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20 🇬🇧 living laughing and loving the long walk 🦋🌸🥐 submissions are open x

[lomlparker]

lomlparker's masterlist

started: 26/03/26

The Long Walk

Headcanons

the long walk boys - your first date hcs (college au)

Imagines

Collie Parker

white mustang

Gary Barkovitch

first kiss

Formula 1

(coming soon xx)

UKYT

(coming soon xx)

[anon-pancake]

Free card with Emmett, because everybody needs a little Emmett. -🥀

Emmett loves if you wear his Harvard hoodie.

[rosie-anon]

I love him so much

[garrettgrahamswhore]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

john tucker x fem!reader

summary 𓂃 tucker doesn’t think he’s the kind of guy girls pick first. after closing at malone’s, you decide to prove him wrong.

warnings 𓂃 18+ mdni, explicit smut, flirting, oral sex, fingering, protected sex, wall sex, praise, dirty talk, body worship, soft aftercare.

word count 𓂃 7,529.

author’s note 𓂃 requested by @myst3ryin0rperated 💌 this ended up being way longer than planned, but honestly? tuck deserves the attention. i love parts of this, but i’m also not fully sure how i feel about it yet, so i’d love to know what you think <3

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The first time Tucker saw you, you almost took out an entire row of glasses at Malone’s. Not one, not two, but an entire row.

It happened on a Friday night, which meant the bar was already packed with students pretending they didn’t have assignments due, hockey players pretending they weren’t exhausted from practice, and Della behind the counter pretending she wasn’t five seconds away from throwing someone out for ordering another round only to forget what they’d asked for immediately.

You were new, and that much was obvious. Not because you were bad at the job, exactly, but because you still had the bright, nervous energy of someone who hadn’t yet learned that Malone’s on a Friday night was less a bar and more a sticky-floored battlefield.

You came out from behind the counter with a tray balanced carefully in both hands, brows pinched in concentration as your bottom lip caught between your teeth. You were wearing black jeans and a Malone’s blue shirt, your hair pulled back messily, as if you’d done it in a rush, and Tucker found himself noticing you before he could think better of it.

He noticed the way you smiled at a customer who was definitely being too loud. He noticed the way you thanked Della twice when she moved around you. He noticed how hard you were trying to do everything right.

And then you set the tray down on the bar too quickly, caught the edge of a napkin holder, and sent three clean glasses tipping into each other with a loud, terrible clatter.

Everyone at the table flinched. Dean was the first to turn around, Garrett’s attention snapped away from whatever Hannah was saying, and Logan started laughing before he’d even fully figured out what had happened.

You froze immediately.

“Oh my god,” you said, hands flying up like you were surrendering to the glasses. “I’m so sorry. I swear I’m usually less of a disaster when no one’s watching.”

Della sighed, though there was already affection in it. “Sweetheart, nobody expects grace here. Just survival.”

Dean grinned from the booth where he sat with the boys. “Ten out of ten entrance.”

Garrett kicked him under the table without even looking at him.

You winced, cheeks burning, and immediately started gathering the glasses before any of them could fall off the bar.

Tucker was on his feet before he’d even thought about moving.

“Here,” he said, already grabbing a stack of napkins from the end of the counter and stepping closer. “I got it.”

You looked up at him, startled, like you hadn’t expected someone to help instead of laugh. Something weird shifted in Tucker’s chest.

“Oh,” you said, your voice softening. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, steadying one of the glasses before it could roll off the edge. He gave you a small smile. “First Friday?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Only a little,” he said, smile tugging at his mouth.

Your mouth curved into an embarrassed but sweet smile, and Tucker noticed the way your whole face seemed to warm with it.

Dean, because of course he did, leaned over the booth and said, “Careful, Tuck. She might make you work for free.”

You glanced between them, your smile still lingering. “Tuck?”

“Tucker,” he said, handing over the glass he’d rescued. “John Tucker.”

You took it from him, your fingers brushing against his for half a second.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said. Then you looked down at the glasses, sighed, and added, “Apparently also a public safety hazard.”

Tucker laughed, not because it was that funny, though it was, but because you were smiling at him like you were happy he had.

That was the first thing Tucker noticed. Not that you were the prettiest girl in the room, though you were. Not that you were the clumsy new waitress, though the boys would absolutely bring that up later. Not even that you were the transfer student Hannah had mentioned once, the one who’d started working at Malone’s because she needed extra money, and Della liked hiring people she could boss around.

The first thing was that you looked at Tucker like he was the one you were talking to — not the guy beside Dean, not Garrett’s friend, not one of the hockey boys. Him.

It was a stupid thing to notice, so of course Tucker noticed.

Over the next few weeks, you became part of Malone’s the way some people became part of a song — slowly at first, then all at once.

You were there on Fridays and sometimes Saturdays, always with your hair tied back in a way that never lasted more than an hour before pieces started falling loose around your face. You learned the regulars’ orders faster than anyone expected. You learned Della’s moods, learned that Dean always said he wanted something different before ordering the same beer anyway, that Logan would steal fries from whoever sat too close, that Garrett was polite because Hannah elbowed him when he forgot, and that Allie always tipped too much because she knew what the job felt like.

And Tucker — you learned his drink by the third Friday. That shouldn’t have affected him. It did anyway.

“You want the usual?” you asked, already reaching for it as he and the boys slid into their booth after the game.

Dean stopped mid-sentence and turned slowly toward Tucker, wearing the most irritating smile imaginable. Logan looked absolutely delighted. Garrett looked like he was trying very hard not to seem delighted. Tucker ignored every single one of them.

“You remembered?” he asked, which was the wrong thing to say because it made him sound surprised.

You blinked at him, then smiled. “You order the same thing every time.”

“So does Dean,” Tucker said.

“Yeah, but Dean changes his mind three times before going back to the same thing. You have to prepare for that emotionally.”

Garrett laughed quietly into his drink.

Dean put a hand over his chest. “I feel attacked.”

“You should,” Allie said, appearing beside him like she’d been summoned by the opportunity to tease him. “It was accurate.”

You grinned and slid Tucker his drink first, and he hated how quickly he liked it—hated how his eyes followed you when you walked away to help another table. Hated even more that Dean noticed immediately.

“Oh, you’re so in trouble.”

Tucker glanced at him. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything specific,” Dean said.

“You didn’t need to.”

Logan leaned forward, as if this were crucial evidence. “She gave you your drink first.”

“Because I was sitting closest.”

“You weren’t,” Garrett said.

Tucker shot him a look. “Aren’t you supposed to be mature now?”

Garrett shrugged, his arm around Hannah. “I’m in a relationship, not dead.”

Across the room, you laughed at something Della said, nearly dropped a pen, caught it against your chest, and looked far too proud of yourself for saving it.

Tucker tried not to smile, and failed.

Dean pointed at Tucker’s face as he’d just found evidence. “That. Right there. That’s pathetic.”

Tucker picked up his drink, unimpressed. “You’re literally dating Allie.”

“Yes, and I became pathetic in public. It’s part of the process.”

“I’m not becoming anything,” Tucker said.

“Sure,” Dean said.

Tucker knew exactly what they thought.

He knew how it looked: new girl, pretty smile, sweet enough to make everyone in the room feel like she was happy to see them. Of course, he liked her. Everyone probably liked her. You were the kind of person people noticed because you made it easy for them. You asked questions, laughed without trying to seem cool, apologized to chairs when you bumped into them, and once gave a drunk sophomore a full pep talk because he looked sad over mozzarella sticks.

