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russellsppttemplates · 3 months ago

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I'll never give up on you (Franco Colapinto)

You think your age is an obstacle, but Franco is set on proving you otherwise

Note: english is not my first language. It's the big doe eyes, the curly hair and the fact that he's very funny, isn't it? It's a very crappy situation for everyone how they got here, everyone recognises that. This is also the first time I'm writing for him 🤍 I always feel and know I have to put this - for those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is slightly older than Franco (three years), alludes to previous bad relationships, alcohol consumption, relationship insecurity, reader gets accidentally hurt

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

"You look gorgeous, Y/N! I love love love this!", Olivia squealed, clapping her hands when she got to your bedroom.

"It's nothing special", you blushed at her compliments.

"It will catch some eyes, you will catch some eyes!", she smiled, "can you help me with my dress, please?", she turned around so you could zip her up.

You and your bestfriend Olivia shared an apartment in university, and once you entered into the job market, you quickly realised that it would be best to keep the same living situation, knowing you'd save some money in a beginner salary and you both felt comfortable about eachother. Her boyfriend Mark had just got a work promotion and he wanted to celebrate it with his friends, so you had been invited.

"Who else is going to be there?", you mused as you packed the essentials on your small purse.

"Some guys from the new department he's in now, Luke - the one we met a couple of weeks ago at the shops -", she began listing the names she recalled, "Amber, and Franco, I think - he doesn't have a race this week", Olivia said.

"Oh, okay", you smiled.

Franco Colapinto knew Mark from one of the teams he had driven for, and despite his career, he was an incredibly down to earth guy. You had met him in a few other occasions and he was funny, kind, always up for a challenge and not easy to persuade out of things. "Things" including flirting with you. At first, you thought it was just his nature and posture towards new people, but after realising he only acted like that towards you, and the fact that he kept making advances and going as far as talking to Olivia about it, you knew it was something else.

"You still haven't changed your mind about him? He's such a good match for you, Y/N/N", Olivia pouted.

The premise was simple - Franco was younger than you, and as much as he seemed interested, it would never lead to anything good. He was young, aspiring an amazing career you were sure he would achieve, and frankly, you couldn't see you in there. He would like to party all out, not have responsibilities and certainly not have to date someone older than him. And this was just at the top of your head - if you let your insecurities really work you up, there were many other reasons.

"We are not! If we did date, it wouldn't last long and I'm not up for that - I've learned my lesson", you tsked.

"You know he's very into you, I'm not sure you can get him to back down", Olivia advised, "I get that you have your walls, but maybe you could give him a chance?".

"He'll probably find someone else, if he hasn't already - now let's go!", you pulled her with you, not wanting to arrive late.

Once you were inside, you quickly spotted the group, greeting everyone and ordering some drinks.

"You're sure you don't want anything else?", Mark wondered.

"I don't feel like drinking anything strong today, but I'll toast to your promotion - congratulations again!", you hugged him.

"Careful, everyone!", you heard the argentinian accent call out, getting you to make room on the table so the bartender could set the tray with all the drinks, "Hello, Y/N, how are you?".

Turning to face Franco, you were instantly met with his bright smile, shiny eyes and wavy hair perfectly tousled, "Hi, I've been good, and you?".

"Even better now that you're here", he winked, "you look amazing by the way, that colour looks beautiful on you", he complimented.

Hoping the dim lighting hid your blushing cheeks you nodded, taking the coaster to our your drink on before looking at him, "thanks, it's not new or anything", you brushed him off.

The night was on a good roll until you came back from freshening up in the bathroom - just as you were about to sit on the high stool, a guy pushed his friend in a playful manner, only for him to accidentally hit you and making you hit your knee on the piece of furniture.

"Fuck", you mumbled, bracing yourself against the table as the sharp pain climbed up your leg no matter how much your hand tried to soothe it.

Before you could process the whole thing, a large hand was placed low on your back, "are you okay, Y/N? What happened?".

"It was us, I'm so sorry", one of the guys apologised as he carried his friend to their table, "do you want me to get something? Again, I'm so sorry".

"It's fine, I've got her", Franco dismissed them before looking at you again, "are you okay?", he asked worriedly.

"Of course", you attempted to speak firmly even though you were sure your face said it all. Your mother always told you you weren't a great liar.

Franco didn't seem to be convinced either, and ignoring your words, he bent down to check your knee, "you should sit so it doesn't swell up, and ice it too", he stated, tapping his shoulders for you to support your weight in them and help hoist you up on the stool.

"I'll go get some ice", Olivia offered.

As she excused herself, Franco gingerly touched your knee, fearing that he would hurt you even more, "is this fine?".

"It's not terrible, but it's hurting, like, it's a pulsation", you winced as he squeezed.

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Franco apologised, "just needed to check that it's not broken".

"You don't need to stay here, Olivia is coming back already", you added, watching the rest of the guys back on the pool table after you assured you were fine all things considered.

"You're the only one I care about, the rest can wait", Franco spoke.

"Look at that group over there", you pointed with your eyes, "wouldn't you prefer to hang out with them?".

The balloons let you know it was one of the girl's 20th birthday, and judging by the way they were looking in your direction, they noticed you too. Or Franco, you assumed.

"I've told you, I don't care about them, now where is the ice?", he muttered, looking around in hopes of spotting your friend in the darkened room.

"She's coming back", you pointed out.

The ice pack seemed to help relieve the pain and perhaps help with the bruising you were sure was going to take over your knee, "Franco, you can go be with the guys, I'll be fine", you reassured him again, "or be with the girls over there, they're very keen on you", you nudged.

Franco looked up at you, his gaze intense and serious, "those girls don't interest me", he replied, "you're the only one I care about".

There it was again.

"Don't say that", you tried to push it away before it dwelled on, "they're all very pretty, your age I'm sure".

Franco smiled softly as his eyes remained fixated on you, "who I pay attention to is you, you're the one I've always paid attention to", he spoke, not caring about the fact that Olivia was right there as she seemed distracted, "I don't care about their age or what they do. They're not you, and I want to be with you, so I'll stay here with you", he stated.

You heart took a lep, and even though you wished you could say something rational, something that made sense, the way he was looking into your eyes didn't let you. There was honesty and sincerity that never seemed to fail and that you could never ignore.

"Let me help you", Franco spoke softly, "right now, you're the only thing worrying me".

Hesitating, you allowed him to adjust the ice pack and keep talking to you about random stuff to take your mind away from the state of your knee, and for the first time in a while, it felt good to let someone else take care of you.

"Do you really think that we won't workout because of our age difference?", Franco spoke.

Mark and Olivia went to get coffee for all of you and left you and Franco on the picnic blanket to save the spot and keep your belongings safe. The plan for the afternoon was to enjoy the sun outside and while you were sure your bestfriend had something to do with this whole arrangement, you decided to let it slip and focus on relaxing for the afternoon.

"What?", you mused.

"You always point out that you're older than me, and whenever I make any advances, which I assume you're not too blind about, you never say yes, but don't say no either", he offered, "is it an obstacle?".

"We're good, aren't we?", you spoke.

"We could be better", Franco spoke and he supported his torso on his hands on his sides, "do you know how much I care about you?".

"We're friends", you replied.

"And you're telling me we couldn't be more?", Franco wondered.

"You have so many things to do still, I can't imagine you'd want to be tied to a 24 year old with a job and mundane responsibilities", you chuckled.

"Is that what it is? Do you really think our age difference is an obstacle?", he spoke softly.

"I can't say with such certainty", you mumbled.

"Can I keep on showing you that it isn't?", Franco spoke.

"I'm very stubborn", you recalled, "and I don't want you to waste your time".

"I'm not going to pressure you, but I'm not going to stop trying to show you how much you mean to me - you're very important in my life, Y/N".

"Did you salt the water already?", Franco asked as he grabbed the pasta from the cupboard.

"I did", you told him as you chopped the peppers and onions to add to the sizzling pan.

Franco happened to be around the area for lunch, and after he saw your story about being on your own, playfully claiming that Olivia had abandoned you, he offered to keep you company. Taking Olivia's advice that you should give him a chance and explore what you felt for eachother, you invited him over for lunch.

"Can I ask you something?", Franco asked as he dried his hands on the kitchen towell, throwing it to you so you could do the same.

"Now I'm worried...", you joked, "but sure, go ahead".

The smell of garlic browning in the pan filled the kitchen as you added the rest of the veggies, and you could feel the driver's eyes watching you. Up until now, the atmosphere was light, but there was an unspoken tension at the prospect of the question.

Franco couldn’t take it anymore. He was spending time with you whenever he could, getting closer little by little, but he felt there was a wall. A wall that you held strong, despite your shared glances and conversations that often stretched into the night.

“Why…”, he paused for a second, as if he was choosing his words carefully, “why do you keep pushing me away?”.

You stopped stirring the pan, slowly setting down the spoon aside and turned to face him.

“What are you talking about?”, you asked even though you knew exactly what he meant.

Franco turned fully to face you, his eyes fixed on yours, “You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "I’ve been trying to… get closer to you. You know how I feel about you, but every time I take a step toward you, you back away. There’s something you’re not saying, and I want to understand why, and if it's the age thing...", Franco let it out.

You sighed, fiddling with your hands as you gathered your thoughts.

“It’s not simple", you murmured, looking down at your feet.

"Then explain it to me", Franco's voice was calm, but insistent, "because from my side, it seems very simple. I like you. You like me, or at the very least you don't seem to hate me and…”, he hesitated, leaning a little closer, "whatever is stopping you… I can deal with it, we can talk about it".

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, "the age difference", you began hesitantly, “we’re from different worlds, different lives. You have so many options, people around you who… who are more in your vibe and in the line of life you can have. I’ve been through things you haven’t even begun to experience. What makes you think this… us, would be a good idea?", you mused.

Franco took a deep breath, taking a step closer until he was almost touching you, “What makes me think this would be a good idea? That we may have something to explore here? Have a shot at something good together?”, he repeated, looking directly into your eyes, "because every time I’m with you, I feel like I’m in the right place. Because no matter how much you think age is relevant, for me, what matters is how you make me feel. I’m not interested in anyone else, because you’re the one I want to explore these feelings with".

You fell silent, feeling his words invade her defenses. No one ever stood up for you like this.

“Age?”, he continued, "That doesn’t scare me. What scares me is losing you for a reason that, in the end, has no bearing on how I feel about you. You're so amazing and I don't want to lose that".

You bit your lip, feeling yourself wavering between the logic you had always used as a shield and what Franco was doing to your heart at that moment.

He took another step forward and gently placed his hand over yours, “I just need you to tell me… is it really age, or is it something more? Because if it’s just that… then we have a lot more to gain than we have to lose.”

You looked at his hand on hers and, for the first time, let yourself relax a little, allowing your brain to consider the possibility.

“What if it doesn’t go well?”, you whispered, voice hesitant and full of vulnerability, "I don't want to make a promise I can't keep, and I haven't let myself explore these feelings yet and... I don't want to hurt you, Franco".

"Y/N", he sighed softly with unexpected tenderness, “What if it does?", he smiled, "I'm not going to pressure you, and from the moment you tell me that there's no interest, I'll stop and we can remain friends. What I'm asking you is that you consider it first... take your time, I'll wait".

In a moment of confidence, Franco cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, and for that moment you allowed your wall to lower a little more.

The good thing about the hot temperatures outside was that most people had taken their Saturday plans to the beach or the pool, so there was less traffic on your way home. You parked your car in the building's underground garage and went up the stairs to the floor where the apartment you share with Olivia is. Judging by how late you left work, your best friend must be home given that she has the free afternoon on Saturdays.

Turning the key in the lock and opening the door, you find a completely dark apartment, which is strange considering you left the blinds half open this morning to let in sunlight. As soon as you step inside, closing the front door behind you, you're surprised by lights that suddenly turn on and a chorus of voices singing the Happy Birthday song.

You hadn't felt in the right mood to celebrate your birthday this year, given and the changes from studying and the stress of your new job, so to say you were caught off guard by this surprise was an understatement. You had told Olivia that you could have something special for dinner to celebrate the day, and while she insisted a little more, she ended up dropping the subject. And you thought that meant the had agreed to your simple plans - that morning, she caught you when you were having your breakfast, wished you happy birthday and gave your her gift, a very simple necklace with a medal with your initial in it, and didn't make any more fuss.

You definitely didn't expect her to be preparing a surprise like this for you.

Besides Olivia and Mark, Franco is the first person you see in the living room of your apartment - which makes you feel a little bad about yourself considering you hadn't even told him that today was your birthday. Besides the three of them, Maria and Julia, your two closest friends from school, were also present, as well as Pedro, one of your best friends from high school that moved to another city, and as it turns out, came all the way to your party.

When the chanting ends, Olivia approaches you with the cake so that you can blow out the candles, everyone's attention still on you. You know you should say something, but right now, you were completely surprised, and talking under pressure was never your strongest suit.

"Thank you everyone!", is all you can say at first, earning laughs from your friends.

You rolled up the blinds, as they had been down so the surprise had full effect and opened the windows, allowing the air to circulate as everyone gathered in the living room, picking at the foods and drinking on the table you were sure were Olivia's doing for the small celebration.

She is the first one you turn to, tapping her shoulder softly.

"I know... I know you said you weren't in the mood to celebrate, but I thought that this is actually what you need - being with the people that adore you and care about you", Olivia goes first before you can utter out a word, "so, please, just enjoy this, okay?".

"Thank you, Liv", you smiled as you pulled her into a hug, "I can't believe that you went through all this trouble".

"It wasn't too much trouble, and Franco helped a lot", she answered, "the guy didn't even know what day your birthday was, Y/N... That's cruel!", she jokes, to which you roll your eyes.

"I probably forgot about that detail", you answer with a giggle, "thanks again".

"Stop being annoying and enjoy it", your best friend says, joining her boyfriend Mark's and Pedro's conversation.

You take the opportunity to greet Mark and then Pedro, who you haven't seen in person for a long time, "I can't believe you came all this way for this!", you exclaim.

"Of course I came! Olivia told me all the news and not only could I not miss your birthday, but I couldn't not come at a time like this", Pedro explains, "besides, how long has it been since we've been together in person?".

"Too long", you reply with a smile on your lips.

"Exactly! We need to catch up!", your friend exclaims, earning your agreement, "but go greet the rest of your guests first and we'll talk more later", he squeezed your shoulder.

You approach Maria and Julia, hugging them both tight. Although you finished your master's degree as they finished their undergraduate just over a year ago, you hadn't seen each other very often since then as work kept you all busy.

"I'm so happy you're here!", you smile, feeling genuinely happy at having all your people together in one room.

"We couldn't miss it. Besides, we've been missing you so much - you were truly a mother to us and I miss being coddled by you -, and we've already noticed that there's news you haven't been telling us...", Julia comments, wiggling her eyebrows and sharing a suggestive smile with Maria.

"What are you talking about?", you wondered with a quirked brow.

"You don't know? I'll tell you then! About Franco Colapinto!", she snickered, "you didn't tell us you were that close", Maria says.

You're quick to roll your eyes - a common response at her usual antics over the years -, "I told you we were friends", you recall.

"Yes, but we didn't know you were that close!", Julia insists.

"I see your annoying curiosity hasn't ceased", you joked, rolling your eyes again, "Anyway, thanks for being here, I really appreciate it", you joined your hands over your heart before excusing yourself.

Your eyes are quick to search for Franco, but you can't find him in the room. A few seconds later, you spot him returning from the hallway, assuming he had gone to the bathroom or had to take a phone call.

"I should be mad at you for conveniently forgetting to tell me when it was your birthday...", Franco starts, to which you shrug your houlders, trying to put on your best angelic and innocent face.

"I know, I'm sorry... with everything going on, I barely had time to think what month we were on and I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it to be honest", you explained, "but I must confess I'm happy Olivia arranged this, and I know you helped a lot, so thank you so much, Franco".

"I get, I was just messing with you", he smiles, "and you don't have to thank me for it, you know I'll always do anything to see you happy".

"I know, and that's why I am so grateful", you smiled back.

"Might as well give you the present I got you now", Franco points out, "give me two seconds so I can get it from where Mark told me to put it so it wouldn't be in the way of Olivia's plans and before she started staring at me with her 'I'm going to chop your head off' eyes", he chuckled.

You nodded and waited long enough for Franco to pick up a bag and give it to you, " I racked my brain to decide what I should gift you, because nothing seemed good enough, but I hope you like this".

Undoing the bow keeping the paper bag together, you found a copy of your favourite book with a collectable cover. The intricate detailing of the golden foil complimented the colours beautifully and there was a bookmark inside it, the little tassel falling to the side. Taking it to inspect it closely, you read the delicate lettering Don't lose the sparkle that makes you.. you.

"Wow, Franco", you gasped, completely enamoured by the beauty of it all, "this is spot on, I love it!", you exclaimed, hugging him.

"I'm glad", Franco smiles, jokingly wiping sweat off his forehead and making you laugh.

"Have you met my friends?", you wondered.

"Yes, Olivia did all the introductions", the driver answers.

"Good, let's find out what they're going on about", you suggested, setting the present back in a safe place and pulling Franco with you to join the rest of the group.

You spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening chatting, while you eat and drink the things that Franco and Olivia kindly prepared, and playing some board games. At the end of it, you end up having a really good time, in a way that you haven't in a while, feeling really grateful that Olivia had prepared this surprise. Without knowing it, this was exactly what you needed: your friends and some good moments of relaxation.

"Are you leaving already?", you ask Pedro when the young engineer announces his departure.

"I still have to drive back, Y/N, remember?", he reminds you, earning a nod, "but don't worry your heart too much, I'll keep bothering you with messages and calls and stuff... You won't get rid of me that easily".

"Fine by me!", you smiled at him, "thanks for coming, truly!".

"You have nothing to thank me for. I'll be here any time if you need me - I'm a phone call away", he reminds you, "Are you okay?".

"Of course", you smiled, "let me know when you get home, okay?".

"I will. I had a great time meeting you guys today", Pedro waves at everyone, "until next time!", before leaving the apartment.

At around 10pm, Maria and Julia also announce that they need to leave since they would have an early morning. You bid them goodbye to your friends with the promise of a lunch whenever you could find the time to catch up.

"Don't tell me you're chickening out now and going home too?", a slightly tipsy Olivia teases Franco as he got up from the his spot in the sofa.

"I've already told you that I have the day off tomorrow, my friend", Franco teased her back, getting you and Mark to laugh.

"Let's play another round then", Mark suggested, "since there's only four of us now, we can split into two teams and play Party & Co.".

"This is a recipe for disaster if I have ever seen one", you muttered, "Olivia is a terrible loser and you are a racing driver".

"That's why you should want to have me on your team, I'm used to competing", Franco argued in his favor.

"Strong point, argument accepted. Let's do it!", you declared.

During the game, Olivia ends up making up consequences for those who make mistakes, making everyone drink a few sips of their drinks and even Franco joins in with these punishments, arguing that today is an exceptional day to his usual regime.

By the end of the first game, it's clear that you're all drunk, so you make the responsible and sensible decision not to play anymore. Mark and Olivia end up retiring to the room, leaving you with Franco in the living room.

"I hope they don't make too much noise", you point out as you adjust your position on the sofa so that you're facing Franco, making him burst out laughing at your words, "What?! I'm not telling any lies! Have you imagined how uncomfortable it would be for us to be here and hear them having a baby making practice session?".

"You're right, you're right. I hope they don't make much noise", Franco repeats your words and, this time, you both laugh, "So... did you and Pedro date in high school?".

"Did he tell you that?", you ask, unable to contain your giggles.

"Yes, why? Is it a lie?", Franco asks.

"Half, half", you answered with a gesture.

"How is something half half a lie? It's either the truth or a lie", Franco states.

"I had a crush on Pedro, I tried my luck, but nothing ever happened between us", you admitted, deliberately pausing briefly before continuing, "Because Pedro is gay, Franco, and he was clearly making fun of you", you finally let out a laugh that's been bubbling up since he first asked you.

"Are you serious?", Franco mused.

"Yes. Apparently, he found a weak spot in you and decided to exploit it", you answered amused by the situation that must've enrolled when you weren't home yet.

"A weak spot? Nah... We were talking and he just dropped it, I have no idea why", Franco said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What were you talking about?", you wondered.

"Considering we were at your birthday party... We were talking about you", the brown-haired man answers.

"Please continue", you encouraged.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Y/N Y/L/N", Franco declared, but your glare was enough for him to keep going, "He asked me how we met and I told him. And then he told me about you. And he clearly told me a lie".

"Does it make you feel relieved that it's a lie?", you spoke before thinking properly about it. The sudden courage is unusual for you, but you're playing with all your cards on the table.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Y/N", the driver changes the subject, which makes you roll your eyes.

"I know you undertand it, stop acting like you don't. It's a yes or no question - are you relieved or not?!", you insist.

"Honestly? It doesn't do much. If it were true, it would be something from your past, not your present. We both have a past", Franco responds in a somewhat evasive manner.

"But it could be my present again, especially since he was here today", you decided to insist, wanting to understand how far you could push him.

You weren't sure about the game you were playing, and you couldn't quite say that you were thinking clearly, but this feeling of dominance and being in control was enjoyable. Understanding that this was making Franco uncomfortable also made you realize that he wasn't so sure about talking about what he felt for you. The part of you that wants to understand what he really feels for you is ignited, and you can't tame it down.

