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withleeknow · 4 months

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wishful thinking. (02)

chapter two: in plain sight

summary: the instruction was plain and simple: no strings attached. but you should’ve known from the beginning that it could never apply to you and him.

pairing: minho x f!reader rating: 18+ (minors dni) genres: friends to lovers, friends with benefits au, college au; fluff, angst, smut warnings: cursing, drinking, suggestive content at the end, could've been edited more but oh well lol word count: 4.9k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

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Damn baby, I'm a train wreck, too I lose my mind when it comes to you I take time with the ones I choose And I don't want to smile if it ain't from you

boyfriend - Ariana Grande ft. Social House

You end up not seeing Minho, nor any of your other friends, at all in the few days leading up to Yeonjun’s party.

True to your words, you were mostly holed up in your place, running on nothing but caffeine and sheer frustration, trying to finish your elective class’ final paper on the differences between the views of Greek philosophers. Time really flies when you wish it would slow down, because you could've used a couple more days to perfect the godforsaken thing.

You’ve been texting Minho though, and honestly, the man is practically a saint. You barely even talked about anything besides your stupid paper and your high maintenance perfectionist professor, and yet, he still listened to you yap away. He even offered to help you with your footnotes and citations, which you didn’t need, but the gesture was nice. If you had turned to Seungmin with your whining, he probably would've muted your notifications after three messages.

Regardless, all complaining aside, you did manage to pull through and finish the paper in the end, letting out a big sigh of relief the very second you clicked on the Send button on yours and your professor’s email thread just five minutes before the deadline.

Before you know it, it's already Saturday and Minho should be here any minute now so you two could go to the party. You’ve been working hard. You deserve to let a little loose tonight.

Even though a college party isn’t exactly your top choice of ways to wind down from stress, the mention of free and unlimited booze sure does sound alluring.

When your phone lights up with a simple i’m here from Minho, you quickly throw on a cardigan over a simple black camisole and denim shorts and check your makeup in the mirror one last time before heading downstairs. He texted you a couple hours ago, saying he had some stuff to pick up near your place and asking if you wanted to walk to Yeonjun’s together. You sent him back an enthusiastic yes!!! in a matter of seconds, because lord knows you’d rather not enter the front door of that house unaccompanied.

You opted for a simple fit tonight, mostly because you couldn’t be bothered to put on anything more decent only to go to the equivalent of a frat party.

“Hey, Min.” Your voice pulls him away from scrolling through his phone, diverting his attention to you instead.

“Hey,” he says, tucking the device into the pocket of his jeans. When he gives you a once-over, you do a little twirl for him, finishing off with an exaggerated kick of your foot at the end. “You look nice.”

“Just ‘nice’? I’m trying to get laid tonight. ‘Nice’ isn’t gonna cut it,” you joke.

He stares at you, a bashful expression befalling his features, the corner of his mouth lifted upward as he smiles in hubris. “You’re trying to get laid by whom?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “You tell me.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately before throwing an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. One of his hands musses up your hair that you spent twenty minutes trying to make look perfect, prompting you to poke him in the side so he would let go of you.

“Hey!” you scowl, smoothing over the strands that he flicked out of place. “I worked hard on that!”

“Sorry,” he chuckles, clearly amused by the temporarily sulky look on your face. “Didn’t want you to look too pretty. Can’t have all of the attention on you. Someone might try to steal you away from me.”

“Did it occur to you that maybe I want some attention tonight? I’ve been a hermit all week, I deserve a little something.”

“Is my attention not enough for you?”

You squint at him for a second. Then, you start walking in the direction of Yeonjun’s house without waiting for him. You hear Minho launch a laugh your way, and the scuffling of his shoes on the concrete pavement as he easily catches up with you in a few strides.

He leans down to whisper directly into your ear, making your cheeks heat up but you’re glad that they’re partially masked by the poorly lit street. “You know you never have to try.”

The walk to the party takes about fifteen minutes. When you’re rounding the street corner that leads to Yeonjun’s place, you can already hear the booming music coming from the biggest house on the block. Even from a distance, you can see people on the lawn and the two balconies on the second floor. You gotta give it to the guy - he sure knows how to throw a party.

The second you enter the premises, you’re almost taken aback by how crowded it actually is even though you expected this. A typical Yeonjun party.

You tug on Minho’s shirt, beckoning him to bend down so you could talk into his ear over the sounds of bad EDM and people basically having to scream in each other’s faces. “Are Hyunjin and the others here yet?” you ask.

“They got here right before us. I think they’re in-”

“Y/N!” The two of you whip around at the sound of a shrill voice calling out your name. Yeonjun practically shoves his way through the crowd of people when he spots you, bounding up to you and Minho with a bright grin on his face. “Glad you could make it!” he says, paying no mind to the man next to you at all. He eyes you up and down, shamelessly tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Damn, you look really good tonight.”

You give him a playful eye roll. Nonetheless, you still tell him, “Thanks.”

“You look that good to come to my party?”

You don’t mind at all the fact that Yeonjun is a natural flirt. That’s just a part of his personality, he’s inherently charming like that. It’s harmless and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Everything is all in good fun.

“Would you believe me if I said this is what I’d wear on a midnight convenience store run?”

“Ouch, you wound me.” Yeonjun says, holding a hand over his heart to emphasize his point. “C’mon, you can admit it.”

You open your mouth, a quick comeback about to be thrown his way but Minho chimes in from beside you.

“You should believe her,” he deadpans, stepping closer to you, one of his hands grazing your back. He's even standing straighter, with his chest all puffed out. “She even dresses like that when she takes out the trash.”

You turn to gasp at him before punching him right in the pec. “Hey!” Yeonjun is all but forgotten in a blink of an eye, because you have to defend your honor first.

“What? I’ve seen you do it wearing this exact same outfit.”

“Stop lying. It’s not true.”

“Isn’t it? I distinctly remember you wearing this when you went to take out the trash that night a couple of weeks ago while we were hanging out at your place.”

“Nuh uh. I didn’t take out the trash that night,” you protest, frowning. “I made you throw it out for me on your way-”

Yeonjun interrupts you with a chuckle, glancing between you and Minho as he gives your friend's shoulder an awkward pat. They share a look that you don’t quite understand. “Alright, duly noted. I’m gonna make myself scarce,” he says. “Help yourselves. Booze is in the kitchen!”

After you’ve finally squeezed your way into the kitchen that’s overflowing with people, you narrow your eyes at Minho. “What was that about?”

“What?” He scans the selection of liquor bottles on the kitchen island before asking you, “Rum and Coke?”

Your favorite.

You nod eagerly, momentarily distracted before you have to circle back to your question.

“What was all that back there with Yeonjun, Mr. Grumpy Cat?”

“What was what?” He pulls out two solo cups from a nearby stack, along with some napkins, and meticulously wipes the plastic cups even though they look pretty clean to you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a disbelieving eyebrow. He shrugs.

“I didn’t know you and Yeonjun were that close.” Minho seems casual as he tells you this, not looking at you as he fetches the necessary liquor and soda from the sea of glass and plastic bottles in front of you.

“We’re not. I’m kinda friends with him because Jess is friends with him.”

“Okay,” he acknowledges, though he doesn’t seem entirely pleased with… you don’t even know what. “I don’t like him. He’s loud.”

“That’s not a reason. Aren’t you friends with him too?”

You watch as he mixes your drinks, a sight you’re familiar with whenever you attend house parties together. He’s always your designated bartender.

One for you, one for him.

One part rum, two and a half parts coke.

“It is a reason. And ‘friends’ is a stretch,” he says, handing you your cup before he tends to his own. His has less liquor in it, because you both know you like yours stronger. “We’re acquaintances at best.”

“You’re loud too.”

“My brand of loud is different.”

“Is it?”

He gives you a look. An offended cat, if you’ve ever seen one.

“Well, Yeonjun’s not bad,” you tell him. You take a sip of the drink, then give him a subsequent thumbs-up. “He can be a bit much for some people, but I don’t really mind it.”

When he’s done, you both try to navigate the battlefield that is Yeonjun’s extremely cramped abode. You try to stay as close to him as possible, meaning away from the loud boys that are either trying to get shitfaced as quickly as possible, or trying to suck faces with any girl they could find as quickly as possible.

“Still. You don’t think the flirting was a bit much?”

Minho pulls you to him by your elbow when some guy - probably a little more than tipsy, judging by the unsteadiness of the legs that carry him - tries to bulldoze his way through the crowd behind you.

“He’s always like that. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless.”

“If he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You blink at him in surprise, feeling like the question came out of nowhere. “What kind of question is that?”

“It’s just a question,” he says, then repeats himself. “So, if he asks you out, would you say yes?”

You let him guide you to a spot that’s more breathable, where people aren’t practically on top of each other trying to weave their way through. You think about it for a second, then realize that there isn’t much to think about. “No,” you say decisively.

Because it doesn’t make sense to envision you and Yeonjun together. You practically sit on two opposing ends of the same spectrum. People often say that opposites attract, but this isn’t one of those cases.

And… because you simply feel strange thinking about yourself and someone else. Like it's something you shouldn't do.

Minho gives you a hum in acknowledgment of your answer, which you barely catch over the loudness of the party. You do catch the hint of a smile that tugs at the corner of his lip though, before he cranes his neck to scan the room for any trace of your gang of thieves.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you run the words over in your head before you decide to utter them out loud. Like you told him just now, harmless, right? “I’d say you’re jealous of Yeonjun.”

He turns, stares at you for a moment with unreadable eyes.

“And what if I am?”

There’s something incredulous in the way you look at him. You think he would just wave you off or roll his eyes and move onto a new topic, not expecting him to fire back with a question you can’t really answer.

Or maybe he’s just playing along. You can’t tell.

“Am I that good in bed?” you chuckle, hoping he doesn’t notice the inkling of nervousness in your voice. “Did I do a number on you?”

He raises both eyebrows, pursing his lips as if in thought. Then, he answers, “Something like that.”

There’s a part of you that wants to dig deeper, to get him to say what he really means because there’s something in his eyes and there’s something in the way that his hand has moved to its designated place on the small of your back that makes your stomach roll with anticipation.

Again, you don’t like that he keeps getting harder for you to read.

You try to think of words to say, of questions to ask, though you know this party isn’t the best place to voice them. “What d-”

“There you are!” Hyunjin pops up from behind Minho, practically jumping onto his back like a jumpscare ghost in a horror game, startling the both of you and almost making the grumpy cat spill his drink. Minho groans as he tries to shove his friend off, before sending Hyunjin a glare that makes the man bow his head in apology. He promptly drags you to where your friends are gathered on a big couch near the back of the room - Chan and his girlfriend Jess, Seungmin, Changbin, along with a distinct absence of a few more faces.

“Where are the others?” you ask, plopping down next to Changbin, followed suit by Minho.

“Jisung is stuck finishing a project,” Chan informs you. “And Jeongin is taking his girl to that new drive-in movie place.”

“They’re still in their honeymoon phase?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah yes, young love. Good for them.”

You catch up with everyone about your week, about their week; gossip about how much Yeonjun might’ve spent on this party and where his family’s downright insane wealth actually comes from, about Seungmin’s on-and-off situationship (which might be more interesting than all of the above).

Minho remains seated next to you the entire time you’re all drinking and laughing with each other. He keeps subtly touching you one way or another - a hand on your back because no one’s really noticing, a shoulder brushing yours, a thigh touching yours, a knee nudging your own every now and then.

It’s not until you finish your drink that Minho asks if you want another one, then stands up to head to the kitchen when you say Yes, please.

The second he’s out of earshot, Hyunjin jumps into action, motioning for everyone to huddle together, like he’s about to share classified information.

“Minho is seeing someone,” he says immediately.

“What?” Changbin asks. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your body immediately stiffens at the conversation’s sudden turn. You try to look as nonchalant and quiet as possible, as if this is just a talk about the weather, missing the way a pair of eyes flits to you outside of your peripheral vision.

Hyunjin purses his lips, before clarifying, “I went through his phone last week.”

“You went through his phone?” Chan frowns, shaking his head disapprovingly. “That’s not cool, dude.”

“He was in the bathroom and his phone was just sitting there unlocked. Then he got a text and I had to!” Hyunjin holds up his hands defensively. “Anyway, I don’t know if they’re dating or if they’re just fooling around, but there is someone! He’s simping hard.”

“How do you know that?” Seungmin chimes in. “Do you even know who it is?”

“I don’t know who it is. That’s what I need you guys to help me find out. There wasn’t a name name. He just calls her his-”

“What on earth are you guys doing?” Minho’s voice makes everyone disperse, leaning back into their respective seats like they were caught doing something they shouldn’t. He sits down beside you again, handing you your cup back. You give him an appreciative but awkward smile. “What is Hyunjin blabbing about this time?”

“Nothing!” Hyunjin practically squeaks. The poor guy can’t spin a little white lie to save his life. Then he has the audacity to look offended as he gapes, “Also, why did you automatically assume it was me?”

“Because it’s always you at the scene of the crime.”

“It happened one time! No, twice. It was only those two ti-!”

Seungmin cuts in flatly. “He said you’re whipped for a girl you’re seeing.”

Everyone stops to stare at Minho. Even you turn your head to look at him, trying to gauge how he’ll respond to this. It makes you a little guilty, seeing that you’re part of the secret too, and yet he has to shoulder the lies by himself.

Well, technically, there hasn’t been any lying involved up until now. Just a simple withholding of the truth.

His face hardens for a brief moment, and you think he lets it show on purpose - his way of telling Hyunjin that he’s annoyed - because Minho can put on a flawless poker face when he wants to. There’s a couple of seconds where he clenches his jaw before he relaxes, the sharpness of his features softening as he shrugs off the accusation. “I am most certainly not whipped for anyone,” he says. “It’s just a casual thing.”

“If it’s just casual, why were you being so secretive about it, huh?” Hyunjin prods.

“I wasn’t being secretive. I just didn’t think it was anybody’s business,” Minho answers coolly.

“We’re your best friends! I tell you guys everything.”

“You sure do. Even things I’d rather not hear about.”

Jess and Changbin burst into light laughter, and you chuckle along with them but you don’t really find it that funny. You’re just trying to blend into the background, be a fly on the wall and observe how things unfold. Minho has assured you that there’s nothing for you to worry about, that there’s no way they could find out about the secret, but still.

Hyunjin groans exasperatedly. The nosiest drama queen you know. “Seriously, who’s the girl? I’m dying of curiosity here!”

“Drop it.” Minho glares at him.

“Just give me a hint! Is it someone we know?”

“You haven’t eaten tissues in a while, have you?”

“Try me. I’m not scared of you anymore.”

“Hyunjin, I swear to-”

“Okay!” Chan claps his hands together suddenly. “Let’s just all agree that we are all entitled to our privacy and people can share whatever they want with whoever they want when they’re comfortable, yeah?”

Everyone nods in agreement, except for Hyunjin who narrows his eyes petulantly at Minho as if to say This isn’t over. No one wants to poke a disgruntled tiger, let alone about something he seems so disinterested in sharing. Minho has always been a notoriously private person, even with the rest of the group.

