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macfrog · 11 months

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lend me some sugar cowboy like me chapter eight

look. i had an idea, i couldn't rest until i wrote it. enJOY part 8 of cowboy like me - check out my masterlist here!!! ALSO the lovely @wildcat116 created a playlist w some of my fave dbf-inspired songs which you can give a listen right heeerreee love u all sm hope u like this gargantuan chapter

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel throws a homecoming garden party for sarah – and decides to make it one to remember

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) i honestly don't even know where to start with this one UHH age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, slightly jealous! slightly possessive!joel n also jealous!reader, sexting, mutual masturbation, phone sex, teasing, very semi-public ✨ activities ✨ involving a beer bottle

word count: 10.1k (lmfao)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.” Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot. “S-sweeten…your…b…” Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you. “Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”

“No, no, no, hey, baby – don’t change the subject. You didn’t answer my question,” Joel says, one hand on the steering wheel, the other waving around like a maniac’s in midair. “What – is – a garden party?”

Your dad is chortling in the passenger seat.

“If you’d stop interruptin’ me!” you yell from the back. You’re leant forward, head and shoulders between the two of them. “It’s, like, well…drinks, and food, sat out on the patio in the nice weather–”

“Sounds like a barbecue to me!” Joel roars, much to your dad’s delight.

He claps his hands together once and snorts with laughter until he’s out of breath. “That Sarah of yours has you wrapped around her little finger, Joel.”

“She says, ‘I’m too old for a barbecue’. I said, ‘Too old for meat on a grill?’ How do you get to be too old to eat steak cooked on a grill?”

You roll your eyes with a sigh, slumping back in your seat and looking out the window at the buildings sailing by. You’re on your way to Costco to pick up supplies for this barb– garden party Sarah’s requested from Joel. He’s not too impressed by the thought of it.

Your dad’s talking about some client of his who threw his daughter a quinceañera on a yacht off the coast of Florida, for some reason you don’t care to listen to. Joel doesn’t, either. You see his eyes watching you from the rear-view mirror, clocking your expression.

When you turn to fully look back, his eyebrows raise, a question: You okay?

You raise yours back. Whatever.

He breathes a laugh, then plays it off to look like he’s laughing at your dad’s story. The truck pulls in to the parking lot.

By all accounts, your dad shouldn’t trust you and Joel alone together half as much as he does. But when the three of you get out of the car – Joel opens your door for you – he takes off to grab a shopping cart.

You and Joel take the opportunity to meander slowly toward the store. You haven’t had much time as of late to hang out, get some much-needed attention from him, jump each other’s bones. Sarah’s return means one more person to run lies around, one more obstacle stopping you from having precious free time with each other.

More than all of that, you just miss him. Miss the way he talks to you when no one else can hear, the way he reads your mind and gets it right – annoyingly – every damn time.

He loosens his elbow, offering you it, and you snake your arm through it.

“Garden party,” he scoffs. “I sure am glad I have you to keep me right.”

“We’ll make it nice for her,” you reply. “She liked the banner and balloons, right?”

He laughs. “She sure did. Facetimed her roommates to show ‘em off.”

You take a few more paces in silence, the gentle breeze sifting through your hair. It’s nice, just wandering with Joel. His warm arm hooked around yours, safe, steady. You feel you could lean into him and let him guide you along like the wind, all trust in his capable hands.

Then your dad rattles over toward you guys with a squeaky-wheeled cart and fucks it all up.

Joel, ever the casual one, slowly unlinks your arms. He ain’t got nothing to hide. Just being chivalrous to his buddy’s daughter.

“Where to first?” your dad asks.

“Wish I knew.” Joel strolls inside, and you follow, heading into the chilly store.

Joel decides the easiest – and quickest – way to get this shopping trip over with is to split up. He takes decorations, your dad offers to grab some of the food, and you’re left with drinks.

You mosey down the aisles with your janky cart squealing every time you turn. Under fluorescent lights, you spot shelves of soda and make for them, dodging a half-empty cage of stock someone’s emptying.

There are so many brands and flavors it’s actually kinda intimidating, and you wish you had Joel here to tell you which ones he wants. That, and also to reach them for you. The Dr Pepper is on the top shelf, and even though he’d probably tease you for not being able to reach first, his tall form would pull down a crate in one swoop without you even having to ask.

“Oh, let me get those for you!” a voice calls from behind, and you swivel around to see a kid– sorry, a guy in a Costco uniform rushing over from the other side of the aisle. The sides of his strawberry blonde hair are shaven, longer on top, gelled back. Round cheeks, flushed bright pink.

His equally pink arms reach up and grip a crate, pulling it from the shelf.

“Could you please…grab me one of the lemonade, too?”

“Sure thing,” he says.

“Thanks.” You smile as he lays the second carefully in your cart.

“No problem. You new around here? I recognize a lot of folks, never seen you before.”

His name badge reads Zack. It suits him, you think.

Your hands are locked tight around the cart handle. He’s not doing anything wrong, but you still feel awkward. You rock softly from side to side, answering, “Nope, lived here my whole life. Well, that’s not entirely true. I lived in New York City for a few years for college.”

“New York, huh? What’s that like?”

“It’s…good. Kinda place you gotta experience to really…experience, I guess.” You nervously scratch your arm.

“I’ve love to hear more about it. I went to college for, I think, two semesters? And dropped right back out. Wasn’t for me. Are you…Sorry, I’m not tryna be forward. Are you…with anybody?”

“Oh, I, uh…”

Right then you feel the air stop short at your side and notice Joel out of your peripheral vision.

“Hey, you found ‘em,” you say, barely above a whisper, looking at the packs of paper plates locked inside his tight knuckles.

He tosses them into the cart on top of your soda, looking down at you over your shoulder.

“You found drinks.”

“Yep.” If the ground could swallow me up right about now, that’d be great.

Zack shuffles on his feet, looking from you to Joel. He looks panicked. You bite back a laugh.

“Thanks, son.” Joel’s voice is muted, toneless, and he takes the cart straight out of your grasp in one sweep, a quick nod in Zack’s direction.

You don’t move, instead hang back to give the assistant a grateful smile and tell him, “We’re in a bit of a rush. Party’s tomorrow.”

“Wow, well, have fun!” he replies. As you swing off to follow Joel, Zack hops along after you, tapping your shoulder.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

“Naw, but she caught yours, Zack!” Joel yells. Emphasis on the K.

“See ya,” you whisper.

“Makin’ friends, are we?” Joel mutters as you catch up to him.

You lightly hit his bicep. “I couldn’t reach the soda.”

“Poor baby.” He pets his lip. You smack him again, but your stomach floods with heat. Joel doesn’t make note of it. “Need your help pickin’ out a tablecloth,” he says.

“A tablecloth? What’s so hard about a tablecl–”

You round the corner and Joel nods ahead, to where an entire wall of party supplies sits. On the shelves, piles of paper plates, cups, and napkins, and on the pegs above, bags, tablecloths, confetti, cutlery, banners, and bunting.

“Oh…”

“I was thinkin’ that pink one with the stars on it.” Joel nods to the left, finger scratching his nose, where a baby pink sheet lies, white stars all over. You try to mask your frown.

“No?” he asks, looking over at you tensely.

You tilt your head back in his direction. “It’s just…she made such a big deal about bein’ too old for a barbecue. If she’s too old for a barbecue, ain’t she too old for…”

“Pink?”

You flash him a gentle smile. “I reckon she’d like that one.”

You point to a white tablecloth, decorated with metallic gold dots.

“So, no pink, no stars. Gold polka dots are fine?”

“Sure,” you reply.

“Keep me right,” Joel whispers, leaning over to take the packet from its hook.

“Got some nibbles,” your dad’s voice yaps as he joins you two, dumping a dozen bags of candy, chips, and what looks like half the snack section into the cart. He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “We all done?”

“Just gotta get some platters,” Joel replies, pulling a handwritten list and pen from his back pocket and glancing down it.

You lean over to check it out, smiling at his haphazard handwriting.

Cups

Soda

Plates

Tablecloth?

Balloons

Food

Cake

He draws a line through soda, plates, and the tablecloth.

“You gettin’ a cake?” you ask him.

He replies without lifting his eyes from the list. “Next door neighbor’s doin’ it. She has a bakery in town.”

Your dad’s over by the bunting, studying it all with his hands clasped behind his back.

You lower your tone, leaning in closer. “Neighbor, huh? She cute? She single?”

Joel tuts and gives you a dead-eyed stare. “Might be. Not sure.” He tilts his head. “Why don’t we give her Zack’s number?”

You raise an eyebrow and take the cart from his hands.

“We’re done, Dad. Deli’s on the way out,” you tell Joel, and he follows at your heels.

You didn’t take Joel for a man who spends ten minutes deciding which food platters to buy, but when it hits two-thirty and he’s still standing with his chin between his fingers, you sigh.

“Is it this big a deal?”

“I imagine it is; it’s Sarah we’re talkin’ about here.”

You can’t help the smile that grows on your lips, seeing how determined he is to make it perfect for her. It’s cute, alright? Who would’ve thought Joel Miller would concern himself so much with deli platters?

“Quit that,” he tells you, not even looking in your direction.

“Quit what?”

“Your starin’. Give us away.”

Your hand comes up to shove him and he grabs it, looking over your shoulder to check your dad’s not looking when he pulls you close to him.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, baby.”

You raise your eyebrows, smug grin on your lips, and his eyes dance down your body.

He suddenly lets go of you and you realize why seconds later when your dad’s heavy arm smacks down over your shoulders.

“We done, Joel? There’s this show on National Geographic about sharks I’m tryna catch.”

You roll your eyes at Joel who hands you an amused grin, then places a couple of platters into the cart and leads y’all to the checkouts.

“I’ll take the cart back, get you both at the truck.” Your dad makes off, janky wheel squeaking off to the front doors.

Joel shakes his head in his wake, as bemused by him as you are. You smile Hello to the cashier.

“How are y’all today?” he asks.

“Good, thanks,” you reply, watching Joel’s thick arms hold the crates of soda up to be scanned. He’s tensing, veins lining his tan skin. You could bite into him, you’re so needy. It’s only been a fucking week.

The red light flashes across the barcode with a beep and he settles the drinks down to grab his wallet.

You glance around as he pays. From over Joel’s right shoulder, a familiar set of buck teeth approaches. You avert your gaze, swerving to hide between Joel and the counter.

“I’m goin’ on my break, Tom!” Zack’s voice rings out, and you feel Joel’s chest shift around your shoulder.

“You got the bags?” he asks, casually. Unbothered.

“Mhm,” you reply, not achieving the same level of coolness as he did. Your voice quivers as your eyes scan for Zack, hoping he won’t catch you.

Poor guy. He was friendly enough. Just, you happen to think Joel’s friendlier.

Even if he notices you, you’re already being swept out of the store by Joel, both crates of soda and the platters on top in his arms; a feat that might’ve killed Zack in the soft drinks section. You wander off together back out into the burning heat, eyes squinting in the sun.

Your dad is stood in deep conversation with someone by the cart return, a man with a balding head and blue jeans that you don’t recognize. “I’ll be over in a minute,” he tells you both as you pass, “work stuff.”

Joel loads the truck and you jump in the back.

“You not gonna sit up front with me?” he asks, turning back to you.

“And make my dad sit in the back?”

“Punishment for holdin’ us up.”

You raise your eyebrows and climb over the front seat, sitting in place next to Joel. His hand reaches over and cups your thigh. You like it, feeling like this is your spot. Right next to him. Co-pilot. Captain of the radio.

You probably don’t like the same music Joel does, though.

You bring a hand down to lace through his, fingers intertwining between your legs.

“So, Zack?”

You lean your skull against the headrest and glare up at the roof of the car. “I have no idea. He was just talkin’ to me.”

“He seemed to like you.”

“I’m very likeable.”

“Did you like him?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? He look my type?”

Joel gives half a shrug.

“Don’t get all jealous,” you mutter, turning to check on your dad.

“Jealous,” Joel repeats, with a scoff.

“Uh, ‘She caught your name, Zack!’” You echo Joel’s rough inflection, emphasizing his Texas twang, stressing the K the way he did.

“That wasn’t jealousy, baby,” he says softly.

You huff, looking away and crossing your arms.

“You want me to be jealous?”

“No.”

Yeah, you do. It was kinda hot.

Joel’s smirking, you can see it from the corner of your eye.

“I…want you to be…It was hot when you…Well, I…It’s more that…In a word, I’d say–”

Joel’s hand squeezes yours, letting go and sliding slowly up your thigh. Your ears are throbbing with blood rushing when he finally stops just shy of your underwear.

“Got it,” he whispers.

Your eyes drift from his hand up to his expression. If it weren’t for the sweet smile he was giving you, you’d call him arrogant. But his warm expression, the way his head is tilted against his seat to look at you, really take you in, the upturned corners of his mouth…

It’s just as well your dad hauls the truck door open when he does, before you can throw yourself at his best friend.

“I’m in the damn back then, am I? Assholes,” he murmurs as he – struggles to – climb up into his seat.

“Blame your daughter,” Joel chuckles, hand reaching around the back of your headrest to reverse, “huh, Trouble?”

You open your mouth to clap a reply back, but your dad interrupts.

“Trouble?” he asks, brow cocked.

You spin around to watch his face contort in confusion.

“Who the heck is Trouble?”

“Your kid. Always causin’ it,” Joel says.

“Is she, now?”

You cast a look at Joel, out of sight of your dad. Are you fuckin’ serious?

He grins in return, driving off out of the parking lot.

----------

Joel had dropped you guys off on the way home from Costco. You’d wanted to stick around for a few minutes after your dad had hopped out of the truck, but he was relentless.

“Let Joel head off, he’s got a busy evenin’ ahead,” he’d insisted.

Joel had given you an apologetic glance as you unbuckled your seatbelt and followed suit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d quickly kissed the back of your hand as you bid him farewell.

When Sunday rolls around, you spend the morning checking in with him, asking how the party’s looking and receiving photos to judge his decorating skills.

You: Not quite as good without my input, but it’ll do

Joel: Nothing’s quite as good without your input.

When it’s almost time to go, you’re still in the mirror making sure your outfit is perfect for Joel.

Perfect for the party, you mean.

You adjust the strap of your green dress, pulling the floral fabric over your bra. Totally innocent. Just a nice summer dress.

With slutty lingerie hidden underneath.

You’re only wearing it to fuck with him. You know that. Nothing is gonna happen at a fucking garden party. But your eyes flit across your body, trying to get into the mind of a forty-eight-year-old, watching the tops of your thighs as the wind lifts your skirt…

You unlock your phone and your thumb dances over the text thread with Joel. You’d taken some pictures before you’d slipped the dress over yourself, honestly just ‘cause you thought you looked hot, but now that the idea’s in your head…you might as well.

You: Does this lingerie say ‘garden party’?

You hit send and shut your eyes tight until you see stars, blindly throwing your phone to the floor and pacing back and forth. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was that that was so stupid he’s totally gonna laugh at you you loser he’s–

It doesn’t take long for your phone to vibrate with Joel’s reply. You dive for it, grabbing it with a swoop of your arm.

Joel: Slutty garden party, sure.

You snort. Dick.

You: Like it?

The typing indicator pops up, then disappears, then returns. Three dots blinking at the speed your pulse is racing. Type quicker, old man.

Joel: I prefer what’s underneath it.

Your chest shudders with a sudden inhale. Your face begins to heat. A terrible idea has crossed your mind.

You’ve never been one for sexting. Not much, anyway. Certainly not on an actual message thread. Snapchat, sure, where the messages disappear from both your screen and your mind as soon as you’re done. But never somewhere there’s recorded proof.

It’s kinda hot. Having evidence of you and Joel. Pictures and messages to look back on.

So, you lay back on your bed and spread your legs. Hook a finger around the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose your – already glistening wet – folds.

You lower your phone, snap a couple pics. Play around, spread your lips, take more.

Then you send one.

Fuck it, right?

You: Sounded like you were missing it…

Your phone’s ringing within ten seconds of hitting send. You pick up and Joel’s calling out to someone.

“–right back, ‘m just goin’ to change.”

Sarah replies something you can’t make out, and Joel sighs.

“Naw, it’s just not very…I wanna look right for it. You look great. Just– I’ll be right back.”

You giggle quietly into the phone. “Excuses, excuses, Miller…”

“The hell are you doin’,” he hisses, bedroom door closing in the background, “sendin’ me that without a warnin’?”

“I did send warnin’,” you protest. “You must’a guessed when I sent the first one what the second was gonna be?”

Joel sighs and you giggle, laying back on your bed. Your hand returns between your legs and you whisper a moan, fingers sifting through soaking folds.

He goes quiet for a second.

“You playin’ with yourself, baby?”

“Mhm.”

“Feel good?”

“Yup,” you reply.

“You want me to make you cum over the phone?”

Your breath shudders and your chest heaves. Every damn time, he blows your cool every damn time.

“Uhuh,” you whimper. “’m so fucking wet.”

“Yeah? So needy, baby. Got yourself all riled up, haven’t you? Need me to fix it for you, take it away.”

You moan.

“You still wearin’ those little panties?”

You hum in response. He knows it’s a yes.

“Take ‘em off.”

“Joel, I’m leavin’ in–”

“Off.”

You obey him, dropping the phone onto your bed beside your ear and raising your hips, elastic of your underwear sliding over your pelvis and down your legs. You drop them to the floor and your hands resume position.

“Good girl,” he says, hearing you moan when your fingertips meet your clit again. “That better?”

“Mhm,” you croon.

He hisses, says, “Yeah. Gonna fuck yourself for me, pretty girl?”

You whine a Yes, and hear the clink of his belt buckle, the zip of his jeans. His voice echoes, bouncing off what you assume are his bathroom walls, when he tells you to slide a finger inside yourself. He lets a breathy sigh pass his lips, and you know he has a fist around his cock.

Your fingers dip inside your opening, collecting your slick and rubbing it up and down, soaking your clit before they return to your cunt and slip inside. You gasp, the stretch too good to keep quiet.

Joel murmurs another Good fuckin’ girl, and you can hear his soft panting. It drives you insane.

“Joel,” you whisper, “want you here.”

“I know, darlin’, I know.”

“Want you to f-fuck me.” Your swollen clit ruts against the base of your palm, the bone rubbing it so fucking good, and you squeeze your eyes tight shut.

“Soon, baby, promise,” he tells you, his hand pumping his cock, the sound of his precum coating his shaft floating through your cell into your ear. “Keep goin’, pretty girl. Bein’ so dirty for me, so fuckin’ good.”

Your back begins to arch, his praises and the sound of him jacking himself off pushing you closer and closer, warmth and pleasure flooding through your body from your core.