After the conversation you had, Franco didn't make any advances and never showed that he wanted more than a friendship, which, in a way, left you at ease, but also perhaps a little disappointed. Had he realised that you weren't worth it?

"Honestly, I don't know what you're getting at...", Franco pretends not to understand again, which makes you sigh loudly, "What's wrong?".

"What I'm trying to understand is if what he said to you bothered you or not. And if so, why. But clearly you are not ready to admit it", you state.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N... You're trying to cross a very complicated line", he warns.

"Why?", you keep going.

"Because you asked for time and space and I gave it to you. And now you're trying to cross a line that I've been trying not to cross, because I'm trying to respect your wishes", Franco answers, this time sincerely.

"That's true, I asked you for time and space and you gave it to me. And I appreciate it", you begin, "but... I know I'm getting closer to that line, maybe I'm even playing a dangerous game too, but I'm doing it consciously".

"What if you're not ready for my honest answers?", Franco argues.

"Well, that's a me problem, isn't it?", you shrugged your shoulders, "can I ask my questions and get back honest answers?", and Franco's answer comes out in form of an unhappy sigh followed by a nod of agreement, "did what Pedro told you bother you? Did it bother you to think that we had dated and that he was back here?".

"Like I told you, we both have a past", Franco avoids the question. Tries to, anyway.

"Honest answers, Franco!", you exclaimed, pleading in exasperation, "of course we have a past, but I'm not going to give the past a shot and I think you won't do again what you did before! With Pedro, it would be different, because if we had dated and he was here, that would mean we had a good relationship. So, I'm going to repeat the question again, and I want you to give me an honest answer - did it bother you or not?".

"It bothered me!", Franco suddenly exclaim, "do you want honest? Here it goes! Yes, it bothered me exactly because of what you just said. Even if, by some act of the devil, your other boyfriend came back into your life, I know for a fact that he would never have another chance with you. However, if you had dated Pedro and if he was here today, it meant that he had a chance with you. And if he had a chance with you, then he was someone I would have to look at as competition".

"And now that you know that there never was and there never could be anything between me and Pedro?", you ask him.

"It makes me feel a little less worried. It means that I still have time to try to continue to mend the damage that others have caused, it means that I can still work to show you how much you mean to me and how high I hold you in my life", Franco replies in a calm and honest tone, which surprises you.

Faced with his words, this time, you are the one who doesn't know what to say. You did ask for honesty and there it was.

"You wanted honest answers...", Franco argues, as if he could guess what was on your mind. Lately, it seemed like he could do it effortlessly.

"I know, I'm not complaining", you admitted, "Does that mean that what you feel for me goes beyond friendship?", you ask directly. You needed to hear it from his mouth.

"What can my answer change in our relationship?", Franco asks, not answering your question.

"Nothing. I won't walk away from you this time, I promise. I just need to know", you clarified.

"Do you really want me to be one hundred percent honest with you?", Franco asks.

"Yes, please", you ask.

"Yes, what I feel for you goes beyond friendship. I tried not to let it be like that, I tried to pretend that I wasn't falling in love with you, but there's no way to control what we feel", he declares honestly without ever stopping to fix his gaze on yours, "Every time I look at you, I see someone with whom I can imagine a future... And I know how hasty this may seem, and I know your reservations about us, but it's simply how I feel. You asked me to be honest and I'm being as honest as I can... But I don't want to lose you, Y/N. In fact, I can't lose you, because, the moment that happens, I think I'll end up losing myself too", Franco stated.

His words leave you completely disarmed, not knowing what to say. Looking at it, you don't think anyone has ever said something like that to you. The words overwhelm you and there doesn't seem to be a right thing to tell him back.

"Can we just forget I said all this?", Franco says, "I don't want things to get awkward between us".

"But I don't want to forget it", you answer quickly, "It was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me".

Judging it by Franco's expression, he was also caught off guard by your words, probably because he thought this would change your relationship again and brung unwanted distance between you.

Truth was, you weren't going to run away anymore. You didn't want to, and you couldn't do it.

Yes, you were scared, but you knew you need to move on. The comfort zone can be very good, but no boat was made to stay at the dock and you needed to drop the anchor and launch yourself into the unknown. Besides, you know that, in a few years time, you won't like to look back and regret what you didn't do.

"Can I ask you the question back, then?", Franco tries and you nod, "Is what you feel for me just friendship? Or something more?".

"I don't have an answer as assertive and confident as yours, but I know that I look at you and I don't see you just as a friend. You are very special to me, Franco. You are the person I want to talk to about everything, the good and the bad. You are the person who I know will never judge me, who will always try to understand me and help me. After all, you were the first person I was able to trust one hundred percent", you admit, "and I'm still figuring out how I'm supposed to allow myself to believe in love again after everything that happened, but I really wish you were by my side on this journey... That you would make me believe in love again", you offered.

"I don't like to make promises, Y/N/N, but there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of - I'll do everything in my power to make you believe in love again", Franco says, pulling you into his lap and embracing you in a hug that makes you feel safer than ever.

When Franco called you and asked if you could join him in the park, you were quick to let him know you were leaving work and heading to meet him. The past two weeks had been crazy with him travelling to races and you visiting your family, so texting had become the way you found to maintain contact.

As soon as you spot him by the trees, you walk a little faster, hugging him as soon as you are able to, "can I say that I've missed you?", you joked.

"I missed you loads, so I think it's only fair you tell me", he smiled, "Hi, how was your day?", he asked as he squeezed you against him.

"I missed you", you spoke, "and it was good, better now that I'm here".

Lately, your walls had lowered progressively - Franco's reassurance and a constant defiance of your thoughts had helped you break down the worries you had. Olivia pointed it out, everyone noticed how much happier you were, and even Franco could sense you were feeling more comfortable.

You end up sitting so close to each other that your knees touch and you rest your arm on Franco's and let your head fall on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds and just inhaling his scent.

"I...", Franco begins but soon stops before saying anything else.

"What is it?", you ask, raising your head to look at him.

"Nothing, nevermind", he shrugs.

"I don't like it when people say that to me. If you were going to say something, don't tell me to forget about it", you state firmly, "Whatever you were going to say, you can say it. Always. I will never judge anything you tell me. I know you, okay, Franco?".

"Yes, but...", he sighs, "I think I'm missing the courage".

"Please, just say it!", you exclaim, starting to get anxious and worried about his hesitation, "Is it something serious? Is there a problem?".

"No, nothing like that!", he clarified.

"Okay, then...", you encouraged.

"It's about a conversation I had with my mother", he says and, although you don't say a word, your expression lets him know he can continue, "about you".

"About me?", you ask curiously.

"She doesn't know it's you, but... It was about us and about what I feel for you", he offers.

At these words, your heart suddenly accelerates, "she told me that life is supposed to be lived and that..", he gulps.

You remain silent, because you don't know if ot what your supposed to answer. There's nervousness and anxiety as you're not sure exactly where this conversation is going to end up at.

"We can't predict the future, we don't know how much time we have", Franco spoke, "what I mean by this is that I've been thinking that, many times, we waste time on things that, perhaps, don't make that much sense. And I think I've been wasting some time in the sense that I've wanted to do things calmly, I've wanted to respect your time and I think I'm the one who's been afraid of taking the next step. I'm too afraid of losing you, but I'm wasting time and we never know when it is too late".

Part of you knows where Franco is going with this, but the other one doesn't fully understand what he's trying to say.

You're nervous, your heart feels like it's beating out of control and there's a lump in your throat. Despite not crying often, you feel the tears right at the back of your eyes, ready to fall at any moment.

"I'm not particularly good with words, Y/N, but what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm madly in love with you. Damn, I'm trying to tell you that I love you. And I know you're scared and I'm scared, because there have been bad experiences, and because what we have is very special and neither of us wants to ruin it. But I think we're wasting time apart when we could make the most of this time together", Franco continues, "I believe we were very lucky to have found each other when we did. I think we had the perfect timing. And every time I look at you, all I can think about is how lucky I am to have found you. I love you, Y/N, and I want to be with you one hundred percent", the brown-haired man stops his speech as if to catch his breath, and then concludes, "That is if you want to be with me, obviously".

What can you say to someone who declares themselves to you in this way? What do you say to someone who has told you everything? How can you say something that comes even close to what you just heard?

"Did I misunderstand everything and after all you don't like me the same way, is that it?", Franco asks, "it's just, your texts and the way you talk, feels like you do".

The insecurity in his voice is the trigger you need for the words to simply come out of your mouth without having to think much about them, "No, it's nothing like that!", you exclaim, "It's just that it's hard for me to say anything after everything you said. I don't want you to doubt for even a second what I feel for you, Franco. I know I haven't been the best person to express my feelings, because when we say things out loud, they become real. And I was so afraid to admit the truth, so much so that I preferred not to say it. But you're right. Life changes in the blink of an eye and it doesn't make sense to keep leaving things unsaid or undone and wasting time. I'm in love with you, Franco. A part of me has wished, since the moment you made an effort for me, that I could have someone like that by my side, willing to protect me, take care of me and be there for me. I have no doubt that my life has changed for the better because you came into it. And I should have told you all this sooner, because you deserve to hear all this and much more. You are an extraordinary person and you deserve to be happy. And I want to be able to make you happy", you stop for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and gathering all the courage in the world to say the dreaded words out loud, "I love you and there is nothing I want more in this world than to be with you and be your girlfriend".

Despite all the nervousness you felt when expressing your feelings, the relief that follows leaves you feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulder. Suddenly, you understand that fear paralyzes people and prevents them from moving forward.

The fear of not being enough for Franco, that he couldn't possibly have a girlfriend older than him and the fear that he would suffer from that was what was holding you back, stopping you from being happy. Now that you got that off your chest, that you said what you feel out loud, you realise you're ready to be happy again with someone else.

The smile that appears on Franco's lips makes your day. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you towards him, pressing your lips together.

You close your eyes and savour every second of the moment: from the way his hand is resting on your waist, while the other caresses your cheek, to the way his lips slide over your and your tongues touch.

When you break the kiss, needing to breathe, you keep your eyes closed for a fraction of a second, enjoying the sensation his lips left on yours.

"I have something to ask of you", you say, opening your eyes.

Franco's arm continues wrapped around you and you remain very close to him without moving, appreciating the closeness.

"Whatever you want", Franco says.

"Don't give up on me. Whenever I try to push you away, pull me to you. Whenever I yell at you because I'm angry, hug me. If I don't answer your texts or calls, look for me. When I feel too insecure, remind me that I'm the only one and how lucky I am to have you. If I'm giving up on us, kiss me and remind me why I shouldn't give up. And I know this is asking too much, but I know you love me enough to do this, to stay with me. I promise to do the same with you, to never give up", you declare.

"I promise, mi amor. I'll never give up on you, not even if you ask me to", Franco smiles as you cup his cheek, bringing your faces closer once again to kiss him.

#franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto fanfic #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fluff

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shadowvalkyrie · 4 months ago

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There are a lot of things about Taskmaster that feel very... culturally British. That mixture of extreme silliness with occasionally very dark humour for example.

Or the particular tone of affectionate bullying and the way it's (mostly) taken in good humour. (And expected to be taken in good humour, even when it hits a nerve. Something that caused quite a bit of bad blood between the Brits and the Germans in my former workplace, because we generally don't shrug off insults that easily.)

But I think one difference is sort of... simmering under the surface in ways that aren't immediately obvious to international audiences (and makes me wish I was still writing uni papers, because it would be a GOLDMINE), is how much of the humour is based on the British class system.

I mean, the basic premise of "tyrannical taskmaster makes people jump through arbitrary hoops for his favour and then belittles them for doing so" is already something only an audience with a slightly monarchical bend would accept unquestioningly. Add to that the way the Taskmaster/Assistant relationship is set up... Let's just say it fetishises a social dynamic that doesn't exist in quite the same way elsewhere.

Which I think may partially explain why so many people seem to be oblivious to the D/s undertones. -- Of course it's often kink-blindness on the part of non-kinky people, but I strongly suspect it's helped along by the cultural perception of what constitutes an acceptable power differential acting as a buffer to seeing anything off about it. The threshold for when it becomes weird is different.

Now, I think (and since I'm not British, do correct me if I have it wrong!) a key part of what makes the basic premise funny to British audiences (and differently from how it's funny to international ones) is the way cultural expectations of power vs submission are subverted.

Purely based on accent? Alex is the posh one. By miles. And Greg -- very pointedly! -- doesn't do the matching Fauxbridge that most viewers would probably expect from someone presented in a position of authority (or even just a "neutral" BBC accent). It seems bizarre from a foreign point of view, but I've found that this kind of discrepancy immediately and viscerally registers with Brits. (It's uncanny how little it takes, too -- ask your favourite non-TM-aware English person to just listen to the different ways they say "taskmaster" and they will extrapolate things you cannot even imagine.) Instead of just the regional connotation, there are always implications of class and social status to an accent that are absolutely baffling to the unaware.

Add the fact that Greg Davies is from Wales, and a lot of English people have a weird colonial superiority complex towards Welsh people to this day... It's enough to make all these obvious gestures of devoted subservience from Alex very unexpected and therefore funny.

(Also notice how it adds interesting layers to Katherine Ryan buying Greg a fake lordship title? And makes it funnier in a way she may not even have fully been aware of herself, being Canadian? It's delightfully irreverent and pokes fun at the whole system.)

My guess is that this is also why the studio audience's reaction to linguistics-based jokes is always so strong. Lets take the recurring bit about Alex correcting Greg's grammar. To an international audience, the main joke is that Alex is a nerd and cares too much about grammar, with maybe a side of him being a smartarse towards his boss in a potentially ill-advised way. But to a British audience, the level of audacious insubordination implied there? Much stronger. Wildly offensive thing to do. (And a level of arrogance that is extra hilarious coming from someone shown to be sleeping in a dog bed.)

The same mechanism also puts Alex's snide little asides towards contestants with regional or "urban" accents into perspective. Offensive dick move on his part? Oh yes, extremely. But the audience is very much not supposed to be on his side in this. He's being a bigoted little bully, and either the contestants get to humiliate him in retaliation (it's certainly not a coincidence that the Welsh and Irish contestants are generally the ones having the most fun putting him in his place) or Greg calls him out on it in the studio. In a society in which Alex's brand of micro-aggression is still incredibly commonplace and accent discrimination a widely accepted default, it's actually very cathartic to see it openly acknowledged and condemned.

I mean Tumblr obviously loves Alex, because he's cute and funny and we love the Greg/Alex D/s thing (I'm definitely guilty of this as well), but we have to remember that -- in the context of the show's premise -- his character is supposed to be pathetic and ridiculous, so when Greg does the "next to me a man who once told me while drunk that he thinks regional accents are inversely correlated to intelligence" intro thing, we're meant to see it as an asshole opinion that is actually unacceptable to hold and no one in their right mind would openly admit to. So Greg is humiliating Alex by (supposedly) exposing him as someone who would spout that kind of opinion. (Same as the jokes about Alex's misogyny. I see people criticise these jokes all the time, but I think that's because they refuse to understand how the underlying mechanism actually works and take them at face value as the real Alex's actual opinion, rather than something deliberately assigned to his in-show character to make a point about them being terrible.)

#taskmaster #meta #language geekery #take it with a grain of salt #I'm looking at this from a foreign point of view here

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soobnny · 3 months ago

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brownies 4 u — lee felix x reader ; there is love in a batch of freshly baked brownies (0.7k words)

happy bday felix!

The sun had come down hours ago when you arrive at Felix’s dorm.

It’s late, a little too late for your liking because you tether between quiet footsteps and gentle actions so as to not shake anyone awake from their slumber.

You politely set your shoes down where everyone else’s are. Their dorm has always been the cleanest between the four. You suppose it might be his roommate, Seungmin’s doing.

“Baby?”

You hear him before you see him.

You would’ve ran to the direction of the sound had the air not been so delicate. Guilt sits horrendously at the bottom of your stomach at the thought that maybe the beeping of the door had woken him up, but in the periphery of your vision, there’s evidence that contrasts your suspicions.

“What are you doing awake?” You suppose you don’t need to ask upon closer look.

Between the commotion in the kitchen and the flowery apron he’s sporting around his neck (the one you’d gifted to him last Christmas), you already know what.

The more appropriate question was why.

“You said you were craving brownies earlier.”

Oh.

He’s so warm, and so kind, and he’s speaking so gently that it matches the way he’s smiling at you.

Your stomach swirls with an emotion entirely different from the guilt that had occupied it earlier. Despite your eyes dimming with tire, there’s no mistaking the fondness that litters your pupils when you look at the boy.

So that’s why.

“Sit down, they’re almost done.” Felix doesn’t leave without a kiss on your forehead, careful not to touch you with his flour-filled hands.

The proximity is enough for you to catch a whiff of his soap and the sweetness of the brownie batter.

You’ve never felt this way before.

And if the boy was being honest, he’d never felt this way before either. He’s never been the type to sacrifice his sleep over a simple craving you’d mentioned in passing.

While he has always been kind, Felix had no trouble drawing the line where friendship and love tow dangerously close to one another. With you, he finds that he doesn’t mind losing the extra hours he could’ve gotten had he not started baking. He doesn’t mind if he’s doing it in the premise of love.

Hyunjin had asked him to describe it once.

Love.

There is nothing potently more romantic than the way your heart feels, he thinks.

Felix will never find the words to answer Hyunjin, but if anyone were to spend a second being as in love with you as he is, they’d know. Sometimes, there’s no need for words. It’s just the way you make his heart beat in a way it has never before.

“You didn’t have to make me this.” Your heart swells when he takes the seat next to yours, two pieces of perfectly cut brownies on a plate.

“I wanted to.”

Your ‘thank you’ comes out whispered, and Felix spends the remainder of the time memorizing your smile the moment you take a bite.

“It’s really good.”

He mirrors your smile. Your cheeks puff up a little bit while you’re chewing, and there’s years of happiness and pain littered through little marks all over your skin. There’s no sight as perfect as the one he’s subjected to right now.

“Is it?” He asks, eyes quiet with comfort.

You hum. It doesn’t take long for you to finish it. You didn’t know before that something as simple as a brownie and the hands and the patience and the person behind it could be the brief peace that you needed amidst a rough week.

“Thank you, Felix.” Sincerity drips from your voice, and it makes Felix warm.

There is nothing more beautiful than genuineness, especially when it’s aimed at you. He’s convinced God had modeled you after kindness, and he’s even more thankful that he’d walked a path in his life that led him straight to you.

“Bed?”

“Hmm..”

“Don’t do this again when you’re tired, okay?” You mumble, pressing a kiss on his lips as your eyes struggle to keep open. But it’s something you have to remind him, so he won’t risk his sleep again. “We can always wait til the morning.”

“Okay.”

(Felix still does. He doesn’t think you understand that his sleep is a small price to pay to see you smile despite your own exhaustion. He’s always been weak at heart when it comes to you.)

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blainesebastian · 1 year ago

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something real

words: 13,045 ship: austin butler x female reader rating: SFW except for one explicit scene summary: i took inspo from a request about fake!dating for a wedding and from another film with a similar premise. what else do you do when your ex is getting married? hire a fake date notes: feel free to visit my austin masterlist warnings: none, but check the rating. tag list: @austinbutlermischief, @killerqueenfan, @stylespresleyhearted,

“You’re losing it.”

A short laugh escapes your lips because god, maybe you are. This all started out easily enough—you needed a date for your ex’s wedding. Right, the fact that you were even invited kind of drives you crazy. It’s not like you didn’t have a good relationship with Todd, you did? But it also doesn’t change the fact how things ended—he ‘meant’ to break things off with you but started seeing someone at the same time. Claire. The girl he’s marrying. But you’re not about to go through life with grudges and anger when you can just let things go.

Which is why you’ve entertained this wedding invitation in the first place?

But to go alone? That’s a fate worse than death.

Which, ironically, is exactly what your friend, Jill, is telling you you’re going to be with this idea you’ve come up with.

“It’s all perfectly safe.” You mutter, sliding onto a bar stool and turning to look at her. You’re wearing a light blue dress, pair of booties, and jean jacket. Just casual enough but also hinting you’ve got a figure to show off if you really wanted to.

She scoffs, “Yeah, that’s what everyone says before they end up on 60 Minutes.”

You can’t help but smile, tugging the file out of your course before setting it on the bar top. “Do you want me to explain it again?”

Jill puts her hands on her hips—as if that will somehow make her comfortable with all of this, but she’s not protesting either. So you open up the file and—

“So my neighbor’s used this service before to go to her high school reunion, you know, so she didn’t end up there alone. She went onto their online platform, filled out a survey and bam, she was matched with someone to go.”

Jill narrows her eyes, “For twenty thousand dollars.”

“Well it’s not charity,” You throw back, “I’ve done the research, there’s a ton of reviews—all positive. It’s not like it’s about sex or anything, it’s just…companionship for one event.”

Jill looks at the file, crinkling her nose, “There’s so many other ways you could have done this—Rick, the guy in 6B? He’s always thought you were cute.”

You laugh a little, “If I go out with Rick, there is a good chance I’ll end up missing some limbs—dude is creepy, Jill.”

Her friend rolls her eyes but it’s fond, opening up the file and pointing to a blank spot where this guy’s photo should be, “Okay, but you don’t even get to know what he looks like?”

