She was even more of a screwup than me. And I knew it, you know? Even as a kid, I knew she had problems.
REMARKABLY BRIGHT CREATURES (2026) — dir. Olivia Newman
WORD COUNT. 1123
SUMMARY. father’s day never used to mean much to bucky until having a family of his own. with another baby on the way, you all enjoy a slow morning in bed giving gifts and appreciating the worlds best dad. [fluff]
NOTE. not so keen on my own dad so wanted to make bucky a dad. seems healthy right?
⎯ ☆ ⎯
This day in particular hadn't meant much to Bucky in a rather long time, the day feeling like a random Sunday in June with no cause for celebration. Though that changed about three years ago when he became the central focal point for the special day: having a daughter and baby on the way to give him a reason to enjoy the occasion.
Bucky lays at your side, sleeping soundly while you rest against the headboard, hand smoothing large circles over your bump — the act like you were trying to calm your son’s kicking feet. You make a faint sound of unease and your husband’s head whips up from the pillow, eyes attentive despite their struggle to adjust to the bright light of the room.
“Everything okay?” he asks almost immediately, gaze honing in on yours.
“Yeah,” you assure and smile softly. You bring your other hand to brush over his cheek, thumb swiping over him sweetly. “Want to feel him? He’s kicking like crazy.”
He returns a smile as the reassurance eases his mind and he adjusts, laying back down and resting his temple on his fist. He extends his other hand and you grab his wrist gently, guiding him under your top and to the point of discomfort. Your husband's smile widens with the contact of his hand to your skin and he begins to feel rough taps against his palm.
“I think he’s speaking to you in morse code,” you start, and he peers up to meet your eyes again, showing interest in what you have to say. “I think he’s saying ‘Happy Father’s Day’.”
He grins and lowers his eyes back to your belly, his hand continuing it’s circling despite your son’s seeming to have calmed down. It was as if he just enjoyed the sheer contact of touch, to feel both you and his son in a way so gentle and casual and domestic. And while pregnancy this time around was more taxing on you than the last, the little moments you’d frequently have like this in bed made it worth it — the giant, interfering belly, fatigue and thick, heavy ankles felt worth it.
With your due date closely approaching, it’s important to appreciate these moments of silence, these moments of calm before it all becomes anything but. These minutes you’d share with your lover in the morning with his hand on your bump became part of routine, it became something you’d do every morning. Quite like you hanging onto the quiet before the storm, the storm being your daughter wreaking hyperactive havoc with her awakening.
Like it was anticipated, you hear a noise from the monitor on the nightstand and you pick it up, watching your little girl crawl out of bed with a stuffie in her hand. Within a few short seconds, your bedroom door creeps open, and a short silhouette of your daughter appears through the gap.
“Morning princess,” Bucky smiles as he gestures her over.
“Hi, baby,” you, too, grin, welcoming her.
She paddles her way across the room and to your bed, small, hurried footsteps carrying her closer before she excitedly jumps between the two of you.
Bucky grunts as he takes the brute force of her landing, though he would much rather the knee to the stomach was on him than you. “Careful with mommy’s tummy,” he reminds softly, and wraps his arms around her — bringing her to lay between so he can smother her face with kisses.
You watch it play out, loving eyes observing the warming act. And only when it dwindles down and he stops, do you touch her. You smooth over her wild bed head and redirect her attention, nodding to your husband beside her.
“Do you want to tell daddy what we’re doing today?” you ask, softly jogging her memory. She struggles for a moment and you get closer, whispering beside her ear. “What are we going to make for breakfast?”
“Pancakes,” she exclaims as she sits up, hands beginning to clap at the thought.
“Pancakes?” Bucky repeats, matching her excited tone like he was entertaining her. “What are we having on them?”
“Gummy bears,” she giggles, her toothy grin visible through her animated expression. “And chocolate, and— and cream, and, and,”
“Candy worms?” you suggest and she turns silent, her head twisting slowly to look at Bucky.
He notices her questioning glances and decides to play along, keen to humour his little girl. “That’s too far,” his head impishly shakes, pretending not to like the idea.
She mirrors your lover’s reaction, her face grimacing as he mimics a faux face of disgust. “No, mommy.”
You smile as you look between them, suppressing a laugh. “How about jelly beans?”
She takes another minute and turns to look at her dad, silently awaiting his response. He pretends to give it some thought and nods faintly, permitting his approval as a grin widens.
Your daughter finally agrees with a nod that rather matched that of Bucky’s. Though you reroute conversation, directing it back to the subject of the special day.
“Should we give daddy his present?” you ask, face lighting up.
She clambers away from the pair of you and slides off the bed, heading for the gift bag on the floor beside the dresser. She rejoins you moments later with a beaming smile you have never seen shine so bright.
“What’s this?” Bucky sits up, smile genuine and sincere as he reaches for the pink bag in your daughter’s hand.
She giggles, watching intently despite her young age. “A doll,” she interrupts, spoiling it before he even has a chance to take it out the bag.
He pulls it out and his smile falters, trying his very best not to laugh and taint the memory. Bucky turns to meet your eyes to figure out a way best to respond, though you’re no use: the hand over mouth a visible tell you were also struggling to compose yourself.
“That’s so thoughtful," he pauses and looks over the regifted doll. “This is from your room, isn’t it?”
She nods shamelessly. “Do you like it?” she asks, innocent eyes lit wide and huge.
“I love it,” he kisses her forehead. “Thank you, princess.”
You watch as he then removes the attached envelope, a saddened grin replacing the cheerful one before as he reads over the face of the card inside — ‘I got the best dad in the world’ printed large and proud on the front beside an ink transfer of her small hand. It was really a warming sight to see him get choked up by it, rather beautiful really, to see his doubts get reassured in real time: that he is a good dad, despite questioning himself not to be.
Just a little blurb I came up with involving Bucky, pregnant!reader, and their baby (gender neutral but nicknamed BooBoo after the baby bear from Yogi Bear)
Steam curled around the shower stall, forming a cloudy haze against the glass door. The scent of milk and honey wafted around the bathroom, providing a calming effect. Y/N sighed deeply as the warm water cascaded down her body, washing away the suds decorating her skin and providing relief to her aching body. Against her abdomen, little feet kicked, a tiny life impatient to join the world. Y/N startled, the sensation still new to her. “I know” she said, rubbing a hand over her swelled belly, “you didn’t mean to.” She turned, cradling her stomach and resting on the shower bench Bucky had installed as soon as she told him the news.
Minutes prior, they had been in the baby’s nursery, Bucky finishing off the bookshelf as Y/N sat in the rocking chair, a laundry basket at her feet, folding freshly washed onesies and laying them in the dresser drawers carefully. The baby appeared happy with this; seemingly performing a tap dance straight out of a musical from the Golden Age of Hollywood right above Y/N’s bladder. “Still doing okay Sweetheart?” Bucky queried.
“Mhmm,” she hummed contentedly. “I think BooBoo is happy about their new closet. They’re really moving today.”
“BooBoo?” Bucky replied, confused.
“He’s a baby bear,” Y/N explained. “From a cartoon I watched as a kid. Him and his buddy Yogi used to concoct schemes to steal picnic baskets.” Bucky let out a chuckle at the image, a sound that always set Y/N’s heart alight. “I thought it would be cute, you know, like a Mama Bear, Papa Bear thing. They’re our baby bear, so BooBoo.”
“BooBoo,” Bucky repeated, testing the nickname before returning to the bookshelf. Moments later, Bucky grumbled, accompanied by the sounds of shuffling paper.
“Everything okay?” Y/N asked, peeking over her shoulder.
Bucky crawled around his area on all fours, hands patting the hardwood. “Lost the last screw,” he replied.
Y/N glanced around her, searching for the hardware. She found it on the floor, in the corner to the right of the dresser. “Found it,” Y/N declared, placing her hands on the arm rests for leverage. She pushed herself up as BooBoo hit their grand finale at just the right moment, releasing pressure and causing Y/N to wet her pants. “Shit.”
Bucky had retrieved the screw while she was getting up. At the sound of her curse, he whirled his head, brow furrowed with concern. “Everything okay?”
Bucky pocketed the screw, rushing over to Y/N, offering her his arm for support as she headed towards the bathroom. “Don’t be so hard on yourself Sweetheart,” he said, placing a kiss on her temple as he started the water for her. “I know you’re annoyed and tired, but you’re doing amazing.”
Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the praise.
Bucky kissed her again, this time on the cheek, before crouching down and kissing her belly. “You two take all the time you need,” he said, opening the cabinet under the sink and producing a bag of shower steamers to help her relax. “I’ll finish up.”
Y/N stepped out of the bathroom, dried and belly freshly moisturized, wrapped in a towel to keep the cool air at bay. Upon reaching their bed, she noticed a neat pile folded on her side. Bucky’s favorite pair of pajama pants, which Y/N began borrowing the moment hers began to feel snug, laid underneath one of his old tshirts. Y/N picked up the shirt, fingers clinging harder once she felt how warm it was. Bucky must’ve placed them in the drier for a bit while she was cleaning herself off. “Aw Bucky,” she whispered as she dressed.
BooBoo kicked again, reminding her of their presence.
“Your daddy is so sweet,” Y/N spoke to the baby as she slipped the pants on. “He’s always doing little things like this. It’s one of the reasons why I love him so much.” Her hands found her belly again, rubbing soothing patterns she hoped the baby could feel. “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
Knuckles rapped against the doorframe, echoing throughout the bedroom. “Can I come in?” Bucky asked.
Y/N did an about face, greeting him with a smile. “Of course.”
