asked. You opened the door for us because you knew it would annoy Trevor, probably because you knew it would bother him that you were opening the door for m– us, instead of him. You flirt and smile when Bea sits next to you but you lean back and manspread when she gets up like you don’t want us to notice that you’re sitting without a girl at your side. You call your little brother a “fucker” and retaliate because you can, honestly escalating the situation from a flick to a punch to the dick. You act annoyed because your older brother is beating you at pool already this summer and it only just started, plus he took the girl from your side. It’s, uh… yeah. You like attention.”

Everyone but Jack starts to laugh.

“Stand up,” Cole says to Honey.

She does, her arms resting by her side awkwardly, her fingers twitching as she waits for him to do something.

Cole looks around the room and swears under his breath. “I didn’t think this through, one second,” he mutters, and disappears upstairs. 

Honey continues to stand there. She pats her hands against her thighs and looks around the room, trying not to make eye contact with anyone, but especially not Bea. If she makes eye contact with Bea, she’s going to burst out laughing. 

Trevor is still snickering, hiding his face in his shirt. Honey can still see the little crinkles by his eyes.

“She clocked you, man,” Quinn says with a shrug before pulling out a pool stick and standing it next to Bea. It comes up to the tip of her shoulder, Quinn’s chest. He nods in satisfaction and hands the stick over. Honey lets out a relieved breath of air at his approval, and then stifles a second when she watches Bea’s fingers brush over Quinn’s on the stick, her eyes lingering on his for just a second too long.

It’s too easy for her. 

Cole comes bounding down the stairs with a plastic soccer trophy in his hand. “Found this when I was snooping,” he says, approaching Honey and holding it out. He stands directly in front of her, makes eye contact with her, and stares into her eyes. “Thank you,” he says with a sincere nod. “For taking Jack down a peg. He needed that. We all needed that.”

And he hands the trophy off to Honey with a handshake, like she’s graduating from high school and he’s the principal handing her a diploma. He takes the handshake and pulls her into a hug, the trophy crushed awkwardly between them. 

When he pulls away, Cole puts both hands on Honey’s arms and stares into her eyes again. “If you’re going to do that again, please don’t do it to me.”

Quinn breaks the rack with a crack of his stick, standing at a slight angle, and Honey sits back down, cradling her trophy in her hands.

Cole engages Honey in conversation for a few minutes, with Luke jumping in here and there. Jack turns on the TV and pouts. As much as she tries not to notice it, Trevor just stays quiet and sips his beer and sneaks glances at Honey out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, the conversation dies out and the group turns their attention to the television, which is streaming some hockey game that Honey doesn’t have an interest in. The boys are chitchatting away, throwing out names and positions and yelling at the TV when a call doesn’t go their way– Honey can’t tell who’s cheering for what team, but she can also tell that Jack and Luke don’t like the team in white… at all. Trevor seems to prefer them over the team in red. Cole doesn’t seem to care. He’s just laughing, still, at Jack. Jack just sulks, but he seems to cheer up once the team in red scores, late in the first period.

“You all really like hockey, huh?” Bea asks between turns. Quinn has sunken a ball almost every turn, but Bea has only sunken one. Honey grins at her, then glances at the pool table and back to Bea. Bea sticks her tongue out at Honey, playful and easy. If Quinn’s the kind of guy that Honey thinks he is, it’s only a matter of time before he starts teaching Bea some tricks to tighten up the game. 

Cole laughs. “Yeah, I mean, I’d hope so.”

“What do you mean?” Bea asks, batting her eyelashes innocently, like she didn’t read all of Trevor’s Wikipedia page before coming here. 

“We play,” Luke says with a shrug.

Honey and Bea lock eyes and Honey plays along with her game. She tilts her head and blinks, as if this is the first time she’s hearing it. “Are you any good?”

Quinn snorts and shakes his head as Bea leans over to line up a shot and Honey notices his hand on her waist when he points at a different ball, explaining that that would be the better shot for her. Bea sinks the recommended ball and jumps up with a cheer, smiling brightly at Quinn and standing just a little closer than she would if she wanted to be just friends.

“We’re alright,” Trevor says, the first words he’s said to Honey since she walked through the door. He stands. “Does anyone want another beer?”

The boys’ voices ring out in a chorus of yesses, whereas Honey stays mostly quiet. Bea agrees to another drink as well, which is when Trevor turns to Honey. “You’re sure you don’t want another drink? I’m already getting them for everyone.”

“I’m sure, but thank you,” Honey says. 

“Why don’t you go and help him carry the drinks,” Bea suggests from her post next to Quinn. 

Honey glares at her, but stands. She leaves her trophy on her seat, saving it. “Fine,” she replies, hoping the edge in her voice is only detectable to her best friend. She follows Trevor up the stairs to the kitchen, like an antisocial cat who has FOMO, but only when it comes to their owner. She crinkles her nose in disgust when she realizes that that’s how she looks, not that Trevor would notice or care. Actually, he would probably be elated if she compared herself to a cat following him around.

Trevor opens the fridge and sifts around, the bottles of beer clinking. The beer takes up most of the bottom shelf, unsurprisingly.

“Do you think you have enough?” Honey asks, unable to help herself when Trevor passes her a third bottle, each a different brand of beer, to carry. 

“Q and J like Michelob, Luke is a Miller guy, Coley likes Budweiser, and I’m more of a Modelo drinker.” Trevor’s head is buried in the back of the fridge, rifling through a pack of Millers that seem to be running low. “We’ve had to go to the store three times since that first day because we keep running out of the one beer that someone wants.”

He retreats from the refrigerator and turns to Honey. He’s got two beers in his hand. He holds them up and asks, “Which one do you think Bea wants?”

Honey weighs her choices, but ultimately chooses the Michelob. Bea will use it as a jumping point for her conversation with Quinn– it’s a no-brainer. As annoying as Bea’s boy-craziness is, Honey is always going to be her wingwoman and helper when she can.

“Cool,” Trevor says and returns the other beer to the shelf. He turns back to Honey and takes two of the beers she was carrying, leaving her with just two, the Budweiser and the Modelo.

“I thought you were a Modelo drinker,” Honey says.

“I am,” Trevor replies, heading towards the stairs. 

Honey follows. “Then why am I holding your beer?”

“Because I want you to hand it to me.”

Honey snorts out a laugh. “Okay.”

When they return downstairs, they distribute the beer. Honey hands Cole his Budweiser and waits for Trevor to finish handing out the beers to the Hughes brothers and her friend. Bea has finally managed to get Quinn to do the work for her, with him leaning behind her and guiding her arms over the cue, pointing out where she should be looking and where to hit the ball. There are no other balls on the table except the 8 ball, which makes Honey chuckle. There’s no way Bea sunk all of hers– Quinn had to have “mistakenly” knocked a few in for her.

Trevor returns to the sitting area and Honey stands, offering him the Modelo in her hand. On purpose, she realizes, Trevor closes his hand over her own to take the beer from her and thanks her with a smile, his eyes far too kind to be harmless and friendly. 

Honey shakes her head with a look, then frowns when Trevor plops his happy ass right down on the other side of her loveseat. She shakes her head again and chooses to watch the end of the pool game, sitting on one of the stool-saddles near the table. She claps when Bea finally sinks the 8 ball after her third whiff. The ball only sinks because Quinn leaned over Bea again and did it for her, working together to finish the game.

“I win!” Bea squeals in delight, jumping in celebration in front of Quinn.

He lets out a little chuckle, the most awkwardly and quietly endearing laugh that Honey has ever heard. “You won,” he agrees. “With my help.”

Bea tilts her chin up and smiles at Quinn, proud of herself. “So we both win,” she says. “That means we both get whatever we want.”

Honey bites her tongue and ducks her head, waiting for what’s coming next. She wants to turn around and look out the window, even though you can’t see anything in the dark mountainside now that the sun has set. The thing is, she also wants to see the boys’ reactions to what Bea is going to say next.

Quinn smiles, a little tiny smile. His focus is only on Bea, who has inched her way closer to him somehow. There’s not much more room between them. “Whatever you want,” he repeats. “What do you want, Bea?”

Honey watches Quinn’s face, but she’s torn. She also wants to watch Jack.

“You know that tour Cole took us on when Honey and I first got here?” Bea asks, reaching out and smoothing out the turned-up fabric of Quinn’s sleeve.

“Yeah,” Quinn replies, a little confused.

Bea rests her hand on his arm, slowly making her way down so she can wrap her hand around his fingers. She watches herself do it, then looks up at Quinn through her lashes. “I don’t think I saw your bedroom,” she says. “Would you care to show me?”

Quinn’s lips part in surprise and Honey watches his eyes search Bea’s own for… insincerity, maybe? 

At the same time, Jack chokes on a sip of his beer. Honey’s eyes fly to him and Cole pats his back as Jack coughs it out. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jack says, clapping his hand against his chest and coughing one last time.