“I think it was my Wi-Fi,” You state honestly, “Some of the images weren’t loading. But that’s why you’re here,” You grin, “Safety measures. So—” You gently push on one of her hips, “Go find a table, order a drink while I wait for Austin.”

“That’s the gigolo’s name?”

“Wedding date,” You correct, shooing her away until she heads to a table.

Taking a breath, you look at the reflective surface of the bar mirror in front of you, mentally praying that this somehow not a huge mistake and order a drink.

Chewing on the drunken cherry in your Manhattan, you glance down the bar as you see someone handsome talking to a small group of women. You wonder if that’s Austin, looking for you—he’s about ten minutes late. Your stomach clenches anxiously, knowing that maybe Jill was right and this is utterly ridiculous. But…you got invited to the wedding late (either it was a last-minute thought or it got lost in the mail) but there was no way you could organically find someone to ask.

Sure, you could have brought Jill or some other friend but…deep down? You know this is about making Todd feel utterly stupid for cheating on you, for leaving you for someone else. You don’t want him back, of course, but that feeling of satisfaction? That look on his face when he sees you with someone else? You want it.

You can’t not go and you can’t find someone random in your life already to go with…so when your neighbor mentioned this quick fix? How could you not look into it? You’ve got a ton of money saved from over the years, not to mention a small investment your grandfather put in your name. What’s the harm in looking into this, right?

“Y/N?”

Turning on the bar stool, you nearly swallow your own tongue as you’re met face to face with who you assume is Austin. And joke’s on you because he’s ten times more beautiful than the other guy at the bar you saw talking to those women. He’s tall, lean, in a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt underneath a black leather jacket. Easily handsome, like…James Dean or Elvis Presley. Doesn’t have to try very hard.

And suddenly something hysterical crawls up your throat as he takes a seat next to you, introduces himself as Austin, and apologizes for being late because of traffic because—

“I’m sorry—” You interrupt, shaking your head, “This uh, this isn’t going to work.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion, his mouth opening and closing, “Excuse me?”

“You’re,” You laugh lightly, cheeks heating up. There’s this sickly sensation gripping your stomach, telling you to run, “No one is going to believe that we’re dating.”

And maybe that’s something oddly pathetic you shouldn’t have uttered outloud because what’s even worse, Austin seems to grip what you’re saying and his features soften. You do not want pity or sympathy, you’re just…stating a fact.

Austin takes in a soft breath and looks towards the bartender, ordering himself a beer, confusing you a little because you expected him to just…take off. There’s no money involved at this point, it’s a clean break. This meeting is just to discuss details.

“I think you’re underestimating yourself,” He states gently, eyes sweeping over your form. And god, he’s good, isn’t he? You suppose this is his job, making women feel good. Confident. Even though it’s all a lie.

Letting out a breath as his drink is set down on the bar, you figure there’s no harm in…talking with him, right? He came all this way; you can at least wait until he finishes his beer to turn him down. You’ll just go to this damn wedding alone—it’s really not that big of a deal, right?

Austin takes off his leather jacket, hanging it up on a hook underneath the bar and he smells amazing—some sort of cologne that’s fresh and almost citrusy. You run a hand through your hair and order another Manhattan.

“So your request said a wedding?”

“My ex,” You clarify, “And I don’t want him back, or anything, I just want him to feel like an idiot.”

Austin smiles a little, humming— “Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. I’m assumin’ he already is one.”

A small laugh stutters forward in your chest because yes, he is. Your shoulders start to relax just a little because maybe Austin gets it. By not going or going alone you…you don’t want Todd to think that he’s somehow gotten one over you, that you’re lonely or broken ever since you’ve separated.

“Have you…done weddings before?”

He shifts a little on the barstool so that he’s facing you a little easier, “I’ve done weddings the most,” He admits, “Two high school reunions, one funeral.”

You raise your eyebrows, setting your drink down on the bar. “A funeral?”

Austin shrugs lightly, “Some women just want a hand to hold on their hardest day, a shoulder to cry on. Someone to talk to.” He licks his lips, taking a sip of his beer, “I’m not one to judge.”

You straighten your shoulders and…you suppose you’re really not in a position to do that either, given you’re here to hire Austin so you feel less alone and pathetic at a wedding. You take a long look at him for a moment, —curious. He doesn’t want to be doing anything else?

“Can I ask—why are you doing this?” Your fingers trace shapes into the condensation on your glass. “This whole fake-date program?”

Austin clears his throat, “You can ask me whatever you want,” He starts and that within itself seems like a dangerous proposition. “I work at this café near here but uh, it doesn’t exactly bring a lot of money in. I want to be an actor, like…a serious one, the money I get from these dates I’m savin’ up to go to L.A.”

And he essentially gets to pretend to be someone he’s not. Like an endless list of auditions.

There are other things you want to ask, other questions stuck in your throat about doing weddings. Why weddings? The whole concept seems like a bad idea—a high school reunion, a holiday party, even a funeral makes more sense, doesn’t it?

Those aren’t emotionally connected events, there’s no…opportunities to fall into something deeper than what the contract of attachment allows. But weddings? It’s about love and finding your person and…going to one with someone else feels like such a slippery slope.

Or maybe it doesn’t because Austin is a professional.

“So if I…if we do this, what does it entail, exactly?” You take another sip of your drink, as if you need the liquid courage for his response.

A small smile graces his handsome face again, “Don’t overthink it. It’s whatever you want, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You feel like there’s this heat uncoiling in your belly even though he’s not suggesting anything. Somehow, it’s in the ocean blue of his eyes—a depth there. You clear your throat, “You mean uh—if I require a dance partner? Because I love to dance at weddings…usually badly.”

Austin laughs warmly but shakes his head. “I meant if I was goin’ as your date or a boyfriend.”

And oh, of course, you hadn’t even thought about it but of course Austin would want a more specific role to sink his teeth into and your mind spins about what you want to do. It’s just one night, one silly wedding, there’s no long con here. It’s not like Todd will even care who you show up with, right? You’re the one who wants to feel less lonely—

And yet—

“You can think about it, if you need to—”

“Boyfriend.” You say, cutting him off. Heat returns to your cheeks…mise well go big or go home, right? If you’re going to do this? This has got to be a bad idea, right?

“Okay,” Austin smiles, “Good.”

So it’s settled that he’ll meet you at your place beforehand, you’ll iron out details of your relationship in case anyone asks and then you’ll go to the wedding together.

Austin stands and he tosses some cash on the bar counter (enough to cover your drink as well) and he hovers for a moment, tugging on his leather jacket. “My number’s in the file, in case you need it.”

Then there’s a moment where Austin watches you, fixing the lapels of his jacket. His one hand then rests on the bar, taking a step closer to you, and the way that you’re seated, your legs open just slightly to accommodate his body in your space.

“Don’t hit me, alright?” He smiles a little, leaning down, and honestly you’re the one that feels like you’re getting sucker punched in the stomach. Air right out of your lungs. “It was nice meeting you.”

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry as your eyes flutter to his lips, “Yeah, you too.”

There’s more than enough time for you to pull away, but you don’t, so he kisses you.

It’s nothing obscene, but slow and gentle. Warm. Just enough to make your heart pound against your ribcage, electricity singing in your veins. You suppose it’s something you should get used to if Austin is going to pass as your boyfriend.

You raise your eyebrows a little as he pulls away, hot under the collar of your jean jacket.

“Figure we’d just get that out of the way so you could concentrate.” He teases and god, your mind is spinning. You kinda hate that he’s made you feel like this so easily, like somehow it’s second nature.

“What, that doesn’t cost extra?” You manage to throw out there, finding your voice.

Austin grins, another soft laugh rumbling in his chest. “I’ll see you soon.”

You let out a slow breath, running a hand over your hair as you watch him walk out of the bar before downing the rest of your drink.

“So that’s your date, huh?” Jill asks as she comes up behind you—honestly her voice kinda sounds like cotton in your ears. “Todd is gonna swallow his own tongue.”

And you can’t help but grin.

You meet one more time before the wedding, just…something to solidify that you do, in fact, know what you’re doing. But also to get a bit more comfortable around Austin and the fact that he’s going to be your boyfriend. You let out a slow breath, aggravated by how crazy that sounds. Maybe Jill’s right, maybe this is a bad idea (despite how handsome and charming Austin is).

He’s picked you up to go somewhere but won’t tell you where. And when the engine turns off, you undo your seatbelt and look out the windshield, “A custard house?”

“Was hopin’ you could go for somethin’ sweet,” Austin smiles a little, “They make these waffle custard sandwiches that’ll change your life.”

You hum lightly and start to get out of the car, a little confused because…well, you’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. “We’re here for ice cream sandwiches?”

Austin scrunches his nose in mock offense at her flippant description, “No, we’re here for waffle custard. You need to work on listenin’, come on.” He gets out of the car too and locks the doors.

You know you’re about to paying Austin a decent amount of money to be your stand-in date, your fake boyfriend, dragging him to this wedding for god knows what reasons make sense in your head but…you suppose you didn’t count on him being like this. A tiny bit thoughtful, sweet, funny even.

Or maybe he’s already a decent actor.

You follow him to the counter, your eyes trailing over at least thirty different custard flavors—not only that, but there’s twice as many toppings. How are you supposed to choose?

“You know what you want already?” You ask as Austin rolls up the sleeves of his jean jacket a little.

“I always know what I want.” He leans on the counter, turning towards the woman at the register to order French vanilla—but stops when you make a noise. He looks at you over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Somethin’ you wanna share?”

You purse your lips and rocks back onto your heels, shaking your head, “No I just…vanilla, really? You don’t seem like the type.” She teases.

Austin smirks, straightening his back. “Oh, huh.” He motions to the large display menu. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby. What should I order?”

You let the pet name slide (and it does, like heated molasses right down in your veins), which is probably a dangerous slippery slope, but you’re too busy trying to take in a custard selection at the moment to care. You chew on your lower lip, slipping through the flavors written in chalk on the board and decides to go with your favorite pairing—

“He’ll have chocolate and strawberry custard in that waffle sandwich thing with…” You hum, “Caramel sauce and chocolate sprinkles.” You smile, clearly happy with your selection before ordering the same for yourself…except you also get chocolate sauce and whipped cream.

Because why the hell not?

“You’re gonna have that all over you before the night is over.” Austin motions to the dripping mess in your hands, carefully shelled between fresh waffles wrapped up in foil.

You slide yourself onto the hood of Austin’s car, almost sliding back down but managing to lean against the windshield before losing your custard sandwich.

“Challenge accepted.”

Austin smiles a little, sitting down next to you, looking far too handsome sprawled out on his car.

You realize that everything between you both is so dangerous, wrapped in gentle dynamite, the softest breath or touch capable of explosion. But it’s also tantalizing in a way that excites you—Austin is different, gentle but rough with the walls he keeps up.

Everything about this is a lie –circles in your head, over and over, trying to remind you not to take anything too seriously. And yet? You bury it deep with a bite of your custard sandwich. You moan softly and lick chocolate off your lips because Jesus, this is incredible.

Austin smirks, licking custard between the waffle before he takes a bite of his own. “Told you it was worth the stop.”

“I’m not going to admit you somehow know all just because you have decent taste in custard.” You smile and takes another bite of your waffle sandwich, leaning back to watch cars drive by.

“Give it time.” Austin glances over and you can feel his gaze, always like a magnet tracing the curves of your body. You want to tell him that you enjoy when he looks at you like that, to be felt and seen all at the same time, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

You wonder if he looks at every woman who’s ever paid him like that.

You’re not sure you want to know.

You turn and meet his gaze, holding it for a moment before a small smile graces your lips. “Do you really work at a café?”

He nods, leaning further up against the windshield. “It’s called Mug Half Full; been there about three years.” He licks his lips, pulling a napkin from his pants pocket and wiping his chin where he feels caramel sticking. “What do you do? You didn’t mention it in your email.”

You swallow down a bought of self-loathing at the question and decide to take another bite of your sandwich; sweet hiding sour. “I uh, I’m kinda in-between jobs at the moment.” You know Austin has to be able to see through that terrible excuse of an answer. “I’m currently getting an online degree in education.”

Austin finishes his custard waffle, which is admirable because yours is two seconds away from becoming soup in your hands. You lick at the sides as he crumples up a napkin and puts his trash in a can nearby so it’s not in either of your way.

“What do you want to do?”

The question shouldn’t offend you as much as it does, the want and need to defend yourself raising your hackles a bit. You bite down on reacting too sorely; he’s just asking a question—and you realize you haven’t given him a reason not to ask something like that. Your bland response is what prompts the statement.

You suppose you’re just…too used to people asking that, especially since society makes you feel like you somehow got a late start in figuring things out. In reality, it’s never too early or too late to be whoever you want. You’re just…getting to that.

You clear your throat, setting your custard sandwich down on your lap a moment, the foil protecting your clothes. “I have no idea,” You admit with a soft laugh, “My relationship with my ex kinda took all my energy—supporting whatever he needed, you know? Now I’m just starting to figure myself out.” And you’re proud of that progress, even though it feels like pushing a boulder up a hill sometimes. “I might teach maybe, one day.”

He holds your gaze for a moment, slight amusement dancing in the corners of his eyes. He smiles gently, looking down at your hands before he picks up your sandwich and licks whipped cream off the corner. Ridiculously obscene and unnecessary but you let him do it anyways.

You have apparently become accustomed to sharing things—you’ve noticed that he continues the ruse of soft touches and intimate gestures when no one’s watching. You think it’s to help solidify the fact that you’re supposed to be dating, supposed to be into one another. Which isn’t very hard when he does things like that with his tongue.

Austin tosses your trash like he did with his own before turning to look at you, handing you a napkin to wipe your hands off. “I could tell you wanted more. And you know, there’s nothin’ wrong with that.”

Then why does it feel so guilty for you to admit— “Sometimes it feels selfish, to want things for myself.” You swallow, letting it sink into the air. You’ve never told anyone that before, not even your best friend or your parents.

“Sounds like someone really selfish made you feel that way.” He says gently and it’s like…wool has been taken off your eyes. Something you maybe knew but needed to hear.

It’s not what you expect him to say, not in the slightest, but it warms you from the inside out either way. You nod because yes, you’ve never thought about it like that but yes, that’s it exactly. Realizing that taking care of yourself is one of the best things you can do—knowing yourself and that you deserve to want, that it’s normal, even.

Austin hums softly, moving to slip off the car. You swing your legs around and when he offers you his hand, you take it to slide off as well.

How easy it would be to lean up and kiss him, how he’d probably taste like hints of chocolate and strawberry. You wait for him to let you go, for his hand to stop holding yours. But he doesn’t.

You lick your own lips, your eyes looking to his lower one, how it pouts out gently when he looks at you—and you decide to stop waiting for things you want. If you’re going to pay for his company, you might as well enjoy it.

You press your lips into his own, capturing something sweet, lips moving together like you both were always made to kiss. Austin’s one hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your hair back around your ear before eventually pulling back. You’re breathing a little shakily, your noses brushing, Austin taking his time to trace your cheekbone with his lips before he opens up the car door for you.

“You’re not charging me extra for the gentleman treatment, are you?” Or for the kisses I keep stealing?

Austin smiles, a soft laugh leaving his throat as he waits for you to put your seatbelt on. “Not yet.” And closes the door with a wink.

You think about canceling six times between when you wake up on the day of the wedding to the moment you slide your dress over your head. You’ve told yourself that this was and continues to be a terrible idea and if you hadn’t paid him half up front through a cash app, you’d have the nerve to tell him never mind. Kisses and all, you really feel like you’re starting to lose your damn mind.

Though you know even if you told Austin to forget the whole thing, you still have to go to this wedding. (You could probably skip it no big deal, but the last thing you want is Todd to assume you’re bothered either). Canceling now would definitely mean going alone and you can’t stomach it, not when you feel like all of your insides are already in knots.

You smooth your hands down the front of your dress as you hear the doorbell, taking the steps downstairs carefully in your gold heels. You’ve settled for a navy-blue number that shows just enough cleavage and is ruffled at your middle, hugging curves and kissing your skin beautifully. You feel confident and comfortable, which is important for a long night.

You sigh, glancing at your front door for a moment before turning the knob and opening up to see Austin. He’s standing in a suit, beautifully polished, hair perfectly coifed on his head. A navy button-down underneath a gray suit jacket, tie to match with a red spidery design that reminds you of tree branches in the winter.

A crinkle appears between Austin’s eyebrows because, “Why are you shakin’ your head?” He asks as he steps over the threshold and you close the door.

“I just naturally assumed you were going to show up in black. Black in your profile picture that finally loaded, black at the bar… I thought that was the only shade you owned.”

He runs a hand lightly over his chest. “Grays in the same shade family.” He’s joking but you’re not laughing and finally he just throws his hands up a little, “What’s the big deal?”

“Because we match.”

Austin looks down at himself and pauses, doesn’t get it, gives you a look that makes you feel a little crazy. “That a bad thing?”

“It’s—” No, it’s not exactly a terrible idea but it somehow digs under your skin because you want today to be perfect and Austin is supposed to be your boyfriend and you can’t be that couple that goes all matchy-matchy to events, right?

What are the odds that he shows up in something that is the exact same color as your damn dress?

“It’s too perfect, it’s not believable.” You say and he raises his eyebrows because that does not make one lick of sense. He takes a step towards you and you mirror one back, shaking your head.

Austin lets out a slow breath because you’re nitpicking and it annoys him, a flare of impatience decorating his handsome face. “Well I don’t exactly got another suit in my back pocket and we’re already late.”

You narrows your eyes, “Just…follow me. I’ll change.”

You’re up the stairs and in your bedroom before you realize what you’ve said, Austin slipping in behind you and looking around the room, drinking you in with permission you’ve accidently given him. You turn suddenly and slip off your heels, pressing one hand to his chest to stop him.

“Don’t move.”

He smiles a little and nods his head, sticking his hands in his pockets as he watches you slide into your walk-in closet to change. You sigh softly and run a hand over your forehead before you take a moment to unzip your dress and glance at your options.

“A lot of beige.”

You roll your eyes and pull out a black dress, quickly pulling it on and kicking your navy blue one to the side before stepping out of your closet. You don’t bother to zip it up until you make sure it’s the right one.

Austin has dutifully not moved from the spot on the carpet where you’ve left him and he scrunches his nose at your dress, “You goin’ to a wake?”

“What’s wrong with beige?” You glance around your bedroom; at the little accents you’ve added that have color to them. Some shades of coffee colored brown and touches of teal here and there. It’s minimalist but tasteful.

“It’s just not what I pictured.”

“You pictured my bedroom?” You ask, but the corners of your mouth pull slightly as you put your hands on your hips.

Austin tilts his head at you, eyes traveling over your body in an unashamed way. “Maybe.” He pauses for a moment to let that sink into your pores. “You don’t seem like a beige. Also, no to that dress. I can maybe get you not wantin’ to match completely but that doesn’t line up with what I got on at all.”

You nod and turn to go back into your closet, pulling the dress off and standing far too long in your underwear trying to decide on a color range. You could go gold…but that feels too flashy, gray is out of the question and so is another navy dress so…

You finger red fabric for a moment that matches the scarlet on Austin’s tie and pull it off the hanger.

“I’m not actually that fond of beige,” You admit over your shoulder as you pull the dress up—it’s a fit and flare that kind of reminds you of the sixties. Something that hugs your waist with a high-neck tanked top and flares out like a wide flame at the bottom. It hits just below your knees and your gold heels will still go nicely with it.

“But the house kinda came this way and…I never took the time to fix it.” You walk out of the closet, pulling your hair free from underneath. “Todd didn’t like bold colors anyways.”

Austin’s eyes descend on you like a cold rush of water, a wave crashing down onto your shores. He stares for what feels like a long time, his hands coming out of his pockets like he wants to touch but can’t—too far away. You smile softly as his gaze sticks, he’s captivated by the dress, and you notice he has to shake his head as you approach to be able to speak to you.

“So I’m guessin’ he’s not gonna like this.” He reaches to touch your waist, fingers pressing warmly into the fabric.

You chew on the inside of your cheek a moment, looking up at him. “Do you like it?”

He smirks gently, pulling on your elbow to turn you around. He doesn’t reply but you feel suddenly naked under his gaze as your bare back is exposed to him. He takes his time finding the zipper and slowly draws it up into place, fixing the little hook at the top. His hands rest against your shoulders and guide down, squeezing your arms before letting you go.

“Get your shoes. We’re already late.”

You let out a long sigh that somehow turns into a pout, making him smile, “We could stay here, you could give more wisecracks about my bedroom decorum.”

Austin smirks and grabs your purse from where it’s seated on the bed as you slip your heels back on. “As amazing as that sounds, that’s not what you’re payin’ me for.”

And the words sound sour, swallowing them down, nodding your head as you leave the bedroom with him.

The wedding itself isn’t actually terrible—it’s beautiful in a way that would make any woman envious. Lots of flowers and gold designs and as you watch the entire ceremony take place, you have moments where you wonder why you’re here. Was it really that important for you to show up? And not only that, but pay a date to be here? You keep going back and forth, like a serious game of tug-of-war.

Why did it matter if you showed up alone? Or with Jill?

Austin helps you with your coat, his hand on your lower back as you walk out of the church and towards the reception hall which is being held in this beautiful botanical garden that has rooms you can rent for things like this.

