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roosterforme · 7 months

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Whole Lotta Love | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You and Bradley were just friends, and perhaps that was why you trusted him so much. It wasn't his fault that you were secretly harboring a crush a mile wide. When your noisy neighbor becomes too much and you decide you need to move, Bradley helps you brainstorm a solution. But when you set your plans into action, you're surprised to find that he seems almost jealous.

Warnings: Adult language, angst, fluff, drinking, mentions of masturbation

Length: 8600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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"I need to move."

Bradley looked up at your annoyed expression as you dropped your lunch tray a little violently onto the cafeteria table across from him with a clatter. The top piece of bread slid off your sandwich as you sat down with a pout.

"Like to a new apartment?" he asked, reaching over to straighten out your silverware and napkin. "Didn't we just help you move a few months ago, Sparrow?"

For some reason that set you off as your clenched fist bumped the edge of the tray, messing everything up again. "Yes, to a new apartment, Rooster! And yes, I just moved six months ago, but I can't take another day of this shit."

"What's wrong?" Jake asked where he was inhaling his food right next to you like he had a vendetta against it.

You sighed, and the sound was so soft and sweet compared to your frustrated expression, Bradley almost laughed. "The guy who lives above me is an aspiring wedding DJ. Do you have any idea what that means for my sleep schedule?"

"Oh shit," Javy groaned from your other side. "Are you getting Cupid Shuffle all night long?"

"Coyote," you whined, "he makes his own remixes! At four in the morning! When I asked him to stop, he said he was perfecting his artform, but that he'd turn the volume down a smidge. Meanwhile, I moved into my current apartment, because my old neighbors were hosting woodworking retreats in their living room!"

Now Bradley really was laughing. "You need a break? You can come sleep over at my place tonight."

You were finally smiling now as you said, "Thanks Rooster, but I've seen the wrong side of your couch before. I had a long, long night in your living room after the holiday party."

"So don't get drunk first this time," he replied easily, remembering that night vividly. You let him carry you into his house from his Bronco while you whispered the lyrics to Whole Lotta Love by Led Zeppelin really slowly to him. It was funny and somehow a little hot at the same time. He liked it a little too much. "Or you can just sleep in my bed."

Your eyes went a little wide. "With you?"

"Of course not," he replied quickly, hoping he wasn't blushing. "We're just friends. I could take the couch for one night so you can have a break. If you want."

You and he really were just friends. You were friends with all the guys. They all loved you and your humor, and you were a hell of a good WSO. Bradley didn't even fly with a backseater, but he always liked getting paired with you and Omaha. You had an ease about you, and it even translated to the way you took a massive bite out of your sandwich after you said, "Maybe I'll just sneak in and break DJ Insomnia's turntables."

Then you smiled at Bradley while you chewed your food, and Javy and Jake started to make up a song about DJ Insomnia. You laughed when they tried to rhyme 'slumber' with 'nightmare', but you were still looking at Bradley as if he was in on some inside joke with you. Your eyes twinkled when he nudged your leg with his boot underneath the table.

"Hey, I'll be more than happy to help you move again, Sparrow, but I think you ought to at least consider having me over around three in the morning with my keyboard. I'll bring these two idiots with me as well, and we can all sing at the top of our lungs until your neighbor moves out."

You tipped your head back and laughed. "Oh, Rooster. You're the sweetest, but he'd probably actually enjoy that."

Now Bradley was definitely blushing as he looked down at his lunch, and he wasn't really sure why.

------------------------

You gathered your things together for the night as soon as you heard your neighbor playing the Electric Slide. If he was already starting at seven o'clock, you needed to get out now. You shoved clean underwear and some random clothing into your backpack before you stopped in the bathroom and grabbed the essentials. Bradley's couch had never sounded better to you in your life, but if he felt like offering up his bed, then even better. Hell, you'd curl up in there with him at this point. What difference did it make? It wasn't like anything physical was ever going to happen.

He was one of the boys, and you loved them all. It wasn't Bradley's fault that his sun kissed skin and wavy hair were kind of your thing. If they were attached to another man, you'd probably have made a move, but he was your friend. Sure, you'd thought about it before, when you were alone in bed and it was very, very late. He was attractive and hilarious, and you were only human. But some things were sacred.

"Yeah, like peace and quiet," you growled as you stomped down your hallway. You grabbed your keys and headed out, zipping along to Bradley's house in record time. You were obsessed with his place which was complete with flower boxes underneath the front windows and a pink front door that he never seemed to get around to repainting even though he mentioned it all the time.

You hauled yourself up to his porch with your half zipped backpack and bad attitude and pounded on his door. You had a spare key somewhere in the bottom of your purse, but you didn't feel like digging for it. When he didn't answer, you pounded again, a little harder this time.

"Yeah?" he asked, his tone gruff as the door flew open. "Sparrow," he muttered, his voice much softer with your call sign attached to it. "Hey."

But you didn't register too much besides the fact that he was standing there in nothing but a pair of snug boxer briefs with damp hair and skin that smelled delicious just inches away from you. "Hi," you said, sounding as mesmerized as you felt. Golden tan. Sparse chest hair. Perfectly groomed mustache. You wanted to lick him. Where on earth did that urge come from? You never thought about dragging your tongue along his chest and neck and all the way up to his lips. Except that you had... very, very late at night.

Fuck.

It wouldn't be worth messing things up. You forced your gaze up to his brown eyes. "I'm here for our sleepover," you said with as much normalcy as you could muster, but the response you got was Bradley's cheeks turning pink as he leaned away from the doorway so you could step inside. Then you came to a stop and looked at him again. He smelled really good. Like maybe he was wearing cologne. "Oh. Were you heading out? Do you have a date?"

His cheeks grew redder. "Um, no. Not at all. Of course not."

His answer sent a little wave of relief through your body. "Good." You winced at your response as you continued to his couch and set your bag down. "I mean, do you want to order a pizza or something?"

He ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. "Yeah. Sure. Just let me get dressed. I'll be right back out."

--------------------------

You actually came over. With your backpack full of your stuff. Bradley wasn't expecting you to take him up on his offer, and now he was doubly flustered; he actually did plan a last minute date, and he just jerked off in the shower while thinking about you.

"Oh fuck," he groaned as he pulled on a pair of jeans. He didn't start off thinking about you. It just kind of happened. At first, he was thinking about a faceless girl sitting on his lap with her hand in his underwear, and then suddenly she did have a face. Your face. And then she had your voice. And then he pictured the two of you on his actual couch. And it was definitely you giving him a handjob in his shower fantasy, and he came all over the tile wall like it was your face. He was lucky you didn't let yourself in with your spare key in time to hear him moaning your name.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked his reflection in the bedroom mirror. He looked wild. Slightly deranged. His pupils were huge, and his cheeks were hot pink. How the hell was he supposed to eat pizza with you while he was thinking about you on his lap?

But the fact that he wanted nothing more than to eat pizza and drink beers with you solidified the fact that he needed to cancel his date with Erin. He was so stupid for doing this. She was a viable option for someone to date. You were not. But he was apparently going to torture himself anyway as he texted her Hey, sorry this is last minute, but I need to reschedule.

He didn't wait for a response as he made his way back to his living room where you had already cracked open a can of beer from the refrigerator and made yourself at home on the couch. You were wearing what you always wore when you didn't have on a flight suit, just yoga pants and a baggy tee shirt. It shouldn't have been cute, but it was.

You smiled up at him as you nudged the unopened can of beer on the coffee table with your blue painted toenail. "I got you one."

He poked your foot with his finger and picked up the beer as he said, "Yeah, it's the least you could do since you helped yourself to my fridge."

When he dropped down onto the couch next to you, his weight on the cushions had you colliding into him. "Sorry," you murmured, your hand coming to rest on his abs as you pushed yourself back into place like it was nothing. Meanwhile, he broke out in a nervous sweat. "What do you want to watch?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied, handing you the remote. Then he grinned and said, "Or we could skip the TV, and I could get my keyboard out and play Cupid Shuffle for you. Maybe try my hand at a remix." You tipped your head back and pretended to cry before you started laughing. "What's the matter? I'm sure I'll sound better than your neighbor. Give it a chance, Sparrow," he teased.

You turned to face him on the couch, still laughing with your beer can resting against his bicep. "First of all, no. Please. No. Absolutely not. Second, has anyone ever told you how adorable it is that you have a keyboard that you actually play?"

"I tell myself that all the time," he replied, trying hard not to smile as you laughed. "I say, 'Bradley, you're adorable. I think it's so cool that you want to relive your piano lessons from middle school. Maybe you should get braces again, too.'"

You were cackling now as you gasped, "Stop it."

He sipped his beer and shook his head. "Of course nobody has ever said my keyboard is adorable. It's the nerdiest thing a guy in his thirties could possibly own, and only like five people in total know about it."

With tears in your eyes, you sucked in a deep breath. "I'm so happy I'm one of those five people."

"Yeah, well, keep it to yourself," he muttered with a smile as he took the remote back and turned on the Padres game. You were still giggling softly as you settled in next to him again. "You want pizza?" he asked.

"I've never said no to pizza," you replied easily, your thigh rubbing gently against his.

"My treat."

"You always say it's your treat. I'll get it this time."

"Nah, you've got to save up your money so you can move out of your apartment, remember?" he asked as he placed the order on his phone.

"How could I forget?" you moaned. "Your house is so nice, I wish I could evict you and move in here."

He set his phone aside and kicked his feet up onto his coffee table. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. "That would be a pretty rude thing to do to the guy who always buys your pizza."

Your side eye was impeccable as you said, "It's not like you'd be destitute. I'd let you live with DJ Insomnia. Now I just need a way to make money fast."

Bradley shook his head as the baseball game went to a commercial. "There's no such thing, Sparrow. Nothing legal anyway, and Uncle Sam pays your salary."

You were tapping your beer can with your finger and biting your lip gently, and Bradley's mind drifted back to his shower fantasy. You hummed softly, and he could practically feel the weight of your body settling onto his lap. That's what he wanted. You and he could finish this discussion with you straddling his thighs and his tongue in your mouth.

He should have gone out with Erin. He should have just admitted that he had a date and told you that you could hang out here while he was gone, because now he was getting his hopes up as your leg bumped his again. He knew he was blushing when he looked at you, so he turned back to the TV just in time for the beginning of a Hooters commercial.

"Wow," you mused with a little snicker as you gestured toward the parade of tits with your beer can. "That really got your attention."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "No, it didn't."

"Seriously? That's a lot of boobs, Rooster. You think we should contact the ad agency and tell them they should feature a few more?"

He turned and looked at you, and you started cracking up again. "I think it was actually just the right amount of boobs," he said, trying really hard not to look at your chest.

You forced your face into a neutral expression. "Do you like to go to Hooters?"

Bradley groaned and tried to stand up but you reached for his arm and tugged him closer to you instead. "Why do you think it's fun to pick on me?"

"I'm not really sure, but it's great," you replied. "Didn't all the guys go to Hooters for Jake's birthday?"

"Yeah," he replied with a laugh. "Jake got completely fucking wasted and proposed to our waitress. Then he tried to write his number on a napkin for her, but it looked like hieroglyphics. He even tried to follow her into the kitchen at one point, and Javy had to go get him. At least he left her a two hundred dollar tip for being so annoying."

You gaped at him and set your empty beer can on the coffee table. "Two hundred bucks? Oh my god, do you realize how fast I could buy my own place with guys like Jake around if I worked at Hooters?"

Bradley sat up a little straighter and watched as your eyes lit up while you watched the end of the commercial before the Padres game came on again. "You wouldn't want guys... fussing over you like that, would you?"

You kind of shrugged and said, "I can handle myself."

"That's not what I meant. I just-" He cut himself off. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to tell you he was already jealous just thinking about it? He definitely couldn't admit that. So instead he said, "Your boobs are too good for Hooters. You should keep them in your flight suit."

Now you were looking down at your body and running your hands up your belly to your chest, and Bradley was entranced as he watched you squeeze yourself through your tee shirt like it didn't even matter if he was there or not. You must have trusted him implicitly as you looked at him with sad eyes and said, "You're probably right. Guys know best about this kind of thing, and flight suits are a catch-all for making everyone's body look identical. Maybe it's better to just keep blending in."

He felt like a jerk, because that's not what he meant at all. He wanted to tell you that you were beautiful and that you'd probably make enough money in two weeks to buy the house of your dreams in those orange booty shorts and the tiny tops, but he couldn't. He wanted to kiss that little pout from your lips, but he wouldn't. Instead he said, "Let's keep brainstorming?"

"Yeah, thanks," you whispered, letting your lips brush against his cheek, and Bradley jumped about a mile into the air when there was a knock at the front door.

-------------------------

You and Bradley had given up on the Padres game. Now you were turned so you were facing each other with pizza and paper plates and more cans of beer. "Okay, you hear how quiet your house is? You hear how nobody is annoying the shit out of you right now? No turntables or amplifiers anywhere?"

"Yeah," he said with a laugh. His cheeks had been perpetually pink all night, and it was really distracting. You had to keep reminding yourself that he thought you'd look better in your shapeless flight suit than in a Hooters uniform, and it kind of broke your heart every single time. But that's what you needed.

You forced a smile as you said, "I want this kind of peace in my life. So give me your best brainstorming ideas for how I can make some more money. Go."

"What about cage fighting?" he asked before he took an enormous bite of pizza.

"Cage fighting?" you balked. "Maybe you don't think much of my face, but I happen to like it the way it is!"

His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open. "I do like your face, Sparrow. I was just joking."

He still looked concerned as you waved him off and asked, "What if I started bartending again? Like I did in college?"

Bradley shrugged. "You'll get just as many guys creeping on you at a bar."

You nibbled on your pizza crust and thought about your options. "What if it's the right kind of bar though? One with bouncers and security guards and everything, and oh my god! I've got it!"

"What?"

You watched him fold another slice of pizza in half and devour it as you said, "The Beauty Bar."

He froze with his mouth full and started shaking his head. "No," he said as soon as he swallowed. "That's like Hooters, but the girls dance. On the bar."

"Exactly," you told him, letting your hand rest on his knee. "Bigger tips and buffer security guards. Just think about it, Rooster. I could play one of the characters and have my own unique outfit. It's mostly just bartending, but the breaks for dancing would be so fun."

He looked a little constipated, and you almost laughed when he asked, "What kind of outfit?"

You tried to remember the girls from the only time you'd been there. "I think there was a cowgirl and a schoolgirl? Or like a dirty librarian?"

Bradley leaned a little closer to you and said, "Maybe you should reconsider the cage fighting. I could get you like a hockey mask to wear?" He ran his fingertip gently down the side of your face. "You know, to keep you safe?"

"I wouldn't last one round," you told him with a grin. "Besides, The Beauty Bar is mostly filled with bachelorette parties and girls having a fun night out. I think I'll call them or stop by tomorrow and see what they say."

Bradley dropped his hand from your face and muttered, "I'll keep brainstorming. You feel like watching a movie?"

"Sure," you told him as you stretched. "You pick since you paid for the pizza."

A few seconds later, your favorite movie was queued up on the TV, and you tried to get him to look at you, but he was actively avoiding doing so as he tried not to smile. You were halfway on his lap with your hands on his cheeks when he finally met your eyes. "Thanks, Bradley. For the pizza and for the movie and the sleepover and everything."

"You're welcome," he whispered softly. You thought about how good it would feel to kiss him, but you ended up laying on a pillow that was propped against his thigh instead. Less than halfway into the movie, you were sound asleep.

----------------------

Bradley didn't want to move. You were sound asleep with your cheek pressed to his thigh, and a tiny little spot of drool darkened the fabric of his jeans next to your lips. You had pushed the pillow to the floor, and you had reached for his hand while you dozed.

He'd had a full blown crush on you for a while now. It was useless to try to deny it. But you had him in the friend zone along with Javy and Jake and all the rest of the guys, and he was sure that if he tried to level up, you'd smash him right back down where he belonged.

You were so cute, finally getting the sleep you deserved. Clearly you trusted him, which made him feel important, but he wanted to be important to you in every way.

When he tried to slide off the couch, you snuggled against him harder. When he tried to wake you up, you moaned and snoozed on. He got himself awkwardly into position to pick you up, and he hoisted you into his arms. Your hand rested on his chest, and your lips met his neck as you mumbled, "I'm sleepy."

"I know you are, Honey." The pet name just slipped out, but you didn't complain as he stood there in his living room trying to stave off an erection as you snuggled against him. "I'm taking you to my bed. You'll be more comfortable."

"M'kay."

Then he was treated to your half asleep rendition of Whole Lotta Love where most of the lyrics were wrong and it was pretty much completely off key. But you were singing it right next to his ear, and once again, he liked it more than he should. When he set you down on his bed, you immediately burrowed under the blankets like you slept in his room all the time, and he watched you curl up on your side.

Your eyes were closed as you whispered, "Aren't you getting in?"

He wanted to. He knew the feel of your body well enough to know that he'd love snuggling with you all night. But this friendship meant something to him. "Nah, I'll be out on the couch if you need me."

You didn't respond verbally, but you did nod, and Bradley kissed your temple. Then he grabbed a blanket from his closet and left you alone. His thoughts were a complete mess as he stepped out of his jeans and tossed them on the coffee table. He stretched out on his couch as much as he could, but then he thought about you wearing a Hooters uniform.

"Don't do it," he warned himself, but it was too fucking late. The little orange shorts and the tiny white shirts had been nice on the other girls, sure. But on you'd, they would be lethal for him.

The idea of you dressed as a cowgirl doing a little dance routine on a sticky bartop wasn't much better. Guys would be throwing tip money at you and begging you to make their drinks. They would all want to chat you up and try to touch you. Bradley would go through the roof if one of them did. But if this is what you wanted to do and it was going to help you reach your goal, then he was going to have to be supportive, even if it killed him.

After barely sleeping most of the night, Bradley was finally dozing when you walked out into the living room the next morning. His blanket ended up on the floor at some point, but you came right over to him where he was overflowing from the couch in just his undershirt and boxer briefs.

"You could have slept in your bed, too," you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. "You're too big for the couch."

He noted that you were wearing your backpack as he melted into your touch. "Are you leaving? I thought we could grab breakfast."

Now you were smiling. "I'm gonna run. I'm planning to stop at The Beauty Bar later and see if they're hiring any new bartenders. Thanks for everything."

With that, you kissed his forehead, and Bradley's eyes closed as soon as you went prancing out his front door into the sunlight. "I'll keep brainstorming," he groaned.

----------------------------

Your interview at the bar consisted of making three drinks and picking out a 'uniform' to wear. Some of the clothing was so tiny, it made the Hooters girls look modest by comparison. But they assured you that you'd love working there, so you accepted the position and took your new clothing home.

The first time you put on the black leather skirt that zipped all the way up the front along with the cropped shirt, you took it back off immediately. Could you mix cocktails in the outfit? Sure. Could you dance on the top of the bar for three minutes straight three times per night? Maybe not. But then you remembered that they told you some girls made up to five hundred bucks per shift. And then DJ Insomnia started on a remix of the Macarena right above you.

So you put the outfit back on again and decided that yes, you could do this. And maybe it would help to get a guy's perspective on the way you looked and your dance moves. You wanted to ask Bradley, but you didn't think you could handle the way he'd laugh about this. But there was something about the way he'd been concerned about you when you slept over at his place on Friday night. You almost felt protected. Cared for. God, you were already jealous of the woman he would eventually fall for, because she would be on the receiving end of all of his warm attention. And she'd get to live in that house with him. And he'd actually sleep in his bed with her, unlike the couch when you were there.

You rolled your eyes in the mirror and added some makeup to your face. This was so unlike you, falling for one of your friends. But you were tired of trying to fight it. And you still trusted his opinions. So you called him.

"Sparrow," he crooned when he answered your call.

"Rooster," you replied in your most matter of fact tone. "I was wondering if you could stop by for a few minutes and help me with something?"

"Right now?" he asked immediately.

You bit your lip before swiping some lipstick on while you said, "Whenever you have a chance."

"I'll be there soon."

He didn't let you down. He never did. Twenty minutes later, there were three taps on your apartment door, and then he was letting himself inside with the spare key you gave him months ago.

"Sparrow, it's me," he called out over the remix of Footloose. "Jesus. You weren't kidding. Your neighbor plays music like this all the time?"

"Yes," you shouted from your bedroom. "Constantly."

"I'm going to go up and have a little chat with him."

You were putting the finishing touches on your makeup as you said, "Don't bother. I've tried so many times. All he's done is lower the volume the slightest bit."

Bradley's sarcastic laugh from your living room made you smile. "I'm sure I can get him to do whatever I say."

That was undoubtedly the truth. You also didn't want him to get arrested. When you ran out to see him, you had forgotten what you were wearing as you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him.

Bradley's eyes were wide, and as soon as his hands settled on your bare waist, he pulled them right off again. "Holy shit. What the fuck is this?"

"Oh," you gasped, taking a nervous step away from him. "It's kind of my uniform. For my new bartending gig?" His cheeks were pink, his lips were parted, and he was gaping at you as he dragged his gaze up and down your body. "Is it bad?"

"Holy shit," he repeated. And then he said it one more time before he met your eyes. "Do you think it's bad?"

You winced and groaned. "I wasn't sure. But you're a guy. If you think it's awful, then I certainly don't want to wear it to my second job." He let out a strangled sound, and you started to turn back to your bedroom. "I'll stick to my flight suits."

You felt his fingers lace with yours before you heard his strained voice. "It's not bad, Sparrow. It's really fucking hot." You turned and looked at him, annoyed that you were feeling so vulnerable. He swallowed hard before he added, "You always look good."

He tugged you a little closer to him, and a smile found your lips. "I think I get it. It's hard to be objective when you're friends with someone. You'd probably like the outfit better on someone else."

Somehow his eyes went wider. "I really don't think that's it at all, actually," he whispered. Then DJ Insomnia started playing a remix that actually sounded good for once, and you tugged Bradley toward your couch with your linked fingers.

"Here, watch me dance real quick, and then we can just hang out."

"Okay," he grunted, taking a seat.

"Just pretend I'm someone else," you told him as you ran one hand down your side until your palm settled on your hip. You started to turn in a slow circle as you moved your hips to the music that made its way to your living room.

"I don't really want to do that."

You looked back at Bradley over your shoulder and caught him staring at your butt. "You don't?"

He shook his head slowly as you turned to face him, still dancing. "Hell no," he whispered, watching your face now. He brought his hand up to cover his mouth, and his dark gaze looked almost greedy, but he sat there and watched you dance, barely moving a muscle until you stopped along with the music.

"Well? What do you think?" you asked, holding your hands out to your sides.

He cleared his throat. "I think it's a good thing you don't have a boyfriend, because he'd already be jealous as fuck."

------------------------

You looked exhausted every single day now. Bradley started to bring you extra coffee from his own kitchen to try to combat your near constant yawning and fatigue each morning. You weren't just battling through sleepless nights at your apartment with DJ Insomnia, you were also working all day as a WSO and frequently working late into the night at the bar.

"I'm a little worried about you," he murmured one morning as you sipped the coffee he made. "You're working too hard, Sparrow." He didn't want to put voice to the way he felt about your bartending shifts. He made it a point not to stop by and see you there even though you'd asked him to. But he desperately wished you would quit. Every time he thought about you in your little costume with your red, pouty lips, he got more jealous inside. He could just imagine dozens, maybe hundreds of pairs of eyes on you, and he didn't like the way he wanted to be the only one treated to that sight.

"I'm fine," you replied softly. "I've already made thousands in tip money, and it's only been two weeks." You tried to smile up at him, but it didn't quite meet your eyes. "I mean, it's not the best scenario, because sometimes the patrons get a little rowdy. But it's not the worst thing. I'll just keep it up for a few months or until I get deployed."

Bradley grunted. "Explain to me exactly how rowdy they get."

Now you were sipping your coffee and staring at the patches on his flight suit instead of looking at his face. "Well, nobody is supposed to touch us. But sometimes guys do try it. Especially when we're dancing. The bouncers are great and all, but they can only get over there so quickly."

