#but when i do that the fic almost never shows up in tags so *shrugs*

[spencerreidenjoyer]

guess | spencer reid x reader

wc: 2.3k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: slight exhibitionism/voyeurism, alcohol consumption (reader is not drunk during sex), lingerie, munch!spencer, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

a/n: heavily inspired by guess by charli xcx ft. billie eilish, specifically billie's verse. yes the song dropped yesterday. yes i listened to the song once and decided to write a fic about it. i'm insane about s7/8 reid rn so :) (also posted on ao3!)

You swear you don’t mean to show off, but the miniskirt you’re in doesn’t help your case in the slightest.

Spencer had told you to join him at the bar for drinks with his coworkers, the bar just a couple blocks down from the club you were at with your friends. Your boyfriend had been away for most of this week and you really wanted to see him, so you don’t think twice about popping by to see Spencer. Besides, you hadn’t seen Penelope, JJ and Emily in a while either, and those girls treat you too kindly.

You realise how skimpily dressed you are when you walk into the bar, though, when you approach the very properly-dressed group of FBI agents at a booth in the corner. Your top is cropped and low-cut, revealing your cleavage, and you were wearing a little black miniskirt, the hem of which barely skirted the tops of your thighs.

Spencer has never commented on your fashion choices, often being the very satisfied recipient of your sometimes revealing outfits. But as you greet the BAU, his eyes are dark and hungry as they roam your figure. You smile at him with a whispered “Hi, baby,” before you kiss him chastely. The look on Spencer’s face is unreadable, other than the fact that you know he appreciates the view.

His gaze darts up at Derek from across the booth when he whistles at you.

“Looking good, mama.” Derek waggles his eyebrows at you, earning him a smack to the chest from Penelope and a hearty chuckle from Emily.

You lean over to hug JJ, Penelope and Emily in that order on the other side of the table, and you feel Spencer’s hand quickly snake across your waist, pulling you back to sit down. You glance over at him briefly, but he only keeps his gaze straight ahead.

“You are one lucky guy, Reid,” Emily laughs, and you feel Spencer’s arm curl around you tighter, pulling you in closer.

The rest of the night is pretty fun, cracking jokes and talking with Spencer’s team, but with the alcohol in your system from earlier, it only takes a few more drinks for you to get drunk. You’re extra giggly, half-sitting in Spencer’s lap, his hand not leaving your side. You feel the rumble in his chest when he speaks, saying, “I think we’re going to head home first. This one here seems a little drunk already.”

“I’m not drunk,” you lilt, rolling your eyes. You lay your head on Spencer’s shoulder, blinking hard before you meet Penelope’s gaze. You hear Emily defending you about how you aren’t drunk, but Penelope smiles at you and says, “I think boy genius is right.”

You frown deeply, almost comically so. “Penny! You’re supposed to back me up here!”

Penelope laughs, always so kind to you. “Come on, honey. Let Reid take you home.”

You huff, crossing your arms like a petulant child. You don’t notice the way Spencer’s gaze darts down to your chest shamelessly. Derek whistles, and you assume Spencer must glare at him because Derek is raising his hands in surrender, telling Spencer he doesn’t mean anything. What were they even talking about? You don’t know, but Spencer is murmuring in your ear about getting a taxi home, and after you say goodbye to all of his friends, you’re letting him guide you out of the bar and into the cool night.

You shiver, the very little fabric you have on not doing you any favours when the temperature drops. Spencer is quick to shrug off his jacket and help you put it on. His jacket is long enough on you, considering Spencer’s height, to cover your skirt.

“I swear alcohol’s supposed to warm you up,” you grumble, holding your arms close to your chest as you try to stay warm. “I’m fucking freezing.”

“You feel warmer for a bit because the alcohol is a vasodilator – it causes the blood vessels under your skin to dilate, increasing blood flow, which makes you feel warmer. If you drink more, the higher levels of alcohol actually work to shrink your blood vessels instead and make you feel cold. Do you have a headache?”

You shake your head, but take the chance to snuggle up to Spencer now. “You feel nice and warm.”

“Good,” Spencer says, holding you close. In no time, he flags down a taxi, and you two pile in and drive towards his apartment.

Spencer’s hand is drawing circles into the side of your thigh, mindless, but the touch is incredibly distracting. You ask him softly, “You’ve been touching me all night, Spence. Something on your mind?”

“You,” he whispers back. “Can’t stop thinking about your underwear.”

You squeak at his brazenness, smacking his chest. “You– Spencer!”

“I got a good look when you were practically bent over the table just now,” Spencer continues, his voice a low rumble in his throat. “Didn’t even give me a chance to guess.”

You gape at him like a fish, but Spencer smiles and murmurs in your ear, “You know how much I love when you wear that lacy black pair.”

You bite down on your lip, trying not to moan like a whore in the back of this taxi. You just look at him, silently wishing he’d do something. Spencer presses a kiss to your jaw, and you feel your cheeks heat.

Thankfully, the driver is quick to announce that you’re at your destination, and you and Spencer stumble out of the cab quicker than you’d like to admit. Spencer doesn’t even wait for his change before he slams the car door shut.

Spencer crowds you against the back of the elevator, an old, rickety thing with no camera, so you feel less bad when Spencer slips his hand under your skirt and past your panties, his finger sliding between your wet folds. “Spencer!”

“You’re so wet for me already,” Spencer groans, kissing down your neck desperately. His fingers are so tantalising, rubbing up against your clit, your hole. “You’re so sexy.”

“Spencer,” you whine. “Hurry up and fuck me.”

The elevator doors creak open on Spencer’s floor. “Let’s go, then.”

Spencer barely locks the door behind you before he’s kissing you, eager and sloppy and desperate. It’s so hot, his large hands on your waist pulling you closer to him, and you feel the growing problem in the front of his pants.

“Spencer,” you moan. You feel his hands push up your skirt, feel him wedge his leg between your thighs. You must be soaked through your underwear by now, and you shamelessly rut your hips forward to grind against his leg.

“You know I love your fashion sense, my love, but this is slutty even for you.” Spencer’s voice is dark when he says it, and you whimper. “You’re dressed like you want somebody else’s attention.”

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. “No!”

“Derek was eyeing you like a piece of meat earlier. Emily, too.” Spencer frowns.

“I only want you, baby,” you insist, holding onto Spencer’s arms. “Only want you to notice me.”

“I am the only one who knows the colour of your underwear,” Spencer hums, his fingers skirting the waistband of your panties. “And fuck, you look good in them.”

“Please, Spence,” you whine, your plea lilting off into a gasp as Spencer lifts you, getting you to wrap his legs around him. You’d seen how he looked when he was younger, so scrawny he looked like he’d get swept away if the wind blew too hard, but now, he’s got more meat on his bones. His body is a pleasure to look at, let alone feel under your hands, which you’re happy to do now.

You touch the firm lines of his body through his shirt, as Spencer carries you to his bedroom. You mumble, hands frisky, “You’re so hot.”

“Says you,” Spencer smiles. “I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.”

You grin as he lays you on his bed, gasping when he slides his palm over your wet cunt through your underwear. His thumb flicks over your clit through the lace, the material dulling the electrifying sensation. you whine, “Spencer, please.”

Spencer tsks, looking down at you. “Let me take my time with you, darling. You’ve been teasing me all evening.”

He presses his thumb against your clit a little harder, making you moan loudly. While he tends to tower over you in bed, you also deeply appreciate the view of him getting on his knees so he can make a home between your thighs. His hair is wild, unruly, and you run your hand through it, admiring it. Keeping your gaze, Spencer leans down to kiss your pussy.

You feel his warm breath on you, the scratch of his stubble on your skin, pinned down simply by his gaze as his tongue darts out to lick you over your underwear. You whimper, as Spencer wraps his arms around each of your thighs, using you as an anchor as he presses his face between your legs.

You sob, because what Spencer’s giving you just isn’t enough, not when you need to feel his tongue on your cunt. He thumbs at your hole through the fabric, dipping into your wetness in a cruel approximation of the pleasure he usually gives you.

“Fuck me,” you groan. “Take my panties off already.”

“Not yet,” Spencer hums. Instead, he pushes your panties to the side, lets his fingers slide over your cunt. You gasp at the sensation, his rough, calloused fingers sliding over your wetness, and then you feel the warmth of his tongue.

The sounds his mouth makes as he eats you out are filthy, obscene. His tongue flicks over your cunt with a practised precision, familiar with what makes you tick, the wet, slick sounds too overwhelming. Your toes are curling with how good Spencer makes you feel – legs trembling, breathing heavy. You can’t stop the whimpers that leave your lips, almost helpless in the way you moan for him.

“Please,” your voice is shaky as you cry out for Spencer. “I need you so bad, baby."

Spencer hums against your cunt, the vibrations sending shocks up your spine in your pleasure. “Okay, my darling.”

Finally, finally, he’s sitting up and pulling your panties down, your little skirt still pushed up to expose your cunt. You look up at him, silently wondering why he hasn’t taken it off. He plays with the soft fabric in his hands almost absentmindedly and says, “I think we should keep it on.”

You blink up at him, not coherent enough to say anything about it. Instead, you watch him take his shirt off – you whistle at the sight, while he just rolls his eyes. He unbuckles his belt and push his pants down, his cock bobbing up, hard and red and leaky. You bite your lip, thinking about how he’ll feel inside of you.

“Kiss me,” you whine, and Spencer smiles at you. He tastes of you when his lips press against yours, and he’s quick to deepen it, his tongue in your mouth, like he's close to devouring you whole.

While he kisses you hungrily, you feel his hand between your legs, moving to line himself up with your entrance. You moan as the blunt head of his cock presses up against your hole, the sensation you’ve been craving all evening. Cruelly, he rubs up against you just like that, sliding between your folds but not giving you the satisfaction you need. You’re close to biting his head off.

“Spencer–” you start, but Spencer decides to press his cock into you right at that moment, and you sob with the way his thick length splits you open. Every time he fucks you, you feel like he was made for you, filling you up in all the right ways, feeling so perfect on top of you, inside of you.

You meet his lips and kiss him lazily as he starts to thrust into you, at the perfect pace, just deep enough to hit all the right spots. It’s too good, Spencer knowing you and your pleasure like the back of his hand.

“Fuck,” Spencer groans against your mouth, finally showing some sign of his unravelling. “You’re so tight, darling.”

You gasp, groaning his name, legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, feeling like you could fuse into one person with how much you’re clinging onto him. You press your forehead to his shoulder, moans punched out of you with every one of Spencer’s thrusts.

“Feels– Feels so good, Spence, love you,” you cry.

“I love you too,” Spencer groans, voice low and rumbly in his chest. “You’re so perfect, my love.”

You sob as your orgasm hits you, crashing into you like a tidal wave. You shake as you come, feeling so positively overwhelmed with the way Spencer fucks you, the way he holds you, the way he kisses you. You can’t feel your legs as you come down from your high, head spinning with all the pleasure. “Spence…”

“I’m– Fuck–” Spencer’s tripping over his own words as he comes right alongside you, your clenched pussy sending him over the edge too. He blows his load deep inside you, sticky and hot and so satisfying. You can feel how hard he’s breathing as your mind clears, his arms trembling as he holds himself up so he doesn’t end up collapsing onto you.

“You’re perfect,” you hum in Spencer’s ear, soft and gentle as you kiss the side of his head. You pull him in close, letting him rest his weight onto you, and your hand goes to stroke his hair softly. “So good. I love you.”

“Thank you. I love you more,” Spencer groans, his voice a little raspy already. “I’m sorry if I was too possessive over you in front of my friends tonight."

“All is forgiven, especially since you were sexy as fuck,” you grin up at him. “You’re always sexy.”

“Says the girl in a miniskirt and black lace panties.” Spencer smiles.

“All the more I know what I’m talking about, then,” you giggle, before kissing him slow.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada och Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Dug, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 | Mistakes

Jungkook knew from the first look at your eyes, that you'd be the biggest mistake he'll ever make.

Tags/Warnings: Aged up!Jungkook, Younger!Reader, Age Gap (9 years, JK is mentioned to be 34/35), Angst, Mature romance, Smut, car sex, protected sex, no strings attached, big dick!Jungkook, implied size kink, very mild Dom!Kook undertones, oral (m. receiving), sugar daddy!Jungkook vibes but only in a joking manner

Length: 7k words (oops)

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook doesn't really attend parties- typically.

But this time, for this occasion, he can't really pull himself out- he's got to at least show up for a moment, be there and present, before he can call it a night and go home. It's not like he hates his coworkers or employees most of all- he's just not that good at socializing, and never really was.

He's learned to be alone, and now he's too good at it.

A lot of the people in the hall, he doesn't know. That's probably because he's allowed people to bring a plus-one, so most of the people here are couples, which makes the whole situation just so much worse. "You could at least try and appear like you're having fun, you know?" Taehyung laughs, standing closer to his coworker now, a drink in hand. "It's not that bad." He tries to lighten the mood, but Jungkook just rolls his eyes.

"It's not even been an hour and I already want to go." He sighs.

"Why not leave then?" Tae wonders, sipping his non-alcoholic drink, since he's gonna have to drive home later, his wife currently conversing with other coworkers. "Oh, right, because Namjoon-"

"God don't remind me." Jungkook mumbles, shaking his head as he sips his whiskey. "I can't believe I lost that bet." He growls to himself, watching how someone seems to struggle with choosing the right food at the buffet, plate still empty even after several minutes. You look young, or maybe you're just short- he's not sure, but what he is sure about is that you do not work for him or his company- at least not in the same building. He would've noticed you, just like he does right now.

"I think she's Yoongi's plus-one? Or at least he drove here with her together.." Taehyung mumbles, having spotted his friend watching you.

"She looks young." Jungkook mumbles. "And I thought Yoongi was seeing the secretary we hired a few months ago?" He wonders, finally letting his eyes leave you alone, form-fitting dress very complimenting to your body, not too revealing, but still somewhat teasing.

Taunting him, almost.

"Oh, he does! Namjoon caught them making out in Yoongi's office last week." Taehyung laughs. "She's probably just a friend." He shrugs.

A friend, huh?

"Maybe something for you though?" Taehyung jokes. "I mean, I think I saw her drinking earlier, so she's at least of legal age." He laughs, making Jungkook cringe at him. He doesn't really find this whole joke funny- not at all, but Taehyung is right when it comes to Jungkook having a.. severe lack of company these past few years. Only occasionally does he have some sex without any strings attached- never brings anybody home however, refuses to cling to someone.

He's divorced anyways. Most women don't really find that very appealing.

Maybe he can have some simple company this time as well, nothing serious at all- it's been a while, after all, and everyone's an adult here, no matter the age difference. As long as he communicates it properly, there's no reason not to at least converse with you.

So he does indeed approach you, finding you still at the buffet, barely anything on your plate at all.

"Too much to choose from?" He wonders next to you, and he realizes the huge mistake he's made when approaching you the second you lift your head to look at him.

The lights reflect in your eyes like mirrors, minimal makeup perfectly enhancing your features, lips shiny with the most sinful shade of lipgloss this world probably has to offer. He's a goner, right away, lost in the sight of you, as if he's been thrown into the deep end of a pool so cold that it freezes his muscles, making him sink down to the bottom like a stone.

"Oh, no.." You answer, looking back at all the foods. "I have a shellfish allergy, so I'm not sure what I can eat.." You mumble, one hand having reached up to play with the sparkling pink gemstone hanging around your neck.

His mouth feels dry for a second, before he catches himself.

"Here." He mentions, pointing at some small numbers near the names of the foods on the small cards. "Those small numbers, the three right there is for shellfish." He offers, pointing towards a different card close by where the numbers are explained.

"Oh! Thank you so much, I hate contact lenses!" You laugh to yourself. "I usually wear glasses, but I wanted to look pretty.." You giggle, putting some food onto your plate now.

"I'm sure nothing can ruin a face like that." He flirts without truly thinking about it- making you visibly blush, trying to contain a smile.

"I appreciate the compliment…?" You wonder, and Jungkook knows, he's probably about to make another, grave mistake.

"Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook." He introduces himself, and you tell him your name in return, smiling oh-so devastatingly beautiful.

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His plan was absolutely not to explore what might be beneath that pretty dress of yours- and it seems like that might stay that way despite his length inside you.

You're moving your hips in ways that makes him dizzy, mind clouded with lust as you bounce up and down, hands on your back the only thing helping you avoid accidentally hitting the steering wheel. He's pushed the seat back as far as it goes, but you can never be too sure- he wouldn't want you to honk and draw attention to the surely shaking vehicle in the darkened parking lot.

The condom had been pure luck- he's not a fan of pulling out, so if it hadn't been there in the glove box of his car, he probably would've had to awkwardly call it quits before anything really happened at all. It's not like you both instantly were at each other's throats the moment you left the gathering- he simply offered to drive you home instead of Yoongi, who'd wanted to stay a little longer, while you complained about feeling tired. And in his car, you'd talked- casually so, something clicking, as he's now got you on his lap, bouncing on his dick like he's not experienced in quite some time now.

He feels a bit bad. Despite making sure that you know this is nothing but a casual fuck, it still feels a little odd to him. He doesn't like things like these- it feels like he's using you, and he's not a fan of such situations.

Though he can't deny that you feel absolutely divine.

The rain is heavy outside, pushing against the car's windows from all sides, drowning out the otherwise rather obscene sounds coming from between your bodies. Your hands are on his shoulders, fingers gripping his muscles beneath the fabric of his formal button-up. He refuses to kiss you, can't find it in him to do it, and you accept it, instead treating it as detached as you can, simply chasing your high as you fuck yourself on his twitching length.

He feels good. Thick, able to reach far inside you, but not enough to hurt.

The way he holds you is nice too- not too strong of a grip, only enough to guide you, keep you moving, keep you going. He's not big on dirty talk, isn't over the top with anything, and it almost feels like he's treating you like a woman, and not some chick he's met at a party. There's a certain sense of respect he's offering you that gives you confidence, makes you feel powerful for once even though he's clearly setting the pace.

This is something you don't usually get to have. Someone taking you seriously.

"You close?" He asks out of breath, avoiding your eyes, rather looking at your lips, though never moving into action. A limit he's set, and a limit he follows, he's clearly a man that doesn't wildly change his mind on the fly. Though, considering who he is, and where he is in life, he probably has had enough time to be untamed and wild already. You faintly wonder if he's ever been in a long-term relationship. Yoongi hasn't really talked about him much.

Neither have you asked. You've seen him, once or twice- but a man like that is out of range for you.

You nod when he grips your behind, reminding you quietly of his question, hips stuttering as he takes over, helping you move to chase his own orgasm right after yours. You're a bit overly sensitive, but you push through it just to see him clench his jaw, eyes closing as he groans out in relief, cum spurting into the condom inside you.

It's suddenly over, and not even your evening breaths can mask the slight awkwardness that's filling the car.

One of his hands keeps you close, though you have to lean against him a bit as to not move your hips too much as he reaches for something from the glovebox, plastic wrap of the small pack of tissues making a distinctive sound. "You okay?" He asks you, and you nod, now having switched places apparently as you avoid his face entirely.

You rather move a bit weirdly to accept the tissue offered, lifting your hips to awkwardly wipe yourself down, before pulling up your underwear and climbing back into the passenger seat, where you clean the inside of your thighs while he discards the condom from his length with a slight hiss of sensitivity.

You never really know what to say. You don't actually do this often- this is only the second time you've ever hooked up with anyone like this, and it's just as weird as the first time.

"Thank you, by the way." He offers, taking the challenge away from you as he puts the tied up condom in the tissue to discard it at home later. "Let me drive a bit closer to the building, just so you don't get too wet." He says, pulling his seat back into proper position before he starts the car.

Such a gentleman- You're a little disappointed. But only mildly so. Will you even stay in his mind?

Probably not.

You're way too young for a man like him, who most likely wants a proper woman in his life instead of a.. instead of you. You're not even sure where you are at in life- neither a woman nor a girl, somewhere in between, floating, unsure, neither and both. You know however for a fact that you'll remember him- probably for quite a while, before the memory will fade into nothing but a glimpse.

"There we go." Jungkook says, stopping the car very much in front of your apartment building, sideways so that you can run right into the main hall. "Please remember to text Yoongi, okay?" He reminds you. "He might be worried otherwise." He smiles kindly, and you nod, a bit forced, grabbing your light coat and your handbag. "And.. I enjoyed it. Very much so." He makes sure to tell you, making you nod a bit shy.

"I.. uhm, I'm glad." You nod, awkwardly, causing him to chuckle.

"Now go hurry inside before the rain starts again." He urges, making you nod dumbly once more before you open the car door, running inside the apartment building after closing the door.

And he drives off, back home, where nothing waits for him but the humming fridge and a cold, empty bed.

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Daehyun can be a little spoiled, but other than that, he's a well behaved kid for his age.

He loves staying at your place, though his questions on when you'll be getting another dog after your first passed away a year ago are sometimes a bit stinging to your heart. He's a child, obviously- he doesn't understand the hurt that can settle in your soul after losing such an important piece of your life, so you can't blame him for moving on a lot quicker than you.

He's too young to understand that yet.

"Uncle Yoongi has a cat now!" Daehyun tells you as he builds the lego set with you, his small hands having some difficulty here and there, but he's a quick learner, and a good improviser. "But he said I can't play with her, because she's a girl-cat, and girl-cats don't like playing." He explains, pouting a bit as he uses all his strength to pull two pieces apart again.

"Well, I think she's just be a little nervous still." You reassure the boy. "You know, she just moved into a new home. Things might be a little scary to her." You explain, and Daehyun nods.

"I only pet her a bit." Daehyun tells you. "Appa said we're gonna get a dog soon though!" He says with excitement, making you smile.

"That's nice." You agree, helping him pull some bricks apart. You like having the little boy over at your place- it makes you feel both like a grown person, and also like a child at the same time. Daehyun doesn't judge your vast collections of stuffed animals and lego sets- he only sees you as the nice aunt, a big sister, a friend of his dad where he stays over at often whenever work gets in the way and takes away most of Taehyung's attention. Just like this weekend- Taehyung having needed someone to look after the boy, Dae's mother constantly equally without any time. You're not sure how long that marriage is gonna last with her refusing to step back at least a little to properly take care of her own child, and with Taehyung's growing frustration over the situation.

You hope the poor boy won't get caught up in the crossfire. That would just be awful.