Bucky walked into the room, hands clasped behind his back. “I’m not interrupting anything?” His right hand wrapped around her waist, hand splayed across her stomach.
“Nope,” Y/N shook her head. “Just telling BooBoo how much I love you.”
Bucky let out a small laugh before kissing her lips. “Love you too.” His fingers lightly tapped her abdomen. “And you too.” BooBoo squirmed underneath his touch.
Y/N’s eyes focused on Bucky’s metal arm, still behind his back. “What are you up to Buck?” She said, motioning with her head.
Bucky’s cheeks flushed. “It’s kind of silly. I started filling in the bookshelves and found this.” He moved then, showing Y/N a worn book.
Y/N released her stomach, taking the book from Bucky. “Winnie-the-Pooh,” she said fondly, fingers skimming the cracks along the spine. “This was my favorite when I was little.”
“Me too,” Bucky responded, a sad smile temporarily populating his face. “Rebecca used to beg me to read it to her all the time.”
Y/N’s hand came up, cupping his cheek, thumb swiping across his skin. It wasn’t often that Bucky discussed his family; even after all these years, it was an open wound for him.
Bucky took her hand in his, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Anyway, I saw it and was thinking about childhood. And what you said about bears and Pooh’s a bear, and well,” he shrugged. “I figured maybe our little bear would like if I read to them.”
Y/N’s heart swelled, the picture of Bucky in the rocking chair, holding their baby as he read creating a cozy sensation in her body. “I think they’d love that.”
Bucky smiled at her, then backed away, lifting the blanket from the bed. “Okay Sweetheart, lie down.”
Y/N spun around, confused. “What?”
“Lie down,” Bucky repeated. “So I can read.”
“You’re gonna read to me?” Y/N obeyed, taking her place on the bed.
“Well, yes and no,” Bucky responded climbing in next to her. He shifted down the bed, until his face was right next to her stomach. He peered up, blue eyes meeting hers, soft and pleading. Y/N understood then, pulling her shirt up just slightly, exposing the swell below. “Hey BooBoo,” Bucky’s voice rose slightly, gentler, loving. “I found a book I think you’d like. You want me to read to you?” His right hand came up, resting on Y/N’s stomach, waiting.
BooBoo answered him with a quick kick.
“Yeah?” Bucky said excitedly. “You’d like that?” He adjusted himself, getting comfortable as he flipped the book open. “Okay. It’s called Winnie-the-Pooh by A.A. Milne.”
Bucky paused, clearing his throat, and read, loud and clear. “Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin.”
Y/N watched as Bucky read, one hand remaining on her stomach, smile wide as their baby moved around in response to his voice. Only she got to see him like this; the embodiment of devotion and softness, all hers. And now it belonged to their baby too. Content, her fingers intertwined with Bucky’s. Her other hand went to his dark hair, stroking slowly. His voice drifted through the room, comforting, like syrupy thick honey drizzled into hot tea. Y/N’s eyelids grew heavy, her consciousness drifting.
Three chapter later, Bucky heard it, the shift in Y/N’s breathing. He looked up, observing his sleeping wife tenderly. Beneath his hand, the baby had calmed down, still moving, but not as antsy as before. “I think that’s enough for today,” Bucky whispered, sitting up and setting the book on the nightstand. He leaned down, face above Y/N’s stomach. “BooBoo, can you do me a favor? Take it easy on your mom okay?”
BooBoo wriggled, what felt to Bucky like a hand pressing against Y/N’s belly answering him. Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s my baby bear.” He kissed the spot where he believed the baby to be, lifting Y/N’s hand with caution as he tugged her shirt back down. “I love you.”
Bucky carefully moved up the bed, lying down next to Y/N. He draped the blanket over them, wrapped his arms around her, keeping one hand against her stomach. He placed a long kiss onto her cheek, lips smiling against her skin. “Love you too, Mama Bear.”
[...]“Don’t be so hard on yourself Sweetheart,” he said, placing a kiss on her temple as he started the water for her. “I know you’re annoyed and tired, but you’re doing amazing.”
HYDRA-Mandated Wife || 50s housewife!reader x Winter Soldier headcanons
warnings!: canon-typical violence, stereotypical 50s housewife—sexist undertones, questionable autonomy, implied brainwashing (reader), author's poor attempts at mimicking 50s speech patterns
notes: I had to get these headcanons outta my head soon as I can, so sorry if it seems rushed. LIGHTHEARTED, which I know is bizarre given the warnings but trust me. timeline not specified but it's pre-ca:tws.
✩₊˚.⋆✪⋆⁺₊✧
The Asset has started becoming difficult to manage, and there is only one solution left. So HYDRA really and looked at their most terrifying living weapon and went,
"Зимний Солдат has become too difficult to manage... What if we gave him... a wife."
Someone got shot for even suggesting that, someone else saw how impossible The Asset was becoming, and somehow, the mind-wipe isn't working anymore. And with The Asset's continued attitude problems, too unbearable to leave unchecked, too important to kill, mere weeks later, they accidentally assign him the loudest, most theatrical woman alive.
What's a girl to do when her husband accidentally splashes blood all over her new gingham dress?
The Soldier remained courteous with you. Once his handlers had introduced you to him as his designated wife, he gave them a simple nod and took you in as if you were any other mission.
Protect the asset, retrieve the asset, do not lose the asset— ...the asset is complaining again
You didn't have much complaints yourself, HYDRA just legally assigned you to this soldier and you just immediately start acting like you've been married for thirty years.
The first week, you were already reorganizing his living space (his designated area when he's not in cryostasis), stealing his shirts (whatever comfortable part of his soldier uniform you can find), and asking him how was work (he killed approximately five men).
And the Soldier just allows it. Despite not understanding domesticity, nor is he emotionally adjusted, he automatically categorized you as authorized presence, which transformed into constant presence. Which transformed to quality time being your main source of bonding. In eerie silence, often parallel to each other, but bonding nonetheless. Oftentimes, this means painting your nails while he disassembles his rifle.
Unfortunately, as much as you liked the peaceful quiet, you weren't quite as reserved as he is. So now, HYDRA's most terrifying assassin is walking down the bunker with you often found trailing behind him. Sometimes, even the other way around when you're especially peeved.
"Oh, honestly, James! You never take me anywhere swank! Sometimes I think you've forgotten I own a Sunday dress. If I don't get out of this lab soon, I will simply wilt!"
✩
Terrified scientists nearby pretend not to hear because that's the Winter Soldier being nagged like a suburban husband, although what really gets their attention is the fact that the Soldier merely seemed mildly inconvenienced.
"I brought you with me to Luxembourg," he responded with the confused sincerity of a man who measures acts of love tactically. "You said the architecture was beautiful."
"You're a real card, aren't you?" You raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at your towering, regular goose of a husband.
The Soldier seemed to visibly deflate. Minus the gunfire that rang those nights, he thought the night lights illuminating those cathedrals were stunning. "I could take you to Sokovia on my next mission?"
You visibly light up at the mention of Sokovia, clapping your hands together at the thought of visiting. "Oh, that would be magnificent!"
✩
His version of being a good husband is filtered through being an assassin first. Dates are had in diners in the middle of a mission, and anniversary gifts are knives and holsters that you ultimately didn't use but appreciated the sentiment behind.
He provides what he can with the resources that he has to make sure you were warm, safe, and satisfied. Meanwhile, you wanted ceremony, you wanted the yearning and the romance and the gifts!
But the Soldier's idea of thoughtful gift-giving is silently dropping a military-grade flare gun into your lap because you complained about feeling unsafe. And you swoon because that meant he listens to you. As a soldier, he listens to a lot of people, but as a husband, he absorbs your plights and acts accordingly.
But, well, of course, being attuned to him, it often left you visibly breathless, completely undone by the sheer scale of his devotion.
✩
HYDRA agents get used to this eventually after long long months of mistaking you as the Winter Soldier's hostage suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Eventually, they stop hovering around when you'd watch the Soldier gear up for a mission.
"Don't forget your gloves, dear!" you would chirp, standing by the doorway. "You wouldn't want to look like a total roughneck at your business trip, would you?"
The Soldier grunts in acknowledgement and puts them on right before anything else. You give him a kiss goodbye before he heads out because in your mind, this is just marriage where you wave goodbye before he leaves for work. And his work just so happen to involve international assassinations.
The Soldier never thinks it, let alone verbalizes it, but he knows deep down somewhere in his subconscious, you were such a good wife. You would talk to him normally instead of like a weapon. Notice when he's dissociating. Redirect handlers before they aggravate him. Instinctively lower stimuli after missions. Heavens, you were perfect.
Which means HYDRA succeeded in giving the Soldier something stabilizing; a routine, and most importantly, a person who expects him to come back.
It works, a civilian domestic presence starts anchoring him to humanity again. They could almost let you off on cosntantly calling the Soldier "James" despite the liability you were posing. Who even authorized you, why do you have access to such classified files?
On the flipside, they didn't mean to rehabilirate him, your presence was initially just to make him manageable. But instead, the Soldier starts developing habits, preferences, protectiveness, attachment... all because of a woman who watches him return covered in soot and blood and only exclaim about the time.
"Heavens to Betsy, James!" you exclaimed as you walked over to give your dusty husband a kiss on the cheek in outraged greeting. "I was beginning to think you’d moved into the office. What did you do that kept you out so late, mister?"
"Traffic," the Soldier responds curtly as he takes off his boots. He knew you never liked when he tracked mud all over the floor. He'd already gotten an earful from that.
✩
They let it. As risky as it was, your grounding presence has made the Soldier kill more efficiently. There were less blood being spilled, and he finished missions in record time, if not earlier than expected, just so he could come "home".