Bradley leaned down until you were looking him in the eye. He knew he was no better than some random asshole at the bar. He was probably worse since he thought about you dancing for him every time he took a shower. But he couldn't stand how apprehensive you looked when you talked about that place. You never looked like that when you were alone with him.

"I think you should quit," he told you blandly.

"It's not that bad," you replied. "Maybe I'm not doing a good job of explaining it. Come visit one night, and I'll buy you a drink."

"Sparrow, literally the last thing I want to do is witness every drunk asshole at the bar trying to look up your skirt."

You scoffed. "I wear little booty shorts underneath it!"

He closed his eyes and grunted, "I could have lived without that visual." It would just add to his shower time fodder.

"Oh! You should come on Friday night," you said, patting him on the chest. "I'll invite all the guys! There are drink specials. Hey, Javy!"

You wandered away, and soon Bradley's fate was sealed. Javy, Jake, Mickey, Reuben and Bob were all planning on going to The Beauty Bar for happy hour, and he was expected to be there, too. It wasn't like it was your fault he was falling for you, so he was just going to have to go and be supportive. He'd make sure all the guys left you massive tips, too.

You were still exhausted on Friday morning, and Bradley didn't like the way you were yawning as you loaded into your jet. You were quieter now at work than you usually were, and he was tempted to tell you to start sleeping at his place to try to cut out some of your stress. Having you close by sounded good to him as well.

Maybe he'd hang out at your bar all night and take you home with him. He could carry you to his bed before retiring to the couch and pretending he was also in his bed. Maybe you would even serenade him with the song. You'd get a good night's sleep and then this never ending friendship loop would start all over again.

If he could think of a way to break the loop and turn it into a straight line that led to a relationship with you, he'd take it. That was probably the type of brainstorming he should be working on at this point since you were already working at the bar now. He was still trying to think of a way to tell you how he really felt without destroying the friendship as he drove his Bronco across the city to the extremely popular Beauty Bar.

"You're kidding," he muttered. There was a line to get inside, and he told you he'd be here by eight o'clock when the dancing started.

"Holy shit," Jake said as he and Javy headed up the sidewalk and got in line with him. "I guess there's no shortage of guys who want to look at Sparrow."

Javy nodded in agreement. "I mean, I don't really want to look at Sparrow, but I'll gladly take all the other girls."

That was literally the exact opposite of Bradley's thinking. He couldn't give a shit who else was working, his eyes would find you and stay there all night. Whether you were serving drinks, chatting with patrons or dancing, he'd be focused on nothing but you.

The guys all got their driver's licenses out, and the bouncer muttered, "Don't want any trouble from the three of you," as he checked them.

Shit, what the hell kind of place was this if you got warned at the door on your way in? But when he walked inside and saw how crowded it was along with the two random girls doing a line dance along the bar, he could kind of understand. It was mostly packed with guys, and Reuben, Mickey and Bob were waving them over. Bradley moved slowly through the crowd, and then he found you in your cute little outfit handing someone a beer, and his heart stopped.

Your smile looked like it was pasted on, but once you saw Bradley, your whole face lit up. You waved to him as you bounced up and down behind the bar, clearly excited that he was here. He started throwing his elbows and shoulders around to get to you, passing all of the other guys in the process.

"Rooster!" you called out over the music when he got closer. The two girls danced across the bar between you and him, but his focus didn't waver at all as he matched your smile. "Do you want a drink?"

He shrugged and said, "I kind of just wanted to see you."

"Oh," you replied, looking pleased enough that Bradley decided to push the boundary just a little bit.

"I don't really like it here, actually. If at any time you feel like quitting your job, I'll take you right to my place and let you sleep in peace and quiet again."

You poured a beer and handed it to him. "You don't like the girls?" you asked, glancing at the boots as they went by again.

"Not those ones."

You looked him dead in the eye and asked, "Which ones then?"

His fingers flexed on his pint of beer as someone tried to jostle him out of the way to get closer, but he didn't look away from you as he said, "Come on, Sparrow." His voice was a little rough, and now you looked confused. He would do it. He'd ruin everything just so you knew. But he didn't want you to feel bad for him.

Then someone called your first name, and you and he both turned to see an older woman holding up both hands. "I'm on in ten," you told him, reaching out to touch his fingers where they rested on the bar. "Let me take a few more drink orders before I have to dance."

"Right," he said. It was better that you didn't know. You were trying to make some money here, and he was already messing it up by talking to you for too long. "I'll catch you later."

He wandered off in the direction of the rest of the guys. "Yo, that blonde is so hot, and she made my drink perfectly," Mickey was saying as he drank something that looked fruity and sweet.

"I'm an equal opportunity aviator tonight," Jake drawled. "I see a girl in a little outfit, she gets my phone number."

"You're delusional is what you are," Bradley told him as he sipped his beer. "All of you better leave Sparrow a massive tip. Seriously. I'm not kidding."

He listened to the guys chat as he turned back toward the bar to check on you. It was almost time for you to dance, and his stomach was churning with anticipation and anxiety. He'd been dying to see you move like that again, but he could do without the memory of everyone else knowing how you looked when you shook your hips.

Then you broke away from some guy who looked like a real tool who was reaching for you across the bar. You backed up and bumped into the mini fridge behind you and winced, and Bradley took a few steps in your direction. He memorized what that guy was wearing and what he looked like, just in case.

But now it was time for you to dance, so at least you were able to step away from him. One of the cowgirls was helping you up onto the bar, and the crowd started cheering. The opening notes to Whole Lotta Love started playing, and Bradley's arms prickled with goosebumps as you ran your hand down to your waist and shook your hips from side to side. You were moving just like you had in your living room, but all he could think about were the times you sang this song to him. He wanted all of it to be just for him. He wanted to touch you the way you were touching yourself. He wanted to taste the sweat that glistened on your neck.

His jealousy flared, burning bright inside of him as he watched everyone crowd the bar as you strutted along with a smile on your face. And once again your smile brightened when you found him, and then you mouthed the lyrics, 'Way down inside, honey you need it. I'm gonna give you my love. I'm gonna give you my love.' You mouthed the words to him.

Bradley grunted. His body felt like it was pulled taut like a rubber band, about to snap. You stopped at the end of the bar and did a little twirl as the crowd sang along to the song, but you kept your eyes on him. Your lips perfectly formed every word, and he'd never forget this feeling for the rest of his life.

Then you turned away from him, and he instantly missed the way you were subtly giving him your attention. He moved forward a little bit through the crowd, wanting to get closer to you. When you spun around again, he saw you looking for him, and your smile wavered.

"Sparrow!" he called out, and when you found him again, you laughed. And he laughed, too. But this must have been the breaking point in the evening, because Bradley got hit in the shoulder as a fight broke out to his right. Everyone got shoved forward, and a random glass of beer hit the bar. You tried to jump out of the way as your feet got soaked, and then your boss started yelling at you to keep dancing. Now when you looked at Bradley, you were no longer smiling.

He called your first name this time as you tried to step over the wet part of the bar and continue to the other end. Bradley saw him before you did. That asshole guy was back, and he smiled as he looked up your skirt. Bradley fleetingly remembered you told him you wore shorts under your skirt, and he really hoped you had them on tonight. But that wasn't the end of it, because now he was reaching out for your foot.

"What the fuck?" Bradley shouted, handing his glass to a stranger as he tried to get to you. With that asshole's hand firmly wrapped around your ankle, you started to waver. You were nine feet up in the air, surrounded by glass bottles, and he knew he was closer to you than any of the bouncers.

"Stop it!" you shouted above the music as you tried to pull yourself free, but that guy was unrelenting. You took one more awkward step before your body turned sideways. You were about to fall off the bar. Bradley fought his way forward as you tried to correct yourself, but it was too late, now it looked like you were going to land on your wrist on the bar, and probably break a bone.

Bradley lunged just in time, and thankfully you saw him. You trusted him, and right now he could see that fact in your eyes. You let yourself fall forward into the crowd. Into his open arms.

"Oh my god, Bradley!" you gasped as your arms wound around his neck and legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him. You were shaking.

"I've got you," he promised as the song played on. He wanted to throw that guy up against the wall, but he was too content holding you to him as you buried your face against his neck. Letting go of you wasn't really an option. He wrapped one big hand around your thigh while the other squeezed your waist. "I have you, Sparrow."

Jake and Javy were there now, and Bradley nodded to the guy who grabbed you. He'd let them take care of it, because now your lips were brushing his ear. "That was terrifying," you whispered, and someone finally changed the song while another dancer climbed onto the bar.

Bradley made the decision to carry you outside into the cool night, walking slowly down the block where it was quieter as you caught your breath. "Are you okay now?" he asked softly.

You nodded against him, and when he adjusted you in his arms, you quickly whispered, "Please don't put me down yet."

"I won't," he promised before pressing his lips to your collarbone. You whimpered, and he couldn't help it. He said, "I don't ever want to put you down. And for the record, I don't want you to dance here anymore either. I never wanted you to."

You lifted your head away from him, and Bradley practically melted as your fingers tugged through the hair at the back of his head. Your lips were pouty, and your eyes were trusting as you asked, "You never wanted me to?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

He knew he had to say it and risk ruining everything, because pretending like this friendship with you was enough was actually hurting him now. He looked at your pretty face as he said, "Because I'm in love with you. And I'm selfish and jealous, and I don't want a bunch of other guys watching you dance around in this little outfit. Dancing around to my song."

"Bradley." You leaned closer, and you didn't stop until your lips were on his. This was better than he thought it could be, already so comfortable around you. Already addicted to your voice and the way you felt in his arms. Your fingers tightened in his hair as you kissed him, parting his lips with yours until you were tasting him. When you pulled away with a little moan, you whispered his name again while you ran your thumb along his mustache.

"Why did you dance to that song?" he demanded gently.

You pressed another kiss to his mouth before you said, "It made it less scary to get up on the bar when I was listening to a song that reminds me of you."

"Why?" he demanded again.

Then you very easily and simply said, "Because I'm in love with you, too."

"Honey," he sighed against your lips, smiling this time as you slowly unwrapped your legs and slid down the front of his body. Once you were standing on your own, Bradley let his hands fall to your hips, and you wiggled yourself snug against his body.

You felt just like his shower fantasies and all of his other fantasies, if he was being honest with himself. He thought about you all the time. You nibbled on his lips and dragged your fingers through his hair until he was frankly afraid he was going to get hard in his jeans right here on the sidewalk. He pried his lips from yours, making you pout, and he chuckled as he said, "Sparrow, you're killing me."

Your pout grew more pronounced as you said, "I want you to call me Honey again."

His smile must look ridiculous now as he said, "Honey."

"That's better," you said as your lips curled into a grin. "Let's get out of here."

"Do you think you should go back inside first?" he asked, hoping you'd just ditch the whole thing with him, but you nodded in response.

"Yeah, good idea. I'll go quit in person," you said, taking his hand in yours.

He stood his ground in response, and you weren't able to move him, but one tug on your hand and you were headed right back to his arms. "Excellent. As soon as you do that, we can talk about how we aren't friends anymore."

"We're not?" you asked, and as soon as that pout started returning, Bradley leaned down and kissed you.

"Hell no," he whispered against your lips. "You're gonna be my girlfriend. And I'll be your boyfriend. And I'm going to take you back to my house. And this time when I carry you to bed, I'm going to stay there with you all night. If that's cool."

"It's so cool," you promised him, and this time when you tugged on his hand, he followed you back up the sidewalk. "It's almost as cool as a man in his thirties who has a keyboard."

----------------------------

You were honestly impressed by the way the other guys weren't phased at all. Maybe it was obvious that you and Bradley belonged together, but none of them found it surprising that you were suddenly a couple. It really wasn't sudden at all in your mind though. There was a slow build of trust and appreciation over time that turned physical as soon as Bradley admitted he was in love with you. And four months later, none of it had let up. In fact, you couldn't get enough, and neither could he.

"That's it?" he asked, pointing to the single box left in your trunk.

"That's it," you told him as you picked it up. And then he picked you up and carried you toward his house while you laughed. You passed the planter boxes full of flowers and went through the pink door.

"Then it's official. You live here now. Welcome home, Honey."

"Oh please," you replied as he set you down. "I've been unofficially living here for months."

"All thanks to DJ Insomnia," he whispered, leaning down and placing an absolutely filthy kiss on your lips.

You moaned. "I owe him so much."

Bradley shrugged and said, "I think we would have eventually arrived at the same conclusion regardless."

"What conclusion would that be?"

"That you're in love with me."

You wanted to deny it, but you couldn't. "Help me unpack the rest of my clothes and shoes so we can explore another one of your shower fantasies."

Bradley moaned and said, "Absolutely. I'll meet you in the bedroom. I just need to get something first."

That's how you ended up putting your clothes on hangers while Bradley resurfaced a few minutes later with his keyboard. Instead of helping you in any way, he sat on the bed and started playing Whole Lotta Love.

"I asked you to help me," you told him with a laugh as you tossed a pair of your shorts at him while he played. "You're worse than DJ Insomnia."

"Just for that, you get a remix too."

---------------------------

I'm not exactly sure how "Sneak Peek: Bradley's Version" ended up happening, but I hope you enjoyed it. I might like it even better than the Jake fic! Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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quodekash · 2 years

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anyone else ever get low-key (high-key) thoroughly depressed during the holidays or that just me?

#especially now #summer=long holidays=pain and suffering and eternal boredom #and emptiness #a whole lotta emptiness

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bowelfly · 11 months

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it's been exactly 2 months since i started this whole phase of silly bug doodles. thats a lotta bugs! i still really need cash to replace my dying car and also now to buy airfare to see my partner and family for the holidays so if you wanna throw me $5 to draw a bug or other invert of your choosing that would be very cool. be sure to include which bug you want in the ko-fi message.

if you wanna pay me a bit more than $5 i can put a little extra pepper on the doodle or give it a funny hat or whatever. if you want something more specific or complicated then just DM me to work out the price.

as before, if you wanna use any of the above designs as tattoos, feel free but it would be awfully nice to send me a tip on kofi if you do so.

#bflyart #bug doodles #commissions #i'm usually able to turn around a bug doodle within a day but sometimes more depending on work schedule and brain problems

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venuzasmuse · 3 months

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𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐞. 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬

— the holidays are meant to be festive, free of heartache and solemnity, but odds are forever not in your favor as you spend the holidays with your best friend alongside her sister, that broke your heart.

[rockstar!ellie au, best friend’s sister!ellie, kinda mean!ellie (for a few parts of the story)]

previous, next

warnings: reader is afab, not proofread, mature language, mentions of substance abuse (drugs), ellies a dick in this chapter srry guys, WHOLE LOTTA ANGST. smut & fluff in later chapters. POC FRIENDLY !!

this chapters kinda long because it’s still introducing the reader & ellie’s relationship dynamic so bare with me pls pls pls

upon arriving in texas, a wave of nostalgia washes over you as you peered over the horizons of the buzzing city streets.

the traffic was still— as long as you could remember— terrible. pedestrians raided the roads as if they had enough lives for the people on it and tenfold. you can recount the amount of days you'd be late for school because your brother, simon, took obnoxiously long in the bathroom. you could almost still smell his putrid sauvage cologne from here. the strong scent filling your senses— your head spun nauseatingly so.

you grapple with the map in your hand, flipping it every which way trying to give yourself a sense of reassurance as you and sarah navigated through the intersections. you loved your best friend but you couldn't sugarcoat the fact that her love for detours affected her driving skills poorly.

she'd listen to her gps for the first few hours and eventually get fed up with the alterations that emitted from the older device, completely tossing the given routes out of the window and using her intuition as a sense of direction instead.

"jesus, has texas always been this confusing?" the blonde exasperated, a heavy hand coming down to the steering wheel as a blare emitted from the vehicle.

you shoot her a glare that goes unnoticed and the car jerks as she overpasses the poor old lady in front of her.

"does it hurt you to have any patience?" you groan out. you slump in your seat and throw your head back against the headrest tiredly.

"patience never did anyone any good before." she declares sheepishly, a playful smile spreading across her pretty face.

your head lolls to the side to face the side of her head and you give her a playful eye roll.

"i swear to God, if we ever get caught in a drive by, i'd never let you live it down. even in hell."

she laughs a throaty laugh. sarah grabs your hand giving it a squeeze and shake, her demeanor excited.

"come on! don't be so grim. aren't you excited to be going back home? i mean it's been years." she switches to another lane, eyes trained on the rear view. "my dad is super excited to have you back. he said you're welcome as long as you need to be."

"that's only because we never gave him a choice before." you prompt. the two of you giggle.

"you know what i mean. i'm so hungry— maybe we can hit up mel's diner when we get there. i'd kill for their cheeseburgers right now."

you glance at the gps. "2 1/2 hours left" before y'all were to reach your destination. you groan, pulling your hat down to shield your face away from the blaring sun beaming down on your skin.

you'd be lying if you said that you had gotten any shut eye the night before. too plagued with overthinking, the dead of the night was filled with the sound of tossing and turning as you fought against yourself at an amateur attempt to soothe your own nerves.

trepidation dripped down your soul. you weren't sure how finally seeing ellie again for the first time would enfold. you had a plan to simply just avoid her but you knew you probably weren't going to keep up with that very long.

ellie was persistent and if she had any plan to resolve things, it wouldn't go unnoticed by a long shot. no matter how hard you tried to steer clear of it.

sarah knew about the reason why the two of you broke up. she was sympathetic enough to take your feelings about seeing her sister again after 2 and half dreadful years.

she witnessed first hand the aftermath of what ellie did to you. a brutal 9 nine months of you trying to build yourself high enough on a pedestal to be able to move on completely. she listened to you every step of the way, her ears open and her arms empathetic with every tear shed.

it was even worse when the media coverage began getting ahold of their band. 7 months after you and ellie had stopped talking completely due to your nasty breakup, her band rose to stardom and you could still remember how much dread washed over you to hear the sound of her playing on the radio for the first time.

you avoided her, in every way you could. if that meant no music for months until the hype of her album died down even just a little bit, then so be it.

but the limelight wasn't always as glamorous. you alongside of her family, despite not having heard from her in years, knew about how she'd been living because once the tabloids got a hold of her, the only thing plaguing the media coverage was about ellie.

who she was spotted with, newly sparked dating rumors as she was seen with a different girl nearly every month, and even the downfall of her newly acquired fame.

in pure janis joplin fashion, the height of her success came crashing down as people started suspecting ellie to be abusing drugs. it started when people began to notice how blasted she was in a few interviews. her nodding off didn't go unnoticed by a long shot.

in the spotlight, instances like this weren't uncommon.

you watch a talented person rise to the top, their talent evident as day as they showed it off to the word come plummeting down in a wave of wasted potential due to drugs and or alcohol. it was tragic and despite being as angry as you were with her, seeing the girl you grew up with live the way she was, created a moggy feeling in your chest.

eventually, the band made an announcement that their tour would've had to gone on a break due to "complications" but you and everyone else knew it was because ellie was in rehab.

as soon as she was discharged, the ongoing scarcity of contact between her and her family came to a brusque halt when joel offered for his daughter to come back home, at least until she was ready enough to face her new life again.

so when you found out that she'd be spending christmas with y'all, there was no doubt in your mind you'd have to brace yourself for whatever outcome would emerge from it.

"i'm gonna try and get some sleep. we still have a long way to go."

sarah boos at your resignation, exclaiming a few declarations about how you're leaving her to die of boredom. "you suck!"

you don't respond, simply smiling and turning your head as you're inevitably wisked away into a state of slumber.

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

a somber tune draws out a melancholic melody on your record player, filling the corners of your cavernous room. the night breathes life through a soft breeze that grazes past your curtains. yet, as the sun sets and the cicadas begin to shriek, no amount of words in the english language can drown out the bitterness that sits in the pit of your chest.

no amount of rephrasing could rewrite the sorrow that consumes you whole, in this moment or the next.

you sit with the grief as your gaze lingers on the girl in front of you. ellie sits on the edge of your bed. she's faced away from you, as always, as she stares ahead at the neon lights that seep through the crevices of your room.

clouds of smoke forms around her figure with practiced cinematic effort and your eyes take her in with taut admiration.

you usually dread when the room grows quiet like this. the silence is blinding and tension is permeated in your walls. it leaves you high and dry and guts you with cynicism.

you wait for the moment for her to slip back into bed with you but it never comes. the thought of not being the placeholder of such intimacy rings in your ears like a bad case of tinnitus.

at least not this time around.

you sit up crawling towards her in desperate attempt to get her to look at you. you wrap your arms around her neck, resting your chin on her bare shoulder. empty viridescent eyes scan your face yet you can't seem to deconstruct any love tucked away behind them.

you knew deep down that what once existed fondly between the two of you was stripped away, little to nothing— a scarce void of recognition.

“what’s going on?” you hum out lovingly, as you press a prolonged kiss to her shoulder. “been quiet all night.”

the auburn headed girl heaved out a sigh as she dropped her head in her hands. she braced herself to face you, taking your wrists in her callused palms as she brought your hands to her mouth, pecking the backs tenderly.

“i.. i think we should talk.” she finally vocalizes. the words shoot fear down your spine, goosebumps arising were her lips once resided.

“about what?”

she gives you a look as she turns her body to face you, straightening her back a little bit more. “so you know how i’ve been getting to practice with the band lately? because their guitarist ended up quitting?”

you watched her for a moment skeptically before nodding.

her words are caught in her throat momentarily as she looks down once more. “well, cat and them asked me to join their band.” a glimmer of gleam passes across her face as she breathes out a breath she was holding.

you furrow your brows, a smile breaking onto your face. “that’s great! i’m so happy for you!” you exclaim, grabbing her chin in between your finger to press a proud kiss onto her cheek.

you knew how long ellie had wanted to be apart of something like this. after years of supporting her, you were filled to the brim with joy that she was finally reaching a steppingstone to where she wanted to be in life.

yet, you could tell something was still bothering her as she tensed up in your embrace. “well, they offered me to join but..”

“but..” you trail, eyes still held with hope.

“cat said she knew someone in los angeles that knew someone that could get us signed to a record label. the only downside is we’d have to move over there.”

your face fell as her words fell on sensitive ears.

“move?” you let out a nervous chuckle. “but.. los angeles is across the country.”

capturing her bottom lip in between her teeth, you watch as she gnaws down on it regrettably.

of course, you were elated for her. over the moon.

hell, you would’ve done anything for ellie to make this happen for her, one way or another. but hearing the catch of finally being able to pursue her dreams had you feeling selfishly opposed to the idea.

surely, she wouldn’t have made such a rash decision without taking it up with you first. ya’ll had so many plans that were already set in stone. all you wanted was at least a heads up if they were going to be altered to accustom to ellie’s new schedule pertaining to her band.

“so, what did you say?” your tone faltering from ecstatic to one that could’ve fell on deaf ears if not attentive enough.

“i said yes. i agreed that i’d go with them.” her word vomit rushes out like a fountain and your hands drop from her face as you turn away from her in shock. she grabs your smaller face in her hands, as she tips her head down to meet your avoidant gaze. you shut your eyes, muttering out a “shit” as you felt the pathetic rush of tears burn at the back of your eyelids.

“baby, i couldn’t pass this up. this is my chance to finally get out of this town. i’ve wanted this for so long.” she pleads, dropping down to her knees in front of you.

“why didn’t you wait to at least talk to me about it, ellie? three months ago, we were just planning on moving in together! and what? now you’re just about to dismiss any say that i had in this?”

she lets out an exasperated sigh of defeat as she bargains with her response.

“this is about my future! this is something i’ve wanted for years!” she encompasses her bottom lip back in between her teeth, scavenging her scattered brain to make this situation better.

“you can come with me! didn’t you always tell me you’d follow me anywhere?”

you scoff, shaking your head. “i can’t just pack up my things and run away to los angeles like this with you. it’s expensive there and with the money we have saved up, we wouldn’t last a year in a place like that with just the two of us. we’d need more time.”

don’t cry. don’t cry. you think to yourself as you feel the waterworks begin to churn.

“we could figure it out! cat mentioned a bunch of-”

you scoff at the mention of the girl’s name as you stood up from your place on the bed, walking over towards your window as you dug your fingers through your unkempt hair.