Joel speaks again through a strained voice.

“Wanted to fuck you yesterday,” he says, “so fuckin’ bad, baby.”

Your breath halts, cutting short in your throat.

“Wanted to,” groan, “sh-show that fuckin’ kid who you belonged to.”

You breathe a laugh laced thick with arousal. “Who I b…belonged to?”

You’re enjoying the thought as much as he is. Joel fucking you senseless in front of anyone who looks twice at you. Showing them that only he can make you feel good, only he can make you cum the way you do. The thought causes a whimper to escape your throat.

“That’s it, baby. You like that?”

“Yeah,” you whine.

“Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“’m yours, Joel. Fuck. Fuckin’ – yours.”

You’re whispering his name over and over, adding a third finger, imagining it’s his cock fucking in and out of you.

“So – close – baby,” he’s grunting, and you sigh in agreement. You’re writhing around on your mattress, legs wide open, hands pumping in and out and rubbing circles all over your sensitive cunt, wishing it was Joel all over you.

He’s moaning now, quietly humming down the phone to you, and it starts to undo the knot in your stomach. Your walls clamp around your fingers, hand begins to slow on your clit, and you utter his name before you fall silent, throat closing up as you climax.

The sound of your orgasm sends him over the edge right behind you. He groans, your name on his lips as he climaxes, repeating it over and over. You’re still coming to when he quietens, moans staggered, breathing heavy.

“Good?” you ask, fingers massaging yourself after your high.

“So good, darlin’,” he whispers, “did so good for me.”

You smile at his praise. Did so good for him, like you always do. It sends your head spiraling.

You dip your soaked fingers in and out of your soft cunt, lying in the bliss a little while longer, listening to Joel do his jeans back up and fix his belt.

He must figure what you’re up to, because he lifts the phone back to his mouth and says, “Tell me how you taste, baby.”

You don’t even think twice. You slip your fingers from your dripping cunt and suckle on them, moaning into the phone for Joel’s benefit. He lets out a low growl.

“Sweet as sugar,” you tell him, and he hums.

“Hey, hon?” your dad’s voice snaps you back to reality.

You’re not on some different plain with Joel’s voice purring in your ear. You’re not in private. You’re laying on your bed with your legs spread, Joel on speakerphone.

Your legs slam closed and you sit up straight, shushing Joel, who’s chuckling quietly into your phone.

“Yep?” you reply, voice shaky. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss down the line.

Your dad pushes your door open as you stand, straightening your dress.

“Ready to go? I don’t wanna be late for Joel.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“He will. C’mon.”

He closes the door over when he leaves. You tug your panties back on and bring the phone up to your ear, speakerphone now safely off.

“Do you? Mind?”

“’s long as I get to see your pretty little face, I don’t care, baby.”

You smile. Then you think it over.

“…but you’d prefer I was there on time, right? Y’know, so you can spend more time with me?”

“Uhuh. Sure. More time with your ass, too.”

“Alright. That’s nice. See, you just ruined what could’ve been a really sweet moment. How romantic, Miller. Once again, your dick gets the better of you.”

Joel laughs. “Ain’t that what this whole thing is? My dick getting the better of me?”

You gasp, offended. “And here I was thinking you liked me for my personality.”

He scoffs. “Will you just get in the damn car and get your ass over here?”

You’re fixing yourself once more in the mirror; there can be no signs of what just happened.

“I’m cominggg…” you drawl.

“Good girl. Bring that personality of yours, too.”

You snort and hang up without saying goodbye.

Your dad is stood at the bottom of the stairs as you march down them, legs still a little weak.

“Sorry, kiddo, I just don’t wanna be late. Joel’s wantin’ us there first, and Rita will be waitin’.”

Your brows furrow in response. He elaborates.

“She’s comin’, too, I’ve to give her a ride.”

“Sooo…we’ll arrive at Joel’s around midnight? Just checkin’, so I can let him know. Y’know, she likes to take it slow in the car.”

“Ha-ha. Funny. Get your things.”

“Can I take my own car? We can race, see who gets there first.”

Your dad sighs. “How am I s’posed to explain that to her?”

“Just say Sarah wanted me over early.” You cock your head like a begging puppy. “Please?”

He nods, exasperated, and waves a hand toward you. “Go on, get. Take that salad, will you?”

You sit the ceramic bowl on your hip and skip to the front door, belting it into the passenger seat before heading for Joel’s.

He’s out back when you arrive, platter of food in his hand. He looks casual, like he wasn’t cooing you through an orgasm, like, twenty minutes ago.

“Hey, cowboy,” you call from the patio door.

He sets the platter down on the tablecloth you picked out and strolls back toward the house, hands taking your waist as soon as he’s close enough.

“Your dad here?”

“Nope,” you whisper, “he’s bringing Rita.”

Joel dips his head and presses his lips to yours, rocking you back and forth. You giggle against his mouth.

“Dress is nice,” he murmurs when he pulls away, your foreheads together.

“Oh, you should see what I have on under it.”

“Already did,” he whispers in a cocky song, and you laugh again into his kiss.

His tongue sneaks past yours, and you squeal when his hand drops to squeeze your ass under your short skirt.

“You’re gonna make me drop this salad!” You bat his smirking ass off of you to set your dad’s handiwork safely on the table.

The moment is broken by the sound of Sarah’s voice from the hallway. You both split apart, Joel heads back outside while you walk over to the fridge to grab a soda.

“Welcome home banner’s slipped, Dad,” she yells out the window, and Joel gives her a thumbs up. Sarah rolls her eyes and turns to you. “Hi, you!”

“Hey,” you reply, giving her a toothy grin. “Soda?”

She reaches a hand out and you pass her a Coke.

“I have never seen my dad so stressed,” she snickers, can to her lips.

“Me either. You don’t wanna know how long he took to decide what to get from the deli.”

Sarah silently wanders through to the living room, beckoning you to follow. You glance up at the streamers still hanging from the ceiling, the slanted banner above the TV.

You throw yourselves down on the couch and she rounds on you.

“So…?”

“So?” you say, taking a sip of your soda.

“What’s been goin’ on? We haven’t properly caught up yet.”

You shrug. “Not much. Workin’ at Sal’s, loving life. What’s been going on with you?”

“Oh, come on. You really got no news for me?”

“What news do you want?” You snort, lifting the can to cover your flushed cheeks.

Sarah shrugs. “I dunno, boys? Gossip? Drama?”

“What are you, thirteen? Thought you were a big Cali girl now.”

She tuts.

You sigh, conceding. “No boys, no drama happenin’, and the most gossip I know is Anna called in sick last week and then Sal’s niece saw a picture of her on Instagram at some house party. ‘s all I got.”

Sarah looks unconvinced. She smirks. Her eyes thin, only for a second, but you catch it.

“How’s your dad?” she asks after a tense stare-off.

“Fine,” you reply. “He’s bringing Rita.”

“Aw. I’ll miss ‘im, then. Won’t be here ‘til sundown.”

You giggle into your can, “That’s what I said, dude.”

Joel shuffles into the room then, making for the banner. Your eyes track him as he leans over the TV, strong arms reaching up to fix it into place. He grunts as he pushes the pin back in.

“Need a hand, Dad?”

“Nope,” he replies, “’m good.”

Your chest tightens as the memory of the last time that banner was pinned into place floods your memory. Sat atop Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into you when he set you back down. Then, him fucking you on the couch, right where your legs currently lie, Sarah’s draped over them.

And here he is, able to reach it all by himself all along.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling flushed.

“You good?” Sarah asks when you sit up straight, fanning yourself with your hand.

“Is it hot in here?”

Joel turns, eyebrows raising.

“Crack a window, Dad.” Sarah’s fanning you now, too, wafting a magazine in your face.

He moves for the window and slides it open, pulling the shades back in attempt to get some airflow.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, hand on Sarah’s wrist. “I’m fine.”

She lowers the magazine and stares you down. “Are you pregnant, or something?”

Joel chokes, clearing his throat over by the window, and you bat Sarah’s leg.

“No, idiot! It’s just hot. You’re not hot?”

Sarah flicks her hair over her shoulder, chin lifting. “I’m very hot, actually.” She stifles a laugh at your expression. When she leans over to set her soda on the table, you shoot Joel a look.

He raises his hands in surrender silently and heads out of the room, reminding you guys that the party starts in twenty minutes.

“You like your decorations?” you ask once Joel’s gone.

Sarah’s eyes widen and she nods. “I heard you had a thing or two to do with ‘em.”

“I was creative director.”

“He’s so cheesy, ain’t he?”

“He just loves you. I think it’s cute.”

“I’ll bet you two got into, like, six arguments while you were puttin’ them all up. Right?”

You blink rapidly, trying to clear the memory from your eyes in case she reads it. “Nope. None. No arguments.”

You’re thankful when Joel’s front door pushes open and you hear Rita calling down the hall for Sarah, who jumps up and skips to meet her. When you follow, Joel’s in the kitchen doorway, watching you carefully. You know he heard every damn word, from no arguments to you thinking he was being cute.

You ignore him as you brush past, smug smirk on his face.

The backyard slowly starts to fill with more and more people as the afternoon goes on, sun rising higher and higher into the sky. Sarah is swept off by a small wave of school friends, all nineteen, none of whom you really know. One of them asked if you were her sister, and you choked on your drink before Sarah snorted and said, “No, dumbass, she’s my dad’s best friend’s daughter.”

They’re standing like a flock of seagulls over by the pool, shrill giggles piercing the air every ten seconds. Taking selfies, updating Instagram stories. Oh, to be nineteen again.

Being a senior citizen of twenty-three means, unfortunately for you, that you spend most of the afternoon tailing your dad and his buddies. At the food table, slowly depleting of the snacks your dad had practically raided from Costco, you’re witness to a conversation between him and Bill about the housing market.

“…I mean, if she wanted to get a place of her own,” your dad waves a hand in your direction, “how’s she meant to do it? What are they doin’ to help the younger generations get their foot in the door, hm?”

Bill’s shaking his head. Looks like vexation, like he’s agreeing with your dad, but you’ve a sneaking suspicion he’s just pacifying him.

“Maybe you’re better headin’ back to New York, after all, hon,” your dad says, and you raise your eyebrows, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Missin’ it yet?” Bill asks.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Was nice being around people who were into the same stuff as me. But I like being home.”

He nods, looking back down at the pool, sunlight gleaming off the water in ripples.

“She’s got plenty to keep her occupied,” your dad snorts. “Me ‘n Joel keep her right.”

You bite back a laugh. If you only fucking knew.

Bill chortles. “Joel Miller, keepin’ someone right? Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

You look over to him, pretending to laugh along, but your brows drop in confusion.

“Ah, they’re close, y’know?” your dad says. “He looks out for her. Think he keeps her on the straight and narrow better ‘n I do, these days, doesn’t he?”

“He, uh…Yeah, sure.” You can barely look him in the eye.

“Tell you what,” Bill twists around to grab another fistful of nuts from the table, “there ain’t nothin’ the good Southern air won’t fix. I notice a difference in you, this time around, kid.”

“Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically, cheeks full. Still chewing, he says, “Oh, yeah. Hell, you used to come home for Christmas or whatever, ‘n it was like you were bored. Miserable. No offense, don’t take that the wrong way.”

You scoff. “Which way should I take it?”

“Now that you’re back here for good,” he continues, not hearing you, “‘s like someone switched a light on. Doesn’t she seem brighter?”

Your dad turns to survey you and eventually nods. “You happier here, kiddo?”

You shrug, mumble an, “I dunno.”

The men laugh. Bill gives you a clap to the back and strolls off back inside, leaving you and your dad alone.

“Why didn’t you ask that– that boy along?”

“Who? Sam?”

He nods. “Remember you had that date scheduled– I mean, not-date?”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t think this is his scene.”

“Garden party not macho enough?”

You shake your head in bewilderment. “Macho?”

“Who’s macho?” Joel’s gruff voice sounds from behind.

You swing around to tell him, “Nobody,” and he shrugs, cheeks full with the sandwich he’s just thrown in his mouth.

“Nice,” you muse. “Very garden party of you.”

“Right?”

You smirk, peeling back the wrapper of the cupcake on your plate.

“Those,” Joel leans in, smirk on his lips, voice low, “were made by Nat.” He nods over toward the patio doors, where a blonde woman in a long purple dress stands, chatting to another of Joel’s neighbors. “Remember I told you she was makin’ a cake?”

You turn back to face him, narrow eyes set on his. He smiles innocently, and you can’t help but return it, butterflies tickling your stomach.

“Damn good cake it is, too,” your dad mumbles from your side. “Try some, hon.”

You lift the cupcake to your mouth, never letting go of Joel’s gaze, and run your tongue along the pink icing, collecting it all on the tip. Joel doesn’t move. He’s watching your lips.

Your teeth sink into the soft cake – it is fucking good, though you’d never admit it to Joel. He’s having far too much fun watching you; any more inflation to his ego and he might explode.

“Hm,” you run your tongue over your top lip, “tastes alright. But it’s pink. Sarah’s too old for pink.”

You throw the cupcake back onto your plate and roll your eyes.

Joel scoffs. Entertained. Nice job, kid. “Here,” he says, “you got some icin’ on your–”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, licks his thumb and wipes it along the edge of your lip, collects the icing, then slots it back between his own, and sucks it clean.

Right in front of your fucking dad.

You’re honestly about to mutter a sincere thanks when you remember he’s standing right at your elbow, watching the whole thing. Watching his best friend run his wet thumb across his daughter’s mouth and then taste her on his tongue. Like it’s nothing.

Joel realizes halfway through what he’s doing and yanks his thumb out of his mouth a little too abruptly, nodding at you as if he’s just been courteous. He clears his throat when his arms are back by his side. “Uh…”

Your feet are heavy against the patio. You feel like your limbs are stuck in place, save for your hands, which cause the paper plate locked between your fingers to tremble.

“Th…Thanks.”

It’s all you can muster up the courage to say. You can feel your dad’s eyes on your shoulder like the sun burning your skin.

“Yeah. No problem.”

You stare between the two of them, unsure who’ll break first. Unsure if either of them will, or if you’ll have to cave and say something.

A swish of fabric against the back of your calves jolts life back into you and you hear a soft voice in your left ear.

“See you’re enjoyin’ the cupcakes, then?” she hums to Joel. Your stomach tightens.

“Uh, yeah, they’re, uh…real good, Nat. Thanks again. We were just sayin’ how good they are, weren’t we?” He holds a hand out, past you, to your dad, who nods along. You start to back away.

Joel can tease you all he wants about his next-door neighbor and her pink cupcakes, but you’ve truly never felt more grateful to have another woman approach him and take some of the heat off of you. In a blur of embarrassment and the tiniest sliver of thrill, you take off into the house.

Bill’s in the living room with a couple other men, watching something on TV. You flash by the door and straight upstairs, where it’s quiet, empty. You lock yourself in the bathroom, head immediately falling into your hands.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms.

Your pulse is racing, face flushed with color and heat, embarrassment seeping all over you. What the fuck was he thinking? Was he even thinking?

It’s not unlike Joel to do stupid stuff like this just to mess with you when you’re alone. But you know, from the look on his face, from how speechless he suddenly got, you know he didn’t mean it. You know that, right now, he’s probably outside, still being pestered by that lady Nat, feeling the exact same as you are on the inside.

You steady your breathing and crack the window, peering through the sliver of light. Your dad’s still by the snacks. You can hear Nat resuming conversation just below you, out of sight by the patio doors. Where is Joel?

You pull the window open a little more, and crane your neck to scope the entire yard. There, by the pool, Sarah’s friend is stuffing as many marshmallows into his mouth as he can, while the rest video him, hysterically laughing.

You notice a flash of flannel by the work shed and spot him; making his way down a stone path between some bushes. Rita’s on his arm. Good. Means he escaped your dad without much damage done.

You rinse your face over with splashes of cold water, check yourself in the mirror, and head back out. A roar sounds from the living room as you round the bottom of the stairs.

“I didn’t know bowling was so fuckin’ excitin’!” Bill yells.

You slip through the kitchen, drowned in golden sunlight, and back outside. Nat shifts to let you by her and you smile gratefully, her purple dress sweeping across your legs again.

You follow the path behind Joel’s shed, up some steps and dip your head beneath the greenery. It’s obvious what he’s been up to since you and Sarah left; he’s good with his hands. He’s landscaped most of his yard; starting behind the work shed is a small, private pathway which leads to a secluded patio, decorated with potted plants, shrubs, and two wooden chairs. It’s out of view from where the rest of the party are, but you can look down on pretty much everyone from here.

Rita and Joel are in conversation when you round the corner and his eyes lock onto yours.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets you, so casual you almost forget what just happened. The man is so fucking cool, it almost riles you.

“Thought I saw you guys wander off.”

“Oh, honey, here, take my seat.”

“No, Rita, really. I’ll sit on the arm of Joel’s.”

You lean back onto the wooden arm, thighs dangerously close to Joel’s hands. He flinches as you settle, like he wanted to put a protective hand over your leg, and then remembered your company.

“Nice garden party, huh, Rita?” you chirp, eyes flashing across Joel’s face.

He shakes his head, knocking your leg with the back of his hand to tell you off.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous. Fine day for it, too.” Rita looks up to the clear sky. “Only the best for our Sarah. I’m just keepin’ Mr. Grump company over here.”

“Mr. Grump?” you snort, looking from her to Joel.

He sighs. “I am not bein’ a grump.”

“Are too,” she replies flatly, and Joel turns to stare at her.

“It’s hard work hostin’ so many people, alright?”

Rita chuckles, giving his arm a light slap. “He’s all the way over here to escape the party,” she tells you, sweet smile on her face.

You return it, saying, “That doesn��t sound like Joel at all. He loves people, don’t you?”

Joel grumbles, taking a sip of his beer.

The three of you sit quietly for a few minutes, Rita relaxing in the warm summer air, shade from the trees keeping her cool. You, too close for comfort to Joel, breaking out in a sweat with the need to talk to him about the cupcake incident. And Joel, almost looking bored, right arm on his armrest drawing shapes at the small of your back.

You could fucking scream.

“Well, honey,” Rita eventually says, “since you’re here, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. You help me up?”

You carefully pull Rita to her feet, and she shakily wanders off back toward the rest of the party, waving a hand and telling you not to let Joel out of your sight. You take her seat in her absence.

“Arm not comfortable?” Joel asks, eyes on the party.

“Huh?”

“I said, arm not comfortable?”

“Not as comfortable as a whole chair.”

“Hm.”

You mock hum in response. “You want me back on the arm? You that needy, baby?”