So long as you were effective, they'll avoid intervening and merely keep a close watch.
husband!bucky and readers son whenever they go to the store. i’m crying.
- 😼
bitch im crying too wtf
----------
It starts the way most things with Bucky do—quietly. No declaration, no grand speech. Just the way he takes things out of your hands before you even think to ask.
You’d been dating a month when you noticed it for the first time. It was a Saturday morning at the farmer’s market, the air warm with the scent of peaches and sun, and Bucky had insisted on carrying every single paper bag you collected. You’d tried to take one, and he’d just given you that look—soft around the eyes but firm enough to mean don’t fight me on this, doll.
“This is my job,” he’d said, smiling like it wasn’t even a choice. “I carry the bags, you pick the fruit.”
It became a ritual—your rhythm. You’d laugh when he had his arms full of groceries, flowers, and the occasional gallon of milk dangling dangerously from his metal hand, and he’d just shrug like he’d been built for it. Like this was his purpose.
He never let you carry anything heavier than your purse.
And when you married him, the habit didn’t fade. If anything, it became more pronounced. At the grocery store, he’d walk with one hand on the cart and the other on your lower back, making sure you never had to lift a thing. On trips, he’d carry every suitcase. He’d never admit it, but it made him proud—the small, quiet way he could take care of you after everything in his life had once been out of his control.
It wasn’t about chivalry. It was about love.
Years later, when Grant was three, he started to notice.
“Daddy always carries Mommy’s bags,” he said one afternoon, watching from the kitchen doorway as Bucky came in from the car, arms loaded with grocery bags like always.
“That’s right,” Bucky said, grinning as he set the bags down on the counter. “Mommy picked all the good stuff, so Daddy brings it home.”
Grant squinted, thoughtful. “I can help too.”
Bucky’s smile faltered, just a little—because Grant was still small, still a tangle of curls and chubby hands. “You can help by carrying the bread, pal. Bread’s important cargo.”
Grant puffed out his chest like he’d been given a mission from Captain America himself. “I’ll carry the bread!”
He took it with both hands, serious as a soldier, and placed it gently on the counter. You swore Bucky’s eyes went glassy.
Levi was a different story.
You had him two years later, and where Grant was careful and sweet, Levi was all fire and copycat energy. If his big brother did it, he’d do it too.
By the time he was four, the store trips became a family affair—Bucky pushing the cart, you beside him with the list, Grant walking with his small hand wrapped around the edge of the cart, and Levi a few steps behind, insisting on carrying the basket “like Daddy.”
It was much too heavy for him, of course. You’d watch as his tiny body tilted a little to the side, face red from determination.
“Levi, sweetheart, Daddy can take that—”
“No!” he’d huff. “I’m helping Mommy!”
Bucky would kneel down, careful not to laugh. “Hey, buddy. How ‘bout we do it together, yeah?”
Levi would nod, grin wide, and together they’d hold the handle—Bucky’s large, scarred hand steadying his son’s tiny one. You’d swear it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.
By checkout, the basket would be mostly empty, because Levi had passed every item proudly to the cashier, one by one. And every time, Bucky would lean down and whisper, “Good job, pal. Mommy’s real lucky to have us, huh?”
Levi’s grin would stretch ear to ear. “Yeah. We’re strong boys.”
It becomes a scene played on loop through the years.
Bucky carrying the bags. Grant and Levi trailing behind, each insisting they’re old enough for more responsibility.
When Grant turns eight, he manages to lift one of the heavier bags from the trunk. “See, Daddy? I can do it now!”
Bucky hides his smile behind his hand. “You sure can, G-man. But remember, we carry the heavy stuff so Mommy doesn’t have to, yeah?”
Grant nods solemnly. “’Cause we love her.”
Bucky freezes. He hadn’t taught him that line—but it sounds so much like something he would have said.
You watch from the porch, one hand over your heart, because how could you not melt?
Levi, now six, tugs at the strap of a second bag. “I love Mommy too!”
You have to blink fast when Bucky kneels between them, resting a big hand on each of their heads. “I know you do, boys. Best thing a man can do is show it.”
The years keep coming, soft and steady, and one day, you realize it’s muscle memory now—the way Bucky automatically takes the bags from your hands, the way Grant mirrors him, the way Levi insists on carrying something, anything.
At the store, other shoppers smile at the sight—three Barnes men juggling grocery bags while you walk behind them, a quiet kind of reverence in your chest.
Levi still tries to carry the biggest one, grunting as he does. Grant keeps offering to take the eggs because “they’re delicate, just like Mommy’s hands.”
Bucky just laughs and musses his hair. “You smooth talker. You’ll be trouble when you’re older.”
“I’m learning from you,” Grant says innocently, and Bucky nearly drops the paper towels trying not to choke on his own laugh.
That night, after the boys are in bed, you find him in the kitchen, unpacking the last of the groceries.
He doesn’t even notice you at first—just moving through the motions he’s done a thousand times, sleeves rolled up, jaw relaxed, the kind of domestic calm that makes your throat ache with love.
“Hey,” you say softly, stepping into his space.
He turns, eyes bright and blue. “Hey, doll.”
“You know they’re watching you, right?”
He quirks a brow. “Who? The boys?”
“Yeah. They’re watching everything. The way you talk to me. The way you love me.”
He goes still, and for a moment, he looks almost shy. “Guess I better keep doin’ it right, huh?”
You smile, reaching for his hand. “You already are.”
He squeezes your fingers, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Can’t help it. You’re my girl.”
A week later, you come home late from work, and before you can even reach the door, you see them through the window—Bucky and the boys unloading groceries from the car.
Grant carries two bags, careful and balanced. Levi, smaller but determined, struggles with one nearly his size. Bucky walks between them, guiding their steps, murmuring encouragement with every few feet.
You stay there for a moment, hands pressed to the glass, watching the man you love and the two little boys who mirror him in every possible way.
Three matching smiles. Three sets of strong hands carrying every weight that matters.
And when they finally reach the door, Bucky looks up, catches your eye, and grins.
“See, doll?” he says, voice warm and proud. “Told you we’ve got this.”
summary: the squad are sick of you and hangman pining after each other, so they set you up with the cowboy hat rule - 'you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy' (i know it's never specified but because glen grew up in texas, i'm applying that to jake)
notes: i am literally posting this while at work because i am so excited! i'm actually pretty proud of this one right now, so i'm trying not to second guess it and keep rereading it... i really hope y'all enjoy! please let me know all your thoughts! (in case you can't tell, i'm currently reading elsie silver's books)
warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption / drunkenness, mention of a student/teacher relationship, and general horniness but no actual smut (i'm sorry, it's already so long)
word count: 10667
You roll your lips as your eyes wander across the faces of your friends, each of them expressing varying degrees of excitement as they discuss the upcoming celebration for Javy’s birthday this weekend. It’s been a good week for the dagger squad, and even Maverick has managed not to piss off the admiral in almost five whole days. Everyone is holding their breath, praying he can hold off for the second half of the day so the team doesn’t get punished with weekend rotation... again.
You’re sitting in the middle of the long table with Natasha to your left and Bradley to your right, and across from you is the most gorgeous man on the planet. You can’t help settling your gaze on him, tracing the bridge of his nose as he faces Javy beside him, lips moving as words spill from them, but you can't possibly know what he’s saying because you’re too busy picturing what else those lips would be good at. His Adam’s apple bobs between statements and his tongue occasionally darts across those lips, making your innocent Friday lunch feel a lot filthier as your thoughts wander in the most inappropriate way.
An elbow nudging into your ribs knocks you off your bullet train of thought, derailing it at high speed as reality comes crashing down and you turn accusingly toward Bradley. “What?” you snap.
He chuckles, “You’re drooling.”
Your hand flies up to your mouth, fingers padding at each corner only to find the skin dry. You scowl at him, “Asshole.”
He has to hide his increased laughter in the mouth of his water bottle, taking a long sip so to not draw the attention of the rest of the group. “Sorry,” he says as he places the bottle back on the table, “but you were about to. I was saving you from yourself.”
You roll your eyes, “Whatever.”
Bradley shakes his head, his amused grin fading as he drops his gaze back to the tray of food in front of him, and a tiny pebble of guilt drops in the pit of your stomach. You suddenly feel bad for snapping at your best friend, so you bump your shoulder against his and reach over to steal a fry from his tray.
He shoots you a glare from the corner of his eye, but the smirk on his lips tells you that he isn’t really mad. You pop the fry into your mouth and chew it with a smile before turning your attention back to the group, startling when you find a pair of green eyes already trained on you. Heat flushes up your neck, colouring your cheeks as you stare back at the man you had just previously been ogling. Time seems to slow down, or speed up, you’re not sure, but what you do know is how pretty Jake’s eyes are, swirling shades of green with flecks of gold that glow in the afternoon sunlight flooding through the high cafeteria windows.
“Hangman?” Javy clicks his fingers in front of Jake’s face, simultaneously snapping you both out of whatever trance you’d been stuck in.
When you look around the table, you notice that most of the group are standing now, holding their empty trays and getting ready to return to work.
Jake blinks a few times, a slight frown creasing between his brows. “What?” he snaps.
Javy chuckles, holding one hand up in surrender. “Calm down, I was just asking what time we should get to your place tomorrow night.”
“Oh,” Jake’s shoulders visibly relax, “1800.”
You roll your eyes playfully as you push up from your chair. “Okay soldier, you can just say 6PM.”
His face breaks into a breathtaking grin as he stands and picks his tray up from the table. “Sorry civilian, I’ll see you at 6PM tomorrow night.”