You were sunshine in a place that mostly smelled like beer and fried food.

Tucker told himself that was all it was: you were friendly, and he was interested because of it. It didn’t mean you were interested back.

Girls usually went for guys like Dean: loud, confident, easy to flirt with because he did half the work for them. Or Garrett, with the captain thing and that accidental golden-boy charm, even though Hannah would probably murder anyone who tried. Or Logan, who looked like trouble and knew exactly how to make it work.

Tucker was the nice one, the safe one, the one girls asked to hold their coats while they danced with someone else.

He’d made peace with that a long time ago — mostly. Then, on the fourth Friday, you proved you were going to be a problem.

It was later than usual, with the crowd thinning out around midnight and the booths left sticky and half-empty. Tucker had ended up at the bar while the others argued over whether to go back to the house or order food. You were wiping down the counter with your sleeves pushed up, cheeks flushed from the long shift.

“You’re staring again,” you said, not even looking up.

Tucker blinked at you. “What?”

You glanced at him, eyes bright with amusement. “I said you’re staring.”

“I wasn’t,” he said.

“You were,” you said.

“I was just thinking,” he said.

“About the counter?” you asked.

“It’s a very interesting counter.”

You smiled, and Tucker felt stupidly pleased with himself for being the reason.

“You always do that,” you said, still smiling.

“Stare at counters?” he asked.

“No,” you said, leaning your hip against the bar. “Make jokes when I catch you looking at me.”

Tucker’s throat went dry.

That wasn’t fair. You couldn’t look that sweet and then say things like that.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You hummed like you didn’t believe him, which was fair, considering he sounded ridiculous.

Dean appeared at Tucker’s shoulder at the worst possible time, because of course he did. “He never does.”

Tucker closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. “Go away.”

Dean grinned at you because, apparently, subtlety had never been an option. “Has he asked you out yet?”

Tucker’s head snapped toward Dean. “Jesus Christ.”

You froze for half a second before your face went pink.

Dean looked like Christmas had just come early.

“Oh,” Dean said slowly, looking far too pleased. “Interesting.”

“Dean,” Tucker said, warning clear in his voice.

You cleared your throat and turned back to the counter, trying to hide your smile. “Does he need help with that?”

Tucker stared at you, Dean made a sound like he’d been shot, and Garrett yelled from the booth, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Tucker said, far too quickly.

Dean turned back toward the table. “Tucker’s dying.”

“I’m fine,” Tucker said.

You were still smiling down at the counter like you hadn’t just caused chaos.

Tucker didn’t recover for the rest of the night.

After that, things changed. Not dramatically, and not enough that anyone else would’ve called it obvious — except maybe Dean, who called everything obvious if it helped him be annoying. But Tucker felt it.

You started lingering near him when the bar slowed down. You leaned across the counter when you talked to him, chin propped in your hand and eyes warm with focus. You asked about his classes. His practices. His stupid sandwich preference after Logan tried to convince you Tucker had “boring taste,” which somehow turned into a ten-minute argument about whether turkey counted as a personality flaw.

You also started touching him. Not much, just enough to ruin him.

Your fingers brushed his wrist when you set down his drink. Your knee bumped his when you sat beside him for five minutes during your break. Your hand landed briefly on his shoulder when you squeezed past him behind the bar, soft and apologetic and completely unnecessary.

Tucker told himself you were probably like that with everyone, right up until he watched you tell Dean to stop leaning over the bar because he was “ruining the ecosystem,” and decided maybe you weren’t.

By the sixth Friday, Della had started looking at both of you like she knew something neither of you had admitted yet.

That was also the night everything finally clicked into place.

The boys came in late after an away game, tired and loud, their faces flushed from the cold. Hannah and Allie were with them, bundled in coats and already claiming a booth while Dean declared he was starving with the drama of a man who hadn’t eaten in years.

You were working closing again, and Tucker tried very hard not to look too happy about that. Failed, probably.

From behind the bar, you caught his eye and smiled so brightly that his chest went warm.

“The usual?” you asked.

Dean groaned, as if he were personally offended. “This is disgusting.”

You laughed, confused. “What?”

“He’s smiling like an idiot,” Dean said.

Tucker elbowed him in the side.

You looked at Tucker, smile softening as you asked, “Are you?”

“No,” Tucker said.

“He is,” Logan called from the booth.

“He absolutely is,” Garrett added from the booth.

Tucker stared at Garrett. “You too?”

Garrett lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m just observing.”

You set his drink down in front of him, fingers brushing his for a second too long. “For the record, I don’t mind.”

Tucker forgot how to speak, and you walked away before he could find a response.

Dean leaned closer, his voice low enough that only Tucker could hear. “If you don’t ask her out tonight, I’m doing it for you.”

“You are not doing anything,” Tucker said.

“Then do something,” Dean said.

Tucker looked toward the bar, where you were reaching for a stack of napkins and laughing at something Hannah had said. You nearly knocked over a bottle with your elbow, caught it just in time, and then looked around to see if anyone had noticed.

Tucker had. You saw him seeing you, and your nose scrunched with embarrassment. He smiled before he could stop himself.

Dean sighed, as if this were personally exhausting. “God, you two are unbearable.”

Tucker looked away, like that settled it. “She’s just friendly.”

Dean stared at him.

“What?”

“Are you actually stupid?”

“Wow. Very helpful.”

“I’m serious,” Dean said, glancing toward you before looking back at Tucker. “That girl has been making heart eyes at you for a month.”

“She’s nice to everyone,” Tucker said.

“She threatened to pour soda on Logan last week,” Dean said.

Logan looked up from stealing Allie’s fries. “I deserved that.”

Dean continued, with the patience of someone explaining something painfully obvious, “She likes you.”

Tucker shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of the words. “You don’t know that.”

Dean’s expression softened slightly, which was somehow worse. “Tuck.”

“Don’t,” Tucker said.

“I’m just saying,” Dean started.

“I know what you’re saying,” Tucker said, his voice coming out lower than he meant. “But she’s new. She’s nice. And she has all of you literally sitting here every week. I’m not going to assume she’s looking at me like that just because I want her to.”

For once, Dean went quiet.

Tucker regretted saying it immediately. Not because it wasn’t true, because it was, but because he’d never said it out loud before. And, of course, because timing apparently wasn’t on his side, he looked up and saw you standing a few feet away with a tray in your hands, your expression caught somewhere between surprise and something softer.

Tucker’s stomach dropped. You had heard. Maybe not all of it, but enough.

You blinked once, then gave him a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Della said last call.”

Then you turned and walked back to the bar.

Dean leaned back slowly, the teasing finally slipping from his face.

Tucker dragged a hand over his face, guilt hitting all at once. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, quieter now. “That one might be on you.”

The next twenty minutes were horrible. You weren’t rude, and somehow, that made it worse. You were still sweet when you cleared the table, still smiling when Hannah hugged you goodbye, still telling Logan he couldn’t take the basket of fries with him because it was “not a souvenir.” But you didn’t linger near Tucker, didn’t brush his hand, didn’t smile at him first.

By the time the others left, Dean gave him one very pointed look from the door. Tucker ignored it, mostly because he deserved it.

He stayed behind while you wiped down the bar, sitting at the end with his coat folded beside him like he wasn’t sure where else to put himself. Della had disappeared into the back, clearly on purpose, and without the usual noise, the bar felt strange. Softer. Too quiet.

You didn’t look at him for a while, and Tucker let you have that.

Eventually, you set the rag down with a sigh. “Are you waiting for Della or me?”