Bea smiles at him, oozing confidence and a little showmanship, as Quinn leads her to the stairs. He lets her climb them first and Honey giggles when Quinn sneaks a glance at Bea’s ass and visibly relaxes before hurrying to catch up with her and get his hands on her hips. Bea’s twinkling laughter grows softer and softer as she bounds up the stairs, her footfalls growing heavier as Quinn closes in on her.

“Well shit, Jack,” Cole says. “I guess you’re not the first to fall into bed with a girl this summer. The streak is finally over.”

“You don’t know that,” Jack says, pushing Cole’s hand off of his shoulder. He turns to face Honey, looking hopeful and a little desperate. “Wanna help me keep my streak up?”

A loud honking laugh escapes Honey. “Absolutely fucking not,” she replies, still laughing. She shakes her head at Jack, then notices the small, but mightily proud smile on Trevor’s lips. 

Choosing not to focus on that smile, a smile that she’s inadvertently becoming very fond of because she’s never seen him smile at his friends the way Trevor is smiling at her, Honey hops up from her stool and starts to gather the balls from the pockets of the table. She racks them, then grabs her cue and waves Trevor over. “I believe we had a game to play.”

“You had a game to lose,” Trevor corrects, standing and approaching Honey. He grabs his own stick, the one Quinn abandoned on the edge of the table when Bea proposed her bedroom shenanigans. 

“Hmm,” Honey voices, raising her eyebrows and exaggerating a grimace. “Consider me scared. Your break, Trevor.”

“When I win,” Trevor says. “I want to buy you dinner.” He lines up the cue ball and shoots, the colorful triangle of balls destroyed in a single swoop. One of the solids finds its way into a pocket and Trevor smirks.

“What a boring prize,” Honey muses. “But if you insist on those terms, then I agree.” She sticks out her hand to shake his. “And when I win…”

She leans down and eyes a line of three balls. The striped nine is farthest from the hole, but Honey wants to prove a point, so she angles her stick down at a steep slope and pushes– noticing Trevor’s mouth flattening into a line when her ball jumps over the other two and tips into the hole. She stands back up to her full height, tilting her head to the side. She cocks her hip and positions her hand against it, holding the cue up on her other side.

“I’m really going to enjoy your Zulu Run, Trevor.”

Cole whistles lowly from the couch. “I need to find you another trophy, girl.”

Honey shoots him a wink.

They play on. Trevor takes it easy– plays the safe route. With each easy fall into the pocket, he fistpumps to celebrate. Honey can only imagine how insufferable he is at the bowling alley. 

She shows him up, not even daring to let him pull ahead in their race and convince himself that he has a chance. She sinks the final black ball into the right-center pocket, bending herself all the way over the table to give him a good view of the girl who’s beating him. Her hips are high on the other side of the table, balancing up on her tip toes, facing the seating area. She doesn’t even look at the ball when she hits it, no, she’s looking up at Trevor with a tilted smile and mocking, bragging eyes. 

His eyes evaluate her– eyes, to lips, to chest, to ass. To the boys, making sure they aren’t looking, aren’t gawking at the round globes of Honey’s ass that are presented before them. Back to her ass. Her ass.

Honey stands, slowly, making sure Trevor memorizes the curve of her waist when she does. Her eyes drop to his pants, a smirk growing in time with his bulge, and she rests her hands on the edge of the table. She pulls her shoulders back, broadening her chest. 

It’s just a dominant stance. All Honey enjoys about this is the fact that his resolve and dignity crumble at the mere sight of a pretty girl bent before him. She likes knowing that he’s weak for her, but that she’ll never do anything about it.

She’s not looking for that.

“A Zulu Run,” Honey explains, clearing her throat to rid her voice of its sultry tinges. She shakes her hair back, over her shoulders. Trevor’s eyes darken at the sight of her throat. She smiles, but continues. “Is when you have to strip, sing a song, and streak around the house until the song is over.” She throws a glance over her shoulder at the other boys. “Usually your friends get to pick your song.”

Jack perks up at that. Honey turns and hops up on the ledge of the pool table, knowing that Trevor’s eyes have fallen to her behind. Jack looks at Honey with delight in his eyes, seeming to forgive her in an instant for psychoanalyzing him earlier in the night. His eyes slide to Trevor and the look in them seems more akin to yearning for vengeance.

“So, boys,” Honey drawls. “What’ll it be?”

They scramble over each other to reach her, shouting song suggestions as they fly into their head. Honey can’t hear anything they’re saying, so she laughs until they fall silent. Cole’s hand presses into the side of her thigh, she looks down at it in disgust, then back up at him. It falls to the edge of the table, noticeable space between her and the appendage. 

“How about this,” Honey decides. She sneaks a glance at Trevor, gloating as she lets her eyes roam all over his body. She takes in his arms, his thighs under his shorts, the way his shirt falls over his shoulders. “Trevor looks pretty fit. Why don’t we all pick a song?” She winks at him. “Make him run for, oh, eleven minutes or so?”

A flicker of recognition passes through Trevor’s gaze, but it’s quickly replaced by disbelief. He doesn’t know how she would know– weren’t they subtle about it? She lets out a breath of a laugh at the look– no, Trevor, you weren’t subtle, she thinks. but it’s cute that you think you are.

She realizes what she was thinking in a split second and shakes herself out of it, snapping her face forward and crossing her legs knee-over-knee. 

“But only his friends get to pick, so I guess I’m out.” Honey hops down from her perch and breaks through the boys, settling herself on the loveseat with her trophy, laying out to take up as much space as she could. She picks up the remote from the table and places her other hand behind her head, navigating to the Roku menu screen. “Do we have Spotify on this thing?”

Luke, Jack, and Cole each pick a song and Cole helps Honey connect to the outdoor speakers. He re-presents her with her trophy with a flourish and a bow, playful and lame. The boys push Trevor out to the patio with a whoop, pulling at his clothes even as Trevor fights them. 

Honey follows at a distance and watches through the glass door. She looks away when Trevor sheds his underwear and waits for Luke’s countdown to end before looking back up. She doesn’t want to see it. That’s just too far. She gets an eyeful of his ass as he rounds the corner of the house, though. 

As Trevor starts his third song, Cole’s cheesy Taylor Swift pick (“You can’t outrun my music now, bitch!”), Jack joins Honey at the door. 

“I think I’m going to head home,” Honey tells him, rubbing over the skin on her arms. 

Jack nods at her, shrugging easily. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Honey leads him up the stairs, hearing Trevor’s whoops grow louder as he finishes the second verse of the song. She knows he catches them walking up the stairs because his singing falters for a moment. His steps speed up. So do Honey’s. 

She walks briskly to the front door, bordering on a speedwalk, with Jack behind her. She swings her keys over her finger and wrenches the front door open. Jack catches it before it hits the wall. 

“What about Bea?” He asks, calling after Honey and making her pause. 

“She’ll find her way home,” Honey replies and steps off again. She has to get out of here before Trevor races up the stairs to stop her from being alone with Jack and she gets an eyeful of his– junk.

“Honey!” Jack calls again. 

She lurches to a stop and cringes, turning to face the boy. 

"Honey, I don't think I'm going to flirt with you anymore."

Honey takes a breath, walking back and reaching up to pat Jack's cheek, just forceful enough that it'll sting for a moment after she walks away. It's not quite a hit, but it's definitely not a love tap. "That doesn't hold the power that you think it does," she tells him with a nod and a close-lipped smile. She goes to leave, but Jack stops her by grabbing her hand.

"Trevor likes you, you know. He was quiet tonight, but he likes you. He's reading that book you gave him and everything," Jack says in earnest, his blues boring into Honey's own eyes. 

Honey picks up on the unsaid words. He's trying, take it easy on him, he might be annoying but he's good, and he likes you. You should like him too, and all of that.

The edges of Honey's smile soften and she gently pulls her hand from Jack's. "It's nice to know he can read," she replies, deflecting. Whatever Trevor feels for her, not that he can really feel anything because he doesn't know her like that, doesn't matter. She's not looking for that right now. "Thanks for hosting us, Jack. I'm sorry for what I... said."

"It's okay." Jack shrugs. "Thanks for coming."

"Goodnight," Honey bids him, and starts to walk away.

"Come back," Jack says, and Honey whips around and finds him looking like the words surprised him when he heard himself speak. He clears his throat. "Friday. Um, it's— it's National Chocolate Ice Cream Day and National Donut Day." He scuffs the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Really... important holiday."

Honey can't do anything but laugh. "I'll bring the donuts."

She walks to her car and ignores the chirping of bullfrogs echoing in her ears as she drives down the mountain to her home, alone.