People begin to pile into the building, pausing at the coat check before heading into the reception all, and it’s right there that you suddenly feel like bolting. Truth is? Todd was your boyfriend for years before your breakup (a breakup that might have never happened if you hadn’t realized he was cheating, because clearly he hadn’t taken the initiative until it was too late). And it’s probably so stupid that you remained friends with him, that you were invited to this wedding, that you for some reason care about what he thinks—even now.

But you do.

You should have just moved on and thrown the wedding invitation in the trash but…feelings don’t always come in black and white. You constantly live in a shade of gray.

And you’re worried someone is going to see right through you tonight.

Austin squeezes your hand, getting your attention as you remain grounded by the coat check. He’s patient, waiting until your gaze meets his own. “You’re shakin’.” His other hand covers the one he’s already holding.

You nod your head and offer a smile you don’t feel. “I thought this would be easy. Having you here as a distraction, smiling at all the right times and drinking too much wine in a nice dress,” You shrug your one shoulder, “It doesn’t change how I feel.”

Despite the small amount of privacy the coat check wall provides, you can feel eyes on you two from different parts of the room; people slipping past to get a glass of champagne from the cash bar, fluttering in-between hors d'oeuvres tables and congratulating the couple. Guests who know who you are, who are whispering about you. You can hear Todd a few feet away; big laughs and too loud discussions that tell you he’s a little drunk but genuinely happy.

Or maybe this is all in your head.

“Look, I think you were gonna feel this way no matter if you came alone or with someone.” He runs his thumb over your knuckles. “But you can still do all the other things you mentioned,” Austin leans in, brushes his lips over your cheekbone as he talks, “Drink too much wine in a beautiful dress and smilin’ definitely doesn’t hurt.”

He pulls back and you lick your lips, wanting nothing more than to lean up and kiss him again. To feel his arms wrap around you and pull you close, back outside, to his car, away from this place where you feel like you have to be someone you’re not.

Austin grasps your chin between his pointer finger and thumb, waiting until your eyes meets his own again. He leans forward to brush your lips together, gently, more to distract you than anything else because it’s not a kiss.

“Women hire me because they want to feel wanted and if that’s what you need to hear, then fine, I do want you, Y/N.” You let out a breath that sounds too shaky for your own good, your knees slightly buckling. All the other gazes you once felt on you fade away, until it’s only you and Austin in an empty botanical garden.

“But hearin’ that doesn’t matter until you want things for yourself. You want someone to believe in you? You want to feel confident? Wanted?” His hand falls to your waist, “Good enough?”

You swallow thickly, his words reaching something that’s still raw inside of you, that still hurts to think about. You want to pull away, nearly do, but instead surrender to his weight against you. It’s not his fault that he does a better job of reading you than you do looking in a mirror.

“Then it has to come from you first.”

You shake your head as he pulls away, his hand very simply returning to yours as you both move towards the cash bar. “I know you think you know me from a few meetings and a detailed email request. But you don’t.” Your words at least sound stronger than you feel.

Austin looks at you over his shoulder and smiles but says nothing in return.

Maybe the problem is, he does know you, even from the simplest interactions. Maybe you’re just not used to being seen. Todd never saw you, even when you gave him so many chances to try. You suppose at that point you need to want to try.

You’re seated at a table that has mostly co-workers and friends and you attempt not to cringe when someone asks you how you know the bride and groom. Austin swoops in and responds that they’re friends, his arm stretched out over the back of your chair. You’re grateful because the words we dated are sitting in your throat like a lump, difficult to swallow over.

The night spins forward, you’re able to avoid the bride and groom for the duration of it, just enjoying food and a little bit too much wine and hanging out with Austin. There are long conversations where you get to know one another, fill one another in about things that are real, beyond the layers of this fake-date situation.

It’s nice, seeing him in that light, getting to know him as if you’d bumped into him at a bar and enjoyed his company.

You almost wish that was the case, instead.

His arm squeezes around your waist as you both dance on the dance floor, his jacket on the back of his chair, dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. You’re definitely a little tipsy, the room is rose-colored, but all in all? It feels like a crisis has been avoided, you’re actually having a good time.

“Can I get you another glass of wine?” Austin asks, brushing his lips over your forehead, “Maybe some cookies from the dessert table?”

You grin, “You know me so well.” And it’s not a line, somehow, you’ve been craving cookies for the past half hour.

Austin smiles, nods, squeezes your waist and leaves you to do just that. You somehow ache with missing the heat of his body once he’s gone—and that’s how you know you’re slightly in over your head. You have to keep reminding yourself that none of this is real—the way Austin talks to you or looks at you, the way his hands travel over your body, the slight brush of his lips against your own.

It's all a lie.

A lie that you paid for.

Running a hand over your forehead, you turn and nearly bump into someone, blinking as you look up and—

“Todd.”

Your ex smiles, “Hey—I’m so glad you came, I wasn’t sure if you would.”

Neither was I, “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” Chewing on your lower lip, you’re struck with being unsure of what to say, scanning the crowd for Austin before clearing your throat, “Uhm, everything has been beautiful.”

Todd smiles, nodding, taking a look around for his bride. “Thank you. Are you uh, here with Jill?”

You open and close your mouth like a goldfish until you feel that familiar arm slide around you. “No this is Austin,” You take the glass of wine and have a hearty sip and it instantly makes your head spin.

Todd clears his throat and even though he’s smiling, it’s clear he’s giving Austin a once-over. He did not expect you to be here with someone. “I didn’t know you were bringing a friend that wasn’t Jill.” He kinda laughs, like maybe it’s a joke that you don’t have many other close friends other than her.

But Austin is quick to smile, “Actually, I’m her boyfriend.”

And there it is, the look on Todd’s face that you were after this whole time. It’s quick, gone almost as soon as it appears, but lingers in his eyes. Regret, maybe even jealousy. Even though his wife appears by his side and introductions are exchanged.

Luckily the conversation doesn’t last very long, the bride and groom are swept towards other people, more dancing. Which is good because you’re pretty sure you noticed that the bride couldn’t keep her eyes off of Austin.

What a couple her and Todd make.

Downing the rest of the wine, you set it on the table, letting out a slow breath. Austin keeps his hands firm on your hips and you can’t quite meet his eyes. You’re not quite sure how…this wasn’t what you expected, nor wanted.

Just feels like a big mistake.

“Wanna get out of here?” He asks quietly, seeming to read your mind.

You nod and he keeps his arm around you until you make it outside and reach his car.

That last glass of wine did you zero favors and by the time you make it to your front door, you’re dropping your keys instead of sliding them into the lock. Austin smiles a little, picking them up and unlocking everything, pushing the door open. You’ve got a firm hand on his shirt because you’re swaying slightly, almost a little afraid of what might happen if you let go.

What if all of this is one weird dream?

“Where are we going?” You ask as he comes inside, closing the door behind him.

“Water n’bed.” Austin replies as he guides you into the living room.

You scrunch your nose and look to the ceiling, definitely knocking yourself off balance as the room spins. Austin lets out a short grunt as he catches you, steadying you against his chest.

“In that order? That’s so boring.”

He chuckles slightly, guiding you both until he has you in front of the couch, encouraging you to sit. “You got somethin’ else you’d rather do?”

You can’t help but grin at the question, poking at his chest. “I think you know what I’d rather like to do.” It’s like hot lava pouring from your lips, you can’t seem to stop it even though you know you’ll have burns later.

Austin hums under his breath but doesn’t respond, concentrates instead on keeping you on the couch once you’re seated.

“Stay there,” He says when you try to get up, holding onto your shoulders and pressing you gently down. “You good or you gonna slip off?” There’s an amused smile pulling handsomely at his lips as he tilts his head down to look at you, slipping his thumb and forefinger along your chin.

“Good, I’m so good.” You nod, determined to give him responses that make sense. You just wish the room would stop spinning.

Only when he feels like you mean it does he pull away from you. You closes your eyes as your fingers grip the cushion, trying to hold yourself in place. None of this really helps and instead you just end up feeling nauseas, forcing your eyes to open so you can see Austin.

He’s taken his jacket off, tie gone and shirt unbuttoned a bit, and seeing his chest and forearms makes heat unwantedly pool between your legs and you lick your lips, trying to focus on what he has in his hands.

“He…he honestly didn’t think I’d be there with anyone.”

A crinkle appears between Austin’s eyebrows and he pauses, “What?”

You swallow, not sure if your trail of thought makes sense. “Todd. Jerk.” You give as an explanation.

Something passes over Austin’s face but it’s gone as soon as it appears and he crouches in front of you, his one hand slipping over your knee a moment, “Do you actually care what he thinks?”

You hold his gaze for a long moment before shaking your head. He hums softly, squeezing, his thumb between your thighs and it’s really too distracting.

“Then fuck him; neither of those two seemed like they should be giving relationship advice.”

You giggle something ridiculous and cover your face with your hand a moment, glad you were able to make sense of all that even though you probably didn’t need to bring it up.

“You got anythin’ like a long t-shirt?” He changes the subject as he makes a motion to go upstairs. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to get pants on you.”

You huff out a sound and rub a hand over your face, most likely smearing makeup in the worst way. “That’s alright, I like bein’ pantless.” You reach over and is happy you don’t tumble, using one hand to hold onto his shoulder to get his attention. “Upstairs, first drawer on the right.”

He’s back and forth quickly; makes you wonder how long you’ve actually been sitting there.

Him undressing you is a blur; you note that he does his best to dip his gaze when he can to give you a little privacy. Just enough that you can figure out that your head doesn’t go into one of the arm holes and assists when you starts whining that you can’t get it right. You throw your wedding dress aside and kicks off your heels, letting out a soft huff when Austin disappears into the kitchen.

He comes back with a warm washcloth that smells like lilac soap and he waits until your gaze focuses on him before he asks whether you can do this yourself.

You nod a little absently, taking the washcloth from him and wiping your makeup off before handing it back to him. You pull as many bobbypins as you can find from your hair and toss them onto the coffee table, pulling your strands back up into a bun before collapsing face first into the couch.

You barely feel the couch dip as you smush your face into a pillow, blankets being draped over your shoulders.

When you wake up, you don’t automatically remember where you are.

You lift your head and groan softly, pinching your eyes with your thumb and forefinger trying to get the pounding to stop. There’s a soft blue light casting shadows on the walls of the living room and oh, that’s right, you’re home. Austin brought you home last night.

You swallow and nearly sit up too fast, leaning up on your elbows because oh, oh fuck, now you remember. A wave of nausea crashes down on you for moving and you flutter your eyes closed briefly and hope that helps. When you feels confident enough to fix your gaze on something other than the inside of your eyelids, you turn to look at Austin who’s sitting up in one of the lounge chairs nearby against a few pillows, watching TV.

He didn’t leave. He stayed with you the entire night.

The sound from the TV isn’t loud enough to be heard but you can tell he does this often, eyes on the screen, just absorbing the images that flicker to life. His head dips to look over at you when you move; he looks tired. You really hope he didn’t sit up to just…keep an eye on you, making sure you slept alright.

You clear your throat, the sound scratchy and dry regardless of your trying, “Am I dead?”

Austin smirks a little and stands to come and sit by your legs, handing you a glass of water that’s on the coffee table. “Here. You passed out before I could get you to drink any.”

You sigh softly and close your eyes, moving to sit up further and is glad to see the room isn’t spinning anymore. “Lovely.” You drink deeply after a few tentative sips to make sure you can keep it down.

“You stayed.”

“I did.” Austin’s quiet for a few moments, playing with the corners of one of the blankets. Clearly he’s not going to elaborate. “You got a headache?”

You hum an affirmative response but it’s nothing water and Advil can’t cure. You lean your head back against the headboard, closing your eyes again for a few moments to avoid the blue light spilling into the room from the TV. You give yourself some time to sip your water before you open them again, setting the glass down on the table. There’s cookies there too, from last night. Austin kept them.

You sense embarrassment licking at your nerve endings, feeling a little ridiculous for your behavior. You should really know better than to let yourself go like that, especially since it doesn’t take too many glasses of wine in a row for it to happen.

“Sober?” He asks and there’s a tilt to his voice that you don’t like, far too amused.

You groan and turn your head to look at him, trying to muster up a glare that doesn’t stick. “Unfortunately.” You rake your fingers through your hair, trying to not even think about what you might look like.

You’re just glad you didn’t vomit.

A deep breath settles in and out of your lungs before you turn your head to look at Austin, the light of the TV casting beautiful shadows on his face. Your eyes skitter over the scruff beginning on his jawline and your fingers itch to follow. You clear your throat, getting his attention, and he turns his head to look at you.

“I’m sorry for getting plastered.” You smile a little because he does; that same amusement back on his face, though it doesn’t bother you this time around. “I’m shocked that you do weddings.”

You allow yourself to laugh a little, shaking your head like it’ll somehow clear the fuzzy memories of him bringing you back to your home, tripping over yourself. You regret the way you’ve carried yourself, but a tiny part of you is glad you decided to let yourself go, to enjoy the open bar and let your emotions run a little rampant for once.

You’re so used to keeping everything inside, to holding it all in. For once you didn’t.

Austin’s chewing on words he’s not saying, you can see the hesitance in his expression, wanting to say something but unsure if he should. You wait, don’t press, and eventually,

“Admittedly, I haven’t done a wedding in a while.” He shakes his head, “Because they tend to be messy in a way that I never expect.”

You wince, rubbing the back of your neck because…clearly you hadn’t planned on making a fool out of yourself but Austin quickly continues to explain,

“I don’t mean you.” He turns a bit to lean against the couch, his shoulder pressed along the cushions. Austin licks his lips, his eyes tracing your jawline and lips, slipping down your neck and collarbone enough to make you shiver.

“In your request, you said somethin’ like, ‘I don’t want my ex to feel like he’s taken something from me. Something that’s mine and will always be mine’.”

You search his eyes for a moment and when his finally meet yours, something warm and aching starts in your chest, blooming outward like a flower only meant to grow at night. You swallow thickly, “You remember that?” Because you kinda…bared you soul in that request for a date service. You hadn’t meant to come across so desperate but…you were also just being honest.

“I have a very good memory,” He attempts to wave this off, and you want to tell him not to—that what he’s saying matters. Austin’s seeing you, over walls you didn’t realize you had up after all this time.

“You said kind of implied that you wanted Todd to regret cheating on you, but I think you really meant that you wanted him to see that he didn’t break you.” He licks his lips and trails his pinky finger along your jawline as he curls loose hair behind your ear. “I’ve met a lot of women in similar situations, and not all of them have handled it like you.”

A laugh slips out of your throat, something you can’t stop. You’re trying to break the tension gathering in the room, something heavy and thick like warm cotton settling over both of you. Handled it? You haven’t exactly done that well, have you? If last night is any indication.

“What, they didn’t hire a male escort and get piss drunk?”

He smiles gently, shaking his head. “They let their exes break them because they couldn’t figure out who they were without them.”

The warmth in your chest threatens to burst and you wish for a moment that you could see yourself the way Austin does, so clearly, like everything is laid out before him, all he has to do is read.

“But not you.” It barely leaves his mouth before you close the distance between them.

The heat erupts in a single kiss, both of Austin’s hands tangling themselves in your hair, pulling it loose from your haphazard bun. He kisses you like you’ve always wanted to be kissed, even though you hadn’t realized it was something that was missing until now.

He inches you forward, forcing you to move until you’re straddling his waist, blankets getting caught and tangled in-between. Anything that’s been building up suddenly releases into you both, like a wave crashing, heated breaths against skin and not being able to get close enough. Austin tugs off your long t-shirt and a shiver travels down your skin as you reach up and automatically unclasp your bra.

You sit there for a moment, almost in the wake of realizing what you’ve done, and you watch Austin’s gaze. His eyes drink you in, hands still on your waist, trailing up your sides, thumb slipping underneath one of your breasts to press against your ribcage. The touch is intimate enough to cause something sharp in your throat, thick swallowing for it to disappear. You lean forward, presses your foreheads together and you kiss again.

You’re fumbling to get blankets down, to move everything out of your way and Austin flips your positions, easing you down onto your back along the cushions. He rifles for something in his suit jacket that’s nearby while you slip your hips up to slide your underwear down and off and away. He’s got too many layers on and you itch to immediately remove his shirt when he’s overtop of you again.

Toned skin greets you and you can’t help but touch, sink your fingers in, drag your nails. The noises that leave Austin’s throat are enough to single handedly build the heat beginning in your lower belly, something you don’t think you ever want to stop hearing. He moves only long enough to take his pants off, tossing them to the side, and he holds your gaze—

He waits.

You swallow and know this is such a bad idea, that nothing good can come from this. But wasn’t it Austin who urged you to figure out what you want? You want to feel confident? Wanted? Good enough?

Then it has to come from you first.

There’s a half-nod in Austin’s direction before he’s slipping a hand down between you, to put a condom on but also—

You moan, rolling your hips as you feel his fingers slide against you, inside of you. He teases, rolls flesh between his thumb and forefinger, lips falling to your neck to leave kisses that eventually find your mouth again.

He takes his time even though you wish he wouldn’t, building you up and letting you down easy before pressing inside. You gasp and your back arches, hips rolling forward, Austin leaning down to capture your mouth again, to absorb your sounds. You wrap your legs around him, which makes moving a little difficult, but you don’t want him to move too far away, want to constantly feel him—keep you both connected.

Austin nips at your lower lip with his own, not taking you long to build up what you’ve started. Pleasure circles in your veins, pulling you towards an end that you doesn’t want to reach yet. He doesn’t stop, keeps moving his hips forward at a quickening pace and you dig your nails into his back.

You barely have time to warn him before you’re cumming, though because your bodies are molded together, you think he already knows—probably knew before you did. He grunts as he loses himself in you, his face falling to your neck, gentle panting and lazy kissing.

You tilt your head back so your throat is exposed, your hands slipping down his back and settling on his waist, his skin a little slick to the touch. He lays there for a long few moments and you take one another in, his chest pressing into your own as you both breathe.

He pulls back too soon for your liking, but you don’t have the energy to tell him to stop. Austin cleans himself up, slipping onto the couch again, this time behind you, and pulls you close. You turn on your side, blankets coming up over your shoulder as you puzzle-piece both of you together, your face hiding in his neck, already falling asleep.

Austin says nothing, which is fine with you, he doesn’t need to say anything. His lips find your shoulder, a few kisses here and there, hands intertwining in your hair.

You finally figure out what you want—

and you want this. You want him.

You wake up before Austin does, pulling yourself from the couch and disappearing into the bathroom near the kitchen. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you kinda shake your head before drawing up Jill’s text messages on your phone.

Y/N: I think I messed up.

You wash your face and feel a little more human, sitting down on the closed toilet seat as she pings you back.

Jill: oh no, what happened? Jill: please tell me Austin didn’t turn out to be a serial killer

You laugh, your hand covering your mouth. Jesus. A small, hysterical part of you wonders if that’d be easier to deal with.

Y/N: the wedding went fine, he brought me back home, stayed the night Y/N: may or may not have had sex with him on my couch this morning??

Jill instantly tries to call you and you press the red button—you can’t talk to her when he’s still here.

Y/N: I can’t, he’s still here

Jill: !!!!!! Jill: girl omg— Jill: how was it? 😉

Running a hand over your face, you wonder if you should have ever said anything. Then again, there’s this small smile tugging the corners of your mouth. In general, you know that there’s nothing wrong with what you’ve done—both of you are consenting adults. But then there’s this whole other layer of…paying him to be your date. It’s not like you paid him for sex or anything but…

You kinda can’t help but wonder how many jobs he takes that end up like this.

Y/N: it was perfect but that’s not the point

Jill: so what is the point?

You sigh softly, tapping on your cash app and just…wondering. So many insecurities and questions and wonderings wrapping around you like a blanket, except it’s far too tight, suffocating almost. Taking in a breath, you set your phone down on the counter, looking up when there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“Y/N?” Austin asks, “You alright?”

Reaching over to grasp the knob, you open the door with a soft smile, “Yeah.”

Austin looks ridiculously adorable slept on. His hair is slightly askew, skin looking warm, a soft, tired look in his eyes. God, you can’t believe he’s been here for so long in these wedding clothes, back in his slacks and a white undershirt.

“I uh,” He clears his throat, “M’gonna head home. Shower, change. But…”

You lick your lips, your stomach flip-flopping with eagerness.

“I was thinkin’ I could come back later; we could talk?”

God, talking sounds like such a great idea. Not to mention you could shower too, put yourself together, feel more like someone capable of having a serious conversation. So you nod with a soft smile—that sounds perfect.

And then—

You can pinpoint the exact moment that Austin glances to the sink and sees the cash app open because his expression changes, like a shadow passing over but instead of dissipating—it stays, darkening the color of his eyes. A breath catches in your throat as you straighten your shoulders, words on your lips and stuck on your tongue. Nothing comes out.

His gaze flickers up from the phone to your eyes and what you see there is like a cold bucket of ice water, anger but…deeper, it’s—

“Not what it looks like.” You finally say, breaking the tension into pieces with a hammer.

Austin hums, nodding his head and licking his lips. He’s trying very hard to speak without sounding annoyed, “What’s it like then?” He asks, the words daggered. “Cause it looks like you were about to pay me for services rendered.”

You shake your head and stand from the toilet on wobbly knees. Austin takes a step back from you, almost like a caged animal, getting ready to bolt. And then you realize, right, he’s not angry, he’s hurt.