Changbin shuffles a new topic into the mix to move things along, which you aren’t very keen on contributing to at the moment. When no one seems to be looking, Minho places a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly as if he can sense the unease that you’re feeling. It makes you glance at him, though neither of you says anything. You just look at each other for a moment, then turn back to the group when someone calls your name.

Two hours and three rum and coke’s later, you were coming down from a good high when someone suggested ditching Yeonjun’s party to go to a club.

Normally, you would say no. You could only do one social event at a time, needing to recharge your metaphorical battery before you let yourself be dragged into the next one.

But you decided to make an exception for tonight.

Though, you promptly realized that it was probably a mistake.

You prefer the loudness of Yeonjun’s party than here. It’s loud and crowded, since it’s a Saturday night, and since it’s a club. The air is sticky and stuffy. The lights are perpetually blinding and headache-inducing. You’re not even on the dancefloor; you’re just hovering near the entrance and the bar, and there’s still barely any room to move. People keep trying to shove you out of their way, even with Minho attempting to act as your human shield.

You let your displeasure be known through a deep frown.

Minho catches onto your chagrin almost immediately. “What’s wrong?” he asks, leaning close to your ear to make sure you hear him over the music.

“Too many people,” you try to raise your voice so the booming noises don’t drown you out. “Can we go somewhere over there?”

He turns around, taps on Chan’s shoulder to get his attention before gesturing vaguely to that spot near the back that you just pointed out to him, presumably to let the others know that you’ll be wandering over there.

He takes your hand and leads the way. In the back, it’s still loud but less deafening than before, and much less crowded compared to the areas surrounding the dance floor.

“Better?” he asks.

You lean against the wall though you probably shouldn’t. The ick is apparent, but at this point in the night, you yourself are already feeling pretty gross anyway.

“A little bit,” you say. “Thanks.”

“You wanna go home? We can leave if you want.”

“Without saying goodbye?”

“Did you know that people who leave parties without saying goodbye save two days a year? It’s been researched.”

You rephrase your words so Minho would understand better. “Without Hyunjin’s permission?”

“Hyunjin has been pissing me off plenty all week. I can play my card for you.”

“What card?”

“The ‘I don’t give a fuck’ card.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “And how does that usually work out for you?”

“I don’t care how it works out because Hyunjin is not gonna do anything to me.” He shrugs. “Besides, I can always just throw him in the airfryer when he gets too annoying.”

This makes you laugh, recalling the exact moment Minho brought up the legendary instructions on how to cook Hyunjin.

“How violent,” you comment with a snort.

“He deserves it.”

“You know you still have a soft spot for him,” you say.

“I have a soft spot for you,” he replies.

“Now look who’s trying to get laid.”

He grins. “Could you blame me?”

Some drunk girls stumble into your space on their way to the bathroom, bumping into you, pushing you into Minho’s body where he instinctively puts a hand on your back to keep you steady. You glance up at him after the girls have safely arrived at the bathroom, only to find him already staring down at you. His back is turned toward where the lights are coming from and the angle shrouds his face in darkness, but you can still make out the stars twinkling in his eyes.

The sudden lack of space between your bodies makes your breath hitch.

“Are you still drunk?” he asks.

“No. Not really.” You don’t like the way your voice comes out small, vulnerable.

“I…” he starts, hesitating for a moment before he continues. His eyes flicker to your lips, and the breath that was previously caught in your throat further thickens. “Fuck, I really want to kiss you right now.”

For some reason, your heart leaps to your throat. It’s probably because of the remnants of alcohol refusing to leave your system, because how else would you explain the way your pulse quickens just from hearing those words coming from him?

He bites his lip, similar to how Yeonjun did it just a few hours ago, but seeing Minho do it is at least a hundred times more enticing.

You want him to kiss you too. You really do.

“What if the others see?” you protest meekly, but you’re already staring at his mouth, finding yourself gravitating toward him like he’s got you hypnotized.

“We’re all the way back here,” he tells you. “They won’t see anything.”

He leans closer until his lips are brushing yours. With a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your head, he meets your mouth in a soft kiss, which is a stark contrast to the upbeat and booming music blasting all around you. Some guy drunkenly gives you two a sleazy whistle, the sound coming from somewhere on your right, but neither of you pays it any attention.

Your hands come to clutch at the collar of his shirt like a lifeline. He’s never kissed you outside of the comfort of your bedroom before, let alone amidst a sea of people like this. It feels strange to be intimate with him in public, but at the same time, it excites you. There’s still a sense of anonymity because you’re camouflaged by the lights, masked by the darkness, hiding in plain sight.

The kiss gets more heated. He guides you a step back until you’re all pressed up against the wall, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging on it the way he likes that makes him groan against your mouth. He sucks on your bottom lip before shoving his tongue into your mouth, the wet muscle dancing with yours, making your knees buckle. It’s dizzying. It makes your head spin, and you don’t know if it’s because there’s still enough residual alcohol in your system to knock your world off its axis, or if it’s just him.

The hand previously on your hips sneaks underneath your shirt to rub at your bare skin. He gropes your breasts over the bralette you chose to wear tonight, squeezing the soft flesh in his palm, all the while slotting one of his legs between yours to help you grind on him. Your clothed cunt rolls over the denim of his jeans, and even though the friction is coarse and your movements are limited in this crowded space, the pleasure still sets your entire body alight. Minho spreads all over you like wildfire, and Minho consumes you like a hurricane.

You moan into his mouth when he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, over the flimsy material of your undergarment. “Min,” you whimper desperately. You don’t know if he can hear you over the obnoxiously loud sounds coming from the speakers littered all over the place, but he groans against your mouth regardless. Almost like the nickname is driving him crazy.

He pulls back just slightly, to let the both of you catch your breath. “Should we go back to yours?” he asks, eyes still focused on your mouth.

You nod eagerly. You know you must be wet as hell right now, and if you have to wait any longer, you will probably explode from frustration. You might just drag him into that disgusting bathroom over there and let him have his way with you, but you will definitely regret it afterward because it’s a bathroom in a nightclub. It’s beyond revolting.

He helps you smooth out your hair, gentle and tender. In turn, you wipe your lipstick smudges on his face. Instead of taking you by the hand like he did earlier, he wraps an arm around your shoulder and navigates the two of you through the crowd, shielding you from anyone who might bump into you. You lean into the touch; it’s just comforting.

As you make your way back to the group - or what’s left of the group at the moment - his hand drops to his side again. There’s an inkling of disappointment that blossoms in you, but it dissipates quickly when Hyunjin spots you and lights up. Him and Seungmin are at the bar, seemingly trying to get the bartender’s attention. Changbin is next to them, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the girl he’s chatting with. You try to scan the crowd for Chan and Jess, and find them a couple minutes later, standing in a corner, pressed up against each other just like you and Minho moments ago.

“Where did you run off to?” Hyunjin asks. Clearly Chan was too preoccupied with his girlfriend to relay the information.

“It’s too loud in here, I was getting a headache,” you say, only half a lie. You know your face must still be flushed from your impromptu makeout session, but you hope your friend can’t see the rosy shade painting your skin under all the flashing lights. “Min and I just went back there to see if it was quieter.”

“Okay.” He seems to believe you. “We’re trying to get drinks! You want anything?”

“I think I’m gonna just go home. You guys stay and have fun though.”

Hyunjin looks at you like he’s so flabbergasted. “It’s not even 3AM yet!”

“Headache,” you say, pointing to your temple with an exaggeratedly pained expression on your face. “I’ll stay out all night with you next time.”

“But-!” The second he opens his mouth to protest, Minho cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for anyone to argue despite the gigantic pout on Hyunjin’s face.

“I’m gonna take her home and call it a night too,” he simply says.

Hyunjin groans, but he relents in the end, muttering to you something that sounds like “You owe me one,” when you go to hug him goodbye. Before you and Minho can reach the door, you hear your man child of a friend call after you two in his pterodactyl voice, “Don’t make Minho’s girl jealous!”

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

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tieronecrush · 9 months

Text

꒰ა ONLY ANGEL ໒꒱

javier peña x f!reader

chapter two: lips of an angel

series masterlist

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: After his return to the US, Javier is trying to settle back into a normal life without the pressures of Colombia and the DEA, but he finds himself feeling isolated with no one to spend his nights with. Now a newly appointed criminology professor at Texas A&M, he is drawn to you, a post-grad student in one of his classes. You’re intelligent and witty, sweet and kind, and he can’t get you out of his mind. To cope with his growing loneliness and to rid himself of thoughts of you, he signs up for an “arrangement service” to connect him with somebody—a sugar baby—he can care for. After he is matched up with Angel, he finds himself developing feelings quicker than he ever expected, but what happens when he finds out Angel is really you?

series warnings: power imbalance (prof and student), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, discussion of money, criminal activity, judicial systems, graduate school, smut, daddy/papí kink, praise kink, degradation, self deprecation, discussion of self worth, multiple sexual or romantic partners, sex work, cursing, use of spanish, likely more warning so read at your own risk!

word count: 5.1k

a/n: thank you @northernbluess for beta-ing this series for me <333 love you bestie, the only one i'd wanna be a sister wife with

To: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Nice To Meet You?

Hey,

I got an email that we were matched for Sweet Temptations. I figured I would reach out and introduce myself, maybe get to know you a bit if you are alright with that.

Feel free to call me Javi. I am honestly not sure what else I’m meant to do in an introduction like this. I promise I am normally much smoother than this, or at least more human and less awkward.

It’s nice to meet you, and to be matched up with you, Angel. If that’s what I should call you?

From: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Re: Nice To Meet You?

Hi Javi!

It’s nice to meet you too, and hopefully, we get to meet in person. These first emails are always awkward no matter how many I’ve sent or received, so please be assured that, honestly, that was one of the better ones I’ve gotten. :)

I normally like to ask what you’re looking for out of this “arrangement” (I hate calling it that, it sounds so impersonal) and maybe you can tell me some fun facts about you if you want to share!

I can go first for the fun facts:

Green is my favorite color

I unironically love the song MMMBop by Hansen (which is unexpected if you saw the rest of my tape and CD collection)

My current favorite movie is Romeo + Juliet that came out a couple of years ago cause Paul Rudd <3

That’s about all that I can think of as I sit in bed and type this so hopefully that is sufficient enough!

TTYL Javi,

Angel

To: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Re: Re: Nice To Meet You?

Hey Angel

Paul Rudd is pretty likable, I’ll give you that. Is he your type? Cause I hate to break it to you sweetheart but I don’t really look like him. Both have dark hair but that’s about where the similarities stop. And Romeo + Juliet huh? Must be a bit of a romantic.

And MMMBop…it is catchy. I have to stop myself humming it at work these days.

As for what I’m looking for, I guess I just want someone to spend some time with. Whatever comes of it, comes of it, but I don’t want to really have any expectations. Just wanna get to know you, Angel.

Took me a while to think of some fun facts:

I grew up on a cattle ranch right on the border of Mexico in Southern Texas

When I was little (like 9/10 years old) my primos dared me to enter a rodeo for Mutton Busting (chasing a sheep around to try to catch it)

A CD of Selena stays in my car at all times, and yes, I know all the words

Hope those were fun enough for you, Angel.

And I hope you have a good day today.

The emails continued for about a week and a half, Javier slowly became more comfortable with the virtual communications. Angel was bubbly, and sweet, always asking him questions and always interested in hearing about his day or what his favorite book was. It was either his loneliness or a newfound desperation that had his heart skipping when the sound of new mail pinged from his desktop.

It felt a bit strange to have such normal exchanges with Angel and be reminded of the circumstances with his bank statement for the charges that the service takes monthly. With how personable Angel has been even via email, he finds himself forgetting what exactly brought them together. Maybe all the mystery and excitement will wear off when the two of you meet, but something deep in his gut is telling him that isn’t going to happen.

He drags himself away from his desk, no response from Angel yet today. All he can think about is how he hopes there’s a new message when he comes back, gathering his things to head to the lecture hall for the third week of Sociology of Deviance.

In the beginning, he thought this class was going to be a chore to do. Stuck onto his schedule last minute, had new material to cover, and had an annoying Dean of Faculty checking in on him much more often because of it. However, a handful of sessions in, he’s got a bit of a skip in his step to rush over there, the familiar jump in his stomach when he thinks about you.

The pretty fall floral dresses you’ve started wearing with the change in weather, large cardigans pulled over the top. You’ve worn a few flannels over your shoulders, clearly oversized and he feels a prick of jealousy whenever he sees you in them.

Do you have a boyfriend? Are those shirts his?

What would you look like in one of his button-downs?

Christ, the thoughts won’t stop no matter how hard he tries. Another reason why he is attempting to completely throw himself into this new “arrangement”, hoping it would be a means to an end to his crush on his student.

That’s what it is. He has a fucking crush.

He hasn’t had a crush in years.

Laying everything out for the class session, he starts writing the discussion points on the board. At the sound of the door violently swinging open and a rumble of loud footsteps rushing, he looks over his shoulder to see you, belongings in your arms and clearly flustered. His jaw drops open to ask if you’re alright, making a burning flash of eye contact with you before you drop your head, embarrassed, and find your seat.

Turning back to the chalkboard, he shakes his head minutely, rolling his shoulders before continuing his writing, white powder from the chalk coating his fingers. Instead of his normal thoughts of you, he keeps fighting the urge to ask if you’re okay. In the short time he’s known you if you could even say that about your dynamic, he knows it’s very unusual for you to come in that incomposed. He wipes the residue off on his pants, facing the class.

While he teaches, his eyes continue to wander to you, oddly quiet when you would normally be engaged in the discussion. That kid Alex, obnoxious from the jump, is taking up far too much air time in this class, and Javier can’t help the annoyance on his face as he leans back against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for this kid to finish his long-winded, and incorrect answer.

You scoff audibly at a point that Alex made, piquing Javier’s attention. The two of you make eye contact again, and Javier suddenly unravels one arm from his chest, holding it up toward Alex.

“Excuse me, Alex, I respect your points but I think there might be some counters to your arguments. I want to be able to hear them before we move on,” Javier calls out your name, and his head snaps to you, nodding encouragingly, “What were your thoughts?”

“Oh, um, I was going to say that I don’t think that socioeconomic or social standing is the only explanation for the makeup of the prison system. And I think it’s pretty naive to think that it’s only rich people that get off with less severe punishments.” Javier watches your shoulders tense a bit at the obvious eye roll from Alex, the pen in between your fingers bouncing with nerves.

“Do you mind expanding on that? I’m interested in what you think is another reason,” Javier holds eye contact with you, the slightest smile on his face to reassure you to stand your ground in the argument.

“I mean, to me, It’s pretty obvious that the biggest reason is racial discrimination in the legal process. White people dominate the political landscape and the prejudices, even unconscious bias, contribute to the makeup of the incarcerated population. Judges will give favorable or less severe punishments to white defendants, and of course, class biases are a thing, especially because of the cost of criminal defense, but I think the overt, umbrella reason is racial discrimination in the legal process. It’s built into the systems of government, which is pretty depressing…”

You trail off and laugh awkwardly at the silence in the room, some classmates nodding in agreement while some are unphased, uninterested.

“That’s good. That’s exactly what I was hoping would be brought up by someone,” Javier nods to you, pointing in your direction before he rounds the desk to start writing on the board for students to take down in their notes.