Hours later, all the toys put away, your doorbell rings, giving you the clue that someone must be now here to pick the young boy up. Probably either Jimin or Yoongi- but when you open the door, it's neither of them, but a casually dressed Jungkook, hands in his slacks as your gaze gets caught on the slightly unbuttered shirt that's tucked into the pants, LY-labeled belt buckle accentuating his rather slim waist.

What the fuck.

"Oh- uh, come inside." You offer, stepping aside to let him in, Daehyun quickly running up to Jungkook, who mirrors the excitement of the young boy as he squats down to hug him. You let them both have their moment, instead walking around to collect all of Dae's things, checking twice to make sure he didn't forget anything, as you text Taehyung to make sure the man is really supposed to take the boy with him.

He is, which makes you a bit upset. Taehyung could've told you before.

When you walk back inside the living room area, Dae is currently busy showing Jungkook a stuffed animal- a gift from Jimin a year ago, modeled after your dog as a keepsake. "He was suuuper big, and really nice!" Dae beams up at the man. "He always ate ice cubes, but-" the small boy inspects the stuffed animal a little, lips pouting. "-Noona said he was really old, so he went to sleep." He offers, and Jungkook seems to realize what the stuffed toy might actually be.

"Let's put him back on the table then, yeah?" He offers, a hand with faint ink taking the toy from the smaller hands of the boy to place it back next to the picture frame of your dog and the collar on the tiny table near the door where he used to sleep. "So he can sleep well." He explains, making Dae nod. When you make your presence finally known, Jungkook removes the hand, heavy watch on his wrist faintly hitting the edge of the table for a second, as he watches how you help the small boy into his jacket.

You're a little confusing.

"Alright." You say after successfully getting Daehyun to put on his shoes. "Theres- uhm, there's a, wait, I'll show you.." You say, moving to pull a little folder out of one of the bags packed. "This one, please make sure Taehyung sees this. It's Daehyun's homework, and he really needs to do them this time." You emphasize. "Just make sure he actually looks inside at least once.." You sigh, putting the bright red folder back into the bag.

"I'll make sure." Jungkook accepts, taking the bag from you. "Anything else?" he wonders, and you refuse any eye contact, instead shaking your head to hug Daehyun goodbye as you bring him and Jungkook to your front door.

"Noona, you gotta hug Jungkookie too!" Dae says, surprising you with his lack of formality when addressing his father's friend- but you don't question it.

And admittedly, Jungkook is fairly surprised when you do in fact reach out to hug him goodbye, though very formal. It's still.. oddly nice, you don't seem to wear perfume but rather rely on your scented bodywash, which smells very good to him. This is weird. Why is he getting such feelings of comfort for a simple hug with nothing attached to it?

And why is he kind of disappointed when it ends far too quickly?

But it gets worse in the car, because Daehyun has clearly gotten the wrong message entirely. "Noona doesn't have a boyfriend." He says from the backseat where Jungkook has placed the booster seat he's gotten from Taehyung in cases like these where he has to pick up the young boy. "And appa said you don't have a girlfriend." He says, making Jungkook nod and hum a reply. "Noona is really pretty." He giggles. Jungkook cant help but chuckle along.

"She is." He agrees, because he won't lie about that. You are very pretty in his opinion, though he can only really judge you mostly by looks alone. "Did you have fun? I heard you were there the whole weekend." He tries to steer the conversation away, but the young boy clearly doesn't get the message.

"Noona can cook really well!" He praises. "She always makes me my favorite, and then we watch tv in our 'jamas." He says, and Jungkook has to imagine you both probably bundled up in blankets on the small couch you have, watching kid's shows until the poor boy falls asleep.

Domestic. Do you like children? Want your own in the future, maybe?

"Jungkookie?" Dae asks, and Jungkook hums a reply, telling the kid he's listening. "Do you like Noona?" He wonders.

"I don't know her that much, dae. But she seems nice." He offers instead, trying to evade the interrogation of the small boy.

"Do you like drinking?" Dae wonders. "Like, the stuff appa says I can't have?" He asks, and Jungkook grows a bit weary. Why exactly would the young boy ask something like that?

"Sometimes. Why do you ask?" He asks the boy, who seems to deflate now.

"Then you can't be friends with Noona." He complains.

"Why not?" Jungkook wonders.

"Because, the guy noona liked for a while always got mean when he was drinking that stuff." Dae complains, looking out the window. "I was never allowed to play at noona's house when he was there. He really liked that stuff that smells bad, but it made noona upset." He says.

Jungkook tenses up a bit. "Was he ever-, how was he mean to you?" Jungkook wonders.

"He always told noona to do things for him, and never let her play with me." He huffs. "And Yogi didn't like him too, because he always had to stay in his bed." He complains. Jungkook assumes the boy is probably talking about the dog.

Jungkook doesn't know how to ask what he wants to ask. It doesn't concern him at all- after all, it seems like you're no longer together with that guy, so he shouldn't pry. But something makes him worry- deep down, he's awfully wary, since he now realizes you did indeed not even touch any alcohol at the party at all- the drink Taehyung had seen you hold non-alcoholic. How bad must the relationship have been? You might not have a fear of men, but you're clearly affected by the past, it seems like.

"Did.." no. He shouldn't be asking that. It's none of his business.

"Do you get mean too when you drink?" Dae wants to know. "Appa only gets really sleepy." He giggles. Jungkook laughs along. Taehyung truly does only get horribly tired whenever he drinks- and he knows for a fact that he never gets drunk when he has to take care of the boy alone, so he's not at all alarmed by those words.

"No, I don't get mean." Jungkook answers. "I don't really drink a lot of it, so it only makes me feel a bit silly." He offers as an explanation, and Dae nods.

"Then, maybe Noona won't mind." He says, causing Jungkook to chuckle, shaking his head.

"Why do you want Noona to like me so much?" He wonders, and at that, Taehyung's son becomes excited.

"Because, then my favorite people like each other!" He exclaims. "And that's really cool. Then we can have sleepovers together, and you can help me get a new dog for noona!" He says. "She's really sad that Yogi sleeps now. I think she's lonely." He whines.

"We can have sleepovers anyways, dae." He laughs.

"But, appa told eomma, that you need someone you like." He huffs. Jungkook reminds himself to scold his friend at a later date. "Because you're not happy now, and you're lonely. And noona's lonely too." He offers.

Luckily, Jungkook escapes any further questioning as he finally reaches Taehyung's apartment, ready to drop the young boy off.

The whole conversation not leaving him at all the entire rest of the day, as he realizes he forgot to show Taehyung the folder.

Crap. This is your fault.

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It's been weeks- and apart from rubbing one out to the remaining memories of you in his car, he's not really thought much about you at all.

He's seen you on occasion here and there at the grocery store or a coffee shop, which made him realize that you've always been right under his nose but he just never knew who you were, but you two don't really have had any actual conversations anymore.

There's no reason for it.

He now knows that you're actually the part-time nanny Taehyung used to have a few years back, when you apparently had just been fighting to find a new job to keep your apartment and not get kicked out for not being able to pay rent. Back then, Taehyung and his wife had been living separated for a bit after a pretty bad fight- so the father had needed someone to take some weight off his shoulders, and help with the small child who couldn't even talk yet. You helped raise Daehyun basically, more or less- and, according to Taehyung, it shows.

The young boy has a strong sense of justice, and shares everything he has happily- something that he's learned from you. It makes some odd things make sense now to Jungkook as well- how Dae has some habits that seem very unique, but also too specific to have been developing all on their own. The child holds the front of his shirt a lot- something Jungkook noticed you do in a similar way as well, whenever you think of something.

Today, it's Daehyun's birthday. And Jungkook is sure, that the young boy probably demanded that both jungkook and you had to be there.

And he's right.

The minute he enters Taehyung's penthouse, he spots you sitting on the floor with the child, who's currently trying to read his own birthday card to you, before he spots him in the doorway. You look pretty, yet again. No makeup it seems like, and he can't say that you need it. You obviously don't, eyes still sparkling dangerously, smile still as lethal as ever as you wave a little bit before getting up.

You're dressed comfortably. He likes the sight of it- the casual dress you wear not too short to be scandalous, but short enough to tease him with the skin of your legs, hidden beneath a sheer pantyhose. Or?

No. There's an upper hem of lace- those are just stockings.

"Jungkookie, appa said you'll drive noona home today?" Dae says, now held up on Jungkook's hip, as he looks at Taehyung who laughs.

"Dae, I said I'm gonna ask him if he can drive her home!" He scolds gently. "Hey- sorry, he just runs with whatever he hears." The father tells him, and Jungkook just smiles, shaking his head.

"I can drive her home, no worries." He simply affirms. "It's no problem."

"Taehyung I told you I can go home by myself!" You whine, and Jungkook is intrigued by this seemingly new side of you. He knows you as a little shy, soft spoken, polite. You always greet him when you see him, and you've talked a little bit in his car weeks back- but then again, you only know each other on a very surface level.

He wonders what you're really like.

"And I said you're not driving alone when you're sick." Taehyung threatens, dad-voice coming through as he attempts to push through your clearly stubborn behavior, and Jungkook can't help but watch intently as your eyes roll around, attitude clear as you don't take your friend seriously at all.

"Noona is gonna be a mommy!" Daehyun blurts out to Jungkook, and for a split second, his entire body freezes, blood cooling down to the negatives, bones filling with fear.

He wore a condom- but what if something happened? What if it leaked? Was that even possible? He's not against becoming a father, absolutely not- but he'd like to have a proper relationship for that, a stable one, not something like this.

"Daehyun!" You scold with red cheeks, and Taehyung runs a hand over his face. "Appa just asked me if I was, I'm not!" You whine embarrassed, sighing. "Oh god, guys, please! I'm an adult woman, I'm not sick, I can go home by myself." You complain, walking into the kitchen, presumably to escape the pressuring situation.

"She threw up earlier, that's why I asked her. Dae must've heard me." Taehyung says, after averting his son's attention back to the TV in the living room, where his favorite show plays. "She refuses to see a doctor for it. But you look like you've seen a ghost-" Taehyung teases, before his eyes sharpen. "…could it be that the mention of her becoming a mommy made you worry?" He pokes, and Jungkook furrows his brows, averts eye contact. "Holy shit, you two!?" He hisses, and Jungkook groans.

"Shut up, it was nothing." He simply says, while Taehyung's eyes widen in a scandalized manner.

"Nothing?! Jungkook, where is that nothing?" He argues, surprisingly sternly. "I'll drive her home."

"You're acting like I forced myself onto her-" Jungkook sighs, but Taehyung shakes his head. "Taehyung, you heard her. She's an adult woman, she can decide things herself." Jungkook defends you. "I'll drive her home, and I'll text you once she's dropped off." He says, before he walks into the kitchen where you're filling up a glass with water.

"Oh god that was embarrassing." You whine into your hands, before you shake your head. "He acts as if I'm dying any second whenever something's up." You mumble, drinking from your glass. He can see you're a bit less energetic- hand a bit shaky as you drink.

"He worries." Jungkook offers, leaning against the counter next to the fridge, across from you. "And you should go see a doctor if you don't feel well." He scolds, and yet again, you roll your eyes.

"And you should try and work on your facial expressions, mister." You huff. "I could see the panic a mile away when Dae said I'm pregnant." You bite, making him tilt his head a little "Either way, I'm fine. I can't afford to call in sick right now or my landlord will kick me out the minute my rent is late again." You laugh a little bitterly, finishing your water before you rinse the glass in the sink.

"Do you not get paid a regular salary each month?" He wonders. You shake your head.

"I do, but it's the monthly bonus that keeps me afloat." You explain. "And I only get that one if I'm not sick and bring appropriate numbers to the table." You sigh. "My landlord just searches for a reason to kick me out, I'm sure." You mumble as you dry your hands.

"How come?" Jungkook asks.

"I didn't want to go out with the guy." You shrug, not looking at him. "I like older men, but sixty? No thanks.." You huff, turning around to look at a smug looking Jungkook, his arms crossed.

"Would've never guessed." He tells you in a cocky manner, and you cross your arms to mirror his position in an exagerated manner.

"I would've probably let you screw me if you were younger too." You respond.

"Oh?" He raises his brows. This is oddly fun. "Were you that needy?" He teases, and suddenly, your eyes soften quite a bit, scaring him.

"No." You shake your head. "Guess you were just that charming." You shrug.

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"If your job pays that awful, why not change it?" Jungkook wonders as he maneuvers out the parking lot, leaving Taehyung's home behind after Daehyun had gone to bed.

You shrug.

"I'm lucky I got accepted in this one." You say. You're tired- it's obvious to him. "I dropped out of school too early. Now I'm facing the consequences- and honestly, it's not that bad either. I get by, and it's a quiet life I'm living, which is nice." You offer.

"Do you not have any ambitions?" He asks, relaxed now that he knows you're not one to be overly sensitive when it comes to more personal topics like that. You don't try to read between the lines where there's most of the time nothing at all to find.

"Its not like I don't have any ambitions." You respond, neither denying nor confirming. "It's more that I realized some of those ambitions were.. unrealistic. So I instead pursued what was." You shrug. "Nothing too deep. It's.. part of growing up, I guess." You explain.

Growing up. Talking to you, right now, truly does remind him of that. Almost two hands between you both in years, but you're awfully matured in the way you think at its core. You just have a softer shell around it, your opinions can still move, your mind still has some sort of wiggle room.

His doesn't. He makes decisions and sticks by them, most of the time. He doesn't like change, he enjoys his routine, keeps everything in order most of the time- until now.

Because you're definitely a decision he keeps bending around.

"How much is your rent?" Jungkook asks, and you look at him from where you're leaning against the car's window, an amused expression on your face.

"Why? You wanna be my sugar-daddy?" You joke, and he shrugs, much to your surprise.

"I don't care what you call it." He simply says. "But if it get's you to take some time and take care of your health, I can take care of a month's rent." He offers.

"I don't like that." You respond.

"I know." He laughs. "I've come to learn that you don't like accepting help. But it's something you can't avoid at times." He explains to you. "I'm just offering help. Whether or not you take it, is up to you." He shrugs.

"Why would you do that?" You wonder, suspicious.

"Because Taehyung worries about you. And Daehyun would be terribly upset if something was to happen to you." He admits. "I don't know you well enough to say that I'm doing this for you- so I'll be honest. I do this mostly for them." He says.

You nod. You like this- that he's actually telling the truth, instead of trying to woo you into something.

"Alright." You sigh, tired. "I'll.. text you?" You wonder, and he nods.

"I have your number from Taehyung already." He chuckles. "I just didn't have a reason to reach out yet." He admits.

You just nod, eyes falling shut for longer he notices.

You must be working hard if you're this exhausted. He really hopes you'll take care of yourself after he helps you sort everything out.

Hopefully his help is enough.

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He's lost control over the situation. How can this happen a second time?

He's been texting you these past few days, especially after you've finally took some time off of work to sort out your doctor's visits, having received some medication to finally help you resolve your issues.

He's not sure why he keeps coming back to you. And he's especially not sure how the hell he managed to get himself caught up in a situation like this twice, especially after Taehyung had been clearly upset about the first time.

There's something about you he can't really pin-point. It's both scary, and exciting.

You're kneeling on a small heart-shaped pillow from your small couch, hands occupied and slicked up with your own spit as you caress his length, head of it warm inside your mouth as you lick and suck. You've offered, and he assumed it to be a joke- but the moment you got down between his legs, all of his usual control over things went out the window. He might appear to be the one in charge, right in this moment, but he's truly at your mercy.

It makes him anxious. This shouldn't be happening.

But he can't deny the appeal of you taking care of him so well- it feels scarily intimate to have you between his legs like this, eyes closed as you seem to enjoy yourself, mostly due to his own hand reaching out to run his fingers through your hair, brushing it out of your face and taking the chance to offer some form of affection before he collects your hair in his fist for a second, long sigh escaping him as he feels the tip of your tongue push against the head of his cock, dipping into the small point, before you adjust your legs, letting go of him for just a second to lick from the base to the very tip once more.

You're a succubus, hidden behind a pretty face and sinful body.

He's not sure what your motivation is, hasn't really figured it out for the first time either. There's this little devil on his shoulder constantly urging him to accept your advances and let himself go, but the angel is louder, and keeps on feeding him doubts about the whole thing. He's consumed by his work, he doesn't have time for you, he can't offer you what you might want from a relationship. He doesn't even know if he himself is ready for something like that- he knows he should be, considering how long ago his divorce had been finished, but it's still odd to think about it. He's scarred by what went down, and doesn't want to go through this again.

He can handle being hated by one person he used to love. He wouldn't be able to have two doing the same.

It made him wonder if he's even someone worthy of having a relationship. Does he have enough to offer you that's not physical or monetary? No. He doesn't have time, he's awkward as hell, he doesn't like parties and rather enjoys laid back vacations somewhere no one knows him- if he even takes one at all. He wants a quiet life-

A quiet life?

'it's a quiet life I'm living, which is nice.'

Maybe it's your hands on his cock, the back of your tongue over his tip, or the way your fingers suddenly move to massage his balls just right- but he's facing this horribly ironic moment of both pleasure and realization at the same time as his cum shoots into your mouth, lips sealed over the head to suck him for all he's got. His hand keeps pushing your head, fingers digging into your hair, and you moan quietly at the faint sting of it.

His head rests back on your couch. His hand loosens, letting you go, while his eyes stay closed, breath deep and uneven as he tries to calm himself. He doesn't even realize how you tuck him back into his underwear as he softens, though you leave the fly and belt untouched, instead moving to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

You wait. For what? You're not sure.

"I.." He starts, taking in a deep breath, a hand through his hair trying to sort him out again. "..you.."

"Was it good?" You wonder almost innocently, watching him amused.

He nods. "Very." He simply answers, brain dumb. He hates this.

"Nice." You smile, before you move to put the little pillow back on the couch. "Do you wanna.. leave right now? Or stay for coffee?" You wonder, treating this all way more casual than he is. He's not sure what to do. But he knows you need to talk about this.

"Can you come here for a second?" He asks, and you nod, putting down the mug you got out of the pantry, making your way over to him to sit on the couch next to him. "I hope you know this isn't.. needed. I honestly just wanted to help you out with rent." He urges, and you nod.

"I know." You say, making him feel a bit lighter. "Was that.. not something you wanted?" You worry, but he shakes his head.

"I'm.. I'll have to be honest here." He sighs, having closed his pants and adjusted himself prior already, not leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. He can't look at you- not if he wants to be honest and straight forward. "I'm not sure." He offers. "I think it's clear that there's an attraction going on- but I don't know how far this can go."

"I'm not in love with you or anything." You defend yourself. "Neither do I have a crush. I just like you." You shrug.

"That's good." He nods to himself. "It's good that you know that. That you... can distinguish it."

"I think your problem might have something to do with.. my age?" You wonder, and Jungkook turns his head towards you, eyes staying on your knees however. "Yoongi mentioned something once. That he has a friend who has some sort of mid-life crisis right now and thinks he's too old for everything." You giggle.

"And how do you know that would be me?" He calls you out a little offended.

"Because it just fits." You laugh. "You play around with Dae all the time, but the second someone watches you, you become all awkward. It's kinda sad." You admit.

"How so?" He wants to know.

"Because it's dumb." You say, leaning back against your couch.

"Maybe for you. But when you're my age-" He starts, and you suddenly start to laugh, cutting him off.

"See! That's how I know you're the one with the crisis!" You joke, hand hitting his shoulder playfully, and without any intention to hurt. "I'm not a kid. I can make my decisions just fine." You say.

"And your decision is?" He wonders, now looking at you.

"That I want to get to know you." You tell him. "I want to.. see where it goes." You offer.

"What if it goes nowhere?" He argues. "I can't promise you some fairytale love-story." He denies. "I'm divorced, I want children at some point, I don't like parties, I work long hours-"

"But that's stuff that we can work out, no?" You wonder. "Time is what you're scared of, right? Then how about this-" You say, suddenly sitting on your knees, body facing his. "Every day you're not trying is a day you could be spending in a more productive way. For example, by getting to know me. Trying out if your idea of a relationship aligns with mine, if your work schedule is too packed, all of that." You offer. "Right now, we could already be talking about more interesting things than the 'what-if'. Or, in your big-man-terms:" You joke, leaning closer to him. "You're wasting time."

"Have you ever considered a career in communication-training?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "You're awfully great at this." He praises, making you giggle.

"Nah, I like my normal nine-to-five." You say. "Even if it barely pays enough."

"Well I heard someone's taking care of rent at the moment." he offers, reaching out to tuck some hair behind your ear.

"Well, only for a month, so that's a bummer." You shrug, leaning into his hand now holding your cheek.

"..I'm not used to being in a relationship." He sighs.

"We can start just being friends." You respond.

"I think we're a little past the general boundaries of friendship." He chuckles.

"Then friends who occasionally have sex." You roll your eyes.

"That's not very romantic." He argues.

"You can fuck me with music in the background?" You joke, and he shakes his head, laughing.

You're truly far more than he thought you are, and he's not sure if he's worth your time. But he wants to be. Looking at you, right now, he wants to be worth it. He wants to put the effort into it, even if it doesn't work out in the end. He wants to try- so that even if you don't fit, you at least had some good memories together that were worth the time spent.

He wants to try.

Even if it's a mistake.

[leighsartworks216]

Perfect First Date

Zayne x fem!Reader

Had this idea and literally could not stop thinking about it

Warnings: fluff, blind date, first date, kissing

Word Count: 2,280

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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A steady drizzle paints the world outside in a blur of shadows and diffused lights. Traffic lights are reflected on the wet pavement below, blending with the orange and white headlights of cars. People pass by the window, covering themselves with umbrellas or their jackets. A few didn’t bother trying to do anything to hide from the onslaught of water. You didn’t bring an umbrella. The thought of leaving now and having to walk through the rain like that sours your mood even further.

A waitress politely clears her throat. “Would you like to order now?” She gives you a pitying look, her smile tinged with sympathy.

You force one of your own in return. “Just a few more minutes, please.”

She nods and walks away. You just know she’s in the kitchen talking about you with the chefs and other wait staff. “She’s been waiting for an hour for her date. He’s never gonna show up! Poor thing.”

You sigh, leaning against your arms on the table. How are you gonna tell Tara about this? She was so excited to set you up on this date, gushing about how perfect you two would be together if you just gave it a shot. Knowing he never showed up would break her heart - maybe even more than it broke yours.