“No—”

“Don’t lie to me,” He grounds out, the words chewed on between his teeth.

A shuddered noise leaves your lips because you can tell you’re losing it, this conversation slipping like sand between your fingers. He’s not going to be willing to listen to you if you confirm he’s right, that you had thought about it—if you admit you weren’t sure what you were doing or what sleeping together meant.

You distantly know that this isn’t going to end well, no matter what you say. Austin tore his walls down in front of you, exposed himself, and now he looks like a fool for doing it. Even if it’s on accident, you’ve hurt him, and you’re not sure if you’ll be able to backpedal without looking guilty.

“I thought about it,” You admit after a moment. “I wasn’t…” The last thing you wanted to do was make him feel cheap; you know that this thing started as a transaction but also that something changed last night.

“Nah, it’s good. You were payin’ me to do a job, right?” Austin turns to walk back to the living room, gather up his things. And it’s like…you have no idea what you can possibly say, how you can stop him.

Your legs carry you forward, “Austin, don’t.” You sigh and puts a hand on your lips, suddenly feeling nauseas as he moves too quick for you to stop him.

“Business is business. You can stop feelin’ so guilty,” He straightens his shoulders before grabbing his jacket, slipping it on. Metaphorically it feels like a shield, another layer he’s building back up between them both, shutting you out.

He can’t possibly leave like this, right?

You’re practically stumbling over your own feet as he makes it to the front door, “Please don’t walk away.”

His hand pauses on the doorknob, just for a moment, like he might actually be considering your words. But then he yanks the door open and slams it shut once he’s outside.

You don’t go after him.

Time goes on.

You expect that Austin might reach out to you—to apologize, to start over, or maybe even request the unfulfilled payment that he was supposed to receive after the wedding date. But nothing, it’s radio silent…and you think that’s worse.

You want to reach out to him on your own, but you’re not even sure where to begin. How to apologize for thoughts that are incomplete in your head. How to express emotions that are sitting at the bottom of your ribcage.

You’re just hoping for a chance to apologize and explain yourself, even though you’re not entirely sure you deserve it. Is this really it? Going back to business as usual and pretend they never met one another?

You sigh as you hear a few knocks on your door and hate how it feels like hope, quickly moving from your kitchen to tug it open and see Jill on the other side. You give her a small smile, letting her inside,

“I got your twenty texts, you alright?”

You run a hand over your forehead and shake your head, moving towards the kitchen for Jill to follow. You offer her a cup of coffee, sitting back at the counter with your own. Wrapping your hands around the ceramic, you glance up at your friend,

“I screwed up.”

Jill sighs softly, grabbing a cup for the coffee because clearly, she’s going to need it. “Tell me what happened; your texts were all hysteria and no detail.”

You map out the whole thing from start to finish, the chapel, the reception, the night of, the morning after—your voice drops on intimate details, like somehow you have to keep them exactly that. Intimate.

“Damn, Y/N.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “I know…it was an accident.” You swallow. “The money part, anyways.”

She adds a few spoonfuls of sugar to her mug, stirring. “Does tall, blonde and brooding know that?”

You let your hand fall from your face, eyes focusing out the window above the sink at the city sounds and sights. Suddenly a dark blue gaze rekindles in your memory, the hurt there, wounded and refusing to let you past his boundaries again.

“I tried to tell him; he wouldn’t listen.”

Jill hums under her breath a moment and shuffles, “Maybe give him some time? Try him tomorrow.”

Easier said than done, “I don’t even know where he lives. He’s not going to pick up the phone if I try to call him; texts are useless.”

Your friend’s quiet for a few moments, considering—and then a sound leaves her lips and you picture a lightbulb going off on her facial expression. “But you know where he works.”

You stand outside the café that Austin works at for what feels like a long time, staring at the sign and pacing back and forth to your car parked down the street. You really hope no one is watching you because you probably looks crazy; you feel crazy. You can’t just approach this man where he works, can you? You don’t even know if he’s working today.

But it’s…worth a try, right? Like one last shot before you just drop it.

You’re not sure that if the situations were reversed, he’d show up at your front door, so. Or maybe you’re just hoping he would.

So after spending ten minutes contemplating what to do, you finally force yourself to walk up the café door and make your way inside. It’s a hole in the wall but filled to the brim with people at tiny circular tables, waiting in line to place their order with a beautiful blonde cashier and satisfied customers adding sugar and creamer to their coffees at a station to your left.

The heady scent of fresh coffee and baked goods slam into you like a truck, leaving you almost breathless. This place blends in when it should stick out—she wonders if you didn’t know Austin if you’d come in to order an iced coffee just walking by on the street.

Your eyes graze behind the counter until you finally spot him further down, filling baked goods trays in a window that were once empty. A ton of questions hit you at once; did he make those baked goods that are at his fingertips? How does he separate the time between the café and the stand-in job? What are you going to say to him?

Before you can fully approach him, Austin glances up—and spots you.

He’s not happy to see you but he doesn’t look as pissed off as the last time you saw him, so, you consider that progress. You swallow as you walk towards the counter and your hand settles on the top of the glass, the lights above the pastries warming your palm.

“Hi.” That’s it? That’s all you can say? This conversation is going to be just as painful as the last one.

Austin doesn’t have a chance to open his mouth because another worker, a blonde girl, rushes to the counter because she must be on register, “Hi,” She smiles, bright, “We have orange scones on sale today. What can I get you?”

You smile gently at her, glancing at Austin and wondering if he’s going to step in or just…continue not saying anything to you. You suppose you don’t blame him.

“I’ll uhm, take a hazelnut latte and one of those scones,” You nod, reaching for your wallet in your purse, “Thank you.”

“I got the rest of this, Chloe,” Austin steps in as you stick your card into the reader. “Thanks.” He watches her go before turning his attention back to you, customers passing by and receiving orders that he’s already packed at the end of the counter. He hands over your receipt.

“You stalkin’ me now?” He asks but he’s not amused, drumming his fingers on top of the counter.

You let out a slow breath and he moves to fill your order, working the espresso machine with practiced ease, “You won’t text me back.”

“Maybe that’s cause I didn’t wanna talk to you,” He says pointedly before motioning towards your right, “You skipped the line.”

“I didn’t want to order anything, I just wanted to talk.”

He smirks but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes and he grabs an orange scone, wrapping it in a napkin. “Look at you, really learned how to be honest about what you want.”

“You taught me how.” You insist, trying to catch his gaze. When you finally do, you hold it there, trying to will him to listen to you—because you’re not grasping at straws, meeting him, spending time with him…being with him really taught you about parts of yourself that were missing.

Or maybe not missing, exactly, but lying dormant.

“I just want five minutes of your time, please, then I’ll leave you won’t hear from me again.”

Austin lets out a long patient sigh with a shake of his head, something between aggravation mixed with a touch of being impressed—you’re persistent, at least. He’s going to hear you out and suddenly all the words mix in a blender and sink to the bottom of your ribs; you’re almost unsure of how to put this but all you can do is try.

“You’ve been right since we first met; I didn’t know how to want things for myself even though I expected so much out of other people.”

You chew on your lower lip a moment, eyes tracing over the handsome lines of his face—now was not the time to get distracted.

“This whole thing caught me off guard, I wasn’t prepared to want you…and not just as my stand-in date, but you.”

He doesn’t hold your gaze and maybe that’s okay, he busies himself with getting other people orders, keeping the line moving but you can tell he’s still listening to you. He’s still intent on hearing you through…even though you’re almost certain it’s not going to make a difference.

You can tell by his expression, by those walls remaining firm; they’re not budging for you.

Not again.

“The money thing was a mistake. You were right, I did open up my app and think about it because I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what this thing was or if I was…imaging how I felt. So I fucked up but…so did you for not sticking around and talking to me.”

Austin’s shoulders straighten; he doesn’t appreciate you calling him out. A rod appears up his spine, his posture almost towering despite the glass case between them.

“I just…that’s it,” You swallow, your thumb running over the scone in your one hand and picking up your finished latte with another. “That’s all I wanted to say. Sorry for disrupting your work.”

You turn quickly, can’t take the look in his eyes anymore, the bustle of other people around you. You’ve said what you needed to—you should feel more complete than before, right? Because at least he knows your side of things.

It’s his turn.

You push the door open, the welcome bell dinging after you as you leave.

He doesn’t come after you.

You try to shake your head as Jill orders another shot, but can’t quite stop her because the woman has a mind of her own when it comes to having a good time.

“No,” You crinkle your nose.

Jill laughs, “Oh come on—one more. You’re not calling it early already, are you? We can get fries after this.”

You sigh, a bit dramatically, but how can you turn down fries? “Fine.” You shake your head, running a hand over your face as you sit at the counter of your frequent bar, “I’ll be back though.”

You slide off the barstool, motioning she should save your seat as you put your purse on it. She grins, cups your cheeks with her hands and plants a kiss on your forehead. You shoo her off, moving through the crowd to the restroom. Once you’ve used the bathroom and spend a little time with a cold and wet paper towel to the back of your neck, you come back out and nearly run someone over—

And blink because—

“Austin.”

It’s been a few months since you’ve seen him but fuck, he looks just as amazing as he did when you tried to explain yourself in the café. Wearing a pair of dark blue jeans, boots and a white button down, he’s got a leather jacket on as well, just a bit more scruff to his face.

“I was wonderin’ if you were gonna be here.” But it’s…contemplative, thoughtful, like he might have actually planned on trying to find you in the bar where you met.

You feel like the world might be spinning off its axis. “Here I am.”

He smiles a little, glancing over his shoulder and fuck, you wonder if he’s here with someone and—you’re pleasantly surprised that it doesn’t cause some adverse reaction. No punch in your gut that you completely screwed everything up. Time, it seems, does heal some wounds.

Maybe not heal, scar at the very least.

“I saw you post somethin’ on your instastory and I was…well I was hopin’…” He kinda trails off and two thoughts slam into your body like a freight train. One, he sounds…nervous? Which you feel like is very unlike him, given what you’ve been through together. And second? It actually sounds like he knew you were here and he meant to find you on purpose.

“Can we talk?” He asks, “Maybe outside?”

“Yes,” And god, you hope you don’t say that too fast. “Fresh air sounds good.”

As you begin to walk outside with him, you text Jill letting her know where you’re going (and with who). She sends you exactly three text messages in response that you don’t dare look at.

You take in a deep breath in once you get outside, the cool air settling over you like a bucket of cold water. You almost wish you grabbed your jacket from the bar but…dragging Austin over there towards Jill would have been such a bad idea.

It’s fine—the air is refreshing, a bit sobering and this conversation probably won’t last long either way. Taking in a breath, you turn to look at him, a soft smile on your face as you wrap your arms around yourself.

“So…”

Austin clears his throat, “You uh—?” He motions to his jacket and you’re not quite strong enough to deny his offer, so you gently nod your head. Austin slips off his leather jacket and hands it to you and you put it on.

A soft noise of approval leaves your lips as your arms go through the sleeves, a little bit long, feeling perfect though when you zip it up. The lingering scent of his cologne and skin is enough to almost knock you on your knees.

“Thank you.” You whisper, curling your hair around your ear.

You know that Austin is gathering his thoughts, but waiting almost somehow feels worse. You’re just…not sure what to do with yourself other than stare at him, hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket.

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” He finally says, “At your place?” It’s like the tension start to unwind from your shoulder at that, you almost have to physically swallow over your words so you can let him speak. “Just…felt like what we did, it was real—and—”

“It was real,” You assure him, can’t allow him to think otherwise, “I know this is going to sound cliché but…opening that cash app had everything to do with me, not you. I wasn’t second-guessing what happened.”

Austin gently waves you off, “It’s not your fault, I—I’m so used to things bein’ a business transaction that I just jumped to conclusions.”

You give him a small smile and it feels good? to be on the same page after all this time but…it’s not like, “It’s okay,” You curl your hair around your ear, “I’m not sure where something like this could go. I wouldn’t ask you to quit a job that’s clearly lucrative.”

Austin nods softly, “Well you don’t have to, because I already have.”

You’re not sure why what he says doesn’t register right away, you’re kinda just staring at him, wrapped up in his leather jacket, people passing you both on the sidewalk as you stand outside this bar.

Then you blink, “What?”

He smirks, running a hand through his hair as he nods, “Yeah, I uh—just didn’t want to do it anymore.”

You feel like your brain might be short circuiting, “But about acting? What about L.A.?”

A soft laugh rumbles in his throat, “I can still do L.A. Bein’ an actor isn’t goin’ anywhere.”

And you know that he still has a café job, that he can find other jobs to satisfy what he wants in terms of collecting money but…somehow you’re worried he’s traded one thing in for another. Even though Austin doesn’t look like he has any regrets as he takes a step towards you. His hands gently rest on your arms, sliding down, like he’s waiting for you to push him away.

When you don’t—

“You're not the only one goin' after what they want.”

You can’t stop a small laugh from slipping from your lips and before you can talk yourself out of it, you press yourself up on your toes and kiss him. His arms wrap around you automatically, drawing you closer, his one hand cupping the back of your neck.

It feels like you’re kissing for a long time, or maybe it’s just felt too long since you’ve kissed. Either way, pulling away makes you feel a bit breathless and Austin smiles, pressing your foreheads together for a moment.

It feels like starting over, or maybe even better, a new chapter.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler fic #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things

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smuthospital · 1 year ago

Text

⭐️Yandere Miguel Ohara⭐️

Premise: You're a scientist, and Miguel is struck with a strange virus while out on the field. It's up to you to help him

Warning: Non-con, aphrodisiac, biting, fem reader

Minors DNI

You fiddle with your handbag nervously as you walk into the large building, entering the main foyer. You walk up to the main desk to see no one manning it. Just before you were about to look for an employee, a hologram flashes before your eyes. "Ah, you must be here for the interview. I'm Lyla, Miguel's AI assistant. Miguel's office is on the top floor. The elevator is to the right. Good luck!" You nod, thanking her before scurrying off. "Grumpy pants is really gonna like this one. Just his type," she chuckles, just out of earshot before disappearing. You're sweating bullets as you enter the elevator. You hope no one can see your sweat through the clothes you carefully selected for today.

You press the top floor key and wait. The ride to the top is agonizingly long. The doors opened to reveal a long corridor with a set of double doors at the end. You hesitantly knock followed by silence...Maybe he's not in? "Ugh. What now!?" A deep voice booms from the other side, the door immediately swinging open to reveal a very, very large angry man leaning over you. Surprise paints his face as he looks down upon you. He forgot he had one last interview for the day. Lyla snickers behind him, purposefully withholding your arrival for this scene. "O-oh! My apologies, please come in. (Y/n), was it?" He moves out of the way, allowing you to walk into his spacious office. He takes notice of the way your hips sway as you walk. He shakes his head, trying to dispel his unwanted thoughts. "Yes, that's me. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Ohara," you say, smiling up at him.

He chuckles. It's adorable and strange at the same time to see someone so cute trying to be professional. "The pleasure is all mine. Have a seat,(Y/n)." He enjoys the way your name slides off his tongue. He sits at his desk and you take a seat in front. He crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge. It's as impressive as it is intimidating. You feel like a small bug before him. Your hands are clamming up. You barely make eye contact with him, opting to stare at the ground. Your resume was a good match for the position and his team of scientists were looking for a helping hand with experiments. It also helped that you were required to submit a photo with your resume and he liked what he saw. He must admit that you look even better in person. More promising candidates came before you, but you had his favour, not that he would ever admit that, even to himself. He asked you a few questions about yourself, knowing he'd hire you as soon as you walked in.

"Your resume was quite impressive. We could use a hard worker like you around here," he says as his eyes drift down from your pretty face down to your sexy collar bones...and accidentally land on your slightly open blouse that shows a delicious amount of skin. "Thank you. I admire all the work you and the scientists do here and I wanted to be a part of it." His eyes snap back up to yours. He inwardly shames himself for allowing himself to indulge in your appearance so much. It looks like you didn't notice his perversion. He smiles down at you, still having heard your response.

He stands up from his seat and outstretches his large hand towards you. You blush furiously and take his hand in yours. You watch your hand disappear as it's completely engulfed by his. He relishes the feeling. Chills of pleasure go down his spine. your hands are so delicate and smooth in his. He gives it a firm shake. "It was nice meeting you. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Ohara, " you say smiling up at him with that same sweet-as-candy look from before. So Polite! Miguel has already taken such a liking to you. He hesitantly releases your hand, missing the feeling of your soft skin on his. "I'll be looking forward to your help around here, (Y/n). Have a nice day." He curses quietly to himself as he watches you leave the room, finding his eyes land on your ass once again. The spider in him is telling him to do awful things to you. Those stupid instincts of his.

Your first day of work comes and you're welcomed by the senior scientists instantly. You're the youngest member of the team. You now have the important task of assisting the other scientists with their tests. Venom testing, finding antidotes for said venoms, and going on coffee runs! You worked very hard in school to get this position, studying tirelessly day and night so you were a bit disappointed when the majority of your tasks were just coffee runs and grunt work, but you're still very grateful to be able to at least watch them at work.

A few days pass and you get the hang of your duties. The scientists usually appear extremely tired and overworked. That's when they wore their pyjamas to work and you went on the most coffee runs. Your co-worker appears before you with a stack of documents and a box of test tubes and tiredly sets them down before you, causing the table to shake. "Here, girl. Take these to Miguel. He was struck by a monster that's given him some...unwanted side effects. The antidote and ans the originally tested venom are in here. He's expecting them very soon so hurry...And bring back some coffee!" He doesn't give you a chance to respond, going back to his desk where a larger pile of papers lies before him along with four empty cups of coffee. Afraid of angering your exhausted senior, you quickly take the papers and make your way to the elevator. You begin to get nervous again, not ready to see the large muscly man so soon.

Miguel paces around in his office, quickly taking a seat behind his desk when he hears you knock. "Come in," he shouts. You notice he's a bit off when you enter. He seems nervous.. and he's blushing. He can't stop his eyes from focusing on your most intimate parts. Try as he might, he can't look away. The way he's looking at you is...frightening to say the least. His hands clench and unclench as beads of sweat roll down his neck. He swallows hard. He's using all his willpower to stop himself from ripping your clothes off. The priapism mixed with his spider instincts is not a good pair. He is so painfully hard. He already came twice before you came in, the underside of his desk splattered a white mess. "Mr. Ohara, I've brought the test tubes and documents you request-" He cuts you off before you can finish. "Hand me the antidote."

"Yes, sir!" His cock jumps when you call him that. He grunts and digs his palms into the wood of his desk. To you, he just seems upset. You read the labels on the tubes. They're written in classic doctor's handwriting, but from what you can see, one of them is severe priapism and the other is the venom he was injected with. You quickly hand him the tube which he downs immediately. He's quiet for a moment, waiting for his bothersome symptoms to go away, waiting for his swollen cock to finally calm down. He breathes heavily, tapping his foot with his eyes closed. He can't bare to look at you, feeling so very embarrassed. He hopes you haven't picked up on what's wrong with him.

Suddenly, he stops his body going completely still in his seat before he tumbles out of his chair. You have no idea what's going on. You don't even know what he was infected with. "Mr.Ohara!? W-whats wrong!?" You approach the desk, about to look over at him. He's oddly quiet. You're scared. Is he that hurt? Was there something wrong with the antidote? Did you give him the wrong tube? Oh god, you need to inform the lab and the infirmary. "I'm gonna get hel-" He leaps over the desk and lunges at you, an animalistic growl escaping his throat. you let out a scream and dive out of the way just in time. You crawl away from your boss, your heart pounding against your ribcage like it wants to escape.

You look into Miguel's eyes. They're different now. Instead of their usual red-brown colour, they're red with slits. You feel like you're facing off with a jaguar. You have a feeling that the second you move, hell attack. Tears border your eyes as you sit there in fear. Lyla appears once again, but the calm look is wiped off her face at what she sees. She looks Miguel up..and down and realizes what went wrong. She covers her mouth in shock and looks over at you. "(Y/n)! You have to get out of here! Miguel isn't himself!" You look back at her, feeling your limbs go numb. You know you have a limited amount of time to sit there and do nothing. On three, you'll force your body to get up and make for the door.

One...

Two.......

Three!!!

You scramble up from your spot on the ground and make a mad dash for the door, not even looking back. You don't need to though. You can feel him behind you. You can feel his claws barely grazing your back. You can hear his footsteps right behind yours. You open the door and slam it behind you. You know that won't hold him and just as expected, he bursts through it and starts chasing you on all fours. You continue running down the hall and slam your hand on the elevator button. By gods grace, it opens immediately. You think it may have been Lyla.

You waste no time getting in the elevator and pressing the emergency shut button a second before he would have joined you in there. You breathe a sigh of relief and click the button for the lab floor. Hopefully, in his animalistic state, he doesn't know how to operate an elevator...You were right, he doesn't, but it doesn't matter. You hear a loud slam and see a dent form in the elevator. then another and another. You scream and cry as he pries the doors apart before the elevator could start moving. Your only chance of escape is getting past him and using the stairs. Right as he gets the elevator doors wide enough, you slip between his legs and run towards the stairs.