“i can’t believe you made a decision about this with cat before you even mentioned it to me. i should’ve known it was deeper than that.”

ellie stops in her tracks, an expression of hurt painted across her face at the idea of you believing she had concealed intentions between her and cat. but could you really blame yourself ? it would’ve been hard on any girl to see that her significant other’s time was consumed by another girl. especially with the considerable amount of times they spent alone together.

you would’ve been a fool to not suspect anything at all but your love for ellie ran too deep; you didn’t think you could handle it if you lost her to another girl. so you kept quiet, giving her the benefit of the doubt and begged venus herself for the girl to not prove you right.

“it was never deeper than anything.” her tone was stilled as she stared at you with accusatory.

“can you blame me ellie? i mean seriously. you’ve been alone with her more in these past few months than you’ve even talked to me! some days, i don’t even hear from you at all because you’re with her!” your voice goes up an octave as tears begin to spill from your eyes.

“it’s because of—”

“what? the band?” you cut her off, not wanting to hear her myriad of excuses. “i see the way you look at her. you look at her like she’s the only thing you see.” you brush past her to grab your shirt, pulling it over your head hastily.

“the lingering looks, the canceled plans, the way you never tell her to stop fucking holding onto your arms the way she fucking does!” bitterness begins to overpower the solemnity paying homage to the pit of your heaving chest as you jostle her scroll of excuses back to her.

“i mean, god, ellie. has it ever occurred to you that you still have obligations to set boundaries in this relationship?” your tone is constraint from going back to normal.

“are you fucking serious?” she snaps, the pitch of her voice blending with yours in a chaotic cacophony. “i’m trying to tell you about how big of a deal this band is to me, trying to make up solutions, and you’re accusing me of leaving for fucking cat?”

“i mean it was her idea, wasn’t it?” you countered. you were at your breaking point with ellie. you felt like nothing you said would ever change her perspective so you gave up.

you no longer wanted to fight for someone that couldn’t care to think twice about how their actions inflicted hurt on you.

maybe this wasn’t about her leaving anymore. instead, as the conversation became more clear, the realization settled when you realized you were losing her.

“i’m not doing this with you.” you watch as ellie gathered her things in fit of rage, throwing on her flannel and slipping her feet back into her converses as grabbed her bag, ready to walk out.

a feeling of dread quickly dissipates all of the fury you momentarily had as you rush towards her, wanting to resolve this before the two of you went to bed upset.

“ellie. come on, please.” you grab her face, pleading with eager eyes for her to not leave when things began to get bad.

you knew your girlfriend was stubborn. often alternating between fight or flight when reality began to corner her. but you knew, this time was different. no matter what the two of you chose to do, it would change the trajectory of your lives together.

she avoids your eyes and you feel the warmth cascade down your face heavily. “don’t walk out on me. please. not like this.”

she finally looks at you and it’s hard to read her.

“i need to do this for me. not for anyone else. i’m not going to wait for you to change your mind if some ulterior motive you think i have will always be in the backside of your mind.” she asserted, planted in her obstinance.

“if you leave now, i’m not gonna wait for you to come back.”

her eyes scanned your own down to your lips back to your eyes before grabbing your wrists to pull your hands away from her.

“that’s up to you.” was the last thing she said as she turned to walk out of your empty house. the moment you heard the door slam shut, you dropped to your knees as the tears began to pour.

if there was one thing ellie was good at, it was keeping her word. ever since the the two of you were puny little teenagers, she still managed to keep ahold of all of her promises, even the smallest most frivolous ones.

it was something you loved about her because it showed her resilience and firmness. her ability to stand her ground. but as you sit with your hot head in your hands against the comfort of your bed that still smelled like her, you wished so desperately that the one quality you admired so much, wasn’t something she attained.

you knew there was no use in trying to change her mind or waiting for her to. she was set in her ways and held no exemptions, not even for you.

it was a thick pill to swallow but you knew, the moment she walked out that door, it was over.

the next few days were filled with no contact. your phone was sparse of any calls or messages except for one from your mother asking you to defrost the chicken or the occasional check up from your friends when they learned about what happened.

your room was a ghost town. her presence haunting you as a constant reminder in every corner. you couldn’t run away from her even if you wanted to.

you wished you were stronger in your ways. it would’ve saved you your dignity if you were prideful but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to be. you were the worst at staying mad— just wanting to fix things with your girl.

you even racked up some ideas about how ya’ll could make this arrangement work in a heap of desperation.

so when you rendered yourself enough courage to face the situation at hand, you made your way over to her house. you were hopeful that she wasn’t completely set in throwing it all away.

but when you reached her front door, all you were met with was a note that joel gave you that was left to him by ellie. his eye bags were deep showcasing his worry and lack of sleep and you saw a few more grey tendrils in his salt and pepper hair.

ellie had left a few mornings after the fight between the two of you. she left no trace of her behind to be gotten ahold of and you, joel, or sarah hadn’t heard from her since.

taglist: @bready101 @st4r-b3rries @vqxen

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infamous-if · 10 months

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Dec ✮ 12 ✮ 2024 – update

Part of me hates doing these mostly because it's a whole lotta nothing and me just repeating everything I said the last update (lol) but I do like doing it because I like keeping people updated, even if it's a non-update. I may sound like a broken record (pun not intended) but I know a lot of people don't catch my updates every time so it's nice to just keep people informed yk yk

✮ — Part 2 + rewrite

Fun fact: I had written an entire essay about my excitement for the rewrite and chapter 3 and beyond but it got too long!

It boiled down to me wondering why I'm so excited for this rewrite and realizing it's because I feel comfortable enough to approach it with complete creative freedom. I wrote the first iteration of the demo with the constant worries swimming in my head like "I hope people understand what I'm trying to say here" and "I hope this situation is being read the way I intended for it to be read." And I think I sort of had those thoughts tenfold while writing Part 2. If you paid attention, you can probably see where I was trying to shut down certain discussions in the narrative lmao

Recently I had a tiny epiphany and reminded myself that it's not always about what I intend to write, but what is being understood by each reader. And yes this is basic writing 101 but let me have this moment of clarity okay. Embracing that means I can proceed with Infamous without holding back and sticking to my guns in regards to what I want for this story aka I'm just going to write what I write and like....not worry about the rest you feel (while of course integrating the common critiques and suggestions and improving on the things Infamous falls short in—I am not Shakespeare lmao)

ANYWAY my point is that I'm excited to fix up the demo !!! and just go back to it with complete confidence in myself and write whatever the heck feels right to me (and write the rest of the story lolol) and return with a better story than I have now for everyone!!

✮ — December will be for

planning what I'm going to improve and squeezing that in a reworked outline so it can flow much better narratively.

Outlining Chapter 3 and hopefully have the bare bones first draft drafted up which is mostly just be writing blocks of descriptions

I'm not sure I'll have anything substantial to justify looking for beta testers so soon yet but maybe!

work on my spice writing babey writing/reading spice makes me actually physically recoil but im determined to get better! which reminds me to finish the 6k follower gifts!

And also take a small breather because I am moving!

✮ — Patreon

I've already mentioned this on Patreon and a few times on here, but I do want to reiterate that Patreon content is coming out in bulk this month, in case anyone was wondering why I'm not posting as frequently. The content is still the same in terms of the quantity, it just won't be released every few days! thank you guys for being understanding of that <3

✮ —

My activity has is decreasing little by little due to my move but I do read every question and try to at least answer one question a day. I get quite a few mentions lately so I have to sort through those since I do get tagged in things, but I miss them due to my notifications. Usually I hope for the best and hope tracking the tag puts it on my dashboard <3 im not ignoring anyone!

That's all for now! Hope everyone has a happy December and Happy Holidays!

#update #December update #Amy the chatterbox

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stqrgirlie0 · 7 months

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⋆✮theodore nott-pt 2✮⋆

part 1 / part 3 / part 4

the nott family has expanded with wealth over multiple generations, an abundance of wealth. perhaps not as much as the malfoy family, but certainly a fair share. considering this, one would think that theodore nott would be just as much of a prick as his father and every other male in his family is. however he’s not. quite the opposite actually, simply put- theodore is different. logically he wasn’t supposed end up how he has end up: as an actually nice human being, but i suppose we should thank his mother for this. Mrs Nott, born into the Shafiq family, derived from immense wealth as well the community of the Scared Twenty-eight. On a rainy night of March ‘86, Theodore, at the young age of 8, witnessed his mother’s murder by the hands of Rabastan Lestrange. Since then theo has frequent and violent flashbacks, keeping him up at night, leading to severe insomnia. Draco Malfoy is the first friend he befriends before joining Hogwarts, and so creating a strong brotherly bond between the two. theo is very fond of narcissa and thankful for her presence as a motherly figure, but of course this doesn’t stop him from missing the warmth of his mother..

Starting Hogwarts and making new friends wasn’t very hard for Theo, having spent most of his time by himself, in solitude, (or with Draco) theo had absolutely no problem in drowning out his surroundings. However this would have to change, he realised this as soon as he stepped into the great hall, bustling with students, nothing like theo had ever seen before. Arriving at the Slytherin table, full of new-joiners and boisterous upper years, theo quietly took his seat next to Draco. Everything about Hogwarts was beyond Theodore’s imagination, the laughter, the decorations, the colours, the people. Over the next few weeks, theo gradually emerged from his shell, gaining confidence the more he talked to others. Soon his group of friends expanded, he was like a magnet. Everyone wanted to talk to him, everyone wanted to be friends with him, it was a shock to say the least but what can one say- Theodore Nott to this day still has that charm. 1st and 2nd year flew by, full of mischief, trouble, and memories that would be unforgettable. Speaking of memories, theo will probably remember every single memory he’s ever had (possibly because the first 8 years of his life he had so few) but he will literally remember anything and everything. theo rarely went back home for the holidays, so when summer was finally over, he was more than happy to start Hogwarts for the third year. (this year EVERYONE got their glow up, and best you believe our man theodore did asw😻😻) theodore’s third year at hogwarts consisted of the friend group to dilute into five members- him, draco, mattheo, lorenzo and blaise. the five got up to no good- staying up late in each other’s dorms doing god knows what, sneaking out of hogwarts into hogsmeade and making their teacher’s lives miserable. not shockingly the group also managed to gain a whole lotta female attention, including theo, but unlike the others theo was quite unresponsive towards this and kept to himself and his friends, (lucky for us😝).

fourth year- things got messy. this year brought him and mattheo closer than before, initiating their very own brotherly bond. they would spend late nights up at the astronomy tower and come forward with their inner thoughts and feelings. theo feels a real sense of trust when talking to Mattheo about his mother, and likewise for Mattheo while talking about his father. if you think about it, Mattheo and theo are so similar yet so different, only more the reason for them to be getting along well. when i said things got messy, i was referring to the first party the gang was invited to. ravenclaws surprising quidditch victory lead to a huge rager thrown in their common room, with students from every house invited. now, why would they say no? that very night, the miraculous creation of fire whisky was discovered, they can all handle alcohol pretty well, but going to classes the next day was the real test.. yet this didn’t stop them from hosting regular shot nights in their dorms. midway through the year, draco’s interest had piqued in one of the greengrass sisters. (of course as we all expected) astoria was one of your dearest friends and seeing her so happy in a relationship with draco made your heart swell. so this bond caused the affixion of you, along with your two other best friends- pansy and daphne, with the group of boys. little did you know that this decision would result in you and a certain boy becoming one..

#a part two bcs you guys asked so kindly🙌🏼🥹 #kinda sad at the beginning and slightly rushed at the end😬 #i think I’m gonna do a part 3 but lmk if you guys’d want that!!

taglist- @iamgayforyourmom1510

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fredwkong · 7 months

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Alphaworld File 3: Diary of an Alpha Transformation (1 of ?)

Click here to read Alphaworld in posting order.

An undated journal. It is heavily bedazzled on the covers, though many of the gems appear to have been scraped off or stepped on. There are several stains yellowing the coloured paper of the cover, mostly sweat.

Inside the front cover, there is a space where the owner is encouraged to write their name. Two names occupy the space, one on top of the other. The lower layer is written with a purple marker, neatly spelling the name “Ronaldo Herrera.” There are multicoloured sparkles drawn around the name, and glitter has been sprinkled over it. Some of the glitter appears to have been scraped off with a knife, and there is a 3 centimetre tear at the top interior of the page, as if someone was about to rip it out. On top of the first name, the name “RONNIE H” is scrawled in crude capitals using a pencil. The pencil was applied with sufficient force that graphite scrapes are visible from where they were brushed off the page.

Journal entries flow into each other without dating, but editors have split entries based on context and labelled them “Day One, Day Two, Day Three…” despite the fact that more than one day clearly proceeds between some entries. From this point onward, journal entries are transliterated directly, with marginalia and other notes on the text rendered in square brackets [] to distinguish them from the main body.

[Day One]

OMG, I’m soooo happy to be back on campus! Staying with my parents is such a bore! They don’t let me stream any of my shows, they say drag race is of the devil, and the town is so small that I’m, like, the only twink there. I can’t even get any dl dick all holiday because country guys are all totally masc for masc. My hole is toooootally desperate.

I’m so happy that Ollie across the hall got me this journal! He made it look soooo cute with all the stones! He’s, like, okay for a fellow bottom, even tho his massive crush on me is, like, totally obvious. Sorry babe, this dick is for decoration only lmao! Maybe we could get tag teamed by a big dick boy sometime, that’d be pretty hot. I've never bottomed alongside a transmasc dude.

Anyway, I just stopped at the dorm to drop off my suitcase and get out of my het drag, there’s a whole lotta frat parties starting tonight and if I wanna end my dry spell I’ve gotta be there! I just had to live my Sex and the City fantasy by putting down a few lines in the diary first!

[a doodle of an open-faced journal with scribbly lines on the page in rainbow colours]

[Day Two]

ZOMGGGGGGG [written in double-tall bubble letters across a quarter of the page, filled in with pink highlighter]

This term is gonna be SO AWESOME.

Campus is suddenly full of massive muscle men who are totally desperate for me! I was, like, totally the target of a dominance contest at the party last night, and it was SO HOT.

So I walk in, right? And I’m dressed in my usual, my lil slutty crop and my littlest shorts. Here, I took a pic before I left so you can see how cute I was.

Anyway, I’m cute, I’m obvious, I’m ready to have any guy absolutely wreck me. Like, last night, I would have taken a bicurious frat bro fucking me raw, my hole was so neglected. So I am a blaring neon sign: I’M A FAG [written in rainbow marker colours]

And as soon as I walk in, this GOD [a doodle of a massive man is in the margin, a perfect X shape covered in cartoonishly bulging muscles] comes up to me and is all, “Hey boy, I’m Nate.” He. Is. PERFECT. Gorgeous grey eyes, windswept dirty blond hair, a tank top hugging pecs the size of my HEAD. And his voice gets me tooootally weak in the knees. I can't believe he's LOOKING at lil ol me, even if I do look like a twinky slut.

But before I can even say anything to Nate, there’s another MASSIVE arm draped over my shoulder, and ANOTHER massive guy is whispering in my ear, like, “Name’s Lee. Want a drink?” I look over, and he’s just as hot as Nate, with shiny black hair and this perfect sexy smile like a J-pop star. But, like, if a J-pop star was 250 pounds of pure muscle and sex.

I swear all the air went out of the room. Suddenly, Nate and Lee were glaring at each other over me, and all these frat bros were staring.

BTW, when did all the frat bros get so cuuuute? Like, not as sexy as Nate and Lee, but they’re all totally cut this term and I think they’ve got some skincare going? Like I wanna go back sometime lmao.

Lee, like, GROWLED as he glared across me. I felt a li-ter-al rumble from his chest. Nate started totally flexing his big pecs, I thought his shirt was gonna shred in the middle. They didn’t even SAY anything, it was so totally primal. I think I got a whiff of Lee as he tucked me closer to his chest, and I realised he totally doesn’t use deodorant. He smelled totally HAWT.

Anyway, I have two perfect men fighting over me, and I’m not letting either of them go, so I go, “Boys, I promise my holes are big enough to share.” I totes flashed my dimples at them. [doodle of a smiley face]

They kept glaring at each other, but finally Lee was like, “I get his hole.” Maybe he, like, won the contest or whatever? Because Nate looked down at the floor and said, “Fine.” And I mean, fine with me! I love getting stuffed from both ends! What a way to come back from vacay!

We didn’t stay at the party long, just long enough for Lee to get me a drink and Nate to carry me around the dance floor a bit. I checked on Lee while we were dancing, and he was, like, totally making out with one of the frat bros. Like, a guy I knew was straight. I blew him freshman year when his gf was away. I guess Lee’s just like that, lmao.

We ended up upstairs. I think Lee’s in the frat? But we weren’t in his room, which was kinda hot. Lee and Nate sandwiched me between them as soon as we were through the door. I was tooootally surrounded by massive muscle as Nate made out with me and Lee sucked on my neck. I felt, like, high, with Nate’s big cock grinding into my belly through his jeans while Lee felt up my cute ass.

“You guys kissing would be so hot,” I gasped as Nate pulled off my shirt and Lee took off my shorts.

They both hesitated, I could feel it. “Oh c’mon,” I moaned, “you’re both tooootally hot, and you haven’t touched at allllll.”

Suddenly, Lee picked me up and threw me on a random frat bro’s bed. “I guess your mouth IS gonna be busy,” he said, which was SOOO hot, and then he started slicking up my hole.

Pretty soon, both hunks were balls deep in me. They were SOOOOOO big [doodles of massive, soft cocks cover the margins of this page] and I took ALL of them. Lee filled me up SO good, rubbing my prostate like he was fingering me. And Nate tasted, like, perfect. And the whole time, Nate kept pulling back just far enough that I could watch him and Lee kissing over me.

FUCK, they made me look like a little doll between them! I think once they were in me, all the dominance stuff went away, because they were TOTALLY making out. Nate’s, like, SO noisy, and Lee kept on doing that growl thing like he’d done before, which made me moan around Nate’s cock, which made him even noisier.

I came handsfree right before Lee flooded my ass and Nate filled my mouth with cum.

By the time our clothes were back on, Lee and Nate were back to playing their weird dick measuring game, keeping me between them as we went back to the party. I think Nate left pretty soon, but I danced for a bit longer and made out with a few frat bros. They really ARE super cute now, and they all seemed totally into me. Guess they finally got over being raging fucking homophobes lmao.

Anyway, I got home and crashed as soon as I’d cleaned all the cum and sweat off. Now my hand’s all crampy from writing for so long lol. Oooh, I should go tell Ollie all about it!

[Day Three]

I was, like, SO right.

The last few days have been AWESOME!!!! [jagged star doodles all around the word] I swear there are soooo many hunks on campus all of a sudden! One of my profs this term is a tooootal musclestud.

So I’m taking this class on fashion history, and when I looked it up, this Prof. Romano guy was listed for it. He was cute, one of those cute tweed aesthetic guys. You know, a fag who studies fashion. Like, OMG, that picture must be SO OLD.

I show up for class all ready to sit in the back row, but then I see this MAN standing at the podium. Like, total Italian stallion, with the dark waves and the stubbly jaw. He was, like, BURSTING out of his blazer. I could watch his pec bounce through three layers of fabric.

So obv I run down and sit in the front row. I’m not the first fag to have the idea, there’s already like 3 other twinks down there, but I’m totally the cutest. As the rest of the class comes in and sits down, these two GORGEOUS boys walk in and go up to the prof. They’re totally shredded, and dressed in complementary button-ups. And the muscle-god prof pats each of them on the head! Then they go sit down in some chairs behind the podium, and I can see their boners in their cute slacks.

The prof clears his throat, and it’s this DEEP, RESONANT sound. I got a total eargasm just listening to the rumble. “Good morning, class,” he says. And then his next words are TOTALLY burned into my brain:

[written in shaky block letters across a whole page] “You will call me Alpha Mario.”

And then he says, “I am your professor, and I will see you all for extra credit,” while rubbing himself through his pants, like half the class isn’t ready to have his babies. My cock was ROCK FUCKING HARD in my jeans. [doodle of a leaking penis]

He introduces his TAs as Beta Max and Beta Owen. IDK, maybe it’s a kink thing? He’s clearly their dom or something, they were totally devoted to him all class. I’d happily be Alpha Mario’s Beta if he’s hiring, lmao! [hearts are doodled around “Alpha Mario”]

Anyway, that’s just one ep in the PORN SHOW that is my life these days! Ollie’s room has been, like, a revolving door of cock since we got back, and I usually take two or three loads a day out on campus. This group of straight computer science geeks actually begged to fuck me yesterday, so I was dripping all the way home.

They were surprisingly buff for nerds, too! I should point out to Ollie that we gotta hit the gym if we wanna keep up with all the boys on campus this term. Can you imagine? Us at the gym! [The rest of the page is covered in stickers of the laughing emoji]

[Day Four]

Went to the gym today! Not to workout, but I had this new outfit idea and I thought it might get me noticed if I just hung out in the locker room. OH BOY, was I right!

Last few days all my clothes have been feeling super tight, so I’ve been doing a lot of [scribbled in rainbow marker] SHOPPING. It’s too bad, all my old clothes were suuuuper cute, but I’ve started giving some of my old faves to repeat fuckbuddies. One of the guys who used to push me around for being faggy, this guy called Brendan, has been coming over for the last few nights. I never realised how cute he is before!

Anyway, the first night Brendan came over he throatfucked me, but last night he told me he really wanted to feel my fingers in his hole, so I started fingering him! It was soooo hot that my cock ended up totally hard and before I knew it HE was blowing ME while I rubbed his prostate. He’s been texting me all day, begging to service my cock again. Lol, he just sent a voice message all like, “Please, Ronaldo, I’ll do anything to make you cum again!”

My point is I gave him a pair of my old booty shorts. They fit him perfectly, even though he NEVER had an ass as nice as mine before. He’s been wearing them all day today, just like I told him. It’s so hot, knowing he’s showing off like a fag even though he used to be a straight homophobe.

Fuck, I was writing about MY clothes! I’ve been so distracted by hot beta boys the last few days. I thought it was kinda time to change up my style, plus I looked super hot trying on some more dude-type clothes, so here’s the pic of me I took while I was hanging out at the gym.

I had guys HANGING OFF OF ME after a few minutes. It was totally hot, they wanted to do anything I said. Before long, I had a bunch of hot guys kissing me all over and all the cocks I could want to suck. Guys kept running out to grab their hot friends to join us, and all these guys were focussed on me.

At one point one of the staff came in, and I could tell it was to tell us to stop. He was a cute guy, really filled out his work polo, you know how gyms always hire swole dudes and curvy gurls to work at the front desk. I just gave him this LOOK from the middle of my pile of dudes, and I could feel his straightness melt away as his cock started leaking in his preppy shorts.

But just as I was about to cum, my cap got ripped off my head and I was dragged out of the pile by Nate, the guy from that frat party. I swear, he got even BIGGER since last time, he held me up by my shoulders like I was a paperweight. He was totally growling at me, too. He said something like, “I hate when they’re half done,” whatever that means, and then he yelled at all the other boys to get back to work.

Once we were along in the locker room, Nate shook me like a doll. “All the ex-het Betas can treat my gym as neutral ground, but it’s MY territory to you and the other half-done Alphas, you got it?” [note: Alpha and Beta are capitalised in the original text, although Ronnie does not seem to have been aware of the Alpha Phenomenon]

I was like “What are you talking about?”

Nate said, “You’ll get it.” Then I started smelling this INCREDIBLE smell. It was like really sharp cedar cologne mixed with fresh sweat. There was something else too, and it made me feel totally out of it.

Next thing I knew, I was on my knees swallowing Nate’s cock again. “Yeah,” he was saying while he fucked my throat, “this’ll speed you up. You’ll probably never submit again after this, so I’m gonna enjoy it.”

I just stayed there, taking him all the way into my throat. I feel like a week ago it would’ve been totally hot, but today it felt different. Nate using me made me MAD [underlined several times]. I felt like I should do something about it, like punch him or steal one of his boys, but the smell coming off of him kept me docile.

Nate came really quietly, which made me madder. My throat is an incredible tool, okay? Any guy should be screaming when I blow him, especially a noisy top like Nate. Then he patted me on the head like I was a little boy and said, “Head home. Drop a load in that guy who lives across from you, he should be progressing well too.” Then he just. Walked away.