He looks at you. His tongue in his cheek. “Nah, want you on my lap. But arm is less obvious.”

His words knock the wind out of you, but only for a few seconds. You’re getting good at not swooning at every sexual reference this man makes. You’re also getting shamelessly good at responding to him, matching his energy.

So, you stand, and, while checking nobody’s watching, shuffle over. Back to Joel, you lower yourself down onto his thigh. Swing your head around to look him in the eye.

“Better?”

In reply, he takes your waist in one hand and shifts you so you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him. His knees facing north, yours west.

“Better,” he confirms.

Your brows furrow. “What are you–”

“I thought it over. You ‘n that Zack boy.”

“Wouldn’t say he was a boy, was probably my age–”

“That Zack boy,” Joel repeats. “Him chattin’ to you, asking you about New York. Wantin’ to know if you’re single.”

How much of that conversation did Joel hear?

“He was just–”

“Makin’ conversation? Nah. He was into ya.”

“Well, if you say so. So, you thought it over?”

“Uhuh. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“About what?”

“About walkin’ up to find you bein’ chatted up by some loser.”

“Oh, ouch, Joel. Zack’s feelings are hurt.”

The corner of his mouth trembles, holding back a laugh. Then he leans in.

“I don’t like to see anyone with their eyes on my girl.”

His girl.

Something inside you stirs. Something between your legs…tenses.

“Your…”

“You think that was nice? The way he was lookin’ at you? You think he wanted to be your friend?”

You stare at him, mouth agape. No words bubble to the surface.

“Nah, baby. He wanted you the way I want you. The way I have you.”

“You…have…And how is it you have me?”

“Sat on my lap, pretty little mouth wide open, wet enough that I can feel you through my jeans.”

He leans back in his chair, and you watch him wordlessly.

Your breath stammering, brain struggling to compute, you mumble, “What are you gonna do with me, then?”

“Hm?” he tilts his head.

“I said, what are you gonna do? With me?”

“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.”

Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot.

“S-sweeten…your…b…”

Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you.

“Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”

He takes the bottle and uses it to part your legs, before sliding it under your dress. You watch like you’re not even inside your body, just a passenger to Joel and his movements. All you know is you want him to do whatever the fuck he’s about to do.

The lip of the bottle pushes your panties aside, and you feel it line up at your lips. Joel looks up at you then with a question in his gaze.

You stare at him a few moments longer, and he lets you. He knows you’re taking this all in, even if it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He lets you take your time with your answer.

You nod, breathless. Do it. And he pushes up.

Your fingers immediately lock around his wrist, the beginnings of a moan escaping your lips. Joel tuts softly, wrist never stopping, just slowly inserting the bottle, neck gliding through your wet folds to your center.

You’re gasping, still holding onto him to steady yourself, coming back to earth only momentarily to check nobody’s nearby.

“Ain’t no one comin’, sweetheart,” Joel coos in your ear, “I’m watchin’. Just you enjoy.”

When the bottleneck fills you up, he pulls it back again. Your eyes begin to roll at the feeling of it dragging out of you. Your head cocks, body going limp. Lips seal shut, trapping a whine.

You rationalize it with three things. First off: nobody can see you here, not from down on the patio. Second: even if they could, Joel’s watching. And thirdly: you don’t give the slightest of fucks.

Joel and his ideas, Joel and his fucking ideas, forever pushing any other thought out of your head and replacing it with a want to please him, a need to do the things he asks of you. Forever washing away all your good instinct, leaving behind only the ache between your legs and the lust behind your eyes.

Joel starts fucking you – really fucking you – pumping the neck of his bottle in and out of your cunt. You’re doing everything not to scream out. Your hand grips tighter on his wrist and he smiles, looking down to the sight of the pair of you working together, fucking you together, chasing your high together.

“Liked it when I touched you, didn’t you,” he breathes, wrist jacking, “liked when I put my hand on you in front of everyone.”

“Did you like it?” you ask, head lulling, eyes folding shut. Legs opening wider just a fraction. Back beginning to arch.

He laughs. “Yeah, I liked it, baby.”

“Then I liked it, too.”

You like it when he talks to you. Like picturing the things he’s saying. The shock of Joel’s thumb on your lips. The desire you felt to part them and suck on it, right there and then.

Then, a twisted thought crosses your mind.

“Did you…did you like…oh…did you like N-Nat comin’ up…to you?” you whisper as Joel pushes the bottle deeper.

He growls, teeth locking together in some weird grimace of a smile. “Who’s jealous now, baby?”

You smile, head falling back. The sky is bright and blue and it burns your eyes to look, but then, your whole body is aflame.

You know he doesn’t care about anyone else. Know you’re the only one he wants to be doing this stuff with. But you’re there now, so might as well follow it through.

“You don’t– Fuck, Joel, fuck…You don’t think she’s…h-hot?”

He hums. Considers it. “Who’s sitting on my lap gettin’ fucked right now, pretty girl?”

“M-me,” you wobble, grinning.

“You,” he agrees, and pushes the bottle further.

You start to feel dizzy, the blood pumping through your ears deafening you. You place your hand on Joel’s knee to steady yourself as your legs give, cunt dripping everywhere. You can hear it, can feel it.

“Joel,” you pine, “’m close.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Joel’s purring, lips pressed against your ear. “You can cum, baby, I got you.”

Your hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt – you’d worry about it looking suspicious, but your mind is somewhere else entirely as the pressure between your legs starts to unravel at rapid pace. It all becomes too much too quickly, and you can’t stifle the sounds from your lips any longer.

Your legs clamp shut, knuckles whiten, pussy throbs around the neck of Joel’s beer bottle. You cum for him for the second time today, quietly whimpering as his free hand rubs your hip, coaxing you back to earth.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, “good girl. All over it, darlin’, that’s it.”

“Joel…” you’re panting, orgasm bearing down on your body.

He’s still lulling you through it, whispering words you can’t make out into your ear, lips pressed against your hair. He slowly slips the bottle from between your legs and sets it on the armrest, replacing his hand on your bare thigh.

It’s fucking covered in you. Your wet runs down into the beer, slick coating the outside of the neck. You can’t take your eyes off it, can’t fucking believe what’s just happened.

You take a deep breath of the sweet breeze, Joel’s arms around your waist, rubbing you gently. You lean down and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

A few minutes pass, couple songs on the stereo go by. Your hands toying with one of his, your breathing steadying against his chest. Joel mumbles into your hair.

“Your dad’s lookin’ for us.”

“How d’you know?” you mutter into his shirt, eyes closing over.

“That’s the third time he’s gone in ‘n out of the kitchen.”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

His chest jumps once with a laugh and he sits you both up. You stand wearily and Joel holds onto your hand as you slink back into the chair by his side. As you heave one leg over the other, core still throbbing, your dad emerges from around the shed. Joel lets your hand drop.

“Rita’s wantin’ home,” your dad murmurs, rolling his eyes.

“She ain’t much of a partier,” Joel says, lifting the beer to his lips. You stare at the lip of the bottle as his mouth kisses it, drink mixed with…well, you, spilling out onto his tongue. The neck is pearlescent with your cum. You feel lightheaded.

“You alright, honey?” your dad asks, and his hand comes down on your shoulder. Gently, but it still makes you jump.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, dragging your gaze from Joel’s lips. “Just…the sun, I think.”

Your dad looks worried, rubs the top of your back. “You need to go home?”

You shake your head, panting a little. “No, I’m good.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Joel says. The bottle’s between his thighs now, he’s twirling it. It’s like it’s a trophy to him. He props his elbow on his armrest and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

Your dad gives Joel an appreciative nod, then glares back at you. “You call me if you need me, alright? I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

You muster up the energy to make some joke about going too fast in the car with Rita. Your dad chuckles, then nods again to Joel, and disappears around the corner.

“You okay?” Joel asks when he’s gone.

You return his glance, energy coming back. “Sweeten your beer? Where the fuck did you come up with that one?”

He’s grinning. Do you want to slap him, or mount him?

“Can’t let you in on all my secrets, can I, darlin’?”

You roll your head back, resting softly against the wooden chair.

“Alright. Just keep doin’ that.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Surprising me. See where it gets you.”

Joel laughs through his nose; you hear the quiet rumble of his chest.

“We better get,” he says, tapping your knee as he stands. “Before everyone goes home.”

“Thought that’s what you wanted?” you reply, taking his outstretched hand and pulling yourself up.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Joel mutters as you walk off in front of him, “did I say before everyone goes home? I meant to make everyone go home.”

Joel gets his wish soon enough. It’s almost four o’clock when you return to the party; Sarah and her friends are up in her room, Bill’s roped about three others in to join his new bowling watch party, and most of the guests are either gone, or getting ready to head. The garden is empty when you throw yourself back on a lounge chair, enjoying the quiet.

You feel yourself dipping in and out of sleep, sun keeping you warm, breeze lightly kissing your cheek. The music from the stereo has been turned down, so you listen contently to the quiet hum of country, making a mental note to tease Joel about it later.

You’re filled with a peaceful content, a little tired from your ridiculous antics, but happy. You’re starting to understand what Bill was talking about; that bright cheeriness always makes an appearance when you’ve been around one person in particular, doesn’t it?

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice sings through the open door from the kitchen. She peers through the shades, spotting you by the pool. “You seen my dad?”

You shake your head. “Not a clue.” Lifting the bottom of your bottle to drain the last of your beer on your tongue, you haul yourself up – with a huge effort – to sit up straight.

“Will you tell him I’m goin’ out? We’re gonna catch a movie.”

“I’m not invited?”

She snorts. “You can come if you want. Thought you might still be feelin’ funny, is all.”

“I’m good. Enjoy. I’ll tell ‘im when he makes a reappearance.”

“Bye, babe!” she disappears back into the house.

You give her a wave as her silhouette heads down the hall. Joel’s back gate squeals open and your dad’s voice calls in from your left.

“That Rita can chat, huh?”

He latches the gate closed, then drags a deckchair over beside you.

“You were quicker than I thought you’d be.”

“She wanted to show me some cross-stitch thing she’s been workin’ on. Told her you weren’t feelin’ great ‘n I should probably head back.”

You furrow your brows. “Poor Rita, she means well.”

“I know, I know. Just, next time you see her, keep the story up.”

You scoff. “You seen Joel?”

Your question is answered by the grumble which sounds from the kitchen. He appears seconds later, stretches his arms high above his head, then stalks over.

You did try to avert your gaze from the trail of hair under his belly button. You swear. But it was right fucking there.

He hoists a second chair over to your right. “Too much effort,” he mutters, throwing himself into it. “I’m glad they’re all gone.”

You laugh lazily and rest back. “Sarah’s gone to the movies.”

Joel nods in response, the sun hitting off of him and lighting him like some kind of Adonis. You struggle to pull your eyes away from him, mesmerized by the way the light hits his worn skin, reflects out of his deep-set brown eyes, ignites strands of his graying hair.

You fucking hate what he does to you, the aftermath of him making you cum. As if there’s some drug running through your veins, making you want him, need him. Need his arms around you, his skin on yours. Need more of his attention, as if phone sex and whatever the fuck that was with the bottle weren’t enough for the day.

Your eyes travel down his strong, thick arms, hair covering them just the perfect amount, down to his hands; rough, worked, but gentle, kind. They grip the armrests of his chair, and you imagine the same grip around your neck as he…

“Y’know, actually, this was a lot less stress than I thought it’d be,” your dad yaps, bursting your bubble. “Why so last minute, Joel?”

“Sarah only decided she wanted somethin’ a few days ago, and she’s out of town next weekend, so had to be this week.”

“Oh? Me ‘n her both. Where’s she off to?”

Your head darts around to look at your dad. Then, when he speaks, back to Joel.

“Nashville. Just for a few days. Goin’ with some friends from school, I think. They’re flyin’ out on Friday, be back Monday night. Girls’ trip, I guess.”

You shoot back to your dad, like you’re watching a damn tennis match.

“Funny that. Don’t you have a girls’ night on Saturday, hon?”

Staring at him dumbfounded for a few seconds, you nod slowly. “Mhm.”

“I’m headin’ up to Fort Worth for work,” he tells Joel.

Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You slowly draw your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open a little.

“Yeah? This that big fancy client of yours?” he asks your dad, shifting in his seat.

“Sure is. He’s askin’ too much of me, these days. All these late nights, now workin’ the weekends?” He lets out a little chuckle, shaking his head.

You tear your glance from your Adonis to the pool ahead of you. You finally find your voice, knowing that, with this final piece of information, the fate of your weekend is sealed.

“You there long?”

“Just Saturday through Sunday.”

Well, fuck.

You and Joel exchange a knowing glance, his eyes darkening already.

“I’m sure you’ll be alright without me for one night, hon,” the voice from your left chuckles, but you’re both already elsewhere.

You will be fine without him, of course you will. You’re twenty-three. You’re a grown-up.

And you’ve got Joel to keep you company.

----------

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harmonictechnicality · 1 year

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When Eddie finally gets into drinking hot teas, Steve loses his goddamn mind. Goes to the store, buys every flavor he can find. Makes a little tea buffet with samples galore on his kitchen island. Even puts little labels out so Eddie knows the name of each one he tries.

Eddie drinks every tiny cup (pretends he’s a fucking giant while doing it) that Steve sets out for him. Goes down the line just sipping and humming in thought/delight. Steve excitedly watches from the adjacent countertop the whole time.

Once Eddie is done, Steve approaches him, hugging Eddie from behind and asking, “Do you have a favorite?”

And Eddie, being a indecisive pain in the ass just says, “All of them. All of them are my favorite, babe. What are you gonna do about that?”

Steve is so unfazed by Eddie’s little challenges by now. Just gets a Costco membership, spends the next day buying tea in bulk.

Eddie comes home to towers of cardboard boxes, some are nearly touching the ceiling. Steve has sectioned off the kitchen with a red ribbon tied to each side of the doorframe.

He limbos under the ribbon, holding an oversized pair of scissors.

“Uh? Babe?” Eddie asks gently. Cause ya know… Steve is holding scissors and looking diabolical. “What’s all this?”

“You couldn’t pick a favorite so I bought every flavor available.” Steve says it easily, like this isn’t batshit wild.

“Okay…”

Steve hands Eddie the scissors. “I call it Eddie’s Ci-Tea…. Get it? Like city but... with tea?”

Damnit, it’s so adorable when Steve makes up shitty puns. Eddie has to cover his smushy face in kisses now (carefully though, cause goddamn motherfucking scissors ugh).

“You’re way too loveable, Steve Harrington.” Eddie gushes, cutting the ribbon. Mayor of their weird little relationship.

Steve kisses Eddie’s cheek and he smells like a fucking spice factory from hauling tea around all day. So fucking yummy, Eddie wants to stir him up with one of those ridiculous little spoons. Make a piping-hot cup of Steve Tea that only he gets to drink up.

And as Eddie examines all the boxes, reading over all the different varieties, he remembers this is still a challenge. A game that he started. And he can’t let Steve just win because he’s rich and pretty, right? That would be too easy.

Eddie goes out of his way to make unnecessary shit difficult cause it’s his evil little side hustle. Some people have hobbies, Eddie Munson has schemes.

So he turns around, facing Steve (who is blissfully happy still), and plants a big kiss on his stupidly pink lips.

“It’s great and all, Stevie, but…”

Steve frowns. “But?”

Eddie pouts, but still gives a devilish wink when he says it:

“You forgot the honey.”

Steve kicks one of the towers, makes it look like the cardboard-version of that famous building in Italy. He grabs his keys and his Costco membership card, and storms out the front door.

Eddie is still laughing as he hears Steve swearing in the driveway. He begins boiling a kettle of water to make some Oolong tea while thinking:

‘I’m gonna marry my snobby pretty boyfriend, and we’re gonna serve all this goddamn tea at our wedding reception.’

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #just a little scene I couldn’t get out of my head #they are both insufferable and i love them for it #need to keep writing my full length fic but y’all can have this in the meantime

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roseharpermaxwell · 2 months

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RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs - Part Three

I'm back with more! Dive into some recently-read AUs with me below.

pixel perfect by rizcriz. G, 1k. Alex is looking over the directions with barely contained glee, and Henry—Henry’s looking at Alex. He’s pushed into the wall of the Photo Booth when Alex suddenly leans forward and pulls his wallet out of his back pocket.

“We are so doing this,” Alex says excitedly.

The corner of Henry’s mouth twitches. “Oh?” He asks, watching Alex pull a ten dollar bill from his wallet. “And here I thought you’d only pulled us in here to make out a bit.”

Or, Alex and Henry are in love in a photo booth.

Total Eclipse by @myheartalivewrites. T, 1.2k. Alex is not sure what the fuck is happening here.

“And if you only hold me tight…”

A man—probably the most beautiful man he has ever seen—is up on stage in this karaoke bar, absolutely murdering Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart and he’s pretty sure the guy is crying and it’s one of the most horrifying things he’s ever seen and Alex cannot. Look. Away.

all we are is skin and bones by @indestructibleheart. T, 1.3k. Alex didn't plan to push Henry Fox into oncoming traffic.

it might be worth it for once by blueberriesandcream. G, 1.6k. quick little alternate scene. what if alex's protective streak had made an appearance when zahra found he and henry in their hotel room?

We've Got To Stop Meeting Like This by @everwitch-magiks. M, 1.9k. Alex books an Airbnb studio with a shared bathroom. The other studio is occupied by a man with lush pink lips and impressive personal hygiene — really, he’s super diligent about lathering and rinsing. Alex would know, seeing as the lock to the bathroom is seriously unreliable.

Or: the Airbnb romp you didn’t know you needed.

exclusive member deal by stutteringpeach. T, 2k.

Alex: "Let me take you on a date."

The date: Costco.

beyond measure by T, 2.1k. alex and henry host nora, june and pez for weekly fellow travelers watch parties.

tonight, they're watching the series finale. it comes crashing down on henry, and alex is there to catch him.

Couture of the Juicy Variety by ronans. G, 2.1k. It's Henry's birthday and his work crush has what some may call a wardrobe malfunction.

Adrift by TuppingLiberty. T, 2.2k. Alex works in the Texas Department of Justice as a research attorney. He's been low-key flirting with his downstairs neighbor Henry for the past few months. Unfortunately, he works himself sick and ends up at Henry's doorstep accidentally.

you all over me by @dumbpeachjuice. E, 2.3k. When Henry organises an evening of group sex, he never expects to meet a gorgeous man he wants to marry and have children with.

Or, a meet-cute at a sex club.

something more, something right by rizcriz. T, 2.7k. Alex blinks at him, seemingly entirely unimpressed. “So, you’re just going to pretend we’re not in love with each other?”

Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me. by barthelme. E, 2.8k. Around them, there is the rustle of trees and the crisp whip of wind against nylon. An owl hooting. Faint whispers of campers still lingering around the dying campfire that Henry would like to block out entirely because, “We shouldn��t be doing this.”

“I’m aware,” Alex says, but his mouth clearly says he doesn’t care.

Or, the one where Alex and Henry are camp counselors who lead overnight hikes and fuck around at night.

please report to HR by @smc-27. G, 3.2k. Alex frowns at his inbox.

The only reason he knows Henry’s name is that people keep calling him “hot HR Henry” as if there’s anyone else in this office named Henry. Alex hasn’t met the guy yet. He’s been avoiding it mostly out of pettiness.

Henry and the Charisma Vortex by ronans. NR, 3.7k. ‘How’s about I take you to a bookstore and treat you to a trashy romance novel to say sorry for interrupting your first date with the love of your life?’

‘I fear the longer I spend time with you, the longer I will be unable to live this spectacular failure down.’

He warms at the thought of spending more time with Henry. ‘Solid deduction, you are absolutely right.’ He takes a punt and grabs Henry’s free hand. ‘C’mon.’

Or, Alex is sat next to a tragic date and has the urge to intervene.

Cloudy With a Chance of Fuckery by ronans. M, 3.9k. ‘Henry’s here with us for the weather.’ He pivots in his seat and grins over to the other corner of the studio. ‘Now, is it hot in here, or is it just you?’

Without missing a beat, Henry smiles cordially and gestures to the green screen behind him. ‘We’re actually in the middle of a cold snap.’

Or, an ode to Alex fucking with Henry live on air.

A Sin Better Than Heaven by @anchoredarchangel. E, 3.9k.

“Show me,” the king says, a demand. He sets the vial back down, careless to where it lands compared to where it originated. He leans back against the table, crosses his arms over his chest; chin raised, jaw set- a picture of regality. Henry’s heart is pounding in his chest, the unstable beat of too many horse hooves overlapping, like the canter through the woods that very afternoon before he was shoved from his saddle. For the first time, he considers the possibility that perhaps he had hit his head harder than he realized- against the ground or against the tree, because certainly his hope is misplaced; certainly he is not following this conversation as well as he presumed. “Show you what, Your Majesty?” The king only deigns to move a hand, untucking it from his elbow in order to wave it vaguely. “How your body responds to men.”

Or: A criminally loose reimagining of the tent scene from Mary & George, only Alex is a sexually confused king, and Henry's the one who has been sent to seduce him.

Don’t You Dare Look Away by @emmalostinwonderland. E, 3.9k. “Jesus, Fox, if you wanna fuck me so goddamn bad, you could just say so.”

Alex fully expects to be dropped to the floor, but Henry just tightens his grip on Alex’s waist. “You… you’re not serious.”

And really, what could go wrong? “Serious as a heart attack, baby.”

// Alex and Henry are paired up for a pro dance on DWTS one week, but they just can’t seem to get along… until something clicks.

a feeling like this (could it be bliss?) by rizcriz. E, 4k. There’s a blonde woman plastered to Alex’s front. Ten minutes ago, he’d been grinding up against a brunette man half a foot shorter than him. Ten minutes before that, he’d been laughing with a red head at the bar. And ten minutes before that?

Ten minutes before that, he’d had that megawatt smile directed at Henry, laughing at something June said. And then he’d wandered off to get them more drinks, and now he’s off, giving his attention to people who are, quite frankly, not good enough for him, and Henry? Henry’s — christ, okay, Henry’s jealous.

Henry’s fucking fuming.

Or, Henry wants his boyfriend back.

Another Door Opens by @14carrotghoul. T, 4.1k. Henry takes a long drink. “If it makes you feel any better, my dad's dead. He and my mum had the type of love straight from the storybooks and it got cut tragically short, so what is the point in finding something real if it's just going to hurt you?”

Alex bites back a smile and shakes his head. “How in the fuck was that supposed to make me feel better?”

He waves his hand awkwardly. “Oh, I just thought we were both sharing the trauma that impacted our romantic relationships.”

Henry and Alex first meet when Henry reveals their partners are cheating on them with each other.

north star by sharkfins. T, 4.9k. “God, you know, I could stare at you all day,” he says finally. “I want to get this tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.”

“Ugh, gross,” Henry says while scrunching up his nose. Even still, his cheeks flush.

“Seriously, Hen, you look pretty.” Alex runs his fingers through Henry’s hair and places another kiss on his forehead.

Henry bites back a slightly embarrassing excited noise and shoves his face into Alex’s neck and smiles into his skin. Hen. Alex calls him that all the time, but for some reason now it’s making something stir inside his chest.

“I can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he adds, running his hand down the back of Henry’s head and settles his arm around his shoulders again.

Henry moves impossibly closer to him and looks up to meet his eyes. “Pretty, huh?”

“Absolutely gorgeous.”

or: Henry experiments with gender <3

Best Practice in Sexual Favours by everwitch. E, 5.1k. They meet at a bar. Alex is young; fresh out of law school, sharp and charismatic and oh-so attractive. The sex is absolutely incredible, and Henry has no regrets. At least not until the morning after when he finds himself opposite Alex in a meeting — equipped with the painful knowledge that Alex’s boss thinks Alex’s only function in said meeting is to sit there and look all pretty. Somebody ought to call HR right about now.

Or: when sexual relationships mix with professional ones, Alex and Henry make the most of it.

We met in the Park by TuppingLiberty. E, 5.3k. Henry is absolutely obsessed with the runner he sees in the park every day at lunch.

cause you're classic, and i'm reckless by @firenati0n. T, 5.4k. “I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.”

At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.”

Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.”

“Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

Diving In Dick-First by quill_and_ink. E, 5.5k. "So... we're doing an intimate piercing today?"

Alex promptly crawls under a rock to die.

Trying My Patience (Try Pink Carnations) by @cha-melodius. E, 5.6k. Unfortunately for him, the only things more beautiful than Alex himself are Alex’s cakes. He’s the most in-demand cake artist in the city, and as such he books a lot of weddings. Many of the very same weddings that simply must also have Fox Florals arrangements for their centrepieces. Weddings like, apparently, this one.

(Or, Henry the florist and Alex the cake artist are forced to collaborate last minute at a wedding job, make a mess, and learn some things about each other in the process.)

A thousand dreams that would awake me by @kiwiana-writes. E, 5.9k.

“It’s not about punishment.” Alex just nods; Henry had been very clear on the form that he wasn’t looking to be dominated or put in his place, so that won’t be new information. “And it’s not the pain as such.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the mug. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like to feel it, but I’m not looking for pain for the sake of pain. It’s more about… control, I think.” There’s a long silence. “Taking it?” Alex prompts finally. “Or giving it up?” “Does it sound ridiculous if I say both?”

Or, Henry visits a sex club to get spanked the way he's craving.

Want Me by @orchidscript. E, 6.1k. Henry had always been weak for a nice smile, but his was impossible to ignore.

Blame it on summer heat and a fresh flush in his cheeks. Blame it on sunset painting the outdoor bar sweltering, romantic colors. Blame it on two healthy glasses of albariño thrumming in his bloodstream, or the good music floating on the air.

Henry could blame it on anything liked if he thought long and hard about it, but that didn’t change much at the end. The core remained the same: he had been gone from the jump.

Henry and Alex hook up on a vacation in Spain. Henry falls a bit deeper.

i think about jumping (just to see you come running) by @coffeecatsme. T, 6.1k. Henry Fox likes to think he’s led a good life.

He’s been a good son to his parents, though his grandmother would probably disagree with him being a good grandson—although, if he’s honest with himself, he’d rather take that as a compliment. He’s used the family money for good, built a life for himself. He’s saved the sweetest beagle from a shelter and paid an arm and a leg bringing him to the States from England. He doesn’t think killing a few mosquitos in his lifetime and the select words he had for the homophobic part of his family should curse him for years of torture.

Alas, that’s the only explanation as to why the public library he’s worked for for years would move him to a branch right next to a goddamn fire station.

Or, 5 times Henry embarrasses himself in front of Alex and 1 time Alex embarrasses himself in front of Henry.

Five letter word for 'unobservant' by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.9k. And podfic by @thirdeye1234. “He's so annoying,” Alex says, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them as he sits down at his desk opposite Nora. Nora – colleague, semi-sister-in-law, and unfortunately his best friend – is used to this by now, and continues eating a croissant over her keyboard in the manner of someone who has the only ergonomic, crumb-resistant keyboard in the office, and wants everyone to know it.

“Please,” she says, not even looking at him as she presumably whizzes through accounts or something, mouth full of buttery pastry. “Elucidate. I have no idea who you're talking about and there is no precedent for you interrupting my morning with those words at all.”

Alex scowls at her. “Wordle Guy.”

in this home series by riversdeep. T, 7.5k. At that, Alex looks him straight in the eye. “I'm sorry I fell in love with you years ago and never said a single thing about it.”

A self indulgent childhood best friends to lovers AU, exploring the transition from best friends to boyfriends

me and you and awkward silence by @kill8a. M, 7.5k. Alex has a bit of a predicament. The new librarian, Henry Fox, has proved to be a little too attractive to go un-noticed, and he might be harboring a bit of a crush.

make it five by @anincompletelist. M, 8k. “Fifty bucks says I can get that guy’s number.”

Popping the bubble of cinnamon-flavored gum Alex had just blown, he glances up from his phone to look at where Nora’s pointing. Just over the soles of his shoes, crossed at the ankles and propped on the flaking black wood of the shop’s front desk, there’s a man with broad shoulders lingering by the far wall. Alex hadn’t even heard the guy come in.

“Nora. He’s literally looking at one of the biggest dildos I’ve ever seen,” he deadpans quietly.

alex works at a sex toy shop. it's usually a pretty easy job — if he could just stop daydreaming about the blonde guy that keeps coming in to buy literally all of alex's favorite sex toys.

pour some sugar on me by @sunnysideprince. M, 8.2k. Alex makes not-so-safe-for-work baking videos on Instagram for a living, and Henry, unsurprisingly, goes through a crisis because of it.

An Amateur’s Guide to Professional Gift-Giving by anincompletelist (soldouthaz). T, 8.9k. Alex, a former-law-student-taking-some-time-off turned professional part-time gift giver, is tasked with finding a gift for the most high profile client he's ever worked with, both in and out of the world of law.

It turns out finding the perfect gift for the Prince of Wales might be easier than he'd anticipated.

secret admirer by rizcriz. T, 9.5k. Today, though, he’s watching in delight as a massive bouquet of roses makes its way through the office, the delivery guy carefully weaving between cubicles as he heads for Nora’s desk. Last week, Nora had revealed to the office one of his embarrassing college hook up stories that involved a thong and sitting cold and shivering in a police station while he waited to be picked up. Today—today he’s sicking Nadine and Alberta on Nora as payback.

His gaze flicks over to Nora where she’s sitting at her desk oblivious to her incoming doom, and then back to the delivery guy. Anticipation, hot and excited, bundles up in Alex’s gut as he clears the final turn of cubicles, and just as Alex is about to grin, wicked and delighted at Nora, the delivery guy makes another turns and comes to a stop at the completely wrong desk.

And then he sets the flowers down and leaves.

or, an accidental flower delivery.

my little dove by dearestalez. M, 9.8k.

“Kinda cliché,” Alex says, looking up at the mural.

“It’s Bea’s favourite piece,” Henry says.

Alex looks at him, “that makes sense.”

They travel through a plethora of shops. Henry picks up a hat, Alex holds a jumper to his chest and twirls until Henry is giggling into his fingers.

“Why do they never have my size?” Alex laments, holding a nice pair of shoes that don’t come in seven and a half. Only seven or eight. Henry doesn’t mean to laugh, he didn’t really think that was something he did. Laugh at people’s expense. But he isn’t doing that. Alex is pouting over a pair of shoes, with wide brown eyes and slumped shoulders, and Henry is laughing at the absurdity of it all.

He never thought that the man across the building cradling a beer to his chest was the type to pout and whine when a shop didn’t carry his size. He never thought he’d find that out. He never thought that stranger from that bar would turn into someone he knows.

“You’re a dick,” Alex says, but he’s grinning and Henry is weak.

i want to mark my skin (it is paper thin) by @violetbaudelaire-quagmire. M, 10k.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subj: Tattoo Reference

Attached: 1 file (orionsketch.jpg)

Hello,

Attached you’ll find a line art drawing of the constellation Orion. The shoulder blade is the intended location.

Best,

H.J. Fox

OR: It's a Tattoo Shop AU!

i dream of our odyssey by violetbaudelairequagmire. E, 10k. Alex rests his elbows on the counter of the small cafe attached to Bankston’s Books, enjoying the quiet period in between the morning stay-at-home-mom-crying-toddler storytime crowd and the rush of college students that appear in the afternoon. It’s only a couple hours, but it’s nice to have that time with just a few black coffees in between the rush of “pumpkin spice latte and a cakepop” and “quad shot espressos and keep them coming” that dominate the busy periods at the bookstore. He’s not complaining though- he loves this job. He gets a discount on books, no one cares how much coffee he drinks in a shift, and, in the last couple of weeks, he’s had a great view of the new guy quietly shelving books.

A Tapestry of Intimacy Unfolded by hqwhna. M, 10k. It's a case of textbook serendipity when Senator Alex Claremont-Diaz and Dr. Henry Fox first meet at a fundraiser in D.C. Now, Alex just has to think of an excuse to see him again...

no drug like me by stutteringpeach. E, 10k. “I’d like to pay for your schooling,” Henry says casually. “Move you into a better apartment. You’ll get an allowance, of course, but that will be for you to do with what you will. Your expenses will be covered outside of that.”

Alex blinks. He’s drunk off expensive wine and Henry’s attention. His brain isn’t functioning. “What?”

Henry’s expression hasn’t changed. “Do you need me to repeat myself?”

XOXO Gossip Girl by alyaasca. T, 11k. Diazes love gossiping. And Henry, well, he wants to be a part of Alex's family. Thanks to his therapist, he has a number of breathing exercises up his sleeve, and also a dream. Watch him take his rightful place by learning the art of family gossip.

i don't know how not to by smc_27. M, 11k. “Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he tells Martha in their next meeting, which takes place two hours outside of London at her parents’ ‘cottage’. To think they talk of her family as commoners when they have this much money is fucking insane. It just goes to illustrate how out of touch the whole monarchy machine is.

“Tea?” she offers, and he nods just to be polite. A literal, honest to god butler comes over to pour for him. “Carry on.”

“You’re gonna disappear,” he tells her, and her whole face lights up. Her shoulders relax. She looks straight at him. He can hear the kids playing with their grandmother in the next room.

“Tell me more.”

Or, Alex is Martha's divorce attorney

cut by @havanasroses. E, 12k.

Holy fucking eyelashes. He’s all tan skin and bright eyes and charming smile— everything that makes Henry weak in the knees. Pretty brown eyes dart between the lineup and his clipboard, trying to put two and two together, but all Henry can focus on are those arms. Those hands. That arse. “Can I call you up, handsome?” Henry almost blacks out.

or, the five times alex and henry shoot a video together as (not so) strangers, and the one time they do as a couple.

into temptation by stutteringpeach. E, 13k. When Henry wakes, there’s an ache in his arse and a wet patch on the sheets.

He tries to imagine how it happened. Whether he was on his side or his front already, whether he had to be rolled over. Whether they took their time or couldn’t wait, so turned on by the sight of him lying there.

It shouldn’t turn him on this much—the not knowing. But that was the point.

You've Been My Muse for a Long Time by @affectionatelyrs. E, 13k. There aren’t many instances in which Henry would claim he exhibits a colorful vocabulary. In fact, he could likely list them on one hand: when wretched people say the most bigoted things, when the local grocer has run out of their Jaffa Cake stock in the minuscule international aisle, when he gets bored and resorts to writing homoerotic poetry in his moleskin journal with a fountain pen like some lovelorn literary scholar from the eighteenth century.

And now, when he’s assigned to a gig he doesn’t want to be at. As in, he would rather publish said poetry to the unrelenting, merciless masses of the internet than be at this gig.

“You must be bloody fucking kidding me.”

Or, When Rolling Stone names Alex Claremont-Diaz as the number one rising star to look out for, Henry is tasked with the sole responsibility of photographing him for their cover shot. Which, truly, wouldn’t be an issue—it’s an incredible opportunity—except Henry doesn’t trust that miscreant to be within ten feet of him ever since The Incident™

Star-Crossed by schmulte. T, 17k. Alex is a principal ballerino with a hatred for Henry Fox. What happens when they're paired up and forced to dance together as star-crossed lovers? Will their partnership crash and burn, or will they cross uncharted territory and make ballet history?

Not An Act by quill_and_ink. E, 20k. It was bound to happen at some point. Alex and Henry had both started modeling within three months of each other and they'd both become known for dramatic, high fashion shoots, editorials, and runways, so it had just been a matter of time before they would be hired to work together. He could have handled it if they'd just been on the same set at the same time without actually having to shoot together, but no - the premise of the campaign is sensuality, intimacy. He has to pretend to be in love with Henry.

getting good now by Standinginmoonlight. M, 20k. Alex sighs and balls his hands up into fists, digging them into his eye sockets until he sees stars, and then he’s speaking without his brain giving his mouth permission.

“I can’t believe I’m going to marry someone British.”

Or: the Love is Blind AU that no-one asked for.

we should get married by smc_27. E, 25k. He’d spent most of the week sitting on the floor with his laptop open on the table, typing away about absolute nonsense in between sessions and phone calls with immigration and a lawyer trying to see if it’s possible there’s any way in the world he can stay in America while this gets sorted. The good news is this doesn’t bar him from trying again and just returning when it all gets sorted. Not that that will be easy, but still. It’s a possibility.

He makes the absolutely foolish mistake, after pouring his second drink, of googling ‘marriage visa’ as if that will be the answer to any or all of his problems. Allows himself a brief, excruciating moment to imagine he has someone to marry and make that a reality.

But then…he does, does he not?

OR, a greencard marriage AU

Clean Slate by smc_27. E, 25k. “Henry.” Pez comes over, puts both hands on Henry’s cheeks and looks him dead in the eye. “You are not a sad man who’s gotten dumped. You’re in the prime of your life, and I quite desperately need you to act like it.”

“The prime of my life,” Henry scoffs, more incredulous than questioning. “I’ve just gotten out of a 15 year relationship, endured a divorce, am suffering an almost impressive case of writer’s block, and your hands are like bloody icicles.” Pez grins, doesn’t take his hands away. “Explain to me how this is my prime. Please.”