He grows and chases after you. You've never been more scared in your life. In your panic, you trip over your own feet, sending yourself tumbling down the stairs. although it hurt, you fell faster than you could run. You lift your head from the concrete to see Miguel jumping six steps at a time. You get up as quickly as you can and enter the floor below Miguel's office. Spiders are looking at you questioningly, wondering why a scientist is running around crying and screaming like a lunatic. their confusion is cut short when they see Miguel burst from the stairwell, knocking over everything and everyone in his path to you.

"P-Please! Help me!" you scream. Spiders immediately get between you and him, but it doesn't last long before he's throwing them around like rag dolls. You take the opportunity to run down the next stairwell, hoping to find somewhere to hide. You make it two floors below and hide under a desk. You curl into yourself and cover your mouth with both your hands, trying to muffle your ragged breathing and whimpering. You shut your eyes and take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Your soul nearly flies out of your body when a hand rubs your knee followed by a hush. You look over to see that it's just a spider. They lean in and whisper "Shh it's ok, love. I'm Hobbie. We have to get you out of here. We're going to capture boss man. Follow m-" The desk over the two of you goes flying. Miguel stands there with heaving shoulders, eyes just as wide and animalistic as before. The Hobbie takes your arm and crashes through the side of the building, swinging down and crashing down into the main atrium.

It looks like your arrival was prepared because a large team of spider people and the science team are already there waiting for you. You remind yourself to thank Lyla later. You scream as you and Spiderpunk continue to be chased by a very persistent Miguel. Spiders try to stop him, shooting webs and attacking him but he just busts right through them again. He's unstoppable. Your legs are getting tired and your lungs are burning. You can't take much more of this. Miguel is used to this sort of activity, but you're just a scientist. Miguel bars his fangs at you. He's gone completely feral. What was he even infected with?

An electric red web shoots out toward you. You think it's over for you, but open your eyes to see that Spiderpunk got in front of you. "Go! Keep running! Jess will find you!" He shouts. You reach a dead end with a bathroom. With no other choice, you run in and hide in a stall. It's silent for a moment. No footsteps, no sounds. Just as you think you lost him, you feel a hot sticky liquid hit your cheek. You look up in terror. It's Mr. Ohara. It finally clicks what he's been affected with. The liquid came from the bulge in his suit. He jumps down from the ceiling, landing on his feet and towering over you. You fall back, immediately clambering out of the stall through the bottom gap. He breaks the door off its hinges, following right after. Just as he's about to reach for you, a red light flashes. Miguel is caught in his containment device. Jess helps you to your feet. "(Y/n), are you ok? You did a good job leading him to a closed area." That was a complete accident, but you don't have the breath in your lungs to tell her that. You look over to Miguel to see him snarling and slashing at the red cage with the sharp attachments of his suit, his eyes never leaving your form. Your face is red for all sorts of reasons now. His cock is still visibly leaking arousal,

Finally. He's contained. The science team could help him from in there. After the sudden events, you let out a sob. You were chased through HQ by the strongest man in there. If it weren't for Jess, he would've... You sniffle. You're led back to the science team by Jess. They all look at you like they've seen a ghost. You assume it's because of what happened. Jess pulls them to the side and whispers between themselves. You can't make out what they're saying. After they split up, the scientists get back to work, sending you suspicious glances now and then. You must be in trouble. Jess walks into the room and whispers to the scientists, who suddenly look frantic. Jess grimaces. She pauses in her spot, looking at the ground before walking over to you. "Hey, sweetie, we got Miguel back to himself. We gave him a double shot of antidote to counteract his double shot of venom. He'd like to apologize to you now if that's okay with you." She extends her hand and you take it, feeling reassured. You're happy the nightmare is over. Jess helps you up and leads you back up to Miguel's office.

You look around at the wreckage. Miguel has caused quite a mess. The doors need to be replaced. All of them. You arrive at Miguel's office door, which seems to have been repaired with webs. You're about to enter when you hear a soft growl from the other side. Your heart rate accelerates. Jess shoves you through the door and uses her webs to stick it shut before you can even think of running. You bang on the door, not even facing the monster you're trapped in there with. "I'm sorry, (Y/n). This is the only way we can calm him. He broke through his containment device before we could make an antidote strong enough and he's too dangerous to let him roam free." You continue banging on the door, trying to push it open in vain. "No! Please! Let me out! I'm begging you, please!"

Your heart sinks into your stomach as you hear her footsteps fade away. A shadow encompasses you from behind. You're ripped away from the door and thrown to the floor, knowing the wind out of you. You scream as the monster known as Miguel Ohara climbs over you, his arms holding yours sown and jaw snapping towards your neck viciously. You're screaming uncontrollably, ducking away from his snapping teeth, missing him by a hair. "Mr.Ohara! Please stop!" you cry, trying to appeal to his long-lost humanity. His claws dig into your arms, bringing your torso up and smashing you back into the floor, winding you for a second time.

He latches his mouth onto your neck, his fangs sinking into your soft flesh. You cry out in pain as blood leaks past his lips before you feel a cold liquid enters the wound from his fangs. Slowly, you lose the ability to move any part of your body. You feel his ginormous bulge press into your clothed crotch. He grabs onto your waist, grunting while violently humping into you until you feel a hot wetness explode onto you. He came through his suit, soaking you.

You're helpless as he releases your arms and inhales your scent, moaning as he breathes out. He sinks his body lower on yours, pausing at your chest. He raises a clawed finger and begins tearing it in two from the center. Once off, he does the same to your bra, exposing your breasts. He doesn't hesitate to lick your nipple, lapping at it and tweaking the other with his fingers. He sinks lower on you and digs his nose into your crotch, pressing in and inhaling. The clothes protecting your pussy from his hungry eyes don't last long, falling to the floor in pieces.

He licks a stripe up your pussy and stares into your eyes. You try to tell him to stop, but your lips and tongue won't move the way you want them to. Noises slip past your parted lips in a pathetic attempt at begging. Your face burns bright. He grunts as his suit rubs against his throbbing cock. He rips his suit at the crotch to free his painful erection and climbs over you, his monstrous cock rubbing against your cunt. You whine in protest. as he lifts your thighs and puts them on his shoulders, leaning over you to lock you in a mating press. Tears run down your hot cheeks. This will kill you! Or render you handicapped at the very least!

He hisses as he pushes forward. You squeeze your eyes shut. Oh god, it hurts! He's stretching you open on his cock. Inch by inch, he sinks himself in. With nowhere else to go, his cock forms a large bulge in your lower stomach. A pained moan escapes your throat. he rears his hips back and rams forward, punching your cervix. He lets out short animalistic grunts and growls. He grunts as he finally manages to bottom out, your cervix screaming for help as you're fully stretched over his massive cock. He doesn't give you a second to adjust, ramming himself in and out rapidly until he thrusts in one last time before you feel hotness shoot inside you. There's so much that your stomach rises from the sheer amount before escaping past his cock. He bucks his hips forward as if to taunt you, forcing his cum deeper inside your already swollen insides. He pants on top of you before slowly unsheathing himself from your abused hole.

Your brain isn't able to process anything but the feeling of your insides and that he's finally done with you. He roughly flips you over on your stomach and pulls your hips back, forcing your back to arch up before him. He presses his thighs to your ass, lining his cock up with your entrance. You whimper, tears leaking from your eyes. He sheathes himself within you again, leaning over you and growing right in your ear. His hips piston in and out of you ferociously, his hot, ragged breath fanning over your neck. Your walls begin to clench around him again. His hands grab your hips, pressing your ass flush to his hips. The height difference causes your knees to lift off the ground. you can feel every inch of him inside you.

Your eyes cross. You can't take much more of this. You're getting drunk off the feeling of being raped by your boss. He ruts faster inside you, smacking sounds echoing through the room. You feel shame pool in your gut along with the same hotness from before. You feel it flow into you before running out of space and running down your thighs. His claws dig into your flesh, causing rivulets of blood to leak past his fingers. You feel your energy drain from you as you come down from your high. He continues pumping in and out of you as you succumb to sleep.

#lemon #non con #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse

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brynn-lear · 1 month ago

Text

The Prime Minister’s Child

Synopsis: just a Modern Hitman!Boothill/Reader/Bodyguard!Argenti drabble where you're the reason why those two are fighting. Literally. [Word count: 467]

CW: implied mentally unstable reader [+ corrupt politician father]

“Turn your life around, my friend!” Your bodyguard yelled from behind the wall, biting his lip as he hissed from pain.

“Not a forkin’ chance, you shirtbag!”

Argenti’s breathing was calm as he ejected the empty mag of his Glock 19. With obvious expertise, he smoothly retrieved a new one from the straps of his thigh and reloaded within seconds. Your bodyguard slightly leaned to the doorframe, eyeing where your assailant could be from inside the room.

His eyes narrowed, preparing to resume fire. “Retain your honor, give up, and leave the premises!”

“Hah! Ya must be mad, (L/n)’s dog!”

The hitman yelled proudly, but if Argenti knew what was happening quite literally behind the scene, he might've taken action already.

“Damn, that mustard got me…”

Boothill gritted his teeth, flipping the revolver of his trusty 9mm revolver with a flick of a wrist— revealing a disappointingly empty cylinder from his failed shots. What are the damn odds? Even with the right hypergeometric probability calculations, his performance was piss poor from expectations. The hitman pressed his back against the splintered casino table. Six fresh rounds in one speedloader. That should be enough to take that red haired man down. Maybe shoot him thrice for the trouble.

“But it ain't enough hate for me to say I fudgin’ loathe that bodyguard more than the IPC.” Boothill spat, seeing his saliva mixed with blood. “Forkin’ hell, I ain't letting that man get between me and that bounty. I'll get you first, (Y/n) (L/n).”

Argenti’s waiting behind the door. He knows it. And the enemy knows lady luck was with him like a sword at his side.

Shit just hit the fan. To the likes of Argenti and Boothill, this was a matter of life and death. To you? It was a gladiator match you were privileged enough to set up yourself. That's right—

You hired Boothill to kill you and Argenti to protect you.

So while they were on each other's throat, you recorded their fight from inside the comfort of your bedroom. A bowl of microwaved popcorn was good company enough for this shitshow.

Your father made a big deal that your life was important enough to live and die for— but you didn't want to be the prime minister’s child. You didn't want to be anyone's child at all. To be saved or to be slain, in your eyes, seemed hardly different at all.

You continued munching on snacks as Argenti fired a warning shot just meters away from where Boothill hid. The rich hardly need to make decisions for themselves, they let those below work for them.

So if your bodyguard asks why you hired a hitman to end your life, you'll simply say you're boosting the damned economy his employer secretly panders to.

#boothill #argenti #boothill x reader #argenti x reader #tw: suicide #tw suicide

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pekoehoneyncream · 3 months ago

Text

Ghoaptober # 4

Prompt: Home

Words: 3100~

TW: Phonetic Scottish Accents (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This one did not at all go in the direction I meant it to. I genuinely thought this one was gonna be short, that's my bad for thinking a MacTavish family reunion wouldn't be chaotic.

So a bit of Premise, I have a headcanon that Soap's actual name is Coinneach John MacTavish, but only his family calls him Coinneach.

Enjoy!

Ghost tried to steady his breathing as Johnny led him up to a picturesque country home, then around the side, under a few lines of drying laundry, to the backdoor. Johnny gave the door a cursory rap as he pushed it open, he’d barely gotten one foot over the threshold when delighted cries resounded.

An older woman, maybe fifty years old, came into view as she hustled over to yank Johnny down into a hug. A smile lit Johnny’s face, the likes of which Ghost had never seen before. It was warm and relieved, happy and teary. It looked like Johnny had been told ‘It’s all okay’ and -for the first time- actually believed it. Johnny and his mother held each other for a long moment, each just breathing the other in. Through the door Ghost could see that the space behind them was crowding with people, all impatiently waiting to have their go at hugging the returned MacTavish.

Mrs Mactavish pulled away, reaching up to clasp Johnny’s face between her hands, planting a long kiss on his forehead, then pulling back again to look him over, murmuring to him in Scots Gaelic. Something Ghost, thanks to Johnny, could now recognize.

Johnny had warned him that it was the primary language spoken under the MacTavish roof, in deference to Johnny’s Grannie, whose grasp of English isn’t the best. Ghost had been forbidden from worrying about it and Johnny had assured and reassured him that "Ma an’ all ae mah wee siblings speak English jus’ fine", so he was trying his best to obey and not stress out.

Mrs MacTavish released Johnny, prompting even more people to crowd into the room to get at him and Ghost redoubled his efforts to not freak out. Wishing he hadn’t been so adamant in rebuffing Johnny when he’d said no one would care if Ghost wore his mask. Being able to hide behind his balaclava would be really nice right about now.

“Ye mus’ be this Ghost fella mah Coinneach is always yammering abou’,” The voice piping up at Ghost’s elbow does not make him jump. Ghost is a highly trained Special Forces Operative, he would notice a middle-aged Scottish woman approaching him before she spoke. He Would.

“Oh! Ah’m sorrae, laddie. Didnae mean tae spook ye,” Mrs MacTavish apologises, “Come in, Come in, Donnae stan’ on the stoop like y’ur no' welcome.”

Ghost finds himself ushered into what he discovers is the kitchen of the house. To his right was the kitchen proper, there was what Ghost could only guess was a genuine wood stove crouched directly in front of the door and guarding the threshold, it was in direct competition with the gas cooker pressed against the far wall, bracketed by counters covered in various appliances that looked like they'd hopped straight off the pages of a fifties home catalogue, but still seemed to be in good repair. Quaintly, the cupboards hanging over them were closed with curtains rather than doors. The only acquiescences to the modern era seemed to be the nice big fridge humming away like an afterthought at the end of the counters, and the washer tucked away in the corner.

It was a nice kitchen, it looked homey, lived in.

To his left was a long oval table with an assortment of seats surrounding it. Ghost could pick out a few chairs with carvings the same as the ones on the table’s legs that could only be the matching set, but they were outnumbered by ones that had clearly been added as needed. He could also spot a leaning stack of metal folding chairs half tucked behind a hutch in the back, clearly the MacTavish house was well accustomed to crowds.

Ghost was chivvied into one of the seats around the table, his Special Forces joints extremely grateful for the soft cushion padding the chair and guarding him from the ache of the hard wood. A glance at his table mates revealed whom the cushioning was truly intended for. A lady that must be around seventy sat to his right, and to her right, at the head of the table, sat a man in the same age range. The man was watching him.

Ghost took an educated guess and presumed that these must be Johnny’s Grannie and Grandad.

Fucking Hell.

Johnny never told him their names.

He’d always just referred to them as Grannie and Grandad, so Ghost had always called them ‘your Grannie and Grandad’ when asking after them. He didn’t even know if they were MacTavishs. Thinking about it, they were probably Johnny’s mother’s parents.

Oh, Bloody Fucking Hell.

What the fuck was Mrs MacTavish’s first name.

How the hell had he managed to have a panic attack over memorizing the names of Johnny’s five siblings and never have the thought cross his mind to learn the names of his mother and grandparents. Ghost is in their house, sitting at their table, and he doesn’t have a single clue what their names are.

What the fuck, Johnny.

The awkward staring contest he’d been entered into by Johnny’s Grandad was only growing more and more uncomfortable. It’d be rude to look away without saying anything, but what the fuck was he supposed to say, ‘Sorry for barging into your home, Johnny demanded Simon Riley crawl out of the grave that Ghost left him in to come meet the extended MacTavish family’?

Johnny rescued him by coming over to the table, leaning down to accept his Grandad’s seated one-armed hug and back pats, then pressing kisses to his Grannie’s cheek as he passed by on his way to drape himself over the back of Ghost’s chair, because sitting in his own chair like a normal human eludes Johnny.

He talked back and forth with his grandparents for a moment then turned to Ghost to make the least helpful introduction he has ever been forced to be a part of, “Ghost, this is mah Grannie and Grandad,” Then turning to his grandparents, “This is mah L.T, Ghost.”

Johnny’s Grandad seemed well used to Johnny’s foibles and reached an arm across the table to shake Ghost’s hand and supplement with his own introductions, “Ah’m Amhlaigh Milne, an’ this is the missus, Fionna Milne,”

Amhlaigh Milne’s hands were broad with liverspots speckling their backs, textured by hard calluses and soft wrinkling skin. His handshake was cursory and firm. He was a man that had shaken a thousand hands before and had no interest in adding pomp or frippery to the exchange.

“Simon Riley, sir, ma’am,” Ghost replied, nodding to Mr then Mrs Milne, “Thank you for having me in your home,”

Mrs Milne said something to Johnny in Scots Gaelic, sounding almost despairing. Johnny cried a shocked ‘Seanmhair!’ and a wild barking laugh carvoted out of the kitchen, followed by a multitude of variations on the same. Mrs MacTavish had been puttering about the kitchen getting tea and nibbles together, and was now bracing against the counters to not fall off her feet laughing. The people that Ghost hadn’t been introduced to, but could only assume were Johnny’s siblings, were leaning against each other and various pieces of furniture as they fought to stay upright on knees weakened by their cackling.

Well, it was good to see that Johnny came by it honestly.

Mrs MacTavish pulled herself together enough to pick up the tea tray and bring it over without spilling, the occasional giggle rattling through the teaset before she made it to the table.

“Ma says-,” Mrs MacTavish cut herself off, planting a hand on the table as a new wave of laughter wracked her, Johnny was hiding his face behind a hand, but the deep red of his ears betrayed his blush, “Ma says, it’s guid tha’ Coinneach is the firs’ ae her grankids tae bring ‘ome a fella, bu’ did ye have tae be a fuckin’ sassenach!”

The last of the translation is squeaked out in between laughs, but Ghost thinks he’s gotten the jist. Mrs Milne was hoping her grandchildren would bring home partners that were Scots.

Add her to the tally of people Ghost had lived to disappoint.

“None of your siblings have had partners before?” Ghost turns his head to address the question to Johnny, getting some vindictive pleasure from the offended squawks coming from the peanut gallery of siblings milling about in the kitchen.

“Nae, they’ve ‘ad partners, bu’ all ae 'em 'ave been too feart tae bring ‘em fer a visit,” Now Johnny is the one laughing, and the greedy beast that weaves through Ghost’s ribs squeezes tight, viscerally glad to have been the one to cause it.

A succession of offended noises comes charging out of the kitchen, followed by the siblings in question.

“Oi!” barks a young man with Johnny’s mousey brown hair, Mrs MacTavish’s straight nose, and hazel green eyes that Ghost doesn’t recognise, “Ah’m nae feart!” The rest of his defense is in Scots Gaelic and therefore lost to Ghost, but by the gasps and laughter it triggers, it’s nothing good.

“Artair!” Mrs MacTavish scolds, and Ghost assigns the name to the face on the internal profiles he’s been habitually building in his head for Johnny’s family, “Donnae say tha’ we’ve company!”

“He cannae understan-” Artair complains,

“Tha’ donnae matter. Artair MacTavish, ye’ll watch y’ur tongue or so help me Jesus, Ah’ll give ye a doin’!” Mrs MacTavish asserts, hands on her hips. Nodding sharply when Artair obediently subsides, “Noo, did ye wan’ a cuppa, Ghost?” She presents the full tea service to Ghost.

“Please, call me Simon, Mrs MacTavish,” Ghost almost begs of the woman, being addressed by his callsign by such a motherly figure is disconcerting in ways that Ghost refuses to analyze.

“Simon i’ tis,” Mrs MacTavish easily agrees, and starts identifying the nibbles she's brought over, “These ‘ere are egg an’ cress pieces, bridies, butteries, tablet, an’ shor’ bread. Have y’ur pick ae the lot.”

“Mo ciallian, did ye-”

“Nae, Da. Ah didnae pu’ onions in the bridies,” Mrs MacTavish supplied before her father could finish his question.

“Guid lass. Pass us up a few, noo. There's a guid lad,” Mr Milne chivvies Johnny into popping a few on a plate for him, Ghost was fascinated to see Johnny automatically make up and pass along a cup of coffee too. His family had never had that kind of camaraderie. A sudden wave of despair welled up to drown him as the unwelcome thought that he had no idea how his mother used to take her tea and there was no one left that he could ask struck him.

Johnny gently squeezed at the nape of his neck, bending down to put their heads in line, so that he could mutter to Ghost what exactly was in all the snacks Mrs MacTavish had just offered him. If Ghost leaned into the contact, buoyed by Johnny’s presence, that was between him and the devil, thank you very much.

Having clocked the identity of the coffee pot, Ghost got himself a tea from the teapot. Opening dishes until he found the milk powder, he mindlessly filled a mug with coffee for Johnny and slid it over along with the milk bowl, setting the dish back amongst the teaset when Johnny had taken what he wanted. The teapot was ensconced in a nicely knitted plaid tea cosy, a brief glance up at Johnny netted him a nod, and he studied the cosy with more interest.

So this was the MacTavish… hmm.

Another glance to Johnny, with a tip of his head in Mr Milne’s direction. Another distracted nod from Johnny, one of his sisters was ranting to him about an incompetent chef.

So this was the Milne tartan.

A woman burst through the backdoor, a small dog following at her heels. Another ecstatic cry went up and the family rushed to welcome her home. Johnny had told him that this was the first time all the MacTavish children would be under the same roof in years, Johnny’s mother had been planning it for months.

“Kennie!” the latest addition cheered, breaking free of the scrum to tackle Johnny in a hug, “How’ve ye been! Still ten, ten, an’ two?”