7:90 – TREVOR

Jack glares at Trevor when he walks down to the kitchen early the next morning. As Trevor rubs the sleep out of his eyes with a yawn, Jack shifts under the frozen pack of peas that rests precariously on his shoulderblades. Trevor had barely touched him last night, he was just being dramatic. So he had a bit of soreness on his back from where Trevor pushed him against the wall and asked him what the hell he was doing, who cares? He went upstairs with Trevor’s girl. Alone. 

“Bea’s taking you to church with her this morning for laying a finger on me,” Jack growls out when Trevor looks at him and laughs.

“No shit,” Trevor replies, snorting.

“It’s true,” comes the female voice from the couch. Bea leans forward, her tube top skewed and tilted enough to draw a wandering eye. Trevor rolls his. “You shouldn’t get violent, not on my watch.”

“You weren’t even with me last night, Bea,” Trevor says sweetly, tilting his head down to dismiss her. “You didn’t see me do shit. How can you prove it was me and not Luke?”

“Luke put a video of it on his private story, then showed me,” Bea snickers in the same tone. “So you’re taking me home and helping me choose my best church outfit to hide these hickeys, and then you’ll join me at the service. It’ll be good for your reputation in town.”

“I don’t really care about my reputation in town,” Trevor laughs.

“Honey cares about your reputation in town,” Bea clarifies, a tight, ‘there’s no room for discussion here’ smile on her face. She pointedly looks him up and down. “Little Bear.”

Trevor scowls at her condescending tone and use of the nickname. How dare she flaunt her inner circle-ness to Trevor. 

“I was going to go to church anyway,” Trevor boasts. “Vera told me to bring all of the boys.”

“Well, you’re the only one resorting to violence–” Jack begins, seething, before Bea cuts him off.

“No, this is a good idea,” she says, waving her hand to quiet him. “We should all go to church.”

Jack scoffs. “I don’t think we need to go,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got an ulterior motive.”

“I don’t want the town to think y’all are reclusive party folk who have no interest in the happenings of Litchton,” Bea snaps. “You’d be surprised how quickly the old grannies will turn on you.”

“And you get to walk into church with five guys on your arm,” Jack says, still scowling. This time, his attention is focused on Bea, not the man who physically hurt him the night before. 

“Said she wanted five guys, she ain’t talking ‘bout burgers,” Trevor deadpans, a disgusted look thrown Bea’s way.

She’s unperturbed by it, probably from many years of Honey– Honey.– throwing her similar looks. All Bea does is smile and reply, “My pussy already got murdered, Trev. I didn’t need five guys.”

“No way Quinn ‘murdered’ your pussy, Bea,” Jack jumps in, air quotes around the word. “The dude doesn’t fuck.”

Bea laughs. “I assure you, he fucks.”

“Yeah, I fuck,” Quinn agrees, descending the stairs. He veers to the couch first and drops a kiss on Bea’s head in greeting.

“Well, fuck your way to church,” Jack says. “Bea’s making everyone go with her.” Jack looks at Quinn expectantly, maybe waiting for pushback.

Quinn shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “It’s not like there’s anything else for us to do on a Sunday morning in this place. Everything is probably closed.”

“It’s true, everything is closed on Sundays except the grocery store and the gas station,” Bea says with a nod. “And the church, of course.”

Jack scowls and removes his pack of peas from his back. Trevor takes his opportunity to approach the fridge, conveniently behind Jack. “Why can’t we just stay here?”

“Because it’ll be fun,” Trevor replies, trying to exude optimism now that he’s not the only boy being forced to attend church and wash themselves of their sins. He turns and purposefully claps his hand down on Jack’s shoulder, hard. Jack howls in pain. Trevor squeezes just to watch him tense up. “It’s our chance to become one with the community, Jacky.”

Bea smiles, voice dripping with cheerfulness. “Yeah, Jacky, it’ll be good for you. Why don’t you two head upstairs and change?” Her eyes fix on Quinn, whose shirt rides up as he grabs a glass from the upper shelves of the cabinets. “I want to chit-chat with Quinn for a second.”

Trevor and Jack make a face, but scramble towards the stairs. They push and shove each other all the way up– Trevor is particularly satisfied when Jack bumps into the wall and groans– then split off into their respective rooms. Trevor treats it like a race– whoever finishes changing first wins.

Jack is already back downstairs by the time Trevor returns. Cole is there, and Luke, and both of them seem to be dressed for the service too. None of the boys have the best church clothes, but it’s a small town with farmers. Surely not everyone will be in their Sunday best every Sunday. Quinn is noticeably missing, but Bea is standing by the door with a smile on her face. Her lips look a little more red than they did before Trevor went upstairs. He narrows his eyes at her.

“You, and you,” Bea says, pointing at Jack and Trevor. “Come with me. Trevor, grab your car keys. You’re driving.”

“What about Luke and Cole?” Trevor asks, picking up his keys from their spot on the hook next to the door and trailing behind Bea. Jack trails behind Trevor, still grumbling and pretending like his shoulders hurt for dramatic effect. Trevor ought to show him some real pain next time.

The three people climb into the car, Trevor behind the wheel and Bea in the passenger seat. Jack, once again, finds himself relegated to the backseat. He straps himself in and Trevor catches his murderous glare in the rearview mirror.

“Quinn’s going to drive them,” Bea explains. “They’ll meet us at the church.”

“Whipped,” Jack coughs out. He does a terrible job of masking the word. 

Trevor rolls his eyes, just like Bea. She opens her mouth to say something, sass him, but thinks better of it.

They drive on in silence, the occasional sigh or grunt from Jack as he shifts in his seat. Trevor glares at him again in the mirror and Jack hits him with a fake smile before looking out the window to watch the trees whip by.

Bea directs them to the main strip of shops, then tells them to take a left onto one of the sidestreets near The Reading Nook. They pull up to a big brick house, separated down the middle by a massive staircase. Bea climbs the stairs and turns to the left again, unlocking and pushing her front door open.

She leads the boys into her living room, which is decorated exactly how Trevor expected it to be. The couch is white with pink pillows and a white shag rug beneath it. Her furniture is odd, thrifted and worn in. None of it matches, although Trevor suspects that her theme was “Barbie girl aesthetic.” It’s messy, and comfortable, and Trevor almost envies how she lives. His apartment in Anaheim is sparse– when you’re on the road so much and as busy with your job as Trevor is, you really only need a place to eat and sleep. His decorations reflect that.

Trevor sprawls out on the couch, leaving Jack standing awkwardly next to the coffee table. Bea disappears down the hall and enters her bedroom, her closet door creaking open.

“Jack, come here, will you?” Bea asks. 

Jack’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he starts down the hallway nonetheless. 

Trevor snoops in his absence, Jack’s presence no longer a threat to his comfort. He drags himself off of the couch and stands, advancing towards the shelves of knickknacks on the wall near the television.

Bea has got a number of books on her shelves, overtaking two of the four rows. The other rows are sparse and far more interesting– there are picture frames spread along the rows, six frames that depict Bea’s life and what she loves.

Four of the pictures feature Honey. The other two are groups of people that Trevor assumes are Bea’s family, her extended family on each of her parents’ sides. He can ignore those easily, not caring about about Bea to scan each of her cousins’ faces. The pictures with Honey are a different story.

There’s a picture of the two when they were ten, or eleven, riding their bikes down an asphalt street lined with suburban houses. Bea’s bike is pink with streamers and flowers and a little basket. Honey’s is dark green and sporty, similar to Trevor’s own bicycle from childhood. Honey’s smile is wry, whereas Bea’s is glowing.

The second, from a birthday party. It’s Honey’s birthday and they’re four, from the looks of the lit candle on her cake. Honey’s smile is wide, much wider than the previous image. Her hair is messy and her tongue is stained green, probably from a lollipop or a Jolly Rancher. Her arms are wrapped around Bea’s neck and she’s pulled her friend close, their cheeks pressing together. Bea’s expression is a little different. Only one of her eyes is squeezed shut, the one closer to Honey. Her lips are pursed like a duck and her little fingers are raised in a peace sign.

Trevor chuckles. If his mom had been the one taking the picture, she would’ve said “What a ham” about the girls’ goofiness.

In the next picture, they’re older. They’re sixteen, probably. Bea’s wearing these short jean shorts and a bikini top and Honey wears a matching top under some long, gray sweatpants. She rolled the waistband up and her back is mostly to the camera, Bea lifted off the ground in a swooping hug. Bea’s legs are kicked up behind her like she’s experiencing a really good, Princess Diaries kind of kiss and her face is frozen in laughter. Honey’s is the same. Trevor’s heart clenches at the smile on her face and the way her hair blows out behind her.

Finally, there’s a selfie of the two of them in a handmade frame. It’s from a high angle and Trevor can’t tell if it’s a .5 picture or a regular one. Honey’s eyebrow is raised and she wears an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression, goofy enough to tug at Trevor’s smile. Bea’s mouth is open and she has a hand pinching Honey’s chin, while the other is raised to take the picture. Behind them is the Welcome to Litchton sign that Trevor passes each time he goes into town. 