A familiar voice says your name. When you look up, you’re surprised.

“Zayne? What are you doing here?”

“My shift just ended. I thought this would be a nice place to get dinner before I head home.” He tilts his head toward the empty seat across from you. You nod immediately, just glad for the company after the time you’ve had. Once he sits, he takes a moment to look you up and down. “You look lovely tonight.”

You nervously pick at the corner of your cloth napkin with a polite half-smile. “Ah, thank you. Tara set me up on a date, but…”

He frowns. Before he can say anything, though, the same waitress from before comes over. She seems more upbeat. She must think this is your date, finally showing up after making you wait for so long. “Welcome! Can I get you anything to drink, sir?”

“Just water, thank you,” Zayne answers.

“Of course! Give me a moment and I’ll be back with a second menu for you.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” You smile reassuringly at her, having clearly startled her from her usual script. “He can borrow mine.”

She smiles and skips off back to the kitchen. Zayne grins slightly as you push the folding menu toward him. “Already know what you want to order?”

You huff a mirthless laugh, looking out the window again to avoid that look in his eyes as you say, “I’ve practically got the whole thing memorized. There’s a ‘Build Your Own Platter’ special on the second page.”

He turns the page over and, sure enough, the highlighted special greets him. “How long have you been waiting?” His voice is soft, like he’s worried about your answer.

You reach over the table for his hand. He raises an eyebrow, but he lets you take it without fuss. You turn his wrist until you can read his watch. “Uhh, almost an hour.” You let him go.

“Isn’t it common practice to leave after no later than 30 minutes have passed if the date doesn’t show up?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t really do this sort of thing.” You look at him again. Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. It hasn’t since he got here. He notices right away. “And it started to rain, so…”

“So you thought he may have gotten caught up in the weather.”

“And I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

He gives you a pointed look. “You didn’t think to look at the weather for tonight? Despite knowing you would be going on a date?”

“Shush. I didn’t think about it.”

The waitress sets down a cup of water in front of Zayne. A lemon wedge is neatly tucked onto the rim. “Are you ready to order?”

Zayne gestures for you to order first. You recite the order you’ve had memorized this whole time, and she writes it down on a little pad of paper. Then he orders (not the Build Your Own Platter special), passing the menu to the waitress once she’s finished writing. She holds it to her chest and looks between the two of you. “Will you be paying separately or together?”

“Together-”

“Separately-”

You blink at Zayne, who smiles placatingly in return. “Together. It’ll be my treat.”

She leaves before you can defend paying separately. You shake your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Please. I see it as my duty to ensure you know how a man should treat you on a date.”

Your cheeks flush. You can’t quite meet his eyes as you tease, “You were also technically an hour late, then.”

“Hm,” he agrees. He picks up a card held in a twisted metal stand and holds it out to you. It contains a brief listing of ice cream sundaes, cheesecakes, molten lava cakes and more. “Would dessert make up for my tardiness?”

You smile. It finally reaches your eyes as you take the card from him. “It just might.”

-

As you talk about everything and nothing, the disappointment begins to ebb from your shoulders. Once the food arrives, it disappears entirely. For as long as you waited, the food was definitely worth it.

You forget about the rain, the guy that stood you up, and having to tell Tara what happened. The world seems to shrink to just this restaurant. Just this table.

Zayne may appear to be emotionless and cold to some, but not to you. You know him better than that. You see every slight smile that he looks away to try to hide. You see the playfulness in his eyes as you tease each other. You see him relax into the atmosphere you’ve created. You see the concern that sharpens his eyes when he scolds you for not taking care of yourself. You see… him.

It’s probably just because you two have been going to restaurants together more frequently in the last couple months, you think. Somehow, you both got into the habit of recommending places to each other - sweets shops, diners, cafes, bakeries, and restaurants like this. At first, you’d just tell each other about the place, saying they should visit. But then it became lunch breaks when he needed to be pulled away from work to take care of himself, and dinner when you needed to be convinced to stop working overtime.

It feels natural, sitting across from him and sharing a good meal. You try not to dwell on that thought for too long.

True to his word, Zayne pays for dinner.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise. “We can get lunch tomorrow. I’ll pay.”

He grins, knowing just how futile it is to argue with you. He has no choice but to agree. Still, he shakes his head slightly. “I never thought I’d be threatened with being treated to lunch.”

He holds the front door open for you, picking up his umbrella from the communal holder. The world seems to grow once more as you look out into the rain. You don’t have anything to protect yourself from it. You didn’t even think to bring a jacket.

Zayne steps halfway out from under the awning, his see-through umbrella open above him as he holds a hand out to you. “Come on.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You said so yourself that you didn’t bring an umbrella. I’ll drive you home.”

“You really don’t have to. You’ve done so much already!”

He gives you a look. “All I did was chat with you and pay for dinner. Besides,” he takes your hand, gently tugging you under the umbrella with him, “I said I would show you how you should be treated on a date. Bringing you home in the rain falls safely under my duties.”

You sigh, but you don’t argue anymore. You don’t really want to walk through the rain anyway. You hold onto his arm as he leads you to the parking lot. “Should I make this up to you, too?” you tease. “Take you for a drive on my motorcycle?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

You laugh. He smiles at the sound.

-

The drive is quiet, but not unpleasantly so. Rain pats down on the roof and windows of the car, swept away by the windshield wipers. It’s heavier now, beating down in cold sheets. If you’d been walking home, you would’ve been soaked through to the bone just one street from the restaurant.

He pulls up to the curb and gets out first with his umbrella. Then, he rounds the car to your side and opens the door, holding the umbrella over you more than he does himself. A few drops of rain on his coat doesn’t make a difference to him.

You stick close by as he walks you to the door. “Thank you for bringing me home.”

“Of course. Now, get inside before you catch a cold.”

You smile at him and unlock the door with your thumbprint. “Goodnight, Zayne. I had fun.”

“I’m glad to have been a suitable replacement for your date tonight,” he remarks, a teasing edge to his words. He smiles. “Goodnight… I had fun, too.”

Something foreign and extremely familiar flutters in your chest at the look in his eyes. The way they look at you, the softness in his eyes that seems to take away years of exhausting surgeries and heartaches - it almost takes your breath away. The worst part is that you’ve seen him look at you this way before. Several times.

You can’t find anything else to say as you let yourself inside and gently close the door behind you.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the painted wood like it holds all the answers to your swirling thoughts. Your hand is still on the knob. You fear it may be too late when you’ve made your decision.

You swing open the door. Zayne has already walked down the front steps. He’s almost to his car. Your heart lurches as you rush into the rain after him.

The storm hasn’t let up since you arrived. The cold water that attacked his car on the way here now soaks your hair, your clothes, your skin. A shiver runs through you at first, quickly overshadowed by the fear of letting him go.

“Zayne!”

He turns around. That softness from before is replaced with concern as he hurries to meet you halfway to cover you with the umbrella. “Are you trying to get sick?”

“No, I…” God, you feel a bit stupid. But to back out now would be even worse. Your heart sits like a lump in your throat as you say, “It’s common practice to kiss your date when you say goodbye.”

The furrow in his brow eases up. You see his eyes flicker to your mouth briefly. “Is it?” he almost whispers.

You nod. “And if it’s your job to show me how I should be treated on a date…” You’re worried he can hear your heart. It’s beating so hard, pounding in your ears and blocking out the sound of the rain.

Zayne breathes a quiet laugh, but he nods. “You’re right. I apologize for my negligence. Allow me to make it up to you.”

Holding the umbrella steady, he cups your cheek with his free hand. His thumb brushes away a trail of water that comes from the hair sticking to your face. His eyes linger on your lips as he leans down. Even in this lighting, you can see the way his ears burn with blush. You’re certain you’re not doing much better.

His breath ghosting over your mouth is intoxicating, but the gentle press of his lips to yours is addicting. You grab onto his coat with wet fingers, slowly pulling him in closer as you deepen the kiss. He sighs. You think this is heaven.

He pulls away for air, before turning his head to the other side and kissing you again. And again. And again. You’ve far surpassed what’s appropriate for a first date kiss. But, is this really your first date together?

When he finally does pull away, his breath trembles slightly, like he’s overcome by the emotions shifting around in his chest cavity. You look up at him and he has to fight the urge to kiss you again. He huffs a soft laugh as he brushes the stuck strands of hair from your face. “I’d be a poor date if I let you stay in the rain like this any longer.”

You smile fondly. “You’re always worried about me.”

“Mhm.” He kisses your forehead, as though it could possibly release the weight of the love strangling his heart. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

His hand rests on your lower back as he leads to your home once again. There’s a slight skip in both of your steps, a lovestruck sort of eagerness that guides you to your door. You unlock it again, but you turn to him this time, tugging on his jacket again.

“Stay.”

He turns his face away briefly, cheeks flushing. “That’s hardly appropriate for a first date.”

You laugh. “We don’t have to do anything. I just… want you to stay.”

He considers it for a moment. His eyes flicker across your face, searching for signs of an oncoming cold without even realizing it. When they meet yours again, he nods. “Okay. I’ll stay.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44

[robo-writing]

Hello! Love your Logan fics! If I could, could I ask for x-men trilogy Logan finding out what a hurricane shot is?(it’s where the guy takes a shot of alcohol and then a bartender (usually a really pretty woman that’s sitting on top the bar in front of the guy) splashes him with water and slaps him across the face. (really popular in the college towns in Florida) like scott mentions he had a hurricane shot when he was in high school during a senior trip to Florida and Logan asks what the hell that is. And his crush just goes “you don’t know what that is?! You drink booze for a living and you don’t know what that is???!” And precedes to just show him much to Scott laughing his ass off at seeing Logan getting drenched in water and slapped across the face, and Logan just fucking bewildered what the hell just happened and probably a bit horny (he got a pain kink, so getting slapped by his crush is like up his alley)

"The fuck is a hurricane shot?" Both you and scott's ears perk up, him being the first to express his surprise. "You've never heard of a hurricane shot?" "Am I suppose to?" He asks, getting just the slightest bit annoyed at how you two giggle between each other, some kind of secret language between the two of you.

“I’m just surprised is all,” you say, looking at him with mild amusement. “You’re the guy with his name tag on the barstool, so…”

“Real fuckin’ funny,” he huffs. “So what is it?”

You look up at him mischievously. “I think I’d rather just show you.”

Scott’s eyebrows go all the way up, a massive grin on his face. “Yeah, you should let her show you.”

You’re both snickering again and it almost makes him nervous. Almost.

“Sure, date and time?”

“Today, and now,” you say, running to the kitchen sink. You’re filling up a glass of water while Scott suddenly has his phone recording, more and more questions running through his head by the second.

“Okay, here’s your shot,” you say, sliding over a glass of rum. You’re holding a glass of water, looking down at it with barely contained excitement. “Do I have your permission?”

“Permission to what?”

“I can’t say.”

Logan’s feels his eye twitch. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise!” You reply, a cheeky grin spreading across your face. “It’s a yes or no Logan.”

He weights his options for a minute, figures that whatever you two’ve got planned he can kick your asses for it later, and with a shrug says—

“Fuck it, sure.”

You nod in his direction, eyes pointing to the glass, and with no theatrics he downs the entire thing in just one gulp. There’s nothing special about the shot, just the standard burn that accompanies it.

No, what’s special is what comes after.

The same moment the glass leaves his lips, the cup of water you were holding is thrown in his face. Before he can ask what the hell you’re doing, his face is whipped around.

You slapped him—rather hard, in fact. So unexpected he’s forced to stare off into nothing for a while before reality hits him.

He’s stood in shock, Scott laughing in the background while you complain about your sore hand. He’s drenched head to toe, still collecting his thoughts.

“What…was that?” He asks, hand reaching up to rub his cheek.

“That, my good friend, was a hurricane shot,” Scott replies, patting Logan on the back as he goes off to play his captured footage on loop. “Florida’s a wonderful place.”

You follow behind, chasing after Scott with a shout of “Lemme see!” Before the both of you disappear.

Logan’s stood in the kitchen by himself—and of everything that’s just happened to him, he can only conjure up a single thought.

That was really, really, hot.

[dearhargrove]

Reassurance

summary You comfort Evan after he has to deal with his parents over the course of four days.

word count 730

tags fluff, just someone being there for my bb buck, short and sweet

a/n So basically I was watching the Buck Begins episode and died every minute where his parents neglected him and generally every second of that episode :( so expect some more Buck fics to come (Eddie too tho !!)

masterlist

You didn't know but you were probably the sole reason Buck wasn't completely breaking down every day he wakes up and has to deal with the two people that call themselves his parents.

After the first dinner he had felt bad, but he'd felt like he usually does with them. Alone, unwanted and never enough. That day he'd come home to you, quiet and dull.

You hadn't made him talk about it when he didn't start explaining himself, instead you simply wrapped your arms around him and held him close. That's when he'd felt loved. That night he waited until you had fallen asleep before letting himself cry.

What did he expect? For some reason he had hoped they'd changed. Or at least that they would be proud of him. After all, he'd saved a lot of people and does so every day. Instead he is reminded that they hadn't bothered to check on him when he almost died twice - first by being crushed and second because of the blood clots - and then laid in the hospital.

Those were the people supposed to love him no matter what and all he got was constant criticism.

That night you had woken up not long after him because of his missing warmth. With a worried expression you'd found him and once again, held him close. He had melted into your arms, tears starting to fall again as he clutched you close as if scared to lose you.

After reassurance you would gladly give any day you had gone back to bed, your hand on his cheek and caressing his birthmark.

Today you hadn't even known Buck would see them or be confronted by their doings. The last time you'd heard about them was when he explained that he had a brother. That he was only conceived to be a match for a bone marrow transplant.

That night had been harder than the one before. You're quite sure no matter how much you tried to show him that he wasn't just a failed way to save someone you don't think it got completely through to him. And you didn't blame him; you couldn't imagine living with something like that weighing you down.

You're in his kitchen trying one of Bobby's recipes when the door opens and Buck comes in. You could read him like a book; there wasn't a moment you weren't able to tell what he was feeling. But now? You genuinely didn't know.

He was frowning but there's a smile resting on his face and his eyes are red.

“Buck?”

He looks up, seeing you there in his sweater with a knife in your hand as you chop vegetables for a recipe from Bobby he loved, and he breaks. But instead of simply crying he chuckles, too.

“Buck, what's going on?” Your voice is worried and he just shakes his head as he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his forehead to yours. You put the knife down and reach up to cup his face and your index finger soothes over his birthmark, something you'd made a habit over the year of being with him.

“I think they're finally accepting me for.. me.” He only says and you sigh but nod. He notices your slight apprehension and quickly adds on, “But I don't want them to. I don't need their acceptance. They don't decide how much I'm worth.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ in surprise but you laugh breathlessly and nod, “Exactly. You're saving lives on the daily, you don't need anyone to tell you how good you are. Not your parents, not your friends, not me.”

He nods along until the last part where he cocks his head and looks at you with his signature half smirk. “I do need you to tell me how good I am, actually.” That makes you smile as well and you sigh, “That's not what I meant and you know it.”

He just shrugs and unlike when he first came in you can see pure happiness and love on his face.

“God, I love you so much, Evan Buckley.”

He grins and surges forward to kiss you passionately, his hands gripping your hips as if you'd slip through his fingers any moment.

[wordsarelife]

—holidays

pairing: jess mariano x fem!reader

summary: you and jess go iceskating, which you quickly regret

warnings: none, but reader being bad at ice skating lol

note: here it finally is, the first fic of my little christmas calender. i think i will be posting a small masterlist for the upcoming fics later. the fics are going to be named after my favorite melancholic christmas songs. there will be sad fics, but in general the title won't have much to do with the story itself. hope you'll enjoy!!

(ps: let me know if you want to be tagged!)

"i'm absolutely not doing this" jess protests as soon as you point your finger at the ice rink that was specifically build up for the weekends christmas festival taking place in stars hollow.

"oh, yes you are" you grin.

he looks at you with that contemplating look, probably considering weather you'd be angry if he just walked off. but a single second to think gives him all the answers he'll need.

"please" he sighs, hoping for you to give in and let the request slip.

"just say you don't love me" you cross your arms, raking your chin up high with closed eyes. jess doesn't react and you slowly open your right eye to glance at him.

his eyes aren't on you. his gaze wavers over the people on the rink - families, couples, kids - and he seems to be thinking how bad this'll go on a scale of one to ten.

he can't help, but also think about your eyes lighting up and your laugh breaking through the cold air. the decision is made quickly, surprising to you, as he takes your hand and drags you into the direction of the rink.

"wait, really?" you ask, not able to hide the surprise. you had been ready to give him the cold shoulder for a while, before you had ultimately let go of the request.

but now, your eyebrows shoot in the air as you watch him pick up the skates at the little hut next to the rink.

"not a word" he mutters as he holds the pair out for you to take. "and never say i don't love you"

you giggle, as you sit down to change out of your shoes and into the skates. jess is sitting beside you, mirroring your moves as he watches you effortlessly tie the shoes.

you can practically feel the grumble that dares to escape his lips when he has to undo the shoe for a third time after leaving out two holes.

"here" you say, crouching in front of him, "let me"

jess begrudingly accepts your help and even though he doesn't say a word, you notice the little smile on his lips. he's not angry, not really.

the ice rink is not filled to the brim by the time you step on it. there's enough room to try out your skills without getting hurt or hurting someone else in the progress.

you almost slip, jess' quick reaction being the only thing that keeps you on your feet and you send a grateful smile in his direction, as you grip onto the side of the rink, waiting for him to follow you onto the ice.

jess sighs and you can hear a nervous breath escape his lips, before he ultimately follows you. his feet make contact with the ice and to your surprise nothing happens. he standing there, like he's standing on normal ground. no hint of discomfort or a threatening fall.

"what?" you mutter. "how can you—?" you can't even find the words to express what you're thinking.

jess shrugs and your reaction guides him back into his usual cockiness that he just forgot for a short while. "well, seems like i'm a natural"

"you're not a natural" you huff and try to cross your arms, but quickly abort the mission when you dare to lose balance. "you've never even done this before"

"looks like this is my destiny" he clearly enjoys the way his newfound talent seems to be riling you up.

"destiny my ass" you roll your eyes, showing him a sugarcoated smile, "i bet luke's gonna be so proud of his little ice princess"

"don't you dare" jess shakes his head, the smirk leaving his face quicker than you would've thought.

"well, help me then" you gesture your arm in his direction and he takes your hand, slowly, but effortlessly guiding you more into the middle of the rink.

it takes a whole lot of effort for your to keep upright, while jess doesn't seem bothered by the slippy ground beneath him. it's almost scary how balance doesn't seem to be a thing he has to actively work for, not even when you slip and grab onto him for dear life.

“careful” jess mutters, steadying you with both hands. his grip is firm but gentle, and you can’t help but notice the smug grin creeping back onto his face. “you’re going to take us both down if you keep flailing like that.”

“i am not flailing!” you protest, clutching his arm tighter when your foot slides again. “you’re just too stubborn to admit this is pure luck.”

“luck? this is skill, sweetheart” jess twirls you—more of a clumsy pivot, but to him, it’s clearly a full-on figure skating move. he gives you a smirk so self-assured you almost forget how absurd he looks.

jess steadies you once again, before he carefully lets go of you and skates effortlessly forward until he comes to a halt a few steps away from you. "come on" he encourages, "you can do it!"

you roll your eyes, ultimately hating ever even suggesting this whole thing and absolutely ticked off by the way jess is clearly enjoying your discomfort. it's his moment for revenge.

you test the waters, slowly moving forward, but too unsure to really move the rest of your body, so it looks quite weird as you slip over the ice.

jess moves his open arms back and forth. "come little duckling," he almost giggles, "have you never learned how to use your feet?"

"funny" you smile sarcastically, but your confidence is just as fast gone as it had come, when you make a wrong move and lose balance. "ahh!" you cry, closing your eyes.

but before you can imagine yourself hitting the ground in a terrible and embarassing fall, two strong arms grab you, pulling you upwards and against jess' chest.

"didn't think i would let you fall, did you?" his voice is a lot less teasing and gets a bit lost in your hair, as you press your head against him and hold onto him like a lifeline.

"not if you value your life" you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled but sharp enough to make him chuckle.

jess leans back just enough to look down at you, an infuriating smirk playing on his lips, "oh, really? and what’s the punishment for letting you hit the ice? public humiliation? cold shoulder for a week?"

you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze with a playful glare. "try immediate breakup. single by christmas."

"well that wouldn't be fun now, would it, birdie?" jess smiles. "you would never break up with me, because i'd make it up to you before you'd get the chance"

"sure" you roll your eyes, but grin. "now you're mr. darcy all of a sudden, huh?"

"god, no" jess shakes his head. "more like a jack dawson."

you blink, a little confused. "jack dawson? from titanic?"

"yeah" he says, the smirk on his face growing. "except without the sinking ship and the whole death thing. but i would definitely let you lay on the door"

it sounds stupid and a bit cringe, but you have to smile nonetheless. "i hope you know i would not let you freeze to death" you assure. "even if we both go down with the door"

jess laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"but you can make it up to me right now, without the whole emergency situation"

"yeah?" jess wonders.

"yeah" you nod, "just get me off this thing, please" you almost beg and jess has to smirk again.

"so i guess ice skating goes off the list of things to do for the foreseeable future?" he slings an arm around your waist, slowly guiding you both back to the entry of the rink.

"god, no, it's canceled forever"

jess presses a hand to his chest, feigning betrayal, "but i was born for this!"

you send him a look that clearly says to shut up.

you're just a step away from walking off the rink when your exit gets interrupted by kirk, who enters the ice rink, arms wide, wearing what can only be described as a flawless pair of bright yellow skates that have a questionable amount of glitter on them. you wouldn't call the dark lilac bodysuit he's wearing matching, but his confidence somehow makes it work.

"hey guys!" kirk smiles.

"kirk?" your head follows his movement along the side of the rink. "didn't taylor forbid you from ice skating after that bad injury last year?"

kirk freezes, his arms falling to his sides dramatically as he glares at you. "oh, please" he scoffs, clearly offended. "taylor is not the boss of me. i’m a grown man, okay? i make my own choices."

he gives a little nod as if to emphasize his independence, then promptly tries to glide confidently across the ice… and immediately loses his balance, arms flailing as he crashes into the wall with a loud thud.