In your seat, you start to copy down into your notebook, glancing up to see him look over his shoulder at you. One corner of his mouth lifts, a smile in his eyes as you try to bite back your own grin that threatens to expose how much you enjoyed his short praises.

From: TheOnlyAngel

Subject: Wanna Meet Up?

Hiiii Javi

I’ve had such a shitty day today, but honestly, I was still excited to be able to come home and talk to you. :)

Do you think you’d be interested in meeting in person this weekend? I’m free Saturday night if you are. LMK!

Hope your day was better than mine!

xoxo,

Angel

Plans were made to meet Saturday night around eight o’clock. Javier had chosen a bar he’d become familiar with on those nights when he couldn’t sleep, when the memories of Colombia were too much when he couldn’t stop thinking about those damn boats that were in his backyard.

The place is small, intimate, and quiet enough to hold a conversation — which he knew from the one or two times he’d picked up someone and brought them back to his apartment. There was always some sort of live music, usually some jazz or folksy blues, that could fill any first-date awkward silences.

In his last email to her, Javier told Angel that he’d be in the back of the bar, at a table for two, wearing jeans and a red short-sleeve button-up shirt. He makes sure to arrive first, getting there a bit overly early at 7:30 to snag a table and order himself a drink to calm his nerves. Pounding the glass back on the bar top, he orders another whiskey neat to nurse until she arrives.

This is a different feeling than he’s had before a date. Nerves aren’t normally his thing when it comes to women, but something about this night feels higher stakes than before.

Get it together, Javi. It’s a date, if it goes horribly, you don’t have to do it again. Plus, she doesn’t even need to be interested in you, this is her job.

When you arrive at the tiny, hole-in-the-wall bar, you nod thanks to the man holding the door for you, rolling your eyes when you get a comment from him that you didn’t ask for.

“Nice tits, sweetheart.” He slurs and sends you a wink that is definitely more of a blink. You slip past him without issue, scanning the small area for the man with dark hair and a red shirt on. At this point, with how many times you’ve done this, you’re normally not nervous to meet these men in person. It’s something you’re obligated to do, like showing up for any other job, and that’s how you treat it.

But this time around, something’s different. Talking with Javier has actually been….nice? He’s responsive and wants to get to know you, never taking more than a day to get back to you. He’s asked you more questions about yourself than anyone else has before and he always, always wants to hear about your day. If you weren’t careful, you could see yourself getting attached.

Well, getting attached if he’s anything like you’ve imagined him. Or who you’ve imagined him to be.

The only red shirt you can spot is on a man sitting at a table toward the back, facing away from the door and toward the stage in the corner where a jazz trio is playing a low, crooning song. Biting back a smile, you start to make your way over to him, admiring him from behind.

It’s broad shoulders and a strong neck, muscles flexing as he adjusts in his seat. His dark, chocolatey hair is combed nicely, so much so that you can’t help but have the thought of running your fingers through it and messing it up.

Dressed in a black dress with blotted red lips, you weave in between people, ignoring anyone else as you keep your eyes on the man you’re here to meet. Javi stays facing forward, watching the band play even as you stand behind him, cheated to his side a bit. Holding your breath, you lean closer and tap him on his shoulder.

“Um, excuse me, Javi?”

At the sound of his name, Javier turns over his shoulder to his right, a smile on his face already from the honeyed kindness in her voice. She did really sound like an angel for a second there before he realized where the sound was coming from.

“Yeah, I’m Ja—“ The sound stops in his throat when he is facing you. Your supple lips with the dainty Cupid’s bow, rouged cheeks, and gentle smile; normally in a nice dress or cardigan in class, but here you’re wearing much less material, more of your skin on display.

What would it be like to kiss it?

No. That is not ever going to happen.

Those doe eyes hold an innate tenderness that he couldn’t imagine ever being privy to, but here he was, under the stare of those and it was making him sweat. He can only imagine what he looks like to you at the moment, eyes wide and mouth blubbering to speak like a fish gasping for air.

You recognized him at the same time, biting the inside of your cheek to hold back the word vomit threatening to come out. If it did, you know you would end up spilling how honestly excited you are that the man you’ve been emailing with has turned out to be Professor Peña. You’ve harbored a bit of a crush on him for the last few weeks, ever since that smile he gave you when you introduced yourself after the first session. It had been burning moments of eye contact, and those gentle encouragements from him.

Hell, after class this week when he praised your counterarguments, you thought about his voice saying “That’s good” over and over while you laid in your bed that night, coming with the image of him over you in record time.

The first word out of his mouth is your name, tone flicked up at the end in a question. He grumbles to himself as he moves to stand up, forgetting his drink on the table.

“Fuck, this is bad…” He whispers under his breath, shaking his head at himself as he runs his hands on the sides of his jeans. “I’m so sorry.”

He steps back to further the distance between you two, awkwardly avoiding your eyes as he attempts to recover his professionalism.

“It’s alr—“

“I had no idea it was you. This is completely inappropriate, I apologize. I should leave, uh, and I completely understand if you need to change out of my class. I know it’s past the cut-off date, but I would help if you needed—”

“Javi — can I call you that?” He considers it for a moment before nodding, rigidity evident in his body, “Javi, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologize, neither of us knew before this moment…But I do have to say, I wouldn’t tell.”

“Uh, I’m sorry — what?”

“I wouldn’t say anything. If you wanted to sit down and have a drink, or a few, and get to know each other like we planned to, I wouldn’t say a word. Even if you weren’t interested after this, I promise, the secret’s safe with me.”

Javier can’t deny how much he was looking forward to meeting the woman he was emailing with. And he can’t deny that he’s had his eyes on you since that first meeting. Hell, he can barely control his thoughts around you.

Of course, it had to be you. The two people he can’t get out of his head have turned out to be only one person, and of course, it’s you.

“If it informs your decision, I would love to get to know you more, Javi.”

He stutters through his thoughts out loud before resigning with a sigh, taking a breath as he forms his response, “Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Definitely. Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. Now, may I join you?” You gesture to the empty chair and Javi nods quickly.

“Yeah, of course. Here, let me get that.” He visibly relaxes a bit, falling into a routine he knows well. Rounding the small table, he pulls your chair out for you before settling in the seat opposite. Shortly after, a server comes around and takes your drink orders, Javier looking to you to go first. After the order is placed, the server leaves the two of you in silence at the table.

Another beat passes before Javier speaks, saying what you both are thinking, “Sorry, I just, cannot believe it happened to be you.”

“Why’s that?” You ask with a lilt of humor in your voice, sitting up in the chair to move toward him, “Don’t think I would be into all this?”

“Yeah, I guess so, but—Actually I should not say what I was about to say,” he chuckles and shakes his head.

“Oh, c’mon, what were you gonna say?”

“Nope, definitely not going to tell you, sweetheart,” he smirks at you and then adjusts in his seat awkwardly, “Oh, ‘m sorry, I shouldn’t have sa—“

“Javi. It’s fine, just relax. You’re not making me uncomfortable at all if that’s what you’re worried about,” you give him a sincere smile, reaching across to hold his arm that’s lying on the table, “It’s actually kind of nice to have those nicknames coming from you and not some other creepy men who contact me.”

“Why’s that?” He echoes your question from moments before, eyebrows raising in curiosity and the same smirk growing on his face, glancing down at your hand on him.

“I shouldn’t say what I was about to say,” you attempt to imitate his voice, laughing at the end when he gives you a look that says ‘Really?’.

“I don’t sound like that, cariño. But that’s a good try. Now what is it that makes me nicer than the other men you’ve seen?”

‘That’s a good try.’ This man.

“And how do you know that? I could be nailing what you sound like to other people. You hear your voice differently.” You poke his arm pointedly, moving your hand toward your lap again. Before it leaves the table, Javier stretches his arm across, catching your fingers with his. He holds them loosely in his, running his thumb across your knuckles as he keeps eye contact with you.

“I’ve heard my voice enough in press conferences that were televised, angel. I don’t sound like that,” he uses his free hand to take a sip of his whiskey, “And don’t try to change the subject. I wanna know what you are gonna say.”

“I could say the same thing to you. We both have our secrets tonight,” you take a sip of your drink and shrug, “You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Nice negotiating, cariño, but I think I’d have to have a few more of these if I was going to share mine.” He raises his glass a couple of inches off the table, the amber liquid sloshing around before he sets it down again.

You’d say anything to get him to keep giving you praise like that all the time.

Grabbing your own glass, you lift it to him and smile, “Well, only one of these and I’ll be spilling all my dirty secrets.”

Javier’s jaw notches to the side as you say that, biting his cheek before he takes his hand from yours and runs his thumb across his bottom lip to the corner.

Inside his chest, he feels his heart beating faster and feels his blood rushing south, that same damn smile of yours that you give him from rows away in class doing the same damn thing it does to him there.

Half of him is wondering how he can make you smile like that all the time.

The other half wants to wipe that smile off of your face and have you whimpering.

What would you look like under him?

Jesus Christ, he’s way far gone.

Javier’s had three more whiskeys on top of his previous three. You’ve had about four drinks yourself.

The evening has devolved into something much more casual, breezy; conversation has flowed between you two, finding things in common and swapping stories that have the other laughing. From the serious professor in class, this more easy-going Javi is refreshing to see and definitely makes your crush a lot worse, somersaulting stomach and warm, syrupy flood across your whole body.

The subject has returned to the evening’s secrets, you asking him again to share what he was going to say.

“Please, Javi, it can’t be any more embarrassing than what mine is. I’ll tell you what I was gonna say if you promise to tell me.” You extend your arm, fingers closed into a fist beside your pinky.

He looks at your hand, debating internally before deciding ‘fuck it’ and links his little finger with yours.

“I promise, cariño,” he smiles and nods for you to share, “What are you dying to tell me so that you can hear what I was gonna say?”

“The affection from you is nice cause, I don’t know, you feel…safe. When I first started, I was getting some weird men that wanted to meet, and—This has just been fun,” you resign with a soft smile, “Plus it helps that you’re hot. Got the whole smoldering cop with the porn stache thing.”

“Smoldering cop with the porn stache? I didn’t realize that was a thing,” he laughs, the crinkles next to his eyes deepening before he takes your hand lying on the table, “I’m glad this has been fun for you. After all that shock and awkwardness at the beginning, I think it’s been really nice to get to know you, angel.”

“Alright, I shared my little secret, you share yours now.”

Javier sighs, his thumb rubbing back and forth across your skin. He takes a moment to speak before he meets your eyes, a resistant smirk on his face, “You are really gonna make me say this?”

“You pinky promised! I didn’t make you do that, there’s no coercion here, Javier.”

“Fine, fine. You’re too quick, cariño,” he squeezes your fingers with his, “I was gonna say before that I couldn’t believe it happened to be you ‘cause—It’s stupid, really, but I’ve had a bit of a crush on you since that first class, querida.”

“A crush? The sexy Professor Peña has a crush on me?”

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. Can’t keep ‘em off of you, cariño. Too beautiful. And you’re fucking on it all the time, so goddamn smart. I really am convinced you should be teaching for me,” he glances down sheepishly, feeling exposed from his tipsy confession.

The surface of your cheeks heats up, feeling a tingle down your spine when his eyes meet yours again. Leaning forward across the table, you bite your bottom lip as you drink him all in.

“D’you think I’ll ever be able to properly pay attention in class again after that?”

“You better, sweetheart. Just cause I’ve got a crush on you doesn’t mean you’ll get a good grade. Not gonna go easy on you. Fair’s fair.”

“Mm, I don’t mind it hard. I prefer it that way, actually. Makes it much more satisfying when you finish.” Your tongue wets your lips before you take your bottom one between your teeth, watching as Javier’s eyes darken at your double entendre.

He shakes his head, giving you a knowing look about your mischievous word choice, “Better be ready for a challenge then, angel.”

“Always, Peña.”

It’s late now, verging on turning into Sunday; the hours flew by with each other. Javier noticed the time on his watch, the crowd in the bar was sparse in spots that were full when he got there. When he looks at you, your eyelids look heavy, and those normally wide and bright eyes, eager and excited, look drowsy and content, so close to slipping closed and turning your mind off for the night.

“You ready to head out, angel? We’ll go find you a cab.” He asks with a subtle smile on his face, scooting out of his chair and standing, offering a hand to you.

“Yeah, m’ready.” You rise after taking his hand, hiking your small rectangular bag over your shoulder and stepping closer to him as he switches which hand is holding yours. Right in right, he grips yours from the outside of your palm, fingers lacing together as he presses his left into the small of your back, weaving between the patrons and out the front door.

The air is crisp when the door breaks open, cool air surrounding your warm, alcohol-blanketed bodies. Javier's touch still surrounds you, your right shoulder pressing into his chest when you turn to say something to him.

He takes a step back, allowing you the space to rotate fully in his arms, meeting his eyes and feeling a grin toy at your lips.

“Tonight was nice.”

“It was. Think I should be saying thanks to you. M’glad you had me stay.”

“Yeah? Well, m’happy to hear that cause I was gonna say, if you wanted to keep this up — meeting up, the arrangement all of that — if you wanted to keep it up for the semester, I would happily keep the secret. Y’know, you help me, I help you kind of thing. We just have fun.”

Javier considers the offer, ticking his jaw as he debates internally. On one hand, it’s a massive risk. The two of you could be seen out with each other, or if anyone noticed anything different in class, it could jeopardize his job, and possibly your degree. But on the other hand, if every night with you is like this one, he’s hard-pressed to say no. You’re funny and intelligent and beautiful — sure, there’s the element of how you two met and what happens behind the scenes, money taken out of his account monthly and forwarded to you through the service — but with the way you’ve had his heart pumping from your sweetness and his cock half hard at how turned on you have him constantly, he really can’t find a fuck to give about the risk.

“Alright. If you are in for it, I definitely am, angel,” he grins at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips when his eyes flit to yours, the faint red lipstick of yours still holding strong.

“Good, Javi. That’s good,” your voice is a purr, a smug smirk playing at your lips when he leans in closer, walking you back towards the brick facade of the bar. His knees nearly give out when he hears those small praises, already waiting for the next time you speak them to him.

“Can I…?” he trails off, the tip of his nose only an inch from yours.

“You can kiss me, Javi.”

Without wasting another second, he catches his lips with yours, gentle at first with soft, delicate kisses exchanged. His tongue slides along your bottom lip, a breathy whimper parting your mouth enough for him to lick into it, melting his tongue with yours. One of his hands moves to hold your jaw, the other stagnant at your hip. A step closer brings him flush against you, quiet moans muffled into each other’s mouths.

The roughness of the brick is harsh against your bare skin on display, the contrasting sensations pooling arousal in between your legs. Javier tastes like tobacco, whiskey, and mint gum; an interesting combination but an intoxicating one. His hand at your hip moves around to your ass, pulling you off the wall slightly and against him, his growing bulge felt against your torso.

Before the two of you can get completely lost in each other, you pull away, hands on his chest. A taxi pulls up at that moment, honking its horn in question if you need a ride. You wave to him and ask for one minute with your fingers, turning back to Javi standing in front of you a bit breathless.

“I should go. Got some reading to do for this class on Monday that I’ve got.”

“Oh, yeah? Hope your professor hasn’t been killing you with the readings,” he smirks back at you.