“You,” he said. You glanced up, and he swallowed. “If that’s okay.”

You looked at him for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” You seemed surprised by that, so Tucker kept going before he could lose his nerve. “For what I said earlier. You weren’t supposed to hear it.”

“Would it be better if I hadn’t heard it?”

“No,” he said, looking down at his hands before meeting your eyes again. “Probably not.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the bar. “Do you really think I’m just being nice?”

Tucker hated how gentle your voice was.

“I think you are nice,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth before he could stop it. “No, it wasn’t.”

You waited, giving him time to answer.

Tucker exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what I think. I guess I’m trying not to assume.”

“Assume what?” you asked.

“That you’d choose me.”

The words settled between you, quiet and honest and too exposed.

Your expression softened when you said his name. “Tucker.”

He let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I know. It sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” you said.

“It kind of does,” he said.

“No,” you said, walking slowly around the bar until you were standing in front of him. “It sounds like you don’t see yourself clearly.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was still flushed from work, hair coming loose around your cheeks, your eyes tired but warm. There was nothing teasing in them now.

“You keep acting like I’m looking past you,” you said, voice soft. “I’m not.”

Tucker went completely still.

You swallowed, a little nervous now, and somehow that made the words hit even harder. “I saw all of them first. I still looked at you.”

For a second, Tucker couldn’t speak. He’d imagined you saying a lot of things. Not that. Never that.

“[Y/N],” Tucker said quietly.

Your smile wobbled slightly. “Too much?”

“No,” he said, voice rough. “No, not too much.”

Della chose that moment to appear from the back, took one look at the two of you, and turned right back around. “I forgot absolutely nothing. Continue.”

You laughed, breaking the tension just enough for Tucker to breathe again.

He stood and grabbed his coat. “Let me walk you home.”

Your eyes lifted to his, softer now. “Okay.”

Outside, the cold air hit your face, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. Tucker walked beside you, close enough for your shoulders to brush every few steps, but not close enough to crowd you. The streets around Briar were quieter now, wrapped in the kind of late-night stillness that made every little sound feel louder — your shoes on the sidewalk, Tucker’s breath in the cold, the distant noise from another bar down the street.

For a minute, neither of you said anything, and then you laughed softly.

Tucker looked over at you. “What?”

“I just realized I basically confessed to you in front of a bar counter that still smelled like spilled beer.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Very romantic.”

“I’ve always been known for my elegance.”

“You did knock over four glasses the first night I met you.”

“Three,” you said, pointing at him. “It was three.”

“One almost fell off the counter,” he said. “I’m counting it.”

“You’re cruel,” you said, trying not to smile.

“I did help.”

“You did,” you said, your voice softening. “That’s why I remembered you.”

Tucker’s chest tightened at that.

You kept walking for a few more steps before adding, “Everyone else laughed. Not in a mean way, but still. You just helped.”

“It wasn’t exactly heroic.”

“It was to me,” you said quietly.

He didn’t know what to do with that, so he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and looked down at the sidewalk like it might tell him what to say.

You smiled at him, and somehow Tucker felt it even without looking.

By the time you reached your apartment building, the tension had changed shape again. It was still soft, still warm, but there was something electric underneath it now, something that had been building for weeks across bar counters, half-finished conversations, and every smile you’d given him like it wasn’t ruining his day in the best way.

You stopped when you reached the door.

“This is me,” you said.

Tucker nodded, like he knew that and still wasn’t ready to leave. “Yeah.”

Neither of you moved. Then you looked up at him. “Do you want to come in?”

His eyes lifted to yours. The question was quiet, but there was nothing unclear about it.

Tucker’s voice dropped when he asked, “Do you want me to?”

You stepped closer, your eyes still on his. “Yes.”

That was all Tucker needed.

The elevator ride was silent, broken only by your uneven breathing and the small ding of each floor passing. Tucker stood beside you with his hands at his sides, not touching you yet, though the restraint in him was obvious. You could feel it — in the tight line of his jaw, in the way his eyes kept flicking to your mouth before he forced them away, in the way he seemed to be waiting until you were somewhere private before letting himself want you properly.

Somehow, it only made you want him more.

Your apartment was small and warm, a little messy in a way that made you immediately wince as you unlocked the door.

“Don’t judge,” you said as you stepped inside. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

Tucker looked around at the books stacked on the coffee table, the blanket slipping off the couch, the mug in the sink, and the tiny lamp glowing in the corner before looking back at you.

“I like it,” he said softly.

You smiled at him. “You’re very easy to impress.”

“Only when it’s you,” he said.

The words were quiet and simple, and they stole the air from your chest.

You closed the door behind him, then turned the lock.

Tucker’s eyes dropped to the movement, and his expression shifted. When he looked back at you, something had changed. He was still Tucker — still warm, still steady — but the softness in him had sharpened into something more focused.

You swallowed, voice suddenly smaller. “Hi.”

His mouth curved, just barely. “Hi.”

“You’re standing very far away,” you said.

“I’m trying to be respectful,” he said.

You stepped closer, eyes on his. “You can stop.”

His eyes darkened at that. “Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Tucker moved then, closing the small space between you in two steps. His hand came up to your jaw, gentle at first, like he was giving you one last second to lean away.

You leaned into his touch.

After that, the kiss wasn’t gentle. It was warm, deep, and immediate, like weeks of almosts had finally found somewhere to land. Tucker’s hand slid into your hair, the other settling at your waist as he pulled you close enough for your chest to press against his. A soft sound slipped out against his mouth, and Tucker’s grip tightened.

“There you are,” Tucker murmured against your mouth.

Your stomach flipped at the sound of his voice.

You kissed him harder, your hands sliding up his chest and feeling the solid warmth of him beneath his jacket. Tucker walked you back until your spine met the wall near the door, his body caging yours in without ever making you feel trapped.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he said, his mouth brushing your jaw.

Your head tipped back as his lips moved to your neck. “I wanted you to.”

His hand tightened briefly at your waist.

“Yeah?” His voice dropped lower. “Wanted me to walk you home?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Wanted me to come upstairs too?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

His mouth hovered near your ear, voice low. “Wanted me to touch you?”

Your breath caught before you could answer. “Tuck—”

He kissed the spot just beneath your jaw, pulling a sound from you that was almost a whimper.

His voice went rough. “Say it.”

You swallowed, your fingers curling into his shirt. “Yes. I wanted you to touch me.”

He groaned, low and restrained, before his mouth found yours again, hungrier this time. Your hands pushed at his jacket, clumsy with urgency, and Tucker helped you pull it off before shrugging out of it and tossing it somewhere near the couch.

You laughed breathlessly as it knocked into a chair.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

“Don’t care,” Tucker murmured, already kissing you again.

Your back hit the wall hard enough to make your whole body light up, but not enough to hurt. Tucker’s thigh slid between yours, and the second you rocked down against it without thinking, his hand tightened on your hip.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “You’re going to make me forget how to be nice.”

Your lips curved against his. “Maybe I don’t want nice.”

His eyes lifted to yours, and there it was again — that quiet intensity.

“I can do both,” Tucker said, voice low.

The words went straight through you, sharp and warm all at once.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, his palms warm against your skin. He touched you slowly at first, almost reverent, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. Then your hips moved against his thigh again, and his control slipped just enough that his fingers pressed into your waist.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’ve been thinking that since the first night.”

“When I dropped the glasses?” you asked.

“Especially then,” he said, like it was obvious.

You laughed, only for it to break into a gasp when his mouth found your neck again, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the spot.

“Tucker,” you breathed.