"right" jess says, a saracstic expression on his face as he watches kirk try to regain his balance. "a grown man, making his own choices, like a majestic, glitter-covered disaster."

kirk acts like he didn't hear your boyfriend. "well, taylor said i couldn't skate for at least ten months and ten months are over! ha!"

"yeah, you've really shown him" jess rolls his eyes.

jess helps you off the ice, while your eyes stay on kirk, unmoving. "i'm not sure this is such a good idea, kirk. you know, maybe taylor was right—"

kirk completely ignores your worry. "and now my signature move, the glitter glide"

“oh no” you whisper, gripping jess’s arm tighter.

“oh yes” jess deadpans, watching as kirk dramatically flares his arms. he makes a quick tumble forward, surprisingly holding his balance, before he tries a spin. but instead of completing the turn, he only goes halfway, his body jolting and sending him skidding backward at an alarming speed.

"jess!" you call, noticing in which direction kirk is headed.

jess rolls his eyes, but steps into the open side of the entry, effortlessly catching kirk as he glides through the exit.

"enough action for today?" you ask a panic-stricken kirk, who’s now clinging to jess for stability like a shipwrecked sailor.

kirk nods, slowly freeing himself from jess' arms. "will you buy me a snow cone?"

"of course" you nod with a smile.

[r4fe-cam3ron]

— BUT I WILL TRY TO DROWN YOU OUT | e. munson x reader

| warnings; this is a flashback so this is to my ‘truck driver!eddie’ au (this can also just read as a plain eddie fic!), i try to keep this as gn as i can - but sometimes there will be a few slip ups, FATHERS!!!!!!, eddie has a sister, this one is slightly long, mentions of alcohol, abuse, and blood!

| an; i’ve missed writing for him and his little family so so much :( but i wanted to do some more back stories for this au as well!

— special tags; @munsonbee - you always have the most wonderful things to say about this au and i will never be able to thank you enough for showing so much love to this and me :(

— THANKSGIVING | 1985. 

Eddie fears that this was forever. This…sickness that he inherited from his father. The pushing away, the pulling back when things get too hard too quick. 

Or maybe things were good and he had to ruin them just as his father did. 

You had arrived, catching Eddie slightly off guard. Especially from the two trays you carry inside the trailer. He blinked owlishly, which caused Wayne to smack the back of his head in a teasing manner. 

“Go help. I raised you better than that, boy.” 

Eddie was quick to stand then, hopping off the bench where he had sat next to Wayne, jogging up the steps and inside to the warm house. “Uh, what are you doing here?” He wipes the sweat from his palms, watching as you shove something into the stove under the ham that Wayne had been cooking. 

You shrug and turn to the refrigerator now, pushing what looked like a pie inside. You then walk to him, folding your fingers in front of you as you rock on your heels with a shy smile - you look so pretty Eddie short circuits. 

“I wanted to see you,” You nod. “My family always has our thanksgiving meal early. And my mom talked to Wayne before I just popped up.” 

Eddie smiles softly. “You’re welcome here anytime.” 

You nod and step closer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders now. “I know. Still - manners and all,”  You move your head side to side. He grins and presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling you close. “Would you want to come stay with me tonight? We're setting up the Christmas tree.” 

He chuckles and you pull away, pouting at him. “Why are you laughing? It’s tradition.” 

“For you. I think it’s ridiculous.” 

Your arms slightly loosen their hold when the words slip out, the playful pout now a frown as you look away from him. “I mean, you don’t have to come,” You shake your head and pull away from him. “I just thought since Wayne has to leave tonight you’d have someone to stay with on the holiday.” 

Eddie shrugs. “It’s fine. It’s just another day.” 

Slightly pursing your lips together, you only nod this time. You turn from him and walk into the kitchen, opening the cabinets. Eddie’s suddenly confused but ignores it, stepping into the kitchen as well. 

“Need help?” 

“No.” You reply shortly, turning towards the table and placing three plates out onto the table. 

“Add another,” Wayne’s voice catches her off guard, looking over at him. “Uh, Alan is coming.” His eyes cut over to Eddie who’s jaw ticks slightly. 

You only nod, walking over and grab another plate, placing it down onto the table along with the others. 

When Alan Munson arrives - Eddie’s honestly surprised - there’s another woman on his arm, and an air of cockiness, cheap cologne, cigarettes and leather. He’s loud - extremely loud. 

The woman next to him - Alison you come to learn - is a pretty brunette with wide eyes, almost like Eddie’s mother’s eyes. 

And even if you were still slightly upset at Eddie for his comment earlier - which was a petty comment - your hand grabs his from under the table, squeezing when you feel his foot bouncing. 

He barely touches any of Wayne’s ham he had cooked - and it was something he looked forward to every year. 

“Don’t waste your food, kid,” Alan slaps his shoulder roughly. Eddie winces slightly, moving closer to you. “Raised you better than that.” 

“You didn’t raise me though,” Eddie quickly retorts. “Wayne did. And I can put it up for later - that’s what we usually do on Thanksgiving. If you would’ve been there, you’d know.” 

Alan’s chewing slowly comes to a stop, brows lifting slightly as he stares at him. “Watch your tone, Edward.” 

“Of course, Alan.” His fork clatters into his plate as he stands, the chair sliding out from under him quickly. You flinch when it hits the wall, the frame rattling. 

The door opens before Alan or Wayne could say anything. Georgia steps in, a bottle of wine in her hand as she lifts it up. “Uncle Wayne! Eds!” Her voice is slightly raspy and her lips pulled into a grin. 

It drops when she sees Alan. 

“You didn’t tell me he was coming.” Her eyes look at Wayne who finally stands. 

“I didn’t think he was going to show up.” 

Georgia looks at him. “Always like you to show up randomly.” 

“My first born,” He looks at Alison who leans into his chest, cheetah print boots pressing into the floor. “Georgia. Just like her mother with that complaining.” 

“Don’t you talk about her like that. Georgia or mom.” Eddie snaps, looking at him. 

“Eddie—” You stand from your chair. Alison stands when Alan stands as well, moving out of his way. 

“I said to watch your tone, son. I’m not foolin’ ‘round,” Eddie’s stomach churns when the smell of beer drifts into his face. He has the right mind to throw up all over Alan’s snake-skin boots. “Or I’ll make you—”

“What? Regret it?” Eddie steps closer to Alan. He notices the smirk that pulls at his lips. “I’m not some kid you can toss around anymore. I hit back now.” 

“Eddie.” Wayne warns him. He knew this is what Alan wanted and he hates that Alan is getting what he wanted. But Eddie is his fathers son. His blood is in his veins - no matter how much he wanted to deny it. 

“Maybe Georgia’s more like me,” Alan nods. “You’re more like Elizabeth. I know that defensive look any—”

Eddie throws the first punch before his mind has time to think about it. He watches as Wayne stumbles a bit, the spikes on his boots clicking slightly. 

Your hand covers your mouth as you watch with wide eyes, your heart beating in your ears. 

Eddie’s anger has multiplied now - it’s burning his fingertips, tingling through his legs. He will not allow a man who never actually knew his mother to talk badly about her. 

There are nights when he prays for forgiveness for killing his mom - not that he actually did - but he knows that she would’ve still been here if it weren’t for him. 

Eddie knows she loved both him and Georgia fiercely. He also knew that she thought having him would maybe fix Alan like he was when Georgia was born. But now, he sees that he didn’t fix it. 

He made it worse. 

He killed his mom. 

And if he could, he'd time-travel back to before she even met Alan and would warn her. Warn her about how evil he was - the epitome of the devil. 

Even if that meant he wouldn’t have a sister. 

Even if that meant he wouldn’t be born. 

He wished that she would’ve been happy. 

He wanted to give his life for hers so she could live again. The only thing she’d be afraid of was bees and not the hand of some man who didn’t even deserve the clothes on his back. 

Alan slowly stands from his hunched position, a small laugh breaking free from his busted lip as he shakes his head. “She never fought back though.” 

Eddie lets out a scream and he feels the tears that had suddenly dropped down his cheeks. His hands grab the collar of his flannel, tossing him to the ground before anyone could stop him. 

There’s a buzzing noise in his ears when his knuckles meet Alan’s face and he can still feel the tears that slip down his cheeks. The punches grow weaker, his bloodied hand dropping to his chest as his shoulders shake with sobs. 

He’s knocked onto his back then, Alan shifting onto his knees. The sound of the buckle makes his eyes squeeze shut. He's six years old again after that one time he accidentally stepped on a single cigarette. 

He can feel the tingling from the metal across his hands again. 

Wayne interferes before the belt could even meet Eddie’s back, shoving Alan into the wall across the room. Eddie stays laying on the ground, shoulders shaking. 

You watch as Alan gets tugged out of the trailer now by Wayne’s hand on the back of his head. Alison follows after them quickly. You look down at Eddie, walking over and kneeling by him as your hand lands on his back. 

He’s quick to pull away from your touch as if you’d burned him. “Don’t touch me,” He seethes. Your own tears had formed, watching Eddie cry on the ground. “Don’t. I don’t need you or your pity.” 

Your heart breaks and you shake your head. “No…No, baby. Don’t—I want…” 

“I want you to leave, now,” He stands from the ground. You’d seen too much. You’d seen how frightening he was and that’s how you’re going to remember him for the rest of your life - that’s what he told himself. “You’re only with me because you took me on as a charity case. That’s it. There’s nothing there.” 

You quickly stand from the ground, shaking your head rapidly as you reach out for him. He steps away, eyes narrowed at you, expression stern. “No…no, I love you. I’m in love with you, Eddie. Please,” Your voice breaks. “Don’t shut me out. You’re shutting me out.” 

“Leave!” His voice makes you flinch and another tear rolls down your cheek as you stare at him. A small noise leaves your throat when you look away, face crumbling as you walk away from him quickly. 

Georgia stands there, wine bottle still in her hands as her eyes remain on Eddie. She wanted to lecture him but she also knows now is not the time. He’s shutting himself down and there would be no way of getting through to him until he cools down. 

Once he knows you're gone, his shaky hands reach for the pack of cigarettes that are on the counter. He walks past Georgia who now sits on the couch by Wayne, walking out into the cool air. 

He stops when he sees Alan, jaw ticking. This is the longest he’s stayed after any type of holiday. He walks down the steps and sits on the last one. He slips the lighter from the pack, lighting the end of the cigarette. 

Inhaling deeply, he blows out the smoke and stares up at the sky. It’s silent between the father and son. 

“I don’t think you’re a good person.” Eddie finally speaks up. 

Alan lets out a small laugh and it causes Eddie’s blood to boil. “And you are?” 

Eddie thinks for a moment, inhaling more smoke, letting it swirl in his chest before blowing it out. “I’m too much like you for that,” He says. Alan stays silent and stares at the back of Eddie’s head. “I almost forgot your voice.” 

“What?” 

“Your voice,” Eddie says. He can’t turn and look at him. “I almost forgot what it sounded like. I was hoping it’d be completely gone from my memories until I could make a new one for you - make you sound more happy. Create different memories than what I have,” 

He looks down at the ground. “Then when you popped up - like you always seem to do when you want or need something - everything came back to me. Just like that time you busted my hands up with the metal of your belt - the same one you’re wearing now,” Wayne looks down at his thighs, clenching his jaw. 

“Just for…accidentally breaking one cigarette. One,” He puts out the rest of his cigarette and stands. “I wish I could forget your voice instead of mom’s. Because hers,” His voice cracks. “Her’s is almost gone. And she can’t just pop up when she wants to, to remind me what it sounds like.” He makes his way back up the steps and towards the door. 

“I did love you all.” 

Eddie stops, eyes closing as he shakes his head. “That wasn’t love. That was you angry at your responsibilities and you didn’t know how to handle them. But that wasn’t our fault, Alan. You could’ve left. Saved us the pain,” He looks at his back now. “We wouldn’t have cared.” 

Alan says nothing else then. Eddie walks inside, shutting and locking the door behind himself and walks past both Wayne and Georgia again to his room. He falls onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling. 

The glow-in-the-dark stars that you’d bought and stuck up on his ceiling lights his room up enough. He stayed silent, his breathing wasn’t as heavy as it was before and his heart had calmed down a significant amount - luckily. 

He feels the bed shift and a shoulder brush against his. 

“I’ve missed you.” Georgia finally says, eyes staring up at the sticky stars. 

“Hm.” Eddie nods, tapping his fingers on his stomach. He doesn’t necessarily believe it - she never calls. Never visit. When she graduated, she left without looking back. 

He didn’t hate her for it. But he didn’t like her for it either. 

She looks over at him. “I do, Eddie,” She nods. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you with me. But I just…I needed space from here. From everything that reminded me of—”

“Reminded you of dad,” He nods. “I know. I’m sorry I’m so much like him.” 

“Reminded me of mom,” She finishes. He looks over at her. He can make out the quiver of her chin. “From everything that reminded me of her,” Her voice catches in her throat and she sits up, wrapping her hand around her throat, rubbing at the tightness. 

“You remind me so much of her and I can’t…” She shakes her head. “I hate her,” She finally blurts. “I hate her so much for leaving. She wasn’t supposed to leave us. He was,” 

Eddie slowly sits up now, staring at her. He’s never seen her cry. She was always the one who held it in - wiped his tears. Sometimes Georgia envied how easily he could cry. 

“But she’s the one who’s gone. I love her. And I miss her. But I hate her. Everything is so confusing. I-I don’t know…I don’t—” Her chest heaves and hands become shaky as they push through her hair. Eddie pulls her close, hugging her tightly as she had done him so many times as a child. 

His eyes close as his cheek presses into the top of her head. “It’s okay…I know,” He whispers. “I know.” 

It takes a while, but eventually her sobs are reduced to sniffling. She pulls away, wiping at her face and nose - her head pounds. “Sometimes I believe Alan is a good man,” She says. Eddie looks at her quietly. “He’s good when I compare him to his own father. And…and that’s enough for me not to…for me to try and not hate him,” 

Her breath shudders when she inhales and she looks at him. “Dad and I are more alike than I care to admit,” She nods. “And when I feel that pure…rage - that pure anger - I realize how much we are truly alike. And it feels like a sickness that has no cure.” 

Eddie stares at Georgia quietly. She always reminded him of their mom - a gentle, caring person who truly would lie their life down on the line for anyone. 

He always reminded himself of Alan. A man who pushed and pushed and pushed until everyone around them finally realized there’s no sense in keeping close to him. 

But maybe they’re both just like Alan. 

“I’m sorry for not calling.” Georgia looks at him with shame. 

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s okay,” He whispers. “It’s not your fault.” 

Georgia says nothing but she knows it is. She stands from his bed. “Call that girl, okay?” She looks at him as he looks down at his blanket. “Or just go to see her.” 

“What about you?” 

“I’ll still be here for at least three more days until I go back home,” Home. That pained him to hear from her because he wanted somewhere to feel like home. “I want to meet her. But you need to apologize to her.” 

Eddie nods slightly. She walks out of his room but turns and peeks back in. 

“I love you, buttercup.” Georgia sounds just like their mom. 

Eddie looks up, smiling softly when he feels tears pooling in his eyes. He prays he can still remember her voice - even when he’s old and wrinkled. 

“I love you, superstar.” 

Georgia smiles and grips the door frame slightly before stepping into Wayne’s room he’d given up for three days so she could sleep comfortably. 

Eddie stands from his bed, grabbing his warm jacket and slips it on before walking out of his room. He stops when he hears snoring and ticking from the chair. 

Looking over at Wayne - a man who welcomed a teenage girl and a young boy into his home - he smiles softly. He steps over, grabbing an extra throw that was on the couch and places it over his knees. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of his head before stepping outside into the cold. 

—

He wants to back out, wait until tomorrow to visit you. He sees the television playing It’s A Wonderful Life, although the movie is almost over. There’s some Christmas lights already hung around inside. 

His eyes stop on the tree and his heart pulls in his chest. It was too late to join. 

The door opens and he stands up straighter when he notices it’s your mom. “Hi,” He says. He doesn’t know how much you exactly told your parents, but judging from the slight pitiful smile that pulls on her cheeks, you said enough. “Uh…is she—”

“You can come in,” She cuts him off. “It’s cold out and I made my hot chocolate.” 

Eddie peeks in and sees you looking at the door at him, arms crossed over your chest. You nod slightly. He then looks back at your mom with a small smile, stepping in when she steps to the side. 

She shuts the door softly, locking it behind him. “You’re also staying. Roads are icy and it’s starting to get late.” Eddie follows her into the kitchen as you follow behind as well. 

A red cup filled with rich hot chocolate and melted marshmallows is placed in front of him after he sits down at the table, shedding his jacket. You grab it from his hand and hang it up before sitting next to him. She places a plate of warmed pecan pie in front of him as well. 

Your mom grips his shoulder softly, walking out of the kitchen allowing you both to have some space. The main light in the living room turns off, the glow of warm Christmas lights are enough to keep it well lit. 

Eddie takes the first sip of hot chocolate, cheeks and chest warming instantly. The glass almost burns his palms as he lifts it and then puts it down. 

“She still thinks you like pecan.” You finally speak. 

Eddie glances at you before looking down at the pie, letting out a small laugh. “Yeah…I feel bad for saying that I liked it.” 

You smile and reach for the plate, eating it yourself so a slice doesn’t go to waste. 

“I wanted to apologize for what you saw tonight and for what I said,” He looks at you. You stare down at the plate, playing with a pecan that had fallen from the caramelized sugar. “I…when I get angry - too angry - I tend to shut down on everyone and everything. It’s not a good thing, and I do want to work on it,” 

“I should’ve never said that to you,” He shakes his head. You finally look over at him, nodding your head slightly. “I love you. And that scares me because I don’t…I don’t want you to end up regretting it.”  

You place your fork down and stand from your chair holding your hands out. He grips your hands and you pull him from his seat. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull him close. 

“I wouldn’t regret it,” You shake your head. “I don’t,” You pull away and cup his cheeks. Your chin dips slightly as you stare up at him. “You’re my best friend, Eds. You’re all I want - I can never see myself with someone else.” 

The laugh he forces out is watery and his brows pinch together as his eyes stare down at the ground, blinking away the tears that blur his vision. 

Pressing a kiss to his lips before the corner of his lips, your arms wrap around his neck once again, pulling him close. He leans into you, wrapping his arms around you tightly as his shoulders shake. 

Your hand rubs at his back while your other tangles into his hair. “It’s okay…It’s okay,” He adjusts his grip onto you, fingers and rings digging into your skin. “I’m here,” You kiss his temple, moving your forehead to his, nodding slightly. His nose brushes against yours as he nods with you. Your hands cup his jaw once again.

“I’m here.”

| please do not copy my work! comments, feedbacks, reblogs, & requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated! ✿

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | 2.4k | teen | tags: future fic, steddie in their 40s, second chances, mutual pining, happy ending | @steddielovemonth Love is the hope for a future together by@acasualcrossfade | AO3)

"I don't know, Robbie. I mean, it's been years! Even if there ever was a 'spark' between us, it's probably long gone."

He doesn't look over at Robin as he says this, pretending to be engrossed in grading papers. They both know that he hasn't made a single mark on the paper in front of him since Robin burst into his house with her spare key and announced, "Eddie's coming to the wedding."

"Inside voice," he had chided her, even though April was at her friend's house doing a school project. Old habits die hard.

Plopping down next to him at the kitchen table, Robin had happily ignored him as she continued, "Lucas just called me, it's going to be a surprise for Dustin. Eddie's finishing the tour two days early, so he's coming straight from the airport. But he will be there, Steve!"

Trying his best not to show how his heart had started beating faster as soon as Robin had mentioned Eddie's name, Steve had shrugged nonchalantly. "That's nice, Robbie. Dustin will be over the moon."

"That's nice, Robbie." She repeated in a surprisingly good imitation of his tone. They definitely spent too much time together. "You can act indifferent all you want, Steve. I was there when you refused to leave the house for a whole week when Eddie went to LA, remember? I held your hair when you puked your guts out after drowning your sorrows when Eddie brought what's-his-face to Max and Lucas' wedding. You two belong together, Steve! You just had bad timing. You've never both been single at the same time - until now. That must mean something. Maybe he's not just coming for Dustin, that's all I'm saying."

Which had actually led them to discuss whether Steve should put them all out of their misery by finally growing a pair (Robin's words) or decide that whatever had been between them that summer, when Eddie had recovered from almost being eaten alive by demobats, was long gone (Steve's words).

"I beg to differ, Dingus. I saw the way he looked at you at our little 'Fuck Off Upside Down' anniversary party. He spilled his beer when you walked in the room, Steve. No one else did."

"He's clumsy. You know that. I'm surprised he never fell off the stage," Steve jokes. He's not sure who he's trying to convince, Robin or himself.

Robin's expression changes to something more serious as she puts her hand on top of his, still holding his red grading pen in a white-knuckled grip. "Steve, listen. I'm not saying you have to do anything. You and Eddie have been friends for almost twenty years. We've all been. You're not going to lose him no matter what you decide. But," and here she takes a deep breath, "I just want you to be happy, Steve. You deserve to be happy. And I know that you're not unhappy, I know that. You've got April and you've got me and you've got the kids, even though they're scattered all over the country. But I also know that you've never stopped imagining a future with him, have you?"

"He kissed me," Steve blurts out, and to Robin's credit, she doesn't react except for her hand on his to twitch in surprise. She makes a questioning sound in her throat, clearly waiting for more.

"The night before he left. We had this big going-away bash, remember?" She nods. "We all got pretty drunk after the kids left and you and Vicky had gone to sleep in the guest room and I had offered to sleep on the couch so Eddie could have my bed. His back was still bothering him and he had a long drive ahead of him the next day. But he insisted on sharing and I was too drunk and tired to argue. The next morning he got up very early, probably thinking I was still asleep when he got dressed and left. Only he didn't leave. At least not right away. He came over to the bed and kissed me. On the mouth. And he said, 'You'll always be my almost, Stevie.'"

Robin looks at him with wide eyes, and Steve thinks that maybe he should have told her sooner, that maybe he violated some code between them because they tell each other everything. But something about this morning had felt, well, almost sacred in a way. As if putting it into words would make it less so.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Robbie. I just..."

"You had to keep it to yourself so it would always be the one dream you could turn to?" Robin suggests in a soft voice, and Steve wouldn't have said it like that, but she's right. Every date that didn't feel right, every relationship that went down the drain, hell, even when his marriage imploded on him, he thought of that one kiss and dreamed of a life where Eddie would have stayed. Or where Steve had followed him.