Pez tilts his head, and sounds entirely serious when he says, “Literally anything can happen from here.”

In Accord by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 27k. Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

Claremont 2008 by @happinessofthepursuit. M, 28k. What if Ellen Claremont had gotten elected in 2008 instead of Obama? An alternate timeline story of FirstPrince.

2009 at Buckingham Palace for tea. A sleepover after a quinceañera in 2010. The 2012 London Olympics. A 2014 Model UN Conference. A funeral in 2015. College and another campaign trail.

And the texts, facetimes, and chain emails in between.

By All Means, Rome by @iboatedhere. T, 29k. During a goodwill tour of Europe, Prince Henry rebels against his tedious schedule and disappears into the heart of Rome, seeking reprieve from a life of relentless royal obligations...

Alex Claremont-Diaz, an American journalist living in Rome with a British Monarchy-sized chip on his shoulder, stumbles upon a young man…

Each man keeps a secret to benefit themselves, not thinking how it would affect the other until love gets in the way.

seven fallen angels in atonemеnt by riversdeep. E, 31k. Bea takes the diary from him and snaps it shut. "Well, love, that's because I'm meeting Alex. We'll be at the studio in an hour, so if you're coming with, you should probably wear some nicer trousers."

Henry looks down at his shorts. He thinks they belonged to Pez at one point since they have the words juicy written over the arse in fancy script. "That," He says, "Is completely beside the point."

She shrugs, "Alright. If you want to see the man you've crushed on for two years in those shorts, be my guest."

Well. That only covers part of the problem. The part where Alex infuriates him, that he has to put in an unreasonable amount of effort not to drop things around him because of how beautiful he is. That he is, admittedly, a little bit in love with him.

Or, Alex is a singer collaborating with Bea and Henry is dragged along for the ride, much to his reluctant delight.

would you be my love, my love? (would you be mine?) by ohprongs. M, 32k. When Henry Fox’s fourth series as a professional dancer on BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing rolls around, he’s got a good feeling. He knows what he’s doing — he’s a two-time semi-finalist — and this year he wants to win. That is, until he’s knocked off-kilter by two revelations: they’re allowing same gender contestant/pro pairings for the first time in the show’s history, and Alex Claremont-Díaz is joining as the newest pro dancer.

He is, to put it mildly, absolutely screwed.

(aka, the pro dancers rivals-to-friends-to-lovers au that no one asked for)

Baby (Let Me Put On a Show) by SatinBirds. E, 37k. It’s been five months, and still Alex is never completely prepared for Henry’s performances. Private or otherwise.

Or,

Henry is a night dancer, and he’s everything Alex wants.

Platinum Record series by @cricketnationrise. E, 39k. Email: [email protected]

Channel Name: AustinBoy

Age Restricted?: 18+

Chat enabled?: Yes

Subscriptions: Monthly

Tiers: 2

Tier 1:

> Name: Standard

> Description: Access to chat room, 1 weekly video

Tier 2:

> Name: Bonus

> Description: Access to chat room, 1 weekly video, 1 weekly livestream

Or, a Camboy!Alex AU

A Cloud on Fire Makes its Own Rain by foux_dogue. M, 40k. Henry ends his relationship with Alex in Texas at twenty-one years old.

At forty, Alex's heartbreak is just another relic from the past that he left behind. He's made a name for himself, steadily dismantling the system that never truly welcomed him from the foxhole of a critically-acclaimed late night news show. He's not living his happily-ever-after, maybe, but he's doing work that matters, and he's content with what he's got.

At forty-one, Henry finally decides to abdicate. There's only one person who he trusts to break the story.

February, I'm In Love by IBoatedHere. E, 40k. February themed FirstPrince Prompts

(you got me) cursing the daylight by @waterloolovers. E, 40k.

But if you like causing trouble up in hotel rooms

And if you like having secret little rendezvous

If you like to do the things you know that we shouldn't do

Then baby, I'm perfect

Baby, I'm perfect for you

“ALEX CLAREMONT-DIAZ TAKES ON EUROPE!

America’s darling, ACD, is setting off on his first international tour of Europe and The UK next month. His first stop is in London at the sold out O2 arena.”

Alex is a singer. Henry is a podcast host. They should know that secret relationships don’t usually pan out, but they’re willing to give it a try.

What could possibly go wrong?

(Strangers to friends to besties to lovers)

It's Nice to Have a Friend by mainstreamelectricalparade. T, 59k. Two boys meet on a beach, build a sand castle, write letters, and fall in love.

Someday We'll Know If Love Can Move a Mountain by @three-drink-amy. E, 60k. The emails were never leaked, but the Queen has forced Alex and Henry apart. Alex believes they're biding their time until they can be together for real. One day at work, he's forced to confront how wrong he is when Henry's engagement is announced. With both of them miserable and neither wanting the wedding to happen, they grapple with how or if they could even stop it. Or even if they should.

False Dichotomy by chamel. E, 61k. One of the world’s largest retailers is opening a store on his street. A bookstore. He looks down at the article in his hand again and catches sight of a phrase: “We hope that people will see this as more than a bookstore, and hope to foster a sense of community.” As if Henry Fox-Mountchristen has any concept of what community means.

Alex very narrowly does not break something.

(When global mega-retailer Mountchristen opens a new location—led by the infuriatingly attractive and insufferable Henry Fox-Mountchristen—near his LGBTQ-focused bookshop in Soho, Alex's comfortable life is turned upsided down. Luckily, he has one of his best friends to turn to: a guy he met online and knows only as H. Meanwhile, Henry is battling against his family to make a positive difference in the world and falling further in love with a man he's never met. But... what if they changed that?

(make me) misbehave by @onward--upward. E, 65k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has done it again. The Texas-born singer-songwriter released his fourth studio album second skin Thursday at midnight. Full of Claremont-Diaz’s signature lyricism, critics are praising the album for the cohesive image it paints. second skin is the result of a young writer at the top of his game, and every lyric depicts for the listener a picture of a sun-drenched secret romance. Fans are clamoring to be the first to uncover the mystery girl at the center of it all, although Claremont-Diaz remains tight-lipped on the subject…

Or: Alex Claremont-Diaz is a singer-songwriter rising up in the music industry. Henry Fox is the shining star of an acting empire.

This is a love story.

All our Sweetest Hours Fly Fastest by @ahistoricdistraction. T, 69k. It has been three years since they were outted and Henry and Alex have finally settled into a groove that works well for them, except for the fact that it feels like they're always having to steal time together. Queen Mary constantly coming up with excuses to get Henry out of public events with Alex isn't helping, and Alex is done with it. After a long conference in Tokyo that Henry couldn't attend, Alex's flight home being delayed is the last straw and he calls Henry to say they need to figure out a better way to do this, to which Henry agrees. But fate has other ideas. Alex's flight goes missing somewhere over the Pacific, no trace of it to be found, leaving Henry and Alex's family struggling to not lose hope while unable to do anything.

Such a Burden, This Flame on My Chest by allmylovesatonce. E, 76k. Alex Claremont-Diaz is relocating back to Austin to join his dad's firehouse. His days as a firefighter in Washington D.C. ended badly, but no one knows that, or knows why. And he plans to keep that close to his chest. He has to shove it back down if he wants to seem like a normal person, if he wants to do the job, if he wants to get along with his new crew, and most of all, if he wants to get to know the hot British firefighter on the squad.

No one can know what really happened.

It takes a lot to know a man by dazedandconfused. E, 86k. Alex is doing good. Life is good. Work is good. There's just one tiny problem. He can't get out of his head enough to enjoy sex. Nora has a solution in the form of a not-quite-sex-club called Sweet Encounters where he meets Henry, an attentive dom who shows him the joys of BDSM and sex with a man.

Alex gets a new problem when he starts falling for the man, and it turns out Henry might know more about the case Alex is working on than he lets on.

And then it all stacks up from there.

Heavy Weighs the Crown series by @dwell-the-brave. M, 88k. “I’ll be back by Thursday,” Philip promises, giving Martha a hand up the jet’s steps. She gives them a brief wave from the top of the stairs before disappearing.

“Make sure you don’t ski off a cliff!” Bea calls after him as he follows his wife into the jet. He waves a hand dismissively at her and then withdraws into the darkness of the cabin.

That’s the last thing any of them say to him.

Philip dies, and Henry becomes heir.

Something Borrowed, Something Blue by anincompletelist. E, 116k. When June gets engaged, Alex, her brother, and Henry, her best friend, are asked to be the official Guys Of Honor. There’s a month to plan the whole thing, which would be near impossible anyway, only made worse by the fact that being around each other the last several years has only ever led to petty fights and useless competition. Unfortunately, as the two most important men in her life - aside from her fiancé - they don’t really have much of a choice.

Alex has a lot of feelings about this. As it turns out, Henry does too.

Trust Your Heart If The Seas Catch Fire by Light_of_Bane. E, 171k.

Alex had a plan.

And then his life got thrown upside down after finding out President Claremont is his mother.

Now his plan is shot to hell and he's stuck navigating a world he never expected to be in - one of privilege and the spotlight and a family that's far cry from the abusive one he had grown up with. How's he supposed to do this?

And why is Prince Henry so much prettier in person?

This was not the plan.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part One

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Two

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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moremaybank · 9 months

Text

BACK FOR YOU — r.c

day four second chance with rafe cameron

pairing rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary months after your failed long distance relationship, rafe begins to send you love letters in an attempt to win you back.

warnings one allusion to sex closer to the end, but nothing else. just a lil angst and hella fluff. oh, and some language.

author’s note hi my loves, i’d really appreciate if you read this because i haven’t written a piece like this in a very long time and i’m actually really proud of it ♡︎ thank you ily

obx week ‘23 masterlist ;; rafe masterlist

Dear Y/N,

Hey. I know it’s been awhile, and I know that it’s weird — writing you like this. But something happened the other day, and I wanted to tell you about it.

I was in the grocery store with Wheeze, picking up some cupcakes for her class bake sale because none of us actually know how to bake (which you know). When we got to the bakery section, I saw chocolate-covered strawberries, and I immediately thought of you. Remember how we used to go star-gazing? We’d pile the back of my pickup with pillows and those thick-ass, furry blankets from Costco, get all cozy, and you’d bring those chocolate-covered strawberries that you’d spent the day making just for me. You’d feed ‘em to me, grinning when I’d instantly chase your hand for another bite. And then afterward, you’d cuddle into me, and we’d just lay there, looking at the stars. You’d get this wondrous look in your eyes, like you’d never seen anything so beautiful. I had though. I got to look at you every day, and you beat the stars by a long shot.

Anyway, I ran into your mom at the club earlier. She told me that you were travelling, visiting every place you possibly could in Europe. Sounds like you. I bet you went to Greece first, you’ve had an obsession with it since you were fifteen. I know I always talked about taking you there. Who knows, maybe I still can.

I miss you. Did I mention that? ‘Cause I do. I miss you all the time.

Yours,

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

You didn’t answer that last letter, and that’s fine. I understand why. I never said how sorry I was for everything that happened last year, never really explained. But I will now.

I’m so sorry for how I ended things. Every day, I woke up at school, far away from you. It ached me to not wake up to you. To not see you every second of the day. To not hold your hand or see you smile as soon as you saw me.

I missed everything. The smell of your lavender shampoo. Your hands running through my hair when I was stressed. You’d always kiss the frown off my face and fix everything just by telling me you loved me. The nights you’d call me when you couldn’t sleep because you needed to hear my voice. That cute little giggle you’d do after you’d been laughing for awhile. The way you’d look at me when you told me you loved me. There wasn’t a single reminder of you that didn’t constantly play on a loop in my head, that didn’t buzz deep in my veins. But I felt such a large void in my heart without you around, and I thought that if I broke things off with you that it would go away. But in the months since then, it’s only grown. Only gotten worse. I don’t think I’ll ever survive losing you.

I hope this letter finds you well. I hope you open it, and maybe decide to write me back. No pressure, though.

Yours always,

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

I don’t know if you’re getting sick of these. I really hope you aren’t. I gotta admit, writing to you makes me feel like we’re still connected. I still think we are. At least, on my end, we are.

Life’s been really crazy, lately. Ward’s getting ready to hand Cameron Development over to me. Every day he tells me that he hopes I won’t run the damn thing into the ground while he’s gone, travelling with Rose. I honestly don’t know why he would let me run things when he obviously doesn’t have an ounce of faith in me. You always told me that his love didn’t have to be earned, and I’ve always known that you were right, but it really feels like I’ll never have it. I wish you were here. You always make things better.

Anyway, I’m on the road to Raleigh, and I can’t help but think about our crazy road trip last summer. We had no freakin’ clue where we were going, but honestly, I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with you. Your infectious laughter and your terrible singing along to All Too Well (the ten minute version, obviously) is what kept me going that entire drive. That, and when you’d shower me with kisses all over my cheek when you got bored. I loved that shit.

I’ve been missing you like hell. I’ve already said this, but I really wish you were here. You’d make all this work worth it. ‘Cause, as of right now, I don’t really know why I’m doing all this. You aren’t here, and we don’t have the family we’d always dreamed about. Hopefully that changes in the near future.

Yours (until my heart stops beating),

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

A little birdie by the name of Sarah let it slip that you’ve been keeping my letters. Truth is, I sent her to spy on you.

Okay, I didn’t. But I had you for a sec, didn’t I?

I only know you have them because I begged her for hours to tell me how you were doing, and if you talked about me. Even then, I had to bribe her by saying I’d babysit the kids for an entire weekend so her and John B could go on a couples getaway. Totally worth it.

Oh, and they threw me a party at work. Apparently I beat out Ward for some record. I don’t even remember what it’s called now. I had so much cake that I went into a sugar coma. It was red velvet, cream cheese icing. Your favourite. That’s probably why I ate so much. You’d go back for it so many times that by the time you were full, I’d be finishing all the rest.

You still haven’t written me back, but that’s alright. Do it when you’re ready. If you’re ready. Again, no pressure.

Anyway, I’m sitting here on my couch watching Gilmore Girls. Yes, I finally got around to watching it. I know you begged me to for ages and we never actually got the chance to do it, but it popped up on my ‘recommended’ the other day and I decided to give it a try. You were right. This show’s freakin’ hilarious. I swear Lorelai Gilmore is the reason you were always so witty with me. She’s so quick on her feet, it blows my mind. Also, please tell me that Rory becomes enjoyable again. I miss her Chilton days. I miss her and Jess. Does he ever come back? And please tell me that Luke and Lorelai are endgame. I mean, the horoscope!!! The man waited eight years for her. People probably thought he was crazy for doing so, but I get it. I’d wait centuries if it meant I got to end up with you.

Yours (until the end of time),

Rafe

Dear Y/N,

I’ve written you so many letters, I hope I’m not taking up too much space at your place. Hey, that rhymed. I should be a rapper. All right, I could never be a rapper. This is why I need you. You keep my delusional mind in check.

The other day, I was on the ferry, riding over to the mainland, and when we reached, I swear I almost started driving to your house. Obviously, I didn’t. I chickened out. I thought about walking up to your doorstep, watching you open the door, and even dream-you was way too beautiful for me to handle. I almost gave myself a heart attack. One day, though, I’ll work up the courage. I wanna see you so badly, it’s killing me.

Can I tell you something? I have this dream sometimes, more often than not. It takes place back when we were still in college. Instead of ending things between us, I drop everything and run to you. The journey takes all day long, but I don’t care. I make my way to you, and once I find you, I pull you into my arms and kiss the life out of you. You ask me what’s gotten into me, and I respond by saying that I never want to live without you. That being away from you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with, and that life isn’t worth living if I’m not by your side. I get down on one knee, pull out a big ass rock from my pocket, and ask you to marry me. And you say yes. Every. Damn. Time.

The reason I’m saying all this is because I want to give you a fair warning. I’m going to make that happen someday. Sure, we aren’t in school anymore, and we aren’t even together right now, but I don’t care. We’re going to end up together. I know it, and you know it. I promise you, Y/N, I’m going to come back for you. And when I do, I’ll never leave you again. The only place I ever want to be is right by your side, in our huge house that I’m going to build for us, with our kids running around and chasing our dog. The house will smell like a bakery all the time because of your huge sweet tooth, and it’ll most likely be a mess because we won’t be able to keep up with our crazy ass kids. But we’ll be together. And we’ll stay that way until we’re all old and grey. And I might be pushing it by saying this, but I’ll still be taking you to bed every night, ‘cause I know in my heart that you’ll still be getting me all bricked up even in our nineties. Please don’t hate me for saying that.

Yours forever,

Rafe

You placed the last letter back into its envelope and added it to your large collection. Your heart warmed at Rafe’s declaration. You’d been rereading that one letter for a month now. You missed him terribly. You’d tried to write to him so many times, but each time you’d started, you just couldn’t go through with it. Your fear consumed you. You were petrified of the thought that once you opened yourself up again, Rafe would find another reason to leave you. You’d always known that it was hard for him to walk away from you, but it hurt you just the same. If not, more.

Still, this was a side of him that you’d never seen before. He’d changed in the near year since you’d broken up. You could tell from the way he wrote to you. He’d never been as vulnerable and raw as he had been in those letters. He was bearing his soul to you, something he was always unable to truly do. There was always a small part of him that was closed off, even to you. But that part seemed to have vanished.

Just as you placed the crate of letters back on your shelf, your doorbell rang. Your heart raced as you approached the door. You opened it, and there, finally, he stood.

Rafe slapped his hand to his heart. “God, I was right. Way too beautiful. Take it easy on me, would you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you threw your arms around his neck and practically jumped into his arms. He returned your embrace quickly, squeezing you tightly and keeping you pressed to him as one hand cradled the back of your head.

After a moment, you hesitantly pulled away, your tears clouding your vision. You opened your mouth to speak, but Rafe beat you to it.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I love you. I love you so much. I—”

You cut him off. “—Shut up and kiss me, fiancé.”

“Fiancé? Yeah? You wanna marry me?”

“Of course I do. You’re still mine, right?”

“Yours,” he confirmed, punctuating it with a kiss. “Always.” Kiss. “Until my heart stops beating.” Kiss. “Until the end of time.” Kiss.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he let out a content sigh. “Forever.”