I was gonna stay here all night just to spite the asshole, but I’m super horny again and I don’t wanna go back out. Maybe I’ll go see if Ollie’s got any visitors tonight or if he wants me to fill his holes for him.

[Day Five]

[From this point, entries are written in a noticeably heavier hand. Lowercase Es and Os become jagged.] Fuck, last night was fucking awesome. I knocked on Ollie’s door, and he answered in nothing but a thong, showing his bottom growth right through the fabric. His legs have been getting so hairy and thick, he looked super slutty. Plus his room smelled like sex and cum. I’ve been sleeping out, but seems like Ollie’s been taking house calls.

“Ronaldo?” he said, blinking up at me in surprise. I think we used to be a matching pair of little twinks, but guess I’ve had a growth spurt.

I shoved through the door. What was he gonna do, stop me? I was like, “Where’s your lube?” It came out of my mouth so deep, in a crazy manly register. “I wanna finger you.”

Ollie fuckin’ moaned when I said that, and stumbled over to his night table to grab it. He keeps his lube right out in the open, proud of how much cock he takes. I was already dropping my jeans, my cock was getting super hard and I hate feeling it strain. It deserves to be seen anyway.

Once I grabbed Ollie’s lube, he stood against the wall and presented his ass for me. Fuck, just remembering the look of all that hair on his fat ass is making me leak again. Okay I jerked a bit, should be able to write. [there is a stain on the page here]

Ollie’s hole was still loose from his last dick appointment, so I pushed three fingers in nice and easy. Ollie was moaning, all, “When did your fingers get so thick,” and “What’s happening to us, Ronaldo?” so I roughed up his G-spot a bit until he wasn’t being so articulate anymore.

“What’s happening to us is we’re gonna rule this school,” I hissed at him. I’d realised that it wasn’t gonna be enough to finger him and make him blow me. I needed to shoot inside his ass right fucking now. “Fags are in fucking charge here now.”

Fuck, wait, I need to text Brendan and get him over here. I need him milking my cock so I can focus on writing.

[There are several crude doodles of dicks, asses, and cum splatters in various marker colours before the entry continues on the facing page]

So anyway I slammed Ollie against the wall and shoved my cock into him. My cock’s so much fucking bigger now, too. Like it’s really filling up Brendan’s mouth while he sucks on me. I had enough cock to really saw at Ollie's asshole, and I felt him cum handsfree onto the wall.

“That’s it,” I growled in his ear as I had to hold him up. “This is what you’ve wanted ever since we became neighbours, right? Ollie wanted to get Ronnie’s big alpha dick in his hole.” It felt good to call myself a

[in massive letters on its own line] ALPHA

Ollie didn’t really say words at that point, just lots of “Yes” and “More.” I could hear his voice getting deeper with every thrust, too.

By the time I was getting close, Ollie’s room reeked like ME. It wasn’t a bad smell, but I knew any boy who came in here would be able to tell that all this musk and spice wasn’t just Ollie. It would take weeks for this to be really Ollie’s territory again now that I had marked it. “Fuck, show me that man pussy,” I ordered him, and threw him down in his bed.

Switching holes felt like the most natural thing in the world. I’m fucking built for topping, I can’t believe I thought I hated it. I fucked Ollie through a couple more orgasms and then let myself fill up his man pussy with what felt like 3 loads.

I fell asleep still inside him.

FUCK. I just came in Brendan’s mouth, and it felt totally different. Like, I marked Ollie’s room, but I didn’t mark HIM. His holes are open for anyone to fill. He can own other boys for all I care. But Brendan? Brendan’s fucking MINE. He’s mine he’s mine he’s mine. MY Brendan. [scribbled hastily] I need his hole NOW.

[written later]

I took a pic of Ollie before I started fingering him. I bet he looks totally different now, like me. Gotta go, MY Brendan’s gonna show me how to do a gym session.

To Be Continued...

#alphaworld #male transformation #mental change #male tf #muscle tf #reality change #musk tf #dom tf #hairy tf #gradual change #all fwkong

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fairytsuk1 · 2 years

Text

getting katsuki gifts for the holidays was like trying to teach a monkey to dance, it was impossible.

you'd whined, mumbling about how the two of you had enough money to buy most items you wanted; katsuki also never seemed to never ask for things specifically.

"so, katsuki... the holidays are coming up!"

he's picking at his ordered in take-out, and you can see his displeasure at the lack of peppers as he picks through his kung pao chicken.

"yeah, already got your gift," and he's giving you smirk that makes you sweat, "are you sure you got the right chicken? this shit tastes like the fuckin' kids menu."

your eyes get caught on the wedding band wrung around his fingers, sailing the veins of his forearm till you can see his bulging biceps in the black muscle shirt. was your husband hand-carved by gods? seemed likely.

"mmm, no, it should be the kung pao chicken, want me to chop some chilies up for you?"

you're standing before he can protest, taking out your knives and chopping boards, "and you already have my gift? I don't have your gift, yet."

the box of take-out is set down as your husband circles his arm around your waist to leave soft kisses on the column of your neck.

"yeah, 'cause you don't love me," and a thankful hand squeezes your ass just to show his appreciation for the chopping of chilies, "...whatcha gonna get me?"

his hands are still wandering, and you're thinking more of what his talented fingers could do than his stupid gift, "i'm not supposed to tell, you know. santa's elves might get me into a whole lotta trouble."

he gropes you even more fiercely, and you can feel his pressing need against your back.

"fuck santa,"

he carries you off in a fit of giggles to your shared bedroom.

the bookstore was fairly crowded and you felt thankful you could slip by unnoticed and browse the various books of romance or sci-fi; katsuki didn't even seem like a sci-fi guy so each row left you feeling panicky and like a bad wife the further and further you went.

"excuse me, do you have any classical romance?"

the timbre of the voice makes your heart stop. It sounded just like, well, katsuki! your legs are thrumming with the knee-jerk reaction to tackle him to the ground, but you were literally buying his gift! the surprise would be ruined, and you're dashing into the row of cookbooks to calm yourself.

maybe it's not even him. you know what they say, just because it sounds like katsuki doesn't mean it is! you're affirming yourself silently when footsteps grow close, and your husband is flashing by you in seconds.

it is katsuki!

"i'm fucked."

your eyes follow the object of your love, his strong hands randomly pick books out of nowhere, but there's grumbles of displeasure as he skims the summary and grimaces at the cover. he didn't know that much about books, but you deserved something special.

you'd dealt with all the hero stuff (being gone for long periods of time and coming home nearly dead was no news to you), always made him lunch or dinner, and frankly... katsuki found his eyes drifting to a sleeping baby in its stroller.

he'd started thinking more like that. so the gift had to be pretty damn good!

a man strikes up conversation, and you smile at the idea that katsuki wasn't just factually married, but he gave that aura too. yeah, that was your man.

"i'm shoppin' for my wife," straight to the point and he's already grumbling at having to interact with this person for more than a minute.

"wow! a true husband, what's with the books then? looking to open your marriage?"

it's a joke that katsuki doesn't find funny, you do however and you're sure this conversation would be going very differently.

"fuck no. i'm just lookin' for somethin' good," there's a brief pause in his words, and katsuki looks askance at having to provide a reason why, "she does a lot for me. want her to know I appreciate it."

a beating heart is soothed by the words. your hormones run wild at his mild love declaration, and you're grinning like a mad man.

katsuki wakes up on christmas morning to find his absolute favorite thing; you.

and the book he got was pretty damn good, too.

#bnha imagines #mha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia smut #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia smut #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia imagines #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader

1K notes · View notes

here2bbtstrash · 2 years

Text

real magic (explicit)

genre: smut, fluff, bangin’ your boss, m attempts kidfic - part of a hyung holiday collab !

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: the holiday season has never meant anything to you beyond suffering long hours for minimum wage and awaiting the collapse of capitalism— but this year, you’d be willing to add making out with your dilf coffee shop boss to the list.

word count: 16.7k 😩

contains: ~*~explicit sexual content (after kind of a slow burn sorry lol)~*~ the "moving back to your hometown" hallmark trope, a nick jonas poster (yes that's a warning), some taekook slander in the beginning because i thought it was funny, namjoon is so buff and so dumb but so wise and so hot, moni is a little shit, namjoon is a dad!, namjoon's kid uses they/them pronouns but it's not like A Focus of the story it's just flavor, reader thinks joon has a dead wife for like one second 💀 mentions of teenage pregnancy and co-parenting, one incredibly stupid asshole customer lmao, mint choco slander (it's what namjoon would want 😌), obviously there is an employee/boss power dynamic but they talk about it and figure it out because this is namjoon and he overthinks everything, namjoon driving (he's a dad i have to assume he would get his license if he had a literal child!!!!!!!!) and a lotta sentimental holiday and life talk. here are ur sex specific warnings: making out/going to second base in a car in a parking lot (what is it with my namjoons and cars in parking lots yo), fingering, semi-drunk sex, and fuckin' rawwwww with a smidge of size and breeding kink lmao (but she's on the pill!!! no more kids!!!!!!)

A/N: hello hello hi merry crisis this damn fic is finally here lmao~ as i have been babbling on about for days i really really (REALLY) love how this namjoon turned out he's just hesjkrgdhtgk such a fucking himbo but a good dad and wise and did i mention hot aaaaaa 🫠 all the love in my gay little heart to @goodsoop for their barista wisdom and real life experiences that went into this one (the cookie story will never not make me laugh) ! and to @sailoryooons for beta reading this 50 million times and encouraging me when i was convinced it sucked ass, and also for making all the gorgeous banners for this collab 😭

which btw - be sure to go check out @gimmethatagustd & @sailoryooons & @nabiolive 's fics tooooo !!! i've loved collabing with them so very much even when we were all hashtag Going Through It, we got the whole damn hyung line you hear meeeeee 🎁🎁🎁🎁

read on AO3!

Rudely awoken by the incessant beep of your alarm, you open your eyes to find Nick Jonas staring back at you, and you sit up with a scream.

Realization washes over your sleep-addled brain in waves: first, that you aren’t actually staring at a real person. He’s just smizing on a hot pink poster, held up by some remarkably durable masking tape you stuck to the wall fifteen years ago. Second, it comes back to you that you are staring at said poster because you’ve woken up in your childhood bedroom. It’s been left untouched since you were a teenager, like a weird time capsule of all your high school obsessions.

After reaching for your phone to silence the alarm, you kick your way out from under the blankets, trying not to make eye contact with Nick, or Justin, or Zayn as you stumble to the bathroom. The circumstances of your grand return to living in your goddamn parents’ house linger like a bad taste in your mouth, one that all the tongue brushing in the world can’t remove.

It still doesn’t feel real. Taehyung, your best friend in the world since freshman year of college, kicked you out. Sure, it may have been phrased more like a gentle request, but as far as your ego is concerned, it still feels like exile. Banishment, even. The person you thought you could never be parted from made his choice, and he chose his fucking boyfriend over you.

Jungkook. You think the name with all the venom your cold, dead heart can manage as you spit toothpaste into the sink.

Jungkook, the weird, bug-eyed kid who put his toe-socked feet on your couch, drank his banana milk out of your favorite mug, and ate up all of your Samyang ramyeon because he ‘thought it was communal’.

Jungkook, who ruined your sleep schedule nightly, either by fucking Taehyung senseless on the other side of your paper-thin apartment wall, or by blasting the same four Ariana Grande songs over and over on his bluetooth speaker and singing along in an annoyingly good voice. Either activity would go on well into the early hours of the morning, until you had to bang on the wall so hard you nearly put your fist through it.

Jungkook, whose dog once took a shit right on the floor in the middle of the kitchen.

Bam was cute enough to forgive, of course. But you can never forgive Taehyung for his betrayal. Especially when he knew you’d just been fired from your shitty coffee shop job for the stupidest reason ever, and he didn’t let that derail or even delay him. He still went ahead and delivered the killing blow.

Et tu, Taehyung? you think angrily to yourself as you stand in front of the suitcase containing as much of your closet as you could possibly fit. You still need to go back for your bigger furniture, and little things like your plates and your mugs and your silverware, which Jungkook is probably putting his grimy little fingers all over at this very moment. But until you’ve checked out of your indefinite vacation at the Nightmare Parental Hotel, there doesn’t really seem a point.

If you were less upset, you might take consolation in the fact that your parents aren’t actually here, that they’ve jaunted off to their timeshare until the new year, but you’re busy being too swallowed whole by your misery to find an ounce of joy in any piece of your current reality.

You dig through the pile of clothes until you manage to pull out something halfway decent. The first order of business now that you’ve moved back in is simple: acquire another stupid coffee shop job. You have no plans to stick around long, you just need something seasonal that will give you some meager income while you start looking for a real gig, one that is ideally not in your hometown.

Watching yourself in the mirror as you pull on a simple black blouse and your least-stained pair of jeans, you attempt to mentally dust off your interview skills. You conjure up your best fake smile and customer service voice, both of which are second-nature at this point.

Why do you want this job? “I’m just so passionate about coming home sticky and verbally abused by caffeine-addicted assholes every night.”

What’s your biggest weakness? “Clearly it’s the fact that I’m a ray of fucking sunshine.”

Why were you terminated from your last job? “Oh, well, I attempted to get my previous employer to improve their standards of worker treatment. You see, I selfishly requested that they raise the bar a single notch above hell. Certainly won’t happen again!”

This should go well, you tell yourself, and your reflection grimaces back.

With several hours to kill before your job interview and a growing desire to avoid the weird nostalgia of your childhood that seems to lurk in every corner of your parents’ house, you decide to take a walk.

The sky is bright blue and cloudless, and though the air is brisk, it isn’t terribly windy. You tuck in your earbuds as you shut the front door behind you and pick a direction, aimless, letting your mind wander to the soundtrack of your “seasonal depression” playlist.

A whole new crop of families must have moved into your parents’ neighborhood in the years since you moved out, because the streets are more alive with kids than you can ever remember them being, even when you were a kid yourself. Bikes and scooters lay abandoned on the sidewalks between homes, and you can hear the repeated echo of a basketball dribbling on a driveway, punctuated by distant, playful screaming.

Even in the daytime, you can tell these families have spared no expense when it comes to Christmas decor: some homes have every eave outlined in string lights, some have candy cane stakes dug into the perimeter of their perfectly manicured lawns, and some have been seemingly invaded by small armies of inflatable reindeer and snowmen. You can’t help but giggle a little at the inflatable decorations that have been set to turn off during the day, the way the airless material lays limp in the grass, giving the impression of a yard strewn with dead bodies.

But you remember what it looked like when you drove in last night, everything lit up and brought to life.

Your parents definitely didn’t have inflatable lawn decorations when you were a kid, but you’d get so excited every year when your dad would drag the ladder out and spend the day stringing up the simple rainbow lights you did have. You still remember the little spark of joy you’d feel in your chest when the colors would click on after dark, the way you would run outside every night just to see them twinkle, your breath puffing steam clouds in the air, your bare feet freezing on the ice-cold driveway.

It felt like magic then. But somewhere along the way you grew up. And now that feeling’s gone. Even at night, the lights just look like… lights.

Distracted as you are by the music in your ears and thoughts of your childhood that have brought you to a standstill on the sidewalk, you don’t notice what’s happening until it’s too late.

A blur of red and white is suddenly circling around and between your legs, and you feel something twining over your ankles, then tugging with a force that threatens to knock you off balance. As you lean forward in an attempt to right yourself, the chaos in question slows enough for you to realize it’s a fluffy white dog in a red sweater, who has excitedly tangled you up in his leash.

You manage to find the looped end of the leash and slowly get yourself unwrapped while the dog continues to pant and jump and occasionally yap at you. With your legs freed, you squat down for a proper greeting, laughing to yourself as he lifts up on his hind legs, balancing his paws on your knee to lick an enthusiastic greeting across your cheek.

“Hi, puppy,” you murmur, trying to get him to hold still long enough to read the name on his tag. A voice beats you to it.

“Moni!”

When you glance up to find Moni’s owner jogging up the sidewalk, you have to make a conscious effort to keep your own tongue in your mouth, because good lord, he is fine.

He’s tall, towering over you even once you bring yourself back up to standing, and the black workout tank and athletic shorts he’s wearing do absolutely nothing to hide the thick, well-defined muscles of his arms, chest, and thighs.

Despite his lack of clothing in the cool winter air, you can see his face and neck are slick with sweat, his white-blonde hair damp with it too. There’s even a dark patch that’s soaked his shirt at his sternum, making the firm swell of his pecs that much more apparent. It takes you an extra second to break eye contact with them, but when you do finally manage to drag your gaze up to meet his, you realize his face is just as nice of a view: honey-tan skin, full lips, and cute dimples that pop as he gives a sheepish, appreciative laugh.

“Thank you,” he says, a little breathless; his voice is deep and slightly husky in a way that makes your face grow hot. You blink stupidly at him for a few moments, your mind reeling, and then it occurs to you that you still have his dog’s leash in your hand.

“No problem,” you manage, handing the looped end back over and double-checking to make sure your ankles are still free from their entanglement. Though now that this man is holding the leash, you kind of wish they weren’t.

“Moni’s usually good about not taking off when I stop to do a circuit,” he explains, like you’re the dog owner police. It makes you wonder what kind of Karens must have moved into this neighborhood since you left it. “I don’t know why he ran, maybe he saw a squirrel or something.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with a smile, admiring Moni as he stretches and settles into a polite seated pose. “I like his sweater.”

“Thanks,” he laughs again. “C’mon Mon.”

You can’t help focusing on how big this guy’s hands are as he slips his fingers through the end of Moni’s leash, tugging slightly as if to encourage the dog back in the direction he came from.

Moni blinks and stays right where he is.

“You little shit,” his owner huffs under his breath, and you have to bite down on your bottom lip to keep from laughing. You distantly realize you should probably leave them to it and continue on your walk, but this is too entertaining to turn away from now. Your hot neighbor tries one more futile attempt to get Moni to move, then seems to give up entirely.

He stoops down with a low grunt of effort that makes your core flutter as he grabs the fluffy dog and hoists him up in his arms. You try to force yourself to stop noticing the way his biceps flex, the fact that the muscles of his arms are nearly bigger than your head.

“Thanks again,” he says with a final grateful smile, and your only response is to swallow hard and stand there like an idiot as he turns and carries his spoiled dog back home.

When you arrive for your interview, you’re delighted to discover that Indigo Coffee is nothing like your last job. It’s warm and bright, with large picture windows that flood the space in sunlight, and there’s a cozy personal touch to it, the likes of which you’d certainly never see in your former corporate shell of a workplace. The sitting area is dotted with live edge wood tables and mismatched chairs. There are an array of framed paintings on the walls that look handmade in a good way, simple yet bold brush-stroke lines in a deep blue color scheme. And, you realize as your eyes linger, the shop is absolutely overflowing with plants: in simple clay pots lined up along the windows, free-standing between tables, and tucked into bookshelves placed artfully throughout the space.

You step closer to inspect one as you wait on your interviewer and are pleased to see that it’s real, that they all are— no waxy fake leaves jammed into a thick block of cement, but real greenery sprouted in real dirt, deep brown soil gone soft from what must have been a recent watering. These are plants someone cares for, coaxed and kept alive by someone’s time and patience and love. The thought makes you smile a little despite yourself.

There’s still fucking Christmas music playing, but you figure that’s inescapable this time of year.

“Are you here for the interview?” someone asks over your shoulder. As you turn away from the plant, you wonder if you’re imagining that the voice in question sounds slightly familiar, and then you find yourself once again staring up at a fine-ass man with white-blonde hair and a sweet pair of dimples.

He’s clearly showered since your last encounter, and is now slightly more covered up in a pair of faded jeans and a gray-green flannel thrown over a black shirt emblazoned with bold white lettering: Protect Trans Kids.

“Oh.” Moni’s owner blinks back at you, and the shock on his face is so apparent that a giggle escapes your lips before you can stop it. “Uh, hi again.”

“Hi,” you echo, equally flustered, before realizing you failed to answer his initial question. “Oh, yeah. Yes. I am. The interview. I’m— that’s me.” So well-spoken, you mentally kick yourself.

One dimple deepens slightly as he extends a hand. “Kim Namjoon. Owner of Indigo Coffee. And the world’s least obedient dog, as you saw earlier.”

You offer your best handshake in return and a smile that you surprisingly don’t have to force as you give Namjoon your name. He gestures to a table in the corner, and you each pull back a chair to have a seat. You try to banish any potential horny thoughts from your brain, but shifting into interview mode proves difficult as he rests his large hands on the table in front of him, drumming idly along to the horribly cheery music.

You manage to tear your gaze away from Namjoon’s fingers when he speaks again. “If it’s cool with you, we can just chat a little? I’m not so good at conducting formal interviews. Too inauthentic.”

It’s like you can feel some of the tension release from your shoulders. “I— yeah. That sounds great.”

“Cool,” he nods, and you try to ignore the rush of heat up your neck at the intensity of his stare. Professional, be professional. “So I saw on your resume that it looks like your last few jobs were out of town. Did you just move here?”

“Moved back,” you say quickly. “Yeah. I grew up here, actually.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen a little in clear interest. “Really? What brings you back?”

You purse your lips as you consider how to phrase it. “My life… kind of fell apart. So. I moved in with my parents for a bit. Like a winner.” His dimples pop when he smiles at your joke, and you drop your gaze to the table. “Just trying to figure out what’s next, and find something seasonal in the meantime.”

“Well, we could certainly use the help,” Namjoon admits. When you chance a glance up, there’s a look on his face like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “I saw in your application that you were terminated from your last position.” He leans in, lowering his voice slightly as he continues. “I’m gonna be honest, I hate that we even ask that question. But can you tell me a bit about what happened?”

You keep your stare fixed on the wood grain in front of you as you try to stay calm. “Well, if I can be honest too...” Squeezing your eyes shut, you tell yourself to just say it. “I was fired for trying to unionize.”

“Oh.” Namjoon sounds surprised, but you can’t manage to look at him. “Really?” You nod slowly, biting down on your bottom lip. “That’s— fucking illegal.”

That makes your gaze snap back up to meet his. His brow is furrowed slightly, a muscle in his jaw pulled tight.

“Yeah,” you say belatedly. “Yeah, I know. They made up a bunch of fake excuses as to why I was fired, but I knew what it really was. It was because I wanted them to actually pay us what we were worth, and hire more workers so we weren’t being scheduled to death. And I was getting everyone else riled up too, and I guess it scared them.”

Namjoon sits back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Huh. Man. Well, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

It takes you a second to process what you’re hearing. Union has always been a scary word for any person in upper management you’ve previously encountered. You hadn’t expected this to be so… easy. For him to understand, or sympathize. “I— yeah. I am too.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Namjoon continues quickly, “I think it’s great, what you tried to do. I’m very pro-union.” He pauses for a moment, his face twisting slightly in thought. “I mean, admittedly, we don’t have one here. Granted, there are only five of us. I should probably ask, though, if they want one.”

You can’t quite hide your smile. “I’m gonna take a guess that you probably treat your employees pretty well as-is.”

“I try,” he says with a shake of his head. His eyes meet yours again. “So, here’s the deal. You have a ton of experience, and with holiday time off and a few people out sick, I’m super understaffed right now. You seem like you have a good head on your shoulders, and hopefully you feel like you can come to me if you have any issues, without fearing retaliation.”

You blink slowly, and he must be able to read the disbelief on your face. “What I’m saying is I’m offering you the seasonal position,” he clarifies. “Is that— do you, uh, accept?”

“Yes.” The word is chased by a dazed laugh, and Namjoon’s dimples resurface around a small smile.

“Cool. I told you I’m bad at interviews,” he huffs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. You try to ignore the swell of his bicep, clearly visible even beneath his bulky flannel. “I know this is a lot to ask, but. Is there any chance you can start, like, right now? Because Jimin’s shift ends in…” He tilts a little, fishing his phone from the front pocket of his jeans, and his mouth drops open in surprise when he gets a glimpse at the time.

“Oh, shit,” Namjoon murmurs, and then he raises his voice to call across the mostly empty store. “Jimin-ah! I’m so sorry!”