"Oh Dingus." Suddenly, Robin's arms wrapped around him in a hug, and it wasn't until he saw the wetness on her shirt that he realized he was crying. "I can't promise you it'll work, but I really think you should talk to him. Your life doesn't end at 40, Steve. You can still have the future you've always dreamed of."

Steve nods against her shoulder, tightening his grip on the best thing that has ever happened to him besides April.

Dustin and El's wedding is a small affair, just family and close friends, which is basically the same in their group.

Steve tries his best not to show his inner turmoil and mostly succeeds. There are handshakes that turn into tight hugs, hellos that turn into stories about kids and grandkids, neighbors, vacations, jobs, life. It's great to see everyone. It also helps distract him from the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in his stomach for over a week now.

It works until everyone is about to take their seats and Eddie still hasn't shown up. He's supposed to be one of Dustin's groomsmen, along with Lucas and Mike and Will, while Steve is actually Dustin's best man. He only cried a little when Dustin asked him to.

Just as the officiant is ready to start without him, the heavy double doors open and Eddie walks in like Aragorn into Helm's Deep (Dustin insisted that Steve watch the movies if he didn't want to read the books, and Steve may have thought of Eddie more than once while watching Aragorn, sue him).

He rushes to his spot next to the other groomsmen, ruffles Dustin's hair as he passes him, and mumbles, "Sorry, shrimp, the airport lost my luggage." Then his eyes fall on Steve and he freezes for a moment before giving him a bright, dimpled smile. "Hey, Stevie," he whispers before stepping to the end of the line of groomsmen.

Steve is glad that Hopper is recording the whole ceremony, because he doesn't hear a thing that's being said.

Later, everyone gathers in the dining room and Hopper and Claudia each give a heartfelt speech before it's Steve's turn. He has everyone toast to Dustin and El's future, because while the past may have brought them together, it's the future that belongs to them and their love. He forces himself not to look at Eddie as he says this, knowing that his face would give away his thoughts.

And then Eddie stands up to say a few words as well, something no one expected him to do.

"I've known Dustin for 20 years now, and the only time I ever doubted that he was a genius was when he let El go without a fight. But you know what? I was wrong. Dustin and El may have taken the scenic route to get here," Eddie tells the guests, "but sometimes that's the best way to get somewhere. If you're willing to take the long and winding road, the road less traveled, as Frost would say, you know that whatever's at the other end is worth it."

Steve desperately wants to believe that Eddie is not just talking about Dustin and El, but he doesn't even look at Steve when he says that. He just sits down again next to Robin at the table right next to the one where Steve is sitting with Dustin and El and their parents, because Steve is part of the family, too, as Claudia had pointed out.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur until everyone gets up to go to the ballroom where the dance floor has been set up. Dustin and El open with their first dance, "You and Me" by Lifehouse, and Steve has never been prouder of his little brother as he watches him lead El across the dance floor with the biggest, toothiest smile on his face.

"They've come a long way, huh?" says a voice next to him and Steve doesn't have to turn around to know it's Eddie.

"Yeah. I'm glad they made it." Steve agrees, his eyes never leaving the dancing couple. More and more people are joining them now, and Steve can feel the fond smile on his face grow.

Eddie's hand rests on his arm as he steps around Steve to face him. He extends his other hand to Steve, palm up, and asks, "May I have the pleasure of this dance with you?"

As if Steve could ever say no to Eddie.

Just as they step onto the dance floor, "You and Me" fades out and the next song begins. It's "Unchained Melody" and Steve suspects that Robin had a hand in it. It's the song Steve listened to a lot after Eddie left and she once complained that he ruined the song for her. Apparently not enough to put it on the playlist when he and Eddie hit the dance floor.

"I always kind of liked that song," Eddie tells him, and Steve snorts. "No, really! It's not really metal, but I don't know. I just feel it, you know? It's real." Eddie explains, veering close to rambling territory.

"Is that so?" Steve has to ask as he slowly sways, his hand in Eddie's and his arm wrapped around Eddie's waist.

Eddie hums quietly in agreement. "Back in '86, when I was trying to settle down in LA, I used to listen to it for hours." Eddie admits quietly and Steve's heart is suddenly in his throat. "I felt every single word and every single word made me think about what I was leaving behind."

"Eddie," Steve begins, only to be gently silenced by Eddie's finger against his lips.

"Please, Stevie, I have to say this now or I never will. So please, just listen, yeah?"

Steve crosses his eyes to look pointedly at Eddie's finger against his lips before looking back up at Eddie, who snorts at the gesture. "Brat," he teases, taking his finger away.

"Okay, I'm listening," Steve tells him, and mimics zipping his lips.

Eddie's eyes sparkle with amusement and affection, and something deeper. Something that makes the seeds of hope in Steve's chest tentatively open and reach for their sun.

"Stevie, sweetheart, you certainly know... I mean, you must know that I..." Eddie rambles and Steve has never seen him so lost for words. He doesn't say anything, but he brings their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Eddie's in silent reassurance.

Eddie's eyes find his and the expression in them is so unbearably soft that Steve almost has to look away. No one has ever looked at him like that before. "You were always the one who got away, Steve. My almost. Even when I was with other people, you were there. On every stage, in every hotel room, on every stretch of highway, you were there. And I almost told myself it just wasn't meant to be. I had you as a friend and that was a gift I never thought I would have, I shouldn't be greedy and ask for more."

He takes a deep breath, like he's steeling himself, gathering every ounce of that incredible courage Steve has seen time and time again, even as Eddie keeps insisting he's a coward. Steve knows better, and Eddie's next words prove him right once again.

"But the funny thing is, it never stopped me from hoping for a future with you."

They stop dancing, if you can call what they were doing dancing, and look at each other, eyes searching for answers. For reasons to hope.

Steve is the first to break the silence, a soft grin on his face. "May I speak now?"

That makes Eddie laugh softly and he nods.

"Is this what you want? A future with me? Because that means a future with a middle school teacher with a little pet tornado who's currently staying with her mom. You have to mean it for her as much as you mean it for me. This means being all in, Eddie."

Steve hates that he has to say this, that he can't just fall into Eddie's arms and kiss him senseless. But Eddie needs to know what a future with Steve means. If he wasn't sure he wanted that kind of future, then they couldn't have one together. At least not the way they both wanted it.

Eddie cupped Steve's cheek in his hand, his smile growing with every blink of his chocolate eyes. "Steve, I know who you are. I know what it would mean to be with you, and I want it so much that I can barely stand another day without it. I love your little pet Tornado, she's adorable and funny and she has great taste in music. No idea where she got that from, though," Eddie teases before sobering up. "I want to be a family. This tour was our last for at least two years. The guys need a break and so do I. And after that, we don't know yet, but whatever it is, it will be something we agree on together. You and me and April."

Maybe Steve should ask more questions, be more cautious. But he's waited twenty years for this, and he can't wait another second to finally kiss the man he's always been in love with.

He's ready for his future to begin.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Hi there! I'm the anon who asked about sharing the fic! Here is what I have so far. Thinking I might turn it into a longer fic and I could tag you once I finish it. Like I said I've never really written anything before so I appreciate you letting me share it with you!

“Hey, Bradshaw,” Jake nudged Bradley. “Who’s that?” He tilted his head toward the girl.

Bradley glanced over his shoulder, following Jake’s line of sight. When he spotted you, a knowing grin spread across his face. “Oh, her?” he said, his voice carefully casual.

“Yeah, her.” Jake’s tone was dripping with curiosity—and something more. “She’s gorgeous. You know her?”

Bradley turned fully toward Jake now, feigning thoughtfulness. “Actually, I do. She’s real sweet.” He paused for effect, letting the words sink in before adding with just enough sincerity to be dangerous, “I think you should go talk to her.”

Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly weighing the risks. “You serious?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Bradley replied, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “She’s single. And you’re you, right? What could possibly go wrong?” He tipped his glass, hiding the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jake chuckled, straightening his shoulders and adjusting his stance like he was walking into battle. “You’re not wrong, Rooster. I’m irresistible.” He set his beer on the counter and took a deep breath, the picture of confidence. “Wish me luck.”

Bradley raised his glass in a silent toast. “Oh, you’re gonna need it,” he muttered under his breath, watching as Jake strode across the bar like a man on a mission.

As Jake approached, you looked up and met his eyes, your smile widening slightly. Maverick and Penny exchanged a glance, their conversation stalling as they noticed the incoming pilot.

“Hey,” Jake started, his southern drawl turned up to full charm mode. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but I couldn’t help noticing you from across the room. I’m Jake.”

Maverick smirked, clearly enjoying the show, but didn’t say a word. Penny raised an eyebrow at Maverick, who simply shrugged, leaving you to handle the situation.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” you replied, your tone friendly but guarded.

Before Jake could respond, Maverick spoke up, his voice casual but carrying just enough weight to make Jake pause. “Jake, you do know who her father is, right?”

Jake’s grin didn’t falter—much. “No,” he said confidently. “Should I?”

“Probably,” Maverick replied, leaning back with a smirk, “he’s sitting over there.”

Jake’s head snapped to the other side of the bar, where Cyclone was seated, his gaze locked on Jake like a hawk sizing up prey.

Jake turned back to you, his confidence shaken but not broken. “You know,” he said with a sheepish laugh, “I think I might’ve left my beer at the pool table. Don’t go anywhere, though.”

Back at the pool table, Bradley was doubled over, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Jake smacked him on the shoulder, muttering, “You’re a real piece of work, Rooster.”

“Worth it,” Bradley managed between laughs. "You retreating already, Bagman?” Bradley teased, his grin wide and smug.

Jake grabbed his beer and took a long sip before setting it down with exaggerated nonchalance. He leaned casually against the pool table, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Retreat?” Jake scoffed, turning his head to glance back in your direction. “Nah, Rooster. I’m just regrouping.”

Bradley’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh yeah? And what exactly is the plan now?”

Jake’s smirk widened into something almost wicked as he turned back towards the bar, fixing his collar and brushing his fingers through his hair. “Simple,” he said, his drawl thick and smooth. “I’m going to get her number.”

Bradley barked out a laugh, nearly spilling his drink. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” Jake started toward you again, then stopped to look back at Bradley, his smirk now full-blown.

Bradley shook his head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “This is going to end so badly, and I can’t wait to see it.”

There’s no way you’ve never written before…because this is so SO GOOD! OMG! Seriously, this was very well written.

Please please please tag me if you decide to continue it!

[niallerspayno]

I Like Your Style (Niall Horan x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: hey love, if you’re up for it i would love to read an enemies to lovers imagine with Niall and the reader. maybe he often flirts with her but they still really hate each other, until she one day snaps and they make out? just if you feel inspired, love your profile!!❤️

Tags: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff

Masterlist

You still remember that night—the night everything started. It’s burned into your memory, every detail as vivid as if it just happened.

The award was for Breakthrough Artist of the Year. A career-defining moment, they called it, and you had fought tooth and nail to get here. Months of relentless touring, sleepless nights in the studio, and navigating an industry that always seemed just a little more skeptical of you. But the competition was fierce.

There were four nominees: a critically acclaimed indie darling, a viral TikTok sensation, Niall Horan—former boyband star turned solo artist with an already massive fanbase—and you. The underdog.

You had convinced yourself you wouldn’t win. How could you, standing next to names that practically guaranteed success? Even as they called your name, you sat frozen for a moment, your brain struggling to catch up with reality. The applause surged around you, bright and overwhelming, as the cameras captured your stunned expression.

You stood, smoothing your dress with trembling hands, and made your way to the stage. The trophy was heavier than you expected, cold and solid in your grip as you delivered a speech that you barely remember now—something about gratitude and hard work.

But the real drama started after.

Backstage, you see him almost immediately.

Niall.

He’s leaning against the wall in the press area, his signature grin plastered on his face as the cameras crowd around him. But his eyes—his eyes are scanning the room, and when they land on you, that grin shifts. You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something magnetic about it, something that tugged at your gut. It’s as if he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

He strolls over to you with that swagger of his, the one that drives you crazy.

“Hey, congrats on the win, darlin’,” he says, his voice so casual you almost miss the way it sends a spark of irritation through you.

“Thanks,” you reply, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

But Niall doesn’t miss a beat. His eyes rake over you in that playful way that makes you want to shove him away and lean closer all at once. “I’ve gotta admit, you do have your own... style,” he says, leaning in just a little too close, his breath warm against your ear.

It’s the way he says it—the style part—that makes something cold snap inside you. Like it’s not a compliment at all. His eyes glint with amusement as if he’s daring you to react.

You clench your jaw. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you ask, keeping your voice level, but your pulse betrays you.

Niall just shrugs, the grin still playing on his lips. “Could be. Depends on how you take it.” His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it, something that only adds fuel to the fire already burning between you two.

Before you can say anything else, the press swarms you both, and Niall steps back just enough to let the spotlight shift. He’s still watching you, though, his gaze never leaving your face as he answers a few questions.

“She’s got a good look, doesn’t she?”

“You mean her style?” A journalist teases.

Niall chuckles, giving a lazy nod. “Yeah. Something about her vibe.”

You feel your stomach churn. The comment wasn’t just a dig at your style—it was a jab at your talent. You can hear it in his voice, the way he downplays everything. The worst part? The media eats it up. The headlines the next day are brutal.

“Niall Horan Throws Shade at Breakthrough Artist Winner?”

“Pop Rivalry Turns Icy After Award Show Win.”

“Niall Horan’s Casual Dig: Is There Drama with the New Star?”

It all spirals out of control. The press turns a single comment into a full-blown feud, spinning a narrative that’s hard to escape. Niall’s flirty remarks become more frequent, more blatant, each one adding a layer of tension. The more he flirts, the more you want to tear your hair out, especially when it feels like he’s teasing you on purpose—like he knows exactly how much it annoys you.

But even as the rivalry intensifies, there’s this lingering question in the back of your mind. Is he playing a game, or does he mean something else entirely?

And now, here you are—seated next to him on The Voice, the cameras rolling and the entire world watching. You both grin for the cameras, but the tension between you is palpable. Flirting aside, it’s clear: this competition is no longer just about talent. It’s personal.

...

The studio is alive with electricity, the anticipation hanging in the air as the next contestant steps up to the mic. You’re perched on the edge of your seat, already tense, because you know this is the moment. You can feel it. This contestant is exactly what you’ve been waiting for—a voice that could break through the noise, something unique.

But of course, Niall is sitting right next to you, not even pretending to be subtle. He’s leaning back in his chair with that cocky grin plastered on his face, practically vibrating with excitement. You can’t not notice him. He’s always been like that—loud, insistent, trying to make you feel something, anything.

You know what he's doing.

"Bet you a tenner I get this one," he says, his voice low but not quiet enough to escape your hearing.

You glance over at him, your gaze narrowing. "Keep dreaming, Horan. You couldn’t pick talent if it slapped you in the face."

He raises an eyebrow, that grin of his only growing. “Is that right? You might wanna watch this, then. I’m about to claim them.” He leans forward, eyes burning into yours, and for a second, there’s something in the way his jaw clenches that makes you feel… something. It’s not a nice feeling, though—it’s the kind of frustration you get when someone knows exactly what they’re doing.

You lean forward too, but you don’t let your gaze linger on him. You can’t. You have to stay focused. This contestant could be yours.

The music starts—a soft, melodic intro that gradually builds—and the voice that fills the studio takes you by surprise. They’re good. Damn good. The rawness, the power in the notes. It’s clear they have something special.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Niall mutters, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he eyes the contestant. “You sure you can handle this one, love?”

His words come out playful, but there’s a distinct edge to them. Like a challenge. And you hate it.

You’re not backing down. Not now. You press your lips together, forcing yourself to stay calm as the voice soars higher. You’re ready—so ready—for this. You need this.

Kelly Clarkson leans forward, clearly paying attention, and her voice rings out. “Ooooh, I’ve got a feeling about this one. You two might actually be in trouble.”

Blake chuckles beside her, enjoying the spectacle. “Looks like our two favorite coaches are about to go head-to-head again. Good luck, kids.”

You throw Blake a sarcastic grin. “I don’t need luck, Shelton.” Then, without looking at Niall, you add, “I’ve got skill.”

Niall just chuckles, and the sound grates against your ears. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got plenty of skill. But it’s me who knows how to make people shine.” He winks, obviously trying to get under your skin. And damn it, it’s working.

“You keep talking, Niall. Eventually, you might convince yourself,” you mutter, your fingers itching over the button.

You know he’s close to hitting it. You know he wants to press it as badly as you do. And there’s no way you’re letting him get away with it. Not this time.

The contestant hits a perfect high note as the song ends, and it’s your moment. Your hand slams down on the button, and your chair turns with a satisfying whoosh. At the exact same time, you hear the sound of Niall’s chair whirring around too. You both know. It’s a race now. The stakes are higher than ever.

The crowd erupts in cheers, the audience clearly buzzing with excitement over the fierce competition. The contestant stands there, wide-eyed, unsure who to choose, and you can feel Niall’s presence just inches away. His gaze locks with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You know I’m the better choice,” he says, leaning forward just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him. There’s a hint of something in his voice—something more than just a game. Something personal. And you hate how much it affects you.

You turn to the contestant, keeping your voice smooth and confident. “Don’t listen to him,” you say, flashing your most charming smile. “I’m the one who’s going to take you places. I’ll give you the chance to be exactly who you’re meant to be.”

Niall’s eyes flick to you, but his expression shifts, something colder lurking behind the cocky grin. “Oh, I’m sure you will. But here’s the thing—I’ve got experience. I know what it takes to make it. You’ll be in good hands with me.”

You can feel your heart rate picking up. You’ve been in enough of these situations to know what’s at stake, and this time, you can’t let him win. You won’t.

Blake’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Well, well, well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a little showdown here. I don’t know about you, Kelly, but I’m loving the drama already.”

Kelly grins, clearly entertained by the back-and-forth. “I think they’re both ready to throw down. Should we get the popcorn, Blake?”

The contestant steps forward, clearly uncomfortable with the mounting tension. “This is... tough. I’m really torn.” They glance between you and Niall. “You’re both amazing coaches…”

You smile a little too tightly, your patience fraying at the edges. “I’ll give you everything you need. We’ll win this, together.”

Niall leans even closer, his voice softer, more persuasive. “I won’t let you down. You’ll be in the best hands with me. Let’s make this happen.” He says it like a promise, and you can’t stand the way it makes your heart skip.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the contestant steps forward. “I’m going with... Niall.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You feel the weight of them, the finality. Niall grins, standing up and reaching out to give the contestant a high-five. “You made the right choice.”

As Niall celebrates, you lean back in your chair, forcing a smile you don’t quite feel. You can feel the heat of Niall’s victory like a brand against your skin.

He glances over at you, eyes gleaming with triumph. “Better luck next time, sweetheart.”

Blake snickers. “They’re definitely not over this rivalry. This season’s gonna be fun to watch.”

You can barely keep the snarl from your lips. “Oh, just wait, Horan. The season’s just getting started.”

You stand, tension crackling between you both as you watch Niall walk away with his new contestant. You know it’s only a matter of time before you get your turn. And when you do... it’s going to be your victory.

...

The stage is set for another Blind Audition, and the energy in the studio feels electric. The previous battle was a tough one, with Niall swooping in to steal your contestant, and it’s been eating at you ever since. You will get one back from him. You’ll make him regret thinking he’s the top coach on this show.

You’ve been watching Niall closely, and you know he’s itching for the next powerhouse vocalist to walk through those doors. He’s sitting back in his chair, relaxed, like he’s already got the next contestant locked down. But you’re ready to ruin that plan.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, your fingers hovering over the button. His cocky smile, the way he leans back so casually—he thinks he’s got it in the bag again. Not this time.

The next contestant steps forward, a powerhouse vocalist who hits that first note with so much raw emotion that it sends chills through the room. You’re instantly invested, nodding along to the beat. There’s something special here.

You can feel Niall’s eyes on you as the voice fills the studio, and you see him twitching, clearly ready to slam down his button the second he feels the connection. You don’t even give him the chance.

Without thinking twice, your hand moves swiftly, slamming your button down and blocking Niall from turning around. The bright red light flashes above his chair.

“No!” he shouts in disbelief, sitting up straight. “What the hell, you can’t be serious right now!”

Your smirk is all too satisfying. You stare at him, keeping your voice cool, though there’s a playful edge to it. “Oh, I’m serious. I’m not letting you take this one from me, Horan. Not this time.”

Niall glares at you, his frustration clear. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You blocked me?” He laughs in disbelief, his voice dripping with irritation. “That’s low, even for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Low? I’m just playing the game, Niall. You’re the one who’s been stealing from me all this time. Now it’s my turn.”

Blake chuckles from his chair, glancing at Kelly. “Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s finally getting a taste of their own medicine.”

“Guess it’s just what happens when you think you can take everyone,” Kelly adds, teasing Niall in her signature way.

You can’t help but let out a small laugh, enjoying the chaos you’ve caused. Niall, though, is seething. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth.

“Well, let’s see how this plays out then,” he mutters under his breath, clearly fuming.

You keep your eyes locked on him for a second longer, enjoying the tension that’s now simmering between you. You’ve managed to outplay him for once—and it feels good.

The contestant finishes their performance with a final, dramatic note, and the moment of silence feels like an eternity.

Blake is the first to hit his button, and then Kelly does the same. But you’re waiting.

As soon as the contestant finishes, you hit your button again, and the chair spins. You watch the contestant’s face light up with excitement as they see your chair turned, and your heart swells with satisfaction.

But Niall’s chair remains turned away. You know he’s struggling to hide his annoyance.

“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me,” you say, your voice almost a challenge as you look over at him.

He meets your gaze, his jaw clenched, eyes narrow. “You’ll regret that,” he says under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

“I highly doubt it,” you reply, turning your attention back to the contestant, ignoring Niall’s glare. You’ve just taken something precious from him, and it feels good.

The contestant steps forward, looking between the coaches, clearly thrilled by the attention they’ve just received from all of you. But you know this is where it gets tricky. You’ve got the advantage—Niall is blocked, and now you have to convince the contestant to join your team.

“Listen,” you begin, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve got a voice that can move mountains. I can help you take that talent to the next level. I know exactly how to guide you to success, and I’d love for you to be on my team.”

“You made the right choice,” they say with a smile, stepping toward your team.

A rush of triumph fills your chest as you give the contestant a big smile. “I won’t let you down.”