RAFE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE!): @surftrips @oncasette @taintedxkisses @maybankslover @goldenroutledge @penny4yourthoughts @bmo-bri @hemogloban @princessbetsy123-blog @slytherhoes @whoisdrewstarkey @dreamingwithrafe @vigilanteshitposting @twelfthmortalofcrimsonpalace @wildflwrdarlin @adoreyouusugar @f4ll-for-you @tell-me-when-ur-ready @bbycowboi @jjmaybankisbae @jjsbank444 @enhypens-hoe @loverofdrewstarkey @countryclubkook @earth2starkey @angelofcigs @koalalafications @aerangi @cantstoptheimagines @bloody-mf-bsc @maybanksbabe @slut4drudy @dancinglikeaballerina @somerandos-world @shahanaazsoumah @darleneslane @sya-skies @ellabellabus07 @emmalandry @madelynie @urbestieboo @cruzgrecia @l1lactheflower @rafegirly @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @gillybear17 @obaex @abbybarnesstuff @mattyskies

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poppadom0912 · 8 months

Text

Together (VI 2)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, abuse, kidnappings, shootings, and scary men.

Summary: Everyone in Chicago knows the signature Halstead stubbornness, but the Murray's only smell delusion

A/N: So, I made a mistake in the last chapter and forgot to add a whole section so this is the part I forgot. Sorry 😭😭

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

When you agreed to help clean up your dad's cabin, a place that had been a sort of holiday home till your mother passed away and your dad started to neglect it, you said you needed a distraction from work and this would be a nice sort of getaway from that bustling life to just be in the middle of the countryside with your brothers.

But this wasn’t what you had in mind when you said you wanted a distraction.

Currently, Will was trying his hardest to get your mind off the immense pain you were drowning in and for a while it was working. Will was a miracle worker in his own right, and you were starting to understand why his patients valued his bedside manner.

But nothing good ever lasted because curled up in his lap, his fingers running through your knotted red hair that was identical to his own curly mop while his other hand remained firm on your wrist where he could feel your pulse and he didn’t need to tell you why because you already knew the nauseous smell of death looming over you like a predator, reading to pounce the nanosecond something changed.

Deep down, guiltily, you wondered what you did to deserve all of this. It made you think the Halstead's were doomed to a lifetime of pain and perhaps you just had to come to terms with this lifestyle, one which you should’ve become accustomed to since your teenage years.

Around ten minutes ago you would say, or that’s what Will said specifically when you asked him, a man decked out in all black came down to what Will also said looks and feels like another basement and gave you food. Last time the Murray's kidnapped you, they let you starve but this time was clearly different.

With Will’s help, you sat up but most your body weight was leaning against Will. Resting your head on his shoulder, he described to you everything that was on the tray and for once, you could say that the Murray brothers surprised you in what you hoped was a in a good way.

Was this suspicious? Very much so yes but were you going to take advantage of what could be a one-off situation.

You could just about make out what they gave but Will start speaking before you could ask him to. There were two water bottles that size of his palm, a carton of grape juice which made you whine, two weird looking and most likely packet bought pb&j sandwiches and finally four plain butter biscuits.

Despite the gruelling hours of torture you endured, food was the last thing on your mind. It had been so long since you had last eaten though, the last meal you could recollect eating was breakfast which merely consisted of a Costco croissant that you ate in the car driving to the firehouse.

Just as you were going to voice your adversity to the food, Will continued being the mother hen you and jay bullied him for.

“Y/N, I don’t care if I have to force feed you, you’re going to eat something from the place and you going to get as much liquids in you. I don’t think this is the time and place for me to be teaching you about nutrition and health.”

You groaned, mumbling to him that you weren’t hungry, but you knew your attempts were futile.

“I promise that you’ll feel a little bit better once you eat. Once we get your sugar levels up a bit, you should be feeling less faint and hopefully you’ll have enough energy to talk to me in full sentences.” Will said, a soft smile on his bloody lips when he tore one of the sandwiches into small bite size pieces, feeding it straight to you when your arm refused to move. “Or I can keep the party going since you're already losing your voice and we don’t need it to be gone completely.”

You hummed in reply. Yeah, you and practically everyone else would appreciate if you still had your voice.

Chewing slowly, you watched Will eating the other sandwich. As the two of you ate, he did mention the poor quality of the food could easily mean something was wrong, but any food was better than no food according to the emergency medicine doctor.

If anything did go wrong though, there was nothing left to patch things up.

And if things did go wrong after this, then the Murray's actions were only getting weirder.

As Will opened the bottled water, gingerly holding it up for you so you could take a few slow sips, you wondered where Jay was and if he was getting the attention he desperately needed, especially after being shot in the snow.

“Do you think Jay’s okay?”

Will stayed silent for a minute when you hoarsely whispered. The question sounded so innocent but the meaning behind it weighs heavy on both your conscious.

“I hope so, I really hope so but he’s Jay. He's not going to stop till he finds us.”

Series Masterlist:

@mads-weasley @sowrongitslottie @elite4cekalyma @senjoritanana @hufflepuff-blackwidow @mrspeacem1nusone @kmc1989 @goth-cowgirl-03 @daggersquadphantom @photographerkaiya0306 @jamie0515 @samanthavitale @iamasimpingh0e

#one chicago x reader #one chicago imagine #jay halstead x reader #onechicago #chicago fire #chicago med #chicago pd #will halstead x reader #halstead sister #halstead brothers #kelly severide x reader #jay halstead x sister!reader #will halstead x sister!reader

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kyber-crystal · 11 months

Note

For requests, maybe something with rooster where you like to play little tiktok pranks on him. like imagine telling him you paid $200 for premium air in your tires or supergluing a jar and he can't open it lol 😭😭 I just think he would have the best reactions to all of them

HAIJHSOJNSOJXN I JUST BUST OUT LAUGHING READING THIS (also despite being on tiktok i’m not super up to date on all the pranks bc they haven’t shown up a lot on my fyp. but i HAVE seen some stuff here and there so i will mostly be going off that haha). anyway i’m so sorry this was genuinely so cringe bc i haven’t done headcanons in a while but i hope it makes u laugh anyway :)) i have a better one shot coming your way i promise

rooster is the prankster of the group

but there’s only one person that can outdo him: you

this man practically falls to his feet when he sees you and worships the ground you walk on and somehow YOU CANT SEE IT

what this basically means is he will literally drop whatever he’s doing to listen to you

miraculously, cyclone is in a good mood, and thus decides to grant everyone three days off

this is the perfect time for you to mess with little rooster’s head :)

you know you go to the beach to play volleyball every friday. and this friday is supposed to be the hottest day of the month

this means that rooster will burn almost as quickly as he tans

while he’s busy chatting up some “game plan” with coyote, you swap out the sunscreen spray in his jacket pocket for baby oil

SO THEN he comes over to put it on, and not even ten seconds later he’s all shiny and sparkly and you try your hardest not to laugh (and gawk a little bc holy that man is TONED)

you’re able to get about 2 rounds in when he notices

“why do i smell like i just waltzed through a lavender field.”

“hmmmmmmmmm no idea” you smiled at him innocently

“it was you, wasn’t it” and he goes chasing after you as you shriek at the top of your lungs

(he managed to tackle you down and although you get a bit sand in your mouth and hair you count it as a win because you took him completely by surprise AND you got to see his bare chest but you wouldn’t fucking dare admit that to him, his ego is big enough as it is. rooster 0-you 1)

ok later that evening @ the hard deck, he’s on a phone call with one of his old college friends. for this one, you team up with hangman to hand him some of the most random things while he’s talking

you start off normal at first, like with a beer, then your hair tie (he always wears at least 3-4 of these on his wrist bc you always end up needing one at some point in the week.)

then hangman hands him a cube of ice. literally a cube of ice. but rooster barely reacts to this and just pops it into his mouth

then a lightbulb goes off in your head

knowing that rooster has an irrational fear of ladybugs, you quickly go out to the back to find one

then you come back and hold your hand out to him

and rooster, being rooster, LOVES physical contact (especially if it’s from you), and takes your hand in his as he continues talking

but then the bright red ladybug crawls onto his wrist and he almost immediately hangs up, drops the phone, and SCREAMS in the middle of the bar

you and hangman share a secret high five at this

but ALSOOO you kind of feel bad for scaring the shit out of the poor guy

that night you’re too lazy to walk back to your place so rooster offers to let you stay with him

and duh you say yes (it’s def bc you’re getting extra opportunities to pull pranks on him and not bc you have a fat crush on him and are hoping he’ll notice even though you’re the least obvious lil shit and prefer to show you care ab him by asking if he wants anything from costco or his fav restaurant down the street)

he ends up sleeping in the next morning, and you’re up pretty early, so you decide to make breakfast

you make a mental note to yourself to go on a grocery run together next week bc you were almost out of strawberry jam

he comes downstairs w/ messy hair and sits down at the counter

and he tries to open the jar of jam

but it won’t budge

he keeps trying for a minute straight but then gives up

so his eyes immediately go over to you and you play dumb

“i didn’t do anything i swear!”

“y/n.”

“i’m innocent!”

“y/n.”

he suddenly brushes your cheek with his thumb and you find this a bit strange since it’s so sudden. and still, your heart does that annoying thing where it skips a beat every time he touches you

“superglue…” he murmured. “i wonder how that got here?”

hahahahahahahaha you sure wonder. it’s not like you stole it while he was sleeping one night

anyway

later that night you ask him if he wants to go for a drive down by the coastline and he says yes.

“yknow, i paid $200 to get premium air for these bad boys!” you told him as you started the engine.

“you…what…”

“for my tires!”

he looks flabbergasted

“y/n, i think you got scammed”

“ok”

you keep driving anyway, the car did NOT feel any different like the mechanic promised it would

but you were no way in hell about to admit that to an already smug looking bradley bradshaw

rooster has finally, FINALLY started to catch onto your antics

so he starts scheming all week to figure out how to get back at you

during this week you’re extremely busy flying back and forth with payback, lessons with maverick, and staying up way too late with phoenix to talk about the latest season of your favorite show

so you don’t even notice that he hasn’t been around for a hot min

then one thursday afternoon right after you got out of the shower, you get a text from him that tells you he’s grabbing some fancy dinner with the guys in an hour and to dress fancy

this has you SCRAMBLING to change bc the place he’s referring to is absolutely legendary

so you show up to the restaurant all polished up and find him in a private booth in the back

“hey…”

rooster is suddenly speechless bc when he told you to dress nice, he didn’t expect you to look like an actual angel

“y/n…you look beautiful”

“thank you…but hey, where is everyone?”

“running a bit late, they should be here soon”

so you order first and wait. and wait. but nobody else shows up

and suddenly the space between you two felt like it had been chopped in half and now you were sitting a lot closer than you remembered

“okay i lied, i’m sorry” he says all of a sudden and you’re like huh tf u talkin ab “i never asked them to come. this is a date. we’re on a date.”

“we are?”

“yes”

so in the end…it’s ultimately you who gets pranked :)

:) :) :) :) :)

…

taglist (add yourself here!): @uwiuwi @queenbbarnes @cosm1cfae @ellabellabus07 @vitanileon @criminalyetminimal @whatlovegattado @and-claudia @bittergomez @julia-marshal @elenavampire21 @totomoshi @lyn-lc @lunamoonbby @paintballkid711 @yeehawnana @hazelgirl355 @spawn0fsatan @teacactusworld @icemansgirl1999 @cherry-waved @littlebadariell @tallrock35 @hoedameronsworld @aerangi

also quick PSA: my taglist spreadsheet hasn’t been updated in a while so this list may not be completely accurate, sorry for any inconveniences : ‘/

#top gun: maverick #top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun imagine

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rg-notes · 1 year

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Berkshire Hathaway Shareholder Letter 2022, Reactions

Every year I enjoy reading Warren Buffets' predictably charming annual Berkshire Hathaway Shareholder letter. I dare you to find another annual investor letter you can remotely describe as charming. Anyhow, this year's letter published February 23 was another winner. As a builder turned investor I can't look to a better influence on my decision making than Warren and his partner Charlie Munger. Their humility, their focus on long-term relationships, and their emphasis on pragmatism alongside an expectation of excellence are all values I hold dear and hope to instill into Saltwater and our businesses for years to come.

Here's what stood out to me.

Hammering home the basics

We’re reminded that these gents look at companies, not stocks… “Charlie and I are not stock-pickers; we are business-pickers.” Buying a stock is just a tiny fraction of the company you’re getting, evaluate it as such. So why buy stocks vs majority ownership? A question we ask ourselves at Saltwater often? There is but one critical difference for the critical eyed investor. The difference between public "stocks" and privately owned businesses based on Warren’s insights… “stocks often trade at truly foolish prices...while a controlled business gives no thought to selling at a panic-type valuation.” Good enough for me. We’ll be keeping our eyes open for foolish prices.

Shareholder financial education

Warren shares an anecdote about share repurchases and the misled villainization of them.

“The math isn’t complicated: When the share count goes down, your interest in our many businesses goes up. Every small bit helps if repurchases are made at value-accretive prices. Just as surely, when a company overpays for repurchases, the continuing shareholders lose. At such times, gains flow only to the selling shareholders and to the friendly, but expensive, investment banker who recommended the foolish purchases.

Gains from value-accretive repurchases, it should be emphasized, benefit all owners – in every respect. Imagine, if you will, three fully-informed shareholders of a local auto dealership, one of whom manages the business. Imagine, further, that one of the passive owners wishes to sell his interest back to the company at a price attractive to the two continuing shareholders. When completed, has this transaction harmed anyone? Is the manager somehow favored over the continuing passive owners? Has the public been hurt?”

We were able to execute a value-accretive share repurchase in a portfolio company this year and while it wasn’t a smooth process, it was a very good decision for all our shareholders. Thanks Warren.

Praise of his best companies

How many times have you heard Warren discuss Coke, Amex, and See’s Candies? Effectively every time he or Charlie open their mouths. Charlie’s personal fav is Costco based on my experience with him. This year Warren reminds us that in 1994, BRK completed a 7 year buying spree of over 400 million shares of Coke stock for a total of $1.3B. He reminds us the value of those dividends almost a billion, as well as stock price appreciation, that 400 million share position is worth >$25B today.

He doesn’t paint this investment as an obvious or easy one however. “The weeds wither away in significance as the flowers bloom… it takes just a few winner to work wonders.”

Endless love for his partner Charlie Munger

I love looking for how many times Warren uses the phrase, "Charlie and I...", this year it was 10. He's clearly smitten with his long-time friend and partner for good reason, but this was my favorite tidbit of Charlie appreciation...

"Find a very smart high-grade partner – preferably slightly older than you – and then listen very carefully to what he says."

He includes a response that Charlie will often use back to Warren when they are in decision-making mode.

“Warren, think more about it. You’re smart and I’m right.”

See what I mean… charming. Greater than the Coke investment, or the Costco investment, Warren's appreciation of Charlie's wisdom & friendship are what anchor his brilliance in my mind.

The elephant in the room… transition insights

With Charlie at 99 and Warren at 92, every communication is reasonably analyzed for hints around their transitions. I don’t believe there will be one until one or both pass. Sad, but likely true.

Charlie talks about Berkshire in the general sense a few times in this years letter where it feels like he’s writing rules to operate by for others versus telling the shareholder how “he” specifically will operate.

Our CEO will always be the Chief Risk Officer

At Berkshire, there will be no finish line.

Our CEOs will have a significant part of their net worth in Berkshire shares, bought with their own money.

I certainly hope there is an internal rule on the last point and it would be helpful to know what that $ amount is. While these aren’t all that telling as to the timing of a transition of either partners health condition it’s clear that Warren’s thinking is still spot on.

I hope you enjoy and absorb these letters as much as I do.

#writing

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 1 year

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Romance and Routine

Title: Romance and Routine

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, feet (but not in a kinky way), mentions of showering together

Summary: All Steve wants in life is to love you and to help people, and sometimes those spheres align.

A/N: This ended up going in a different direction than I originally thought, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway. Thank you for reading and supporting my work!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Steve’s finally back. You haven’t stopped smiling since he walked in the door of your apartment hours ago, and as you cuddle up next to him in bed, you smile against his chest. The fabric of his shirt rumples easily underneath your fingertips as you grip it, then smooth it out again, and the steady rise and fall of his chest soothes you like nothing else ever will. Three weeks was too long to be apart.

“I missed you,” you whisper. Your words don’t come close to expressing how empty your life feels when he’s away, but the crickets outside your bedroom window gladly accept your contribution to their music. Somehow, their song seems more beautiful now that Steve’s home.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and his hand smooths over your arm and shoulder, moving in long, slow strokes like it has been for the past couple minutes. “I missed you too,” Steve whispers back. “I made Fury promise not to call me out again unless there’s an emergency.”

Humming, you close your eyes and tuck yourself against him a little more. His warmth draws you in.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you say. “And I’m glad you’re safe.”

Neither one of you speaks again, and as the night draws on, you adjust your position under the blankets over and over. Steve lays fast asleep beside you as you fidget. It’s a miracle you don’t wake him up. You’re tired, and you want to doze peacefully beside him, but you’re uncomfortable. The fact that you know how to fix the little thing keeping you awake just makes it worse. Even the crickets are asleep by now.

Finally, you groan, then huff, before rolling away from your boyfriend and sitting up on the edge of the mattress. With one hand, you grope around in the dark for the bottle of lotion you keep on the nightstand.

“Honey?” Steve slurs, his voice thick with sleep. It seems you finally did wake him up.

You glance over your shoulder at him, then reach back your free hand to touch his outstretched hand. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

Despite your urging, Steve sits up in the bed and rubs his eyes with one hand. He grunts a little as he props himself up with his other arm, adjusting his position and yawning.

“No, no. What’s wrong? What do you need?”

You hesitate. Steve needs his sleep. He’s only just returned from a three-week mission that he himself had said was more than exhausting. You know that once he’s out, he’ll be out for good. It’s honestly a miracle that he’s awake now. The last time he came home this tired, he slept for a full fifteen hours, and then he ate almost everything in the kitchen. You’d had to make an impromptu Costco run just so you had food for dinner. While the serum gave him an seemingly unlimited amount of stamina, it also gave him an ungodly appetite and the ability to sleep days away when he felt safe enough to do so.

I guess I should take it as a compliment that he sleeps so much around me.

“Y/N…”

“I’m just frustrated and I can’t sleep. My feet are too dry,” you finally answer. The explanation falls into the silence, weak and pitiful, and you turn back to your work. You squeeze lotion into your hand and start to rub it into your feet. The slimy texture immediately makes you want to wipe your hands clean, but you dutifully go about your task until it’s rubbed into one foot. Grimacing, you slide that foot back onto the mattress and under the covers, and your mind recoils at the way the fabric sticks to your skin. You immediately think of all the lint and dust that could get stuck on you now that it has something to adhere to.

“You can’t sleep because your feet are too dry?” he asks.

For someone so smart, he’s not very bright, you think as you smooth the lotion over your other foot.