“Nah, he hasn’t been killing me but seems like he does really wanna give it to me. Must have some high expectations,” your voice is coated with a lilt of teasing, winking at him as you slip from his arms.

He follows close behind to walk you to the cab, a hand finding your back and dropping down to graze his fingers across your ass.

“Think you’ll have no trouble exceeding those expectations, angel. Plus you could always ask for one-on-one tutoring or some extra credit.” It’s his turn to wink, opening the rear door for you and helping you in.

“Glad I have your confidence, Javi. Here, gimme your phone I’ll give you my number.” You reach out and he fumbles it from his pocket, passing it off to you. The information is quickly entered and saved, handing his device back to him and looking up at him from the seat of the cab.

“I’ll be waiting for a call, Javi. And I’ll see you Monday, Professor Peña.” You give him one last look, giggling as you shut the door and he hits the top of the taxi before you drive away, standing there with an idiotic smile on his face.

Javier grew up religious, his mamá dragging him to church every Sunday. He’s only been back to church at the major holidays he’s been home, leaving behind any spiritual side of him. All the concepts of eternal souls and heaven and hell meant nothing to him.

However, tonight, he felt an inkling to believe that heaven was real, and he had met an angel.

His angel.

tagging those from last time: @northernbluess @swiftispunk @joelsversion @mrsquill @yazsos @cartoon-garbage04 @sugadolly @ilovepedro @lovers-liability @deathwife @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @undrthelights @atticrissfinch @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @casa-boiardi @wannab-urs @fishingforpike @msjarvis @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sugadolly @tbniarq @vee-bees-blog @spidermanfrog @belliezz @joelsflannel

IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST, PLEASE FILL THIS FORM OUT! thank you!

#javier #writing #only angel #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña fanfic #javier peña x afab!reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic

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tgmsunmontue · 3 months

Text

It's all academic darlin' PART 8/10

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

Part 7 and 8 are Explicit. And nothing else makes sense without the first six parts but you do you!

Chapter 8 is 8k, each previous chapter was about 2k on average. Yeah. I'm not going to apologise however if you're expecting a short chapter you might want to get a drink and snack first?

PART EIGHT

Jake snorts, god, he’s fallen for a giant dork. A hot dork. But still a dork. Who is changing into a different shirt which still, somehow, has fucking roosters on it. How many shirts with roosters on them did he own? How many shirts with roosters on them did one man need to own?

“You get your sense of humor from Mav don’t you?”

“Maybe. He’s probably going to want you to come to dinner you know?”

“Sunday? Family dinner?” Jake asks, because that was one of the emails he’d received just this afternoon. Bradley looks at him, eyebrow quirked and Jakes wants to kiss him again, has no reason not to so he just does, leans forward and gives him a quick kiss. He means for it to be quick anyway, Bradley kisses him back though, chases his mouth when he pulls back slightly and he savors it, the whole experience so novel after months of nothing.

“What, did he already invite you?”

“Yeah. He sent me an email about two hours ago. Didn’t reply yet.”

“Waiting for a better offer?”

He hadn’t been, had wanted confirmation first that Bradley was who Jake thought he was. And now… well. Yeah, he’ll do dinner with Mav any night of the week. But…

“Well, you did say you wanted to fuck with him…”

“Oh my god this is perfect. Let him know you can make it. Then tomorrow I’m going to let him know I’m bringing my boyfriend –”

“Boyfriend huh?” Jake asks, and he knows he’s grinning, cocky, but he feels like his blood has suddenly turned to ice.

“Yeah… boyfriend. That okay? I mean, I don’t want to assume anything, but I haven’t exactly been emailing anyone else on an almost daily basis.”

Jake sucks in a breath, reminds himself he has nothing to lose right now and maybe a lot to gain.

“I... don't know what to do here,” Jake admits and Bradley glances at him, frowns briefly before smirking at him.

“Pretty sure you've done this before.”

“Fuck you,” he shoves at Bradley’s shoulder. “No. Not sex. I’ve fucked around plenty. I – I don’t want to just fuck around though. And I’ve never… not fucked around.”

He’d mentioned it briefly in passing in an email, can see a look of comprehension cross Bradley’s face, then he’s stepping into Jake’s space again, one hand cupping Jake’s jaw and Jake swallows, throat tight with nerves.

“Well, you just got to keep on putting the effort in. Some days you'll get an A grade, and other days you'll scrape by with a bare pass...”

“I don't want to fail,” Jake says, voice barely above a whisper.

“I won't let you fail.”

Jake’s pretty sure no-one can make promises like that, even if it’s a nice sentiment. Makes him feel like he maybe won’t fail.

“Really?”

“Really. I'm a very good... educator. And I’ll have a vested interest in you passing. Group project…”

Jake huffs a laugh, shakes his head.

“Well, I guess it's good I'm a good student. And you do come very highly recommended on Rate my Professor…”

“Of course you looked me up…”

“I’m getting very good at research.”

… … …

Bradley takes them to a bathroom first where they can wash their hands, ignores Jake’s snarky comments about getting the premium tour of the mailroom, office and now the bathroom.

“Okay, seeing as you actually want this tour…”

“I’m actually interested. I haven’t studied in a while, but what you’re working on isn’t just purely theoretical to me. I can understand how it would be applied, which is pretty cool…”

“I’m glad you think so…”

He is glad, more than he thought he would be, that Jake seems genuinely interested. His first serious boyfriend had been in management, not at all interested in what Bradley was studying. His serious girlfriend had been a fellow engineer, smart as a tack, but her career had been more important than their relationship and Bradley had agreed with her, because he’d felt the same. Jake though… he can’t help but feel the little twist of hope uncurling in his gut.

He walks toward the labs, set apart from the other buildings with heavy duty walls and a lightweight roof. He points out the machines, explains what they do and greets the technicians and students still working. Reminds his students that they have to take breaks, that it’s Friday; they need to have at least one-day off, that he will be checking the security logs. Half of them roll their eyes at him. He introduces Jake as his boyfriend, gets a few surreptitious thumbs up which make him grin.

“Right, that’s the dime tour. All I can show you without firing up some of the machines myself and showing you some stuff. Which I’m happy to do, but uh, maybe another time?”

“You have somewhere to be?”

“Nope, just think I’d rather be sitting and talking with you over a drink instead of showing you where I work…”

“You love your work. I wanted to see it. You can show me more another time, a drink sounds good.”

“Did you drive?”

“Nope, hitched a ride, then caught a trolley.”

“So I have you at my mercy huh?”

“You sure do.”

The smiles they give each other are equally slow and he leans forward and captures Jake’s mouth with his own, lets his hands just come to rest naturally on Jake’s hips. Enjoys the sense of warm wet…

“You should take you own advice and go home Bradley… or are you coming climbing tonight?”

“Uh…” he pulls back from Jake to blink at Matthew, one of the technicians (and one of his climbing buddies) who is standing there smirking at him.

“That’s what I thought. Have a good weekend!”

“You too,” Bradley manages, ignoring the cackle that Matthew lets out as best he can. He turns back to Jake, wonders whether he should apologize for his friend’s behavior and realizes that Jake has probably experienced far worse friendly heckling from his own friends in the Navy.

“Okay. What do you want to do?”

“Mmm… what do we want to do. Right? A drink and some food would be good. But maybe some place quiet. And do you want to go climbing? Friday is your usual night right?”

“Uh, yeah… But, well –” He’d rather spend the time with Jake.

“You have a problem with me coming with you?”

“You want to go rock climbing?”

“I want to spend time with you and meet your friends. And it’s been a while since I went climbing.”

“Yeah. We can do that. Uh…”

“Yeah, I’ll need to borrow some clothes. Figured you be okay with that. I’m hoping you have something that I’m okay with, because to be honest, your shirt choices I’ve seen aren’t filling me with confidence.”

“I’ve got plenty of clothes. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m gonna withhold my judgement.”

“How do you feel about me cooking?”

“Well, you didn’t kill me last time…”

“I just thought… I have food waiting to be cooked at home. And drinks. And if we go there then we have more time before I would usually leave for climbing…”

“Sounds like a plan. Lead the way.”

… … …

He follows Bradley, feels a little flutter when he grabs his hand to just hold it as they walk and he’s never had that before, and to have it suddenly, grasping his hand and giving him a wide easy smile throws him back to the memory of Bradley in the cabin, his smile and laughter and he marvels that he might get to have this. As Bradley drives he sends a quick email to Mav, accepting the dinner invitation for Sunday and he wonders how Bradley’s going to break it to Mav that they’re… together.

“You didn’t mention to Mav that you’ve been emailing me almost daily?”

“Nope. None of his business.”

“Really?” Jake asks, because he’d kind of assumed Bradley would be the kind of person to tell his parents everything, but maybe he’s wrong about that. Clearly is, if Bradley thinks he can spring Jake being his boyfriend on Mav.

“Really. We talk about a lot of stuff, but I try and avoid the subject of relationships because he is overly invested. Especially since he retired and I didn’t know he’d left you with a breadcrumb trail, but I was suspicious enough to not want to bring it up…”

“Okay.”

“He’d drop it if I asked him. Seriously. But if he thought there was even a small inkling he’s like a dog with a bone, will just keep niggling at it and I’ve just found it’s easiest for me to just… not raise it. I’m just going to drop it on him on Sunday. Okay?”

“I’ll be there anyway, so I’ll just… follow your lead I guess.”

“Hmm. Yeah… fuck. Actually, just wait a second. I need to send a message.”

Jake shrugs, because it’s not like he has anywhere better to be. Bradley parks his car in the underground carpark and Jake watches other people entering the apartment building from their own cars, it’s clearly the end of the working week, all the civilians returning home after their nine to five jobs. He can’t imagine a life like that.

“Okay… message sent. Let’s go.”

They enter the elevator and Bradley holds it for a couple whom he clearly knows, making small talk about ending the week and the weather before he turns and introduces Jake.

“This is Jake, my boyfriend. Jake, this is Adam and Penny, they live down the hall from me.”

“Hey man, nice to meet you.”

“Ah, you too,” Jake manages, but then they’re at Bradley’s floor and the couple are heading in the opposite direction. “Any particular reason you’re introducing me as your boyfriend to everyone?”

“Desensitization. You can’t look surprised about me calling you my boyfriend when I introduce you to Mav.”

“And how are you going to introduce me exactly?”

“I’m still thinking about the best way… waiting for some backup.”

“Backup?”

“Mav’s… uh…” Bradley’s phone vibrates then and he grabs for it and Jake notices that the protective screen is scratched to hell and he’s pretty sure there is a crack in the case. “Oh thank fuck. Okay. Great.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

There isn’t anything more forthcoming but he can tell that Bradley’s working through something and he looks around the apartment, takes in the floor to ceiling bookshelves, covered in plants and books and a lot of fucking rooster figurines, the odd goose and plane also in place. He wants to ask, knows they must have stories behind them. Turns back to find Bradley still staring at his phone, tapping a knuckle against his chin and he looks forward to finding out if that’s a habit he has.

“You’re phone isn’t broken, lost or in pieces… an improvement from last time I saw you.”

“Yeah, all accounted for at the moment, I’ve been taking better care of it. Anyway, I need to tell you something. Because as much as I want to pull one over on Mav, I don’t want you to think that I’d do that to you.”

Jake frowns, because Bradley is nervous, worried about something and Jake has no idea what it could possibly be. Then Bradley’s opening the fridge and offering him a bottle and he glances at it quickly, accepts and twists it open but doesn’t take a drink. Instead watches as Bradley pulls food out of the refrigerator and cupboards, lays out a knife and a chopping board and Jake wonders if he should offer to help or whether Bradley is further organizing his own thoughts as he organizes his working space.

“Okay…?”

“Okay. Right. So, I have two dads.”

“Yeah, Nick Bradshaw and –”

“No. Okay. Three dads then. Just… let me get this out. I was raised by Mav, and his… boyfriend. Partner. Except they were both in the Navy, so… not many people know who he is.” Jake keeps quiet, nods his head to show he’s listening. “As in, they know exactly who he is. But not many people know he’s with Mav. Or that Mav’s with him. He’s a pretty big deal. You know him.” Jake can understand now why this would make Bradley nervous.

“So, you want to meet my other dad? Before dinner on Sunday? Because Mav will think he’s hilarious, getting one over on you by not telling you by the way, if that makes you feel better about me pulling any shit with him… I just got permission to tell you, because it’s the biggest secret I keep. And it’s not even mine.”

Jake’s now feeling nervous, his mind running through all the different Admirals, because that’s what he’s getting from this. He’s learnt from not trusting his gut with Bradley and the photos that popped up the first time he searched his name. It’s going to be an Admiral that he knows. Holy shit. Simpson maybe? Bradley’s hands are flying, cutting and dicing without even paying attention.

“Just tell me who it is…” Jake says, because waiting isn’t going to make it any easier. Bradley glances up and takes his expression in and clearly assumes that Jake is bracing for the worst.

“Tom Kazansky. Admiral Kazansky. And I didn’t want that to come as a shock to you at dinner. Because he’ll be there. Mav seems to take weird pleasure in inviting people over for dinner, to meet his partner, and then just introduces him as Tom and of course everyone recognizes him…”

“You other dad is the COMPACFLT?” Jake asks, just in case there is somehow another Admiral Kazansky he isn’t aware of.

“Yes. That, uh, going to be a problem?”

It’s the first time that Bradley has sounded even a little unsure about whatever this relationship is or might be and Jake pulls himself together. He’d admitted his own worry about this whole relationship maybe being his first ever and Bradley had reassured him. He wants to be with Bradley, not the COMPACFLT. You can’t choose your family. That type of thing. Right. Holy shit.

“Uh. Fucking hell. It’s a bit of a shock but it doesn’t change anything at all. Uh. Does he know about… us?” Jake asks, because he assumes the COMPACFLT knows who Jake is, especially with the whole mission nearly two years ago. But Bradley hadn’t told Mav…

“Well, he does now. He won’t tell Mav. You know, Mav talks about you all the time. All the Dagger squad to be honest,” Bradley says, and his face scrunches up then, like he’s thinking about something unpleasant. He’s gorgeous and Jake can’t believe he’s been calling Jake his boyfriend for the last couple of hours. He can deal with the COMPACFLT if he gets to keep that. “You’re not… freaking out?”

“Nope,” Jake says, and he’s pretty sure he isn’t lying to himself. His mind is racing, because he saved Mav’s life. He’s just learnt that he saved the COMPACFLT’s partner’s life. That’s quite a lot to take in. He’s very glad he didn’t know at the time.

“Great, because he wants to have lunch with us tomorrow. Brunch probably.”

Blink.

“Oookay…”

This is not okay.

“It’s fine, he’ll bring food here and cook. He’s the one who taught me to cook actually, not Mav.”

“Huh. Yeah. That makes more sense…” Jake says, although the idea of Admiral Kazansky cooking anything has his brain shorting out. “Wait. You keeping me here until lunch tomorrow?”

“I kind of thought I was keeping you here all weekend…” Bradley replies and there’s a promise and challenge in his eye and Jake grins, leans forward and kisses him, shoving thoughts of casually having lunch with the COMPACFLT as far to the back of his mind as possible.

He can at least try and compartmentalize.