You turn around, your gaze landing on the barista leaned up against the counter next to the register. His dyed-gray hair dusts over his eyes, which pull into crescent moons as he laughs. “It’s cool. I knew you were almost done. But I’m gonna clock out now, if she’s good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, turning back to Namjoon. “Yeah, I can start now.”

The two of you move behind the counter, and you sweep your hair up out of your face while Namjoon starts to go through a basic run-down of where everything is located. The overhead bell tinkles as Jimin shoulders the front door open, and he lifts a hand over his head in parting.

“See you after the holidays!”

“Alright,” Namjoon says as he waves to Jimin, a little breathless from having rambled on for the better part of several minutes. “That was a lot. Do you want to just start on register? I feel like that should be easy enough, and I can train you on everything as people come in, since it’s pretty dead right now.”

You shrug. “Works for me.”

Within half an hour, there’s a line out the door, and Namjoon has managed to spill espresso grounds all over his shoes for a second time.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, taking a step back. “Sorry. Been a minute since I’ve had to be back here.”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him, but you can see from the faces of the customers who have been waiting on their drinks for several minutes— including one who’s had hers remade three times, all of them incorrect— that it is very much not okay. You certainly lack the people skills to smooth over any of Namjoon’s mistakes, and you can feel a stress-induced eye twitch starting to flare up, brought on by Kelly Clarkson’s incessant yuletide belting.

You give your boss five more minutes, wherein he scalds his hand on the milk steamer, forgets about a cookie in the warmer until it’s burnt entirely black, and nearly turns the blender on with the lid off, before you finally intervene.

“Hey, Namjoon?” You do your best to keep your expression pleasant when he glances over at you, wiping at his brow with the back of his hand. “Maybe we should switch?”

“A-are you sure?” he stammers, apparently torn between wanting to be a good boss and a clear desire to just take the L. “I feel bad, this is literally your first shift.”

“I think I can handle it,” you reassure him, lowering your voice a little. “Let me take care of the drinks, and you can do your… endearing golden retriever thing. Keep the people entertained.”

Color blooms in the apples of his cheeks as his dimples make a brief appearance. “Oh, okay. Can do. Just let me know if you need help.”

You can’t imagine a universe where his clumsiness could in any way be considered helpful, but you keep that thought to yourself as you smile at him. At least he’s cute.

Things improve dramatically once your roles are reversed: as you expected, Namjoon is far more charismatic than he is coordinated, and he chats endlessly with the people waiting on their drinks, hardly pausing long enough to take a breath, while you scramble around trying to get your bearings in a new environment. The steady stream of customers doesn’t let up for the rest of the evening, until the last few finally trickle out of the store a few minutes after close, and you waste no time locking the door behind them with a sigh of relief.

You spin around, letting your back thud against the door for a moment as you watch Namjoon fight with a broom and dustpan in a futile attempt to get espresso dust out of the grout between the tiles. There’s a dull ache starting to thud in your skull, and it’s only deepened by the shrill opening notes of another fucking a cappella song.

“Namjoon?” you ask as you cross toward the counter, and his head instantly snaps up. “Do you think we could maybe turn off the Christmas music?”

“Oh, sure.” He’s already fumbling to grab his phone, and he taps a few buttons until the music suddenly switches, a soft voice starting to croon over an old school beat.

“Thanks,” you say, and you can’t help the pity smile that pulls up your mouth when he returns to his useless task. “I think the grout might be a lost cause, but I can go ahead and mop whenever you’re ready.”

He rights himself with a defeated sigh, nodding his head to the storage closet in the back. You follow his lead to retrieve the mop, then set about filling up the bucket with water and cleaning solution. Namjoon’s voice floats in from the front of the shop as he busies himself with his own closing tasks.

“Imagine smokin’ weed in the street without cops harassin’ / Imagine goin’ to court with no trial / Lifestyle cruisin’ blue Bahama waters / No welfare supporters, more conscious of the way we raise our daughters...”

You’re laughing a little as you roll the bucket out, starting at the door to work your way back. “Is this… Nas?”

He glances up, like he’s just remembered other people exist in the world. “Yeah, sorry. I can turn it off.”

“No, no,” you say quickly when he starts to reach for his phone again. “This is good. Much better than Pentatonix. I’m just… you really know every word.”

Namjoon shrugs, clearly embarrassed. “He’s my favorite.”

The revelation surprises you, and you pause to think as you pull the mop back and forth over the tile floor. It didn’t even occur to you that Namjoon would have a favorite kind of music, apart from the soft elevator muzak you imagine must play on a steady loop in his brain, given the way he fumbles through life.

“I actually wanted to be a rapper,” his voice comes back, and you look up again, your interest piqued. “When I was younger. But you know. Life had other plans.”

“Ah yes, the rapper to coffee shop owner pipeline,” you muse, and he barks a laugh that you wish you didn’t find so hot. Shaking your head, you force yourself to look back down at the espresso-studded tile, doing your best to shove your attraction aside and not think about it. He’s your boss, dumbass.

Still, it’s hard to ignore, particularly as he continues to rap along to each song that comes on, his voice deeper and huskier than you’ve heard it thus far in casual conversation. He doesn’t miss a word, and you can’t deny that it’s impressive. And sexy. Fuck.

Once the floor has been successfully mopped and everything else is put back together, you hop up onto the counter to wait for the tile to dry, and your gaze lingers over Namjoon’s large hands as he cashes out the register. He flips through the bills in time to the music, still humming under his breath as he goes, and you do your best to hold in your laugh when he inevitably loses count and has to start over from the beginning. Thankfully the second attempt sticks, and he smiles proudly to himself as he zips everything up into the deposit bag.

“First shift down,” he announces, as if you might have forgotten, and then his eyes find yours and you swear your breath gets stuck in your throat. “How do you feel?”

It only occurs to you now how close he’s standing to you, and with the way your legs are casually dangling over the edge of the counter, it wouldn’t take much for him to step between them. And god, he’s so damn tall, you’re practically eye-to-eye.

“Uh,” you manage, your mouth suddenly gone dry. “Good. I feel good.”

“That’s good,” he answers, his voice dipping into that throaty tone again. You find yourself wondering absentmindedly if maybe Namjoon has a customer service voice, too, and then for the briefest flash of a moment, his gaze flits from your eyes to your lips and back again. It’s so quick, you can’t be sure it even really happened.

You tell yourself it’s just your exhausted post-shift brain seeing things that aren’t there, wanting this fine-ass man to be into you, too.

A sudden bang on the front door makes you flinch so hard, you come dangerously close to kneeing Namjoon in the crotch. He takes a large step back as you whip around to look over your shoulder, only to see a kid’s face pressed to the glass, framed by two small hands. You’ve never been great at telling the age of children on sight, but this one looks like… maybe a middle schooler?

“Whose fucking kid is that?” you say automatically, blinking, dumbfounded. Namjoon’s laugh is a low rumble behind you.

“That would be mine.”

It takes several days for the shock to wear off. Your boss has a kid. Kim “could’ve burnt the building down with a single cookie” Namjoon is at least partially responsible for keeping another human being alive. Which means you have a crush… on a father.

A father who also happens to be your boss.

You try not to think about any of it.

There’d been brief introductions when you left the shop that first night, but all you’d really managed to glean was the kid’s name, Sol, and their pronouns. As someone who is historically terrible with children, you’d excused yourself the minute Namjoon locked the front door, after what felt like an eternity spent watching him pat each of his pockets twice before he finally managed to find his keys.

“I hope it wasn’t weird,” your boss says out of nowhere in the middle of your next shift, during a much-needed moment of peace after the morning rush. “For you to meet Sol like that. It’s just been hard, since their mom, uh…”

Namjoon trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished. You glance up, eyes widening as you put the pieces together.

“Oh my god,” you breathe. “I’m so sorry.”

His gaze meets yours, and it’s like you can see the wheels in his head turning before he catches up. “No, no,” he says quickly, and then he starts to laugh. “Wow, I really did not start that sentence well. She’s not dead. She just got married, and she’s on her honeymoon for most of December. The logistics have been hard, is what I meant.”

An embarrassed heat creeps up your neck, and your elbows thud against the countertop as you press your face into your hands, attempting to muffle your own laughter. “In my defense,” you groan, “you really made it sound like you had a dead wife.”

“Not dead! She’s fine!” Namjoon’s dimples are as prominent as you’ve ever seen them when you peek up at him from your full-body cringe. “Very much alive, very much not my wife.” The muscles in his arms flex as he crosses them over his chest, leaning up against the counter next to the register. “Never was, actually.”

“Really?” you answer automatically, your damned curiosity getting the better of you.

He nods, his voice a little more serious when he continues, rambling on in the way that you’ve already started to suspect is his default setting, talking as if to fill empty space. “We were seventeen when we got pregnant. I knew we were young then, but I don’t think I really realized. Now that I’m almost thirty, I know: seventeen is fucking young.”

The line of his jaw tightens, thoughtful, as his gaze sweeps over the floor. “I thought I wanted to marry her, or at least felt obligated to. Like it was the right thing to do, but. We didn’t have any money, and then it all got so hectic after Sol was born. Didn’t even take a year for us to realize it wasn’t gonna work, not for us.”

You blink, trying to take in all the new information. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Namjoon admits. “But we were both on the same page about it. That no matter what, Sol had to come first.” He glances up with a shrug. “It’s all good now. She’s a great co-parent, and her new husband is really good for her. And… well, I have Indigo.”

The tinkling of the bell at the front door snaps you out of a daze, makes you realize you’ve been staring at him, dumbfounded. You do your best to shoot Namjoon a soft smile, and to ignore the pang in your chest as he turns to greet the customer that’s just wandered in, already starting to babble on about the weather.

You find yourself more grateful for Namjoon’s presence with each passing shift, in a way that you try to convince yourself is thoroughly platonic. Between fairly steady work and his very steady chatter, your time spent in the warm, sunny space of Indigo turns out to be a good distraction from your own miserable excuse for a life. The repetitive motions of making drink after drink are oddly comforting, and you have to admit, Namjoon really is good with the customers.

“Peppermint mocha to go.”

You do your best to follow up the sentence with a polite smile as you set a drink down for the customer who has done nothing but scowl at you the whole time you were making it. The silent prayer you’ve sent out to the universe that he’ll take whatever personal problem he has elsewhere and leave you alone has clearly gone unanswered.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he snaps, and you can feel your shoulders creep up towards your ears in anticipation of nothing good. Here we fucking go.

You blink twice, trying to keep your service persona engaged. “I’m sorry, is that not what you ordered?” It is, you know it is, you heard him say it.

“No, that’s mine,” the man quickly responds, reaching out to snatch the cup in a motion that makes you flinch. “But do you hear this fucking song?��

The honest answer is no: at this point the ever-present Christmas music might as well be white noise, so you have to make a conscious effort to tune back in and listen. It’s a few seconds, and then you pick up on the melody. “…Last Christmas?”

“Uh, yeah,” he continues, explaining like you’re stupid. “The original. Last Christmas by Wham!” When it’s clear you still aren’t putting the pieces together, he scoffs in pure frustration. “You just made me lose Whamageddon! I’ve won every year for the last five years, I can’t believe you would even put this on your fucking playlist!”

Your face pulls into an incredulous grimace before you can think to control it. “Uh, I’m sorry, but I didn’t make the—”

He cuts you off. “First off, I don’t need the fucking attitude. And surely you’re at least capable of checking what songs are on there, right? That’s not too advanced for you to handle?”

You didn’t even hear Namjoon walk up from the back office, but he’s suddenly stepping in front of you, and you’re more than glad to move back and let him handle this dude before you end up in jail. “Woah, woah, alright,” Namjoon interjects, his voice loud enough to carry. “What’s going on?”

The man beats you to it. “I’m trying to file a legitimate complaint and she’s rolling her fucking eyes and getting an attitude with me!”

“It’s the song,” you explain briefly, trying to keep everything about your expression neutral. “He’s mad that we’re… playing Wham.”

Namjoon’s face twists in an expression that you would find funny if you weren’t so fucking livid, one that you’re pretty sure is the mirror image of your own reaction minutes earlier. “The song? Seriously?”

You can see the guy scrambling, clearly starting to get embarrassed at his own dramatics. “Alright, I don’t have time for this. I guess I just need to take my business elsewhere, because this is ridiculous. What ever happened to the customer is always right?”

Namjoon goes silent for a minute, and you try to ignore the way the look on his face makes your pulse quicken, thudding brightly in the hollow of your neck. His voice is deadly serious when he speaks again. “I appreciate that you’re upset, but if you’re going to look my employee in the face, after she just performed a service for you, and disrespect her like that? Over a fucking song? Nah, I’m not gonna tolerate it. Maybe the next time you want someone to make you a toothpaste drink, you should take your ass to Starbucks.”

It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep the reaction off your face until the asshole has stormed out the front door, nasty drink in hand. As the bell finally tinkles to signal his departure, you collapse forward, just barely catching yourself on the counter so you don’t crumple straight down to the floor.

“Oh my god.” Your laugh of disbelief comes out more like a groan, at the ridiculous complaint and your boss’ insanely attractive comeback alike. “I fucking hate this time of year.”

“Hey.” The word is punctuated by Namjoon’s shoulder bumping into yours, and you look back up at him, still laughing a little at your own misery. His eyes search yours, sincere. “Assholes are assholes no matter what season it is. I’m sure that guy finds plenty of things to complain about the other eleven months of the year, too. Don’t let him ruin it for you.”

You can’t help rolling your eyes, if only because you can do it freely now, without a man standing over you and yelling about your ‘bad attitude’. “I guess,” you huff. “And thank you.”

Namjoon shakes his head, like it’s nothing. “Chin up, okay?”

The two of you breeze through closing that night, familiar enough to fall into a steady routine now. You’re wiping everything down behind the counter and humming along to Tupac when Namjoon’s voice drags you back out of your thoughts in a way you’ve already grown accustomed to.

“You know…”

You glance up, only to realize that he’s started to flip chairs on top of tables to clear the floor, and is grabbing them two at a time, one in each hand. The image makes you a little dizzy, and you tell yourself to focus on his words, not his biceps.

“I think we make a pretty good team,” he concludes.

“Yeah,” you breathe, trying to keep your composure at the unexpected compliment. “I was thinking the same thing. And thanks again for, you know. Handling that guy.”

Namjoon shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Hey, you’re doing me a favor, taking this seasonal job. I’m not about to let anyone fuck with you.”

You bite down on a smile as you head towards the back to grab the mop, and then you hear a loud bang on the front door— it’s another sound you’ve gotten used to in your brief time at Indigo. There’s the click of the deadbolt, chased by the tinkling overhead bell and Namjoon’s chiding voice. “Homie, if you break my door I’m gonna make you get a job to pay me back for it.”

“You think I don’t know about child labor laws?” you hear Sol retort, clearly not intimidated, and the attitude in their voice has you biting back a laugh.

Wheeling the mop bucket out of the storage closet, you glance up to see Namjoon jut his chin toward the large front window, indicating Sol to take a seat on the ledge. “Feet off the floor, she’s tryna clean.”

Sol complies, plopping down in the window with their eyes glued to their phone as Namjoon disappears back toward the office to grab his things. You watch as Sol pulls their knees into their chest so their chunky black boots clear the tile, and you can’t help noticing that said boots are adorned with oversized silver bat-shaped buckles, reflecting the amber streetlight gleam that leaks through the window.

“I like your boots,” you say, more to yourself than Sol, half expecting them to be so engrossed in TikTok that they don’t even hear you.

But to your surprise, Sol looks up.

“Thanks,” they say, glancing at their feet. “I just got them. I’m in my post-hardcore era right now.”

The statement is delivered without a trace of irony, and you do your best to hold in another amused giggle as you respond. “Wow, you are… so much cooler than I was when I was your age.”

Sol seems to consider this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, you didn’t have the internet back then, right?”

The question hits you like a train, and you have to pause and press a hand over your heart at the impact. “Okay, ouch, I’m not that old.” They grimace apologetically, and you lean up against the mop handle in thought. “But the internet definitely wasn’t like it is now. The only social media that really existed was Myspace, and my parents wouldn’t let me make one. I mostly just used the internet to, like, play RuneScape.”

“Oh shit,” Sol remarks, sounding remarkably like Namjoon in the process. “You played old school?!”

It’s like you can feel your bones crumbling to dust inside your body, and you wince as you resume dragging the mop over the tile. “Hey, back then it was the only kind of RuneScape we had. But yes, you can consider me a… founding father of that game.”

“That’s cool!” they exclaim, sounding so genuine it makes your head spin. When did RuneScape become cool again? “My friends and I play old school all the time. It’s the best, for real.”

You shake your head in disbelief as you continue to mop, and a long pause settles between you, with Sol’s interest clearly returning to their phone.

Fuck, you think to yourself, what else do kids even talk about? Marvel movies? It’s like your mind has gone totally blank, unable to conjure up a single topic of conversation, and you practically huff out an audible sigh of relief when their voice breaks the silence again.

“I think my dad has been happier since you started working here.”

The mop nearly slips out of your hands entirely, and you glance up, eyes wide. “I— really?”

Sol nods, playing absentmindedly with the strings of their black hoodie, then bringing the end of one up to their mouth to gently chew on. “It’s a theory I have. A game theory. I plan to ask additional follow-up questions tonight.”

At this, you can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’m sure your investigation will be very thorough.”

There’s a flash of a dimple in Sol’s cheek, like the mirror image of their dad. “I can tell you what he says, if you want.”

You wonder how telling your own smile is. “I mean… I can’t say I’m not curious.” You’re distantly aware of the sound of the office door closing, chased by Joon whistling to himself, and you lower your voice conspiratorially as you drop the mop back into the bucket. “I look forward to hearing what you find out.”

Monday morning, when you wake up to the omnipresent smize of Nick Jonas, you can’t help smiling back.

You made it through your first week of work, and it wasn’t even that torturous. And best of all, Namjoon reminded you the night before that Indigo is closed on Mondays, which gives you an entire day to spend as you please. A real day off, which was truly unheard of at your last job, where you’d spend your non-scheduled days still anticipating an incoming emergency text asking you to cover a shift last-minute. More often than not, you’d end up working after all.

“But not today,” you announce to Nick.

A grand plan has already started to form in your head, one that involves a party size bag of Hot Cheetos and all eight episodes of The Fabulous, and yet. There’s a lingering urge at the back of your brain that you can’t quite ignore. With all the day-off energy you can muster, you drag yourself out of bed and tug on a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt, then shuffle into the bathroom to at least make yourself halfway decent.

You’re just going for a quick walk around the block to get some fresh air, you tell yourself. That’s all. Certainly no other reason.

It’s only a few minutes after you step out your front door that a fluffy white blur nearly collides with your shins, and when you stoop down to lift Moni into your arms, you once again can’t keep the smile off your face. Huh, who could’ve seen this coming?

But when you glance up, there’s no hot buff man jogging up the sidewalk after his dog. In fact, you realize as you look back at the ball of fluff in your arms, he isn’t wearing a leash or harness at all, just another cute sweater.

“Are you even supposed to be out here?” you ask Moni. His only answer is to drag his tongue up the side of your face.

You shift him a little in your arms so you can fumble for the tag attached to his collar, and thankfully, there’s an address listed. It takes you a second to get your bearings in the neighborhood, having not lived here for close to a decade, but it eventually comes back to you where the listed street is, and you start to walk. Moni is already blinking sleepily in your arms, clearly enjoying his preferred mode of transportation.

A laugh bubbles up in your chest as you approach the house in question— even if you hadn’t had Moni’s tag to guide you, finding his home would’ve been easy enough as soon as you passed this street, because you can hear old school hip-hop bumping through a speaker despite still being several houses down the block. You suppose Namjoon can get away with it during the day, when all the neighborhood kids are still in school.

As you make your way up the driveway, you realize the music is actually coming from behind the house, and when you follow the path that leads around back, you spot the culprit: a simple wooden-slat fence surrounds the yard, and the gate has been left wide open.

Before you can even make it over the threshold, a familiar voice reaches your ears, sounding much closer than the music. “Ah, shit.”

Namjoon comes barreling through the open gate so fast he practically runs you over, and Moni yaps, like he’s annoyed at being jostled as you quickly try to stumble out of his owner’s path.

“Oh. Uh, hi.”

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to take in how shock looks on Namjoon’s features without giggling a little. Today is certainly not that day. It’s just so endearing, the way his eyes widen and his mouth pulls into a perfect o-shape.

“Hi,” you breathe out around your laughter, trying to ignore the heat that flushes into your face when his dimples appear in return. “I think I found something that belongs to you.”

With a wave of his hand and several profuse thank yous, you follow Namjoon back through the gate, and wait until he firmly shuts it behind you before letting Moni down to trot off across the yard. It’s only now that you take Namjoon in properly: he’s in a gray hoodie under a pair of denim overalls, both of which are splattered artfully with paint in a variety of colors.

“I was just in my studio,” he explains, tipping his head toward the small shed in the yard, which you quickly realize is also the source of the music that led you here. “Doin’ some art. Do you, uh… wanna see?”

“Yeah, okay,” you answer with a nod.

“Fair warning, I’m really bad at it,” he calls over his shoulder as he leads you in the open studio door, raising his voice to be heard over the music. He reaches for his phone, propped up in the windowsill, to turn the volume down a few notches.

There’s an easel up against the far wall holding what must be his current project, a half-finished scene that you realize upon closer inspection is thousands of tiny dots of color, painstakingly blotted onto the canvas to form a mountain landscape at a distance. A few more pieces that he’s already completed have been leaned up against another wall to dry, one featuring an abstract array of featherlight brushstrokes, and another where the paint’s been globbed on in thick layers.

Namjoon is talking a mile a minute as you inspect the canvases. “I thought maybe I’d do cyanotypes today, but it’s not sunny enough, and I’ve made that mistake before. I’m really into texture right now, so I’m trying out some different techniques with paint. I want to get better at pointillism, but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it would be. ‘Cause it’s just dots, right? But you have to be able to see the forest for the trees, too.”

“These are amazing,” you finally manage to murmur, and to your surprise, the compliment actually renders him silent. When you turn back over your shoulder to look at him, he’s glancing down, almost like he’s embarrassed.

“Thanks. But I just do it for fun. ‘Cause I love art.”

“I can tell,” you say, and when he looks up, you offer him a smile you hope reads as encouraging. “Did you make the art at work, too?”

He nods, still sheepish, and that answer also surprises you. You recall thinking on your first day that the paintings hung on the walls looked handmade, but it never crossed your mind that they might have been made by Namjoon’s hands. Maybe because you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him drop and break things, you haven’t ever considered him as also capable of… creation.

And yet, here he is. Proving you wrong.

“Sorry,” Namjoon’s voice makes you refocus on him, and your brow furrows in confusion at the unexpected apology. “This is literally your one day away from me and here I am, taking up your time. Thanks again for bringing Moni back.”

“It’s okay.” You shrug. “Don’t have much going on today, honestly. I never really know what to do with myself when I’m not working. Which I’m aware is very sad.”

“Well, uh,” Namjoon starts, and when he takes a single step closer, you swear you feel something flutter in your stomach— or maybe lower. “Sol’s got a half-day today, since it’s the last day before break, so I’m picking them up in a bit. And we were gonna go on a hike, probably take Moni too. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Your eyes widen at the invitation. “Oh. That sounds great. I mean, if you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding?”

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up just so. “Nah. I actually think Sol really likes you. At least, they wouldn’t stop asking questions about you at dinner last night.”

“Is that right?” You do your best to keep your expression neutral.

Namjoon drives far enough north that there’s actually snow on the ground when you climb out of his front seat. You shove your hands into the pockets of your jacket as you follow him across the gravel parking lot towards the trailhead, a few paces behind Sol and Moni.

Sol shoots an expression of pure mischief at you over their shoulder, and then immediately starts to sprint up the marked path through the woods, Moni easily keeping up.

“Bye, nerds!” you hear them call before they disappear between the trees.

“Stay on the trail!” Namjoon shouts back, sounding as dad-like as you’ve ever heard him, and you can’t help but laugh. The two of you quicken your steps slightly to not fall too far behind, tracking the set of boot and paw-prints they’ve left to mark their trail.