“Yes. They get dry in the winter and I have to put lotion on them every night, but I hate doing it. I was hoping I could get away with not doing it tonight, but apparently not.” The words come out with more venom than called for and you immediately slump, guilt pooling in the pit of your stomach. “I’m sorry, Steve. Just… I’m okay, I promise. Go back to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll be done in a minute.”

There’s movement behind you and you turn to offer him a smile as he gets comfortable again, but Steve is crawling over the super soldier-sized bed to sit beside you. He gently maneuvers your feet into his lap and begins to massage them. After a minute, while you’re still sitting in shock, he reaches to get more lotion. He rubs it into the skin on both feet and you close your eyes, flopping down on the bed to stare up at the ceiling.

His pace slows several minutes later, and by then you’re completely relaxed. Steve rubs his hand up your calves, then pats your legs with one broad hand.

“Better?”

There are tears in your eyes as you answer, “You didn’t have to—”

“I love you,” Steve replies, cutting you off. “I’d do anything for you.”

“But… putting lotion on my feet? It’s— That’s—”

“A way to show you that I love you. And that I want to care for you in any way I can, even the little things.”

You can’t help but smile at that. You sniffle, brushing the tears from your eyelashes, then sit up to look at him. In the dim light that breaches the curtains on your bedroom windows, Steve’s silhouette watches you intently.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re the most lovely person in the world?” you murmur. You reach out and find Steve’s hand with yours, resting them on your calves.

He squeezes your hand. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the universe?”

You duck your head, your cheeks flaming, but Steve captures your chin and leans in to kiss you. It’s gentle, and sweet, and perfect. When you pull away to breathe, it’s only for a moment. He pulls you back in again, kissing you once on the lips. Carefully, you follow his lead and crawl into his lap, tucking your head into the crook of his neck and wrapping your arms around him. You fit together like pieces of the same puzzle, and as he exhales, you breathe in.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says, and you hug him a little harder.

“Good night, Steven.”

The next night, he’s still home, much to your relief. Steve has taken up residence on the couch, so as he flips through the pages of a novel you’d gotten from the library, you get ready for bed. Work was exhausting, and even though you want nothing more than to curl up with Steve and let him read to you long into the night, you need sleep.

“I’m gonna go shower, okay?” You don’t wait for his response as you begin your nighttime routine out of habit, starting with turning on the harsh overhead lights in your room. You opt for the softer glow from the floor lamp beside your nightstand, and then you reach down to turn on the air purifier that first started out as a way to stay healthy but is now more white noise than anything. You’ve been so busy with work that you still haven’t ordered the new filter.

“What are you doing?” Steve calls from the couch.

Glancing over at the open bedroom doorway, you grab your pajamas from the end of the bed and double check that the little battery-operated alarm clock on your dresser is turned on. You don’t trust yourself not to infinitely snooze the alarms on your phone every morning.

“Getting ready for bed, why?” you ask once you’re back in the living room.

He’s sitting up now, hunched over slightly and staring at you in confusion from his spot on the couch. The book is long-forgotten; the bookmark you’d gotten him for Christmas a year earlier is stuck between the pages and he’d set the whole thing aside to focus on you.

“I thought you were going to shower. If you’re going to bed, I’ll come too,” Steve says. He moves to stand, but you quickly shake your head.

How long has it been since he’s stayed longer than one night?

“I am. I just… I have a routine.”

Steve frowns. “But you never do this when I’m here. How is it a routine if it’s new?”

You shift a little bit in your spot between the bathroom and your bedroom, then ball up the pajamas in your hands a little more. “Well, it’s not really new. I just don’t normally do it when you’re here so that we can spend as much time together as possible.”

“You don’t need to change your routine for me,” he answers, his voice a little softer. He finally stands and crosses the room, earnestness in his eyes. He takes the pajamas from you and carefully sets them aside, then takes your hands in his. His thumb runs over your skin for a moment before he speaks again, “I know that it’s hard, switching between me being here and me being away.”

“And that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to—”

“Let me finish. Please?” He meets your gaze and you sigh, nodding. Steve squeezes your hand in thanks. “I know it’s hard, but I don’t want you to keep changing your life because of me. And before you say that you’re okay doing that, it’s not healthy for you to constantly break your routines.”

“Maybe, but if that’s what I have to do to be with you, then that’s what I want to do, Steve. I do it because I love you.”

Sighing, Steve pulls you into his arms. You close your eyes as he holds you close, your heartbeats beating together in time.

“What if I had the same routine as you?” he asks after a few moments.

You pull away to look up at him. “What? That’s impossible, Steve. When you’re out on missions—”

“When I’m home,” Steve says, “I’ll keep the same routines as you. It doesn’t matter what I do on missions, we both know that, but if we have the same routines while I’m here, it’ll be easier on you. Besides, Fury and I have had a few conversations about me slowing down a little bit. Hanging up the mantle, metaphorically speaking.”

“You mean… not being Captain America?” you ask. You’re not sure what to say or do in response to his news, but you settle for, “Is that really what you want?”

“What I want is to be with you.” He quiets for a moment, then lowers himself down onto one knee. You inhale sharply as he takes your hands in his and squeezes them once. “Till death do us part.”

“Are you— Steven…”

“Marry me, Y/N. I know that it won’t be the most traditional marriage, but I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don’t think I can go another day without being able to call you my wife.”

Swallowing thickly, you try to fight against the wave of tears that threatens to spill down your cheeks. You’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt and your hands tremble in his, but you’ve never felt more certain of yourself.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He’s up in an instant, his hands cupping your face as he kisses you hard. Your hands grab onto his shirt, fisting the fabric at his sides and pulling him even closer to you. The heat from his body is overwhelming in this proximity but you hold on tight, your eyes fluttering shut as he kisses you like his life depends on it. You can taste the peppermint he had after the curry he’d picked up for dinner, and you pull away just enough to inhale deeply before going back to your kiss. You think for a second that maybe your life depends on this kiss, and when Steve backs you up until you're pressed against the wall, you don’t fight back. You let him manhandle you as you simply hang on, leaning into the outpouring of love he gives you.

“I love you,” you pant, pushing him away with gentle hands several moments later. “But we— I’ve gotta shower. I have work in the morning.”

He chuckles, resting his forehead against yours, and you laugh a little too. It feels silly to be talking about work after just getting engaged to the love of your life.

“Right,” he breathes. “Your routine.”

You laugh in earnest now. You release his shirt and smooth your hands up to his chest. He doesn’t move away from you until you smile and put a little pressure on him, and even then Steve only moves back one step. You straighten and clear your throat, your cheeks hot under his gaze.

“My routine,” you repeat. “Though, if we’re going to start keeping the same one… You need to shower now, too.”

He grins wide. “Right. Guess I’ll get my pajamas.”

“And I’ll get the water started.”

The shower is quick, and it only ends as soon as it does because your exhaustion starts to win out over your excitement. Steve helps you dry off and then dress before carrying you to the bedroom. You let your head lean against his damp shoulder as he carries you bridal style, then lowers you onto the mattress.

“Feet up,” he instructs, sitting down on your side of the bed, closer to the end.

“Huh?”

He pats his thigh and grabs the lotion from the nightstand. “Put your feet here.”

You can’t help but smile wide as you follow his instructions. Steve starts to rub the lotion into your skin, just as he had the night before, but this time you keep yourself propped up with both hands until he tells you to lay back down again. When he finishes, he sets the bottle back where it belongs and then turns off the lamp before crawling under the covers with you. Immediately, you snuggle up beside him.

“You are,” you whisper, “by far,” you pause to brush hair off his forehead, “the most incredible individual I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?”

“And I think that I’m going to fall more in love with you every single day,” you admit. It’s the truth, and your heart swells when he finds your hand and brings it to his lips. Steve presses a kiss to your fingers, then holds your hand over his heart. It beats underneath your touch, slow, steady, and true.

“I love you too, Y/N, with everything I am.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please consider reblogging my work so that others can enjoy it too.

I do not consent to have my work posted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere other than my personal tumblr, Patreon, or ao3 accounts, it has been reposted without my permission.

If you want to support me further, consider buying me a ko-fi! My ko-fi is also under my SPN fanfiction blog, but I promise it’s me.

If you would like to be added to my tags, please send me a message or an ask! I tag for Everything, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, and Peter Parker.

Forever Tags: @aya-fay

Steve Rogers Tags: @lipstickandvibranium @delicatecapnerd

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sambuckylibrary · 1 year

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TFATWS Anniversary Event

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Anniversary Event! The event will start on March 19th and run until April 23rd. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

You can post fanfiction, art, moodboards, edits, podfics, etc. It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #tfatwsanniversaryevent2023 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it to TFATWS Anniversary Event 2023 Collection.

Each week will have a different theme with prompts from Monday to Friday. Each prompt will also come with a badge you may use for it when you post. The weekly themes and their prompts will be:

For the text version of the information above as well as the FAQ and rules, check the information under “keep reading”.

Pre-TFATWS Week: March 19th-March 25th

Monday: The Steering Wheel Incident Tuesday: Searching for Bucky Barnes Wednesday: On the Run Together Thursday: In the Soul Stone Friday: Six Months of Ghosting Sam

TFATWS Week: March 26th-April 1st

Monday: Plane to Germany Tuesday: Rolling in the Field Together Wednesday: A Night in Madripoor Thursday: Fixing the Boat Friday: The Cookout

AU Week: April 2nd - April 8th

Monday: Royalty AU Tuesday: Sports AU Wednesday: Angel/Demon AU Thursday: Social Media AU Friday: Vampire/Werewolf AU

Romance Tropes Week: April 9th - April 15th

Monday: Getting Together Tuesday: Enemies to Lovers Wednesday: Hurt/Comfort Thursday: Fake Dating Friday: First Time

SamBucky Week: April 16th - April 23th

Monday: Redwing Tuesday: A Couple of Guys Wednesday: I Would Be His Roommate, But Thursday: Costco Tub of Lube Friday: Best Friend's Best Friend

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts in a week. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all five prompts that week at once with one piece of art or fic. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from March 19th and run until April 23th.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There are! They will be revealed on the Sunday of each week.

Rules and Guidelines

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #tfatwsanniversaryevent2023.

2. Please also tag the square you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Sports AU”, use “#sports au” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to TFATWS Anniversary Event 2023 Collection (TFATWS_Anniversary_Event_2023).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 10 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and "Bucky Needs a Hug".

Have fun and we look forward to your TFATWS Anniversary fics!

- The Mods

#tfatwsanniversaryevent2023 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #tfatws #tfatws anniversary event #sambucky fanfic #sambucky art #sambucky edit #sambucky moodboard #mod: thatmexisaurusrex

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matherines · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday

back on my bullshit for the first WIP wednesday of 2024! thanks to @kiwiana-writes and @inexplicablymine for the tags!

today’s WIP wednesday is brought to you by “slow down (you’re doing fine)” — officially named by @affectionatelyrs and nicknamed the sam’s club parking lot fic by @saintlynomenclature after its lovely elder sibling “i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie)”, which made @firenati0n cry in the parking lot of a costco.

“I’m failing a class.”

The words hang between them for a moment, and Alex can’t force himself to meet Henry’s eyes in the silence. They feel earth-shattering, heavy like lead on his tongue. Like they’ve broken his teeth upon impact, shattered his jaw so that he can’t possibly take them back.

“Oh.” Henry’s voice is so gentle — but he sounds relieved, somehow, as if this isn’t something Alex should be worried about at all, as if he’s going to channel his inner Ellen Claremont and tell Alex to buck up, buttercup and try harder next time. “Oh, darling, that’s quite alright. You’re so good — you care so much, and I’m sure you’re doing your best. Christ, I see how hard you work, you practically live at the library,” he adds with a soft laugh.

“You’re so hard on yourself, love. I’m certain you’re not failing — you’ve told me how much you pushed yourself in high school. A B isn’t failure, Alex. What grade did your professor give you? An 85?” Henry kisses Alex’s cheek, and it feels wrong. Alex doesn’t deserve it, because Henry still doesn’t understand.

tagging @affectionatelyrs @saintlynomenclature @read-and-write- @happiness-of-the-pursuit @anincompletelist @anchoredarchangel @ssmtskw @littlemisskittentoes @firenati0n and anyone else who wants to share what they’re working on!!

#ao3 #rwrb discord #rwrb fanfic #writing #i have approximately a million wips in my drafts

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boygiwrites · 1 year

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Living the Vida Loca P.2

• Jesse Pinkman & Reader. (Platonic)

(Here’s part one.) (Here’s part three.) (Here’s part four.) (Here’s part five.) (Here’s the epilogue.)

• (Find this story on Ao3.)

Summary — A short story about how a young teenaged girl gets wrapped up in Jesse's life.

Notes — So excited to be posting more of this story! Also, like always, I’ve made some small changes to the way things play out in the show. Enjoy reading!

The Beginning of the End.

It's 8PM and you're in the driveway, playing basketball; alone.

The stars are out.

It's warm.

And there's a man.

Oh.

He's just sort of... standing there, watching.

He's a silent shadow against the moonlit strip of sidewalk.

He tells you not to scream.

You drop the ball, and it rolls away into the bushes.

He tells you he needs to know if Jesse Pinkman lives here.

He starts coughing, quietly.

Then Jesse comes powering around the side of the house with a crowbar in his hands, yelling at the shadow to leave; right now, asshole, or else.

Jesse grabs the front of your hoodie, pulls you behind him, and keeps on shit talking.

So help me God, I will beat you down, old man, Jesse puffs himself up real big and lowers his voice. Just say the word.

Methamphetamine, The shadow says, and you swear Jesse flinches. Is that the word, Jesse? Methamphetamine. Nice house. Guess it pays well, hm?

Jesse whirls on him and the crowbar clashes into the metal gate, but the shadow behind it doesn't budge.

Let me in, Jesse.

Then you're all sitting at the garden table, in the dark, like some sort of eerie family gathering.

Teacher-student gathering, even.

Mister White.

Chemistry teacher.

Jesse's chemistry teacher.

Your... chemistry teacher.

He wants to make meth with Jesse.

He says if Jesse talks, he'll turn him into the police, and CPS will take you away.

He says if you talk, he'll turn you into the police.

Jesse shoots you a baffled look.

That's how Jesse finds out you've been selling weed at school.

What the Hell, he asks through his teeth.

Jesse's a drug dealer.

He acts like life is wasted on him, anyway, and if one of you has to do it, it's gotta be him.

Every fucking day he walks out that front door and throws one more piece of his life away on the streets, like breadcrumbs.

You begged him, it's not worth it, Jesse, please.

He never listens.

So if he goes down, so do you. If he's a piece of shit, so are you.

So you started selling weed.

Jesse didn't notice.

But you guess Mister White did.

Not good enough, he always scribbles on your school work. Do better, apply yourself, terrible grammar.

Mister White smiles pleasantly and leaves you to sit with the consequences of his arrival.

I'll be back tomorrow.

He reminds you to do your homework as he leaves.

The night is quiet.

The stars are out.

Jesse's seething silently beside you.

You just got played by an old man.

Get in there, Jesse yells at you, gesturing to your bedroom door. Go to sleep. I don't wanna see your punk-ass face ever again.

For an hour, you hear him outside your window on the porch, smoking and muttering and tapping his foot.

Jesse never yells at you.

Suddenly, for the first time in years, it becomes obvious that Jesse is not your equal.

In the morning, Jesse isn't there.

He doesn't come back for two days.

The Murder.

You're in CostCo with Jesse, trying to find the best type of bucket to melt bodies in.

When he came back this morning, Mister White and RV in tow, it was with two dead bodies and a pound of meth.

You haven't spoke much.

That one's pretty big, you comment awkwardly, pointing at a blue container.

Yeah, he mutters.

It looks like the two of you are browsing the bread aisle, trying to find the best type of grain.

That one's got a lid, though, you say. Could be useful.

Yeah, he mutters.

Selling weed and hiding bodies. You're moving up in the world.

Maybe we need a thicker one, you muse.

Yeah, he mutters.

You pull a hefty tub off the shelf and sit in it like it's a play pretend race car.

You smile up at Jesse. Look, you giggle, They can play bumper cars in the afterlife.

He's looking at you funny.

The only thing you end up buying is hydrofluoric acid and two snickers bars.

The car ride home is silent.

You eat the snickers while your chemistry teacher loads a gun in your kitchen.

You've just finished wiping Emilio off the floor.

Thanks for telling Jesse about the weed, you sass him.

He asks what the deal between you two is, anyway.

You tell him it's none of his business, but Jesse's your kind-of-dad.

More like my brother, you think out loud, 'cause he lets me eat ice cream and I don't have a bed time.

He tells you you're the strangest pair he's ever met.

When you ask him if he's gonna kill that guy in the basement, he fumbles one of the gold bullets.

He says, yes, he's going to kill him.

You consider this.

Don't miss, you settle on. I'm sick of mopping.

You find him smiling a little.

Jesse would not be smiling.

You find yourself smiling, too.

You share the snickers and later that night, he shoots the man in your basement.

He does not miss.

What's Changed.

Nowadays, everything has changed.

Two weeks ago, you'd never spoken to your chem teacher. Now you talk every day.

You'd never seen the inside of a dead body, which you know now, actually smells like pennies.

And you were on good terms with your sort-of-dad-brother, Jesse, who doesn't really talk to you anymore.

In the mornings, instead of being there to pack you cheese-itz for lunch and help you find your missing socks, he's off somewhere, throwing his life away, and going on strangely long walks, and randomly deciding to clean the windows even though they're not dirty.

In the evenings, he makes dinner and then fucks off again. You eat hot ramen in the empty dining room and watch the clock tick.

At night, he smokes on the porch, mutters, and taps his foot.

You go through a list in your head.

Is it because of the weed?

Is it because of the meth?

Is it because of the bumper car joke?

Is it because he hates me?

But then he'll drop by your room to kiss your hair, and it's just enough to hold you over to the next day.

Rinse and repeat.

Rinse;

And repeat.

Mister White's real name is Walter.

You know lots of things about him, now.

You know he wears ugly beige clothes outside of school, and that he hates crunchy peanut butter because of his bad tooth.

You know he gets a double loaded burger, extra pickles, from Los Pollos Hermanos.

He hates when Jesse cracks his knuckles, which is very often, recently.

He likes to call you an imbecile when you try come in the RV while they're cooking. The fumes, he squawks, The fumes, you imbecile.

He fucking hates the noise of the basketball punching into the driveway while he's trying to concentrate.

His wife is called Skyler, and she's pregnant, which makes him anxious.

He grumbles and whines and complains, but in the end, he'll always help fix your jacket zipper when it jams, and lend you the little travel tissues he keeps in his pants pocket when you get little scrapes on your knees.