Niall, on the other hand, is trying to keep his cool, but you can tell by the way his shoulders are tense and the way he’s not looking at you that you’ve won this round. You couldn’t help but enjoy it just a little.

...

The moment you step backstage, the adrenaline from the Blind Audition still courses through your veins. You’ve just blocked Niall, taken a contestant right from under his nose, and it feels damn good.

You pull your jacket tighter around you, your mind racing with the satisfaction of winning this round. But just as you think you're in the clear, you hear a voice behind you—low, smooth, and unmistakably Niall's.

"You think you’ve won, don’t you?” His voice is laced with that teasing arrogance that always makes your blood boil.

You turn around, your heart racing at the sight of him, standing there with that smirk plastered across his face. His eyes narrow as they meet yours, like he's trying to read every thought behind your cool exterior. But you can’t let him get to you. Not now.

"Won? It’s just a game, Horan," you reply, your voice biting. "But I guess that’s a concept you wouldn’t understand, considering how you’ve been playing this entire season."

Niall takes a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. His cocky grin remains, but there’s a tension in his posture that you can’t ignore. "I don’t need to play games when I’ve got talent on my team," he says, his voice low and challenging. “You think you’re so clever, blocking me? But it’s only a matter of time before I take it all back. You can’t keep this up forever.”

You lean against the nearby wall, crossing your arms and letting out a sharp breath. "You’re all talk, Horan. And honestly? I’m getting sick of hearing it. You’ve been stealing from me every round, but you can’t take a little competition?"

Niall smirks, clearly enjoying the way your frustration is boiling over. "You’re cute when you get all fired up, you know that?" His voice drops an octave, and you can feel the shift in the air between you. His words hang in the space, almost like a dare.

You roll your eyes, refusing to let him get the best of you. "Cut the crap, Niall. This isn’t about flirting. It’s about the competition. Keep it professional."

But even as you say it, you can feel the heat radiating from him. The way he’s standing so close now, his presence filling the space with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. His scent, that mix of cologne and something undeniably him, seems to invade your senses. You try to ignore it, but your pulse betrays you, speeding up in a way you can’t control.

He steps even closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for a bottle of water on the counter, his fingers grazing your skin just long enough to send a jolt of electricity through your body.

The contact is brief, but it’s enough to make the air between you both thick with something unspoken. The sexual tension is palpable now, hanging between you like a storm ready to break.

"Keep telling yourself that," Niall murmurs, his eyes flicking down to your lips for just a moment before meeting your gaze again. His voice is soft, almost teasing, as if he's savoring this back-and-forth. "But we both know there's more to this than just the competition."

You can’t breathe for a moment, your mind racing. You hate the fact that he’s right, that you feel something when he’s near. Something more than just professional rivalry.

But you won’t let him see that. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing how much he’s affecting you.

"Just keep it up, Horan," you bite back, pushing off the wall and standing straighter, trying to compose yourself. "You might be cute, but I’m not here for games. You’ll see. I’m not the one who’ll be standing alone in the end."

Niall chuckles, that wicked grin never leaving his face. “Oh, I’m not so sure about that.” He leans in just slightly, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispers, “I can be very convincing when I want to be.”

The heat of his breath against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, but you refuse to show it. You grit your teeth, stepping back and putting some distance between you two.

"You’re delusional," you snap, fighting to keep your voice steady. "If you think I’m falling for your charming act, you're sorely mistaken."

Niall stands there for a moment, his eyes flicking to your lips once more before he straightens up and steps back. "Maybe I’m not trying to charm you." His gaze hardens as his smile turns into something a little darker. "But keep pretending that’s not exactly what’s happening. It’s cute, really."

You can’t stand it. You’re done with him. “You’re so full of yourself,” you mutter under your breath, turning away to gather your thoughts.

But Niall isn’t finished yet. "I’ll leave you to your delusions, sweetheart. But just remember this—no matter how much you try to block me, I’ll always find a way to get to you." His voice is thick with meaning, like he’s daring you to challenge him.

You turn back just in time to catch the glint in his eyes, the fire still burning between you. For a moment, neither of you moves. There’s a beat of silence, heavy with the unspoken words and emotions that have been building since you walked into this backstage area.

Then, without another word, Niall walks away, leaving you standing there, heart pounding in your chest and a fire raging inside you that you can’t quite extinguish.

...

The air backstage is filled with anticipation as the Battle Rounds approach. The tension between you and Niall has only grown over the course of the blind auditions, and it’s now time to take things to the next level. Every coach knows this round is critical—not just for the contestants, but for their pride.

The producers have a surprise in store for everyone tonight. To kick off the Battle Rounds in a spectacular way, they’ve asked the four coaches to perform a song together as an opening number. After a brief moment of surprise, all of you agree to the idea, knowing it’s a perfect way to set the tone for the intense competition ahead.

The air is thick with anticipation. The studio lights blaze above, casting a bright glow over the stage. The live band hums behind you, ready to bring the rhythm to life. You’re seated in one of the ornate chairs, feeling the weight of the competition settle on your shoulders. You glance around the circle of coaches—Niall is sitting next to you, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp. He shoots you a half-smile, the kind that holds a hint of something else, a little too playful. You catch his gaze, but you refuse to acknowledge it for too long, focusing instead on the task ahead.

Blake and Kelly are to the other side of Niall, both chatting lightly amongst themselves, their voices floating over the murmur of the audience. Blake is already making faces at the crowd, showing off for the cameras, but Kelly’s gaze keeps flicking between you and Niall, like she’s sensing the tension brewing between you two. You know she’s not blind to it—neither is Blake, for that matter.

The band strikes up the first notes of Can't Take My Eyes Off You, and the audience erupts in cheers. You lift the microphone, feeling the weight of it in your hand, and your nerves dissipate into the music. The competition has officially begun—this performance will set the stage for the battle rounds, and every word you sing feels heavier now.

You glance over at Niall, your heart giving a small jolt as he leans slightly toward you, his voice low but unmistakable. He’s waiting for the right moment to take the lead, but you’re not going to let him have it that easily. You shift in your seat, ready for the challenge.

The first verse starts, and you sing, your voice floating smoothly into the air.

"You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you"

You feel Niall's presence beside you—his attention unwavering as he follows your lead. But there’s something else there, something beneath the surface. His eyes flick to you as you sing, the playful challenge between the two of you still palpable. He leans closer just as his turn comes, and you can feel the air shift.

"You'd be like Heaven to touch I wanna hold you so much"

There’s a subtle tension building between you, an invisible string connecting you both as your voices harmonise. The entire moment feels charged, as though you’re both competing for the spotlight, even though you’re supposed to be collaborating. You can’t deny the heat of his gaze as it lingers on you, something unspoken between you, neither of you willing to break it.

The song swells, and you take your turn with a bit more flair, your eyes locking with Niall’s.

"I love you, baby And if it's quite alright I need you, baby To warm the lonely night I love you, baby Trust in me when I say"

The two of you are side by side, but it feels like you’re worlds apart. You can sense his smirk before he even opens his mouth, and when he sings, his voice smooth and teasing, you can almost feel the challenge in his words.

"Oh, pretty baby Don't bring me down, I pray Oh, pretty baby Now that I've found you, stay"

You fight to keep your composure, your voice strong, but it’s hard to ignore the silent battle unfolding between you two. He’s playing with you, pushing you, and you won’t back down.

You both reach the final chorus, and there’s a shift—a spark that ignites between you as you sing in tandem. The energy is electric, the entire performance now feeling like it’s not just about the song, but about proving something. To each other. To the audience.

"And let me love you, baby Let me love you"

The crowd’s roar rises as you finish the last note. The music fades, and you both hold your microphones, your breath heavy from the performance. You steal another glance at Niall, and this time, his smirk is gone, replaced by something else—a quiet recognition. His eyes linger on yours, and for a moment, there’s an unspoken understanding between you.

The applause is deafening as the coaches exchange looks, Blake already grinning and giving you both a thumbs-up, while Kelly gives you an approving nod. But it’s Niall’s gaze that sticks with you—the challenge is still there, unspoken, but clear. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, his eyes still on you.

You can feel the tension between you like a string pulled tight, waiting for the next move.

...

The applause still rings faintly in your ears as you make your way backstage. The buzz of the performance is dulled by the swirl of thoughts in your head—mainly, Niall. The way he leaned just a little too close during the song, his voice dipping in that teasing way he knows drives you mad.

And maybe it’s the heat of the performance or the months of frustration bubbling over, but you’re done. Done letting this hang over you, done second-guessing every look, word, and touch from him.

You spot him by the craft services table, casually leaning against it like he doesn’t have a care in the world, laughing with some producer. His easy charm grates on you, pushing you to stride over, your steps fueled by determination and anger.

“Niall,” you say sharply. He turns, his brows lifting in surprise. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Alright then,” he drawls, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t think you’d be so eager for some one-on-one time, love.”

“Save it,” you snap, your tone brooking no argument. “Somewhere private.”

His smirk falters, curiosity flashing in his eyes, but he shrugs and follows you into the quiet hallway. The air between you is already thick, and as soon as you’re out of sight from the crew, you whirl on him.

“I’m not playing games anymore, Niall,” you say, your voice taut. “What did you mean at the awards show? The comment about my ‘style’—what was that supposed to be?”

He blinks, caught off guard. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“Yes, I’m still hung up on it!” you snap, your frustration boiling over. “You made me look like a joke in front of everyone. So, explain. Was it a cheap shot, or were you just being your usual, arrogant self?”

Niall exhales, dragging a hand through his hair, but his playful smirk doesn’t quite disappear. “You really think I’d waste my time taking cheap shots at you?”

“Don’t act like you’re above it,” you fire back. “You’ve been throwing jabs at me since day one.”

“Because you make it so bloody easy,” he counters, stepping closer, his voice low and laced with that maddening charm. “You walk in with your head held high, acting like you’re untouchable. It’s…endearing.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me,” you say, pointing a finger at his chest.

He grabs your hand before you can pull away, his grip firm but not harsh. “I’m not patronizing you,” he murmurs, his tone dropping. “I’m telling you the truth. You’ve got this fire about you that makes it impossible not to push your buttons.”

You snatch your hand back, your pulse racing for reasons you’d rather not admit. “So, that’s what this is? Some kind of sick game to you?”

“No,” he says, his own frustration flaring now. “It’s not a game. But maybe I said what I said back then because I was jealous, alright? You’ve got this incredible career, this talent I can’t help but admire, and I—”

“Jealous?” you cut him off, your voice incredulous. “That’s your excuse? You made me feel small because you were insecure?”

His jaw tightens, and he steps even closer, his blue eyes blazing. “You don’t get it, do you? It wasn’t about making you feel small. It was about getting your attention. And, for the record, I’ve got a lot of respect for you, even if you refuse to see it.”

“Respect?” you laugh bitterly. “Is that what you call constantly flirting and turning everything into a competition?”

“Would you rather I ignored you?” he shoots back. “Because I don’t think you’d like that either.”

His words cut through you, your heart pounding as the tension between you reaches a breaking point. His gaze is locked on yours, and for a split second, you think he might close the distance between you.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, stepping back to break whatever spell this is.

“And you’re infuriating,” he retorts, though there’s something softer in his voice now. “But admit it—you’d miss me if I stopped trying.”

You hate how your cheeks heat at his words, how your anger feels tangled up in something deeper, something you’re not ready to name.

“Forget it,” you say, shaking your head. “This was a mistake.”

You turn and walk away, not daring to look back. But you can feel his eyes on you, and his words—sharp, teasing, and maddeningly honest—linger long after you’ve gone.

…

The Battle Rounds are behind you now, but the tension between you and Niall hasn’t eased in the slightest. If anything, it’s only grown sharper with every exchange, every offhanded quip, and every side-eyed glance from him that lingers just a beat too long. The audience eats it up, of course, but for you, it’s exhausting. Weeks of sniping at each other on live television have done nothing to resolve the resentment simmering beneath the surface. Now, it’s the Knockouts, and fate—or maybe just some cruel producer with a sense of humor—has pitted your contestant against Niall’s.

You sit in your oversized chair, trying to project calm confidence, but the energy crackling in the room feels like it’s working against you. Niall is close enough that you can hear him tapping his foot against the base of his chair, his arm draped over the backrest in that infuriatingly casual way that makes it seem like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His contestant is up first, and when the cameras cut to you both for reactions, he leans toward you with a grin that’s all smug mischief.

“Hope your kid brought their A-game,” he murmurs, his voice pitched low enough that only you can hear. “Mine’s about to blow the roof off.”

You don’t bother looking at him, keeping your gaze fixed on the stage instead. “Confidence is cute, Niall. Overconfidence, though? Not so much.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and maddeningly unbothered. “We’ll see how cute it looks when I’m walking out of here with another win under my belt.”

The lights dim, signaling the start of the performance, and Niall leans back in his chair, still grinning as if he already knows the outcome.

His contestant delivers a near-flawless performance, commanding the stage with an undeniable presence and a pitch-perfect rendition of a current pop anthem. The audience is eating it up, cheering and clapping in all the right places. You can’t deny the talent—it’s impressive. Annoyingly so.

When the performance ends, the applause is thunderous, and Niall is on his feet, clapping like a proud parent at a school recital. He glances at you as he sits back down, his grin sharper now. “Tough act to follow, eh?”

You finally meet his gaze, matching his smirk with one of your own. “Oh, don’t worry. My contestant knows how to make an impression.”

And they do. Your contestant strides onto the stage and delivers a performance brimming with raw emotion and artistry. It’s less polished than Niall’s act but undeniably heartfelt, a stark contrast that resonates with the crowd. By the time the final note rings out, the audience is on their feet again, their applause just as loud as before.

You glance at Niall, satisfied to see his expression falter—if only for a moment. “What was that you were saying earlier?” you ask, your tone sweet and pointed.

But Niall recovers quickly, leaning closer as the audience noise fades. “Not bad,” he says, his grin returning. “I’ll give it to you—your kid’s got heart. But sometimes heart isn’t enough, love.”

The final decision is made, and when the host announces Niall’s contestant as the winner, he explodes out of his seat, throwing his arms in the air with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“YES!” he shouts, turning to you with a laugh that’s equal parts giddy and teasing. “Told you, didn’t I?”

You stay seated, forcing a tight smile as the cameras cut to you. “Congratulations,” you say through gritted teeth, though your eyes narrow as he takes his sweet time basking in the moment.

As the stage clears and the contestants exit, Niall plops back down in his chair, still buzzing with energy. He leans toward you again, his voice a soft murmur so only you can hear. “Don’t take it too hard, love. You’re still my favorite rival.”

You glare at him, your composure slipping for just a second as your frustration bubbles over. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here we are,” he says with a wink, clearly relishing every second of your irritation.

The cameras cut to a commercial break, but the tension between you remains.

…

The day finally comes to an end, and the air backstage is charged with the hum of crew members packing up, the chatter of contestants celebrating or consoling one another, and the occasional burst of laughter from Kelly and Blake somewhere nearby. You’re standing at your vanity, wiping the last of your makeup off, your reflection staring back at you with tired, frustrated eyes. It’s not just the long day weighing on you—it’s him. Niall.

The Knockout rounds have been a whirlwind, but tonight felt like the final straw. His cocky grin, his teasing, the way he gloated about his contestant's win—it’s all too much. You’re still stewing over it when you hear his voice from the doorway.

“Burning a hole in the mirror there, love. What’d it ever do to you?”

You glance at him in the reflection. He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his tie loosened and his shirt untucked like he owns the damn place. His hair is a little mussed, his grin infuriatingly lazy, and yet your stomach tightens in that traitorous way it always does when he’s around.

“I’m not in the mood, Niall,” you say flatly, turning back to the mirror.

He steps inside anyway, the sound of his boots soft against the carpet. “Come on, don’t be like that. It’s not my fault you can’t handle a bit of competition.”

You spin around, unable to stop yourself. “Competition? You mean you strutting around like a peacock and rubbing it in everyone’s faces every time you win? Yeah, real classy.”

Niall’s eyebrows shoot up, but there’s amusement flickering in his eyes. “Strutting like a peacock? That’s rich coming from you, miss ‘watch my contestant steal the show.’ You’ve got the whole humble act down, but we both know you love being center stage.”

Your pulse races, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you are so full of yourself. Do you even hear the things you say?”

“Oh, I hear them,” he says, stepping closer. “And so do you. That’s why you’re always snapping back, isn’t it? Admit it—you love our little game.”

“I—” you start, but the words die in your throat because he’s too close now, his scent—clean, woodsy, with a hint of something darker—filling your senses.

“You want to know what really gets to you?” he murmurs, his voice dropping low, his eyes locking onto yours. “It’s not my ego. It’s not the teasing. It’s the fact that you feel something when we’re going at it. Admit it. You hate how much I get under your skin because part of you likes it.”

Your heart is hammering now, and every nerve in your body feels alive, sparking with frustration and something else, something hotter. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I know this,” he says, his hand brushing against yours, his fingers curling lightly around your wrist. “If I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.”

And there it is—his challenge, his dare, hanging in the charged air between you.

Your breath catches, and before you can overthink it, your free hand grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him down. The moment your lips collide, it’s like a dam breaking.

The kiss is fire and electricity, all-consuming and frantic, mouths clashing as though you’re trying to prove something, trying to win a battle neither of you truly wants to end. His hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, his grip firm and possessive. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging, eliciting a low growl from him that sends a shiver down your spine.

The world fades away—the noise outside, the glaring lights, the rivalry that’s defined your relationship. All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours, the press of his body against yours, the way his hands roam as though he’s memorizing every inch of you.

His tongue slides against yours, and the sensation pulls a soft gasp from you. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his teeth nipping lightly at your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. You press closer, your back hitting the edge of the vanity, and he groans against your mouth as his hands grip your hips tighter.

It’s fiery and desperate, and for a moment, you wonder if you’ll lose yourself completely in him. His lips trail along your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin as he murmurs, “God, you drive me mad, you know that?”

The sound of his voice, rough and breathless, snaps you back to reality. You push against his chest, not hard enough to truly separate, but enough to remind yourself where you are.

“Niall,” you whisper, your voice shaky.

He pauses, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and pink, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Say the word,” he murmurs, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You don’t say anything for a long moment, your mind spinning, your body still thrumming from his touch. Finally, you exhale, your voice trembling but steady. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “Sure, love. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

And just like that, he’s backing away, leaving you leaning against the vanity, your lips still tingling and your heart racing. As he walks out, he glances over his shoulder, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

You’re left alone in the quiet room, the ghost of his touch lingering on your skin, and you know—this changes everything.

...

The following morning dawns crisp and bright, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that marked the Knockout rounds. The studio buzzes with its usual pre-show energy, but you feel strangely detached, your thoughts replaying the night before on an endless loop. Niall's words, his touch, his kiss—all of it lingers, pulling your focus no matter how hard you try to shake it off.

You’ve managed to avoid him all morning, diving into rehearsals with your team and keeping your interactions limited to polite nods when absolutely necessary. But as fate—or that same meddling producer—would have it, you find yourself alone in one of the empty sound booths just before lunch, reviewing notes for your contestant. And then, like clockwork, he’s there.

“Running away from me already?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper beneath it, something uncertain.

You don’t look up, pretending to be engrossed in the clipboard in your hands. “Not everything’s about you, Niall.”

He leans casually against the doorframe, a familiar grin tugging at his lips. “Last night felt pretty personal, though. Or am I imagining things?”

Your cheeks burn at the memory, and you finally look at him, your expression carefully neutral. “If you’re here to gloat, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.”

His grin falters slightly, and he steps inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “I’m not here to gloat,” he says softly, his tone a stark departure from his usual bravado. “I’m here because we need to talk.”

You set the clipboard down, crossing your arms defensively. “About what? How you can’t seem to go five minutes without trying to get under my skin?”

“About why I do it,” he counters, his voice steady, his gaze locked onto yours. “Because I can’t seem to help myself when it comes to you.”

The confession hangs in the air, and for a moment, you can’t breathe. He takes a tentative step closer, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s searching for something—permission, maybe, or understanding.

“Do you even know how this started?” you ask finally, your voice quieter now, almost tentative. “What you said back then—about my style. It felt like you were tearing me down, like you didn’t think I deserved to be here.”

Niall winces, his jaw tightening. “I know. And I was a right idiot for saying it like that.” He rubs the back of his neck, exhaling heavily. “But it wasn’t what I meant, not really. I said it because… hell, because I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” you repeat, incredulous.

He nods, his expression surprisingly vulnerable. “You walked into that room like you belonged there, like you were untouchable. And I—I hated how much I noticed. How much I admired it. You had this fire, and it scared the hell out of me, but it also drew me in. So, yeah, I made that stupid comment, and then the press ran with it, and before I knew it, we were enemies.”

You stare at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “You could’ve just said that.”

“I didn’t know how,” he admits, his voice low. “Still don’t, half the time. It’s easier to tease, to rile you up, because at least then I get a reaction. At least then I get to feel close to you, even if it’s in the middle of a fight.”

Your heart pounds, your defenses crumbling as you take a shaky breath. “Niall…”

He steps closer, his hand reaching for yours but stopping just short. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this, love. Tell me I didn’t ruin us before we even had a chance.”

For a moment, the room feels impossibly small, the air between you heavy with unspoken possibilities. Then, slowly, you take his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “You didn’t ruin anything,” you whisper. “But you’re damn good at making things complicated.”

He laughs softly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulls you closer. “I’ll take complicated if it means I get to keep this—keep you.”

And then his lips are on yours again, softer this time but no less consuming. The kiss is a promise, a new beginning, and when you pull back, your foreheads resting together, you know there’s no turning back.

“Well,” you murmur, a small smile tugging at your lips. “This should make the live shows interesting.”

His grin is back, full and unapologetically cocky. “Oh, love, you have no idea.”

The rivalry isn’t over—it never will be. But as he holds you close, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand, you realize you wouldn’t want it any other way.

...

The finale of The Voice is a spectacle unlike any other. The stage is a kaleidoscope of lights and sound, the energy in the room electric as the final contestants prepare for their performances. Months of hard work, endless rehearsals, and nail-biting eliminations have led to this moment—and while the focus is supposed to be on the contestants, the coaches’ chemistry has become just as much a part of the story.

Specifically, yours and Niall’s.