Trevor’s eyes glide down to the handmade frame, the written message along the top and bottom borders.

“New Beginnings!” and smaller, in the corner, a more personalized message. Trevor thinks that she wrote the message in a thin Sharpie– it’s too pristine still, after years. “There’s no one I would rather have join me in Litchton than you. Thank you for always being the Bea to my Honey! Honeybea 4ever <3”.

Trevor reaches out and takes the frame in his hand, inspecting it. He turns it over. More script, also in a Sharpie: “2019”, it reads. He replaces the item, making sure it’s back in the exact right spot. 

“Bea, hurry up!” Trevor calls, returning to the couch.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” she replies, leading Jack out of her bedroom. She’s clasping a necklace as she walks, then holds out her wrist and a bracelet for Jack to clasp. “We can go now.”

They leave the apartment and climb back into the car, Jack beating Bea out for the passenger seat this time. He’s smug about it too, grinning to himself while he buckles up. Trevor opens the back door for Bea and helps her into the car with a guiding hand in hers. When Jack realizes that he fumbled the chance to look like a gentleman, his face returns to its scowl. 

“If you’re not careful, your face will get stuck like that,” Trevor warns when he finally sits behind the wheel again. He shifts the car into drive and pulls out of the parking space.

Bea directs them to the church and Trevor pulls into the parking lot next to Quinn’s car, which is still running. They’ve got about five minutes before the service begins and Bea chastises the three boys for not going inside and reserving seats early. 

“There’s only a few instances where the whole town goes out to do something,” Bea complains as they walk inside. “Church is one of them. We’re never going to find a spot for all six of us.”

“No Honey?” Trevor asks, taken aback. He expected her to join them, especially since the ‘whole town’ is here.

Bea casts Trevor a look and snickers into her palm. “You’re sweet, Trevor,” she says and Trevor rolls his eyes at her saccharine tone. “But Honey decided a long time ago that she had enough religion in her life growing up. She and God know where they stand.”

Trevor reaches the door to the church first and holds it open for the group, letting them file in. He’s grateful that they’re in the church now, because all of the other boys are either too respectful of the space and what it represents or too awkward in a silent building to make fun of Trevor for seeking out Honey. Or they don’t want to get on Bea’s bad side and act a fool in church and suffer her wrath.

They file into one of the back pews, Bea sandwiched between Quinn and Luke. Trevor sits on the other side, right at the aisle. 

For an hour, he stays quiet and moves and speaks with the congregation. He counts the number of times that Cole tases Jack’s side, sticking his fingers between his ribs to cause him to flinch and make noise in the reverent area. He does this five times throughout the mass before Bea leans forward and threatens to cut his hands off herself. 

For an hour, Trevor stares forward and lets his mind wander to Honey, and all the thoughts he has about her. She’s a mystery and she’s quiet like Quinn, but confident in a way that Quinn never achieved. She knows exactly who she is and won’t budge for anyone, won’t change herself or act in any special ways around certain people. 

Trevor admires it– he’s spent his whole life performing for people, in a way. Hockey is his life and always has been, but sometimes it’s tiring to realize that all of his friends are people he met on ice. To think that he can be surrounded by his teammates and the fans in any arena and still feel lonely– it’s the kind of thing that leaves Trevor wondering if this career was a good idea. 

In another world, he’s playing in a beer league in a town like this, with a girl like Honey on his arm. 

The thought leaves him feeling heavy, weighed down. It ruminates in his mind, even after the service is over. It sours his mood completely and Trevor wishes he was back at the house so he could take a shower or something and stop the prickling feelings from taking over his skin.

In the parking lot, the group chats about nothing. Trevor doesn’t listen. Bea introduces the boys to come of the townsfolk and Trevor smiles and shakes the men’s hands, hugs the ladies or send a special look their way. Vera and Earl honk as they drive past the group, Vera blowing a kiss towards Trevor and Cole through the passenger window. Cole catches it and sticks it to his cheek, then sends one back. It makes Vera laugh.

Trevor tunes back into the conversation as the boys discuss plans for the upcoming week– Jack edges away from Trevor before he mentions that he invited Honey over that coming Friday and that Bea should come too. 

“Well, you’ll rarely find a Honey without its Bea,” Bea teases. She claps. “Okay. I’ll see you guys then. Quinn, take me home?”

Quinn nods and puts his hand on the small of her back to direct her to the car. Bea pauses and waves Trevor over, shooing the other boys away. Quinn stays, his hand still on Bea’s body.

“There’s a fruit stand outside the grocery store on Mondays,” Bea says.

“I know, I’ve been,” Trevor interrupts.

Bea quiets him with a click of her tongue. She chooses her words carefully, her eyes hard. “Go tomorrow at, like, six,” she suggests, a faux-nonchalant shrug lifting her shoulders. “You might find something that you like there. I recommend buying the strawberries. They make a lovely gift, Trevor.”

Trevor frowns, confused. “I don’t like strawberries,” he replies.

Bea closes her eyes and processes his words for a moment, a tight smile on her lips. “They make a lovely gift, Trevor,” she repeats.

“Sick,” Trevor says, his voice hard. He doesn’t understand what she’s saying. “I’m not buying strawberries for you, Bea. I don’t know you enough to give you gifts.”

Bea stomps her foot. “Good fucking God, Trevor. Quinn, can you explain this shit to him?” She asks, then walks off to the car. She takes Quinn’s keys from his hand and gets behind the driver’s seat herself. 

Quinn watches her walk away, then turns to Trevor. “She’s telling you that you’ll run into Honey, you fucking idiot, and that you should buy her strawberries.” 

He leaves Trevor standing there, eyes wide.

Yeah, he’s definitely heading to the fruit stand tomorrow and buying strawberries.

He concocts his plan on the drive home, silent compared to the other three boys, that are laughing and flopping around the backseat with every turn in a game of Jell-O. They’re not wearing their seatbelts. When they get too loud, Trevor envisions ejecting them from the backseat, leaving them sailing down the mountain, falling through the air.

He holes himself up in his room to nap when they get home, too excited to see Honey to let the time pass organically. It’s like time travel, this way. Trevor will wake up and be two hours closer to seeing her, to getting another chance to win her over. This time, with a gift.

In the afternoon, he laces up his blades and skates with the boys. Quinn has come back by now, not spending much time at Bea’s apartment after church, according to Luke. They all skate and shoot for a couple of hours, playing a game of pickup with an extra player to sub in and out. When that ends, they run some drills. Luke and Quinn play defense, like always, with Trevor, Cole, and Jack recreating their legendary line from USNTDP. It works out perfectly, and each boy pushes himself like they’re playing a real game. It’s the brotherly competition that fuels them– and when the drills start to fall into disarray from hits and other penalties that would certainly be called out in a game, they head off to shower.

The night ends slowly, fizzling out compared to the way it ended the night before. The boys lounge in the game room, sprawling out on the couches and snacking and sipping their beer. Trevor isn’t made to perform another Zulu Run, no one picks up a pool cue, and they watch shitty TV movies on the Spanish channel instead of English. They make up the dialogue as they go and Trevor is the first to go to sleep. He makes it to midnight, but then he forces himself to go to bed. 

He’s got a big day ahead of him… after 5 p.m., anyway.

–end–of–chapter–one–

[princesssmars]

i love your shiv nsfw fic!!! you're so good at writing them, could you write another shiv roy x female reader smut fic? it's so hard finding them these days

no strings

a shiv roy x reader.

your time studying abroad is nearly over, and you luck out with a job working for a luxury boating service. this summer the billionaire roy family is vacationing, and the youngest daughter gives you an exciting proposal.

wc : 1.391

contains : fluff. semi angst. smut. talks of fxfxm threesome. exhibitionism : tom watches you and shiv go at it. oral and penetrative sex (receiving).

a/n : anon why did i literally have a dream with tom and shiv the night you sent this...and you are so right why is the shiv tag so dead omg i came a year after the show ended thinking i’d be fed 💔 also thanks for saying i’m good every time i write smut i laugh bc i’m a big baby.

when you signed up for a summer job, you sure as hell weren't expecting this.

at least you had the excuse of this not being a very croatian or italian custom. coming here to study was something you did on a whim, and wouldnt be the first time you made a crazy decision just because, you still had flashbacks to the time you skinny dipped with people who you had just met at a bar an hour earlier.

thankfully over the years your exploring ways had toned down to a reasonable amount. after all, you couldnt be a luxury stewardess who was always getting in to trouble. the clients did insane background checks, seriously, one old bastard asked what it was like going to such an average kindergarten.

but for now, it was fine. it paid well, you only had to serve rich pricks for a few days at a time, and it was helping pay off your student loans. plus if you bat your eyes at the right people you got a considerable tip.

your coworker and friend, petra, suggested you do a little more for some extra money, but you shrugged it off with a laugh each time. the last thing you wanted was to have some crazy millionaire getting too attached to you and causing trouble in your normal life.

but your final semester has ended, you’ve made plans to move back home to jersey at the end of the summer, and that only leaves you with a few more jobs until you’re done with this job. you tried, you really really tried to keep your wits about you, but one of the clients is contacting you before the family lands to the boat with an offer.

a threesome. with her and her husband. no strings attached.

the service you worked for normally declined telling you the names of who your team will be working for, even going as far as to lock your phones on the boats to make sure you weren’t posting them during their private time.

but even you, now living halfway across the world, knew about this family. the roys, owners of one of the biggest media conglomerates of the past era. it was hard not to see reports in the morning from atn news, or the insane amount of advertising you’d see about their international mediterranean cruises.