… … …

“So, you still want to go climbing?”

“Yeah, I’m probably going to skip the hike tomorrow, spend it in bed with this hot guy I just met…”

“You met me months ago,” Jake grumbles, but there’s no heat in it and Bradley grins, kicks at his feet under the table they’re sitting at while they eat the stir-fry that Bradley had quickly made.

“Actually yeah, I did. Want to explain why you were so… proper and polite? Because Mav asked what I thought of you and I said you were very polite and he just looked like I’d shaken the foundation of his world view. What was up?”

“Uh, excuse you, I am polite.”

“No. You can be polite. Some people are naturally polite, you’re polite when you choose to be. And you were choosing to be. With me. Why?”

“Didn’t want to piss Mav off… or be rude to you.”

“What, you thought Mav would think badly of you doing something a little… impolite? Mav? The man who only managed to stay in the Navy through the grace of his innate talent and Ice making sure they wouldn’t kick him out?”

“Huh, makes a lot more sense when you say it like that. But no… I just. I was recovering from a car crash. Noticed you, but figured I better not make a pass at Mav’s son.”

He can’t help but feel a little relieved that Jake hadn’t failed to notice him, but had instead been trying to be polite. It’s all sorts of sweet. He’s pretty sure not many people get to see these softer sides, but he equally likes the intelligence and sharp sense of humor; his snark as he makes fun of Bradley.

“And now?”

“Well, it’s a little more than a pass now ain’t it?”

“Definitely,” Bradley agrees, realizing that Jake respects Mav. Thinks highly enough of him to somehow, for some reason, think that Mav wouldn’t be happy for Jake to be with Bradley. Hopefully he’s been disabused of that notion at least.

“Come on, lets go through my clothes and find you something you can climb in. You can make fun of my dress sense.”

“Where’s the challenge in that though? You make it too easy for me…”

… … …

“You really like plants huh?” Jake asks, because there had been three book cases almost completely covered in the living room, making the softening evening light feel like he’s in a forest. There’s another shelf of plants in the bedroom.

“No. Well, I do like them. But as soon as I’m in charge of them they seem to die. I either neglect them or give them too much love.”

Jake’s not sure that’s true, because he can’t see a single dead plant amongst the lot, but maybe Bradley is a perfectionist when it comes to plants. He’s heard of weirder things. Fortunately, Bradley’s clothes aren’t a lost cause, the bright button-downs the only anomaly from what actually looks like a decent sense of style. He manages to borrow shorts and t-shirt, and even though he had high hopes for meeting Bradley he’s starting to realize he could have planned a bit better. Like bringing a change of clothes. Especially as he’s apparently staying the weekend.

“You mind making a detour to base so I can grab some things after we finish climbing?”

“Before okay? We might forget after…”

“Why would we forget?”

“Might be distracted…”

Jake smiles slowly, lets his hands smooth over Bradley’s chest and yeah…

“You’ve got a point. Before it is.”

… … …

They’re a little late to meet Bradley’s friends, they’re already climbing, half of them up the walls, others belaying. Jake has to get fitted for a harness and go through a safety induction, which he follows closely while Bradley wanders off to talk to his friends. Once he’s finished he wanders over, feeling a little awkward as a couple of them watch him approach.

“Hey everyone, this is Jake…”

“The boyfriend!”

“He actually exists!”

“How much is he paying you to answer to Jake?”

“I told you guys to be nice!”

“We’re being nice to him. You’re still free game.”

Jake laughs, pulls out his license and hands it over.

“He either found someone who is actually called Jake, or he’s actually legit been mooning over you for the last couple of months.”

“Fuck off Ryan, I have not been mooning over anyone!”

“He says that, and yet he was late to a few things because he had to send an email to you. And he was late again tonight.”

“Are we hassling Hei Hei about his recent phone addiction?”

“Yeah, he hasn’t lost his phone in months. He’s never been such a conscientious email answerer before either…”

“Well, not that I need to add fuel to this particular fire, but he was wearing a different shirt this afternoon than he was this morning so… make of that what you will,” one guy says, and Jake’s pretty sure it’s the same guy from outside the labs, the one who’d interrupted them kissing.

“You’re all awful. Jake, ignore them.”

“I think I like them, bring you down a peg or two. Can’t think you’re perfect…”

“I am far from perfect.”

“Really? Sure seems like it from where I’m standing…”

“Barf! Come on, some of us are here to climb rather than gossip!”

“Speak for yourself, gossip now saves me getting Bradley drunk later and asking him all the questions I want answers to…”

Bradley is tightening his harness and Jake has an impressive view of his thighs and ass, the straps highlighting the muscle. His fingers are nimbly working the rope and Jake watches, wants those fingers on his body and he can’t think about that right now. The harness doesn’t hide anything.

“You want to go first? I’ll get to enjoy the view…”

Jake laughs but hooks himself in, reaching for the first handhold. They climb for over an hour, switching out who belays and it’s easier than he thought it would be, just hanging out. Bradley and his friends call out encouragement for particularly challenging climbs, and it makes him realize that Bradley has his own squad.

“So I have to ask, the whole rooster thing… just, why?”

“He came back from Sweden and greeted everyone with Hej hej, which would have been fine, but then Moana came out and it kind of cemented the whole rooster thing. Isn’t it also a childhood nickname?”

“Can’t we save some embarrassing stories for a time that isn’t the first date?”

“Is it seriously your first date?”

“I said it was!”

“Man, I would not have all you fuckers at my first date.”

“We’re not counting the two nights at the cabin huh?” Jake says, tossing Bradley a wink and Bradley just rolls his eyes, shakes his head in gentle exasperation but the smile he gives Jake not even seconds later is playful. Fun. It’s the back-and-forth bantering that they’d developed in their months of email communication and he realizes it’s similar to what he has with Javy. Except he doesn’t want to ever have sex with Javy. He very much wants to have sex with Bradley. And also have… more emails, more dinners, more time with friends. All of this. It’s quite the revelation to have when he’s busy stripping the climbing harness from his body.

“I’ll see you guys next week!”

“What, no hike tomorrow?”

“Nope. I’m planning on staying in bed…”

That’s followed with some whistles and catcalls, Bradley just looks smug and wraps an arm around Jake’s waist, making him laugh with a wink. Yeah. He wants this.

“Nice for some!”

“Jealous!”

He waits for Bradley to throw his own climbing gear into the back of his car, waves back at a couple of the others who are leaving at the same time.

“I like your friends.”

“Thanks for putting up with them. I wish I could say they’ll stop being dicks, but if it isn’t one thing then it’s another.”

“Maybe you’re just easy to hassle?”

“Maybe…” Bradley concedes and he pulls Jake toward him so they’re leaning against his car.

“Come home with me?”

“We already went and picked up my bag.”

“Yeah, but it’s still a choice. I can take you back to base if you want.”

“No. Take me home.”

“Okay.”

He settles into the passenger seat and Bradley’s hand comes to rest on his thigh, a steady and warm weight and he places his own hand over it, runs his fingertips over the back of his hand, thinks about touching more of Bradley’s skin. The hand jobs earlier had definitely dealt with the immediate need, but the further kissing and casual touches while they were climbing have slowly and surely built the tension back up and it’s been simmering away under his skin, ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. His cock is definitely getting hard and they’ve still got a twenty minute drive.

“So there��s more than one reason why you have a rooster collection?”

“Really? You want to know?”

“Yeah, I really do…” Jake says, and he isn’t even lying, grips firmly at Bradley’s hand before returning to the gentle touch.

“My dad’s call sign was Goose. Except I had a lisp, or missing teeth, and apparently I walked around saying I wanted to be called Goose too, except it sounded a lot more like Rooster. So it switched between Little Goose and Rooster. I was just getting rid of it when that fucking movie came out and then pictures of that rooster were fucking everywhere. Inside toilet doors, on the roof of corridors, someone changed my staff photo… there was chalk art. I just had to lean into it.”

“Destined to be a rooster in every life huh?”

“Apparently. Some of my students have some wild theories.”

“I just bet they do…” Jake says, laughing.

They walk from the car to the apartment, tracing the same path they made earlier. This time though he has an overnight bag, packed with enough for a couple of nights, which can stretch longer if he can do washing. Or doesn’t wear clothes. He’s pretty sure Bradley is planning on a clothes-optional weekend inside his apartment and the idea of coming back from every deployment to this is heady.

… … …

He toes off his shoes, leaves them where they land, knowing full well it’ll annoy Ice tomorrow. Jake’s shoes are lined up tidily, but he’s dropping his bag on the sofa and Bradley watches him; he seems comfortable in Bradley’s space already and he likes that. A lot. He moves forward, doesn’t want there to be awkwardness between them.

“What do you want?”

“My choice huh?”

“Well, we have all weekend, and that’s just the beginning right?”

“Yeah. Yeah I guess it is,” Jake agrees and it’s like whatever tension he was holding in his shoulders is sapped away and he relaxes against Bradley, lets his hands go to Bradley’s hips and his top is damp with sweat and feels gross when pressed against his skin.

“So, what are we doing here? Now, tonight? I’m just happy to get my hands and mouth all over you…”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good place to start. See where it takes us.”

“Okay then. Maybe a shower, pretty sure you don’t want to taste stale sweat…”

“Don’t think I’d mind that much…” Jake states and oh, that’s a telling statement right there and Bradley feels another block of arousal slide into place on top of the steady foundation that’s been building all evening. There’s direction now and that direction is up. They strip and he throws all their clothes into the hamper, grabs extra towels and places one on each side of the bed for later. He’s already done his due diligence and stocked up on condoms and lube, again not assuming but hopeful.

They don’t talk while they wait for the water to warm up, lets Jake run his hands over him, eyes following his own fingers as he traces over beauty spots and scars. He lets himself do the same, Jake’s skin is smooth under his fingertips, his chest hair golden and fine, the nerves in his fingertips becoming more sensitive as he focusses more on the sensation beneath them. They lather soap and wash each other, kisses soft the whole time, hands running over hardening erections but not really making any concerted effort to make each other harder when they’re in no rush. He rinses his hair, licks up Jake’s neck when he tips his head back to rinse his own.

“Better?” Bradley asks, even though he was definitely the one who was originally more keen on showering. Not that Jake complained at any point.

“No stale sweat… can start workin’ on a fresh layer.”

Jake’s accent becomes thicker when he’s aroused and it sends prickles of want all over his skin. Bradley wonders what phone sex would be like, realizes they’ll likely get a chance to find out in the future with them doing long distance and he can’t believe he’s even thinking about that when they haven’t even talked about it. They’ve been together physically for a few hours and yet Bradley wants to shove everything he has and is toward Jake and just let him have it all.

He dries off haphazardly, not really caring because it’s not like he’s getting dressed into clothes. Jake beats him to the bedroom and he lies down on the bed, stretches his body out with his arms above, like he knows Bradley is enjoying the view. He straddles Jake’s thighs, runs his hands down his arms, lets his mouth leave a trail of kisses over a bicep. He moves over Jake’s body, wants to find what turns him on and what makes him shiver with need. He lines their cocks up and does a slow undulating grind, pressing down with what he hopes is just the right amount of pressure. Feels good to him, hopes it’s the same for Jake.

… … …

“Fuck you’re amazing…”

“Took the words right out of my mouth darlin’…” Jake says, letting his fingers dig into the muscle of Bradley’s thighs. He’s fucking gorgeous. He feels the full body jerk and he wonders what caused it, captures Bradley’s moan in his mouth. “You like me callin’ you that? Darlin’? Baby? Sugar plum?”

Bradley laughs then, shakes his head and pulls away.

“Not sugar plum, I’m not…”

“You’re plenty sweet…”

“Fuck Jake.”

“We’re getting there.”

It’s only because he apparently has all weekend, at least, that he’s willing to keep the pace slow. He’s enjoying having Bradley’s undivided hyper-focused attention on his body, apparently intent on finding all the little spots that turn him on. Not the obvious ones, like his cock and nipples, but the other patches, the skin that is tight across his pelvic bone, the inside of his thighs. Not that his cock is getting ignored exactly, Bradley comes back every few minutes and rolls his hips down in an exquisite grind that’s just shy of being hard enough, although the repetition is definitely winding him tighter and tighter and he’s over being passive.

“Turn abouts fair play… my turn to explore.”

… … …

Bradley grins, moves back and holds out a hand to pull Jake up, which he ignores and Bradley watches the shift of muscles under skin a Jake sits up. Bradley realizes he might have a thing for abs, he’s never had one before, but maybe it’s unique to Jake’s abs. He settles back, pulls Jake to lie on top of him before he can even start to get settled and he laughs at the annoyed look, lifts his head to press a hard kiss, grinds his hips up as well and he’s definitely hard now.

“Explore away, all the territory is yours…”

He snickers at Jake’s huff of amusement, he’s never not laughed with his partners in bed; obviously not every time, but he doesn’t like being with people who take sex too seriously. Jake seems like he’s a perfect match, giving Bradley’s body an equally thorough inspection, although he uses his tongue more, licking at him, his neck, collar bone, his nipple and he jerks at the sudden suction and groans. Been a long time since anyone’s played with his nipples.

“Oh… sensitive huh?”

“Yeah…” Bradley gasps as Jake does it again. His nipples are sensitive, one much more than the other for some reason. He knows he can come from being fingered and someone sucking on that nipple, his cock not needing any stimulation at all. He’ll let Jake find that out on his own.

… … …

They end up on their sides, facing each other, aligned so they can keep kissing and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to learn what to do about beard burn with how over-sensitive his skin feels everywhere Bradley has kissed. It’s a weird sensation between wind and sun burn and if it looks half as bad as it feels anyone looking at him is going to know what he’s spent a good chunk of time doing. Bradley’s hand wraps around both of them, his fingers just that little bit longer. It’s tight and hot, and Jake isn’t sure if he’s going for a hand job or if he can thrust into the clasp of fingers. He desperately wants to thrust.

“This okay?”

“God yes, so okay… fuck.”

“Come on Jake, want to see you come…”

He covers Bradley’s hand with his own, holds it still, feels the squeeze of Bradley’s hand around his cock. He takes that as permission and starts thrusting, slow to start before increasing his pace. He’s aware that Bradley is watching, his own body taut and unmoving, though his breathing coming in shaky gasps tells Jake that he’s ratchetted as tight as Jake is. Bradley’s hand starts moving then, his hips jerking minutely and Jake isn’t sure he’d have noticed except for the way it adds a different level of friction on his own cock.

“Oh fuck…”

“Jake, fuck… come on… ugh.”

He feels Bradley come, hot wetness easing some of the friction very slightly. His own orgasm is slow and rolling when it hits, a reflection of how long they’ve spent building it up. It leaves him feeling shaky and unmoored and as if he knows how Jake is feeling Bradley kisses him, slow and thorough. He was already melting into post-orgasmic haze, the kiss just adding a layer of promise or care and fuck he wants this. He feels Bradley shift away briefly, then there’s a towel wiping between them. Jake is doubly glad for his forethought, his entire body feels too wrung out to consider moving anywhere and brain going offline fast and doesn’t want to clean up. Doesn’t want Bradley to leave his side.

“Imagine what we’ll be like when we’ve had practice,” Bradley says, kissing him softly and Jake hums his agreement. Lots and lots of practice. “Sleep well.”