At school, he's become a total homework Nazi.

You think that Jesse told him to lay it on thick.

You're still selling weed.

That's about the only thing that's stayed the same.

You spend the money on gum, videogames, and polaroids for your camera.

One night when Jesse finds your stash of crumpled money, he burns it all on the grill and you slap his face.

See?

Everything's changed.

You get nightmares, now.

You have a bedtime, and a curfew.

You're not allowed to ask about Jesse's day.

He makes you empty your pockets every time you come home.

He searches your laundry for baggies of weed.

He hates you.

It's Hell.

At least Walter's still a bastard.

That never changed.

Then top spot for world's biggest dummy is challenged, by one Saul Goodman.

End Notes — Let me know what you think! Also, I feel the need to explain myself for using the word Nazi. I don't use that word in real life because it makes me uncomfortable to say so casually, but for the sake of this story's tone, I used it. Sort of crude, I know, but what is Breaking Bad if not offensive amounts of crude? Thanks for reading.

#breakingbad #jesse pinkman #walter white #angst #hurt-comfort #daddy issues #reader

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paintedvanilla · 10 months

Note

omg hi i read ur fics the other night and holy shit ur such a good writer you GET IT anyway glad my costco post resonated with you 🙏🙏🙏

WAHHHH HI HI HI THANK YOU SO MUCH THIS ASK IS SO SWEET IM. WHEEEEE. <3333

You’re right tho. Tyler would hate costco. Sometimes I’m out in public and I get the ick on Tyler’s behalf about things. When I’m at the store and I’m walking around looking at clothes and I reach out and feel them and they feel like they’re made of paper and then I flip the tag over and they’re trying to sell it to me for $34.99 I think about him.

I want to talk to Tyler about planned obsolescence. He doesn’t know how good they have it in ‘99. My mom still has a blender gifted to her from her first wedding in ‘94. If I bought a blender today it would be dead by next April.

I also want to talk to Tyler about microplastics. I want to tell him how everyone’s body is full of plastic no matter what you do and they can’t find anyone with no microplastics in them. I want to tell him babies are born filled with plastic and watch the look on his face.

I also want to tell the narrator they don’t have single serving shampoos in hotel rooms anymore. They bolted that shit to the wall so you can’t take it home with you. Anything to save 30¢ !!

#sorry for. the fucking essay. i have a lot of thoughts about this.#op #fight club #brittwalfordfan

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barry-j-blupjeans · 2 years

Note

omg for the prompts could you do 11 with like. lucretia and magnus i think it has the potential to be rly funny jskfhkd

11. No I promise you’re supposed to pay for it actually. Obviously, I won’t rat you out but like, that was worth money

There's a complaint box outside of Lucretia's office that she rarely opened, let alone looked at. Sure, if there were notes starting to break through the sides of the box, she'd go through them. But that had only happened once when Brad was on vacation. Gods, Lucretia was still so grateful that Maureen had reminded her to make a HR. She did not have the energy to deal with complaints.

That being said: Sometimes she did have to deal with them. Notably, whenever someone cornered and talked to her about it. So when Lucretia stepped outside to go eat her lunch and was very abruptly confronted with Garfield the Deals Warlock, she knew it was going to be one of those days.

"DIRECTOR," Garfield said, with the loudness of someone who was trying to talk over the TV on full volume. "THERE IS A THIEF STEALING FROM MY STORE."

"From... the Fantasy Costco," Lucretia said.

"YES," Garfield said. "WHAT OTHER STORES DO I HAVE? DON'T ANSWER THAT. BUT YES, SOMEONE IS STEALING FROM FANTASY COSTCO! AREN'T YOU GOING TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT???"

Literally, what could Lucretia do in this situation? Nothing. She was a frail old woman. She had standards. She wasn't going to camp outside the store and watch.

Later that day, Lucretia's knees were begging for rest as she crouched down behind a checkout counter in the Fantasy Costco. She was bored. She was tired. She was hungry. She had Director Duties to fulfill, like pretending to do paperwork and lying about not being a Red Robe. Why was she wasting her time on time?

Simple answer. She had actual paperwork to do. But it could be done later. If she waited long enough, the Hunger would maybe eat the tax collectors.

It was nearly closing time and barely anyone had been in here all day. She had seen Angus, who politely pretended like she hadn't been staring at him and wished her a good day when she left. Avi hadn't seemed to notice her when he went to buy a bulk pack of energy drinks. One of the guards from the Voidfish's chamber took a break in here to walk around and try samples.

Right now, she was watching Magnus peruse the shelves carefully. He was looking along the weapons wall, nodding to himself quite a lot. Lucretia could be reading or taking a bath. Maybe even looking for further ways to get away with committing tax fraud. Instead, she observed as Magnus made a loud "hmmm" and nodded again.

And she almost missed it- she was getting tired enough that her eyelids were beginning to feel heavy, but she caught it at the last second. Magnus slipped a pocket knife down from the wall and slipped it into his pocket. He looked around and Lucretia ducked back down under the counter for a second. After a moment, she heard Magnus's footsteps going towards the door. When she peeked up again, he was leaving the Fantasy Costco, one pocket knife richer.

Lucretia followed. Quickly, because Magnus's legs were a bit longer than hers and she really didn't want to go down to their dorm this late at night.

"Magnus!" Lucretia said once they were a reasonable distance from the Fantasy Costco. Magnus turned and brightened upon seeing her, waving.

"Director!" he said.

"Magnus," she said, slowing to a stop. She was kind of out of breath. "Mag- just, oooh boy, just give me a second-"

"Take your time," Magnus said. She paused, leaning against her staff. Oof. She needed to be more physically active. Geez.

"Okay," Lucretia said. "Okay. So. You stole a knife."

"...no I didn't," Magnus said. Awful deception roll. Even more awful considering Lucretia knew all his tells.

"I saw you steal it, Magnus," Lucretia said.

"I am lawful good-"

"Neutral good at best," Lucretia said.

"It was a free knife," Magnus said. "No, uh, no price tag. That means it's free."

"No, I promise you're supposed to pay for it, actually," Lucretia said, having endured Garfield's whole rant earlier in the day. "I'm not gonna- obviously, I'm not gonna rat you out, because the Fantasy Costco is quite literally the only place to get groceries or- or anything, but like, that was worth money."

"I mean," Mangus said, floundering for a second. "Like, okay, it cost money. But does Garfield think I'm made of money? Like, fifty gold for a knife? C'mon!"

"That- that is a lot of gold," Lucretia said. "I could- I mean, I don't usually do that, but I could like, lend you some money? Not work-related money. Just as your, uhm, friend. And also because if you don't go back and pay for it, I'm going to have to sit through another three hours of Garfield explaining the economy to me and Magnus? Mangus, listen. I can't do that again."

"Yikes," Magnus said.

"Please, please go return the knife," Lucretia said. "Please."

"Can I have like... thirty minutes with it?" Magnus asked.

"To do what?"

"I'm learning rogue stuff!" Magnus said. "Like I said, lawful good. I wouldn't steal stuff unless someone asked me to.

"Carey," Lucretia said exhaustedly.

"Carey," Magnus confirmed. "So once I show her that I, y'know, got the knife, I'll take it back. Cross my heart."

"And you'll return the other stuff you've stolen?" Lucretia said.

"The- what? Oh!" Magnus laughed, shaking his head. "I didn't steal anything else. This is it. You gotta ask Taako for the other things."

"Of course I do," Lucretia said.

She could go back to her office. But then she'd be confronted with paperwork and her broken radio and the floor she told herself she'd sweep last week and ughhghghg. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers for a second.

"And would you happen to know where Taako is?" Lucretia asked.

#magnus burnsides #lucretia #taz #taz balance #mine #asks #lexarga #ise cube writing

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pantoneyoongi · 2 years

Text

08 || gummy bears by the handful

series ; in love with love (with you) description ; you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not.

chapter 08 ; gummy bears by the handful prev || next

word count ; 2.2k

tags ; small descendants of the sun spoilers but that drama is pretty old so idk, yes jungkook’s explanation during the Thing is solely for plot just pretend it makes sense, pls go to main masterlist for more / general tags

jungkook is confused.

not that he’s complaining, but you’ve spent the majority of the past three days at his apartment, happily hogging his video game consoles as you play on your saved files of his games. he’s had “at this point you should just sleep over” on the tip of his tongue for the past few hours but he catches himself every time because he’s terrified it’ll make you run in the opposite direction, and he rather likes the picture of you curled up on the floor against his couch.

(he’s never really learned why you prefer sitting on the floor instead of on the couch, but it’s your habit, one he’s accidentally picked up on too, and besides, he’s content to let it happen so long as you’re comfortable and he gets to see you.)

what he really doesn’t get (again, not complaining) is that you seem happy. genuinely happy. in spite of the upcoming gala - where you’ll have no choice but to bump into yoongi and his girlfriend - you don’t seem fazed. you just barge into jungkook’s apartment every day and make cute, pleased noises every time you’re satisfied with the new design layout you’ve built in animal crossing.

jungkook has been there for you for every one of your heartbreaks. so he knows exactly what you look like when it happens - he’s seen it too many times. the heartbroken version of you watches endless dramas for weeks on end, sniffling when captain yoo shijin has to bail on doctor kang moyeon at the movies, then bawling when he gets shot. the heartbroken version of you requires a costco trip’s worth of tissue boxes and an unhealthy amount of gummy bears. the heartbroken version of you rips the head off the gummy bears, declaring it to be your ex, then breaks down into tears while trying to put the head back on.

(jungkook always looks back on those moments with fond laughter, but at the time it’s significantly more tragic than it sounds like. or maybe jungkook just doesn’t know how to react to the sound of you crying.)

to say the least - the heartbroken version of you is definitely not the one sitting on his living room floor right now, though jungkook supposes you are still eating gummy bears by the handful.

it’s just odd. you were crying on his shoulder not that long ago about yoongi and here you are, beaming up at him every so often with a smile so pretty it makes his heart go thump in his chest. jungkook reads you like an open book by now and he’s not seeing any of the signs of a you who was hurt because yoongi doesn’t want you.

instead, the two of you continue bickering over unimportant things - a good ten minutes alone goes to an intense debate where you declare apple juice superior to orange juice (you’re wrong, orange juice is a classic and nutritious, never mind the bottle he has stored in his fridge just for you that you use against him in your argument).

jungkook just feels like he’s reading into things too much. it’s really hard not to when you look so unbearably adorable drowning in his sweatpants and t-shirt because you always come over in day clothes and he can’t help but toss you more comfortable attire and - god, how did he completely miss the way he is so head over heels for you for so many years?

“did you buy your secret santa gift?” your voice startles jungkook back into action, swiftly turning back to the stove and making sure nothing has burned. he’s cooking dinner for the two of you - it’s thursday - and the smell has you wandering into the kitchen, leaving your game behind.

jungkook glances at you. you’re taking a seat at his counter, propping your chin on both hands, your fingers curled inwards towards your palms. he hums his acknowledgement. “got it last week.”

every year, your group of friends does a secret santa - just you and your friends, not including hoseok and his friends. jisoo arranges it most years, the lot of you drawing names via an online secret santa site, so no one knows who has who.

this year, secret santa is at jungkook’s place. you rotate locations, too - last year it was taehyung’s, the year before that, jisoo’s parents’ place.

the gift exchange will happen over the weekend, the day right after christmas, which is coming up soon. you got jimin’s gift ages ago, a collection of comic books he’d mentioned wanting to read, in pristine condition. it was currently wrapped neatly (with a bow on top!) hidden in your bedside drawer.

“are you excited?” he asks, and your eyes light up immediately, enough of a response for him even before you launch into your mile-a-minute ramble about how much you’re looking forward to it. it takes so little to excite you, and jungkook can’t help the way his eyes crinkle in the corners, affectionately watching you.

he can’t wait for this weekend either, the gift tucked hidden away in his bedroom closet waiting for its rightful owner to open it.

“what the fuck is that?”

taehyung points to the obnoxiously large box standing next to jungkook’s christmas tree as soon as he’s through the door. jimin peeks over his shoulder curiously.

jungkook grins. “it’s the gift i bought, of course.”

taehyung sets his gift down on the ground, then moves to lift jungkook’s box, making a surprised noise. “it’s pretty light,” he peeks at jungkook with hopeful eyes. “is it mine?”

jungkook rolls his eyes. “the name is on the box, tae.”

taehyung sets the box back down, searching for the label. “dammit,” he pouts. “y/n’s.”

secret santa is less of a game and more of just a way to not break the bank account by buying four different gifts for each of your friends and instead exchanging one gift per person. whoever arrives earliest always knows who the host is giving the gift to, not to mention the gift wrapping usually gives it away immediately as it is - jisoo’s gifts are wrapped immaculately; taehyung’s looks like a child went wild with scotch tape. it’s not hard to narrow down the choices after that.

when you and jisoo arrive, jisoo scurries about to give everyone hugs while you set your and her gifts down by the tree. jimin wanders over to give you a hug too, and jungkook’s never been much of a hugger, but he’s starting to wish he was.

eventually you all settle into jungkook’s living room, snacks and drinks scattered across surfaces. you’re staring with wide eyes at the four foot tall box before you. you could probably fit in this box, you think.

secret santa always starts with you. you’re the baby of the group - not only the youngest but also the one who gets the most easily excited, no matter what your gift is.

you purse your lips, scanning the box like you’re trying to find the best way to open it. normal people tear open wrapping paper without regard, but you never have - jungkook fought with you about it every year for three years straight before he finally gave up. “it’s just more satisfying when you rip it apart,” he’d argued. “that’s literally the point of it.”

you don’t care. at some point your gift unwrapping habits started to become partially just to spite him.

carefully, you tug at the scotch tape. since taehyung and jimin beat you to jungkook’s apartment, you don’t know which one of the boys got you this massive box. but when the wrapping comes apart and you pry open the flaps, you know immediately.

your reaction is so instant jungkook has to physically bite down on his lip to keep from cackling outright. you let out a low growl, because the absolute shit-eating grin on jungkook’s face confirms it for you. “jeon jungkook,” you grit. “i’m gonna kill you.” the threat is empty and he knows it.

the rest peer curiously at the inside of the box to see what has your irritation levels spiking. taehyung sputters out a laugh and jimin snorts. because inside the four foot, impressively (for jungkook) wrapped box is -

another fucking box.

your jaw ticks. of course he did. of course he did. you don’t even want to think about how many fucking boxes he russian dolled into it. taehyung is still laughing, wheezing harder because you have to practically climb into the box to take the second box out, you glaring at jungkook as you go through box after box after box. jungkook’s entire living room is consumed with boxes by the time your patience is just about to run out, but before you can start launching cardboard at him, you realize you’ve reached the last one.

it’s obvious, because it’s the only one that’s wrapped in glittery, silver wrapping paper - different from all the rest. your thumb slides under the tape, gently pulling apart the wrapping.

it’s a small, black, velvet box. you pause. jungkook holds his breath.

when you snap the case open, your lips part in a gasp. you’re sitting on the ground, boxes and wrapping paper strewn about you and the boys and jisoo, who sits beside you, gasping with you at the sight of the silver, heart-shaped locket sitting nestled amongst white satin.

you forget, for a minute, all your annoyance with jungkook and his christmas prank. you’re tugging the necklace from the box while jungkook waits with bated breath, watching you flip open the latch to find a picture of your family on one side, and all your friends on the other side.

your silence makes jungkook nervous. he was pretty confident when he picked it, but now he’s not so sure. what if you don’t like it? sure, the pictures are cute - but what if the locket itself is ugly and you’re trying to find the nicest way to tell him without hurting his feelings? you might bicker but you both know that gift is sentimental, and you’re not a cruel person by any means.

then your eyes well up with tears and jungkook is sure he fucked this up ceremoniously - until your smile damn near stops his heart in his chest.

“put it on for me?” you ask, voice soft. your eyes are still glossy but they’re so, so warm, full of the type of affection you so rarely gift to him. he nods, scrambling over, hand brushing over the nape of your neck as he pushes your hair to the side.

as he’s clasping the necklace into place, he murmurs, “i don’t suppose this makes up for ditching you that time?”

he feels your body freeze as his fingers release the chain, the pendant resting between your collarbones. your fingers reach up to fiddle with it.

thursday. the thursday he didn’t spend with you.

you shift to look at him, pretty round eyes staring questioningly back at him. he scratches the back of his ear, suddenly shy.

“i meant to tell you on wednesday that i couldn’t come, ‘cause i had to go pick this up and work out all the details for the picture and everything ‘cause it’s custom and - ” he stumbles over himself trying to explain. “anyway i - “ he bites his lip. “i.. got distracted.”

his voice comes out slightly breathless and you both turn red at the same time. the rest of your friends are confused but you’re both too busy recalling the same exact memory of your faces just a little too close together, jungkook’s sparkling eyes and your rosy cheeks and everything that neither of you were willing to admit to.

well, at least, at the time.

your heart stutters in your chest. it takes you by surprise, but it’s hard to think straight when jungkook’s so close to you, earnest eyes meeting yours, hoping you’ll forgive him for missing one stupid, unofficial thursday dinner tradition.

it certainly feels stupid now. feels impressively dumb for being upset in the first place that he missed one night out of so many, when he’s spent almost all his other nights and days and weekends with you, making you laugh and fight and giggle and glare, and do all the things that make you and him, you and him.

turns out, there’s no you without jungkook, and no jungkook without you. jungkook has made it his life’s mission to drive you up a wall since the day he befriended you in the ninth grade, but now you don’t really know if you can imagine a life where he isn’t there to bother you and take care of you and give you all of his attention, in whatever form it comes in.

your breath catches at the realization. realizing he was handsome was one thing; realizing that you want his handsome, annoying self with you all the time is something else altogether.

it occurs to you that you haven’t answered him - just staring at him with wondrous eyes, and you jerk back to the present, blinking rapidly. “i - yes,” you mumble, not entirely sure what you’re saying. you draw your lower lip into your mouth and jungkook’s eyes can’t help but follow. “thank you for the gift, jungkook.”

his eyes snap up to yours. he smiles. “merry christmas.”

“hey,” taehyung complains. “wasn’t there supposed to be a thirty dollar budget on this?”

jisoo elbows him in the side hard enough for him to choke and shut up. she smiles.

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taglist ; @ahundredtimesover @nadzzzblog @apollukee @codeinebelle @yoongimentita7 @libra04

#jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #jungkook #jungkook x y/n #fluff #this one took me awhile to write tbh adfsdf i still don't know how i feel abt it but i hope u like it :c #we're coming close to the end!! probably the next one will be the last one :)#series: ilwl

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