(well, after their recent scandal about sexual misconduct in the fucking senate, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be seeing too many ads anymore.)

you were sure it was the daughter of the family calling you, recognizing her voice over the phone and being confirmed when she met up with you before she got on the boat. she was gorgeous and a little scary, enjoying the scent of her perfume when she slides the nda over to you to sign.

it was exciting, working on the boat and seeing her eyes occasionally trailing your figure. maybe it would’ve been more enticing if every time her husband looked at you he didn’t look like one of those hanging cat posters. shame, he was cute.

you’re cleaning up one of the tables after the family had eaten a crazy short dinner. you’re still reeling after witnessing how dysfunctional these people were when your phone buzzes on your pocket, courtesy of shiv pulling a few strings. the text from her is just her cabin number and a time that’s ten minutes ahead. short and to the point.

when you knock on the door you can hear a conversation on the other side come to halt, fast footsteps coming to the door before yanking it open. you’d seen her earlier in the day but got did shiv look gorgeous, ginger hair framing her face as the soft lighting of the room illuminated her bare shoulders.

she’s smiling at you, all sickly sweet as she leads you into the room before locking the door behind you, telling you to just sit on the bed. the bed is large and soft, and your mind wanders about how these people can have whole hotel rooms on the ocean and still be so unhappy when a throat clearing knocks you out of your thoughts, the husband sitting in a chair across the bed to your left. he gives a little smile and a wave and you do it back.

“this is tom. he’s just gonna watch us for a while, ok?” she checks in with you, crossing her legs as she sits next to you, softly moving your hair behind your shoulder. you nod. “good. tel us if you don’t like something.”

you try to nod again but her palm is on your cheek and bringing your face to hers, soft lips kissing you like she’s starving. her tounge is in your mouth, and when you try to move your body to sit on her lap she’s pushing you back, resting your back on the bed. you can faintly hear the fabric of tom’s clothes as he moves on his seat.

she urges your pants down your legs, barely waiting for you to kick off your shoes before she’s rubbing you through your panties, biting and nipping at the skin of your neck as you left out small moans into the air.

“sure you don’t wanna touch her, tom? she’s so soft, so pretty.” she licks a line up your throat and to your mouth, swallowing your moan in her mouth. her husband doesn’t reply and you don’t dwell on it for long. you’ve heard of exhibitionists before, looks like her husband is one of them.

you bite her bottom lip and revel in the groan you feel in her mouth and chest, your own muffled noise escaping when she stuffs a finger inside you. she’s using her thumb to rub at your clip while she thrusts, pulling away from the kiss to look at your face.

it feels good but it’s not enough, which you make clear when you beg her under your breath to give you more of anything. thankfully she doesn’t seem to be in a teasing mood, not thanking any time to push her second finger inside of you.

“oh, fuck-“ your leg kicks out and you fist the sheets as you focus on the pleasure. it’s clear she’s done this before, skilled in the way she hits your g spot at just the right angle and rubs your clit. her head turns to likely look at her husband, while yours flops on the bedsheets.

you’re so distracted you don’t notice them having a small chat, mind on cloud nine. you do notice when she dips her head to kiss your chest that’s exposed after she unbuttoned your shirt, then dips lower, and lower, and lower-

when you feel her mouth circle your clit in your mouth you let out an airy moan, feeling the ball in the pit of your stomach grow. she eats you out just like she kisses you, sloppier than you expected for someone that’s looks as polished as she does. her hands are squishing the fat of your thighs, and when she shakes her head from side to side in your pussy you cum, trying to soundproof your moans into your arms as the other clutches at her head.

she helps ease you down from your high, placing kisses on your clit and your thighs and even cleaning you up with her mouth as you let out fast shaky breaths. you’re given maybe a few minutes of relaxation before she’s tugging your pants back up, buttoning up your shirt before giving a quick pat to the top of your thigh.

“that was fun, huh?”

you laugh, nodding your head since you can’t find the words. you push yourself up on your arms, staring up at the woman above you as she smiles down at you. your eyes drift to her husband who’s still sitting on the armchair, face flushed and taking in quick breaths like he’s the one who just got fucked instead of you.

“yeah, yeah it was fun.”

you collect yourself, fixing up your hair in the mirror on the wall as shiv leads you to the door.

“saw in your file you’re from jersey. maybe we’ll call you sometime once all this shit blows over, yeah?”

this summer couldn’t end fast enough.

[thecircularlibrary]

graylyra one shot?

Location Services

Grayson x Lyra

words: 734 words

warnings: n/a

A/N: my first ever one-shot/fic. sorry if it's a little short.

Dunkin Donuts was not an ideal meeting location for Grayson Hawthorne. He couldn’t even recall the last time that he’d had a donut, much less one from a chain restaurant. However, long distance made him desperate and he would do anything short of murder to see his girlfriend while he was in her college town. So there he was, sitting in a Dunkin Donuts in jeans and a crew neck—also out of character for him—waiting for Lyra Kane to get out of class.

Relationships were weird for Grayson, and Lyra knew that. They’d talked about it an abundance of times. Especially when it came to the dreaded long-distance conversation. Obviously, there wasn’t much that Lyra could do about it. She was, first-and-foremost, a college student. That has always been true. It just never felt real until The Game was over and she actually had to go back. 

Winning the game was a big deal for her, as she was able to save her family’s home and pay off her tuition debt. However, they didn’t see eachother often. Over the summers she was working internships and he was working the foundation. She never came to Texas, because when she was free to go anywhere, she went home to her family. Not his family.

She graduated at the end of the semester and the thought of What happens after? was constantly running through Grayson’s head. What happens when she’s truly free to go anywhere? What happens when she has a choice between going somewhere else and coming closer to him—coming closer to home? 

His stream of consciousness was interrupted when she walked in. She was radiant. Her tan skin practically glowed and she was dressed casually. She was smiling. After everything that had happened, it was amazing for Grayson to see her smile. He thought about how many times she’d said the same about him.

“Hey, Hawthorne,” Lyra said grinning as she set her backpack down in the chair across from him.

They went to the counter to order their drinks. As they talked about life, school, and the mundane parts of life, Lyra looked as if she was about to explode.

“Do you have something you want to tell me?” Grayson asked expectantly, once they were safely seated at the table with their drinks. He was silently wishing it was news that would, hopefully, segue naturally into a conversation about, for lack of a better term, living situations.

“Do you remember that internship I was working at last summer?” Lyra asked through a grin.

He did remember. Her local internship. Not in Texas.

“I do remember. The data analysis one, right?”

“Yes! Well, guess what?”

“What?”

“They offered me a permanent position. At a satellite branch. In Texas!”

Grayson’s mind blanked, the sentence ‘In Texas!’ the only thing in his head. He hadn’t expected his wish to work.

“Grayson! Don’t you know what this means?”

“Hmm?”

“I can get an apartment with the salary they’re paying me so I can be clo–”

“Do you want to move into my penthouse?”

Lyra’s eyes widened, and Grayson looked down as he realized that she hadn’t even said whether she was in Austin, or Dallas, or San Antonio, or Houston. Or maybe, since it was a satellite branch, they were looking for smaller cities: San Marcos, Corpus Christi, Waco, New Braunfels. She might even be going to Nacogdoches. He sounded inconsiderate interrupting her when she could’ve been giving important context that saved him from embarrassment. Grayson wished that spoken word had an unsend button.

“I’d love to, Grayson.”

Grayson looked up at her, and in that moment he had never loved her more. Moments of their future flashed through his head. The two of them waking up together, making dinner, watching movies, and even seeing each other off to work. Her voice brought him back to the present.

“My job is in the city and your penthouse is actually really close to the office. It’d be nice to not have to commute. Even nicer if it means I get to be with you while I do it.”

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll come up here to help pack your apartment and then move you down to Texas when your lease is up.”

She held her drink up in the air to mimic a champagne glass. “To new beginnings?”

He smiled and picked up his cup.

“To new beginnings.”

[katyswrites]

don't call me 'baby'

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, swearing, alcohol use, smoking, references to vomit/drinking too much, age gap

Wordcount: 4.4k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 2 | is it chill that you're in my head?