Low laughter rumbles through the group as you take an extra moment to appreciate the gorgeous man smiling at you, but then Javy tugs on Jake’s arm and interrupts you both for the second time less than a minutes. “Come on man, Mav will be pissed if we’re late.”
“Wait for me?” Bradley asks.
You turn to your best friend and find him looking at you – asking you – rather than his squadmates. “Huh?”
He raises one judgemental brow, a teasing smirk on his lips. “After work, wait for me so I can give you a lift home.”
“Oh,” you nod, “duh, I’m not walking.”
His eyes flash toward Jake’s retreating form before he looks back at you with a grin. “Would you at least try to control yourself? Jesus, it’s so obvious.”
“Oh, shut up,” you frown at him. “Hurry up or Mav will have your ass.”
He stacks his tray on top of yours in your hands and leans forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You’re so sweet to me,” he jokes, before turning on his heel and jogging after the others.
You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you watch him leave, meeting Jake at the exit door leading to the main hangars. Just as they both disappear, you can swear Jake throws an angry glance over his shoulder at you, but the door swings shut before you can be sure.
That glare haunts you on your journey back to the control tower. Had you really seen what you think you saw? Jake had just been grinning at you, joking with you, but then somewhere on his way across the cafeteria he had found a reason to glare at you. It doesn’t make sense.
You try to push the image of his angry face out of your mind as you sit back at your desk, one of eight situated on the fourth floor of the main control tower. Three screens stare back at you, displaying various windows of information about the sky’s conditions and other operational statuses from around the base. You slide your headset on and adjust the dials until you can hear a soft crackle indicating successful connection to the correct frequency. One by one, you watch the faces and callsigns of your friends pop up on the right-most screen as they turn their comms on and ready their jets.
“Maverick to control,” Mav’s voice comes through your headset.
“Good afternoon, Maverick,” you reply, as if you hadn’t already been on the comms with him for half the day.
“Radio check before take-off please, aviators,” he says, “alphabetical order if you geniuses can figure it out.”
You roll your lips to keep from laughing, reminding yourself that despite your personal connection to these people, this is still your job.
“Bob to control, can you hear me?”
“Lound and clear,” you respond, quickly trying to figure out the alphabetical order for yourself.
“Coyote to control.”
“Copy.”
“Fanboy to control.”
“Copy,” you repeat.
“Hangman to control,” Jake says, his voice in your ear sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.
“Copy,” you reply.
The line then goes quiet, a faint crackling the only indication that the radio hasn’t completely dropped out. You wait a beat before speaking again, “Radio check please Payback.”
“Shit, sorry. Copy,” Reuben’s voice responds. “I thought Phoenix was before me.”
“A comes before H, idiot,” Natasha says, followed by a chorus of snickers. “Phoenix to control, can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Phoenix,” you reply through your laughter.
“Rooster to control,” Bradley’s voice fills your ears, “your favourite pilot here, bringing up the rear.”
You roll your eyes, “Copy that, Shakespeare.”
Another rumble of laughter comes through your headset as you quickly type into the afternoon’s log that the radio check was successful.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Mav says as the laughter dies down. “Control, are we good for take-off?”
“Skies are clear, Mav,” you reply, “take off at will.”
You tune out the soft chatter as the squad ready themselves for taking off, and one by one watch their altitudes rise on your middle screen. They all pop up as red dots on the radar window, blinking slowly as they cruise through what you know is a cloudy afternoon sky.
“We’ve got a stormfront coming in from the south,” you say, eyes darting to your left-most screen. “We might need to call it a little early this afternoon, Mav.”
Maverick chuckles, “An early mark on a Friday? I don’t know if this lot deserve it.”
A series of protests then fill your ears, almost every pilot falling for Maverick’s taunt and arguing that they do deserve an early mark, even going as far as to say that they’ve had a hard week. You’ve been here all week too, and you probably couldn’t agree with that since this week has been one of the cruisiest in a while.
“Alright, alright,” Mav says to quell the bickering, “if you can perfectly execute the cloak and dagger drill, I’ll let you all land by 1500.”
The complaining turns into cheering, and Bradley threatens the team to perform because he’s not staying back in a storm on a Friday afternoon. Not that Mav could keep them in the skies if the weather gets that bad.
“Listen up,” Maverick says, “Coyote, I’ll be your wingman, and I want Phoenix and Bob behind us. Hangman, Rooster will be your wingman-”
“I’ve been trying, Mav,” Bradley interrupts, his voice dripping with cheek, “but the man is oblivious.”
Your heart leaps into your throat, blocking your airways as you suffocate on the audacity of your best friend. The laughter from your headset sounds distant as you try to remember how to breathe, willing yourself to calm down. Afterall, no one could really know what he’s talking about, right?
“Yes, Rooster,” Maverick chuckles, “we’re all aware of how oblivious Hangman is.”
Your eyes grow wide.
“What are you talking about?” Jake pipes up, and you can almost see the adorable and confused look on his face. His brows pinched together, a little crease between them, and his bottom lip pushed forward in a small pout.
“Point and case,” Bradley says, at which the rest of the squad dissolve into giggles.
Does everyone know about your crush? Is Jake really the only confused pilot right now?
“I don’t get the joke,” Mickey says over the laughter.
You can’t help the smile that cracks across your face, a breathy laugh leaving your lips as you try to focus on documenting the weather warning in your afternoon log. The team continue to giggle, turning their teasing on Mickey before Maverick orders them to focus. They run the drill perfectly, finishing up just before an orange alert pops up on your screen, a notification from the weather analysis team telling you to get the squad on the ground.
“Maverick,” you say, “the storm is coming in fast; you’ve been ordered to land.”
“Copy that,” he responds, before rattling off instructions to the squad.
One by one, you watch their blinking dots on the radar screen approach the runway and land. They manoeuvre toward the hangar, following instructions from the ground team to store the jets for the weekend. You exchange a couple of last words with Mav before they all remove their helmets and start the end of day procedures. You take time to check your emails and send the day’s log to the data analysis team before doing all your usual sign offs. By the time you’re exiting the control tower, it’s almost 4PM.
You pull your phone out of your back pocket, about to text Bradley asking which lot he parked in today when his Ford Bronco skids to a halt three feet in front of you. He leans across the passenger seat and pops the door open with a grin. “Need a ride?”
You roll your eyes, taking two long strides forward and throwing your bag into the back seat before flopping into the passenger seat beside him. “That was quick,” you state. “Doesn’t the debrief usually take longer on Fridays?”
Bradley shrugs, “The admiral left early today so we didn’t have to do a formal debrief, and maintenance are doing a fuel flush on all the jets this weekend so they took them off our hands pretty quick.”
“Oh, nice,” you reply simply before turning your attention back to your phone, checking the notifications you missed during work.
Bradley navigates the base easily, slowing to a stop at the exit gates and having a short chat with the security guard in the booth before the boomgate rises and he hits the gas again. When the car merges onto the main highway, you tuck your phone under your thigh, not wanting to risk motion sickness with Bradley’s driving. Let’s just say, he’s a much better pilot than he is a chauffeur.
“So,” he says, glancing at you with a cheeky grin, “do you want to hear something interesting.”
You sigh, recognising that look. “Who were you eavesdropping on today?”
“I heard Hangman talking to Coyote before I left,” he explains, eyes sparkling with mischief, “and I heard Coyote say to ‘stop making excuses and just ask her out’.”
You frown, trying to tamp down the green-eyed monster rumbling to life in your stomach. “Ask who out?”
“I didn’t hear a name, but I’m assuming-”
“Don’t say me.”
He chuckles, “Not me, you.”
You scowl at him, “Don’t argue with me about semantics.”
He rolls his eyes, “I just don’t understand why you won’t believe me. You heard the whole squad before, everyone knows except Hangman, even Mav!”
“Mickey doesn’t know,” you argue.
“Fanboy is almost as oblivious as your boyfriend.”
Your eyes narrow, “Do not use that word.”
He laughs again, “Which one?”
“You know which one.”
He sighs heavily, as if the weight of your unrequited crush was pressing down on his shoulders too. “Look, if you’re going to be stubborn, I’m going to have to take things into my own hands.”
“Please don’t,” you beg, your eyes growing wide.
He shrugs and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, but you’re giving me no choice.”
“Bradley, please,” you plead, turning in your seat to face him, “just leave it alone. I don’t want to ruin the friendship and make it uncomfortable for the whole group.”
“The whole group already is uncomfortable with you two constantly eye-fucking each other!”
Heat creeps up your neck, turning your cheeks pink and making your ears burn. You want to protest and continue arguing with him, because you’re adamant that Jake does not return your feelings, but your brain can’t seem to string a coherent sentence together. Instead, you sink down in your seat and scowl at the road, wondering what you could possibly be in store for if Bradley really is taking matters into his own hands.
The rest of the drive home isn’t long, and soon enough, Bradley is pulling the Bronco into his parking spot in the garage of the apartment block you both live in. You don’t live together, but you do live in neighbouring studio apartments, so it often feels like you live together. You drive to and from work together, you usually have dinner together and watch movies together in the evenings. Basically, if you’re both not busy, you’re with each other, and it’s been that way as long as you’ve both been based on North Island.
The squad had initially teased that the two of you might be more than friends, they even had you questioning it, but one wine-drunk kiss while watching The Bachelor confirmed that neither of you felt anything romantic toward the other. It was that same night that you also confessed to Bradley that you might be falling for Jake, to which he looked at you like you were stupid because duh. Apparently, your crush has been obvious from day one.
Now, here you are, hopelessly in love with a man you not only work with, but you’d also consider one of your closest friends. Rock, meet Hard Place, and you? You’re in the middle.