“I know,” he murmured, his hand moving higher until his fingers brushed the underside of your breast through your bra. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head quickly, voice barely steady. “No.”

“No?” he asked, voice low.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered.

His eyes darkened at that, and then he kissed you like those words had undone something in him. The warm, steady Tucker from Malone’s was still there, but this version of him felt different — more confident, more direct. His hands knew exactly where they wanted to go, his mouth knew how to make you melt, and every quiet groan he gave you made your knees a little less reliable.

He pushed your shirt up slowly, and you lifted your arms for him. The second your shirt hit the floor, his gaze dropped to your chest, and his jaw flexed.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You almost made a joke. Almost. But the way he looked at you made it hard to hide behind one.

His hands came up to cover your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing slowly over the thin fabric. Your back arched off the wall as a soft moan slipped out before you could stop it.

Tucker’s mouth parted slightly, his voice rough. “Don’t hide that.”

“What?” you breathed.

“Those sounds,” he said, his thumb moving again just to make your breath catch. “I want to hear them.”

Your cheeks warmed, but your body answered before your mouth could, another quiet whimper slipping out when he leaned down and kissed the top of your breast.

“Like that?” Tucker asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed, your fingers tightening in his shirt. “Like that.”

He undid your bra carefully, sliding the straps down your arms before letting it fall between you. His eyes moved over you more slowly this time, and something about the softness in his face made your chest ache.

Then his mouth closed around your nipple, pulling a moan from you as your head knocked back against the wall.

Tucker groaned against your skin, one hand firm at your waist while the other covered your breast, fingers rolling your nipple until you started shifting against him, needy and restless.

“You’re so responsive,” Tucker murmured, kissing across your chest. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

You swallowed, surprising yourself with how steady it sounded. “Tell me.”

His eyes flicked up, and for a second, he looked surprised. Then his expression shifted, a small, almost dangerous smile tugging at his mouth.

“It makes me want to take my time,” he said, voice low. “Makes me want to find out every way to make you sound like that again.”

Your thighs pressed together, and Tucker noticed immediately. Of course he did. His hand slid down your stomach, fingers pausing at the button of your jeans.

“Can I?” he asked, voice low.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He unbuttoned your jeans slowly, eyes fixed on your face as he pushed the denim down your hips. You kicked them off awkwardly, nearly tripping in the process, and Tucker caught you with a quiet laugh, his hands steady on your waist.

“Still clumsy,” he murmured.

“You’re very distracting,” you said.

“Good,” he murmured.

You were about to answer, but then his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, and every thought disappeared.

He touched you over your panties first, two fingers pressing against the wet fabric, and his breath caught.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re wet.”

Your face burned at the way he said it. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not,” he said, fingers moving slowly over your clit through the soaked material. “Just trying to process the fact that you wanted me this badly.”

“I did,” you whispered.

The admission came out soft and honest.

Tucker’s eyes lifted to yours. You held his gaze, even though it made you feel exposed.

“I wanted you,” you said again, softer this time.

Something shifted in his face. Then he kissed you hard, fingers pushing your underwear aside and sliding through your wetness. The first touch of his skin against your cunt pulled a gasp from you, your hips bucking toward his hand before you could stop them.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction. “That’s what I wanted.”

His fingers circled your clit slowly, steady and precise, and you clung to his shoulders as pleasure sparked low in your stomach.

“Tuck,” you whimpered, fingers tightening on his shoulders.

“Right here,” he murmured, his forehead touching yours. “I’ve got you.”

He slid one finger into you, eyes fixed on the way your lips parted, then added another when your hips rolled against his hand. The stretch pulled a louder moan from you, and Tucker’s jaw tightened like the sound was testing every bit of his restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice rough. “You sound so pretty.”

His touch grew deeper and more deliberate, his thumb finding you again as you stayed pressed against the wall, nearly bare while Tucker was still fully dressed. The imbalance should have made you embarrassed.

It didn’t. Not with him looking at you like that, not with his hand between your thighs, his mouth at your jaw, and his voice low in your ear.

“Tell me what feels good,” he murmured.

Your breath shook around the answer. “Your fingers.”

“Yeah?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you breathed, gripping his shirt tighter. “Right there. Don’t stop.”

His fingers curled again, and a moan broke from you into the quiet room.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice rough. “Let me hear you.”

The pleasure built faster than you expected, heat tightening through your stomach and thighs, but just before it could break, Tucker pulled his fingers away.

A frustrated sound slipped out of you. “Why—”

He dropped to his knees, and your mouth went dry as Tucker looked up at you from the floor, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs.

“I’m not done with you yet.” It should not have sounded as hot as it did.

Then he pulled your underwear down, slow and deliberate, before lifting one of your legs over his shoulder.

“Tucker,” you breathed, fingers tightening in his hair.

His mouth pressed against the inside of your thigh. “Hold onto me.”

Your fingers slid into his hair, and then his mouth found your cunt.

The first stroke of his tongue made your whole body jerk, a sharp moan slipping out as his hands tightened on your thighs. He ate you like he’d been waiting weeks for it, slow and deep at first, tongue dragging through your wetness before flattening over your clit.

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

He hummed against you, the vibration making your knees buckle slightly, and Tucker held you up.

His mouth worked over you with a patience that felt almost unfair, tongue circling your clit, lips sucking softly while his fingers dug into your thigh every time you tugged his hair. You could feel how wet you were, could hear it too, and the sound made your face burn even as your hips started moving against his mouth.

“Tuck—fuck, right there,” you gasped.

He groaned like the words had gone straight through him, focusing there until the pleasure turned sharp and bright. Your head fell back against the wall, one hand still buried in his hair while the other braced beside you.

You were close, close enough that your thighs started trembling.

“Tucker,” you gasped. “I’m—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down. He only held you tighter, mouth sealed over your clit until you came with a broken moan, hips jerking against him as pleasure rolled through you. He stayed with you through it, easing the pressure when you started to shake and pressing kisses to your inner thigh when you finally whimpered from the sensitivity.

When he stood again, his mouth was wet and his eyes were dark.

You could only stare at him.

He wiped his thumb across his lower lip before leaning in to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as Tucker made a rough sound against you.

“Bedroom,” he said, voice rough.

You nodded quickly.

The walk there was not graceful. You bumped into the side table, Tucker knocked into the doorframe, and you both laughed against each other’s mouths until the laughter turned into another kiss the second you reached your room.

Tucker pulled his shirt off, and you finally got to touch him properly.

He was warm beneath your palms, solid and broad, and his stomach tightened when your fingers dragged lower toward his belt.

“You okay?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your mouth.

His eyes met yours, dark and unsteady. “I’ve been better.”

You laughed, but then your hand brushed over the hard outline of him through his jeans, and his smile vanished.

“Oh,” you whispered, your smile fading too.

Tucker caught your wrist gently, his voice rough. “Careful.”

You looked up at him, pulse jumping. “Or what?”

His expression shifted again, that quiet confidence settling over him like he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Or I’m gonna fuck you against that wall before we even make it to the bed.”

Your stomach dropped, but you held his gaze. “Maybe I’d like that.”

For a second, neither of you moved. Then Tucker kissed you hard enough that you stumbled backward.

Your back hit the bedroom wall, his body pressing close while his hands lifted you by the backs of your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist on instinct, and Tucker groaned when you rolled your hips against him.

“Condom?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Nightstand,” you said, breathless.

He carried you to the nightstand just long enough to grab one before returning you to the wall, laughing low when you kissed his neck impatiently.