The next few weeks passed in a blur. With the semester officially wrapped, you threw yourself into working - early morning shifts at the coffee shop, then weekend nights Enoteca Bruni, slinging cocktails and lighting cigars, smiling prettily for high-end customers and their massive wallets. Fridays were the worst - working a double, swapping out your apron for a cocktail dress as you went from one job to the other, often fixing your hair and doing your makeup on the bus ride in between. 

It had been a bit of a culture shock, moving out to Rome. You had never envisioned moving abroad, but the offer had come from AUR with a great scholarship; it involved getting the Hell out of your parents’ house, working towards a degree, and starting a new life in Rome. Not knowing the language had been the hardest - you had spent nearly your entire first year enrolled in Italian classes, taking time to read newspapers, watch local television, and do everything you could to immerse yourself in the language. It wasn’t second-nature, exactly, but you found yourself switching from English to Italian easily now, thankfully. It was probably what landed you the job at Enoteca - they usually only took people with more restaurant experience (or the prettiest, you would later realize). But, an American girl, who spoke fluent Italian? It had made you invaluable, considering how many business executives and high-profile people from around the world dined there. 

That was probably why the experience a few weeks ago hadn’t shaken you all too much; you had become used to groups like that, men who were used to getting what they wanted, whenever they wanted. Still, when you allowed your mind to wander, or you had a moment or two to rest, you found yourself thinking of Steve Harrington.

It was rarely on purpose - the vision of the man encroached on your mind when you least expected, sticking and seeping through your brain like syrup. You had felt guilty about the money, initially - while some kind (and usually American) customers tipped, it wasn’t common on this side of the world. And, moreover, it had been far more than what was anywhere near reasonable, no matter how expensive their bill ended up being. Was he hitting on you? That wouldn’t have been the first time - plenty of pushy, or downright pervy customers had insisted on tipping you, slipping you a phone number with the cash. But, he hadn’t done that - there wasn’t any contact information, not even a return address. And, he didn’t seem like that - he could’ve made more of a move on you that night in the car, if he really wanted. It was confusing, more than anything - no matter how you had tried to rationalize it, the generous gesture was simply bizarre. That was probably why you found yourself thinking of him on occasion - why else would you be?

It was the last weekend of May, when it happened. If you had been back in the States, you supposed it would’ve been a long holiday weekend, thanks to Memorial Day. But here, it was just another Friday night. And, a rare blessing - you actually had the night off. Well, you had arranged for the night off. It had been a terrible week, beyond exhausting. When you had come home, last night, Robin had taken one look at you, and shook her head.

“No,” she said firmly.

“Huh?” you asked, plopping down in a kitchen chair.

“You need to take a night off, you’re miserable,” she said, sitting herself across from you.

“I need to work,” you explained. “In case you forgot, we need to pay rent.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed. “But, you know… last I checked, a certain richy-rich business bro took care of that -”

“That cash is only gonna last so long, Robs.”

“Don’t you get it? That was his way of telling you to take a break - they love you at the restaurant. You never miss, just call out - and then we can go out tomorrow, and actually have fun, for once.”

You opened your mouth to protest, then stopped yourself - you carefully considered what your friend was proposing. The two of you rarely took time to have fun anymore - Robin once joked that you were both old ladies already, working all day and tucked in bed early most nights. You and her were often rolling coins for groceries, and you had treated yourselves to an actual sitdown dinner next week thanks to Steve’s money - it had felt extravagant, but nice. 

Buy yourself something nice, Steve’s note had said.

“Yeah, okay,” you conceded. “Let’s go out tomorrow, yeah?”

That was how you found yourself out that night, stuffed into your favorite jeans and flashy top, face made-up and six drinks deep at some nightclub, one of Robin’s favorite haunts from college. The air was hazy, the music loud, and you found yourself letting go, as best as you could.

Robin made her way through the crowd to you, shots in-hand, despite your earlier protests.

“Robs - no -”

“C’mon, live a little!” she shouted. “And don’t worry, it’s not tequila - I know how you get with tequila.”

You rolled your eyes, toasting her as you downed the shot, the liquor burning your tongue and throat as it went down. Robin grinned, pressing herself close to you as she asked, “Are ya having fun?”

You nodded, smiling. 

“Yeah, actually - I am,” you admitted. “But - I’ve got to get some air,” you said, pulling your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket and waving them.

Robin groaned.

“Those’ll kill you, you know,” she shouted as you headed for the door.

“We can only hope!” you sent back playfully over your shoulder.

You made your way through sweaty bodies and dodged the splashes of drinks, forcing your way out into the cooler night. 

The summer was in its infancy, the evenings still cool enough to raise goosebumps on the skin, to remind you that spring wasn’t quite done yet. It was a welcome change, the bar inside nearly suffocating with the pure volume of people. And more importantly, outside, it’s quiet. Yes, it’s still a city, the din of cars and motorbikes combining with the sounds of music and laughter from bars and restaurants, the cacophony of nightlife still a relief from what you just came from inside.

A few other smokers hung around you, alone and in groups, chatting and flicking ash onto the pavement. You leaned against the brick wall of the building, sighing and inhaling deeply. You let the night air fill your lungs, your head a bit fuzzy from the alcohol coursing through you. 

You fish a cigarette out of the carton, placing it between your lips before reaching into your pocket for a lighter - oh, no.

Your lighter was still in your purse. Because, you almost always have your purse, but because you were going out, you had just stuck some cash and your ID in the back of your phone, and left. Christ, you were out of practice. You slumped, and glanced around, only to realize a lot of people had headed back inside. You spotted a woman about ten feet away, exhaling smoke. You debated walking over and asking for a light - she probably wouldn’t have a problem with that, and she was probably done soon -

“Need a light?” a voice asked.

A godsend.

You turned to where it was coming from, and froze in place.

There he was, standing just a few feet from you. Steve wore a warm smirk and a fitted t-shirt and jeans, nearly unrecognizable from the man in the suit you had met a few weeks ago. His hair was still done immaculately, but he stood casually, hands shoved in his pockets as he leaned against the wall. In the dim streetlights, he could’ve been a stranger, just a boy on the sidewalk with a kind offer and a smile. Still, he wore nice loafers and a flashy watch, and though you didn’t know much about clothes, you imagine they cost more than most of your closet combined.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, unable to believe your luck. And, it doesn’t escape you, the irony of the reversed roles, of you being stuck for a light out in the night.

“If you’ve got one,” you replied, feigning a casual air.

“Well, I think I owe you the favor,” he said, reaching into his pocket until he produced a lighter. He held it up, and you leaned in close, letting him flick it on and light the cigarette until the end was a hot amber. You took a long drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs and exhaling, immediately relaxing.

You didn’t take your eyes off of the man next to you, still as boyishly handsome as you remembered. He was visibly more relaxed than the last time you saw him, and you couldn’t help but wonder… was he here alone?

“Thanks,” you said, pressing your foot into the wall to balance yourself. 

“Of course,” he replied, pulling his own cigarette out and placing it in his mouth. Still hand-rolled, you noted.

“Not just for that,” you said, measuring your words carefully. “For… for the other thing, too.”

He didn’t respond, at first. He just stared straight ahead, blowing smoke out into the night air.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, kicking at the ground with his toe.

“No, I should - I mean, that was… it was really generous. And, you really shouldn’t have.”

He looked at you then, face soft as he smiled.

“Yes, I should’ve. Because I wanted to. Did you do what I asked?”

You paused, confused. “What?”

“Did you buy yourself something nice?”

You suddenly felt your face heat, and it took you a moment to find the words.

“I - well, sort of. I mean, to be honest, I used a lot of it to pay this month’s rent. But…I took my roommate out to a nice dinner. And, there’s still a bit left, so I guess we’re using it now, for drinks and stuff tonight.”

He perked up at that, and smiled a little wider.

“Good,” he said. “I mean, I’m glad you were able to treat yourself.”

“It let me take the night off, for once,” you admitted.

“How many nights do you work there?” he asked curiously.

“Well, only four - Thursday through Sunday. But, I work 5 days a week at a coffee shop - you know Caffè Tazza, on Via Pave?”

He furrowed his brow, then nodded slowly.

“I think I’ve passed it on my way to work, yeah - not sure I’ve ever gone in.”

“Yeah, well, I work there. Enteco is just a side gig - it pays better. Well, slightly.”

You stopped yourself, then, suddenly feeling small - it hadn’t escaped you that the money Steve had sent you was probably a drop in the bucket, a negligible amount for him. You couldn’t even imagine what his bank account looked like, but from what little you knew about him, you knew it would probably make you fall to your knees. 

“But, it doesn’t matter - I needed a break, I don’t go out much, so here I am.”

He just nodded again, taking another drag. 

“Are you here with anyone?” he asked.