He’s used to the constant noise of the carrier after the last seven months, but the quiet of the room and the afternoon and evenings activities have left him feeling sated, soporific and he soon falls asleep.

… … …

He wakes, room still dark and he doesn’t need to know the time to know it’s too fucking early to get up when he’s in bed with Bradley. He grumbles a little, pulls the sheet back up to cover them both, shuffles so he’s touching more of Bradley’s bare skin because neither of them bothered putting anything on. He feels him turn and then he’s being held, very firmly the little spoon with Bradley’s chest against his back.

“Morning. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I normally get up around this time anyway. You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Little stiff now. Climbing and sex… Oh god. I’m getting old.”

“Ancient,” Bradley murmurs, lips brushing over the fine hairs behind Jake’s ear, making him shiver.

“You know, the best thing for stiff muscles is another workout…”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“Try harder.”

Bradley does.

… … …

He can smell coffee, the bed is empty, but he can smell coffee. He might have a boyfriend for the first time in his life and he’s making coffee. He rolls over and searches for underwear before remembering Bradley chucking everything in a hamper. He opens a drawer and finds Bradley’s underwear straight away, one particular pair bright and with a fucking rooster on it, little speech bubble with ‘my favorite cock’ and he pulls them on with a grin before heading out to the kitchen with a quick stop in the bathroom.

“Good morning again…”

“It is a good morning isn’t it,” Bradley says, his smile bright as he gives Jake a soft kiss. He could definitely get used to this. “Nice underwear. How do you take your coffee? Or do you want something else?”

“Coffee. Black. Thanks… And thought you’d appreciate them.”

“Definitely look better on you…” Bradley says, another kiss and his heart-stomach-brain all feel like they’re on the same roller-coaster. “Be right back.”

He takes the mug and goes to more closely investigate the parts of the bookshelves not covered in plants. He recognizes some of the same texts from the cabin and now it makes more sense. As do the roosters and goose figurines. He’s not really paying attention to anything when he hears a quick three-tap knock on the front door and he freezes.

Surely it’s not that late.

Did Bradley mention a time that Admiral Kazansky was coming?

Quick glance at the clock confirms it’s after ten and Jake is standing in his underwear. Not even his underwear. Underwear that is very clearly not his in fact.

Fuck.

And now the door is opening. Jake can’t move.

He has a key?

Of course he spots Jake as soon as he enters, eyebrows raise in silence and then Admiral Kazansky is placing grocery bags on the kitchen bench before turning back to look at Jake again. He wonders if he needs to salute, but his hand is currently holding a coffee mug.

“Good morning sir.”

Jake is never going to master the same level of smile-smirk that is being directed his way, and the Admiral still doesn’t say anything, simply gestures at Jake’s state of undress and makes a shooing gesture toward the bedroom and he takes the direction for what it is and flees.

… … …

“Admiral Kazansky is in the kitchen.”

“Already? He’s early. Of course he’s early… Oh. You were out there like that huh?” Bradley asks, grinning. Jake is gorgeous fully dressed, standing there in nothing but underwear he’s breathtaking. The fact that it’s his underwear has him feeling even more smug.

“Yes Bradley, I was.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll just think it’s funny. Plus only way is up right?”

“Fuck off… I’m going to go and drown myself in the shower. Then I will somehow come back to life and get dressed because the COMPACFLT is apparently making me… brunch?”

“Yeah. Brunch. You know you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“Bradley!”

Jake’s also hot when he’s getting angry and Bradley can’t help it, steps forward and kisses him, hands cupping Jake’s face to hold him still, mindful that Jake’s still holding a hot mug of coffee. Jake takes a few seconds to kiss back, but he does and Bradley gives himself a mental high-five for distracting him. He doesn’t think it would have ended well if he’d told Jake he found him getting angry hot.

“Have a shower and get dressed. Don’t drown. I’ll go and start brunch with Ice. Also, I forgot to mention this, kind of forget because it’s just normal for us. Ice doesn’t talk very much. He had cancer and uses ASL to communicate or his little tablet thing with an app. One of the reasons we’re eating here really, he prefers it to going out in public.”

“Ice. You call the COMPACFLT Ice…”

“Sometimes I call him Pops to wind him up…”

“What? No. That’s what I call Mav to wind him up!”

“Really? That’s hilarious. No wonder Mav likes you so much. Now, I’m going out there because otherwise he’s going to think we’re having sex again.”

“Oh god…” Jake mumbles and it gives Bradley pause.

“Is it okay? I can ask him to leave if you want…”

“No. It’s fine. I just… would have preferred to have not been in my underwear. Your underwear.”

“Could have been worse.”

“How?”

“You could have been naked…”

Jake’s laughing then and Bradley kisses him again, carefully grabs his ass before gently pushing him in the direction of the bathroom before he heads back out to greet Ice.

“Morning,” Ice signs, his expression wholly amused and Bradley gives him the finger.

“Morning. Thanks for scarring Jake. I’m sure he’ll add that to his rotating nightmares.”

“Not my fault you lost track of time,” Ice signs, tapping his watch and grinning and Bradley shakes his head.

“You’re over half an hour early!”

“I’m always early!”

Bradley snorts, rolls his eyes then makes the signs for orgasm - always - early, raises his eyebrows to question and smirks.

“Should I feel bad for Mav?”

It’s rare to hear Ice laugh, the sound raw and scraping but he looks delighted, slaps Bradley on the arm, head shaking and he clearly concedes a point to Bradley in their ongoing sparring.

“Behave!” Ice signs, still laughing and Bradley grins, knocks his arm with his own.

Apparently they’re making waffles with a fruit salad and he’s surprised, because this is Ice’s favorite family breakfast meal, he doesn’t make it often, the buttermilk batter having to be made the night before, which means he’s either made and transported waffle batter by stealth across the city, or he taunted Mav with the knowledge that he wasn’t getting waffles. Both are equally probable and he’ll ask later. They work in easy silence, years of experience making them seamless in the kitchen, especially when Mav isn’t there getting underfoot trying to help.

Fruit salad all done, turkey bacon grilling under the broiler, last of the waffles now cooking they settle back, Ice taking a sip of his own coffee as he places the tablet he uses for communication on the table, the text to voice app already open. Bradley’s glad he’s not going to have to act as interpreter. Is pretty sure Ice wants to grill Jake a little, even if he’s only doing it for show. At least he can act as a buffer.

“Good morning again,” the electronic voice says from the tablet and Bradley turns to see Jake hanging back in the doorway to the hall. He makes a beckoning gesture with his hand.

“Jake, I’d like to introduce you to Tom Kazansky, one of my dads.”

“Nice to meet you Admiral Kazansky sir.”

“Nice to meet you in a less formal setting.”

“Uh, could we get less formal than this?”

“Probably not. Call me Tom.”

… … …

Apart from the fact that he knows Tom Kazansky is the COMPACFLT, he’s also Bradley’s other dad, and he wants to try and make a good impression, despite a part of him feeling like he’s already spectacularly fucked up by being nearly naked when he arrived. Bradley seems happy and relaxed, so he’ll follow his lead. They sit down to eat and it’s an impressive spread of food.

“Thank you, this looks great.”

“You can make me breakfast tomorrow,” Bradley says, giving him a wink and Jake wouldn’t normally blush, but of course under the scrutiny of the COMPACFLT his cheeks are flaming.

“I’d love to,” he says, ignoring the heat in his face and instead focuses on the grin Bradley gives him.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

“Uh… what for?” Jake asks, because he hopes he doesn’t expect an invite for breakfast tomorrow to reciprocate. They’re already doing dinner. The Admiral looks uncomfortable, lips pursed and giving a quick glance at Bradley.

“Oh, is this about the mission where Jake saved Mav’s life? Don’t worry, I already know about it.”

Bradley, who can apparently read Admiral Kazansky like a billboard sign and knows about a highly classified mission. Wow. He snaps his jaw shut, head automatically shaking, because he sure as hell never mentioned anything and he sure as fuck doesn’t want the COMPACFLT thinking he said anything.

“Of course you do,” the electronic voice says and Bradley shrugs, the expression on the Admiral’s face seems exasperated and Jake’s struggling to get his head around their half-silent way of communicating.

“You can blame Mav.”

Jake watches as Bradley makes a couple of signs, and he’s never learnt ASL although he figures he’s going to need to. But he’s pretty sure Bradley just signed blowjob and this morning is already feeling surreal in so many ways, but in none of them does it make sense that Bradley needs to use the word blowjob when talking to Admiral Kazansky.

“There are no secrets in this family,” the little voice declares, and the expression on Admiral Kazansky’s face is a little challenging, like he’s somehow daring Jake to cross the threshold and join said family. He reaches for his mug and does a little toast.

Challenge accepted.

… … …

“Actually, about that… Mav’s in the dark about us. I thought we could have some fun.”

“I have some ideas,” Ice signs, typing it in at the same time for Jake’s sake.

They sit and talk for a while, eating, and Jake slowly relaxes, although Bradley notes he doesn’t call Ice anything at all, and certainly not Tom. That’s fine, he’ll get there. He does make Ice chuckle silently a couple of times and it makes Bradley feel bubbly inside, that they’re getting on so well. They’re finished, and there’s a little left over for a snack later, and Bradley reaches for his phone.

“Okay, let me make this call…” Bradley says, putting his phone on speaker so Jake and Ice will be able to hear as well.

“Hey Mav…”

“Bradley! What are you up to?”

“Just having brunch actually, wanted to make sure dinner was still happening tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow is Sunday, and we do dinner every Sunday… so yes, Bradley. Dinner is still happening. I’ve actually invited a few friends. People I want you to meet.”

“Really?” Bradley asks, raising his eyebrows at both Ice and Jake across the table. Ice is shaking his head.

“Yep, really think you’ll get on with one of them in particular…”

“Uh… this another set-up Mav?”

“Hmm. And if it is?”

“Well, might make it a bit awkward with me wanting to bring my boyfriend.”

“What. Since when? Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“Because you’re the biggest busybody and gossip I know? You usually ring them up to introduce yourself and in the process scare them away?”

“That was only one time! And I saw you on Sunday! And again on Tuesday! How have you got a boyfriend since then? It’s only been four days!”

“What can I say, when I know I know. We’ll bring dessert. How many people are going to be there?”

“Uh, just… eight if I count this mysterious boyfriend. Do I know him? What’s his name? Have I met him?”

“Eight? Wow. Was it going to be a like a speed dating situation?”

“No! I just… it’s us three and your plus one. And some of the Dagger Squad.”

That has Jake’s attention, his eyes wide as he looks between Bradley and Ice, expression clearly wanting Bradley to ask who.

“Let me guess, you’ve invited Jake. Who else?”

Mav sighs over the phone and Bradley has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“Coyote, Phoenix and Bob.”

Bradley looks to Jake and he knows those names are going to mean a hell of a lot more to him than they do to Bradley.

“Great, okay.”

“And your young man’s name?”

“You’ll find out tomorrow. Patience. Thanks Mav, I’ll bring enough brownie for eight.”

He quickly ends the call before Mav can get another word in and turns his phone off, not wanting the notifications. He knows all the people he cares about are safe so has no reason to have it on.

“Okay. Step one is done.”

Ice grins and Bradley grins back. Then Ice makes a shooing gesture toward the bedroom and Bradley rolls his eyes, throws back a yeah yeah gesture because it’s apparently grilling time. He doesn’t know why Ice expects him to leave the room, he’s totally going to listen in from around the corner. Of course Ice seems to be on to him, he can hear the chairs scraping back and the table being cleared. He has to strain to hear over the running water, fortunately the little electronic tablet is nice and clear.

“Thank you for making him happier. He is happy. Full life. Many friends. Loves his job. You can add to all of that.”

He can’t hear what Jake says in reply and he knows Ice must be typing out his reply, the words conveying meaning without being full sentences.

“There is no try.”

“Sure thing Yoda. You a secret Star Wars geek or something?”

“Not secret.”

Jake’s laugh is beautiful and Bradley grins to himself.

“Tell your friends. Serves Mav right.”

“Excuse me sir? You mean, I have your permission to tell Coyote, Phoenix and Bob who you are? And your relationship with Maverick?”

“Yes. Already gave to Mav. Now you too. Good for Mav be in dark for once.”

PART 9

#Hangster #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #Sereshaw #rooster x hangman #It's all academic darlin'

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skpct · 3 days

Text

Thoughts-Time to wake up, Neo.

This is a new section I’m doing. The trail is a good place for reflection, so sometimes I have thoughts, and sometimes I write them down. It’s also a good opportunity to post some more pictures; Tumblr only lets you upload 10 per post on Mobile, so I have to leave some on the cutting room floor.

Back in civilization, I would check the news constantly. I was always aware of everything that was happening all the time. Now I’m not, because I live in the woods, and there’s not much cell service out here. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

My impulse is to say it is a good thing to be disconnected. I think it’s sort of a hip thing to say. “I’m off the grid! I’m disconnected! I’m reconnecting with nature!” I do feel that way, and there are certain freedoms and benefits out here. I’m less resentful towards the world in general, for instance. I’d see news that made me feel sad or angry, and I couldn’t do anything about it. That made me resentful, and it’s nice to not have to deal with that. It’s not all positive, though.

This is a super extreme example, but if North Korea launched a nuclear missile at Seattle while I was way out on the trail, I wouldn’t learn about it for several days. Sure, I wouldn’t be able to do anything about it, but it would be nice to know that my home and family are gone. That’s kinda dark, and I’ll move on, but you get what I’m saying.

People expect you to be connected. I ran into some service right before I got to Acton, and a text came in. It was from my old professor. They weren’t able to reach me though email, I hadn’t been checking it. A student was running a story on my professor or something and needed me to sign a release form for a photo I was in. They had sent me a two emails, and the second one was definitely pretty frantic, asking me to please sign the photo release form as soon as possible. It may be positive for me personally to be disconnected, but there’s no question: it caused a student distress. I was a student not long ago, and I tell you, they don’t need any additional stress. Sure, I don’t technically owe that student anything, but we all owe each other kindness. It’s a reality that in the modern world, being in touch is a component of that, and I’m not in touch.

One thing I’ve noticed is that nothing really happens. When you stare at the news constantly, there’s an illusion of something greater. However, when you only see it once in a while, it’s different. It’s like regardless of what happens today or tomorrow, life goes on. When I took that step back, it felt like the world was moving in a more positive direction than I thought. Or maybe that optimism is totally unwarranted and everything is terrible. Who knows?

I don’t have a grand thesis here, I’m afraid. In some ways, I’m unquestionably better off. But in other ways, things are worse. Maybe when I come back, I’ll have a completely different worldview. Maybe not. We shall see. Okay, thoughts over.

#thoughts #hiking #travel

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rainydaycafe · 11 months

Text

A Shaken Espresso, Please - Ch. 2

Pairing: Professor! Stephen Strange au x OC fem! graduate school student (and barista)!

Summary: Professor Strange has a reputation that proceeds him and a finicky taste for off-campus coffee. Enter a graduate school attending barista. This is their story.

Warnings: age difference (older Stephen), and an inhumane amount of fluff with tumultuous thoughts

A/N: feel more than free to send me prompts for this story regarding what you'd like to see, what you think would fit, and any thought u have up in that sexy mind of yours!