“Eager,” he murmured.

“You’re the one who mentioned the wall,” you said.

“I did,” he said, voice low.

“Then stop talking,” you breathed.

Tucker’s mouth curved, slow and dangerous. “Yes, ma’am.”

He shoved his jeans down just enough to roll the condom on, then stepped between your thighs again, one hand sliding over your hip while his other arm kept you steady against the wall.

The head of his cock brushed through your wetness, and for a second, both of you went quiet.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, voice barely steady. “Tuck.”

His forehead pressed to yours. “I know.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open while holding you like you were something precious and something he wanted badly enough to ruin all at once. The angle was intense, your back against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, his body doing all the work as he filled you completely.

Your mouth fell open, breath catching in your throat.

Tucker groaned, the sound rough against your mouth. “Fuck, you feel good.”

“You too,” you breathed, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You feel so good.”

His eyes squeezed shut for a second before he started moving. Slow at first. Controlled. Deep enough that every thrust stole your breath, his hips pinning you to the wall while his hands kept you steady. You were still sensitive from his mouth, still wet and aching, and every drag of his cock pulled another moan from you.

“Tucker,” you gasped.

“I know,” he murmured, his mouth brushing your jaw. “I’ve got you.”

“You keep saying that,” you breathed.

“Because I do,” he said, voice steady.

Your chest tightened, but then his hips snapped a little harder, and the feeling turned back into heat.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasped.

“There?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Yes,” you gasped.

He adjusted his grip, holding you higher before hitting the same spot again, and your head fell back against the wall with a moan.

Tucker’s eyes locked on your face. “That’s it.”

His pace built slowly, not rushed but intense, every thrust dragging sounds from you that you couldn’t hold back. The wall was cold against your back, his skin hot against yours, and your whole world narrowed to Tucker’s hands, Tucker’s mouth, Tucker’s cock moving inside you like he’d been waiting weeks to prove exactly how well he could ruin you.

“You have no idea how hard it was,” he murmured against your throat, “watching you smile at me from across that bar.”

A whimper slipped out of you before you could stop it.

“Thinking you were just being nice,” he said, hips driving into yours harder until you gasped. “Thinking I was making it up.”

“I wasn’t,” you breathed, clinging tighter to his shoulders. “I wasn’t looking at them.”

Tucker’s grip tightened, and you pulled his face to yours, kissing him messily. “I wanted you.”

He groaned against your mouth.

The next thrust nearly tore a cry out of you.

“Say that again,” he rasped.

“I wanted you.” The next thrust hit harder, stealing the rest of the sentence from you. “Tucker—”

“Again.”

“I wanted you,” you moaned, nails dragging down his shoulders. “I wanted you so badly.”

That broke something in him. His pace turned rougher, still controlled but less careful now, hips snapping into yours as he held you against the wall. You clung to him, moaning his name, letting him hear every gasp and broken sound because he seemed to need them as badly as you needed the way he moved.

“Touch yourself,” he said suddenly, and your breath hitched.

His eyes met yours, dark and intent.

“I want to feel you come around me.”

Your hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, and the first circle made your whole body jolt. Tucker cursed, forehead dropping to yours as you clenched around him.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

Your fingers moved faster, clumsy from how badly you were shaking, but the pressure built quickly with him still fucking into you, his voice low and constant in your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your ear. “You’re so pretty. Doing so good for me.”

Your breath broke.

“Come on, baby.” His grip tightened. “Let me feel it.”

The orgasm hit hard, your body tightening around him as your moan broke into something helpless. Tucker held you through it, thrusting deep and uneven as you pulsed around him, until he followed with a rough groan, hips jerking as he came.

He stayed there for a moment, breathing hard against your neck, holding you up like letting go was not an option. Then he laughed softly.

You opened your eyes, still trying to catch your breath. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, his mouth brushing your shoulder. “Just thinking Dean’s never going to shut up if he finds out.”

You laughed, still breathless and warm. “Then don’t tell him.”

“He’ll know,” Tucker said.

“Why?” you asked, smiling against his skin.

Tucker pulled back just enough to look at you, his smile softer now. “Because I’m not going to be able to stop smiling.”

Your heart did something stupid in your chest.

After that, he carried you to the bed and set you down carefully before disappearing to clean up. When he came back, he had a damp cloth in his hand, cleaning you gently and murmuring an apology when your thighs twitched from sensitivity.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, still a little breathless. “Very okay.”

His mouth curved. “Good.”

He lay beside you, and for a second, a strange shyness settled between you again. Not awkward. Just new.

You turned onto your side to face him. “You can stay.”

His eyes softened at that. “Yeah?”

“If you want.”

“I want,” he said, without hesitation, and the answer came fast enough to make you smile.

Tucker pulled the blanket over both of you, and you curled into his side like it already felt familiar. His arm came around you, warm and steady, fingers tracing slow lines down your back.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Then you whispered, “I meant it, you know.”

His hand paused against your back. “What?”

“I saw all of them,” you said, tilting your head up to look at him. “I still looked at you.”

Tucker stared at you for a second, something tender and disbelieving crossing his face. Then he kissed you, soft this time, slow, like he finally believed you.

The next morning, Tucker woke with your leg thrown over his and your face tucked against his chest.

For a second, he didn’t move. He just looked at you — at the sunlight slipping through your curtains, your hair messy against his skin, the tiny crease between your brows like you were arguing with someone in your sleep.

He smiled before he could stop himself, which, as it turned out, was exactly the problem. Because when he finally left your apartment in yesterday’s clothes and walked into the hockey house just before noon, Dean was sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal.

Dean looked up. Tucker froze. The spoon stopped halfway to Dean’s mouth as a slow, terrible smile spread across his face.

“No way.”

Tucker sighed. “Don’t.”

Logan appeared from the kitchen immediately, because he had a sixth sense for chaos. “What? What happened?”

Dean pointed his spoon at Tucker. “Our boy didn’t come home last night.”

Garrett looked over from the table, his brows lifting.

Logan’s face lit up. “[Y/N]?”

Tucker tried to walk past them. “I’m leaving.”

“You just got here,” Dean said, delighted.

“Then I’m leaving again.”

Garrett laughed under his breath. “Good for you, man.”

That was somehow worse than the teasing. Tucker shook his head, but he was smiling, and Dean noticed, because Dean noticed everything that made life unbearable.

“Oh, he likes her likes her.”

“Shut up.”

Logan grinned, leaning in like this was the best news he’d heard all week. “Did she finally get tired of waiting for you to make a move?”

Tucker paused at the stairs. Thought about your smile, your apartment, your voice saying, I still looked at you. Then he turned just enough to say, “Actually, she made the move.”

The room exploded. Dean yelled, Logan swore, and Garrett laughed properly this time.

Tucker headed upstairs before any of them could ask anything else, but he still heard Dean call after him.

“I’m proud of you, Tuck!”

He rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

💌lmk if you want to be added to my taglist

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[lomlparker]

hi divas ! sorry for the radio silence, ive been finishing my second year of uni! i have a few requests in so i will get around to those asap!! sm love xxx

[lomlparker]

FIRST KISS ♡ - G. BARKOVITCH

in which gary barkovitch finally succumbs to his feelings and experiences his first kiss

word count : 816

warnings : slightly suggestive? heavy make-out, barkovitch not understanding his feelings, swearing, gender neutral reader!!

a.n : I haven’t written in ages due to uni work so this has been in my drafts for a while! I’m starting to get back into writing now so pls keep requests coming in, ill get round to them!! enjoy some film barkovitch fluff, mwah!! xo

————————————————————————

Gary Barkovitch was a reserved character, some might describe him as a misfit with a few close friends. Short tempered and easily irritated to most of the people who saw him and resulted in him struggling to form friendships. It was safe to say when you met Barkovitch, he saw you as an enigma, and you saw him in the same way.