-
After spending the night on the couch with Bradley and a box of pizza, you took yourself off to bed and dreamed one of the many reoccurring dreams you have about a certain fighter pilot. You managed to sleep in before taking yourself for a long walk and making a mental list of all the things you needed to do before Javy’s birthday party.
Jake had been generous enough to offer having the party at his place, since the squad wanted to do something other than go to The Hard Deck for once. You'd offered to help shop for supplies and set up for the night, but Jake and Javy assured the group that they had it all under control. All you have to do is waste your Saturday and quell your nerves before the party.
At exactly 5:45PM, there’s a knock at your door. You quickly finish applying your lip balm before tucking it into the purse hanging from your shoulder and grabbing the jacket you’d thrown over the back of the lounge. You yank your front door open to find your best friend grinning from ear to ear, his moustache looking particularly fresh.
“You shaved,” you state, stepping forward and forcing him to step back.
He nods before asking, “Did you?”
You finish locking the door, slipping the key into your purse with one hand while the other slaps Bradley’s bicep. “Don’t be creepy!”
He chuckles and rubs his arm. “I’m not being creepy, I’m just making sure you’re prepared for any outcome.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “What are you planning?”
"Nothing in particular,” he replies innocently, though the small smirk on his lips betrays him.
You decide to leave it, since you're already nervous enough, and focus on relaxing the butterflies flapping wildly in your stomach. Bradley decided earlier that he would drive to Jake’s, since it’s hardly ten minutes from where you live, and leave his car in favour of getting an Uber home. Jake had said that anyone who wanted to crash was more than welcome to, but the thought of sleeping at his place only invigorates those nervous butterflies.
“Stop,” Bradley says, one hand leaving the steering wheel to grab your bouncing knee. “Why are you so nervous?”
You shrug, opting instead to wring your hands in your lap. “I don’t know, I just am.”
“You see these people every single day,” he points out, “what’s so nerve-wracking about tonight?”
You sigh, refusing to look at him as you reply, “I’m just feeling a little weird about going to Jake’s apartment.”
His brows shoot up toward his hairline, and you can tell by the way he rolls his lips that he’s holding back laughter. Your cheeks burn, and you have to hide your face in your hands.
“I’m not going to make fun of you,” he says quickly, “I actually think it’s a bit cute.”
You drop your hands, turning to him with a frown. “What? Why?”
He shrugs one shoulder, “I don’t know. It’s cute that you’re nervous to see where you’ll be living once the two of you finally fuck and get marr- ow!”
You cut him off my smacking his arm, the same one as before, harder. “Would you stop being such a pain?!” you exclaim as the car comes to a halt. “You’re supposed to be my best friend; you’re supposed to comfort me, not make my face all red and blotchy right before we go inside.”
He finally lets his laughter win, his shoulders shaking as he chuckles into his closed fist. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m not trying to be a dick, it just comes so naturally.”
You roll your eyes and pop open the passenger door, throwing him a glare over your shoulder. “I know.”
He manages to keep his thoughts to himself while the two of you cross the lobby and ride the elevator up to the fourth floor. This apartment block is shorter than yours, but wider. It’s one of the most coveted locations for naval personnel based on North Island, being the closest two- and three-bedroom apartments to the base. Jake had lucked out when he snagged one of these apartments with another lieutenant, and he’d lucked out even harder when that lieutenant got relocated and he ended up having the apartment to himself.
The sound of Bradley’s knuckles against the hardwood door knocks you back to reality, and you find yourself standing in front of apartment 4B.
“Who is it?” Natasha’s voice calls from the other side of the door.
“Stripper,” Bradley calls back.
“Finally,” the door wooshes open and you watch the liquid in Natasha’s red cup slosh dangerously. “We’ve been waiting all night.”
Bradley winks at her as he strides into the apartment, but before you can follow, Natasha blocks your path. “You need to pay the entry fee,” she says, offering you the red cup.
You frown, “Why me and not him?”
“Because it’ll calm your nerves.”
You catch Bradley smirking over his shoulder, and you scowl at him, wishing you could telepathically punch him for texting Natasha in advance, warning her of your anxiousness.
“Fine,” you sigh, taking the cup and tipping it to your lips.
You drain the cup, ignoring the burn that slides all the way down to your stomach. When you tip your head back to look at Natasha, she’s grinning. “Now you may enter,” she says, stepping aside.
There are a few more people than just the dagger squad in the apartment. You recognised most of them, but you decide that it’s not important enough for you to go around the room introducing yourself to the ones you don’t know the way Bradley is. Outgoing motherfucker. Instead, you beeline for the kitchen where Bob is on the phone reading out an extensive list of pizza orders. He offers you a quick smile before returning his attention to the list.
There’s a makeshift cocktail station set up beside the sink, with an array of alcohol bottles sat on the passthrough window bench. Your gaze drifts past the bottles and into the lounge room where everyone is gathered, landing easily on Jake who is animatedly retelling something to two men you recognise as Fritz and Yale. You’ve never been so charmed by someone in your life, it’s almost laughable the way this man captivates you. You can’t look away from the bright grin on his face, the tiny crease between his brows, and the excitement in his pretty green eyes.
“Hey,” Bob says, startling you out of your trance.
You can feel heat blooming in your cheeks as you turn to face him, leaning your left hip against the countertop. “Hey.”
“Drink?” he asks, a small but knowing smile tipping the corner of his mouth up.
You nod quickly, “Please.”
You chat idly while Bob fixes you both a cocktail that you don’t recognise, not that you’re much of a connoisseur when it comes to bartending, and you’re pretty sure he sneaks an extra shot into yours. Either way, the drink he hands you tastes delicious and fruity, and you’re feeling a little less nervous as you both join the group in the living room. A couple of Javy’s friends who you don’t know have already parted from the dagger squad, starting a foosball competition while the rest of you find somewhere to sit around the coffee table.
“Okay,” Bradley says to the group, “let’s play a little warm up game.”
“Yes!” Mickey exclaims as he settles into a beanbag. “I’m so down.”
Javy chuckles, “Alright, what are we playing?”
“Never Have I Ever,” Bradley replies, his lips curled into an evil smirk.
Your heart stutters, forgetting its usual rhythm before jumping into an erratic beat. You tip your drink to your lips, almost draining the whole thing, and when you finally look back at your best friend across the coffee table, he winks. This is his plan.
“But instead of just putting a finger down,” Natasha says, making you realise that she is in on it too, “you have to take a sip of your drink.”
“Does everyone have a drink?” Bradley asks.
You watch as a few of your friends drain the dregs of their current drinks before getting up to retrieve fresh ones, and you sigh, tipping the last of your cocktail into your mouth. You might as well get drunk with them.
When Bob returns to his seat beside you, he hands you a bottle of blue liquid. “Thought you might need this.”
You smile gratefully, “You’re the best.”
Once everyone is settled again, Bradley and Natasha take turns going over the rules of the high school game, even though it’s not that complicated.
“Oh, one last thing,” Bradley says, eyes trained on you, “nothing is off limits, and if you lie, you finish your drink.”
“How will we know if someone’s lying?” Reuben asks.
“I think there’s enough of us here that know each other well enough to spot a lie,” Natasha replies with a smirk.
Well, fuck.
“I’ll start,” Bradley announces. “Never have I ever slept with someone else in the navy.”
Jake, Javy, Mickey, Reuben, Natasha, and Harvard – who you only know by his callsign – all groan and take a sip of their drinks. Your eyes widen and you turn to Natasha on your right. “Excuse me, why did I not know about this?”
She rolls her eyes, “It was ages ago.”
“Damn, Phoenix,” Reuben says with a smirk, “didn’t think you were a rule breaker.”
“Technically,” Natasha bites back, “it’s not a rule, just frowned upon.”
Laughter rolls through the group before Bradley turns to Jake on his left. “You’re up, Hangman.”
Jake clears his throat as he sits up straighter and surveys the group, lingering on you for a moment longer than the rest. “Okay,” he says, “never have I ever had a secret relationship.”
There’s a beat of silence, a few people’s brows creasing in confusion as everyone stares at Jake.
“That’s a weird one,” Natasha states, though you can see in her eyes that she’s trying to figure out the hidden meaning to Jake’s declaration.
“Well, anyway,” Javy says, chuckling as he tips his beer to his lips.
The rest of the group takes a moment to think before both Bradley and Mickey also take a sip of their drinks. You watch Jake’s eyes widen slightly as he watches Bradley drink, then his gaze darts toward you, as if waiting for you to take a sip too. When you don’t, his shoulders seem to relax.
“Oh, my God,” Natasha whispers so softly that only you can hear, and when you turn to look at her, you find her eyes focused on Jake.
You feel yourself splitting in two, torn between asking Natasha what her revelation is or demanding to know what this secret relationship of Bradley’s was. You decide to go with the less nerve-inducing option.
“Excuse me, Bradley,” you speak across the group, “what was this secret relationship?”
He chuckles, “It was in high school.”
“Oh,” Reuben wriggles his eyebrows and nudges Bradley’s side, “were you a junior and she was a senior?”
Bradley snorts, “Actually, I was a senior and she was a teacher.”
Javy chokes on his second mouthful of beer, and the group suddenly erupts into laughter and questions while Bradley sits there like a king. You join in the laughter and use the commotion to slide your gaze toward Jake, heat rising in your cheeks when you find his eyes already fixed on you. He smirks, and you’re pretty sure your stomach does a triple somersault.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Bradley says. “I know I’m a legend. Now, let’s get on with it.”