You nodded, glancing at the door behind you.

“Yeah - my roommate, Robin… you?”

You asked it carefully, glancing at him briefly. He turned to look at you again, and you could tell he was fighting a smile.

“No,” he said. “I’m here alone.”

You don’t know what it was - it was probably a mix of the alcohol, a long week, the buzz of the late night air, or the fact that both of you had subconsciously inched yourselves closer to each other during the last few minutes - you could feel the heat radiating off of him, hear his shallow breaths. But, you felt bold, bolder than usual.

“Did you plan on keeping it that way?” you asked quietly.

His eyes widened, and you saw him visibly freeze at your words.

“Not necessarily,” he admitted, voice soft and low.

Then, you pushed yourself up on your toes, and pulled him by the collar of his t-shirt, bringing his lips down to yours.

He tensed for a moment under your touch, then relaxed, leaning into the kiss. His lips moved with yours, softer than you had imagined. He tasted like cigarettes and scotch, and smells like cologne, the good kind. Your cigarette fell from your fingers and somewhere into the pavement, freeing your hand to snake up and press gently at the nape of his neck.

It was a bit messy, and not too sophisticated - if you had to guess, he was probably a bit drunk too, though maybe not as much as you. But you were kissing Steve Harrington, a man who was still practically a stranger, and he was kissing you back. And God, he was a good kisser. He pulled you closer, pressing his hands to the small of your back as you breathed into his mouth. And, for just a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the whole city.

Perhaps it was a few seconds or an hour - most likely, it was somewhere in between. But eventually, you both pulled away for air, chests heaving, hearts racing.

He was looking at you through the dim streetlight, eyes wide. There was something there in his face - surprise, yes, but something else too… fondness? Excitement? 

“I,” you started, “um -”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling under his breath.

A moment passed, and suddenly, there was an air of awkwardness that settled between you both. Did you misread that? Did he want you to kiss him? Well, he had kissed you back… but would he do it again?

He opened his mouth and took a step toward you to say something, but then you heard a familiar voice come from behind you, calling your name. You turn around, confused.

“I - Robin?”

Your friend stumbled out of the bar’s entrance, hand pressed to her forehead.

“Hey - I… I think I drank too much,” she slurred, making her way toward you.

“You don’t say?” you laughed, reaching out for her outstretched hand. She took it, face screwed up in pain as she squinted in the light illuminating the sidewalk.

“I think - hey, whose this?” she asked, standing up a bit straighter with a renewed interest.

You glanced back at Steve, who had taken a few steps back, his hands shoved into his pockets. He offered a small smile.

“Oh, um - this is, uh -”

“I’m Steve,” he finished, meeting Robin’s eyes over your shoulder. “Nice to meet you.”

“Steve? Who -” then, her eyes widened, and a cheeky grin spread on her face.

“Oh - Steve. Like, Steve Steve?”

You felt your face heat, and pointedly ignored the way Steve’s eyes were burning into the back of your head.

“Um, yeah - it was totally random, but we ran into each other out here and… we were… catching up.”

“Right,” Robin said, looking at you knowingly. “Nice to meet ya,” she said, casting her eyes to where Steve stood behind you.

Steve nodded, fighting a grin as he looked at the pair of you.

“Um, Robin is my roommate,” you explained to him. “But, from the looks of it… it looks like we need to get home. I’ll call us a taxi, yeah?”

“Can’t,” Robin groaned, leaning into your side. “I’m gonna throw up in it.”

You sighed, pinching your temples.

“Yeah, okay, well - if you do that, it’ll be like, hundreds of Euros, so… maybe you’ve just gotta make yourself vomit first, get it out of the way -”

Robin groaned into your shoulder at the thought, and you sighed again. It was then that Steve spoke up.

“Well, I can call my car to take you ladies home… if you want.”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment again, casting your eyes between Steve and Robin, hesitant.

“Oh, no - we couldn’t possibly ask -”

“You didn’t ask,” Steve said simply. “I offered. I insist, actually - I want you two to get home safely.”

You felt Robin lean further into you, and thought for a moment about your options - the last thing you needed was to rack up a fee and piss off a taxi driver.

“Well - I don’t want her to vomit in your car, either -”

Steve shook his head, waving you off.

“Please - don’t worry about that. There’s a garbage can and bags in the back, so she can use that. But, worst-case, I can send it to be cleaned after. I promise, it’s fine.”

You met his eyes, and all you saw was sincerity - he was being genuine, from what you could tell. Right then, you decided to surrender.

“I - yeah, okay. That’d be really great, if you could.”

He nodded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and making a quick phone call. You did your best to straighten Robin up, but she just clung to you, swaying on her feet. Great.

“My driver will be here in a few minutes,” Steve said. “So, no worries - I gave him your address for a stop on the way home.”

“You remember my address?”

He shrugged, and stared straight at the ground. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear he was blushing. 

“Well - yes. I mean, I had to send you the letter not too long ago… write it out, all that.”

“Right,” you said, opting to stare out ahead at the street. A few passersby stumbled past you, in various stages of drunk and cheery, mopeds and cars speeding down the cobblestone streets.

“Thank you,” you added, just a bit more softly. “I - you really didn’t have to do this.”

You knew how this probably looked - two drunk girls, hardly adults, partying too hard and threatening to throw up in the street. You suddenly became self-conscious of your tight ripped jeans, your cropped top, the fact that you were probably just a bit too drunk and sweaty. You were an idiot for thinking he was flirting with you - he was just being nice.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I was getting ready to go home soon, anyway. If you don’t mind me riding along, that is.”

You chuckled. “If I mind? It’s your car - of course you can come along -”

“Yeah, okay,” he said swiftly. “I just didn’t want to make you or your friend uncomfortable - Robin, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah - though, I don’t think she even knows where she is right now, so you’re in the clear.”

That earned a laugh from him - a real one. You hadn’t even thought it was that funny, but he acted as if it was the best joke he’d ever heard. You felt pride surge within you, and immediately pushed it down - that can’t happen, not right now.

The car arrived a few minutes later, and the drive home was mostly silent - Robin cradled a small garbage can, likely only meant for small debris like tissues, gum, water bottles - it only made your humiliation sink in further, feeling like a fool for even being in this situation. If Steve minded, he gave no indication - he sat up front with his driver, the same man from the other night. You sat in the back with Robin, keeping an eye on her in case the worst happened. By some miracle, it didn’t; she kept it down the whole ride, only occasionally groaning when the car went over a bump.

When you pulled up to your apartment, you felt a sense of deja vu - the same place, same time of night, with similar company. And, knowing how tonight went, it would probably be the last time.

After you had assured that Robin was out of the car and able to hold herself up on the sidewalk, you turned back to see that Steve had lowered the passenger window. He smiled as he looked up at you, and you once again realized just how handsome he really was. It was ridiculous, really.

“Um - thank you. Seriously - this was a huge help.”

“Of course,” he replied, leaning out of the window slightly. “Just make sure she’s okay, yeah?”

You glanced back at where Robin was sitting on your building’s doorstep, holding her head in her hands.

“I will - she’s going to be paying for it in the morning though.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he laughed, shaking his head.

You stood there for a moment, just looking at one another - the night was quieter here, just on the outskirts of the main part of the city. The silence was thick and heavy, and million unanswered questions between you two - perhaps they would never be answered.

“Right, well - I’m going to go in, I guess. I’ve got a shift tomorrow afternoon, anyways.”

“Yeah, okay - well, goodnight,” he said softly.

“Goodnight, Steve Harrington,” you whispered.

When you watched as the car peeled from the sidewalk and drove away, you couldn’t help but feel empty - you loved Robin to death, but she was going to pay for this, you decided. That thought really only lasted a moment - she didn’t actually do anything wrong, and she had taken care of you while you were drunk and stupid more times than you could count. Besides, it wasn’t like anything more was going to happen with Steve. You knew this for one reason - upon further examination, that look he had given you after the kiss… it wasn’t surprise, excitement, or any of the above. No - it was fear.

Still, that night, after Robin was put to bed with ibuprofen and a glass of water, you stared at your ceiling and thought of Steve. You thought of the way his voice sounded when it got low, the way he smelled when he was close enough, the way his lips tasted - and you didn’t sleep well at all, dwelling on what could have been.

*****

“Okay! Un caffè e due cappuccini!” you called out, placing the cups and saucers on the counter. The customers came up and grabbed them, knocking the coffees back and heading out, leaving a few coins behind. You were constantly on the move, Caffè Tazza beyond busy thanks to it being a Saturday. It had always fascinated you, how Italians took their coffee; your previous experience at Starbucks back in the States had proved nearly useless, considering that “to-go” coffee hardly existed here. Normally, you didn’t mind how fast-paced it was. But normally, you weren’t hungover. 