For a moment, it’s silent between you, save the crunching of snow underfoot. It’s nice, being out in nature like this, time spent with Namjoon where you aren’t suffering through Christmas music and ungrateful customers. Where you can just… breathe. It makes you feel a little less sorry for yourself, a little less fixated on your own miserable life.

You glance over at him as that strange seasonal melancholy starts to settle into your bones again. “Are the holidays… better? With a kid?”

Namjoon makes a face, like he’s surprised by the question. “I mean, they’re definitely different. Then again, it’s been a long time since I did the holidays without a kid— not since I was a kid myself. What do you mean by better?”

Self-consciousness washes over you, your gaze drifting down to the path beneath your feet. “I don’t know, there’s just… I can’t shake this weird feeling now that I’m back home. This time of year used to be so exciting for me when I was Sol’s age. Everything felt special. Magical. But now I’m back here, and nothing’s really changed, except me. But I just keep feeling like the magic is gone. It’s… sad.”

He nods, taking a moment before he responds, and he’s chuckling softly to himself when he finally does. “You know, it’s kinda funny. When Sol was younger I actually felt a lot of stress this time of year. I couldn’t really enjoy it, because I was too busy trying to make sure that they had the best holiday I could possibly give them. That they didn’t feel like they were getting any less, since, you know. Their mom and I aren’t together. It’s funny that you bring up the magic, because I put a lot of pressure on myself to make that magic happen. But now that they’re a little older, I don’t know, it’s different.”

“Different how?” you prompt.

A dimple deepens as he hesitates. “It’s gonna sound corny. But really, I realized that the holidays aren’t about the gifts, or the decorations, or every little thing going perfect. You can make yourself sick over that shit, and I did, but kids don’t really care about it.” He pauses, and for a second you think that might be it, but then he keeps going, eyes fixed on the towering pine trees ahead of you.

“The year I opened Indigo, I had sank so much fucking money into it that I was broke. Broke broke. I couldn’t afford a single gift, a tree, not even a turkey. Sol and I sat on the floor of my shitty apartment and ate Chapagetti and watched Friends. And I felt like the biggest fucking failure imaginable. And then you know what happened?”

“What?”

“Sol turned to me, and they said, ‘This is the best Christmas ever, because we get to hang out, just the two of us.’” He blinks a few times, like he’s trying to ward off tears, and his voice comes back slightly less steady than before. “I still don’t know if they said that because they really meant it, or if they could just tell that I needed to hear it. But either way, I thought to myself: how fucking lucky am I, to have such a great kid? Like what did I ever do to deserve them? I still feel that way.”

Namjoon shrugs, as if to shake off the emotion. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s not helpful to you, but. I just see it differently now. It’s not about the what, or the how. It’s about the who. Spending this time of year with the people you care about, and making sure they know you do. That’s the real magic.”

You realize the trail has carried you up the sloping hillside, and is now flattening out at the edge of a clearing, where you can see Moni chasing Sol through the snow, can hear their high-pitched laughter ringing out in the wide-open air.

When you turn back to Namjoon, he’s already looking at you.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel the magic right now. I didn’t either, for a long time. But it does come back, I believe that. It’ll come back for you, too.”

You blink up at him, overwhelmed by his willingness to be so honest, and by the wisdom of his words. “I— thank you,” you finally manage to say.

Namjoon doesn’t answer, just glances up to where Sol and Moni are still playing, and your gaze follows his out over the snow-covered field. Sol is dusting off a sizable stick, and they call out for Moni to fetch before launching it into a dramatic arc, high up in the air.

Moni watches it go, entirely disinterested, then settles onto his haunches in the snow with a yawn.

“You’re so bad at being a dog!” Sol shouts, and that’s enough to make you and Namjoon both dissolve into laughter. They look up at the sound, hands-on-hips, before yelling again, this time in your direction. “My dad said he has a crush on you!”

Your jaw drops open, and Namjoon’s eyes are wide as you’ve ever seen them when you look up at him.

“Damn, dude, you said you were gonna be chill about it!” he exclaims, and you press a hand to your mouth as a fresh wave of giggles overtakes you. Given how long Namjoon’s legs are, it only takes him a few strides to catch up to Sol. You stay a tentative distance behind him, but still close enough to be able to make out their conversation.

“Uncle Hobi says you need to be bolder with women,” Sol chides, matter-of-fact.

“Uncle Hobi says a lot of shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath.

“He painted my nails,” Sol raises their voice, clearly talking more to you than to their dad, and holds up a hand for you to see, waggling their fingers proudly.

“They look great,” you call out in response.

Namjoon turns back to you as you step in closer, then juts his chin to a bench at the other side of the clearing. “Sit with me for a sec?”

With a nod, you follow him over, and he wipes the metal surface free of snow with his sleeve before gesturing for you to have a seat. For a moment, the two of you sit silently and watch Sol, who is already busying themself with building a snowperson while Moni slow-blinks encouragingly from a distance.

Namjoon’s words chase a heavy sigh. “I’m gonna be real with you, despite the fact that my child just stole my thunder. I like you a lot.”

Your heart swells in your chest, threatening to burst. “I-I like you too,” you stammer back immediately. “Have definitely been harboring my own crush… basically since I started working at Indigo.”

When you turn to look at him, it surprises you a little that he isn’t smiling. You can see a muscle working in his jaw, like he’s nervous.

“That’s the thing,” he finally relents. “Work. I don’t— I hadn’t really planned to tell you how I was feeling, or act on it. Because I’m your boss, and that means, you know. There’s a power dynamic there. And it would be… unethical of me to blur the lines like that, by getting involved with my employee. I wanted you to come out with us today because it was a chance for you and I to be equals, outside of work, but it’s not like that dynamic just goes away, you know? And I feel a little guilty about it now. Because I really like being around you so much, but I just. We can’t. It wouldn’t be right. Not while you’re working for me.”

You stare down at the snow under your boots as you take in his words, and you can’t help it. Try as you might to sit there and take his worries seriously, laughter flutters out of you before you can hold it in.

“What?” Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, trying to compose yourself.

“I really, really appreciate that you gave it so much thought,” you say, willing your voice to stay even. “I mean it.”

“It’s weighed really heavy on me, if I’m honest,” he says solemnly, and you glance over to see him staring into the middle distance, like he’s deep in contemplation.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching out to where his hand rests on the bench between you and covering it with your own.

“Namjoon?” you ask softly, and it seems to snap him out of his trance enough to look back at you.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” you preface. “But if I have to choose between you and my stupid seasonal coffee shop job?” The smile starts to flicker over your face again. “Then I quit. I quit right now.”

“Oh thank god,” Namjoon breathes, and you can only make a soft noise of surprise when all at once, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. You need a split second for the shock to wear off, and then you’re moving your mouth against his, one hand fisting tight in the fabric of his jacket. His lips are full and warm, and it feels like far too soon that he’s pulling back again, his cheeks flushed with color.

“Will you, uh—” he pauses, like he’s remembering how to form a sentence. “Will you still work tomorrow though? Jimin’s back after Christmas, but I really don’t think I can survive a shift on my own.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, still a little breathless from his kiss. “Yeah, I think you’d burn the place down.”

Unable to deny the claim, he laughs brightly as you untangle from each other, then gets to his feet before offering a hand to help you up. “We should head out, it’s gonna get dark soon.”

It’s true: across the wide clearing you can already see the sun threatening to sink back down between the trees, casting a golden-pink light that gleams off the snow and paints the world in warmth.

Sol leads the way back through the woods to the car, tugging Moni along by their leash, while you and Namjoon bring up the rear. You glance over at him a few times to catch him staring, and you scrape your teeth across your bottom lip, unable to keep the smile off your face, unable to stop yourself from mentally replaying the moment when he kissed you, over and over.

Just as you step under the shadow of a large tree, snow-covered branches stretching up toward the clear sky above you, Namjoon stops in the path. It’s so abrupt that you continue a few more paces before you even realize, and then you stop, too, glancing back towards him.

“Hey Sol,” Namjoon calls. “Think you and Moni can make it all the way back to the car in ten seconds?”

“I know what you’re doing,” comes Sol’s cheeky reply, but when Namjoon starts counting backwards from ten, you can hear the crunch of their boots taking off down the path.

“Eight, seven, six…” You watch as Namjoon cranes his neck until he deems Sol far enough out of sight, taking a step toward you as his counting trails off, and you find yourself pulled into him like a magnet. “Come here,” he murmurs, and then his hands are slipping up your waist and guiding you backwards until your back hits the trunk of the tree.

In true Namjoon fashion, he uses way more strength than is necessary for the task, and though your winter jacket cushions you from the impact, you’re smacked against the bark so hard that it knocks a dusting of snow off the branches above you, covering you both in flakes that stick to your hair and eyelashes. The sudden rush of cold makes you gasp into Namjoon’s mouth, but then he’s rolling his tongue over yours and you can’t think about anything else. A heavy pulse has started to thud between your legs at the heat of his breath in your mouth, the way his hips have you pinned to the tree, his body big enough to cover yours entirely.

“Joon,” you find the air to breathe as his lips trail hungrily down the slope of your neck. You rake a hand through his hair, white-blonde strands studded with snow, to try and pull his attention back, despite very much not wanting him to stop. “Joon, we should go. Before someone steals your kid.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours again for one more kiss, like he can’t get enough. “Okay,” he finally grunts as he pulls away, sounding as begrudgingly responsible as you feel. Your head is still spinning; you want nothing more than to stay here and let him kiss you dizzy.

“Let’s go.”

He takes a step back so you can right yourself, reaching out to dust some snow off your jacket, and then the two of you resume walking up the path, sharing a breathless laugh like confidantes. You assume it’s just his standard clumsiness when Namjoon’s hand knocks into yours, but then his fingers are twining through yours purposefully, until you’re pressed palm to palm.

The rush of heat that blooms in your chest at his touch keeps you warm the rest of the way to the car.

Your last shift at Indigo somehow manages to feel exactly like every shift that’s come before it and completely new at the same time.

The work is the same, the steady stream of customers unchanged, the Christmas music still an aggravating soundtrack. But you no longer feel like you have to ignore the butterflies that flutter in your stomach when Namjoon asks you a question, or meets your gaze across the shop.

The only urges you have to suppress are indecent ones, made worse by Namjoon seemingly taking advantage of every opportunity to touch you: hip-checking you when you’re both standing at the front counter, pressing a hand to the small of your back whenever he has to squeeze behind you, leaning in a little closer than necessary to be heard over the noise of the milk steamer. It’s enough to make your breath hitch each time, and you can’t help but wonder if he feels the same relief at not having to hold back anymore.

Towards the end of the night, it surprises you when the typically consistent flow of customers starts to slow down, until it seems to have ceased entirely. You still have two hours to go, but you find yourself staring at the walls, every table empty, having done all the side work you can think of to distract yourself from boredom.

The sound of the front door’s lock clicking shut makes you glance up, only to see Namjoon flipping the open sign over.

“What are you doing?” you ask, blinking dumbfounded, and he looks over his shoulder at you with a shrug.

“It’s Christmas Eve Eve, and I’m the owner, so. We’re closing early. Effective immediately.” The decree makes you laugh a little, and his dimples wink back. “Let’s finish cleaning, I wanna show you something.”

In record time, you find yourself standing outside the front door of Indigo as Namjoon locks up, only tonight your hands are kept warm by the hot chocolates he’d made for the two of you as you closed. He takes his cup back once his hands are free, and you try a tentative sip from yours, now cool enough to drink without burning your mouth. Given what you witnessed of his barista abilities on your first day, you brace yourself for the worst, but your eyes widen in pleasant surprise when the liquid hits your tongue.

“Being a dad means getting really good at a few specific things,” he says by way of explanation as he unlocks his car doors, and you smile as you slip into the passenger seat.

It occurs to you as Namjoon starts to drive that you don’t actually know where he’s taking you, but when you open your mouth to ask at the next red light, he leans over you to fumble open the glovebox and you lose your train of thought. He fishes inside for a few seconds before retrieving a CD case, then makes quick work of prying it open and sliding the disc into the slot on the dash. You attempt to hide your giggle behind the rim of your cup.

“No wonder you like ‘90s music so much. You’re still living there,” you say, nodding to his antiquated stereo, and he smirks as he turns up the volume.

“This is A Tribe Called Quest,” he remarks, quirking an eyebrow when he looks back at you. “You better show some respect.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease in response, and you don’t miss the color that flushes his cheeks.

The light turns green and he accelerates through the intersection, one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the center console to grip playfully at your leg, a few inches above your knee. You can see his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, like he’s considering saying something, but when he finally opens his mouth, it’s just to rap along to the music.

It’s only a few songs later that he’s turning off the main road and following a barely-lit gravel path up to a large grassy parking lot, where he pulls into a space and kills the engine. You squint through the windshield, tucking your now-empty drink into the cupholder, but you can’t make out much except dusk and some vague lights over a hill in the distance.

“Was this crush thing just a ploy to murder me?” you quip, and Namjoon looks a little nervous when you glance over, like he took the question to heart. “I’m kidding,” you clarify quickly.

His voice comes out surprisingly soft. “This is one of my favorite things to do during the holidays. Thought it might help with, you know. The magic.”

Something cracks open inside you as you look back at him. “That’s… really sweet.”

“Ah,” he says, as if to dismiss the compliment. “You haven’t seen it yet. Maybe you’ll hate it. Come on.”

The two of you climb out of his car to start your trek to whatever he has in store, heading in the direction of the lights, and Namjoon’s hand slips into yours, like it’s already second nature. Easy and sweet. You grip tight to him, the night air colder now than it was when you left work, but then you finally crest over the hill, and the temperature is suddenly the furthest thing from your mind.

It takes you a moment to even understand what you’re looking at. The place is clearly some kind of arboretum, as the path ahead of you snakes through a perfectly manicured garden of various plants, but the only thing you can focus on are the lights. Every tree, bush, shrub, and other kind of greenery that lines the walkway has been intricately strung up with lights, each one boasting a different hue. The end result is nothing short of dazzling— a veritable rainbow of light and life and color, glittering diamond-bright against the deep-set night around you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe. “This is beautiful.”

There’s a dimple flickering at the corner of his mouth when you look up at him. “Thought you might like it.”

“I can’t believe I never knew this was here,” you remark, your eyes wide and blinking as you try to take it all in.

“Hey,” he answers with a shrug. “Maybe your hometown still has a few good surprises left in it.” You exhale a laugh as you lean into his side and he squeezes your joined hands; you can’t help feeling like you’ve already found the greatest surprise of them all.

After an hour spent wandering through the displays, each one more breathtaking than the last, Namjoon diverts you toward a small food stand. He comes away from the counter with a paper carton filled to the brim with long ropes of twisted, fried dough, warm enough to release steam into the air when you tear one apart to share, and dusted with cinnamon sugar that sticks to your fingertips.

The two of you take a few steps back down the path until you’re under an archway of glowing golden lights, then eventually come to a standstill, too hungry to do anything except devour your food.

Namjoon speaks first, mid-chew. “Can I ask you a question?”

“What’s up?” you answer as you reach for another piece.

He swallows, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth before he continues. “At your interview, you said your life fell apart. What happened?”

“Oh.” You smirk as you rip the braided dough in two, then in two again, before popping it into your mouth. “It seems a little silly now, but. I got fired from that last job, like I told you. And the same day, my roommate pretty much kicked me out of the apartment, because he wanted his boyfriend to move in. He was also my best friend, so. It stung a little. A lot. Moving back in with your parents at this age is humbling, to say the least. Feels a lot like starting over.”

Namjoon hums, like he understands. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

“Eh,” you respond noncommittally. “I should probably be happy for him. The timing just… wasn’t amazing.”

“You know,” he murmurs, thoughtful. “I thought my life was over when my ex and I got pregnant. Not even eighteen and about to be a dad. I really felt like… I don’t know, like that was it for me.” You nod slowly, unable to even fathom what that must’ve been like.

“But, here I am. Still alive.” Namjoon flashes you a grin, and you find yourself smiling back. “Still figuring it out. I actually feel like I’ve learned a lot from watching Sol grow up. They’re like—” He shakes his head, as if at a momentary loss for words. “They’re like a different person every month, I swear. What they’re into, how they dress. Who they wanna be. It makes me feel, I don’t know. Like it’s okay. Like I can change too.” He shrugs. “That’s the thing about life. It’s long. And even when you feel like it’s ended… it keeps going anyway.”

His words wash over you, and you’re so in awe that you can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, sorry.” He grimaces, suddenly self-conscious. “I know that was corny.”

“No, no,” you interject, trying to keep your composure. “I just think you are like, literally the wisest person I’ve ever met.”

The lights glimmering overhead aren’t enough to hide the way Namjoon blushes at the compliment, and then he pauses, as if recalling something. “Didn’t I nearly run the blender with the lid off on your first day?”

You double-over at the memory, and he’s laughing now, too. “Okay, okay. Fair point.”

The thought keeps circling around in your brain as you dust cinnamon sugar from each other’s jackets and continue your way around the rest of the gardens, occasionally pausing to trade sticky-sweet kisses in the twinkling glow: you don’t want the night to end. You keep glancing over at Namjoon, wondering if he’s feeling the same way as he drives you back into town, the heat in his car on full blast, the CD player still underscoring your conversation.

“So, what do your Christmas plans look like?” he asks, eyes flitting briefly from the road to meet your gaze.

You fiddle with a button on your coat, wishing you had a less depressing answer. “I was just gonna spend it by myself. My parents already had a vacation in Hawaii planned, so I’m gonna do what I always do: hole up with booze and snacks and wait for it all to be over.”

He chuckles, tapping his fingertips absentmindedly against the steering wheel. “Well, I have about a hundred presents to wrap tomorrow night while Sol’s at their mom’s. Why don’t you come over and help? I can even provide the booze.” There’s a pause, and his voice comes back softer before you can respond. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

The corner of your mouth tugs up at his sincerity, the way he gently cares for you, has since day one. “Yeah, okay. I mean, you had me at free alcohol.”

Just like that, Namjoon is already turning back into the Indigo parking lot, where your car sits waiting for you. The two of you shrug off your seatbelts once he’s pulled into a space and parked, and he reaches to turn down the music before shifting in his seat to get a better look at you.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat a little. “You are officially no longer my employee.”

“And you are no longer my boss,” you answer back, and a thrill buzzes in your chest at the statement.

“Which means,” he continues, doing his best to lean over the center console, “I can do this.” He barely finishes getting the words out before his mouth is on yours, your eyes fluttering closed, his kisses far less chaste than the ones you shared earlier. They’re open-mouthed and urgent this time, with Namjoon slipping his tongue into the heat of your mouth like he’s been waiting all night for it.

“Uh-huh,” you murmur between kisses, and then he dips his head lower, until his lips find the join of your neck and shoulder.

“And this,” he purrs before kissing you just as hungrily there, tongue-first. You can’t hold back the soft noise his mouth pulls out of you.

“Fuck,” you breathe as he sucks gently over the same spot, with just enough pressure to make you writhe in your seat. A shiver rolls up your spine when he hums against your skin, clearly pleased at your reaction.

“And, uh…” You slowly blink your eyes open when you feel the warmth of his breath dissipate, and he’s looking at you with his brow furrowed, as if attempting some difficult mental math. “Actually—” He reaches down for the lever to adjust his seat, and it drops all the way back with a graceless thud that makes a laugh flutter out of you. “Maybe you could take your jacket off and come over here?”

You don’t need him to ask you twice, and you’re moving quickly as you peel out of the thick material and scramble across the console to straddle him. You both groan a little when you duck down to press your mouth to his again, all of this suddenly feeling much more real now that you’re basically horizontal. His hands alight on your hips, tentative, like he isn’t quite sure what to do with them, and you smile against his lips.

“Touch me, Joon,” you instruct, and he does as he’s told.

His hands are warm as he slips them beneath the hem of your shirt, trailing over your skin until he reaches the band of your bra. When you hum encouragingly into his mouth, he keeps going, pushing the fabric up your chest so your tits spill free from their confinement. He cups one in each hand, and though you might’ve expected him to be clumsy or rough, given everything you’ve seen of him thus far, you’re surprised to instead find that he’s gentle, thumbs circling your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to tighten them into stiff peaks.

Unable to bite back your whimper at the heat that blossoms through you at his touch, at how much more of him you need, you pull away just enough to break your kiss, glancing up through the back window of his car to confirm the parking lot is still empty.

Namjoon groans low in his throat when you reach down to tug up the hem of your shirt, shifting a little on top of him to give him better access. He doesn’t hesitate, thumb still working at one nipple while he takes the other into his mouth, and your sigh of relief comes edged with a soft moan when he swirls his tongue over the bud of your breast.

“Shit,” you gasp. “Feels so fucking good.”

He pulls off with a wet pop to switch sides, and the slick heat of his mouth sends bolt after bolt of arousal through you until there’s a dull ache of need thudding between your legs. As you roll your hips in desperate search of friction, you can feel him beneath you, straining hard against the fabric of his jeans.

Namjoon pulls his mouth off your breast, letting out a hoarse laugh when you shift to drop your forehead against his collarbone with a groan, horny enough to practically be delirious. “I hate that I’m even saying this,” he rasps, “but I really can’t have sex in a car. I’m too—”

“Big?” you offer, and there’s a smile on his lips as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“I was going to say old.”

You can’t help giggling as you lean up to find his mouth with yours again. Namjoon kisses you a little while longer, lazily, his hands still kneading gently at your tits, until he finally tips his head back, heaving a sigh up to the roof of his car. “Okay, okay. You should go.” His tone is reluctant, like it’s the last thing he wants. “It’s late. And my jeans fucking hurt.”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk toying at your mouth as you sit up, tugging your bra and shirt back into place and not missing the bulge in Namjoon’s pants where your hips meet his. “I will take the blame for that one.”

He folds his hands behind his head, biceps and dimples on full display. “Damn straight.”

You lean down for one more kiss, letting it linger before you make your way back over the center console to retrieve your jacket. “Have a good night, Joon,” you murmur as you reach for the door handle, and when you glance back, his eyes are fixed on you, still heavy-lidded with lust.

“Get home safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I have booze, as promised.” Namjoon’s voice echoes in from the kitchen as you kick off your boots and hang your coat up at his front door come Christmas Eve. The aroma hits your nose as your socked feet pad down the hall to follow him: the spice of cinnamon and clove, paired with a hint of citrus. It smells like the holidays, like home.

“Mulled wine?” you wager a guess, and he nods, turning away from the stove to retrieve two mugs from a cabinet.

“I halved the recipe, since it’s just us,” he explains, mouth pulling down at the corners as he starts to ladle out servings from the pot full of deep red liquid. “Still made a lot, though.”

Your eyes drift across the kitchen until they land on the two empty bottles of red sitting next to the sink, and that makes you pause for a moment to consider. “So the original recipe called for four bottles?”

Namjoon’s brow is furrowed when he glances up, and then he follows your gaze, and a look of delayed understanding washes over him. “Oh, fuck.”

Your elbows dig into the kitchen island as you press your hands to your mouth, as if to physically hold in your laughter. “Did you… halve everything in the recipe except the wine?”

His eyes drop closed as he nods, his answer a resigned sigh. “Yeah. Yes, I did.”

You can’t help yourself: all at once, you’re circling around to join Namjoon behind the stove, so you can take his face in your hands and pull his mouth down to yours. He makes a soft noise of surprise, but then his lips fall into rhythm, kissing you hard enough to knock the air out of your lungs. Even through the fabric of your shirt, his large hands are warm when they slide over the small of your back, and then they keep going, until you finally break the kiss with another laugh when he reaches his final target and outright grabs your ass.

“Not the reaction I anticipated,” Namjoon admits, paired with a teasing squeeze. “But I’ll take it.”

You look up at him through your lashes, pressing your palms flat to the firm plane of his chest. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that the holidays aren’t about every little thing going perfect. I thought maybe you needed a reminder.”

His dimples deepen as his eyes search yours, and his voice is lower in his throat when he responds. “I think that fool was just sayin’ words because a pretty girl asked him a question.”

Heat flushes your face as you smile back. “Well, they were very good words.” You drop your gaze to the pot on the stove. “Come on, I bet we can salvage this.”