You were a bubbly person, kind, exciteable, full of joy. Those were just some of the ways Gary could describe you. But he could never work out the enigmatic nature of your relationship, it completely perplexed him.

It started out with you approaching him in class, looking for a free seat, whispers surrounded you as you headed over to the seat next to Gary. “I’m so sorry, may I sit here please?” You asked warmly. Gary was enamoured from the get go, your smile, your constant chatter, everything about you filled him with a new feeling of warmth. It was almost unnerving, but weirdly to Barkovitch, it felt good, it felt right, and he didn’t feel the need to push you away.

────୨ৎ────

He couldn’t understand why you continued to be friends with him outside of that class, nor did he care. He enjoyed being around you, but he really couldn’t understand why. But your new found friendship with Gary Barkovitch didn’t come without its challenges. One afternoon, after a busy morning between classes, the halls were bustling, full of people and the constant chatter and shouts were overwhelming. As you both walked past a group of girls, they began to whisper.

Gary’s head began to whir into overdrive. Were they whispering about him? Did they think he was a freak? Worst of all, were they teasing you?

“Jeez, Gary, you’re as white as a ghost! Are you okay? Do you need anyth-”

“FUCKING HELL, I’m fine just leave me the fuck alone.” Gary lashed out stopping you from any more questions. You looked at him, stunned, eyes glassy as he stared right back at you, almost like he terrified himself. He stormed off in the other direction, desperately wanting to avoid himself anymore embarrassment in front of you.

────୨ৎ────

“Well, I’ve fucked that up.” Gary battled the previous few moments mentally, his hands desperately scratching at his scalp, trying to relieve some of the unpleasant thoughts and feelings spiralling in his mind. Soon enough, you appeared tentatively from around the corner to find Gary sat on the step of a deserted fire exit.

“You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep on like that…” You say timidly. Gary didn’t even look up, too guilty to look you in the eyes and catch a glimpse of those glassy teared eyes. “The fuck do you care?” His southern drawl edging out as his voice quivered, for once, he felt vulnerable, feeling like this in front of someone he cared about.

“Because, I care about you, you seriously think I give a shit about what those girls think? I’d much rather spend my time with someone like you than someone like them.” You admitted honestly, sitting down next to him.

────୨ৎ────

Gary tensed up before letting his shoulders relax, sighing with his head in his hands. “This is all confusin’ me, all these feelings and things, man I really like you yknow Y/N” he said defeatedly. You nodded, acknowledging and in some ways comforting Barkovitch.

“I like you too, Gary, like I like, like you…?” you responded, Gary’s head looked up inquisitively. He had never had any experience with girls, hell he’d barely spoken to anyone but his meemaw before you. But in his head, all he could think about was kissing you. Your lips, held in gentle bite between your teeth, looked so inviting and sent shivers down his spine. Breathlessly, Gary muttered “Fuck… I wanna kiss you so bad.”.

You were taken aback, this was not a side to Gary you’d seen before but you had to admit, you were loving it. You noticed his eyes, admiring you, flicking to your lips every few seconds. “Do it then…” you smirked.

────୨ৎ────

Gary leaned in tentatively, gently kissing your lips. His own lips softly brushing against yours, very quickly learning the ropes. His mind was running haywire and all he wanted to do was be close to you with his hands gently moving to your sides. After pulling away, his eyes were gleaming, he wanted more. Pulling you swiftly into his lap, the second kiss was messier, hungrier, your fingers getting lost in Gary’s soft blonde hair. You couldn’t focus, and nor could Gary, a gentle moan left his mouth which caused him to blush instantly.

“Enjoying it?” you tease. Gary looked at you like a rabbit in headlights before saying in a tone slightly louder than a whisper “That was my first kiss.”. You smiled and grabbed his hand gently. “Well there’s plenty more of those to come.”

[lomlparker]

so happy to find someone who writes for the king walk and i love the college au. maybe some jealousy headcannons or a jealous fic with fem/gn reader x collie or ray? whatever u choose i’ll be happy lol thanks

WHITE MUSTANG ♡ - C. PARKER

when collie saw you laughing with ray at the corner of a christmas party, the jealousy hit him like lightning...

word count : 1.1K

warnings : arguing, alcohol, smoking, cursing, angsty/jealous collie, eventual fluff (yay!!), heavy make-out

a.n : thank you so much for this request and glad you love the college au!! i thought i'd continue the college theme in this fic and have tried including ray as well as collie, i hope you love it ♡

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As the Christmas lights left a soft glow, shining dimly through your college dorm window, you sipped gingerly at the pale glass of wine, sweating in the warmth of your room as you finished getting ready. Your music hummed gently in the background before it was interrupted by a familiar gentle knock.

It didn't come as a shock to your friends when you and Collie began dating, it was glaringly obvious that you were besotted with him and he reciprocated with a faint awe. What struck people the most was Collie was a gentle lover, he cared so deeply about you that it almost felt spiritual.

Collie was stood at your door, dressed in his usual denim on grey look, staring lovingly at you, glowing from the warmth on your skin and the reflection of the white fairy lights.

You were dressed in the most festive colours you could find in your limited college wardrobe, with one of Collie's old jackets over your shoulders to keep the cold off of you. No alcohol blanket could save you from the snow falling outside, creating your very own Christmas Card view just outside your window.

"You look fucking... breathtaking." Collie eventually said on his breath, still admiring the vision in front of him. Boy, was he a lucky guy, he thought as his hands gently fell to your arms.

You lean up and precariously offered a gentle kiss, the sharp taste of white wine lingering on Collie's own lips. "Thank you love, I am nearly ready, promise!"

Collie chuckled as you fought a losing battle trying to get your doc martens on, a fashion statement heavily influenced by your boyfriend. Eventually, after rolling on your bed trying to pull them on which was met with Collie's own laughter, he steadied you to sit up. "Here, let me..." He said as he adjusted your boots and laced them up, his own dark hair falling over his shoulder, you eyes twinkling as you gazed down.

Standing up, an extra inch or so of height added to your stance, your hand instinctively intertwined with Collie's as you locked your dorm door, heading out to celebrate the festive season with your friends.

────୨ৎ────

The party was filled with muffled dance and club classics booming out of Hank's temperamental speaker as people chatted loudly above the music, enjoying the company.

Collie wasn't a party kind of guy per se, but had learnt to enjoy them with you as you found something fun or memorable to do to bring people together. Usually, he found himself as designated driver, not fussed whether or not he drank. Tonight however, things were a little different.

You were leaning on the doorframe, chatting away happily to Ray Garraty. Ray was what every person pined for, he was smart, popular, handsome, to Collie, the list was endless. And there you were, chatting blissfully right in front of him.

"Awh, Garraty got your girl Parker?" Barkovitch appeared next to Collie, offering a usual sly remark to his friend. "Piss off Barko." Collie replied coldly. "Shit, Collie, no need to be fucking jealous man." Barkovitch responded, holding his arms up in defeat.

It was overwhelming, and for the first time in your relationship, Collie felt jealous. His eyebrows furrowed and his dark, chocolatey eyes you lovingly stared into hours ago, could have burnt holes into the back of Ray's head. "Fuck OFF Barkovitch." His tone now obviously irritated had seemingly raised above the noise of the music and chatter, catching you off guard instantly.