You had been in far better shape than Robin this morning, who could hardly get out of bed. Initially, you had actually felt fine. But, after a few hours on your feet, a headache was setting in, and you had a feeling it was here to stay.

The line of customers was long enough that you hardly paid any mind to who was coming in, set of pouring coffee and steaming milk, taking used espresso cups to wash in the back. That was why you didn’t see him come in, or hear him place his order at the register. No, it wasn’t until you were putting the small cup of espresso on the counter that you saw him, face-to-face.

“I - Steve?” you cried, startled. 

You thought maybe it was a dream, and you were actually still in the middle of your fitful sleep from last night. But he was there, clear as day, sporting a white button-up with sunglasses pushed on top of his head.

“Hey there,” he said, flashing a smile.

“What - what’re you doing here?”

He glanced briefly around the coffee shop, shrugging.

“You know - I was in the neighborhood.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. 

“You were in the neighborhood?”

He just took the coffee off of the counter and knocked it back, grinning as he returned the empty cup. You tried not to look at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, or the freckles dotting his neck, but it was nearly impossible, given how close he was, how he -

“You caught me,” he admitted. “You told me last night how you worked here… and that you had a shift today… so I figured I’d swing by.”

You felt your stomach flip, because he actually remembered, and came to see you. You gulped, shoving your hands in the pockets of your apron.

“You… you came here to see me?”

It was then that his smile faltered a bit, and he nodded. He was shifting on his feet, not exactly meeting your eye - whatever confidence and charm he had been exuding when he had arrived was quickly fading. In fact, he looked close to terrified, even though he was the one who came here.

“I - yeah, I did. I was just thinking a lot, after last night… about you, and how you - well, when do you get off? Or, have a break?”

You cocked an eyebrow, cautiously curious. Was he going to ask you out? Or, more importantly, would you say yes if he did?

“Um, I have a lunch break in a bit… and then I get off at 6. Why?”

He bit his lip, shifting on his feet again.

“Right, okay - do you want to meet here, after you get off?”

You felt your stomach turn again, bubbling a bit. Still, you tried not to get your hopes up, and measured your response carefully.

“Sure… can I ask why? Like, are you asking me out, or what?”

You said it bluntly, because the last thing you want is a guessing game right now. He gulped at that, and shook his head. You felt your heart sink just a bit, and immediately cursed yourself inwardly.

“Well, no, not exactly - but I do have something I want to talk to you about. Something that I think can help both of us, if you’re interested.”

Before you could ask anything else, he was nodding curtly, and out the door. Then it was just you, a line of customers, and what would probably be the longest 4 hours of your life.

What the Hell does he want to talk about? you wondered.

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Daddy Lessons 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Rafe Cameron

Summary: You agree to tutor for the Cameron's, but find your student less than cooperative.

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

There aren’t many summer jobs in Hammer Ford, but you promised your parents you would find something. Without any response from the grocery store, cafe, or library, your search is hopeless. That’s until you ran into Rose Cameron.

“Weren’t you valedictorian?” She asked.

The scene plays over in your head as you step off your bike to walk it up the hill. What luck that she found you picking out flowers with your mother. Almost as if she’d been looking for you.

“Uh, yeah, last year,” you smiled. 

It’s been a year since high school ended, since then you’d spent two semesters outside the hamlet. In the city, people don’t just come up to you for no reason, and rarely a good one. Nor do they know you by name. Your home town seems more quaint the longer you’re away from campus.

“Great, I need a tutor,” she tutted, “how’s fifty an hour?”

You shake your head as you straddle your bike again. It’s an offer you really can’t pass up, even if the Camerons weren’t the most friendly family in Hammer Ford. It doesn’t matter as long as you can tell your parents you have a job.

You pedal east towards the house on the hill. You’ve never been up there. Not even in high school when everyone was going on about the ragers at the Cameron ranch. It was never really your scene. That and you weren’t invited.

You slow as you approach the low fence, breathless as you stop by the closed gate. Do you let yourself in? There’s a gold bell mounted on the post. You ring it and it sends a thunderous toll through the air. 

You wait, looking around, though you don’t know if anyone’s coming. Someone appears across the field. You recognise Ward Cameron as he nears, waving a gloved hand as he does.

“Hi, Mr. Cameron, um…” you hold onto your handlebars and dismount, “Rose, uh, asked me to drop by.”

“Sure thing,” he unhooks the inside of the gate, “I was just brushing Juliet.”

“Oh, okay,” you smile.

“You can work in the dining room if that works, or the back porch? It’s pretty nice out,” he lets you through the gate and secures it before he points you towards the house. “Really glad you could come out. We went to an agency in the city but they wanted us to go to them.”

“Um, yeah, sure, no problem,” you peer over at a foal and its mother in a pen, “nice place.”

“You think so? Does it look different in the day?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I know about the parties,” he chortles, “it’s fine.”

“Well, I never…” you rub the back of your neck, “anyway, I guess we can study where Sarah wants.”

“Sarah?”

“Oh, erm, Wheezie?” You wonder.

“Did Rose not… explain?”

“I… assumed, well, she just said you needed a tutor so I thought…” You blink and chew your lip, “Rafe?”

He laughs again, “the one and only. We’re tryna get him back in good graces. He has a conditional offer in the city but he has to take an entrance exam.”

“Right,” you try not to show your discomfort. 

Rafe is a year older than you. Even so, he never failed to knock your books out of your hands or laugh in your direction. When he graduated, the student populace sighed in relief but he only made it through one semester in college before he flunked out.

“He’s not the kind for ranch work,” Ward says as he gestures you up the front steps, “frankly, I don’t know what he’s cut out for but a degree will at least give him some prospects.”

“Mhmm,” you drone nervously. If Rose had said so, you may not have been so eager. You just assumed it would be one of the two Wards still enrolled in school.

“He should be around–” he pulls open the front door and lets you in first.

You step aside to slip your shoes off as he hollers for Rafe. You glance out the screen door and wonder if you can come up with a good excuse. Your mind is racing but you come up with nothing. 

“What?” Rafe snarls as he traipses in through a broad archway.

“Tutor’s here,” Ward says.

“Tutor?” Rafe mutters.

“I told you,” he chides, “go get your books.”

“Dad, I told you, I’ll write the damn test–”

“And you’ll pass,” Ward insists, “books. Now.”

Rafe huffs and stomps upstairs. You turn around to watch him go. Ward shakes his head and beckons you onwards. You marvel at the neat interior. It’s all a lot more modern than the rest of Hammer Ford. A rustic contemporary mix of sleek white and faded pine.

“Feel free to help yourself to some water, or there’s a Keurig,” Ward offers, “I’d get you some myself but…” he holds up his gloved hands, “I doubt you like the taste of horse hair.”

You smile and nod as you slip your bag off your shoulder. 

“Thanks, uh, I’m good,” you say.

“Don’t let him get to you. I know how he can be. He gives you any trouble, I’ll deal with him.”

“Sure, uh, no, shouldn’t be an issue,” you shrug, though you sound less than convincing.

“I’ll be around,” he says and taps the door frame as he leaves.

You sit as he goes and you open your laptop on the table. Your parents bought the used model for your first year of college. It’s a bit slow but it works. You’ll just need the wifi.

A sudden slam makes you yipe and jolts the table. You look up as Rafe stands across from you, scowling. Behind your laptop, there’s several textbooks and a notebook with curling pages. You try to smile but your lips only tremble.

“Oh, hey,” you eke out, “uh, so… we can start on comprehensive literature–”

“Fuck off, dork,” he drops into the chair. 

“Well I… your dad–”

“My dad wants me to sit here and waste his money, sure thing,” he crosses his arms and rolls his eyes, “but i’m not takin’ no lessons from you.”

“Right, well, I…” you don’t know what to say. “Can I have the wifi at least?”

He doesn’t acknowledge your question as he pulls out his phone. You think he’s looking it up but he just sits and scrolls, his floppy hair drooping down his forehead. You fidget and flutter your fingers listlessly over the keyboard.

You should just go but you need the money. You close the laptop and reach for one of the textbooks. You open it and smooth the pages with your hand.

“Right, rules of grammar,” you begin, “nouns, pronouns, verbs–”

“Fucking dweeb,” he drops his phone and stands up, “for someone so smart, you sure are fucking dumb.”

“Identifying sentences…” you focus on the page as he paces.

“You think you’re so fucking clever,” he startles you as he pulls out the chair next to you, sitting in it as his elbow hits the table.

“Read the following and underline–” you angle the book towards him, silence by a jarring squeeze on your throat.

You recoil as his hand closes on the front of your neck and you push yourself back in the chair. You grab his wrist and choke, wiggling in your seat. What is he doing?

“What–”

“Shhhhh,” he puts his finger to his lips then presses it to yours, “you talk too much.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed, pulling helplessly on his arm. He smirks as he leans forward, pulling you towards him.

“You think you’re better than me?” He snarls, “let’s see about that.”