Beside Jake, the man you only know as Harvard announces that he has never skinny dipped, at which everyone but Bob takes a sip of their drink. Next is Fritz, who declares that he has never had sex in the shower, and everyone in the group drinks. Your heart starts to race again as Natasha wriggles beside you, clearly excited about it being her turn next.
“Let me think,” she says, rolling her lips as she pauses to think for a moment.
You feel her brief gaze from the corner of her eye, and heat prickles the back of your neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Never have I ever,” she begins, her brown eyes glowing with mischief, “had sexual fantasies about someone else in this group.”
Your breath catches on its way out, lodging in your throat as you once again forget how to breathe. You can feel your pulse across every inch of your skin, your heart thudding so hard against your ribs you worry it might break free. You can’t lie. You know you can’t lie, because Bradley is giving you a very pointed glare from across the group and Natasha has turned her whole body to face you.
“Fine,” you mutter into the bottle as you bring it to your lips, tipping it up.
You hear Javy's laughter above everyone else’s hoots and hollers, and when you look back at the group, you catch the tail end of Jake taking a sip from his drink. Natasha giggles beside you, subtly nudging your side with her elbow.
Bradley’s eyes are trained on you, and he opens his mouth to no doubt say something taunting when Reuben lifts his drink to his lips, and Bradley turns to him in shock. “You too?!” he exclaims.
Mickey has dissolved into fits of laughter, curling over and holding his stomach.
“It was an accident,” Reuben justifies, the colour of his cheeks growing deeper, “I had one dream.”
“About who?” Jake demands, his frown more accusatory than curious.
Reuben shakes his head, “That is nobody’s business but mine.”
The laughter slowly dies down, and you silently thank any god that might be listening for the distraction before Bradley or Natasha could embarrass you further.
“Okay, my turn,” you say, quickly moving the game along. “Never have I ever piloted a jet.”
The smirk on your lips is incredibly proud, and half the group groans while the other half chuckles as every single one of them tip their drinks to their lips. It was a cheap shot, but you had to distract from all the sex stuff before you spontaneously combusted.
“Alright, Bob,” Bradley says, looking at the man to your left, “what have you got for us?”
Bob clears his throat, a small smile curling his lips. “Never have I ever worn a bra.”
Both you and Natasha roll your eyes and take a swig of your drinks, and across the group so does Bradley. You stare at him wide eyed as a stupid grin stretches across your face.
“Oh, I have got to hear this story,” Natasha says, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.
Bradley tries to shrug nonchalantly, but you can see blood seeping into his cheeks, turning them red. “Alright, as if none of you have tried a bra on before,” he says, eyeing the men around the circle.
Everyone bursts into fits of laughter, holding their stomachs or their chests as they fold over and start mocking your best friend. You almost feel bad for him, watching him try to defend himself, but then you remember that he started this game to out your crush and any trace of empathy you had is quickly wiped clean.
“Okay, everyone shut up,” Javy says over the giggling and teasing, “it’s the birthday boy’s turn.”
The noise dies down, and only then do you realise that the group of Javy’s friends by the foosball table are now watching the game of Never Have I Ever as if it’s some enthralling reality TV show.
“Never have I ever,” Javy says slowly, his eyes locked on Jake directly across the circle, “been too chickenshit to ask someone out even though I’m clearly obsessed with them.”
Your heart stutters again, unable to discern the difference between being held at gunpoint and playing a stupid game mostly likely created by high school students. You tip your drink to your lips, not missing the fact that Jake does too, and certainly not missing the way Bradley’s eyes widen and snap toward you. Mickey and Fritz also drink, but to your immense relief, the rest of the group hold off on the teasing for this round.
“Okay, um,” Mickey taps a finger on his chin as he stares into space, “never have I ever ridden a horse.”
Beside him, Reuben frowns, “What?”
Mickey shrugs, “I was looking at the horse.” He gestures toward the narrow bookshelf beside the television cabinet, adorned with a few books, photo frames, and knickknacks. On the very middle shelf is a golden trophy with a little figurine of a cowboy riding a horse, his rope poised in the air mid-lasso.
Reuben turns his quizzical frown toward Jake. “Why do you have a horse trophy?”
Jake’s cheeks are pink, either from embarrassment or alcohol, you can’t tell, but Javy speaks before he can reply. “Didn’t you know baby Hangman was a part of Austin’s champion junior penning team?”
Mickey tilts his head like a confused dog. “What’s penning?”
“It’s a ranching thing,” Jake replies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You’re in a team of three on horseback, and you have to separate cattle. There’re all these other rules too, but that’s the basis of it.”
Your chest aches at the sight of Jake Seresin actually looking shy. You’ve never seen this man with less confidence than a stag in mating season, and that mixed with the imagery of a young Jake working on his family’s ranch; well, your heart is just about ready to burst.
Bradley chuckles, “I always forget that you’re a cowboy.”
“Can take the boy out of Texas,” Javy says with a southern twang, “but can’t take Texas out of the boy.”
Jake rolls his eyes playfully and rumples up his empty red cup before tossing it across the circle at his best friend. From what you can gather, Jake and Javy have known each other far longer than just the past few years, and you’re always pleasantly surprised when either of them comes out with historic pieces of information about the other.
“Alright, one more and we’re playing a new game,” Bradley announces, turning his attention to Reuben who is the last to go before it’s back to the beginning.
“Never have I ever,” Reuben says with a cheeky smile, “owned a cowboy hat.”
The group dissolves into another fit of laughter, and you see Natasha and Fritz sip their drinks from the corner of your eye, but everyone’s attention has turned to Jake.
He rolls his eyes again and pushes to his feet. “You people are relentless!” he exclaims, his tone laced with amusement. “I finished my drink anyway, so suck on that.”
Renewed laughter rumbles through the room as Jake storms off down the short hallway, disappearing into a room you can’t see from your position on the lounge. Half the group make their way toward the kitchen to refresh their drinks, while the other half continue joking about Jake’s cowboy ancestry.
You turn your attention back to the bookshelf where the trophy is, letting your eyes wander over all the pieces of Jake that are displayed on the shelves. You hadn’t noticed before, but a lot of the decor in the apartment gives subtle nod to his upbringing. Everything is washed in warm browns and oranges with rich wood furniture, photos of horses and farmland, and trinkets reminiscent of a life on the ranch. He has more than one trophy, you note, and there are a quite a few photos of a young, smiley boy standing proudly beside the same chestnut horse. Your chest squeezes again, reminding you just how enamoured you are with this man.
“Drink?” Bob asks for the second time tonight, offering a different coloured cocktail than earlier.
You nod, “Thank you.”
“Pizza is almost here,” he says, looking at both you and Natasha. “Would you help me go down to the lobby and pick it up?”
You both agree and let the rest of the group know where you’re going before heading out of the apartment door. The pizza guy meets you in the lobby barely a minute after you step out of the lift. Bob pays with cash, and you all stack your arms with boxes of delicious smelling pizza before stepping back into the lift and riding it up to level four.
You can hear commotion the second the elevator doors part, and it gets louder the closer you get to Jake’s apartment. The three of you exchange dubious looks before Bob shifts the boxes in his arms to free one hand and knock on the door. It swings open almost immediately, and you can now very clearly hear some unrecognisable country song blaring while everyone hoots and cheers.
Fritz, who opened the door, takes some of the boxes and calls for more help. As soon as your arms are free, you turn to see what all the fuss is about, your jaw dropping open the second your eyes land on the two men in the middle of the living space.
Jake and Javy are arm in arm, jumping in circles and doing what you assume is supposed to be some country jig. It’s uncoordinated and they’re both laughing so hard they can barely breathe, but it’s not the dancing that has the butterflies in your stomach whirring to life. Atop Jake’s head is a brown cowboy hat. It’s simple and a little worn, the exact same colour as the horse in the photos with young Jake.
Holy fucking shit, does that man look good in a cowboy hat.
You’ve never really considered yourself as having a ‘type’, but right now you couldn’t be more sure that this man is your type. The only person on planet earth that is your type. You can’t help the way your lips are pulled into a grin so wide it hurts, and the fast, uneven thud of your heart against your ribcage, threatening to crack bone.
“Are you okay?” Bradley asks, startling you as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.
You sigh, feeling the pull in your gut that tugs toward the man in the cowboy hat. “No,” you reply, leaning into him, “I’m not okay.”
His chest vibrates with laughter as you hide your face in it, keeping your arms slack by your side as you pretend to sob into your best friend’s shirt. His other arm wraps around you and his laughter doubles, one arm squeezing you tight while the other hand rubs circles on your back. Despite how much of an asshole he can be, you know that Bradley is always there for you when you need him.
You pull out of his embrace when the music dies down and Bob announces that its dinner time. Your eyes easily find the cowboy, watching him walk toward the dining table where all the boxes of pizza are laid open.
“Look at him,” you whisper-shout to Bradley. “Fucking look at him! Don’t you just want to lick-”
“Nope,” Bradley interrupts before you can even finish. “I definitely do not want to lick any part of that man.”
You roll your eyes playfully as he guides you toward the table of pizza. He hands you a plate and you start stacking a few slices on it despite your nervous stomach’s protests. When you glance across at Jake, his piercing eyes are already on you – like they so often seem to be of late – but he doesn’t look nearly as joyous as he had moments earlier. There’s a crease between his brows and tension in his jaw as he chews.
Natasha pops up beside you and starts babbling about what game you should all play next. She’s always a chatty drunk, not at all annoying, but definitely more vocal than usual after a few drinks. You listen to her and Bradley squabble about games before Javy pipes in, declaring that it is his birthday so he should get to decide.