Johnny threw his head back in a laugh, then held up his hands to wiggle his ten fingers at her, “Aye, ah’ve still go’ all mah bits, Maggie.”

Ghost watched the crease of his eyes, the flash of his teeth, the jump of his chest. Glutting himself on Johnny’s happiness.

“So ye finally brough’ us y’ur man,” Maggie nodded in Ghost’s direction, a released Johnny coming to perch at Ghost’s shoulder again. Memorizing her face Ghost updated his profiles, this must be Maighread, the youngest.

“Aye, doin’ Ma proud, Ah am,” Johnny retorted, “Pickin’ up the slack ae allae youse,”

“Oi,” Maighread barked with a laugh, bending to pick up the dog that had been standing on its hindlegs to paw at her thighs, “A’ leas’ ah’ve brough’ Ma her firs’ grankid,”

“Aye, right.” Johnny conceded, reaching forward to give the dog a few pats, “An’ how’s wee Calum been farin’?”

“He’s grand! Vet said he’s great joints for nine,” Maighread enthused, then gave Calum a smooch on the head and pressed him into Johnny’s arms, “ ‘ere, be a lad an’ hold him while I say hullo to ar seann-phàrantan,”

Watching Johnny juggle a small grey dog and a hot mug of coffee twisted a smile onto Ghost’s face.

“Calum?” He let the question stand on its own and was gratified by Johnny’s response.

“Aye, he’s Maggie’s wee lad. A mini schnauzer. She go’ ‘im off a breeder, he didnae qualify fer a showdog, so noo ‘e’s the first MacTavish grankid. Ma’s go’ ‘im in the albums an’ every’hing.” Hearing Johnny’s accent thickening with every second that he spent amongst his fellow Scots was captivating, “Maggie trea’s ‘im like ‘e’s her own bairn.”

Ghost is not legally obligated to confirm or deny whether he did or did not open a mental profile for Calum the nine year old miniature schnauzer.

“Why’re you holding him?” Ghost asked,

“Dae ye wan’ tae?” Johnny asked in return. That hadn’t been why he’d asked, but he wasn’t going to say no.

Ghost nodded and scooted back from the table to give Johnny room to set the warm armful of dog on his lap, carefully bringing his arm around to make sure Calum didn’t accidentally fall.

Calum the miniature schnauzer snuffled at his face, his shirt, his hands, then seemed perfectly content to take a seat on his lap, propping his forepaws up on the table, like he truly was part of the family.

“Aye, tha’s fine,” Johnny supplied at Ghost's questioning look, “Donnae le’ ‘im jump up or no’hing, bu’ it’s fine as long as ye wipe the table after ‘e gets doon.”

Ghost was then perfectly content to sit, drinking his tea and petting the dog weighing down his legs. Normally the hustle and bustle of the many people talking and swarming about the rooms would quickly become too much for Ghost and he would need to take a break or else risk disassociating or having a panic attack, but oddly he was feeling fine.

With Johnny standing sentinel at his shoulder, his hip pressed against Ghost’s side, and his arm arm idly draped across the back of his chair, Ghost was able to feel secure where he was. In spite of the commotion and chatter around him.

Eventually the whole MacTavish brood was sat to the table, including Calum, who had abandoned Ghost to curl up on Maighread’s lap as soon as his owner had sat down. With cuppas and plates of nibbles close to hand, the air thrummed with idle chatter. Everyone updating and catching up, sharing the newest gossip about people that the table’s occupants would never meet. Mr Milne clearing his throat muted the room, though the silence wasn’t the oppressive tension that Ghost’s father had loved to employ, rather it was more of a curious waiting.

“Riley, ‘ave ye met,” Mr Milne cast a wide gesture out to encompass the entire room, grunting like he’d expected as much when Ghost replied with a quick ‘No, Sir’, and then proceeding to efficiently go around the table, putting names to faces.

“Mah oldes’ daugh’er, Oighrig.”

“Oh, jus' call me Effie, dear,” Mrs MacTavish interjected,

“Oighrig’s oldes’, Iseabail,” Mr Milne spoke on, unphased,

“Izzie,” The woman sat to Johnny’s left offered,

“Ye know Coinneach o’course,” Mr Milne didn’t miss a beat and Ghost got the feeling that this was routine for him,

“Folk ‘roun ‘ere call me Kennie,” Johnny grinned up at him, his chair leg-to-leg with Ghost’s, letting Johnny easily press up against Ghost’s left arm,

“Then the twins, Donella-”

“Nella,” Chirps the woman directly across from Ghost

“an' Eilionoir,”

“Ellie,” Spoke the identical woman sat to Donella’s right,

“Artair,” The young man sat to the right of Eilionoir offered only a nod, “our younges’, Maighread,” Mr Milne indicated the woman sat to his own right,

“Call me Maggie,” She offered with a bright smile,

“An’ Maighread’s Calum,” Mr Milne rounded out, giving the dogs ears a ruffle.

Ghost gave the table a nod, “It’s good to meet you all, thank you for having me,”

His thanks are immediately waved away, eight separate voices speaking their denials of any thanks being necessary. Ghost holds his hands up in surrender and sits back to sip his tea

“So Ellie, did ye tell tha’ man wit’ the gormless ring idea tae get tae fuck?” Maighread’s question forces an aggravated sigh out of Eilionoir, and with that the conversation moves on.

Ghost is happy to have the attention off him, but is even happier to revel in the line of heat that comes from Johnny pressed tight against his side. Planting a hand on Johnny's leg, Ghost silently urges him impossibly closer, appeased by the way Johnny immediately obliges him. Scooting half off his chair he pushes down on Ghost’s shoulder and tugs him around by the waist so Ghost's slumped back against Johnny’s chest. Perfectly aligned for Johnny to drop his head down to rest his chin on Ghost’s shoulder, the soft scratch of the shaved sides of his warhawk rasping over Ghost’s ear and rubbing intoxicatingly against his cheek. Ghost squeezes at the leg he hadn’t released and revels in the tight squeeze Johnny returns to him.

No one at the table gives their new seating arrangement a second glance and Ghost allows himself to wholly relax. Dropping his weight back onto Johnny without any fear of falling.

There aren’t words for the feeling that fills up Ghost’s chest. The closest might be devotion. A gluttonous loyalty, content to share only because it gains him ever more of Johnny, others drawing out sides of him Ghost can’t. A burning obsession that banks and surges with every moment, every glance, every touch that Johnny allows him.

What else is he meant to feel for a man that brings him home.

Thank You For Reading!

So the idea I set out with was "Soap takes ghost home to meet the family, ghost gets a bit overwhelmed by the amount of people, and realises he’s treating soap like some absurd mix of a touch/worry stone and a therapy dog. Thereby realising that soap makes him feel safe, and that wherever soap is, is home to him." I don't know how that became 3000 words, but here we are.

For anyone curious here are my notes on the MacTavish family:

Amhlaigh Milne -Grandad Fionna Milne - Grannie 69yo Oighrig MacTavish - Mother 53yo Iseabail(lesbian, the devil's advocate, she likes to look like the reasonable one and sometimes she is, trained as a professional chef, Job: restaurant owner) 34yo +1yr Coinneach John, 33yo +2yrs Eilionoir(Poly, is used to sharing Donella's partner, is not attracted to Donella, thoughtful and assessing, judgemental, realist leaning pessimist, job: makes jewelry) Donella(Poly, is used to sharing Eilionoir's partner, is not attracted to Eilionoir, more outspoken, open-minded, optimist, Job: professional horse trainer,) 31yo +3yrs Artair(sarcastic, always has a comment, acts like the baby of the family, Job: broker, he gets a budget from his client to find a specific/rare item for them, he bids in auctions and stuff), 28/yo +1yr Maighread(is the baby of the family, no one asks Maggie to do anything she doesnt want to, kind, warm, obliging, but not selfless or overly giving, Job: house sitter). 27/yo

Eilionoir and Donella live together and have four cats, all of which used to be stray cats. Their names are Sir Gawain, Darcy, Croissant, and Soot.

A photo of Calum to make it fair.

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

#ghoaptober #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap call of duty #scottish soap #john mactavish #cod #call of duty #PekoeHoneynCream

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thesunnysunsun · 5 months ago

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So uh.. I blinked and a new Isat au happened (Ima call it a lighthouse au cause Loop's a light that guides Sif's way :3) MER LOOP MER LOOP MER LOOP!!!! And itty bitty baby Siffrin :) Look at them their so smallll (Spoilers) The general premise is when Loop makes the wish, they wished specifically for a light to guide them home. Instead of waking up at dormont Loop wakes up in the middle of the ocean on the day the Island was wished away, and sees itty bitty Siffrin running away. Anyways au ramblings are under the cut if you want more vv

So for the Au I was thinking Loop used a very specific kind of wishcraft. They did the blowing on a leaf thing, but this time they set it in a pool of water and then submerged themselves in the water. Like a baptism but funky and wishcraft. This is Loop, so they were really just trying to drown, and ended up performing the wishcraft on instinct. They've pretty much given up at the start of the au. Loop proceeds to wake up in the middle of a raging black ocean, very confused, and sees the island with a giant red tear in the sky over it. They naturally race towards it, but as soon as soon as they get close the timeloop resets and their right back in that raging ocean. A few failed tries later they spot a small rowboat sailing away in the storm and follow it, finding none other than a young Siffrin. Loop slowly bonds with Siffrin as they try to get Sif back to the island over the span of several more loops. The first time Siffrin catches Loop they throw their big net over Loop, forcing a very stubborn loop over like their a big fish or something. They spent a lot of loops bonding, talking, catching fish and stuff. Loop knows Siffrin is suppose to go to vanguard, but that just leads to tragedy and suffering, so obviously the answer must be getting to the island.. right? Siffrin can recall the loops, though he is very young and thats a lot to process for a little kid. Their slowly forgetting about the country and history, and are very scared, but they got a pretty mermaid friend, so maybe it's not all bad? The Au is about Loop's thoughts and feelings about their home and them not wanting to move forward with their life. They know what kind life awaits Siffrin. They know all the scary, tragic things that happen to them, how alone they are. But no matter how hard they try, trying to drag Siffrin back to the island always leads to a reset. Deep down Loop knows their avoiding their own future too. They've spent a long, long time in the timeloops, an unpredictable future, one their sure will be filled with tragedy is terrifying to them. But over the span of the au they begin to realize scary things do happen, and they can't help that. But someone will always come along and light their way. In the same way Loop guides Siffrin someone will come along and guide them they just have to accept the help. and at the end Loop finally gives in and takes Siffrin to Vanguard, leaving their past behind. Loop is Sif's lighthouse now, guiding their way, and when at long last Loop lets go and returns to their own timeline, they look up and find an older version of the Siffrin they knew waiting to guide them into the unknown.

uh.. COUGH COUGH ANYWAYS! Some design notes!!

Loop -Loop's head is suppose to look deep sea creature-esq mixed with a bit of angler fish -Loop's star is shaped like a compass now :3 -Their tail is a broken star!! -The stars on Loop's skin are glowing scales now Siffrin -Siffrin wears a compass around their neck to match Loop's star (When they grow up they eventually use it to find Loop again) -His clothes like.. barely fit. To a cartoonish degree. Siffrin is SO small. -They tried to tie a rope around their cloak so it doesn't fall off. Its.. somewhat working. -The Net is an excuse to make Net puns every 10 seconds. Loop has heard "Are we there Net? >:3" Like 15 times. Mostly though Siffrin just thinks it makes them look like a proper sailor. Sif isn't a very fashionable kid. (I think Loop would ask about it once, and Sif would be like "I wanna look like my da- .. d." And just sorta, trail off.) -Sif's hair is longer and matches Loop's fins

I have more ideas for this au, I might make more for it later i'll put it under the lighthouse au if I do

#isat lighthouse au #isat mermaid au #in stars and time #isat spoilers #isat two hats #isat loop #isat siffrin #mermaid au #tw drowning #isat au

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alexanderwales · 6 months ago

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Pitchposting: Generation Ship

(Pitchposting is a way of giving away ideas that threaten to grow in my mind until they become draft documents. They are free to a good home, though there's no guarantee that I won't try to write them at some point.)

Alright, hear me out: it's a generation ship, one expected to reach its destination with an entirely new generation of people who never knew the homeland, except instead of being a scifi concept, we're doing it as mundane as possible.

I think this is one of those ideas that only appeals to me because I immediately start thinking about the logistics of it all, and there's something in the mundane, gritty realism that really appeals to me. Mostly I'm worldbuilding and problem solving, trying to get at what it would actually be like for people to have been at sea their entire lives, to have a ship that either needs to endure the waves or be rebuilt as it goes.

I was going to say that this needs to be fantasy, but I guess technically it can be an Alderson Disk or something. An Alderson Disk has a habitable circumference of approximately a billion kilometers, a sailing ship can go maybe eighty miles a day, that's a ballpark of 12.5 million days to circumnavigate the disk, which is 34,000 years. That's a hell of a lot of generations, twice as long as we've had agriculture. (But you could also just have it be a fantasy world that's larger than our own, with a generation ship that was only trying to flee to greener pastures that are a hundred years away.)

The purest version of this story is a world that's just water, to match the void of space. The ship sails, repairs are made from flotsam and jetsam and driftwood from unspecified places, rainwater is caught and put into barrels, pitch is used for patching, fish and kelp are hauled up from the ocean, birds are captured from the sky, and the ship must necessarily endure storms and swells.

I've always felt there was something compelling about constrained living situations, places where everyone knows everyone and you have to make it work because there's absolutely no way out — where you're on a knife's edge because there's only so much preparation you can do. A generation ship needs to think about absolutely all of its needs and how it will deal with the deterioration of all things over time, along with problems that might only crop up once every hundred years, or problems that won't become apparent until long after the ship has left the dock.

Let's say you have a sailing ship the size of one of the largest sailing vessels of the 19th century, a thousand people all told. The families are carefully braided to prevent accidental incest, everyone has their position in life, every master has at least one apprentice but probably more so gout or cancer don't eliminate the last person who knew how to make more pitch.

This is clearly an Idea story, one that starts with a ridiculous premise and then explores it, but one of my favorite things about idea stories is finding the characters and the conflicts within them. For a generation ship, the biggest, most obvious conflict is the conflict between generations: the old people who once knew dry land, the middle generation who will likely die before the destination is reached, and the children who will be the beneficiaries of all this travel.

We have a woman who was born to the sea, who loves the sea, who loves the travel and takes great joy in knowing that she's probably not going to see the end of it until she's ancient. We have the grizzled sailor who's nearly risen to the rank of captain and sees the whole mission as utter foolishness. A boy of thirteen who is obsessed with writing stories about the land they've set off toward and keeps his telescope on the horizon, hoping that the predictions were off, that they're somehow two decades early. A girl of sixteen who doesn't feel suited to the marriage that's planned for her, who is secretly in love with her best friend. A scientist who has been quietly advancing the state of knowledge with every new fish brought up from the deeps.

And then there's the plot, which there are so, so many options for. I would start the novel with simple sailing, a few chapters of the daily routine, the personalities, their petty fights with each other, and the stress of being in the middle of unfathomably deep waters whose depths are only glimpsed when the nets bring up something new. Then ... an island, another ship, sea creatures that have a glimmer of intelligence, a storm that makes the ship limp, spoilage that threatens starvation unless drastic action is taken, a political squabble that might bring all the plans crashing down.

Maybe it's a book about being trapped by the past, or about hanging on by what feels like a delicate thread, or about how systems are fragile and careful thinking and brave leadership are the only things that will get us through.

Mostly I think I want to be a geek about a ship that needs to survive in the ocean for a hundred years, and I do not have the time to write this novel, not when there are so many other novels to write.

#writing #sailing #pitchposting #generation ship #fiction

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theconstantsidekick · 11 months ago

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heyyyy...how are you doing.????

I was just wondering that if you have the idea of writing one shots for static verse , could you.. maybe write something where static takes Bucky as her date to her Harvard reunion...

may be when she was studying , everyone used to be so jealous of her cuz she is basically a sassy smartass...but now in the reunion they are acting so nice because she is a lawyer/avenger.. Definitely faking niceness...

and Jamie boy being too proud of his girl...

The Class of '92 | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Fluffy with a chance of angst.

Summary: Y/n goes to the Harvard Reunion to reap the benefits of the alumni fees she's been giving out for the last three and a half decades.

(This takes place after the events of Static: Get, Set, Glitch. However, it can be read as a stand-alone piece. But it’s fun. I promise.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Recreational Drug Use, Mentions of Sex, Minors DNI, 18+ Only.

a/n: I think I strayed a little away from the original premise? I'm sorry?

Bucky Barnes, The Boyfriend (other one-shots) | The Falcon, The Winter Soldier and Static | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Static Verse Masterlist

If she were being completely honest, she never entertained the idea of going to her class reunions. The whole ‘being-half-alien-aging-like-a-nebula-and-looking-the-same-for-years-on-end’ thing kinda took the wind out of her sails whenever she even thought about accepting the invite.

But that was then.

Now people know who she is, what she is. No more reasons to hide, no Ross on her ass trying to hunt her down for the Accords, no giant purple grape looking alien knocking at the door threatening to burn the world down, no younger brother constantly being confused as her older brother.

Fuck. She’ll never get used to that.

The moment the invitation popped up on her laptop screen, her first reaction was to call Tony.

“You’ve got Tony Stark. I’m probably busy saving the world or curing a hangover. You can leave a message at the beep but I only get back to people if they’re hot. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will delete your message if you’re not. You’ve been warned.” The pre-recorded voice-message cut off with a beep.

Exhaling harshly, she spoke softly, “I was calling to ask you if you wanted to go to my reunion with me. Free booze, snobby assholes, jealous losers who hate me for being smarter, and did I mention the free booze? Totally your scene.” She fidgeted with the folder on her desk, nervous about a voicemail. “But you’re busy… being a dead dick so… So I guess I’ll just skip it this year as well.”

Life had other plans, though.

Well, her beloved boyfriend James Bucky Barnes did.

“I can go with you?” He offered.

“What?” she asked him, confused.

“To the reunion,” he answered easily, his eyes still fixed on the omelet he was making for her. “I can go with you. Can’t guarantee I’ll be as fun company as your brother, but I can show you a good time. Pull out all the stops, be the trophy husband of a lifetime.” He smiled at her then. “Only if you want to, though.”

And now here they were.

“This was a bad idea,” she comments, sipping on her drink.

“Why?” Bucky asks her, more confident than her—which don’t get her wrong was hot as fuck, but very unlike them.

“They’re all… they’re all—”

“Old?” Bucky finished with an amused smile.

She couldn’t help the smile that slipped out.

He looks good, comfortable and sen-fucking-sational. He’s wearing a black tux with a white shirt and black bowtie. She’d been a little too busy trying to decide what to wear to have noticed him changing into the outfit. Eventually, having finalized on a white twill suit and a blood red silk shirt with a matching tie, she stepped out of her room. And he was a fucking vision.

Looking at him might just be her favourite hobby. She could pursue that shit as a vocation.

“That happens sometimes.” Bucky tells her. “People do get old, you know?”

She looks around at the crowd. They’re at the prime location for people watching, standing at the bar, far in the corner of the vast room. The lights are dim, only sprinkles of yellow scattered around the venue, the rest is overshadowed by a sea of ocean blue. So, she takes the moment, the isolation and takes a while to soak in his words.

‘People do get old.’

“Yeah… yeah. I know,” she responds solemnly.

He takes a moment too, not to look at the crowd. Bucky seldom looks at anything with interest apart from her. He does the same now, he looks at her, studying the expression on her face. With his assessment done, he says, “I’ve never seen you nervous before.”

“I’m not nervous,” Y/n bites back, scolding him with absolutely no heat whatsoever.

“I’ve never seen you anxious before,” he amends.

Rolling her eyes, “I’m not anxious.”

“Scared?”

She has to look at him then. Brows furrowed, she frowns.

Bucky throws up his hands instantly, admitting his mistake with an adorable smile.

“I used to steal Bruce’s homemade tacos before he learned to control the Hulk,” she smiles too. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

He takes a step closer to her, his words are softer when he speaks but bold enough for her to hear with ease. Gently placing his hand on the small of her back, he asks, “Then what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I wasn’t exactly… well, let’s just say there’s a reason I avoided going to class when I was in college,” she answers. Bucky’s face scrunches up at the insinuation.

But before he can enquire about it any further, before she can warn him, a voice cuts in.

“That was because you used to be a facetious little know-it-all,” the man comments. “You didn’t need the classes anyway.” He smiles, and there is no warmth in it.

Bucky must notice because his arm tightens just a little around her.

This was bound to happen sooner or later. She decides to roll with the punches. She knew what she was getting into when she came here.

“Charles Walton,” she greets him with a smile, just as dead as his. “Been a long time.”

“I’d say the same, but you look exactly the same as you did back then—not a hair out of place. I’m not sure time even passed,” he jokes, or well he tries.

“What can I say? It’s the price of being an Avenger,” she bites back.

He laughs, a hollow thing. “Hey, Milkovich!” He yells out over her head. “Guess who showed up!”

Well, fuck.

That one shout is enough to draw the attention of the entire class of 92. Cause almost instantly there’s a crowd gathered around Bucky and her. There’s chuckles and whispers among them—some are bewildered at her presence while others seem itching to make this a battlefield.