The once-infamous rivalry has evolved into something else entirely, leaving fans, contestants, and even the production team buzzing with speculation. You and Niall are still competitive, but the edge has softened. He cheers for your team members, and you’ve been caught smiling—smiling!—at his. The biting comments have turned into playful banter, and there’s a lingering warmth in your interactions that has everyone guessing.

“Okay, spill,” Kelly says during a commercial break, leaning over the arm of her chair to give you a pointed look. “What is going on with you two? First, you’re at each other’s throats, and now it’s like... I don’t know, some rom-com in the making.”

Blake chimes in, arms crossed and smirking. “I don’t know about rom-com. It’s more like a Hallmark movie—predictable as hell. I mean, just kiss already.”

“Will you two stop?” you hiss, glancing at the cameras, but your flushed cheeks give you away.

Niall, sitting in his chair with all the confidence in the world, just grins. “Don’t listen to them, love. Let them speculate. It’s more fun that way.”

Kelly raises an eyebrow. “See? That. That right there. The way he calls you ‘love’ like it’s no big deal. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Before you can respond, the host’s voice fills the arena, announcing the night’s first performance. The conversation is tabled—for now—but the tension lingers, amplified by the way Niall’s gaze keeps finding yours, even when the cameras aren’t rolling.

...

The finale flies by in a whirlwind of stunning performances, heartfelt speeches, and a palpable sense of anticipation. The votes are tallied, and the stage is set for the big announcement. You stand with the other coaches, your heart pounding as the host begins the dramatic countdown.

“And the winner of The Voice is…”

The crowd erupts as the host calls out Niall’s contestant’s name. Confetti rains down, music swells, and Niall throws his arms up in triumph. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he pulls his contestant into a celebratory hug, but his eyes flick to you almost immediately.

You clap for the winner, genuinely happy despite the outcome. You’ve come to respect Niall’s coaching style, even if his ego sometimes gets in the way. He’s good at what he does—annoyingly good—and you can’t help but admire him for it.

As the chaos dies down and the cameras cut back to the coaches, the host turns to you and Niall, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Now, before we wrap up this incredible season, I think there’s one question on everyone’s mind.”

Your stomach drops. Oh no.

The host gestures between you and Niall. “What’s the deal here? First, you’re rivals, then you’re besties—what’s really going on?”

The audience roars with laughter and cheers, and you’re about to brush it off with a witty comment when Niall steps forward, his grin turning downright devilish.

“Well,” he says, his voice carrying easily over the noise, “I think it’s about time we clear the air, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen. “Niall, don’t you dare—”

But he does. Before you can stop him, he strides over, cups your face in his hands, and kisses you.

It’s not just any kiss. It’s a moment. The kind that steals your breath and melts your knees. His lips are warm, firm, and utterly consuming as he pulls you closer, one hand sliding to your waist as the other cradles your cheek. The crowd goes absolutely wild, screaming and clapping, and you vaguely hear Blake yelling something like, “FINALLY!”

For a second, you forget the cameras, the audience, everything but the feel of Niall’s mouth on yours and the way he holds you like you’re the only thing that matters. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his grin as bright as the stage lights.

“Guess the secret’s out, love,” he murmurs, his voice just loud enough for you to hear.

You blink, your heart racing, and manage to mutter, “You are so dead.”

He just laughs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he turns to the audience. “Thanks for a great season, everyone!”

The cameras capture every second, and by the time you make it backstage, the internet is already exploding. #NiallAndY/NFinale, #VoiceCoupleGoals, and #EnemiesToLovers are trending worldwide, with clips of the kiss going viral in real time.

Kelly and Blake are waiting for you in the green room, both grinning like Cheshire cats. “Well, that was dramatic,” Kelly says, sipping her drink. “Even for you two.”

Blake claps Niall on the shoulder. “You’ve got guts, Horan. I’ll give you that.”

Niall just shrugs, looking completely unrepentant. “What can I say? I like making headlines.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. As much as you want to throttle him for the public spectacle, there’s no denying the weight that’s lifted now that the truth is out.

Later, as you sneak away from the chaos for a quiet moment, Niall finds you leaning against a backstage railing, staring out at the city lights. He slides his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Not bad for a season finale, huh?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

You tilt your head back to look at him, your chest tightening at the softness in his gaze. “You really are insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

...

Part 2

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | preview

FULL FIC HERE

teaser wc: 783 (angst, suggestive) full fic genre: angst, smut, fluff (10k+) a/n: SURPRISE & let me know what you think for this :) also lmk if you would like to be tagged... i'm so excited to write rockstar hyuck!!! playlists for the fic | next preview

"did anyone follow you up here?" 

haechan sits with his legs hanging off the edge of the roof, arms slung over one of the lower rungs of the railing. he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes another drink from his bottle of red wine, knowing that you're hanging onto his every word.

"no," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. you repeat yourself again, louder, hating the way your voice shakes with hesitance. "no, i don't think so."

he exhales, shrugging off the leather jacket that hangs large over his frame, his shoulderblades moving under his white shirt, veiny arms pushing the bottle to the side as he shifts himself backwards fluidly so he's further away from the ledge, his long legs stretched out. 

"well?" and now he turns to look at you, dark eyes framed with makeup searching for yours, his gaze heavy. the piercing on his eyebrow glints in the moonlight, and when he leans his weight back on his hands, his shirt rides up so that you can see just the hint of a tattoo curling low on his hip. "are you ready?" 

feet unsteady, you shuffle over to him, standing over him as he watches you through hooded eyes. unsure, you start to sit down next to him, but a hand quickly reaches out to touch your knee, dragging his touch up the back of your thigh, the cold scrape of his rings on your skin feeling rough and claiming all at once. his lips part almost mockingly, commanding you without words to stop.

he flicks his gaze down to his lap, eyes flickering back up to yours. eyebrows raised, as if in a challenge.

slowly, you lower yourself onto his lap, hands hesitantly grasping for his shoulders. his arms come to steady your waist, slipping under your shirt and touching bare skin, feeling the way your body shifts and moves. and it's only because you're so pressed up against him, his hands roaming up and down your thighs, that he notices something which makes him halt his movements, licking his lips. 

"you're shaking," he murmurs, now brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking a strand behind your ear as he studies you, taking in the way you're all tensed up, the uncomfortable way your legs are folded, goosebumps erupting every time his fingertips brushed your skin, muscles trembling.

you swallow. "i've never done this before," you admit. 

his eyes widen, now removing his hands from you entirely, letting them fall. "you're a virgin?" 

you nod, heart pounding in your chest. he's looking away, his jaw set, his gaze hardened. did he hate that you had no experience? or would he enjoy that? "i can…" the words come out in a jumble, "you can teach me, i want… i want to-" 

"no." with surprising gentleness, he motions for you to move off his lap, and you follow his actions mindlessly, docile under his hands. 

"do you think i won't be good enough?" you ask, hating the way your voice comes out wounded and achy, hating how weak he made you. 

he pauses, tongue poking into the side of his cheek, and you think you can see a flash of something deep in his eyes. 

"y/n…i can't be your first time." 

"but i want –" 

"you need to be with someone who will take care of you." despite his words, his voice is cold and clear. "i don't do that." he dusts off his jacket, shrugging it back on as he takes another drink from the bottle, eyes closed, unwilling to look at you for another second. "go home, y/n. i'll see you at the next show." 

you don't move. you kneel there, next to him, eyes desperately searching for his. 

"go home, y/n," he repeats, harshly. 

"i want to stay here," you bite back, stubbornly, hurt making your voice brittle. 

"then you'll have to watch me fuck someone else." lazily, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket for his phone, and you can see him scroll through his messages, faces and names blurring as you barely decipher him type out another message. his fingers move across the keyboard, as the anonymous responder sends a series of heart emojis, eagerness palpable through the screen.

he locks his phone, the click sound startling you out of your daze, and he puts it down on his lap, the action somehow mocking.

"so?" he's still not looking at you, staring straight ahead into the night. "do you want to watch?" 

and as you make your way down the stairs, shame burning at your neck and tears burning hot down your cheeks, you can swear you feel his eyes follow you all the way down. 

-> read the next preview here

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Intro🔞

Unrequited love can be oh-so painful, especially as a hopeless romantic like Jeon Jungkook. You're supposed to just momentarily soothe his aching heart and take his mind off of things- but something about you just draws him in...

Tags/Warnings: Punk!Jungkook, strangers to lovers, Stereotypes, description of Unrequited love, romance, accidental flirting, some angst, major fluff, smut

Length: 2k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: this was supposed to be an angsty oneshot. Thanks to @euphoricfilter I decided to make it a softer series instead.

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Jungkook doesn't really know you. 

He knows that you don't like wearing pants, which is why you wear a simple cotton dress tonight despite the weather outside. You layered a sweater over it, and you wear fluffy overknee socks and boots- everything cute, a little oversized, giving you an overall soft appearance. He also knows that you don't really want to be here, that you accompanied a friend but that she went to make out with some boy she had her eyes on the entire night. And he knows your age, your name, and that you have a very nice voice. 

A voice currently whimpering against his ear, as he holds your thighs to keep you propped up against the wall while he thrusts his hips into you. He didn't really think much of it when you suggested this, and he definitely didn't think much of it when he agreed- after all, looks are just looks, down the line, and just because you don't look the part doesn't mean you can't be a little wild. 

What he did not expect was for you to turn out to taste so sweet- the entire ordeal of just a quick fuck feeling like something much more than he's used to. You're supposed to just take his mind off of his long time crush currently probably getting railed in the car outside- and you're doing much more than that. 

It’s like you’re giving him something entirely new to think about. Like you’re someone capable of filling her place in his head. 

Your hands on his shoulders, fingers digging into his leather jacket. The warm skin of your thighs, feeling just so good in his hands. And not to mention that clench of your core around his length, making him feel sensitive even despite the condom he wears. 

"What if you just find someone else, too?" You'd wondered at him at the bar earlier, cheek a little squished as you rested your face on one of your hands, looking at him. "She clearly doesn't want you from what I can tell. So stop pining after someone who doesn't see you." You'd boldly stated, throwing the bucket of cold water over his head- shaking him awake, in a way, because no one's really put it out in the open like that to him up until you. It's tough to hear it, but it's the truth- and you're right. 

He needed a distraction. And you seemed to be the perfect opportunity. 

Lucy had always kept him close- dangling him from a string in front of her heart, never letting him reach it- because it had always been closed off, her interest more in what she could gain from him, and not what she could give him as well. She clearly only really kept him close so he could do things for her- help her move, build up furniture, take care of her cat multiple times a week, even buy her things. Jungkook paid for her rent for half a year- simply because he wanted to show her that he was in it with a full and honest heart. 

He wanted her to see him. But just like you said, she doesn't. Because she doesn't want to see him. She doesn't want him. 

"And where would I find someone else?" Jungkook had asked, eyes finding yours as you'd shrugged. 

"Can't promise you a mind-blowing experience-" You'd told him, one of your legs moving forward to playfully kick his boot. "-but I'm right here." 

And right here you are. 

You smell really nice- he realizes that as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, your skin flushed and hot against his lips. He's not sure why he feels almost guilty taking you like this- you seem more like someone who deserves a romantic date night and then a good long slow-fuck in an actual bedroom, not some underground club storage room. You're currently single, and he knows that from you as well, but he's sure that you won't have any trouble finding someone in the near future. 

Though the thought of it makes him a little.. Upset, almost. Jealous? 

"You close?" He growls into your neck, and you simply nod in response, making him chuckle. You seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, but you're actually kind of cute in this moment. He's, despite his looks, not one to usually do these kinds of things- he's a romantic, even if it's more of an unconventional one. He craves something real and authentic, something that knocks the breath out of his lungs and swallows his heart whole.  

Huh. 

Maybe under different circumstances, you could've been just that for him. He can imagine falling for you if you'd met sooner, or in a different situation- you seem very nice, with a laid back personality added to it. Your pretty face and pretty body is just an added bonus- and he feels a bit disappointed knowing he'll never see you fully nude.

What could you be hiding underneath those clothes? 

For sure something to be worshipped, a body meant to be made love to and not this right now. But you're already at the end, as he bites his lips and pushes you over the edge, your fingers clawing at his leather jacket as you weakly whimper out in pleasure, his own high a lot softer than yours. That doesn't mean it's any less fulfilling- in fact it's a pretty damn good one, drawn out, making the muscles in his thighs stutter a bit as he holds you up for a bit longer, before he slowly sets you back down to your feet.  

You avoid looking at him now. He wonders if you regret it.  

But is that really any of his business? 

"Okay?" He asks, much to his own surprise as he helps you stand, music dull, bass almost the only thing you can both hear as he strips the condom off and finds some tissues to clean himself up- giving some to you as well. You take them silently, and clean yourself up, watching him throw everything into a trash bin nearby. It's only now that you seem to take a look around the small storage room you're both in, before you pull up your underwear, cringing at the odd feeling in your legs. "You good?" Jungkook chuckles- but you still don't look at him, simply nod before you seem to adjust yourself. How do you really feel about this? 

It's none of his business. So why does he feel like it is?  

"Do you.. I don't know, do you want me to drive you home?" He wonders. "If your friend isn't back, I mean." He adds, and you shrug.  

"Yeah." You tell him almost indifferently, before he nods, and leads you back outside, music suddenly loud and clear again. "but.. I think I can see here over there." You mumble, as Jungkook adjusts the back of your clothes for you, something he didn't even notice doing until his hands were already on you. There's something.. odd about you. A strange attraction, almost.  

He's not sure if it's just post-sex-attachment, or if it's genuine interest.  

“She seems awfully... occupied though.” Jungkook chuckles, watching together with you how she pretty much doesn’t seem to care that she’s basically getting undressed by the guy on the dancefloor. “I’ll wait with you at the bar if you’d like.” He suggests, and you shake your head, visibly disappointed.  

“No.” You deny. “Just..” You pull your little bag a little tighter over your shoulder. “..I changed my mind. Take me home, please.” You ask without looking at him, and he nods quietly, a hand on your shoulder leading you outside.  

His car is a little old, but the interior is clean and smells nice. He instantly turns the heat on, making sure you’re comfortable, radio playing quietly in the background while you click your phone into the holder, the navigation app having started to show him the journey to your home. “Oh? We don’t live that far apart.” He notices, as he pulls out of the parking lot in front of the club. “I live near the subway station, where that weird store is. The one where that old lady sells healing crystals and shit like that.” He attempts to smalltalk, and you nod.  

“Yeah, I know that one.” You answer. “My mom used to be friends with the woman that owns the shop..” You shrug.  

“Oh, cool.” He offers. “I don’t really believe in that stuff, but each their own.” He tells you.  

“I don’t believe in it either.” You admit. “But my mom does, so I just.. Pretend I do. I don’t like to fight with her.” You say, looking out the window to see it starting to rain a little.  

“You seem like someone who doesn’t like arguments.” He chuckles. “Which is a compliment, by the way.” He makes sure to underline. “Can I ask why you.. Seem so sad right now?”  

“Sure you can.” You say, before you look back at your hands in your lap. “It’s.. She does it a lot. My friend, I mean.” You admit, before you sigh. “I feel like she’s just.. I don’t know. Like I’m just a placeholder, good enough when there’s no one else around.”  

“Hm, I get what you mean.” He answers. “Some people are shit like that. My mom used to marry and divorce like she was aiming for a world record.” He laughs easily, stopping at a red light. “Some people just can’t be alone. It eats them up- so they take whatever company they can, and love too easily.” Jungkook explains.  

“But where’s the love in that?” You mumble almost too quiet for him to catch, looking out the window again where two children run through the rain after what you believe might be their mother holding a yellow umbrella.  

“For some, that’s love.” He shrugs. “It’s different for anybody. My definition of love probably is different from yours, and that’s fine too.” He offers.  

“I don’t even know.. What it is.” You sigh, defeated in your tone. “I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.”  

“You’ll know when it happens, trust me.” He tries to lift your mood. “Maybe we can.. I don’t know. Stay in touch, hang around together. I promise I might look like it but I’m not involved in any drug-related drama.” He laughs. “But all you need might just be a good friendgroup, a nice social circle. And I promise my friends are all cool, even though they’re all guys. They’re all in relationships- well, apart from me, but you know why that issue exists.” He chuckles.  

“You shouldn’t let her use you anymore, you know?” You say quietly, as the surrounding area outside the car becomes familiar. “You’re.. Too nice for someone like that.” You say, as he parks in front of the apartment building your phone exclaims is your destination of choice. You reach over to take your phone from the plastic holder, when you notice Jungkook watching you intently, before he speaks.  

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and you look at him with wide eyes, interior lights of his car reflecting in them, making him even more eager to find out how it’ll feel like if you gave him the chance. You shrug, before you nod, visibly confused, while his eyes roam around your face, as if they can’t decide what feature of yours to focus on.  

Everything looks too magical right now. Like some cheesy romantic drama.

He’s not sure if he likes it or not.  

But as his hand reaches out to help angle your face right to place his lips against yours, he’s surely enough made his decision, sweet lipbalm of yours fruity on his tongue as he fails to keep his cool, leaning over further, both of your eyes closed as you get lost in the whole action- though he finally has to break free, the moment enough to cut the spell you both have been under.  

“Well fuck me.” He starts to laugh. “Now I’ll definitely need your number.” he jokes, as he takes out his phone to do just that, your fingers typing in the numbers of your phone, your heart still racing in your chest.

All while his words keep repeating in your head.

'You'll know when it happens, trust me.'

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 2

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, power imbalance, low self esteem, 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: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn’t.

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. 💖

You finish your cocktail before you go into the concert hall. Roxie grabs a third and you pass, not wanting to run back and forth to the bathroom. Besides, you don’t really like the way the vodka stirs in your stomach and little behind your eyes.

The band is decent. You don’t know any of the songs and only vaguely heard of the artist they are a tribute to. Still, you enjoy the live show; you focus on their instruments and how they use them. You always wanted to be musical but never had a sense of tone or melody.

By the end of the set, you’re yawning. Your sister is on her fourth drink and you can’t tell if she’s swaying to the music or if it’s more than that. As the rows empty, you shuffle out with the rest of the concert goers. The bright lights of the casino greet your squint and your ears pulse slightly from the noise of the strumming and crashing show.

“Mm, so, what’d’ya say?” Your sister makes almost every word into one, “how do we spend this?”

She fishes out the chip and you give a sheepish frown. You almost forgot about it. You still think you should turn it in. You don’t feel right spending someone else’s money. You do that often enough, much too old to be living off your mom.

“Don’t be boring,” she warns, “jeez. It’s just cards. Odds are, whoever dropped it, would’ve lost it to the house anyway.”

She claps her hand around your shoulder. You pull back the sleeve of your cardigan to check the time. It’s after ten! You haven’t been out that late since... ever.

“I’m not boring,” you cross your arms and shrug her off. “I just... am different than you.”

“Boring,” she repeats. “You can’t spend all day in your room.”

Yes, you can. And you do.

You don’t argue. When she’s like this, it’s only bound to become a scene. There are too many strangers around for that.

“Black jack,” she declares and spins the coin. It slips from her grasp and falls between her feet. She bends over shamelessly in her dress to pluck it up. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

She struts ahead and you shuffle after her, nervously wringing the strap of your purse. Hopefully she loses it quickly and you can just retreat home in defeat. You catch up to her as she reaches the stairs. She giggles as she leans on the railing and you take her other arm, trying to support her wobbly steps.

“Want another drink?” She asks.

“No, think we’re good.”

“We?” She scoffs, “I’m fine.”

“Please, Rox, let’s just find a table,” you peek around as her voice rises a bit louder than you like.

“Pfft, fine, but if I win, I'm getting a drink.”

You nod. Go along to get along. That’s what your mother always told you when it came to your sister. She’s more like your father than she cares to admit.

You get to a table and she sits easily on the high seat of the tall stool. She lays down the single chip and the dealer offers to break it into smaller ones. She nods and shrugs. You envy how smoothly she just breezes through things.

You stand behind her. You don’t want to take up a seat and the stool is too much of a climb for you. You can see it wobbling as you attempt to hitch yourself up with the crossbar. You’re good, you shouldn’t get comfortable.

You listen to the shuffle of cards as your sister murmurs something you can’t make out. You can only hear the low drone of voices as you stand back. You sidle out of the way as a man claims the empty stool beside your sister. He buys in and another hand is dealt. Hasn’t she lost yet?

The man leans into your sister and you grimace. She turns her head to listen to him and she giggles. Your cheeks blaze hotly and you cross your arms and rock. Neither seem to notice you as they get closer and closer.

As the game progresses, you can only really make out what the dealer says; the different numbers that have grumbles coming from other players. You bring your hand up to pick at the button on your cardigan. The man puts his arm around your sister’s back, his hand on her hip as wiggles in her seat coyly. What about Tom?

You peer around awkwardly. Do you stop her? Remind her of the boyfriend that got her the tickets for tonight? You bounce in your flats and pause as you find someone else staring back at you. Or are they? Just as quickly as your eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes flit away and he’s back to chatting with another man. It’s the very same man who gave you the chip. Maybe her forgot you. That’s not a surprise.

You return your attention to your sister. The man has moved his arm between them and your sister squirms. You watch his elbow as he pulls his hand back. He’s touching her leg. She’s wiggling and suddenly, she shoves him away and screeches.

“EH! I got a boyfriend, perv! I said stop.”

Her voice carries along the high ceilings and you cringe. You back up, cowering away as she stands and the stool teeters dangerously. She fists her hand and you think for a moment she might just hit the guy. He scoffs and turns in his seat.

“Babe, just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Whatever. You fucking creep!” She hollers.

“Ma’am,” the dealer calls from the table, “is there a problem?”

“Y-yeah,” she hiccups, “this dude had his hand up my skirt.”

“She’s drunk,” the man shakes his head, “listen to her.”

“I’m--” your sister’s denial catches in her throat, “doesn’t mean he can just touch me.”

“Ma’am, if you’re drunk, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m fine. I'm not that...” She slides off the stool and stands, grabbing the chips in front of her seat and tossing them across the table. “You’re all a bunch of crooks.”

Her ankles tangle as she spins and she barely gets her balance before she storms away. Her strides are uneven as she bobbles drunkenly. You watch after her with wide eyes before you follow. She leads you into the bathrooms as she growls and grumbles. She slams into a stall and you stand outside.

You wait until she comes out. She’s quieter and her eyes are hazy. She washes her hands and applies a new coat of lip gloss.

“What a bust,” she pouts and rolls her eyes, “one more drink and we’ll go.”