After everyone has eaten their fill, Jake and Reuben pack away the leftover pizza while Bob and Mickey start making a round of cocktails. Meanwhile, Javy announces that he would like everyone to do a shot, which is when three of his mates who you have guessed are not navy make their exit.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Javy mutters, lining up all the mismatched shot glasses on the kitchen counter. “How many do we need?”
You look at Jake, who is standing beside you and craning his neck to count the heads in the room. “Why do you have so many shot glasses?” you ask him.
He pauses for a beat before chuckling and shaking his head. “You made me lose count.”
When he looks down at you, it feels like your lungs constrict, forgetting once again how to do their one job. Your chest aches in the most deliciously painful way, because that ache radiates all the way down to the apex of your thighs. You don't just want this man, you need him.
“I used to like to collect shot glasses,” he finally replies. “I’d try to get one in every city I visited but after about ten, I kept forgetting.”
“We need eleven,” Javy announces, obviously having counted the room while Jake answered your question.
“We’re one short then,” Jake states.
You shrug, your inebriated brain quickly diving into devious thoughts. “Someone could do a body shot off me.”
Every head in a two-foot radius snaps toward you. Jake’s eyes are blown wide, and a huge grin is pulling Javy’s mouth across his face. Bob looks shocked and Mickey looks amused, but Bradley is almost glowing with pride.
You roll your eyes for the umpteenth time, “I’m joking, guys. Calm down.”
Jake’s shoulders sag as if he’s disappointed, but he huffs a short laugh out before picking up one of the bottles to start pouring liquid into the line of shot glasses. “I’ll go last,” he says, looking at Javy. “I’ll just use your glass.”
At Javy’s request, everyone gathers around and picks a shot, clinking them together and spilling drops of amber liquid on the floor before tipping them up to their lips. It burns all the way down and sizzles angrily in your stomach. Sweat prickles the back of your neck as heat breaks out across every inch of your skin. You’re well on your way to being drunk, so you take advantage of the cheering to slip back into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. If anything, it might save your head tomorrow.
Twenty minutes later, everyone has a full drink and a seat somewhere around the coffee table. Javy decided that it’s time for another game, and despite protests, he said that he has picked one and there will be no negotiations. You find yourself comfortably between Bradley and Natasha, trying not to ogle at the gorgeous man across the circle. He is no longer wearing his cowboy hat, having taken it off just before doing his shot, hanging it on the back of one of the dining chairs.
“Alright, what are we in for?” Bradley asks Javy.
Javy grins, “Truth or Dare.”
There’s a mixture of cheers and groans, but everyone ends up giggling with each other since the whole group is very happily tipsy by now.
“Okay, okay,” Natasha calls over the laughter, “what rules are we playing?”
Javy and Natasha negotiate the rules of the game, deciding not to move the game in a circle but from player to player; whoever gets asked ‘truth or dare’ then gets to choose the next victim. You glance quickly toward Fritz, Harvard, and Yale, the three you don’t hang out with all that much, and wonder if they’ll ever get a turn.
“And if you don’t want to answer the truth or do the dare,” Natasha says, “then you have to drink.”
Everyone nods in agreeance before Jake announces from beside Javy, “Birthday boy goes first.”
Javy’s eyes scan the circle before settling on Bradley. “Rooster,” he says, “truth or dare?”
“We’ll start of lightly,” Bradley states. “Truth.”
“Is it true that you and Y/N are just friends?”
Your eyes widen and you immediately inch away from your friend, leaning into a giggling Natasha.
“Yes!” Bradley exclaims. “It couldn’t be truer! Are you kidding me?”
Laughter rumbles through the group, everyone but Jake finding Bradley’s disgust rather amusing.
Javy chuckles, “Just checking! You two are pretty cosy.”
You scoff, “He’s like my brother.”
“Alright,” Javy raises both hands in surrender, “I won’t ever question it again.”
“Good,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him.
Bradley clears his throat and the snickering dies down. He looks straight at Jake, “Hangman, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Jake replies.
“Is it true that you’re totally hung up on someone right now?”
Jakes cheeks turn bright pink and he immediately covers his face with his hand, hiding his sheepish smile. He sighs, “Yes, that is true.”
Your stomach twists itself into a knot, threatening to eject everything you’ve consumed in the past few hours. The rest of the group start giggling again, teasing Jake and making stupid oohing noises as the poor man places his beer on the coffee table to bury his face in both hands.
“Okay,” he chuckles, swatting at Javy as he makes kissy noises, “that’s enough.”
Once everyone manages to mostly compose themselves, Jake asks Bob truth or dare. Bob chooses dare, which lands him in Bradley’s lap for the next ten minutes. Bob then asks Natasha truth or dare, and she picks truth, deciding to drink instead of admitting who she finds the most attractive in the room. You have a feeling Bob might already know the answer to that, which is why she flips him the bird before asking Mickey truth or dare. He picks dare, of course, and has to do a shot of straight vodka.
After he’s finished coughing and hacking, he returns to his spot between Bradley and Yale, turning his attention to you. “Y/N,” he says with an evil grin, “truth or dare?”
“Truth,” you respond.
“Earlier tonight, you told Bradley that you wanted to lick someone; who were you talking about?”
Your heart leaps into your throat, beating erratically as it tries to crawl up and jump right out of your mouth. Bradley bursts into a fit of laughter beside you, and Natasha coughs on the sip of drink she had just taken. You clear your throat before lifting your own drink to your lips, taking a purposeful sip and rolling your lips together.
Mickey whines, “You’re no fun!”
You scowl at him, “You were eavesdropping!”
His grin turns sheepish. “Technically, I overheard.”
You roll your eyes and let the laughter subside before scanning the circle, wondering who you could pick that might keep you safe in return. Your eyes land on Jake and you have to roll your lips again to keep from smiling. Sure, you could dare him to make out with you, but you’d rather not force yourself on him, so you settle your gaze on the man beside him, Reuben.
“Payback, truth or dare?”
His face lights up, “Dare.”
“I dare you to give your WSO a big kiss on the lips,” you say with a grin.
Mickey snorts, “You think we haven’t kissed before?”
“Dude!” Reuben exclaims across the group as everyone loses it to laughter once again.
Mickey giggles as he crawls into the middle of the circle and meets Reuben, who rolls his eyes before grabbing either side of Mickey’s head and mashing their lips together. It’s very brief, but it has the group hooting and hollering like high schoolers as the two blushing boys return to their respective spots.
Reuben shoots you a scowl, “I’ll get you back for that.”
You give him a wink before tipping your drink to your lips, realising that it’s empty. You push yourself to stand, “Drinks?”
You and Bradley work on taking the empties from the group and retrieving fresh drinks for everyone while they start asking questions about Reuben and Mickey’s first kiss. When you settle back into your seat, you see Reuben crouched beside Javy as they whisper into each other's ears, their eyes watching you carefully and their lips curling into evil little smirks.
Well shit.
Once everyone is settled again, Reuben looks toward Javy. “Coyote, truth or dare?”
“Hm,” Javy pretends to think, “dare.”
“I dare you to prank call Maverick.”
Everyone oohs as Javy pulls his phone out, a shit-eating grin stretched across his face. He switches off his caller ID before finding Maverick’s contact, and the group falls silent at the first dial tone. It rings and rings, but Mav doesn’t answer, so when his voicemail requests a message, Javy puts on his gruffest voice. “Maverick, it’s Admiral Simpson. I’ve had a few drinks, and I know this isn’t appropriate, but I just wanted to tell you that I love you.”
He hangs up and wheezes with laughter. Everyone is folded over, some wiping tears from their eyes, because right now, Maverick’s inevitable scolding doesn’t seem to be a worry.
It takes a little longer for everyone to calm down, but once they do, Javy’s eyes narrow on you. “Y/N,” he says, “truth or dare?”
“Me again?” you ask. “I just had a turn.”
He simply shrugs, awaiting your answer.
You sigh, “Fine, dare.”
You played right into his hand, and you know it by the way his lips have split into a Cheshire Cat grin.
“I dare you,” he says slowly, eyes moving past you and across the room, “to put Seresin’s cowboy hat on.”
You frown, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. It’s too simple. “What?”
Javy nods toward the hat in the dining room. “Put the cowboy hat on.”
“Coyote,” Jake warns, his voice low.
“It’s just a hat,” you say, pushing off the couch and waving a hand dismissively.
You walk quickly across the living space toward the dining table, taking the hat off the back of the chair and plonking it on your head. When you turn back around, Jake’s mouth pops open, Javy and Reuben giggle, and Mickey and Natasha look like they’ve just realised what the stupid joke is.
“Oh, I get it!” Mickey announces proudly.
You frown at him, “Get what?”
He glances at Reuben, who makes the action of zipping his lips. Mickey turns back to you, “Sorry, I can’t say.”
You roll your eyes. “Alright, Fanboy, truth or dare?”
“Truth,” he says.
“What’s the big joke about the hat?”
“The hat rule,” he replies simply, as if it’s obvious.
“What hat rule?”
“The cowboy hat rule, you know-”
“Nope!” Javy exclaims. “Technically, he answered the question, you can’t get another answer.”
You huff, “Okay, whatever. Play your little games.”
You lean back and cross your arms, the hat still propped on your head. Across the circle, Jake’s eyes are trained on you, and there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. He looks mildly amused by whatever the joke is that you don’t get, but he also looks a little like he might be enjoying the way the hat is sitting on your head. The alcohol rushing through your veins gives you the courage to hold his stare as you draw your bottom lip between your teeth before pulling it back out slowly. His eyes drop to your mouth, lingering there before he swallows thickly and looks away.