Before you could head over to see what the fuss was about, Collie was gone and you were left pacing the hallway. After a few minutes, a sheepish Richard Harkness stood in the doorway, the party now feeling a million miles away. "Collie is outside, he's sat in the car." You nodded, rushing out of the door before shouting back "Thanks, Harkness."

────୨ৎ────

The windows of Collie's white mustang were fogged up, his gaze not flickering from the wheel in front of him, taking drags from a cigarette. You opened the passenger side door and slipped into the seat next to him. "What was going on in there, Collie, Barkovitch doesn't normally get to you like that?"

Collie put the end of the cigarette out, leaning on the door. "Leave me alone." He responded, his tone icy. "Love, I swear, what's Barko done now I swear I'll.." You were interrupted by Collie's stern voice echoing through the car. "It's not Barkovitch, He's done nothing, I just.. Fuck, I hated seeing Garraty so cozy with you."

You sighed, taking Collie's hand. "Ray was telling me about his date, his date with Pete. Ray is dating Pete. I was congratulating him. Collie Parker, I could never choose anyone but you. In this life, or any other from now."

A smirk played on Collie's lips, overcome with a sense of relief, he felt a sense of affirmation from your words. "I suppose we could do with another a couple around here..." You nodded, leaning into Collie, "We are still the hottest couple though."

Collie chuckled, pulling you onto his lap, your thighs wrapping either side of Collie's legs causing you to shriek. "You mean, you're the hottest around here." He said, now inches away from your lips, his breath tickling on your skin. "Boosting my ego here, Parker." You said before your lips crashed into Collie's, moving in a synchronised rhythm, gasps for breath filling the car.

Your make-out was interrupted by your hand hitting the horn, causing you both to burst into fits of laughter.

────୨ৎ────

Soon, it was 3am and Collie was in your bed, lights dim and your head rested on his chest. "I'm sorry about earlier, I just care so deeply about you, Besides, I'm looking forward to some double dates with Pete and Ray now."

You smiled up, sleepily, your gaze meeting Collie's own softened eyes and expression. "I know, and that's what I adore about you." You say before drifting off to sleep. Minutes later, Collie pressed an apologetic kiss onto your temple, content whilst resting on his chest rising and falling.

[lomlparker]

hey guyssss, so sorry for the radio silence!

i have been swarmed by essays recently and my last one is due on tuesday (yayy!!) i have had a few requests in so i will get around to them first, i can’t wait to write them 💌

so much loveeee x

[lomlparker]

tysm for all of the love on my hcs post!! it means the absolute world 🤍🤍🤍

please feel free to send in any requests, i love writing my ideas but i love hearing other people’s too 💌

loads of love xx

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

MAY YOU NEVER LOSE YOUR HYPERFIXATION

[heartzt1na]

˖ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ how did he bag him he can’t handle all that ୭˚. ᵎᵎ

⤷ ゛ that’s when i left my heart with the girl made in japan ˎˊ˗

｡𖦹°‧ photographer barkovitch and photogenic parker

[lomlparker]

them tbh

[lomlparker]

the long walk boys - your first date hcs (college au)

featuring: ray garraty, pete mcvries, hank olson, art baker, gary barkovitch, collie parker, richard harkness, billy stebbins.

word count: 2.52k

warnings: minor swearing, enough fluff to give you toothache

a/n: my first ever post on tumblr! please please lmk if you enjoyed and send any requests, i will try my best to get around to them as well as my own ideas, mwah <3

Ray Garraty

Ray Garraty would actually be the sweetest boy ever, and similarly to Harkness, he admires you almost like he’s lovesick. You guys met in the dining hall after you sat with him one day to eat breakfast, and very quickly you were introduced to all of his friends (and very quickly they had to listen to Ray talk about you whenever he could get the chance). After a lot of encouragement from his friends, just like in a cheesy rom-com he’d ask you out after breakfast one day.

“Hey.. uhm I was wondering if you’d like to.. go on a date… to the movies with me?” Ray stuttered out with his arms folded across his chest.

“Yeah, yeah I would Ray” You smiled warmly and he felt himself relax and his face warmed up as he admired your smile, before mentally scolding himself for forgetting he was standing directly in front of you.

“Fuck… sorry… great!” He stumbled nervously as you both made your way back to the group where Ray was met with a few pats on the back from the Musketeers. 

Ray was raised to treat a girl right, he ironed his shirt before heading out, picked you up some flowers that he thought were pretty from the store and it's safe to say you were smitten (I mean who wouldn’t be??) He let you choose the film and bought you some popcorn to share. As the film began you both reached into the popcorn, hands gently brushing which caused you to both look away sheepishly, but neither wanting to move away. Ray didn’t even watch the film, he had no idea what was going on, he was overcome with nerves to wrap his arm around. Naturally, he resorted to the awkward ‘yawn and wrap his arm around technique’ and luckily for him, it worked. You moved closer to him, leaning your head on his shoulder, and to him, everything was as it should be. 

Pete McVries

This man has CHARM. He oozes it, it practically pours out of him. But he only had one item on his agenda, charming you. You met in a music room on campus, you were trying to find somewhere quiet and Pete was playing small sections of song on the piano. You inquisitively went over and Pete began trying to teach you chords and notes on a piano and from then, he began to be drawn to you, trying his hardest to find a way perfect enough to ask you out. One dreary afternoon on campus, Pete found you at the very same piano, playing through a sheet of music. He watched with a sense of pride and overwhelming feelings of nerves. Now was the perfect time to ask you out. He rested his hands on your shoulders shaking you slightly as you smiled, feeling accomplished.

“Look at you, playing sheet music now, I’m impressed!” Pete said, now sharing the piano stool with you. You blushed slightly at the closeness of the two of you.

“What can I say, I’m a quick learner, plus I have a good teacher.” You smiled, taking your sheet music off of the stand and shoving it in your bag. Pete gently pulls you back and sighs.

“Yknow, I was planning on going to this open mic and slam poetry night tomorrow on the other side of town, I was wondering if you’d like to join me on a date?” 

You smiled, you knew how much Pete enjoyed these nights away from the campus and you were overjoyed that he had asked you to join him. “Of course, what's the dress code?” You asked, nudging Pete teasingly.

Your evening with Pete was exactly how you imagined, he was captivated by every single performance and would chat with you about what you thought about each performance. You were both easily the best dressed people there, almost treating it like a night at the opera with Pete in a button up shirt and smart trousers. Pete didn’t care though, he thought you looked perfect. You walked home, Pete’s Jacket over your shoulders, hand in hand, desperate to spend more time together, before Pete gently pulled you into a kiss as he left you at your dorm.

Hank Olson

Struggles with planning absolutely anything romantic, so would 100% go to Art for advice because he wanted to have the perfect date. Your feelings for slow-burn, initially when you met in the Environmental society, you thought Hank was slightly obnoxious. However, the more time you spent together your feelings developed into attraction, understanding his sense of humour that you’d initially misread. Hank on the other hand? He was desperate to impress you. He picked his own flowers to give you (as suggested by Art) to give you when he asked you out.

You took the flowers, your face was now crimson as Hank rambled on about telling you something important. 

“So , I really like you a lot. I think you’re cool and yeah” Hank spoke quickly as you nodded reassuringly. “And yeah? I mean I like you too Hank.”

“So anyway, like I was saying, wanna go on a date with me?” He asked calmly and you nodded in response. (He would 100% go around the nearest corner and fist-bump the air and message Art straight away).