“Maybe we should just leave now.”

“That guy was such a pervert,” she sneers at you, “you saw where his hand was.”

You nod, “yeah, I did...”

“So, you know I wasn’t being dramatic.”

“Yeah, but... everyone heard.”

“Oh fuck off,” she pushes your shoulder and stomps past you.

You feel bad. It’s not that she shouldn’t defend herself. You admire that she can, but she didn’t need to be so obnoxious. You trail after her into the casino. She heads directly for the bar. You hang your head and wait behind her. This time, she doesn’t offer you a drink. She’s mad at you now so it’s the silent treatment.

“Honey,” another man approaches, “how about I get that for you?”

“Huh?” She babbles, “oh, sure, baby, that’s sweet.”

The man offers his card to the bartender and orders a highball. He leans his arm on the tall bar top as he faces your sister. She bats her lashes at him and giggles as she pulls her drink closer.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asks.

You blink. It’s like you’re not even there. You watch awkwardly, wishing the floor would swallow you up. Instead, you find an empty stool one seat away.

“Roxie,” she answers as you struggle up onto the seat. “And you, handsome?”

“Sam,” he returns, “what’re you drinking then?”

You notice him touch her glass along the brim but can’t see much else around your sister. She replies and his own drink is served. You shrink down and sigh. She’ll get her free drink and then you can just leave. You hope. You hold your chin as you dread another scene.

“Can I get ya something?” The bartender approaches.

“Er, water, please,” you choke out. He seems disappointed but gets you a glass.

You try not to overhear your sister and that man. It’s awkward and you hate this. It’s not the first time she’s done it either. The few times she’s brought you along, you’ve somehow become a third wheel. It reminds you of when you were kids and your mom forced her to take you with her somewhere. She doesn’t actually want you around, she’s genetically obligated.

“Woah, baby, you okay?” The man raises his voice and your sister’s body slumps. Shoot. No.

You barely get off the stool as the man clings to her drooping body. She giggles wildly as you tweak your ankle and rush over. That man, Sam he called himself, seems somewhat calm given the situation.

“Slow down, babe,” he chortles, “Jesus.”

She’s drunk. You knew she shouldn’t have had another drink. Your eyes meet Sam’s and he squints.

“You know her?”

“My sister,” you murmur.

“Oh, right, well...” he clears his throat and looks around, “you can take care of her then.”

“Wait--” you barely keep her up as she leans on you as she’s almost sideways on the stool.

He’s just leaving you? What the heck? You guess if he can’t get anything out of her, she isn’t worth the effort.

You sniff and struggle to slide your sister down to her feet. She’s heavier than you expect and her height makes her difficult to balance. You glance over as the bartender nears.

“Everything okay?” He asks sternly.

“We’re leaving,” you assure him, “sorry.”

“Five minutes,” he taps his watch face, “or I call security.”

You nod and move your arm around your sister’s back, “please, Rox, gotta work with me.”

She laughs again, “hey, where’d that cute guy go?”

“Please,” you beg again, “don’t...”

“Oh, hi,” she touches your faces and squeezes your cheeks, “baby sister.”

You hate when she’s like this. She’s always been a drinker, ever since high school when her friends would sneak out bottle from their parents’ stash. What was once an act of rebellion as a teen is now concerning as an adult.

“Excuse me, everything okay?” The timbre makes your heart drop and you nearly let go of Roxie as she leans in the other direction.

You look up. Oh god. It’s him. That dark-haired man in his expensive suit.

“I’m just... we’re on our way out--”

“She alright?” He points at your sister.

“Tipsy,” you utter.

“I see,” he pushes his hair back as it slips forward, “can I help?”

“Uh, you don’t--”

Before you can answer, he has your sister’s other arm. He almost lifts her entire weight off of you as he supports her against his shoulder. Your entire body is emblazoned in humiliation. You refuse to look above the floor as you’re certain you must have an audience.

You get your sister across the floor and into a hallway. There's an exit sign ahead but you're all turned around. The man stops you and Roxie.

"Where'd you park?" He asks, "this leads to Lot 5."

"Oh, uh..." you blanch. You hadn't thought of any of that. You slouch under Roxie's weight and try to see around her. "I'm not sure but... I don't drive. She was supposed to."

"Ah," he clucks, "and now she can't."

"Right," you agree glumly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He asks.

"I didn't think... I let her--"

"Did you let her drink or did she make that choice knowing she was supposed to get behind a wheel?" He challenges.

"I guess... yeah. Sorry."

"Really, doll, no need to keep going on like that," he dismisses, "well, it's late and I can't in good conscience let you wander out with her like this. Especially if you don't have a way home."

"I could..." you begin. A taxi? You'd have to ask your mom to pay the driver when you get home. "Why would you... care?"

"Well, as the owner of this establishment, it won't look good on me if two pretty girls left and went missing," he chuckles then stops himself, "sorry, that's not funny. I just... we overserved your sister obviously so it's on us."

"Owner?" You gulp. You didn't think this could be any more humiliating.

"Bucky," he reaches around you sister.

You hesitate. You can't shake his hand properly as yours is around your sister so you just sorta grab his hand briefly and squeeze two fingers, retracting with another raze of embarrasment. You barely squeak out your name.

He repeats your name before he continues, "I'll get you two a room so she can sober up."

"What? No. That's... too much."

"It's late," he insists, "here," he pulls Roxie away from you as her head lolls and she snorts. He lifts her against his chest, carrying her easily. "I know a back way, just follow my lead, doll."

"Ummmmm," you drone and he waltzes back the way he came, hardly detered by the drunken body in his arms. You can only kick yourself and scramble after him. This night could not have ended any worse. Well, you guess it could if it went the way he suggested.

[sokkigarden]

dancing with our hands tied (part i)

jamie tartt x female reader // nsfw 18+ // enemies to lovers // fwb

masterlist // read on ao3

summary: wearing the jersey of your self-proclaimed enemy wasn't supposed to go like this.

word count: 2.8k

decided to post this fic to tumblr! not sure if i will be doing a taglist, but i will be tagging each part with jamie tartt x reader + jamie tartt smut so if you are following those tags religiously (like me) then you can find it lol. its also on ao3 and will likely get updated there first if you'd like to subscribe that way. big shoutout to @whimsical-roasting for drafting this in our dms in a haze one night LMAO i would not have been able to write this without her<3333

༻✧✧✧༺

“No no no, there is no way I’m wearing that.”

Opposite of you, your best friend, Laney, stood with two Richmond jerseys in her hands. One said ‘Tartt’ across the back, the other, ‘McAdoo,’ but you already knew which one she wanted to wear. She had a raging crush on Isaac, so that left only one option for you.

And there was no way you were wearing Jamie Tartt’s fucking jersey.

You would never hear the end of it. As part of the team’s physio team, you had a good rapport with most of the players. You complimented them when they had a good match and joked around while working with them through their physical therapy treatments. 

You had a decent working relationship with everyone on the team. 

Everyone except for Jamie Tartt.

There was no question that since his return to Richmond, he had become a changed man, but his past words had left a lingering resentment. You didn’t think you were in the wrong to simply avoid interacting with the man. He hadn’t often been seen in the treatment room, and when he had, you typically passed off his treatment to another member of the team, along with some flimsy excuse for why you couldn’t do it.

But recently, as he trained more with Coach Kent outside of the dog track, he’d needed additional treatment. And as the new lead of the physio team, you were in charge of his treatment plan. 

In recent months, especially since working more closely with him, he’d started to notice the difference in behavior from you, leading to all sorts of jests and confrontations. Now, it seemed like he just got a kick out of teasing and inevitably pissing you off. You couldn’t help but fire some scathing shots back. What started out as a simple plan of avoidance had clearly backfired.

Now everytime he needed assistance with muscle cramps or pain medication, you got a conversation full of sarcasm and questions. It almost felt like sometimes he came in just to rile you up.

Just last week, Jamie came in to check on his ankle after a bad landing at training. You examined his leg and he made comments the entire time you had your hands on him.

“You know, I get waxed. Weekly. Everywhere.”

You had stumbled ever so slightly as you’d gone to grab an ice pack. You cringed inwardly, knowing this would only add more fuel to Jamie’s fire. You were tired of him getting the best of you, making you flustered. You wanted to fight back.

Turning back to him with the ice pack, you stared at him directly.

“Show me,” you challenged.

Jamie’s face held an incredulous expression.

“You mentioned it— you clearly want to,” you reasoned, shrugging your shoulders, “So show me.” 

You hoped your confidence in calling his bluff worked in your favor, and his face showed that he was clearly surprised by this turn of events. You couldn’t tell what he would do next. He rolled his eyes with that smug smirk on his face before he raised his eyebrows and lifted his shirt up. 

Sure enough, his chest was bare, showing off his sculpted muscles.

Jamie leisurely lounged across the treatment table, chest exposed, and you would be lying if you said your mouth didn’t water a little bit at the sight. Even after being around athletes on a daily basis, there was something about Jamie that just— hit different. His cockiness was surely annoying, but it was also incredibly arousing, as much as you hated to admit it. You felt a squeeze in your chest but you bit your tongue to keep yourself in line. There was no way that thought would ever bear fruit.

You shoved the ice pack into his lap, making sure some of it landed on the bare skin of his stomach, watching as he flinched a little bit at the abrupt action and cold temperature of the pack.

“Ice your ankle for twenty minutes, then stay off it the rest of the day,” you informed him, acting like the last few moments hadn’t happened. “You’ll be good to train tomorrow.”

Jamie scoffed at your indifference. He grasped the ice pack fully and let his shirt slide back down. 

“Sure, love, I’ll do that.” 

He knew you hated it when he called you by a pet name. That only made him use them more. You glanced back at him, staring into his eyes for a moment before you grabbed your bag. 

The tension in the room was palpable before you’d headed out to check on the rest of the players at training. You hadn’t said anything else as you’d left.

So, yeah. There was no way Jamie Tartt would ever let you hear the end of it if you showed up in his jersey number. 

“Oh, come on!” Laney pleaded. “I don’t want to wear a jersey alone.”

“Plenty of people do!”

“Yeah, but plenty of people don’t get to go behind the scenes and actually speak to the players,” she gushed. “I don’t want to meet them and look stupid all alone.”

“So instead, you want me to look stupid with you,” you gave her a flat look.

She smiled mischievously. “What? I thought it would be funny. You complain about him all the time.”

If only she fully comprehended the validity behind your complaints.

You knew there was no way you were ever going to win this fight, so you slipped on the jersey and braced for impact. You were happy to have Laney come along to a game, especially since you didn’t always attend matches and her being a big Richmond fan gave you an excuse to watch. You wanted today to be good, not just for you, but for her too. It was exciting to be able to take your best friend on a little ‘backstage’ tour during gameday. 

You hoped today would be good, and that you wouldn’t have any run-ins with the man who made your blood boil.

Alas, not even twenty minutes later, as you walked into the back of the Nelson Road stadium through the employee entrance, you promptly ran into none other than Jamie Tartt.

“Well well well, I didn’t realize someone was such a big fan,” the familiar Mancunian accent taunted behind you. 

You tried not to visibly cringe as you turned around to face Jamie. He was not yet in his kit, still wearing his street clothes: a monochrome denim set. It was frankly unfair how well the jeans fit him, but you refused to let your gaze linger for more than a few seconds. 

“Oh my, it's the infamous Jamie Tartt,” Laney greeted him playfully. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your jaw clenched at her words as she reached out to shake his hand. He eagerly accepted.

“Have you?” he asked with a mischievous look in your direction that made you roll your eyes.

Laney nodded emphatically. “She talks about you all the time.”

You nudged her shoulder to get her to stop talking but she just looked at you innocently. She knew exactly what she was doing, and it seemed like Jamie did too.

“Oh, does she?” Jamie questioned. 

He was eating this up. His face was smug and you were sure this would haunt you for weeks to come. 

“Laney, why don’t you go get some snacks? Shouldn’t be a line since we are here a bit early. I’ve got to talk to Jamie before the match,” you said. “I’ll meet you at our seats?”

You smiled sweetly at her, but underneath the nice layer, you knew your eyes held an anger that had her quickly waving goodbye and scurrying off. You were more than happy to have her accompany you to a match, but this entire interaction was reminding you of why you hadn’t invited her sooner.

For a moment, you just stared at him. It was hard to look him directly in the eye sometimes. Despite the headstrong front you kept up, you weren’t used to dealing with such interactions. You weren't stupid, you knew that this dance you two engaged in fell close to flirting (at least that’s what Laney said), and when you looked directly at him, you remembered just how fucking hot he was.

It wasn't just his physical attributes. Sure, he was in excellent physical shape, and his hair looked particularly perfect ever since he started going a bit blond, and his lips were always in a little pout, just begging to be kissed. But it was also a little more than that. Seeing him step up to lead as they began Total Football, working as a team player while also getting in extra workouts to be the best he could be. You weren't blind. You could see his internal changes on the outside, somehow. He didn't seem as cold. He didn't seem as distant and prickish. Jamie’s change in demeanor changed how everyone saw him including himself.

And he seemed to look even hotter than he used to.

Was it possible for someone to just keep getting more and more attractive?

It was part of the reason he drove you up the wall. How did he so perfectly remain just a little bit of a prick while also being a better person? And why did he have to look so pretty while doing it? 

More and more people were making their way through the hallway as the dog track got ready for the match, and Jamie still stood in the middle, with an innocent, questioning look directed towards you.

You huffed before you grabbed his arm and shoved him into the treatment room. Even if he was acting oblivious to spectators, you didn’t want to put on a show when you once again ripped him a new one. 

His face was still prickish as you turned to look at him. He was clearly enjoying this much more than you were. 

“So you talk about me when I ain’t around, love?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t,” you said firmly. “And don’t call me ‘love.’”

He pursed his lips, “Seems like you do… love.”

He smiled cheekily at you and it took everything in you not to roll your eyes at him. Instead, you crossed your arms and put on what you hoped was your most serious face.

“I talk about everybody,” you defended, but he clearly wasn’t listening.

“Hmmm, and what do you say about me?” Jamie scratched his chin to mock being in deep concentration. 

“Mostly, I tell people you’re a pain in my ass.”

The statement seemed to shock Jamie out of his act and he narrowed his eyes at you. You knew it wasn’t the best idea to have a sparring match with a footballer right before a game. They were pent up with nerves and adrenaline as they prepared. 

After a moment of no response, you expected the conversation to be over and began to move toward the door, when he finally spoke up.

“Bend over, I’ll show you a pain in the ass.”

Now you’re the one who’s speechless. You let out a breathless laugh of shock, before rolling your eyes. You continued on your way to the door, moving to leave him in the room alone. Just as you go past him, he playfully smacks your ass. Before you have a chance to even choose your reaction, you let out what can only be described as a whimper mixed with a moan. 

You whirl around to look at him, and you both seem to be shocked by the noise. You can tell your face is burning with embarrassment as you stare at each other in a momentary state of shock. 

He recovers first, letting out a breath of a laugh. A smirk dances across his face.

“Liked that, did you?” he taunted.

You clearly didn’t recover as quickly, your reply coming out weaker than you’d like. “Shut up, Tartt.”

He stepped a little closer to you, and you stepped back instinctively, before you ran into the table set up next to the door. 

“I liked hearin’ it,” he said, his voice coming out like a rough whisper.

It all happened so fast. One moment you were barely processing how close the two of you were. Making direct eye contact, breathing the same air. In the next moment, you had spun around, shoving your own pants down around your knees as you heard him unzipping his jeans. He gripped your waist as he spanked you again, and you didn’t even try to suppress the moan that left your lips. 

He slid his dick in easily, and you were surprised at how wet you’d become from simply arguing with the man. He held you against his chest as he thrust into you, pressing a messy kiss to your neck, sucking slightly. Part of you was worried about him leaving a mark, but the thought was pushed to the back of your mind as he continued his journey along your neck. He raised your knee higher to rest against the table for a better position, and you groaned in unison as he thrust deeper inside you. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, leaning against him.

“You wanted this real bad, huh, angel?” he asked.

You nearly wept at the pet name. You made a noise of protest, but your voice came out near breathless from the intensity of it all. You felt like your knees would buckle from the sensation, so you gripped the table in an attempt to not fall.

“Fuck you— you wanted it more,” you defended, but just as you spoke, he hit deep inside you and left the end of your sentence turning to mush as you moaned.

The table wasn’t enough to grab onto, so you reached back and started to grip the strands of his hair. He groaned directly into your ear, and you felt your knees nearly give out entirely.

“Damn, you look so pretty with my name on your back and my dick inside you,” he mumbled as he ran his hand up to grip at your throat. The action wasn’t gentle, but the pressure was perfect.

You’d almost forgotten you were wearing his name across the back of your jersey. Of course he would think it was hot.

It surprised you when you realized you found it kind of hot too.

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, “This isn’t happening again.”

Your harsh words felt like they had no meaning as you bucked against him. His own hips rose up to meet your own. Truth be told, you were getting your shit rocked and were already wondering when you could fuck him again. You felt your brain short circuiting. Your breaths were shallow as he moved his hand up to your mouth.

You bit his hand out of frustration, making him hiss and thrust his hips faster. He shoved his fingers into your mouth and you sucked instinctively, causing him to whine. 

“Jamie,” you gasped around his fingers, “I-I’m close.”

“Me too, love,” he panted in reply. You didn’t have it in you to correct him over the pet name, overcome with the sensations coursing through your body. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth and snaked his hand down your body to find your clit, adding extra pressure. He knows just the right way to move his fingers that has you falling apart in mere moments.

When you come, he turns your head to plant a wet, sloppy kiss on your lips as you both find your release. You find yourself kissing him back intensely, chasing his lips once he finally pulls away.

Your knees are weak at this point, fully leaning against him for support once he finally slips out of you and pulls his jeans back up. Before he has a chance to say anything between breaths, you reach for a towel off the shelves above you and clean yourself off.

You’re still out of breath as you finally look over at him. His face is shiny with sweat and you fear you look the same. You’ll have to stop by the restroom before you meet back up with Laney. 

Laney. 

The thought of your friend has you glancing at the clock on the wall, cursing yourself. Everything starts to come into clear view, and you wonder how you let things go this far. You just fucked Jamie Tartt. How the hell did that just happen?

You press your lips in a firm line. You try to keep your hands from visibly shaking.

“This is never happening again,” you tell him again, as you reach for the door handle to exit. 

As you open the door, Jamie scoffs.

“Sure, love,” he says, sauntering through the door that you opened, “I’ll see you after the match.” 

He leaves you with a wink before heading off to get ready for the match. If you thought he would be unbearable about the jersey, you had just made the entire situation so much worse. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood in the treatment room before you finally left as well.

[obitez]

You're Kidding Me

For @bucktommywinterfest

Round 7: Enemies-to-Lovers

Rating: T | Word Count: 4.960

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: AU - Different First Meeting, Pre-relationship, Tommy never left the 118

Full fic on AO3!

Buck didn’t know what this Tommy Kinard guy’s deal was, but it was quite frankly irritating. 

He was the only one who kept bossing him around, pointing out every little thing that he was doing wrong, and just being overall… weird about everything Buck did. 

On his second shift as a probationary firefighter (his first shift was mostly filled with completing extra paperwork), the Captain, who insisted that Buck called him ‘Bobby,’ had told Buck to follow Tommy around, that Tommy would show him where to find everything and finish teaching him everything the Fire Academy had left out. 

The tour around the station had been simple enough, while the place was big, it wasn’t that big. 

Then they moved to the trucks and Tommy had begun showing him where they stored everything in the side compartments. It was as they were in the middle of that that the alarm rang out throughout the station, indicating they had a call. 

Buck froze from where he was standing and looked towards Tommy. 

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Tommy said as he moved towards the equipment racks. “Get your gear on and get on the engine!” he barked. Buck moved quickly, running to follow after the man. 

Less than five minutes later, the fire engine was pulling up outside a small restaurant with dark smoke billowing out of the windows and doors and groups of people standing outside, a lot of which looked as if they had just run out of the building. 

Bobby had called out and given them all directions as they got out of the fire engine, but with everything that was going on, the noise, the chaotic atmosphere, the adrenaline coursing through his body, Buck hadn’t heard the man. He moved and followed the movements of one of the firefighters standing next to him. If Buck remembered correctly, he thought the man’s name was Chimney. 

Then Buck felt a hand latch onto the back of his turnout coat and yank him back. “I told you not to leave my side,” he heard a voice say gruffly. Looking over his shoulder, Buck saw it was Tommy, who looked slightly disgruntled. 

“Why aren’t we going after them?” Buck asked as he pointed at Chimney and Monroe, who looked as if they were about to enter the smoking building. 

“Because Bobby told us to set the hoses up,” Tommy said as he pointed in the direction of the back of the fire engine. Oh, that made sense, Buck guessed. “Come on,” Tommy huffed. “Stay by my side.”

An hour and a half later, as they drove back to the station, there was a tension in the back of the cabin between him and Tommy. 

“So,” Chimney said, trying to break it. “What did you think of that? Your first call?” 

“Um… It was… cool, I guess?” Buck shrugged, not really knowing how to put it. How could he say something was ‘good’ when someone’s life work just went up in flames?  

Next to him, they both hear Tommy let out a long and exasperated breath. “That’s a way to put it,” he said. 

And the tension that had almost dissipated was back in full force. When they pulled back into the station, Tommy got out of the engine cabin and had immediately walked off somewhere before Buck was able to follow after him. 

Then he felt Chimney put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, don’t mind him,” Chimney said. “He just needs to blow some steam from time to time. How about I show you where we clean all of our gear?” 

After lunch they had their second call, and it didn’t go much better than the first. Buck had again gotten distracted by a woman on the sidelines, and Tommy had to call his name out who knew how many times to get his attention while carrying supplies inside the building. Thankfully it was only a simple medical call and there weren’t any fires, so none of them were in as much danger as they were on the first call. Although from the look on Tommy’s face as they entered the building, he still didn’t look too pleased at Buck. 

And then on their third call, Buck had to go and nearly blast a whole crowd of onlookers with water when he lost control of the hose. And really, how could he do that? It was something that was beat into them time and time again in the Fire Academy. A worse than rookie mistake. 

That entire day, it felt like whatever small or large mistake he had made was right under Tommy’s eyes, it was no wonder the man probably thought he was an idiot. 

He loved everything about being a firefighter, except Tommy Kinard.