When you tune back into the game, you realise that Fritz is now asking Bradley truth or dare. You’re not sure what you missed, but you’re guessing it was one or two uneventful turns.
“Dare,” Bradley says.
“I dare you to walk out onto the balcony and make some weird, loud sex noises.”
Bradley springs up, excitedly jogging toward the balcony doors, throwing them open and starting to honk and moan the second he steps outside.
Jake chuckles into his hands. “You guys do realise that I still have to live here after tonight?”
“OOH, FUCK YEAH!” Bradley shouts, at which everyone’s laughter doubles.
Natasha nudges you, “Is this what you have to hear whenever he has a girl over?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” you say with a dramatic sigh.
Another few seconds pass of Bradley’s terrible sex noises before Jake calls him back inside. He sits back down beside you with a satisfied grin, his cheeks bright pink and eyes sparkling. He turns his attention to Jake. “Hangman, truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
Bradley clears his throat and casts you a quick glance before looking back at Jake. “What is the cowboy hat rule?”’
Javy and Reuben start to giggle again, and Jake sighs, looking incredibly sheepish as he runs a hand through his hair. “It’s uh- well,” he sighs, “you wear the hat, you ride the cowboy.”
Your jaw goes slack and your mouth pops open, heart thundering in your chest. Bradley cackles beside you and Natasha snickers on your other side. The thought crosses your mind that if these people keep laughing so hard, they might explode.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” Javy says to you before turning to look at Jake. “Now the two of you can fuck and relieve us all of this stifling sexual tension.”
Neither you nor Jake can muster a laugh. You simply stare at each other, thoughts racing as you wonder why Javy would do this. Is what he said true? Does Jake actually like you the way Bradley has always said? Is the tension between the two of you that obvious?
Eventually, the game rolls on, and neither you nor Jake get asked again. Truth or Dare somehow morphs into Would You Rather, and soon Bradley is standing beside you offering another round of drinks to the group. You stand up beside him and rush into the kitchen, dying for a moment away from Jake’s piercing gaze. It’s not that you don’t like him looking at you, you just wish you knew what it meant.
“You good?” Bradley asks as he steps into the kitchen after you.
You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Still got the hat on,” he notes, pointing at your head.
You quickly take it off and plonk it on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the passthrough shutters and swinging them closed. No one seems to notice, and the small amount of privacy seems to help settle the butterfly disco currently happening in your stomach.
Bradley rummages through the fridge while you pour yourself a glass of water, sipping it slowly and watching him juggle as many bottles as he can between his two hands. He raises his brows at you before he leaves, a silent question, and you nod, assuring him that you’re fine. He disappears around the corner right before Jake steps into the kitchen, making your heart leap dramatically.
“Hey,” he says, seeming much more relaxed than you’re currently feeling.
“Hi.”
“Are you okay?”
You nod again, “Of course.”
“Coyote can be a little insensitive sometimes,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.
You shrug. “I’m tough. It was just a joke.”
He frowns. “Which part do you think was a joke?”
“The hat rule,” you reply, “right?”
“Oh,” he chuckles, “yeah, I mean, that is a known rule but I’m not going to-” he hesitates, “I mean, I would never- oh, my God, this isn’t coming out right.”
“It’s fine,” you say, dropping your gaze to your feet. “I know they were just having a laugh.”
“No, I don’t mean it like that either,” he adds frantically. He steps forward, leaving very little space between your bodies. “What I’m trying to say,” he says slowly, “is that I definitely would do that with you, but not if you didn’t want to.”
You look up, startled. “Would what?”
He chuckles awkwardly, the pink in his cheeks turning red. “Let you ride me, if you wanted.”
Looking up at his pretty green eyes is making your head spin, but you feel surprisingly stable. Something about his gaze is holding you steady, reassuring you the way a hug from your best friend does, and you quickly realise that this is the closest you’ve ever been able to stare into his eyes. They’re even more amazing up close.
“You’re very pretty,” you blurt out, internally cursing all that liquid courage.
He chuckles again, but its deep and breathy. “Thank you, but I’m nothing compared to you.”
You frown now. “You don’t think your pretty?”
“Well,” he shrugs, “I know I’m a little pretty.”
You roll your eyes playfully.
“But you are possibly the prettiest thing on this planet,” he adds, cupping your jaw in his hands.
The contact lights your skin on fire, and your heart is practically vibrating in your chest.
“Who’s the girl that you’re in love with?” you ask, once again unable to control that brain to mouth communication.
He chuckles again, his eyes darting away from your face and finding the hat on the bench. He reaches past you, his breath fanning across your neck as he picks the hat up off the counter and plonks it on your head.
“I’m in love with the girl wearing my old cowboy hat,” he says, hands holding either side of the brim as he adjusts the hat to sit perfectly.
You don’t even wait for him to finish fixing the hat before you surge up onto your toes, pressing your lips to his. He responds immediately, hands abandoning the hat to find your hips and hold your body tightly against his. You’re almost positive you can feel his heart beating where your chests are pressed together, and it’s almost as erratic as yours.
His lips move against yours gently, but there’s urgency in the way he holds your body, like you might disappear if he doesn’t hang on tight. Your own hands are gripping the hem of his shirt, fisting the material until you can feel your nails digging little half-moons into your palms. Maybe you feel the same, like if you don’t hold on, he’ll disappear, because you’re almost positive you’ve had this dream before.
He pulls back for air, keeping his forehead pressed against yours as his hands drop to the crease beneath your bum. In one swift movement, he lifts you onto the counter and stands between your open legs, the buckle of his belt pressing deliciously against the crotch of your jeans. You squeeze your knees around his hips and tilt your head back, letting his tongue slide past your lips. You sigh against his mouth, every ounce of tension from the past few hours leaching out of your body as his hands explore and squeeze your thighs.
“You have no idea”- he speaks breathily against your lips -“how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
You pull back, staring up at his puffy lips and lust-blown eyes. “Why did you wait, then?”
He chuckles and relaxes, the buckle of his belt no longer pressed against you. “Have you seen the way you and Rooster act?” he asks. “You’re practically inseparable, always having your little inside jokes, and you basically live together. How was I supposed to know you wanted me when all you do is look at him?”
You gnaw at your bottom lip, willing your foggy brain to sober up and try to picture things the way Jake would be seeing them. “I guess,” you say, resting your hands on his chest, “but I only look at him to avoid staring at you all the time.”
He tilts his head, a quizzical frown set between his brows. “Really?”
You nod. “And most of our inside jokes are about the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you.”
His frown melts into a grin. “Hopelessly?”
“More or less.”
“More, I hope,” he murmurs as he leans forward again.
Your lips have barely touched when a bang startles you both. Jake holds you against his chest as you look over your shoulder to see the passthrough shutters blown wide open. Your friends are all gathered in the opening with stupid grins on their faces and laughter bubbling from their lips.
“I knew it!” Javy exclaims.
“That’s all it fucking took?” Bradley asks, his brows almost raised to his hairline.
“If I knew that, I would have put a cowboy hat on you ages ago,” Natasha says with an eye roll.
“Yeah, okay,” Jake says, his smile wide and cheeks bright red, “that’s enough from you lot.”
He reaches around you to grab the passthrough shutters and swing them closed, despite the shouts and protests of your friends. When his eyes find yours again, you feel like the only two people in the world. The noise from the living room fades away and the only thing you can feel is his warmth, his body.
“Where were we?” he murmurs, holding your face in his hands as he dips toward you again.
A sudden spike of panic slices through you, and you pull back with wide eyes. “Wait.”
His smile fades, worry creasing his brow. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re not just saying and doing all this because you’re drunk, right?”
The concern on his face dissolves just as quickly as it had appeared, replaced again by that dopey grin. “Baby, I’m not drunk. You are a bit drunk.”
You frown indignantly. “I am not drunk, I’m tipsy.”
“Okay, tipsy,” he chuckles. “Are you only kissing me because you’ve had a few drinks?”
You shake your head fervidly. “No. I’m kissing you now because sober me didn't have the balls to.”
He laughs again, a little harder. “Are you saying that you’re not going to kiss me again tomorrow?”
“Oh, I’m definitely not saying that,” you reply. The corner of your lips lift into a smirk as your eyes fall to his puffy pink lips. “You’ve opened the flood gates now. I’m going to have to put my lips on every inch of your body.”
When your eyes find his again, the pretty green of his irises is almost completely consumed by black, lust-blown pupils. “I’ll be right back,” he says, untangling his limbs from yours.
You hold on to the waistband of his jeans, not letting him move too far from you. “What are you doing?”
“Kicking everyone out so we can get to all the kissing and the licking,” he replies, as if it was obvious.
A soft giggle slips from your lips and you tug on his jeans, pulling him back into your arms. “As much as I love that idea, we should probably get back to celebrating Coyote’s birthday. We’ve got all day tomorrow to kiss and lick and suck and fuck.”
His jaw slackens and a soft groan rumbles from the back of his throat. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Not at all,” you reply with a cheeky grin. “Come on, let’s get back out there before they decide to come back in here.”
He sighs heavily as you slide off the counter, but before you can exit the kitchen, his hand wraps around your wrist. “We’re going to have to wait a minute,” he says, looking down at his pants.
You glance down to see a bulge in the dark blue denim at his crotch, the zipper almost straining against the pressure from the inside of his pants. You roll your lips to keep your giggles at bay, and to stop yourself from begging him to fuck you right here in the kitchen regardless of who can hear.
As if on cue, Bradley’s voice resonates from the living room, “You two better not be fucking in there! My beer is getting low and I will be getting another one no matter how traumatising it might be!”
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