Olson would take you to an aquarium for a first date. But of course, it would be an environmentally friendly aquarium that took in rescued species, and he would know EVERY SINGLE FACT about EVERY SINGLE FISH. You’d happily walk around, arms linked, pointing out each and every fish and letting Hank yap happily away. In the gift shop as you sifted through books, Hank returned to you, having adopted a rescued seal and carried over a seal teddy in a box for you both to ‘co-parent’. You got back to your dorm and hugged Hank lovingly after a perfect date, he’d ‘done it all right’ he thought.

Art Baker 

Art would absolutely hit it off instantly with you in classes and after that you would be absolutely inseparable. He respected you and you respected him and you both got on perfectly. But, it would be clear that you both developed feelings for each other but neither of you wanted to bring it up in case you misread the situation or hurt each other. One day when you were sitting in the dining hall after dinner, Art decided to bring up his feelings. 

“I need to know, hand on heart, what’s going on between us? I like you and it seems like you like me? I promise I’ll treat you right, let me take you out on a date.” He admitted suddenly, you could see the emotion in his eyes.

You nodded. “I like you too, I just didn’t want to ruin anything that we had already, but if you’re willing to treat me right, a few dates couldn’t hurt” You said with a warm smile, as Art put his arms around your shoulders.

Your date was simple, but it was absolutely perfect. You took a walk around a nature park and stopped for coffee along the way (although I believe that Art is definitely a hot chocolate drinker, with cream and marshmallows). You wandered aimlessly, hand in hand, chatting away, picture perfect. After Art walked you back to your dorm, you lay on your bed and realised you were absolutely meant to be.

Gary Barkovitch

You met Barkovitch whilst wandering around campus in the early days after moving to college. You were exploring what was around you, and Barkovitch was completely lost (though he wouldn’t admit that to you). You could see he was lost and wandered over and warmly offered to help him find his way, and reluctantly (and very nervously) he accepted. From that point on you became good friends and Barkovitch found himself absolutely smitten by your personality and charm. It took a while for either of your feelings to come to light, but, just as your first interaction, it was you who initiated the first date.

‘Gary, I was wondering if you wanted to go out tomorrow and visit that cat cafe in town?’ You asked nervously, hoping that your friend really did like you back and that these reciprocated feelings weren’t just in your head.

‘Yeah, sure.’ He nodded, always appreciating your company and the time you spent together no matter what you were doing, it was just difficult for him to admit.

‘But, I was wondering if it could be a date, like… romantically”. Gary froze, his face flushing crimson before instinctively fiddling with his sleeves whilst looking around at the floor. 

‘Sure, okay.’ He admitted, his heart fluttered, he couldn’t believe that you, of all people, felt that way about him. 

Naturally, recognising Barkovitch’s love for cats you knew he would have a brilliant time at a cat cafe. You guys spent a few hours surrounded by the cutest cats ever and spent most of your time chatting away about college, friends and of course the adorable cats. Barkovitch was very timid and reluctant to pet any of the cats initially but once he was comfortable, he was happily chatting about his mee-maw and how much she would love to see the cats. When you began petting a gorgeous tabby cat in your lap, Barkovitch snuck a few pictures to remember how much fun he had on this first date and it was safe to say it went swimmingly. After walking you back to your dorm, Barkovitch very awkwardly offered you a hug to which you accepted and boldly asked ‘So when’s our next date?’ The boy was in AWE. 

Collie Parker

Collie was the one to approach you after class one day. He was a head strong guy but he was really ashamed to admit that he was really struggling with this new module and knew you would be able to help. Initially it started in the library but you began meeting in your room, a cup of coffee each (Collie Parker is a black coffee drinker for sure) surrounded by fairy lights and photos on your wall, which made Collie fall even harder. After a few of these sessions in the comfort of your room, Collie mustered enough courage to ask you out.

“So, after I start acing my classes, what are we then? Do we still study together?” Collie asked, leaning back on your desk chair, whilst you were sat crosslegged on your bed, in the soft glow of the fairy lights, Collie looked stunning.

“We could do! I enjoy hanging out with you, even if it is studying till my head aches sometimes.” You admitted, unaware of Collie’s feelings brewing.

“Fuck it, I really like you, can I take you out on a date?” Collie blurted out in his usual headstrong way, feeling vulnerable to the emotions he’d just put on the table.

“Are you paying? If so then yes.” You smirked teasingly.

Collie believed deeply in being a gentleman and being chivalrous on a first date was his number one priority. He had already remembered your favourite restaurant and had booked a table for you both. He picked you up, dressed in a shirt and trousers and a leather jacket, true Collie Parker style. The evening was perfect, it made a change to chatting away in your room to be able to sit with Collie, romantically. When you left, it was dark and naturally, Collie insisted on walking you home, leaving you at your door with a kiss on your cheek. Collie Parker knows how to treat a person right (pls send him my way).

Richard Harkness

MOST LOVESICK MAN EVER. You both met helping out with the student magazine for the campus and let's just say, it was love at first sight for Harkness. To him, you were angelic and he adored spending time with you and chatting about the magazine, even sometimes spending late nights in the library researching and writing. One day, his feelings for you simply overwhelmed him and he asked you out unexpectedly. 

‘What do you think of this font for the title? Is it bold enough?” You asked, swivelling around on the spinny chair, cracking open a Dr Pepper from your bag. 

“Willyougoonadatewithme?” Harkness spluttered out before taking a breath. “Will you uhm… go on a date… with me? It’s okay if not I unders-”

Harkness was cut off by a loud shout of “YES!” and vigorous nodding from you. He let out a quiet giggle as others around you shushed you with a wide smile across his face.

Harkness would 100% take you on a pottery painting date (I lowk want this so bad). You both are very creative and it seems like the perfect date! You both paint bowls, you go into the afternoon with a design in mind. Harkness however, completely freehands it, and aces it. After a few hours of painting, you head back to yours and order pizza and continue your conversations about your favourite comics. As Harkness leaves, he embraces you in a warm  hug, kissing your head and thanking you endlessly for an amazing day. 

Billy Stebbins

Stebbins was someone who was in some ways, similar to Barkovitch. He struggled to act on his emotions, but that doesn’t mean he’s numb to them. In fact, he feels an attraction to you that almost overwhelms him. You met in a coffee shop near campus, Stebbins was sitting on his own munching through some jelly sandwiches and you were looking for a free seat to enjoy your coffee. He gestured that the seat was free and your first interactions were almost seemingly strained, so you were surprised when he asked for your number. Over time, you became close with Stebbins and understood him better than anyone else which only made you more attractive to him. One afternoon after classes, you were both walking across campus when Stebbins practically confessed his love to you.

“Can I ask you something, it's kinda important” Stebbins asked as he wandered over and leaned against an old oak tree. “Sure, what’s up?” You responded as you joined him. 

“I really like you a lot, romantically, you’re kind, funny, and absolutely stunning and I’d like to take you out on a date if that’s okay with you?” Stebbins admitted sheepishly, causing a smile and a crimson blush to spread across your face.

You nodded “I’d love to, and thank you” You smiled brightly as you continued your walk across campus, and it was safe to say, Stebbins was ecstatic.

Your date with Stebbins was to an old fashioned fairground and he treated you like a true gentleman. He was terrified but he plucked up the courage after a while to hold your hand as you wandered around. Of course, Stebbins would absolutely want to win you a stuffed animal and he wouldn’t rest until he won you the biggest one he could get. After walking you to your dorm, Stebbins left you at your door, but not without a kiss on the cheek.