“Ah, the famous Avenger,” a female voice chimes in. “You're famous around these parts, you know?” She takes a couple steps closer to them. Assessing her from head to toe, “Not just for being an Avenger, but being so elusive that you didn’t show up for a single reunion… But at least now we know why.”

“Nice to see you too, Seline,” Y/n tells her, calm and centered.

“Shit, Stark!” Mickey Milkovitch balks. “You look the fucking same!”

And fine, she can take it from Milkovich. The guy was always crass but never rude. He just lacked a fucking filter.

So the smile that she smiles is open and kind. “Thanks, Mick. I could say the same about you.” She’s not lying. The guy looks pretty good for his age… and for the copious amount of alcohol she remembers him consuming during every party and every lecture.

“Not as good as you, holy shit! You really don’t age, do you?” He asks and it’s genuine so again, he gets a pass.

Nodding, “Not enough. My telomeres don’t work right, I think. Rest of me is human… mostly.”

And Mickey seems to take a lot of pleasure in her answer—smiling, he holds up his glass to cheers. She meets him with her own glass.

“Can’t lie, it’s a surprise to see you here,” another woman speaks up. “We thought we’d seen the last of you at the graduation.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Candace. I saw the invite and I just couldn’t help myself,” Y/n bites back.

“Didn’t have time for us before?” Candace Huston asks.

“Ah.” Y/n never really liked these snobby prep school kids. Even after all these years, they’ve somehow managed to not change at all. She doesn’t know why she expected them to. “I was a little caught up.”

“Saving the world?” Archer Bass suggests, mocking.

“Yes,” Bucky cuts in before she can form some modest version of that answer. She can always count on him to stump the opposition while she reloads. “That’s the day job. Doesn’t pay as well as whatever it is you guys have been doing. And oh! Odd hours, really odd. But it’s good work, wouldn’t you say, sweetheart?”

She smiles, finding comfort in the warmth of his gaze. “Could’ve been worse. Could’ve been a Personal Injury Lawyer.” Bucky smiles at that and fuck if that doesn’t just rile her up. “Oh! I almost forgot, this is my boyfriend—”

She’s cut off by Charles ‘Chickenshit’ Walton, “The Winter Soldier. We know who he is.”

“At least he’s a looker,” Seline snickers. “I’ll give you that.”

“The two of you make a great couple—The Winter Soldier and Static, ex assassin and ex assassin,” Candace adds with a snide smile. There’s more catty bullshit like that from the rest of the crowd but she kinda zones out.

And fuck it all to hell.

Her entire college life was avoiding these fools.

All her life she’d watched shows about the shitshow that is high school. She hadn’t attended it, of course but Harvard was supposed to be her first try. It was supposed to be her playing her hand at being utterly and completely normal, one with the crowd. College wasn’t supposed to be as brutal as highschool but not as uncaring as a desk job. It was supposed to be an easy middle between the two. Part of her was excited even. But the reality wasn’t all that movies made it out to be.

They were snobs, the fucking lot of them. Always looking at every tiny little detail, studying it a microscope, planning and scheming to find a chink in her armour just to break her down. She didn’t understand why then. Why they didn’t like her, why she was the outsider. Because despite everything she wasn’t exactly that different from them, not to their knowledge at least. Howie was fucking loaded, ipso facto she was too. None of them knew her past but everytime they looked at her their eyes were always hungry, always searching for some weakness.

She gets it now.

It wasn’t hunger. It wasn’t some twisted version of distrust.

It was straight up jealousy.

They were jealous of her.

They were jealous of her back then and if possible they are even more jealous of her now.

Y/n just laughs. She can’t help it, okay? It’s hilarious.

She really, genuinely believed at one point in her life that these fucking dipshits would figure out her secret, when all they were looking for was a way to top the class. These are some of the smartest individuals she’s come across—graduates of Harvard Law. Fuck! They were just kids fighting for brownie points when she was fighting for her freedom. God fucking damn it, she’s been so damn dumb.

So she laughs.

Bucky looks at her for a second, raises his brow in concern. She waves her hand at him, letting him know she’s fine. It’s just funny.

“Something funny, Stark?” Archer asks, wearing a smile on his face that contradicts his tone which is just a little too shrill to be considered calm.

She shakes her head but continues chuckling.

“Don’t wanna share it with the rest of the class?” Charles bites. “Guess some things just don’t change.”

Y/n laughs a little harder. “My god, Charlie. You sure I’m the only one not aging here? Cause you sound like a sullen teenager.” She waves off his response before he can even form one. “Anyway, as I was saying, this is my boyfriend, Sergeant James Buchanon Barnes.” She drops a kiss on his cheek. “You can call him Sergeant Barnes… Well, except Milkovich. He’s just Barnes to you, Mick.”

Mickey seems pleased with her words, “Nice to meet you, Barnes.” He extends his hand to Bucky who takes it without hesitation. “Always thought your arm was really cool.”

That one throws Bucky a little. He looks back at her, eyes big and a sneaky curve of his lip. It screams, ‘Where the fuck did you find this guy?’ But like she said, no filter on that one.

“Why does Milkovitch get special treatment?” Seline rebukes her.

Y/n just shrugs. “Cause he wasn’t a dick to me in college?” Isn’t it obvious?

“Excuse me?” Candace exclaims like the hit was personal. “We were never anything but generous, which was more than what you deserved considering the shit you pulled.”

“One, that is wildly inaccurate. You were all dicks, all of you. But I don’t think I blame you for it, pompous kids do what pompous kids see. And two, what shit did I pull?” She waves at the bartender asking for a refill.

“You are seriously going to pretend you don’t know?” Archer throws back.

Taking the last sip from her drink she sets the now empty glass down on the nearest table. “Yes, enlighten me.”

“You were sleeping with Professor Keating to get the answers to all the tests,” Charles answers, disdain clear on his face.

“I—” She looks from his face to Bucky's, who feigns shock before breaking into a smile.

Charles cuts her off. “You hid it well enough but everyone knew you spent most of the free time between classes in his office. You scored well in every single one of his tests, which were impossible to crack and he was always so very eager to call on you in class.” He scoffs. “We were never able to find any concrete evidence to pin you down, we’ll give you that. But that doesn’t mean we were naive enough not to see it.”

“I—” She begins laughing again. “Professor Keating.” Fuck.

“What’s so fucking funny, Stark?” Archer pushes her. Well, he tries but before he can grab the collar he was reaching for, Bucky’s metal arm is already pulling him off.

“Easy there, cowboy,” Bucky warns.

“Get your hands off me!” Archer tries to brush Bucky off, pushing him back, trying desperately to get out of his grip, but come on. It’s Bucky. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving you the ass beating of a lifetime, buddy boy. Be glad it’s me and not her,” Bucky comments causally as he twists Archer’s arm behind his back.

“It’s fine, Sunshine. Let him go,” she coos at him sweetly.

And because he’s Bucky, he urges Archer to take a few steps away from her and then simply lets him go.

“Are you still mentally unstable?! How dare you touch me? I’m gonna sue your Nazi ass for that!” Archer warns.

“I mean, you can try. But he’s got a great lawyer,” Y/n tells him, grabbing her new drink from the waiter. She takes a sip. “Got him pardoned for countless assassinations. You think assault is where I lose that battle?” The blood drains from Archer’s face, all the color is gone. “And as for the Professor Keating matter,” she giggles again, before forcing herself to compose. “He was ex-KGB. I used to hang out with him after class to find out if he knew the updated location of HYDRA bases.”

“Ex-KGB?” Seline asks, just as pale as Archer.

“You expect us to buy that bullshit story? His name was Arthur Keating for Christ’s Sake!” Candace shouts.

“Which he changed when he asked for political asylum here. His real name was Boris Levitsky. His family was murdered by HYDRA when he couldn’t free some official high in their ranks. After that he was fairly willing to spill all about them,” Y/n explains.

“To a college student?” Charles question, clearly not buying it.

“To an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. operative,” she corrects.

“You were an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. operative back then?” Bucky asks her, reclaiming his position next to her with a steady arm around her waist.

“No,” she tells him. “But he didn’t know that.”

Bucky’s face breaks into a proud smile. The sprinkles of yellow around the venue seem to be attracted to her sun. They fall softly on his face, lighting up the curve of his cheekbones, the smile lines around his lips. He seems so much more comfortable in his skin than he used to before. And he shines brighter, if that was even possible. She thinks maybe she’ll have to carry sunglasses around from now on.

“How the fuck did you score so well then?” Seline question, furious at the revelation.

“Did you guys ever think maybe she’s just that fucking smart?” Bucky throws out, kissing her forehead. “My sweetheart’s a fucking genius!” He leans in closer. “A lesser man would be very intimidated by that, you know?”

He’s so close, she can taste his scent on the tip of her tongue. The smell of summer in the woods, and remnants of leather. It drives her insane.

“A lesser man, huh?” She teases. “You’re not intimidated by it then?”

“Oh I am,” he tells her. “Just not very intimidated.”

God, he’s so fucking beautiful.

“Hey! Lovebirds! We’re not done here,” Charles jumps in.

Rolling her eyes and reluctantly turning back to face the asshat, she asks, “What do you want?”

“Winter Soldier here might think you’re all that, but I know better.” He looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust into flames purely out of anger. “You’re not that smart. Unlike you, some of us worked hard to get where we are. We didn’t rely on fake daddy’s money to make something of ourselves.”

Now that’s just stupid. “Charlie… Come on, man. Howard Stark was not my father, he was my best friend, I just needed a cover. And his money got me nowhere. And, and! The fucker went and got killed before I even graduated.” Bucky’s head falls at the mention, but her time at college was too closely knit to his passing for her to not mention it. “But even after all that if you think I got in because he bribed the board—I didn’t fucking graduate Summa Cum Laude by kicking my feet and batting my eyelashes. I barely came to college to even do that with perfect follow through. That was my dropping-acid-and-doing-fireball-shots phase. I’m surprised to be alive, honestly.” She takes a step towards him. “Maybe in retrospect it seems like everything was handed to me on a silver platter now that my life seems so glorious on the outside, but that wasn’t the case, dude. Part of me wanted to be a lawyer so I could fight for my freedom if the time ever came.”

“Freedom from what, Stark?!” He yells out. “Your life is fucking perfect! You’re an Avengers, governments step aside to make way for you. You’ve got a super hot boyfriend who can clearly throw a punch, what more could you possibly want?”

Tony.

I want my brother back.

The answer is right there, on the tip of her tongue. But they don’t need to know it. They don’t really deserve it. Not their fault—most people don’t.

So, instead she steps back, clasps her hands into Bucky’s. “Nothing, actually. You’re right. I couldn’t ask for more.” Someone in the back catches her eye then. “Lighten up, Charlie.” She looks around at the rest of them. “You’re supposed to be the brightest minds of the nation, not petty fucking 6th graders. Lighten the fuck up, kids. I assure you there are worse things to be than fucking Harvard graduates.” She pulls Bucky by the hand and this hunk of a man follows along without an ounce of hesitation, as always. She yells out without turning “I’d say it was nice to see you guys, but it really fucking wasn’t.” But then her steps halt. She turns, “All except you, Milkovitch. It really was nice to see you again. Call me sometime, we should catch up.”

“I don’t have your number,” Mickey replies innocently.

She smiles. “Fine then, I’ll call you.”

“You don’t have my number.”

Her smile just turns mischievous.

Mickey picks up instantly. “Of course,” he says, a little embarrassed. “World class spy—I forgot.”

Hugging the man quickly, she turns and grabs Bucky by the hand again and begins walking off.

“This was amazing! Let’s do this again next year,” Bucky yells out, waving at the gaping faces they’ve left behind.

“Shut up, James.” She hushes him without heat.

“Where you taking me, sweetheart?” He asks, but there is no real curiosity in his question.

So she says as much. “You don’t really seem that curious about it.”

“I’m asking for the fuck of it—to hear you talk. I love hearing you talk.”

“Sap.” She’s smiling.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, don’t care where you take me,” he promises.

They’ve stopped walking, her target is in her eyesight so she’s all too worried. So she takes the moment to drink him in.

“FUCKING SAP,” she chides, pushing him a little.

Bucky (pretends to) stumble. “Only for you. Always for you,” he tells her, honest and true. He covers the distance between them with a few short steps. His hand comes to caress her jaw, gently—always so gently. He leans in. His lips brush against her as he speaks, “Till the end of my days, sweetheart.”

“Till the end of mine,” she corrects him and then closes the gap.

The best thing about kissing Bucky is that it always feels like the first time. No matter however many times she kisses this boy, every time it feels overwhelmingly new. It feels like her mind is melting, like she’s turning to mush under his hands—one flesh, the other metal. He always knows how to give her exactly what he craves, maybe because she mostly just craves him.

With one hand on her cheek, the other on the small of her back, Bucky pulls her in closer. His tongue tastes of whiskey, but his lips are all him. They are delectable enough to eat. It takes everything in her not to bite down too hard. But she can’t resist the urge to pull his lip between her teeth, biting just hard enough to leave them red. He kindly obliges by slipping his tongue into the mix. He’s so hungry for her, he’s always so fucking hungry for her.

Absent-mindedly she thinks maybe he feels it too. The inexplicable newness in the repeated action of kissing each other. Because hunger like that—hunger like his, seems insatiable. She would give away all of herself to it. Let him consume her whole. She will do just that… Just not here, not now.

Reluctantly, with great strength and determination, she pulls herself away.

Bucky, this fucker, whimpers. “What?” He whines.

She can’t help but chuckle. “I need to one thing then we can just get the fuck out of here and do more of that—a lot more of that.”

He pretends to think for a second but she already knows she’s won him over. “Fine,” he says after a beat. “What do you need?”

“An answer,” she tells him, before fixing herself a bit and walking over to the woman who’d caught her eye before.

She’s a tall woman, short black hair—a pixie cut that she pulls off flawlessly. She’s standing alone, smoking in the open area of the venue, looking out at the scene ahead of them.

Y/n approaches her cautiously. “Jeri Hogarth,” she calls out, making the woman turn. “You’re a hard woman to reach.”

“Y/f/n Stark.” Jeri doesn’t even turn to look at her. She keeps on staring straight ahead, smoking. “Did you ever consider, maybe I didn’t want to be reached?”

Y/n lets go of Bucky’s hand, but not before giving it a gentle press as a promise to come back soon. She walks up next to Jeri. “I did consider that possibility, but couldn’t bring myself to care about it, unfortunately.”

And then, finally Jeri turns to look at her, “What do you need for me? I mean it must be something big if you decided to show up here.”

Y/n shrugs. “It’s not big, I wouldn't say. I think it’s more that it’s… urgent?” That seems to intrigue Jeri, she cocks her brow in question. And Y/n answers, “I need to speak with Danny Rand.”

That seems to throw Jeri off. “I—I don’t know where he is. Besides, if you want his business—”

“It’s not about Rand Enterprises, Hogarth.” She clicks her tongue in disappointment. Nothing that fucking arbitrary would bring her here. “I want to talk to Danny’s friend. I want to talk to the Iron Fist.”

“I don’t—” Jeri looks like she’s at a loss for words which, yeah, a fairly new look on her. Y/n had very rarely seen Jeryn Hogarth lose her calm in class. They shared a lot of them, and while she wasn’t exactly kind to Y/n, she wasn’t unkind either.

“I know that you know, Jeri. I also know about Jessica Jones and… Kilgrave.” Y/n doesn’t want to be unkind to her either. “I am sorry about what happened…” Jeri just looks away. “I wouldn’t ask you if it was important, and I wouldn't be looking for Danny if it wasn’t urgent. But I need to talk to him.”

“And you think I can help?” Jeri challenges, finally finding her ground.

But Y/n isn’t here for a fight. “I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t know you could.”

“Why should I?”

“I don’t have a very good reason for that. I don’t think I have anything of value to you that I could even barter with? But I’ll owe you one,” Y/n offers.

“You’ll owe me one?” She asks, unconvinced.

Y/n shrugs. “Yes.”

“And that’s supposed to be good enough?”

For the second time tonight, Y/n just wears a mischievous smile with furrowed brows.

Jeri seems to understand her without any words being spoken. “Yeah. That’s good enough.” She nods. “Okay, I can try to get a message to him, but there is no guarantee that he’ll respond.”

“He’ll respond,” Y/n answers easily.

Jeri eyes her suspiciously. “So, what’s the message?”

“Just tell him we need to talk,” Y/n answers.

“That’s all?”

“What else am I supposed to fucking say? The peacock rests peacefully in the moonlight?! This isn’t Mission Impossible. I’m not Tom Cruise. I just wanna talk to the dude,” Y/n rebukes.

“Fine,” Jeri tries to calm her down half-heartedly, turning back to the view ahead of her.

“Thanks, Hogarth,” Y/n says one last time before heading out.

Jeri takes out a fresh cigarette and lights it. “Just remember you owe me one.”

With that out of the way, Bucky and Y/n leave the reunion of the class of '92, hand in hand. It’s much later when they’re out for ice cream does Bucky ask the question she had been anticipating the entire night.

“Something was off tonight—before the whole sleeping with the teacher thing.”

She chuckles at his words. “Was there?” She asks.

“Yeah,” he doesn’t let her dodge it. “You wanna talk about it?” He does give her the option to opt out. He’s so considerate, how can she deny him anything?

They are sitting on the curb outside the 24 hour ice cream shop. They are bathed in the harsh light from the streetlight. Bucky, she thinks, somehow manages to still look pretty in that. He has a chocolate ice-cream cone in his hand that’s melting away at a matching speed to the vanilla cone in hers. They’d spent a little too long lost in each other’s mouths to focus on the ice-cream in a timely fashion. Both of them are now trying to furiously make up for that.

It takes her a moment to find the words. “I… It’s hard looking around at the room and seeing so many people who are… who are…”

“Old?” Bucky supplies again.

She shakes her head, laughing and trying to lick the ice cream off the cone—save it from falling. “No, Jamie. Not that.”

“Then?” He prompts, leaning to lick the leftover ice cream off her fingers.

Taking in a long breath, she musters up her courage and begins. “Tony’s the same age as Milkovitch. Or well, Tony would have been.” Bucky’s eyes turn softer in an instant. “It’s weird to see it—people who used to be young, who used to look like me, a crowd that I could have blended into seamlessly become old and gray. I mean, I lived it with Tony but I was there to see it day in and day out. He aged in front of my eyes, so it felt—it felt…”

“Natural?” Bucky offers.

And yeah. Yeah, it did. So, she nods. “Natural,” she agrees. “I remember when I noticed his first gray hair,” she laughs. “I freaked the fuck out but I didn’t want to tell him, cause that seemed fucking shallow, you know? I tried to hide it but man, I don’t think I was doing a good job ‘cause two days later the poor kid had dyed it black—that one single strand.” Bucky laughs too. “I think he figured out why it was freaking me out and that was his way of—I don’t know—calm me down, maybe?” She clicks her tongue at the thought. “The wrinkles were an easy adjustment. It began with smile lines, crinkles around his eyes every time he’d laugh at a joke, so it was…”

“Comforting?” Bucky suggests, once again giving her the words she can’t seem to find.

She rests her head on his shoulder then, “Yes. It was okay after that—especially after Pepper. Watching him age began feeling like a privilege. It felt like he was growing old instead of, you know, dying?”

Bucky nods. “Are you worried about that now? With me?” She punches him in the side. “FUCK! What was that for?”

She pulls back to face him, “I am not thinking about that shit yet!”

“Oh I’m sorry!” Bucky yells out annoyed and animated. “I was just drawing the LOGICAL conclusion to the conversation, but of course, that was stupid.”

“You’re such a little shit, James,” she rebukes him, shoving him and getting back on her feet.

“I’m a shit?! What did I do?!” He gets up as well. “We keep making grand promises about how we’ll love each other to the end of your days because you’ll obviously live longer.”

“BUCKY, DON’T SAY THAT!” She begins walking towards their motorbike parked in the parking lot.

He follows behind, “It’s not breaking news, Y/n! It’s inevitable.”

“Bucky!”

“But I have a plan!”

That makes her halt. She turns to face him, he almost runs into her. “What’s the plan?”

He smiles all cheeky and insolent. “Freeze me for a decade once in a while.” She can’t believe her ears.”Put me in the fridge every ten years or so for a decade and then pull me out. I’m also open to being in the freezer for a year with a two year gap in the middle as well.” She wants to punch him again. “I haven’t done the math on which will make me live longer but both will definitely extend my lifespan significantly.” She is going to punch him again. “I age a little slower anyway, this was I think we could extend this relationship into the next millennium at leas—” She punches him again. “FUCK! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT ONE FOR NOW?”

Turning around, she begins walking off again. “You’re not ice-cream, Jamie. I’m not fucking freezing you!” She cans the ice-cream in her hand, having lost her appetite.

He follows her again. “I have another plan!”

“Shut up, Barnes!”

“What if we ask Banner to make me body like you guys did for Vision?! Put my consciousness in there?” Bucky asks as they reach their motorbike.

She pulls out the keys, handing them off to Bucky. “What made him capable of emotions was the Mind Stone, you got any spare of those lying around?”

Bucky hops on the bike and then thinks for a second, “Steve told me you guys put Zola in a big computer kinda thing.” She gets on behind him. “What if we did that? I know our sex life might suffer but—”

She punches him right under his ribs..

“STOP FUCKING PUNCHING ME! These ideas are golden.”

She punches him again.

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