Chapter 1

Time seemed to bend in differently for both Stephen and Emilia.

Their perception of time differed as the morning of their lunch date time seemed to extend itself to an excruciating length even when Stephen did his best to distract himself with work and emails. Time seemed to pass by as quick as a gust of wind when Emilia woke up that morning feeling jitters, unable to formulate an outfit that was good enough.

However they perceived it, time still passed and as was her habit- Emilia was early to the restaurant.

It turns out Stephen is even earlier than her, waiting outside on a nearby wall looking as handsome as ever. It’s the first time Emilia’s ever seen him wearing black jeans which he’s paired with a dark blue cardigan overtop a casual gray button up.

Looking so well put together with his straight posture and confident aura, it’s unimaginable to think of this man having been the one in his apartment checking and rechecking everything about his appearance multiple times before finally leaving his place.

Only to check himself in every available window and mirror, but that’s besides the point because he knows he looks good.

Emilia glances down at her own outfit which took her longer than she’d admit to pick. The entire idea of picking this outfit almost sent her into a fit of inescapable nerves.

It took her a lifetime to pick a pair of dark blue jeans that clung to her thighs and ended at just the beginning of her shoes, and the beige cardigan with orange flowers with a cream tank top.

The jeans may make her ass look fantastic, but that’s not the reason she chose them. Really. That would be presumptuous of her.

While Emilia doesn't have the financial freedom Stephen has to spend on clothes, she knows she did well choosing her outfit when Stephen catches sight of her and bites back a smile by biting his lower lip.

“Emilia,” Stephen says, pushing away from the wall and walking towards her.

Emilia doesn’t know whether they’re supposed to hug, wave, or shake hands but Stephen makes the decision for her as he leans in quickly and presses a kiss on her cheek. The breath she had catches in her throat and she flushes a bit, looking just about anywhere other than the man before her.

“Hi. You look really nice,” Which isn’t an empty compliment because Stephen does look nice.

“Thank you. This is my favorite cardigan,” Stephen says as they begin walking towards the door, Emilia pulling open the door for them, “You look beautiful. Those pants are-” Stephen swallows and Emilia watches in genuine surprise as he flushes a bit, “They look nice on you,”

“Thanks,” Emilia says as she wrings her hands together because he noticed!

“I already got us a table so I hope it’s okay we eat upstairs on the roof?”

Emilia spends plenty of time indoors. Work, school, home, etc. So she’s plenty happy to be outside. It’s a lovely day to spend outside since it’s just warm enough to avoid being too cold, but it isn’t hot. The breeze is cooling but not strong enough to blow away their napkins which is nice to have when Emilia feels she needs to cool down when Stephen looks at her.

In all honesty, Emilia can’t remember the last time she went on a date. The previous dates having been a daunting experience with men that really weren’t her cup of tea but they managed to get her to agree when she was fumbling with how to say “no”.

This, however?

This is easy.

It’s easy to simply sit across from Stephen on a sunny afternoon on the roof of his lovely restaurant. Their knees aren’t knocking, but every so often their feet bump into one another and every time Emilia feels her breath stutter. But either way she leans her chin on the heel of her hand and gazes at Stephen, making him feel as though everything he says will stick to Emilia and will never be forgotten.

Stephen makes it easy with his gift for conversation and his infectious smile. Emilia is very content to just listen as Stephen speaks about his job, where he went to school, what he studied. Everything is nonchalant- all that he’s done and all he still wants to do. There is pride as he speaks, but there isn’t any of the usual arrogance Emilia knows he carries at times. Stephen talks about himself as though he’s just any other person but Emilia thinks Stephen might be the most interesting person she’s ever encountered.

And Stephen draws out bits and pieces of Emilia’s own private story, unhappy with the way Emilia shrugs away her own life as though there’s nothing to actually speak of. The wide eyed wonder Stephen shows when Emilia speaks of her life, her education, and herself is enough to keep her speaking as she fidgets every so often when the attention makes her shy. Emilia continues to speak even when she knows she’s told Stephen more than she’s ever told anyone.

They’re both quite certain that they could speak to one another well past lunch, into dinner, and well into the late hours of night and into the early hours of the morning. For as long as the other might want to stay without even an inkling of boredom between them.

There is a quiet hope simmering there that hopefully the other will also want that.

A bit of doubt is bouncing around the back of her head and she can’t completely relax unless she’s clarified it.

“Is it- is it okay for us to be here together?” Emilia asks, nervously folding and refolding her napkin, Stephen pausing mid chew in confusion, “I mean since you’re a professor and I am a student,”

“You don’t need to worry about that. I looked through the faculty handbook the day you came into my office,” Stephen answers as though he’s telling her his favorite color with genuine ease.

It might not mean much to him, but it caused Emilia to pause to take what he had said.

Had he been interested in getting to know her and have her sit across from him from the moment she stepped foot in his office?

Stephen noted the surprise but he just smiled in the way that was now becoming familiar to Emilia, and she couldn’t help but just smile back.

“What are you teaching this semester? How are you liking them?” Emilia asked and Stephen contemplated.

“I’m teaching Navigational and Spatial Orientation, Ethical Conduct of Research, Neuroscience of Mental Illnesses, Sleep and Sleep Disorders, Neurobiology of Social Intelligence, and Neurobiology of Learning and Memory,”

The impressed expression on Emilia’s face was enough to have Stephen feeling superior and like he was an impressive individual since the courses he taught were a glimpse into his vast intelligence

“I mostly enjoy them but there are pros and cons to any profession,” Stephen added..

“What are the pros and cons of yours?”

“It’s just a bit difficult in a frustrating sense when we have to backtrack multiple times to a topic or a particular section because some students are have a harder time understanding,” Stephen explained, catching Emilia off guard, “I never had a problem understanding things in school so I don’t have a lot of patience for the redundancy of the slow students. Especially the Learning and Memory since it’s more of an introductory course we get a lot of students who aren’t sure of what they’re really in for with neuro, much less achieving a level of education like my own. They follow my courses since I’m obviously the head of the department I am the best,”

Emilia had been the student who needed the extra help when it came to her science and math classes since it just didn’t click for her right away, often leaving her confused and with a headache.

Read a book in a day? Easy. Memorize a few dates for history class? Fine. But when it comes to the world of math and science Emilia always felt out of her depth and it had always been due to feeling stupid when she did reach out for help with teachers and professors who shared the slightest bit of Stephen’s attitude.

If Stephen thought his own students were “slow” students who had made it into the highly competitive science department were “slow” she didn’t want to imagine what he thought of her.

Stephen’s arrogance had always been something women enjoyed, finding it impressive how confident he was in his skills; but it seemed to be having the opposite effect on Emilia as she seemed to be shutting down right in front of her.

That arrogance had been a part of his personality for as long as he’s known he’s gifted and it’s what people notice immediately after meeting him.

“I’m sorry if I came off as a pretentious asshole” Stephen said suddenly over the silence that had stretched out due to what he knew was his fault, “I’m not some huge asshole who just goes around belittling students. I am good at what I do but I don’t want you to think that’s all I am. I just- I just wanted to impress you but it seems to be having the opposite effect on you,”

Emilia visibly relaxed and she listened to him ramble until he came to his own natural end.

“Stephen, I’m not here with you because you’re head of the science department or because you have all of this professional success,” Emilia confessed, “I’m here to be with the Stephen that goes into the coffee shop and is pleasant to be around and converse with,”

“I really sounded like an asshole, didn’t?” Stephen asked with a self deprecating chuckle.

“Not… not really. I’m not saying you shouldn’t be confident and proud of yourself but like I said; I like you for who you are when you’re relaxed and are yourself, I don’t need you to prove to me you’re intelligent,” Emilia explained because anyone who came across Stephen could understand that he was an intelligent person.

When around Emilia, Stephen realizes he hasn’t been the belittling asshole with a superiority complex at all since all he wanted was to know her, to have her, and his genuine self has been more than enough to win her over.

Arrogance is just a mask for the feeling of having to prove yourself

That was something Stephen had heard time and time again after his haughtiness had gotten under the skin of someone, and perhaps on some level they were right but apparently he hadn’t felt the need to prove anything with Emilia up until he became all too self aware and self conscious almost.

There was safety between them; it seemed Stephen could be his most genuine self. There was nothing to prove to her since he was enough, he didn’t need additional padding.

However Stephen did choose to push the thought of confessing exactly why he had become a professor when he was very much qualified for more demanding professions.

It was still a subject that was sore enough to have him avoid it, especially when Emilia was looking at him with genuine affection within her gaze and he just couldn’t deal with it switching over to pity and sympathy because of what could have been.

The only other slight hiccup is when the check comes and Emilia attempts to pay but Stephen quickly pulls the bill out of her reach.

“I asked you so I will pay. If you’re so eager to pay, you can ask me out next time,” Stephen says with a smile, nudging at her ankle with his foot.

Next time. Emilia thinks, and the helpless wonder and hope bubbles inside of her all that much more, hoping Stephen feels the same anticipation when it comes to the phrase “next time”.

________________

It turns out that the second location Stephen wanted them to go to was a farmer’s market a few streets down which was held every Saturday afternoon from 2:00pm-7:30pm.

Emilia figures out where they’re going about two blocks into their walk as she sees people walking around with tote bags full of fresh produce, baked goods, and whatever else they sell at the farmers market but she keeps quiet.

They’re busy chatting or, well, lightly debating about whether classical music is superior to jazz music but there’s not an ounce of heat behind either of their words.

Walking side by side, their hands brush every so often and Emilia wonders what it would be like to hold hands with Stephen. To have his larger hands encase her own, or to thread her own fingers through his but she doesn’t dwell on it too long because she doesn’t have the courage to reach out and grab his hand.

The curiosity surrounding holding hands isn’t one Emilia lives with for too long as they arrive at the impressive farmer’s market and Stephen asks where she’d like to start.

Stephen asks where she’d like to start, but Emilia tells him she doesn’t really mind so he directs them towards the hand made soap when he suddenly takes hold of her hand as though it were the most casual and normal thing.

There’s a jolt that goes through Emilia, and she’s tempted to look at their interlaced fingers but she doesn’t and instead relishes the warmth Stephen’s hands provides.

Perhaps there’s a part of her that is afraid of acknowledging it because Stephen will also acknowledge it and pull away, noticing that it’s meaning a bit too much to Emilia for his liking.

A glance is stolen when Stephen is busy debating the kind of honey he most wants, but Emilia quickly looks away from their hands and confesses to him she’s of no help because she doesn’t care for honey.

Their walk around the farmer’s market continues and Emilia finds herself comfortable and content, hoping there’s another day like this awaiting her, just without all of the first date nerves that consumed her beforehand.

Letting their gazes linger towards stalls that might interest one another, Emilia locks eyes with an ice cream vendor dishing out delicious looking ice cream.

“Ice cream,” Emilia says not without childlike wonder that makes Stephen smile, directing both of them there where he smiles wider as Emilia genuinely debates the flavors. It seems to be a serious contemplation as she weighs her options, going through a pros and cons list in a matter of seconds.

“What are you going to get?” Emilia asks when they’re finally in line after Emilia has made a decision on her flavor choices.

“Brownie chunk and pistachio. What did you settle on?”

“I’ve settled on butter pecan and vanilla caramel crunch,”

They both order, Stephen opting for a cone as Emilia goes for her ice cream to be in a cup, Emilia beating him to pay as she had her card ready to go the moment they got in line because she couldn’t let him pay for everything.

Stephen had been distracted looking at her side profile, but he admits defeat as they wait off to the side, not waiting too long before their order number is called.

“There’s a bench over there,” Stephen gestures, “It’s a bit further away so we can have a bit of privacy,”

Emilia nods and before long they’re sitting, chatting away about anything that’s under the sun which is a relief to Emilia who had been plagued with the fear of Stephen finding her boring.

The natural curiosity between them doesn’t cease, both of them wanting to know more and more about the other without feeling as though they’ve hit the mark for casual first date knowledge.

“This place is here every Saturday,” Stephen explains proudly, “I know it’s a bit busy and touristy but it has some really nice things as well- what? What’s that look on your face?”

“I live nearby, Stephen,” Emilia says, attempting not to laugh at the affronted expression that crosses Stephen’s face, “I live about 2 blocks away and I come here on the Saturdays I want to get out of my place for a bit,”

“Fuck,” Stephen swears, “This is so boring for you, isn’t it? I just can’t seem to pull anything off with you, can I?”

“It’s not boring,” Emilia says sincerely, glancing towards the people shopping away, “I’m not bored because I’m getting to know you,”

The smile that Stephen gives him is so genuine and delicate that Emilia swears something rearranges inside of her in that moment.

“You’re so sweet,” Stephen says, and suddenly when Emilia looks towards him from where she was looking at some kids playing with sticks Stephen is leaning in and kissing her firmly.

It’s warm and sweet, and so intimate it makes Emilia feel like she’s off kilter somehow even though she’s sitting down on a bench at the farmer’s market she frequented as often as she’s wanted to.

Emilia’s been kissed before, sure, but not like this.

Not like she’s something precious and wonderful, like she’s something meant to be cherished. She can feel the intimacy and the sincerity, the way Stephen isn’t trying to impress her in that moment.

It’s the ice cream he tastes like, the softness of his lips, and the hand he has pressed to the back of her neck.

“Are you guys kissing?” A voice asks a bit too close for comfort and Stephen feels Emilia pull away quickly as though she’s been burned, leaving him mentally cursing everything worth cursing in the universe.

Turning, he sees one of the little monsters- kids- who had been playing a ways away standing in front of them waiting for an answer.

“Why don’t you go back to playing with sticks before I give you a lobotomy?” Stephen asks in a fakely sweet voice, the child unsure of what to make of the comment turns and goes back to her friends.

Emilia, embarrassed at being caught and interrupted is blushing bright red covering her face with her hands but Stephen is quick to peel them away, bringing her close to his side with his arm over her shoulder.

“I can’t believe you threatened to give her a lobotomy,” Emilia chastised.

“Well you were busy hiding your face so I had to get her to go away,” Stephen defended.

Indignant, Emilia turns to look at Stephen who looks at her expectantly but instead of giving in she turns back around, still unsure of what’s okay and what isn’t.

Stephen answers her by cupping her face with both hands and pulling her into him, pressing his lips to hers again, stemming that warm feeling that builds up in her chest and seems to expand to anywhere Stephen is touching.

________________

A/N: Hope you enjoyed and I hope you want to read more from me

Taglist for people who asked for a second part (ily):

@diabaroxa @vi0letdaze

#Stephen strange #Doctor strange #Stephen strange fic #Doctor strange pic #doctor strange au #Stephen strange au #marvel fiction #doctor strange fan fiction #Stephen Vincent strange #doctor strange x oc #doctor strange fluff #Benedict Cumberbatch #doctor strange fix rec #Stephen strange fic rec #marvel #marvel fanfic

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bloodyknucklesforme · 3 months

Text

How Can I Make it Okay? | Price & Nina

When Nina feels like she can't go home she goes to Price's.

TW: mentions of attempted SA

She hoped the rain would rinse the smell of smoke out of her clothes. She hoped he hadn’t moved since the last time she visited. She hoped he was in the country.