Determined to save Christmas, you throw in another handful of spices, chased with a few glugs from a bottle of orange juice Namjoon heroically digs out of the back of the fridge. After a few more minutes of simmering, you take a tentative sip of the mixture to find it perfectly adequate.

“I guess we just have to drink twice as much now,” Namjoon quips, filling up two fresh mugs with the remedied wine. You raise an eyebrow back at him, as if to accept the challenge, while you tap your drinks together in a cheers.

By the time you realize that a double-batch of mulled wine and gift-wrapping don’t exactly go together, it’s already too late. The booze makes Namjoon’s big hands go even clumsier, the few presents he attempts an absolute disaster, and you can’t stop laughing long enough to be of any help. At one point he reaches up to cup your jaw for a kiss, but completely misjudges the distance, deftly knocking into his half-drunk mug and spilling the contents all over a tube of wrapping paper and the crotch of your jeans.

You dissolve into giggles until you can scarcely breathe, scooting your chair a few inches back from the table as he jumps up to grab something to soak up the mess. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” you manage to gasp when he returns, immediately focused on cleaning you up first. You wave him away as you get to your feet. “Seriously, it’s not that bad, it’s mostly the table.”

“Jesus,” Namjoon groans as he drops the kitchen towels in his hands onto the wooden surface, doing his best to soak up the puddle, though there’s no saving the ruined gift-wrap.

“It’s not a big deal,” you murmur as he turns back, once again examining the extent of the damage done to your clothes. A shiver rolls through you as his thumb brushes over the waistband of your jeans, and he grimaces a little.

“This is probably gonna stain.”

“I mean…” Your pulse starts to quicken as his fingertips linger where they are, and Namjoon’s gaze flits up to meet yours when you speak, clearly hearing a shift in your tone of voice. “I could just… take them off.”

A smile teases at the corner of your mouth when his eyes widen. “Yeah,” he breathes, then seems to self-correct. “I mean, uh. If-if that’s something you would feel comfortable doing.”

You’re already reaching to undo the button, and then Namjoon takes over to tug open the zipper and push the fabric down your legs, and your nipples tighten beneath your bra at the reminder of how gentle his large hands can be. His lips find yours again and you don’t hesitate to lick into his mouth, jostling slightly as you try to make out with him and kick your pants the rest of the way off at the same time. It’s graceless, but you manage to make it work, and then he pulls away from you to glance back down.

“It looks like a little got on your shirt, too.”

He’s right, you realize: there are faint purple marks splattered just above the hem of your long-sleeve, and you smirk as you look up at him.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you did this on purpose,” you tease, and then in one swift move you pull your shirt over your head, letting it drop to the kitchen floor next to your discarded jeans.

Namjoon’s hands are instantly on your bare skin, trailing heat as they trace the curve from your hip to your waist, and your breath hitches as he ducks down to brush his lips over your collarbone. The low tone of his voice reverberates through you when he speaks against your skin. “I like to think I could’ve gotten you naked tonight even without being an accident-prone idiot.”

You run a hand along the line of his jaw, tipping his head up to seek a kiss, before leaning back to murmur, “I guess we’ll never know.”

He kisses you again, and the two of you stumble across the threshold into the living room, pausing along the way to peel off his sweater and then his jeans, laughing into each other’s mouths, just drunk enough to lack any semblance of coordination you might have otherwise had.

When you drop down to lay back on his sofa, you’re both stripped to your underwear, and you can feel the thick bulge of him, pressing firm-heavy heat into your thigh as he settles his hips between your spread legs.

Namjoon’s eyes roam over your body beneath him, and then he’s tugging the lace of your panties to the side to slip a finger into your drenched center, beckoning it up to rub you just right. Your mouth drops open as he traces slow circles against your front wall, and when he adds a second digit, you can’t help but whimper softly at the stretch. It thrums through you like your lingering red wine buzz, hot and thick and good enough to get lost in, your head dropping back on the couch cushions as your hips rock up into his touch.

“Goddamn,” Namjoon groans, and your eyes flutter open again to take him in, his gaze heavy-lidded as he watches his fingers disappear up into you, coaxing slick sounds out with each pump of his hand. “I had a whole plan,” he rasps. “To take my time. But, fuck, I really want to fuck you.”

“It’s okay, Joon,” you breathe, not sure how much longer you could stand the torturous feeling of his clothed cock grinding into your thigh, so close to where you want him. An ache throbs in your cunt, needy, plugged up with two fingers but still begging for more. “Just fuck me.”

Realization flashes over his face, and then he suddenly heaves a sigh, looking defeated. You have to bite back a noise at the loss as he withdraws his fingers. “I— there’s an obvious joke here, but. I don’t have any condoms. Or if I do, they’re definitely expired.”

It takes you a second to process the revelation, and then you reach up to pull him down to you, smiling when he hums surprise into your mouth at the unexpected response. Your lips linger on his, and then you tip your head to press a kiss to the slope of his neck, not quite able to maintain eye contact as you murmur, “I mean. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean. So.”

“Yeah?” he replies, and your nose bumps against his shoulder as you nod. “Me too. Well, I-I’m clean, I mean. I’m not on the pill.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out as you look up at him. “Right, no, I get it.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon huffs a laugh in return, his face flushing a little. “I talk a lot, when I’m nervous.”

“I just thought it was an all-the-time thing,” you admit, and the color in his cheeks deepens.

“I’m just always nervous around you.”

Your mouth seeks his out for a kiss sweeter than the last, slower for his shy honesty and the hummingbird thrum of your heartbeat behind your ribs. The heat of his breath ghosts over your lips when you tip back to answer, “You don’t have to be.”

“So, you’re okay?” he asks, almost reverent with his question. “If we—if I don’t—”

“Please,” you insist, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

With remarkably little fumbling, he drags the lace of your panties down your legs, letting you kick them the rest of the way off while he moves up to unclasp your bra. You slip the straps off your shoulders and drop it over the edge of the couch, then watch as he shifts to strip out of his boxers, freeing his cock with enough force that it smacks against his abdomen with a hefty thud.

You swallow hard as you take him in: long and thick, flushed dark. Big, and fuck, you want all of him; you can feel how drenched you already are between your legs at the thought of all that cock filling you up.

When you tear your gaze away to meet his, Namjoon is staring at you just as hungrily, and he brings a hand to pump himself a few times, to coat his shaft in the wetness that’s started to drool from the head of his dick.

“Come here,” he grunts, his voice rough-edged, and you waste no time straddling yourself over his hips.

Given his considerable size, you figured it might take you a second to adjust, but you want him so bad, the feeling of his cock stretching you open is all white-hot pleasure. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you slowly lower yourself down on him, inch by overwhelming inch, until your ass is flush with thighs.

Namjoon’s head drops back against the couch as you slowly grind your hips into him, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the movement. You can’t help the soft sound that flutters out of you: he just looks so good like this, white-blonde hair swept off his forehead, beads of sweat trailing down his temples and glistening at his collarbones, his parted lips full and kiss-bitten.

“Baby,” he groans as you start to move a little more intentionally. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last long. Tell me what to do.”

“Touch me,” you breathe, and you close a hand over one of his, guiding him down to your clit.

Just like the night before in his car, his touch is so gentle when he begins to trace circles into the sensitive nub with his thumb. You can feel the slow-hum build of an orgasm in your core, drawn up by the steady rub of his hand, and you lean back to allow him better access, bracing yourself on his thighs as you rock along his length.

A moan rips through you as the new angle drags the head of his dick just right against your front wall, and it’s good enough to make your eyes roll back. Chasing the feeling, you shove your hips down harder, driving his cock into that spot over and over until your thighs have started to tremble.

“That’s it,” Namjoon grunts encouragingly, his voice husky. “Use me, baby. Look so good when you bounce on my cock like that.”

The words set every last one of your nerve endings alight, and you dig your nails into his skin as your spine arches from the pleasure. His thumb is still working steadily at your clit, and the heavy stretch of his cock has you so wet, you can feel arousal starting to leak down your thighs. Your pussy clings to him like a vice, a throbbing-tight heat, taking him to the hilt every time.

“Oh my god, Joon,” you groan, “I’m gonna come.”

His touch doesn’t let up, and you can feel yourself teetering right on the precipice of it, only able to manage little gasps as you drop yourself down onto his cock again and again and again, with enough force that there’s an audible sound of your skin slapping against his.

Your legs are outright shaking from the effort now, from how close you are, and then Namjoon ducks his head, using his free hand to guide your tit into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue laved across the tight bud of your nipple is just what you need to push you over the edge.

With a moan that’s more like a sob, you drop forward against Namjoon’s chest, sinking all the way down to bury him in your pulsing cunt as you come. He continues to rub you through the waves of your orgasm, breathing ragged in your ear while your pussy gushes around him, until you grab his wrist with a soft whimper of overstimulation, and he relents.

Too gone to get any words out, all you can do is take his face in your hands and kiss him. He rolls his tongue over yours, decadent, as his palms slip down to cup your ass. You groan a little into his mouth when he begins to shift you, your cunt still fluttering-sensitive at every little motion, but he manages to maneuver you onto your back while still keeping himself sheathed in you.

His hands move to your thighs, encouraging your legs to hook over his hips, and his mouth trails kisses down the valley between your breasts before he breathes against your skin, “Can I keep going?”

“Please,” you murmur, and it’s chased with a moan when he starts to rock his hips into you. You feel so full, so swollen from your climax that it’s like your walls were molded to take him, the crown of his cock stroking deep-deep over the place that lights you up inside, shooting sparks of pleasure all the way down to your toes.

Namjoon’s breath stutters on a laugh. “Shit, I’m already close.”

You tilt up to brush your lips against his, humming encouragingly into his mouth, and then he pulls back again, one dimple teasing at the corner of his smile. “God, I— wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he means. “Come in me, Joon,” you beg, fucked so good that you’re shameless for it, and you gasp when he bottoms out in you with his next thrust. “Fill me up. Fuck me full of your cum, baby, please.”

It’s like the words send him into overdrive, and he practically growls as he starts to fuck his cock into you forcefully, hard enough to make your tits bounce. Each snap of his hips punches a heady groan from your lungs, and you reach up to drag your nails across the skin of his back as he chases his own end.

“Gonna fucking— give it to you,” he hisses, rolling his hips one, two, three more times, and then you feel his cock twitching, shoved in as deep as you can take him. He heaves a final strangled groan as he comes, rope after rope of his release pumping into you to paint your walls, until you can feel it beginning to spill back down your thighs.

You kiss through the comedown, inhaling shaky breaths into each other’s mouths, your bodies still fitted together like puzzle pieces, sweat starting to cool in the places where skin is pressed to skin. Namjoon finally moves first, giving a grunt of effort as he rolls off the couch, and you throw an arm over your face while the world slowly settles into focus around you.

When he returns, it’s with a towel in hand, and you can’t help smiling as he cleans you up, trailing soft kisses along your collarbone in tandem.

His voice is soft, too, when he finally speaks. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You prop yourself up on your forearms to look at him, and a little glimmer of something lights up in your chest that you can’t ignore. The first spark of an ember, just enough to reignite a flame you’d long since believed to be entirely extinguished. But now he’s shown you: it doesn’t have to be. You don’t have to be alone.

“Of course. We still have presents to wrap,” you say simply, and he huffs a laugh as he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Joon?” you murmur into the crook of his neck, unable to keep your voice entirely steady.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For the magic.”

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon x y/n #bts smut #bts x reader #a hyung holiday

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bamnamuu · 10 months

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sweet nothing - sim jake

genre domestic jake x reader fluff | w.count 313 | em’s note I’m very soft rn and i love jake, this is the outcome of talking with @rayoraish about jake so thanks twinnie luv u xxx | warnings none other than it’s bad and typos, it’s a whole lotta nothing !

The day consisted of you and Jake packing all the Christmas presents you had for his family in the car and road-tripping to his childhood home for a holiday party with his family. The two of you had been taking turns driving for what seemed like hours. Now sitting in the passenger seat you were jotting down things you need to get at the store later, which turned into you writing down nonsense about life and your love mostly the latter. “whatcha writing about love?” Jake said softly as he turned to look at you while you both waited at a red light. “mhm everything and nothing.” you said looking up to meet his eyes “I love you, you know that?” you said watching Jake as he leaned over and kissed you “I love you more than you would know baby.”

The two of you made it to his parent's house, spending time with his family, playing games, watching movies and old videos of Jake when he was a little kid. Whether it was out of embarrassment or just a coincidence Jake retreated to the kitchen, deciding you couldn't be away from him you pulled yourself off the couch apologizing to Layla as you did, and went to the kitchen. finding Jake at the sink humming along to a song you've probably listened to on the radio before but you can't remember the name right now ''take a picture babe it will last longer!'' jake turned around which caused you to forget what you were thinking '' will later, right now I just wanna look at you.'' you said walking towards him, wrapping your arms around his torso and putting your head in his chest listening to his heartbeat, with the faint sounds of his relatives in the other room. Jake kissed the top of your head and said softly ''merry Christmas love!''

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 1 year

Text

Happy Fathers Day.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

author’s note - happy father’s day, y’all, i know that is late but this cute little idea popped into my head and i just had to write about it. 🫶

word count - 7.3k

in which, father’s day was something that harry never envisioned himself celebrating in past years, but now that he has his own little one, he couldn’t be more excited to celebrate . It’s been almost a three years since your angel baby made an appearance (25 months to be exact) and today is father’s day you’ll be spending the day with your gorgeous husband and your prince charley, as well as some friends, family and a whole lotta love.

trigger warnings - mentions of panic attacks <3

June 18th, 2023.

Acoronf to Wikipedia, is a holiday honouring one's father, or relevant father figure, as well as fatherhood, paternal bonds, and the influence of fathers in society.

It was a very special day but also a slightly bitter sweet one.

As much as Harry loved celebrating Father’s Day with his family, and his biological father, he couldn’t help but think of his step father Robin on this day.

He passed away in 2017.

You wake up with a smile, the realization dawning on you that it's Father's Day. Excitement dances in your eyes as you glance at your husband, still slumbering peacefully beside you. An arm wrapped tightly around your waist like it always was when you slept.

You carefully climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb the man beside you before heading across the hall to your son's room to check on him.

It’s what you did every morning.

Your bare feet hid the wooden floor as you made your way over to his room, your hand reaching out to push the door open even more than it already was.

That was when you made your way over to the crib and your eyes softened at his peaceful figure.

Charley Robin Styles.

Born May 10th, 2021 at 09:18 am.

He's still sound asleep, cuddled up in his little fortress of stuffed animals, lying in his front which was a habit he picked up from his father.

A surge of love fills your heart as you watch him, grateful for the gift of being parents to such a wonderful little boy. He was so carefree and hardly ever kicked off, but that was before he started going through his terrible twos.

You pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head before you tiptoed out of the room, closing the door gently, and headed to the bathroom to prepare a special surprise for Your Harry.

With delicate care, you set up the bathroom, transforming it into a mini oasis. Soft towels, scented candles, and Harry's favourite shower gel adorn the space.

Everything is in place as you quietly slip back into the bedroom, ready to awaken Harry with your surprise.

You sit on your side of the bed, gently shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, sleepyhead. It's a special day.”

Harry stirs, blinking his eyes open slightly before a sleepy smile graced his face. "Hmm? What's going on?"

"It's Father's Day, love," you whisper, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I've arranged a little surprise for you in the bathroom. Shall we start the day off with a relaxing shower?"

Although he had just woken up, you could see the small smirk that filtered into his face as the idea of a shared shower.

But there would be none of that today mister.

Harry's eyes widen with delight as he fully wakes up, realizing the treat in store for him. "You've outdone yourself, my love. Lead the way."

Hand in hand, you make your way to the bathroom, the anticipation building.

The flickering candlelight casts a warm glow as you step into the steam-filled shower. The soothing sound of running water envelops you, heightening the atmosphere of relaxation.

"Sit here," you gesture to a small stool inside the shower, covered with a plush towel.

Harry settles onto the stool, his eyes fixed on you. "You're spoiling me today."

He spoiled you every day so it was only fair.

"You deserve it," you reply, reaching for a loofah and squeezing a dollop of his favorite shower gel onto it. "Today, it's all about celebrating you as an incredible father."

You dip the loofah into the warm water, watching it foam up with fragrant bubbles.

Gently, you begin to wash Harry's back, your touch a tender caress. The lathered loofah glides smoothly over his tattooed skin, releasing a subtle aroma that fills the air.

Vanilla and Oak.

Harry closes his eyes, surrendering to the sensation. "This is heaven. Thank you, my love."

You smile, your heart swelling with love. "I'm just getting started. There's more to come."

With each stroke of the loofah, you pour your love and appreciation into the simple act of pampering.

You work your way down his back, his shoulders, and his arms, focusing on every inch of his tired muscles, washing away the fatigue of fatherhood.

As you rinse off the soap, your hands glide through his hair, massaging his scalp with practised tenderness just how you know he likes it. The water cascades down, washing away the suds and any lingering worries, leaving only a sense of serenity in its wake.

"I'm so lucky to have you as the father of our son," you whisper, your voice filled with emotion. "You bring so much joy and love into our lives."

Harry opens his eyes, his gaze locking onto yours. "And I'm grateful every day to be your partner, to witness the incredible mother you are. Our son is blessed to have you."

Tears well up in your eyes as you lean in, your lips brushing against his. The shower becomes a sanctuary of love and appreciation, a sacred space where the bond betweenyou and Harry deepens, reinforced by the shared moments of tenderness and gratitude.

As the water continues to cascade over you both, you shift your attention to Harry's front, your hands working their magic against his butterfly tattoo with the gentle touch of the loofah. You navigate the curves of his chest, the contours of his abdomen, and down to his legs, ensuring every part of him is enveloped in the soothing embrace of the shower.

"Thank you for being such an incredible father," you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. "Our son is growing up with a role model who embodies love, kindness, and strength."

Harry's eyes glisten with emotion, his love for his family radiating from within. "Being a father is the greatest gift. I wouldn't trade it for anything. And I couldn't do it without your unwavering support and love."

You smile, the water mingling with tears of joy on your cheeks. "We're a team, Harry. Through the challenges and the joys, we're in this together."

Together, you rinse off the remaining suds, feeling the weight of the day and the world wash away with each droplet. As the shower comes to an end, you wrap soft, fluffy towels around each other, basking in the warmth and comfort of the moment.

After the shower, instead of getting changed you and Harry decided to stay wrapped in your pyjamas.

Well you wore one of Harry’s shirts and a pair of his boxers whilst he just wore his boxers and left his torso on show completely.

You cast a look over to the baby monitor that was resting on your husband's bedside table. “— shall we go wake up Char and head downstairs for some brekkie?”

Waking up your son was one of Harry’s favourite things to do, he loved to be the first Charley saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night.

Together, you enter Charley's bedroom, greeted by the sight of him still sleeping peacefully in his crib. His tousled hair that matched his fathers and rosy cheeks make your heart swell with love. Harry approaches the crib, his voice filled with warmth and anticipation.

"Good morning, little champ," Harry whispers, leaning over the crib rail. "Wake up, Char. It's a special day today."

Charley stirs, blinking his sleepy eyes open, and a smile tugs at his lips as he recognizes his dad's voice. "Daddy?" he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

Harry chuckles softly, reaching down to scoop Charley into his arms. "Yes, buddy, it's me," he replies, his voice brimming with affection.

Charley's face lights up with delight. "Happy Daddy Day!" he exclaims, his small arms wrapping around Harry's neck.

You join in the tender moment, a loving smile on your lips. "Happy Father's Day, Harry," you say, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek.

Harry's eyes twinkle with gratitude as he gazes at both of you. "Thank you, my loves. This is already the best Father's Day ever."

With Charley nestled against Harry's chest, you make your way downstairs to the kitchen. The delicious aroma of breakfast lingers in the air, inviting you to partake in the celebration. As you enter the kitchen, you see the table adorned with a feast fit for a king—fluffy pancakes, sizzling bacon, fresh fruits, and a steaming pot of coffee.

The morning sunlight spills into the kitchen, casting a warm glow over the countertops and filling the room with a gentle ambiance.

Charley's eyes widen with glee as he spots the colourful array of food.

"Breakfast!" he exclaims, clapping his hands in delight.

"That's right, buddy. A special Father's Day breakfast for all of us."

You settle Charley into his high chair, his little legs dangling beneath the tray. His excitement is contagious as he eagerly waits for his plate to be filled. Meanwhile, you and Harry take your seats, the anticipation of the meal bringing smiles to your faces.

You begin to fill Charley's plate with small portions of each delicious treat. Pancakes, cut into bite-sized pieces, are stacked high, adorned with a dollop of whipped cream and a drizzle of maple syrup. You carefully place a few slices of crispy bacon beside the pancakes, knowing it's his favourite. Ripe strawberries, juicy watermelon chunks, and a handful of blueberries complete Charley's colourful plate.

Charley's eyes light up as he takes in the feast before him.

“Yummy!" he exclaims, reaching out to grab a piece of pancake with his tiny fingers.

Harry leans over, his eyes brimming with pride. "Go ahead, buddy. Dig in. It's a special breakfast just for you and me."

You smile, watching the father-son duo bond over their shared excitement for the meal. Charley's small hand grabs a piece of pancake, and with a delighted giggle, he takes his first bite. A smudge of whipped cream adorns his cheek, a testament to his enjoyment.

While Char enthusiastically devours his breakfast, you and Harry exchange glances, savouring the simple joy of this moment. It's a celebration of Harry's role as a father and the love that surrounds your family.

"Thank you," Harry says, his voice filled with gratitude as he looks at you. "For this beautiful surprise, for being an amazing mother to our son, and for making every day feel like Father's Day."

Touched by his words, you reach across the table and clasp his hand. "I'm grateful for you, Harry. You bring so much love and joy into our lives. Watching you with Charley fills my heart with happiness."

Charley, oblivious to the depth of the conversation, claps his hands and exclaims, "Daddy!"

Harry chuckles, his eyes glistening with emotion. "That's right, buddy. I'm your daddy, and I love you more than words can express."

The breakfast continues, laughter and conversation filling the room. You share stories and jokes, creating memories that will be treasured for years to come. Charley's infectious laughter rings out, reminding you of the incredible gift of family.

As the meal draws to a close, you rise from the table, carrying Charley in your arms. With a satisfied grin, he leans in to give his dad a messy, syrup-sticky kiss on the cheek.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Charley exclaims, his voice filled with love.

Harry's eyes shine with pure joy as he gazes at his son. "Thank you, Charley. Being your daddy is the greatest privilege in the world."

▌║ ▊ ┃ ▌▕ ▌║ ▊ ┃ ▌ ▕ ▌║ ▊ ┃ ▌▕

After getting changed for the barbecue, all three of you were getting everything ready for when your guests would be arriving.

You were wearing a white knee length cotton dress, with white ruffles on the sleeves, paired with a pair of white converse seeing as you didn’t want to walk around your garden all day in heels.

Harry was wearing a grey tank top with a pair of multi coloured shorts to add a bit of colour to his outfit, his hair was pushed back by a bandana and some white Adidas running trainers.

Charley looked really cute. He was wearing some white and blue pin striped overalls with some light blue crocs on his feet and a hat sat backwards atop of his head to protect his head from getting burned.

As you stood in the kitchen, you stared at the open fridge, head tilted to the side, as you studied all of the food you had brought for your guests.

A million and one thoughts were running through your head.

Did you have enough chicken wings?

What about burgers? There were going to be twelve people at the barbecue but what if you ran out?

And salad? You hadn’t checked if anyone was allergic to anything, what if someone had an allergic reaction?

As the pressure of preparing for the Father's Day barbecue intensifies, the weight on your shoulders becomes almost unbearable.

The constant stream of tasks, the expectations you've placed on yourself, and the fear of falling short begin to consume your thoughts. The familiar signs of a panic attack start to manifest—racing heart, shallow breathing, and a tightening in your chest.

Why had you agreed to organise this bbq?

In the midst of the chaos, you don’t even realise that Harry has walked into the kitchen, his wedding ring being the only ring in his finger for the day and his nails freshly painted by you the night before.