Her phone was off, she’d be inundated with calls and texts if it wasn’t. She trudged up to the front of the building, suitcase catching on the step. She’d been to London before but that was on school or family trips.

J.Price scribbled on a peeling sticker. She buzzed his flat.

“Who is it?” His voice was gruff and staticky. She’d made a mistake. She hadn’t escaped, only delayed the inevitable. She knew her father would still be raging when she returned.

“it’s..it’s nina. can i come in?”

The door unlocked with a loud buzz.

He was standing in the doorway as she got off the elevator.

“Suppose I have to call your mum back now,” he sighed, taking her suitcase from her. “She was worried to death about you.”

“I should have told her I wasn’t coming home. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” There was a set of sheets already laid on the couch. He pulled her into a hug. “Get dried off. Just finished making supper.”

He’d already set out towels in the bathroom for her. She pulled a jumper out of her suitcase and changed into it after drying her hair.

John was sitting at the dining table, two plates already laid out. He’d made roast chicken with asparagus and potatoes. She always liked his cooking.

“You going to me tell me why you’re here and not home?” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. She shrugged, moving a potato around her plate. “You can stay the whole winter holiday if you want but I need something to tell your mum.”

“I failed my classes.”

“Did something happen?” His face softened, reaching across the table for her hand.

A lot had happened. She and Kyle had broken up at the beginning of Summer when he went to basic training. Her university was away from home and she’d always had trouble making friends. She’d always had trouble with boys except for Kyle. She’d missed him, wanted to feel like someone liked her again.

He sat behind her in Modern British Poets. He had a nice smile and always complimented her hair. They started dating by the end of September. It was before the end of October before it all ended. A night out to the pub, he’d helped her back to her room. He climbed on top of her, insidious whispers as he tried to stick his hands up her skirt. She shoved him off the bed.

“Fucking cunt.”

The next day all her friends were now his, maybe they were never her friends. Rumors about her cheating on him floated about. More cruel ones followed. That she’d cheated on Kyle last year, that she was sleeping with the professors to get good grades, she’d bought her way into the school.

She barely left her room. Staring up at the ceiling, ignoring texts from Kyle and calls from her mum. Her professor from Modern British Poets sent an email asking if she was okay. She didn’t want to sit in front of that boy again.

“No. I just…I don’t know. I don’t really like my school.”

“Can you transfer?” He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

“I just wasn’t planning on going back.”

“If that’s what you want.” He squeezed her hand. “I know your dad is hard to please but your mum would understand.”

“She wouldn’t.” She pulled her hand away. “She’s always on his side. Doesn’t matter what it is. It’s always him over me. I could be bleeding out and she’d apologize to him about ruining the carpet before she even looked at me. No one is ever on my side.”

“I am. I’m always on your side, love. I’ll talk to your mum for you.”

She embarrassedly wiped the tears from under her eyes. John got up and came around the table to hug her, rubbing her shoulders.

Why was it so hard? She tried to be a good person, she didn’t understand why she kept losing people she trusted. What was she doing wrong? She kept thinking back to that October night, maybe she should have just let him do what he wanted. She would still have friends. She wouldn’t have failed. She would be at home with her family and not crying against her dad’s old friend. Why was he the only one who cared? Was it selfish to want more? Her chest was tight and ached.

“When I was little the world felt so big and now it seems like it’s getting smaller and I feel like I’m gonna get crushed.”

“You’re okay, love. You can stay here as long as you need.” He rubbed the back of her head. “You’re safe with me.”

He got her ice cream once she stopped crying. Helped her make a bed on the couch. Watched a couple Doctor Who reruns.

“You’re too old to be tucked in, I’m guessing.” He chuckled as she crawled under the covers.

“If you want to, I can acquiesce.” John was always willing to do the things her father never did. He taught her how to ride a bike, took her fishing once, taught her how to drive. When a poem she wrote made it into a local literary magazine he bought two copies, one to keep and one to cut out and frame.

He smiled and tucked the blanket underneath the couch cushions.

“Get some sleep, love.” He kissed her forehead.

“Thank you… for everything.”

He ruffled her hair.

“If something ever happens you know you can tell me. I won’t be cross with you. We don’t have to tell your parents. I can handle it.” He said. He spoke like Atlas, holding the world up on his shoulders even if it was just for her. “What other people decide to do is never your fault, Nina.”

“I know.”

He nodded.

“I’ll call your mum in the morning. Goodnight, Nina.” He turned off the light.

"Goodnight, John." She replied and in a much softer voice, "I love you."

Tags: @queen-ilmaree@macravishedbymactavish@gogh-with-the-flow@water-bearz

#restaurant au

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legolasbadass · 2 years

Text

Office Hours, Part 12

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Hi everyone! I want to apologize again for making you all wait such a long time for this chapter! Life got in the way again, but I promise that I will be getting back to more regular updates now. I hope you are still interested in this story and if so, enjoy this chapter 💙

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Back in Oxford, overcrowded libraries, an overwhelming number of emails, and an abundance of rain greet us, signalling the fast-approaching end of the term. As soon as I arrive on campus, I barely have a moment to myself, and my research falls to the bottom of my priority list, as correcting assignments and attending meetings take up all my time outside of classes and office hours. And as I rush toward yet another departmental meeting, I look back longingly at my peaceful weekend with Richard.

On Sunday, we went to brunch at a small cafe before driving back to Oxford, and despite all the things on my agenda, I decided to stay the night at his house. It was not the wisest decision, and I paid for it dearly in the morning as I had to rush to arrive at my morning lecture on time, but sleeping in Richard’s arms made it all worth it.

I enter the meeting room straight from my lecture with only a few minutes to spare and almost drop all my books onto the floor, causing Natasha, a fellow medievalist, to look at me in concern.

“You okay?” she asks and pulls out my chair for me.

“Thanks,” I mumble as I sit down and place my books on the table. “I’m fine, just busy and exhausted already and it’s only Monday.”

“Tell me about it,” Natasha says, gesturing to the two empty coffee mugs before her. “How was your weekend?”

At that very moment, Richard walks into the room. His plaid jacket clings to his broad shoulders, and as he raises his hand to scratch his beard, I am reminded of how that hand travelled across my naked skin this very morning. Our gazes meet for a second, and I have to bite my lips to hold back my smile. Thankfully, he has some restraint and takes the empty spot next to Natasha.

“Good,” I reply, focusing my attention back on Natasha and willing my face to remain neutral. “Took the time to relax and enjoy the weather. What about you?”

“I spent way too much time on the History channel,” Natasha replies with a chuckle.

“Again?” Richard interjects with a cheeky smile, causing me to laugh and Natasha to roll her eyes.

“Piss off,” she says jokingly, then, after a moment, she asks, “How was the conference this weekend?”

I pause, wondering how she knew about that.

“It was great!” Richard replies.

“Stephen told me he really enjoyed your paper. Not that I’m surprised, of course. I’ve never seen you give a boring presentation.”

Stephen? Surely not. I try to tell myself that I must have misheard or misunderstood, but then Richard speaks.

“That’s right, you know Stephen,” Richard says hesitantly.

Shit.

The whole room feels like it is shrinking around me, and I am sure all my colleagues can now read my secret in my eyes. I desperately want to turn to Richard, but I know I cannot, so instead, I keep my eyes fixed on the increasingly blurred words in my notebook. A heavy ache settles in my belly, tightening its hold on me with each breath I take.

“Yeah, we use to work together, remember?” Natasha says. “Anyways, it was a coincidence but we talked on the phone on Sunday and he said he ran into you.”

“Yeah, it was nice seeing him.”

Their conversation ends there as Professor Bennett commences the meeting, but I cannot hear a word he says. All I can think of is that she knows.

Natasha knows about Richard and me.

***

At the end of the meeting, I send Richard a text telling him to meet me in the courtyard, then rush outside. My whole body feels hot and itchy, so I welcome the feeling of the rain against my skin as I stare at the growing puddle on the cobblestone at my feet. For a second, I imagine it widening and swallowing me whole, but then I hear footsteps coming my way.

“There you are,” Richard says as he rushes to stand by my side just outside the main gate. The collar of his coat is pulled up against the wind that dances in his unruly hair, making it even more difficult not to throw my arms around his neck.

A thousand thoughts rush through my mind, fighting for a way out, but all I can manage to say is, “She knows.”

Richard’s face softens, but he does not move to hold me. He cannot. Not here.

“We don’t know for sure.”

I cannot hold back my annoyed chuckle. “You really think this guy who made a creepy, inappropriate comment about me and my age would not have mentioned me? Please.”

“Lorelei,” Richard says, his voice deep and pleading.

“It was a mistake, I shouldn’t have come to the conference with you.”

The two of us fall silent as a group of students steps out of the building, and only when they have disappeared around the corner does Richard speak again.

“But we had a great time, didn’t we?”

“Of course we did!” I reply, my heart growing warm at the memory of our perfect weekend in Bath. “But that doesn’t matter. What are we gonna do now?”

“Look, it’s useless to linger on what we should or should not have done,” he says, looking deep into my eyes. “You came to Bath with me and we had fun. Now, maybe Natasha knows—maybe—but… would it really be so bad if she does?”

I look down at my feet to avoid his eyes. “Richard…”

“I know you’re nervous about what people might think, and that’s ok—you’re allowed to feel that way. But really, we’re not doing anything wrong. And if Natasha does know, she hasn’t said a word about it to us or anyone else, probably. And doesn’t that prove that our relationship isn’t a big deal at all and there’s no reason to hide?”

My heart grows heavy at the hope and longing in his voice. I know Richard respects my feelings and would never push me, but if anything, that only makes me feel guiltier. I wish now more than ever that I could be the person he needs me to be; that I could be less insecure and not care what others think, but everything is still so new. Not only our relationship but my whole life in Oxford, and I am so afraid of jeopardizing something I have worked for my entire life simply because I have fallen so quickly and irrevocably in love with Richard.

“I’m just not ready yet,” I manage to say despite the painful constriction in my throat.

Richard swallows heavily, then nods. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassures me and permits himself to squeeze my arm briefly, and even long after he has removed his hand, I still feel its comforting warmth. “I have a class in ten minutes—I need to re-explain to first years how iambic pentameter works,” he says, causing me to chuckle. “Will you be okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I reply, even though I feel anything but fine.

He nods again. “We’ll talk more tonight, okay?”

“Okay,” I say, then offer him a soft smile. “Now, go! Or else I’ll have to give you detention.”

A wide grin illuminates his face, and my heart flutters in my chest.

“Yes, professor,” he answers teasingly, sending shivers down my spine, before he heads back inside.

Alone in the foggy courtyard, I look up to the church spire that disappears into the clouds and wrap my scarf more tightly around my neck. Hopefully, Richard is right, and we have no reason to worry. Hopefully.

The rest of the day goes by dreadfully slowly, and when I finally get home, I have no energy left for anything. All I want to do is curl up in Richard’s arms, but he had a late class today, so I still have some time before he gets here. Reluctantly, I open my laptop and force myself to get some work done, but I find it impossible to concentrate, and by 6 pm, I have answered less than five emails. Then my phone rings, and I rush to pick it up when I see Richard’s name on the screen.

“Hey!” I exclaim as I sink back into the couch.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, and his deep voice alone is enough to make me feel better. “How are you?”

“Good,” I reply dismissively. “Are you almost here?”

“Listen, about that …” he begins, and my heart sinks in my chest, “I have a lot of work to do and I feel like I’ll never catch up. So I think I’ll just stay home tonight.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Lorelei—”

“No, no, don’t be sorry!” I hasten to say, desperately trying to swallow back my disappointment even as it tightens its grip on my throat. “It’s okay, I understand. I have a lot of work too that I should probably—definitely—get to.”

“Alright,” he says, sounding relieved. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Tomorrow,” I concur, smiling to myself. Then, despite not wanting to hang up, I say, “Okay, good luck with your work.”

“Thanks, you too,” he replies. “I’ll call you later, sweetheart.”

Tingles bloom in my heart as though it is the first time I hear the endearment fall from his lips, and for a short moment, I feel once more as though nothing could affect the happiness I have found with him.

The silence in my flat after I hang up is loud and heavy, quickly chasing away the comfort our conversation brought me. Despite his reassuring words, I cannot help but fear that Richard’s absence tonight has something to do with our earlier conversation. I would like to think that we were close enough that he would not hesitate to tell me if something was wrong , but I worry that he would neglect his own feelings to protect mine.

I sit in silence for a long while, replaying our conversation in my mind. It is dark outside when I finally rise, my flat bathing in the blue glow of the night until I turn on the lights. Not knowing what else to do, I reach for my phone once more and call Beatrice.

“Hey, babe!”

“Hey,” I reply, less enthusiastically. “Are you busy?”

“I was just heading out with Paul actually!” she replies and I can hear her bright smile. “He’s taking me out for dinner.”

“Oh, how nice! Well, okay, then—I’ll call you back later, or tomorrow.”

“Are you okay?” she suddenly asks. “You sound a bit off.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry. Go enjoy your dinner!”

“Lorelei Browning don’t lie to me,” she says, causing me to sigh. “What’s wrong?”

Pressing my lips together, I try to swallow back the knot forming in my throat. “I don’t know I … I think someone at work might know about Richard and me.”

“What? How?”

“It’s a long story,” I reply, feeling guilty for bothering her, especially now.

“Does Richard know? Have you talked about it?”

I hear the sound of a door opening on the other end of the line, then the distinct cacophony of a bustling street in the distance.

“Yeah, he knows—but that’s the thing …” I slowly begin, reaching for a pillow and hugging it tight against my chest, “When we talked about it, he asked if maybe it was time we told people about us—well, he was more saying that there wouldn’t be any problem with doing that, but anyways,” I try to explain between uneven breaths. “And then I told him I wasn’t ready and he accepted that. Of course, he did—he’s bloody perfect! But that’s what bothers me—I can tell that’s not what he wants. And I can’t stand the thought that I might be disappointing him.”

“Oh, honey, you’re not disappointing him! I know you aren’t!” she says immediately. “From everything you’ve told me, that guy is absolutely crazy about you. And he knew from the beginning what the conditions were, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, there you go!”

Another sigh escapes me as I run my hand through my hair. “I’m just afraid … Richard is too considerate and selfless. He’s been so incredibly supportive since the beginning but I’m really afraid that he might be neglecting his own feelings just to be sure he doesn’t hurt me.”

A moment of silence ensues before Beatrice speaks. “I don’t know how Richard feels about all this, but I do know you’re not ready to make your relationship public and you shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, no matter how much you like him,” she says and I nod, knowing these were the words I needed to hear. “You need to tell him all this. He knows you’re not ready, but tell him you don’t mean to hurt him and ask him if there’s anything you could do to make it easier for him.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I chuckle. “Ok, I won’t bother you any longer. Have fun on your date!”

“Lorelei, you’re never bothering me, stop that!” she exclaims. “Call me if there’s anything else, okay?”

“Okay. I love you,” I say, smiling to myself.

“I love you, too. Bye!”

This time, the silence in my flat bothers me a little less, and though an uncomfortable heaviness lingers in my chest, I manage to get some work done, so at least when I go to bed later, there is one less thing worrying me.

—

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