Harry senses your distress and quickly springs into action.

"Hey, love," he says, his voice laced with concern as he approaches you. "I can see you're feeling overwhelmed. Let's take a moment to regroup."

Tears well up in your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath. "Harry, I don't know if I can do this," you manage to say between gasps. "I wanted everything to be perfect, but it's too much. I'm failing."

Everything was becoming hard to focus on.

Harry's face softens with empathy, and he gently guides you away from the hustle and bustle of the preparations.

"Alright, darling," he reassures you, "let's step away from this for a moment. We'll find a quiet space where you can catch your breath."

With Charley by his side, Harry leads you to a serene corner of the house, away from the chaotic whirlwind that had engulfed you. He gently guides Charley into the adjacent room, making sure he's occupied and safe.

Harry didn’t ever want Charley to see either of you having an anxiety attack, it was something he never wanted his son to grow up to see.

He always made sure that your angel baby was in another room either watching tv or occupied by his toys so as to not see either of his parents having a meltdown.

That’s what made him an even better father.

As the door closes, a sense of isolation settles upon you, exacerbating your panic. Harry, however, remains by your side, his calming presence providing a lifeline.

He guides you to sit down on the sofa in the lounge room, he sits down beside you, his warm hand resting on your back.

"Focus on your breathing," he says, his voice steady and soothing. "Close your eyes, take slow breaths with me. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale."

You follow his instructions, attempting to mimic his rhythmic breathing pattern. The sound of Harry's voice becomes a guiding melody, anchoring you amidst the storm of your racing thoughts.

But the panic refuses to subside. The weight on your chest intensifies, and you clench your fists, feeling the urge to escape from the suffocating grip of anxiety.

You felt as though you were going to faint.

Harry senses your struggle and adjusts his approach. He reaches out, gently taking your trembling hands in his own.

“It's okay to feel overwhelmed," he whispers, his voice filled with empathy. "You're not failing, love. You're doing the best you can, and that's more than enough."

Tears stream down your face as the weight of his words sinks in.

“But what if it's not enough?" you sob, your voice choked with fear. "What if I disappoint everyone?"

You had spent too much time organising this for it all to fall to shit.

Harry's grip tightens, his voice firm but reassuring. "Listen to me," he says, his eyes locking with yours.

"You are enough, and you are loved. Our family and friends are going to be here to celebrate with us, not to judge how flawlessly everything is prepared. They're here because they cherish the time spent together."

His words resonate, breaking through the cloud of panic. Slowly, your breathing begins to regulate, and the tightness in your chest eases. You open your eyes, meeting Harry's gaze filled with unwavering support.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice filled with gratitude and a bit raspy due to the crying your throat just endured. "I needed you to remind me of that. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Harry smiles, wiping away your tears with his thumb. "You don't have to do it alone, love," he says softly. "We're a team, and we'll navigate this together. Remember, the true essence of today is celebrating fatherhood and the love we share as a family."

Oh, what would you do without him?

After you and Harry continued to sit next to each other on the lounge sofa, it wasn’t long before Charley was calling out for his father to come and play.

Harry seemed hesitant about leaving you alone but you were quick to usher him towards where your son was, telling him that you needed to get cleaned up before the guests arrived.

Now that the panic had subsided and left you feeling vulnerable, you knew that it was time to take care of yourself. Give yourself a little bit of TLC.

You stumbled your way to the bathroom, seeking solace within its familiar walls. The cold tiles beneath your feet offered a grounding sensation, a small anchor in the midst of chaos.

With trembling hands, you turned on the faucet, letting the water flow until it reached the perfect temperature—neither too hot nor too cold. Cupping your hands, you allowed the clear stream to cascade over your fingers, a gentle touch against your skin.

As the water pooled in your palms, you brought it to your face, splashing it with gentle force. Each drop that landed on your skin carried with it a whisper of relief, a momentary respite from the turmoil within. You repeated the ritual, each splash washing away a fraction of the panic that had overwhelmed you.

With each touch of the water, you felt a sense of renewal. It was as if the pure liquid carried not only physical cleansing but also a soothing balm for your troubled mind. The weight of the panic began to lift, replaced by a glimmer of calmness that danced within your soul.

After the final splash, you reached for a soft towel, its fibres caressing your sensitive skin. With delicate motions, you patted your face, the material absorbing the remaining droplets and leaving a sense of comfort in its wake. As you dried yourself, you focused on the rhythmic motion, finding solace in the simple act of self-care.

Once your face was cleansed and dry, you looked at your reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at you was a survivor—a testament to your strength and resilience. The panic attack may have shaken you, but it did not define you. You were stronger than the storm that tried to break you.

Someone ringing at your ring doorbell snapped you out of your slight daze and had you turning your head towards the bathroom door.

Your guests had finally arrived.

Taking a small breath, you walked out of the bathroom, out of your bedroom and down the stairs and made your way towards the front door.

Harry had no idea who was coming today, he thought it was his family but boy was he wrong.

You invited his closest friends, Louis, Zayn, Liam, and Niall, along with their kids, to join in the festivities.

It was going to be a good day.

On your way to the front door you fixed yourself in the floor length mirror located by the door and pushed some of your hair out of your face, before pressing your hand against the handle and opening it up to see all their smiling faces.

It was adorable that they had all arrived together.

Opening the door, you were met with the smiling faces of Louis, holding hands with his seven-year-old son, Freddie, and Zayn, with his two-year-old daughter, Khai, perched on his hip. Liam trailed close behind, accompanied by his six-year-old son, Bear, while Niall stood beside his girlfriend, Amelia, wearing a grin from ear to ear.

"Surprise!" Niall exclaimed, excitement evident in his voice. "Happy Father's Day, Harry!

You looked over your shoulder at your husband who was with Charley. “— H, look who it is!”

Harry, who had been playing with Charley in the living room, turned his head at the sound of your voice. He entered the hallway, his eyes widening with astonishment as he took in the unexpected sight of his friends and their kids.

"Hey, mate! Happy Father's Day!" Louis greeted Harry, giving him a friendly pat on the back.

Harry's face lit up, his surprise transforming into pure joy. "You guys! I had no idea you were coming! This is amazing!"

Freddie, eager to join in the excitement, tugged at Harry's shirt. "Uncle Harry, we're here for the party! Are you gonna play superheroes with us?"

Harry chuckled, lifting Charley onto his hip. "Absolutely, Freddie! We'll save the day together!"

Zayn grinned, handing Khai over to Liam so he could give Harry a warm hug. "Mate, we wouldn't miss this for the world. Happy Father's Day! And trust me, our kids are gonna keep us on our toes today."

Liam, with Bear at his side, playfully nudged Harry. "You're in for some serious dad competition, my friend. Bear here is already strategizing for the water balloon fight."

Niall chimed in, wrapping his arm around Amelia's waist. "Happy Father's Day, Harry! We thought we'd come and celebrate with the best dad we know. Plus, we brought some goodies!"

Harry's eyes gleamed with gratitude as he took in the warm wishes from his friends. "Thank you all so much. This means the world to me. And Charley here is in for a treat with all these little friends to play with!"

Today was going to be a good day.

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The backyard was filled with the joyful sounds of laughter and conversation. You took a moment to step away from the festivities and went to the outdoor bar to mix a refreshing drink for yourself. As you poured the liquid into a glass, you felt a tug on your shirt.

Looking down, you saw Freddie, the son of Louis, standing beside you, his eyes filled with concern. "Hey there, Freddie," you greeted him with a smile. "What's up?"

Freddie fidgeted slightly, then spoke in a soft voice. "Charley is crying. He wants you."

Your heart melted at Freddie's words. You put down the drink and followed him, eager to tend to Charley's needs. As you made your way through the crowd, you reached your son, who was sitting on a picnic blanket with tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

Kneeling down, you enveloped Charley in a comforting hug. "Hey, sweetheart. What's the matter?"

Charley hiccupped, sniffling. "Mommy, I want milk."

You smiled, understanding his request. "Alright, Charley. Let's go somewhere quiet, just you and me."

Scooping Charley into your arms, you made your way upstairs, finding a peaceful space where you could nurse him.

You settled into the comfortable rocking chair, feeling a sense of calm and connection wash over you. As you adjusted your position, Charley looked up at you, his tiny hand reaching for your chest.

"Mommy, milk?" Charley asked, his voice filled with innocence and longing.

You smiled, recognizing the familiar request. "Of course, my love. We can have some quiet time together."

When it came to breastfeeding your little Charley, you and Harry agreed that you wouldn’t stop breastfeeding until he decided to stop himself. You wanted Charley to wean himself, you didn’t want to force him to stop when he ultimately didn’t want to.

Charley snuggled closer, his little fingers tracing patterns on your arm. As you guided him to your breast, the room filled with a peaceful silence, save for the soft sounds of breathing and the rhythmic swaying of the chair.

Charley latched on, and you could feel his gentle sucking, a reminder of the incredible bond between mother and child. The world around you seemed to fade away as you focused on this precious moment shared between the two of you.

Charley's eyes met yours, his gaze filled with warmth and comfort. "Mommy, I love you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You kissed the top of his head, the words melting your heart. "I love you too, my sweet Charley. More than words can express."

The room filled with a serene ambiance as you continued to breastfeed, the soft rhythm of his swallowing bringing a sense of peace and contentment. Time seemed to stand still as you embraced the simplicity and beauty of this intimate connection.

You stayed rubbing soft circles onto his back as he continued to suck on your nipple, Beverly thing was peaceful until a foul smell made its way into your nose.

Chuckling softly, you whispered to Charley, "Oh, little one, it seems we have one more task to tackle."

You tapped his diaper clad bum through the material of his overalls and watched as he unlatched from your breast, a clear indication that he was finished eating and giggled, head thrown back slightly.

Charley giggled, his laughter filling the room. "Di-di!" he replied, pointing to his bottom.

You nodded, reaching for the wipes and fresh diaper. "That's right, Charley. Let's get you all cleaned up."

As you began to remove Charley's soiled diaper, he kicked his little legs in excitement. "Tickle, Mommy!" he squealed.

Gently tickling his tummy, you joined in his infectious laughter. "Tickle, tickle! You're such a funny little one, Charley."

As you wiped away the mess with care, Charley's curiosity got the better of him. "What's that, Mommy?" he asked, pointing to the diaper rash cream.

"This is some special cream, Charley," you explained, showing him the tube. "It helps to keep your skin nice and protected."

Charley nodded with wide eyes, clearly intrigued. "Skin nice!" he repeated, mimicking your words.

With the old diaper disposed of and Charley's bottom all cleaned up, you unfolded a fresh diaper and expertly slipped it under him. Charley couldn't resist reaching for the tabs, eager to help. "Me do it!" he exclaimed proudly.

You smiled, allowing him to try and fasten the diaper himself. "Good job, Charley! You're becoming such a big boy."

Charley beamed with pride, his little hands fumbling with the tabs. "Big boy!" he repeated, pleased with his accomplishment.

Once the diaper was securely fastened, you scooped Charley into your arms and peppered his cheeks with kisses. "All done, my little love," you said, cuddling him close. "You're clean and fresh again."

Once he was all clean, the two of you made your way back down stairs and made your way into the garden, a smile appearing on your face as you saw all your friends and family having their own conversations in the garden.

Charley was set upon the floor and within seconds he was racing towards his Aunt Gemma, Nana Anne and Grandpa Des, who must have arrived when the two of you were up stairs.

Making your way over to where Amelia was sitting, you plonked yourself down in one of the chairs at the outdoor dining table and offered her a smile.

The two of you shared a comfortable patio set, sipping on refreshing drinks and immersed in conversation.

Amelia smiled warmly, her eyes filled with genuine interest. "So, how's everything going with your family? I heard you and Harry were considering moving to a new place?"

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink. "Yes, we've been thinking about finding a new home, one that fits our growing family. Charley is getting bigger by the day, and we want to create a space where he can flourish."

Amelia leaned in, her voice filled with curiosity. "That sounds exciting! Have you found any potential houses yet?"

You looked around the lush garden, your eyes scanning the playful scene before you. Harry was engaged in a lively game of football with Charley, Louis, Freddie, Zayn, Khai, Liam, Bear, and Niall. Laughter and shouts filled the air, mingling with the clashing of soccer balls.

"Well, not yet," you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. "But with all these wonderful friends and family around, it's hard not to feel at home. We've created a little community right here."

Amelia's gaze followed yours, and she chuckled. "You're absolutely right. It's heartwarming to see everyone coming together like this. Speaking of which, how has your relationship with Harry been lately?"

You took a moment to watch Harry, his face beaming with joy as he played with Charley and the rest of the group. "Harry has been an amazing partner and father," you said, your voice filled with adoration. "He's always there for us, and seeing him with Charley, it fills my heart with so much love and gratitude."

Amelia nodded, a soft smile on her face. "That's beautiful. Niall is the same way with me. I couldn't ask for a better partner. We've been through so much together, and his love and support mean the world to me."

As your conversation continued, you noticed Anne, Harry's mother, walking towards the garden. She carried a tray of freshly baked cookies, her face radiant with happiness. Behind her trailed Gemma, Harry's sister, and Desmond, his father.

Anne's eyes sparkled as she approached, her voice filled with warmth. "Hello, dears! I couldn't resist bringing some treats for everyone. It's lovely to see you all enjoying the day."

Gemma and Desmond joined the gathering, their smiles mirroring Anne's joy. The garden became alive with laughter and conversations, a true celebration of family and friendship.

You turned back to Amelia, both of you taking in the beautiful scene. "We're truly blessed, aren't we?" you mused, your voice filled with gratitude. "To have such incredible people in our lives, to witness these precious moments... It's a reminder of how fortunate we are."

Amelia nodded, her eyes shining with appreciation. "Absolutely. These moments, the love we share, are the foundation that makes life meaningful. I'm so grateful for the connection we all have."

With Anne and Gemma bidding their goodbyes and returning inside, the atmosphere shifted slightly, creating a more intimate setting between you and Amelia. The sound of children's laughter and the occasional thud of the football being kicked provided a comforting backdrop to your conversation.

Amelia took a sip of her drink before turning to you with a mischievous grin. "So, have you and Harry been considering any exciting plans for the future? Any big adventures or dreams you're pursuing?"

You chuckled, a spark of excitement igniting within you. "Funny you should ask! Harry and I have actually been discussing the idea of building our own little dream house. We've been searching for the perfect plot of land and envisioning what our ideal home would look like."

That was true, you and Harry had lived in your current London house for just over seven years together now, two years as a family and the other month, you had both shared a conversation about wanting to potentially expand the family and move house some time in the future.

You remember when you told Harry that you wanted to expand your family and the look on his face was priceless.

As the moon cast a soft glow through the bedroom window, you lay in bed next to your husband, Harry, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. There was something on your mind, something you had been contemplating for a while, and tonight felt like the right time to share it.

It was one of those quiet nights when deep conversations seemed to find their way to the surface, and you knew it was the perfect moment to share the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind.

Turning towards Harry, you mustered up the courage to speak your heart. "Harry, I've been thinking a lot lately, and I want to talk to you about something important."

His eyes met yours, his face reflecting a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. "What is it, love? You know you can tell me anything."

Taking a deep breath, you gazed into his eyes, finding solace in his unwavering support. "I want us to have another baby, Harry. I know we have busy schedules, with your touring and album projects, but I can't help but feel the longing to expand our family."

A brief moment of surprise flickered across Harry's face, quickly followed by a cascade of emotions—joy, contemplation, and a hint of concern. His voice was filled with tenderness as he reached for your hand. "Love, that's a beautiful desire, and I understand how important it is to you. Our family means everything to me, and the thought of giving Charley a sibling fills my heart with warmth."

You couldn't help but notice the genuine reflection in his eyes, the way he processed the idea with care. It meant the world to you that he took your feelings to heart.

"But, love," he continued, a touch of uncertainty lacing his words, "I can't deny the demands that come with my career. The touring, the studio time—it can be a whirlwind at times. I want to be there for you and our family as much as I can, but I worry about the balance between my work and family life."

You squeezed his hand, offering him reassurance and understanding. "Harry, I appreciate your honesty, and I understand that your career is a big part of who you are. The fact that you're willing to have this conversation and consider the possibility speaks volumes about your dedication as a husband and a father."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his gaze filled with gratitude. "Thank you, love. It means a lot to me that you see my perspective. I want to be present for our family, to create a nurturing environment, and I'll do my best to strike that balance between my passion and our family life."

His words resonated deep within your heart, affirming the strength of your partnership. Together, you were ready to face the challenges that lay ahead.

You leaned in, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "Harry, I know it won't always be easy, but I believe in us. We've overcome obstacles before, and with open communication, love, and support, we'll navigate this journey together. We'll find a way to make it work."

You had been looking online for houses around the current area you were in as you didn’t want to live too far from home, but there had been a few lots that you had seen where you could build on.

Created The Styles Dream House.

Amelia's eyes widened with intrigue. "That sounds amazing! Tell me more. What kind of house are you envisioning?"

You leaned in, your voice filled with enthusiasm. "We want a cosy yet spacious home with lots of natural light and a touch of rustic charm. A place where we can create beautiful memories with our family and friends. We've even started looking into eco-friendly features and a garden where we can grow our own fruits and vegetables."

Amelia's excitement mirrored your own. "That sounds like a dream come true! It's wonderful that you and Harry are envisioning a space that reflects your values and allows you to live harmoniously with nature. I can already imagine the warm gatherings and laughter-filled evenings that will take place there."

You nodded, a sense of anticipation bubbling within you. "Exactly! We want it to be a haven for our loved ones—a place where they can feel welcome and cherished. We've been gathering inspiration, creating mood boards, and sharing ideas. It's such an exciting time."

Amelia leaned back, a thoughtful expression on her face. "It's incredible how our dreams evolve as we go through different stages of life. I remember when Niall and I used to talk about travelling the world, exploring new cultures and experiences. Now, our dreams are centred around creating a stable and nurturing home for our little one."

You nodded in understanding, recognizing the ebb and flow of dreams and priorities. "Life has a way of shifting our focus, doesn't it? But it's a beautiful evolution. Our dreams adapt and align with the chapters we're living, bringing us joy and fulfilment in unexpected ways."

It wasn’t long before the barbecue was ready.

As the delicious aroma of grilled food wafted through the air, you all gathered around the picnic table, ready to enjoy the Father's Day feast. Freddie, Louis' enthusiastic son, proudly held his little notebook and went around, taking everyone's food orders.

Freddie approached Anne with a big smile. "What would you like, Grandma Anne?" he asked, pen poised over the notebook.

Anne chuckled affectionately. "Hmm, I'll have a juicy burger with all the fixings, please. And make it extra special, just like my son here," she said, playfully nudging Harry.

Harry laughed and nodded. "You got it, Mum. One special burger coming right up!"

Freddie moved on to Gemma, who raised an eyebrow teasingly. "What's on the menu for me, young man?"

Freddie grinned mischievously. "Well, Auntie Gemma, I think you need something spicy to match your fiery personality. How about some tangy chicken skewers?"

Gemma pretended to fan herself dramatically. "Oh, Freddie, you know me so well! Chicken skewers it is."

Next, Freddie turned his attention to the rest of the guests. "Alright, Liam, what can I get for you and Bear?"

Liam ruffled Bear's hair affectionately. "We'll have some mouthwatering ribs, Freddie. And don't forget the barbecue sauce!"

Freddie scribbled down the order and moved on to Zayn. "Hey, Uncle Zayn, what's your pick?"

Zayn smiled at his daughter, Khai, who was playing with her toys nearby. "Khai and I will share some tasty grilled vegetables, Freddie. We're keeping it healthy."

Freddie nodded approvingly and wrote down the order. He then approached Niall and Amelia, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Niall, Amelia, what can I put down for you?"

Niall grinned. "I'll take a juicy steak, Freddie, cooked medium-rare, please. And Amelia, what would you like?"

Amelia pondered for a moment. "I'll have a grilled chicken salad, please. Light and refreshing."

Freddie eagerly noted down the orders and made his way back to Harry, who was tending to the grill. "Dad, I've got all the orders ready. You're doing an awesome job, by the way!"

Harry beamed with pride. "Thanks, buddy. You've been a great little helper today."

As the food sizzled on the grill, you joined Charley at the table, helping him cut up his hot dog into bite-sized pieces. Charley's eyes widened with anticipation as he watched the food being prepared.

"Mummy, is it ready yet?" he asked eagerly.

You smiled and nodded. "Almost, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes, and then you can have your yummy dinner."

Finally, Harry brought the platter of grilled delights to the table, and everyone's eyes lit up with delight. The air was filled with appreciative murmurs and exclamations of hunger.

Anne took a bite of her burger and savored the flavors. "Harry, darling, you've truly outdone yourself. This burger is absolutely divine."

Harry blushed modestly. "Thanks, Mum. I'm glad you like it."

As everyone dug into their meals, the table came alive with lively conversations. Gemma shared a funny anecdote from Harry's childhood, causing peals of laughter to fill the air.

"Remember that time Harry got stuck in the treehouse?" Gemma exclaimed, pointing at Harry. "We had to call Dad to come and rescue him!"

Desmond chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah,those were the days. Harry always had a knack for finding adventure, even in the simplest of places."

Louis raised his burger, playfully imitating a toast. "To Harry, the ultimate treehouse explorer!"

Everyone joined in, raising their glasses and laughing heartily. Harry blushed but couldn't hide his wide grin.

Amelia turned to Niall, nudging him playfully. "Do you remember the time you and Harry tried to build a secret hideout in the backyard? It ended up looking like a pile of sticks!"

Niall chuckled, a fond twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, how could I forget? We were convinced it was the best hideout ever. But let's just say our architectural skills were lacking."

The table erupted in laughter, the shared memories creating an atmosphere of warmth and camaraderie. Conversations flowed freely, intertwining stories from the past with plans for the future.

Between bites, Liam leaned over to Zayn, teasing him good-naturedly. "Hey, Zayn, remember when we used to prank each other relentlessly? Those were some epic battles!"

Zayn smirked, reminiscing. "Oh, Liam, the pranks we pulled on tour were legendary. The fake spiders, the disappearing clothes—I still have scars from some of your tricks!"

Liam chuckled, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Well, mate, it was all in good fun. Besides, those pranks brought us closer together."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the gathering, Harry's dad, Desmond, raised his glass, his voice filled with nostalgia. "To all the fathers here, both present and in our hearts. May we continue to cherish and nurture the beautiful bonds we share with our children."

The clinking of glasses resonated through the air, and everyone raised their voices in agreement, expressing their gratitude for the fathers in their lives.

As the conversation continued to flow, Charley tugged at your sleeve, his eyes sparkling. "Mummy, look! I cut my food all by myself!"

You beamed with pride and pulled him into a gentle hug. "Well done, Charley! You're such a big boy now."

Charley giggled and took another bite, feeling a sense of accomplishment. The table became a symphony of laughter, stories, and the clinking of cutlery, each voice adding to the melody of love and togetherness.

The evening wore on, and as the last rays of sunlight faded, a sense of contentment settled over the gathering. Plates were cleared, and desserts were served—a sweet finale to a memorable Father's Day celebration.

As you sat there, surrounded by loved ones, laughter echoing in the air, you couldn't help but reflect on the joy that filled your heart. Father's Day had become a testament to the strength of the bonds forged through love and shared experiences.

In that moment, amidst the conversations and laughter, you realized that it wasn't just the food that nourished the soul—it was the presence of family and friends, the stories and memories woven into every bite, that made the celebration truly special.

And as the night sky sparkled with stars, you glanced at Harry, his smile radiant, knowing that this Father's Day would forever be etched in your hearts as a day of love, laughter, and cherished moments with those who mattered most.

You turned towards your husband, whose grey tank top was now removed from his body due to the body heat and was sitting next to you with a blissed smile etched into his facial features.

You linked your hands together, the feeling of his wedding ring cooling down your skin ever so slightly. “— Happy Father’s Day, H.”

“Thank you m’love,”he turned towards you, leaning forward ever so slightly and nudged his nose against yours, forgetting everyone else that was around you. It was as if it was just the two of you. “— you made me a father, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful.”

Happy Fathers Day Everyone.

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