#I’m sure this is from a magazine maybe!! looks a little like it was during load era but don’t quote that

[gorehoundhammett]

Lars Ulrich staring tenderly at Kirk Hammett — 1998, image found via metalfanclubs.org/metallica.

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 12: The One Where We Start Laying the Yellow Brick Road to Italy

I realized the other day that, even though I like to bounce around from place to place in the Lukola timeline, I probably needed to start tightening things up on the ship if I ever wanted to get to the end of the story. And, yes, dammit, this story better have a finale at some point because there’s nothing more annoying than an open-ended ending, particularly in the romance genre.

Today we’re going to take a quick jaunt over to Italy because –

NO! Not because Luke is allegedly filming there. If you’re into real-time stalking, you’re in the wrong blog. But, I’m sure there’s a Discord for that.

It’s because I’ve had several people ask for my opinion about the change in behavior between Luke and Nicola during their Day 1 interviews there. Wait – people are interested in my thoughts? Wow, that’s actually kind of nice. Thank you! Okay, back to what I was saying –

Was there a change in behavior when Luke and Nicola reached Italy? Yeah, actually, there kind of was.

By May 9, we had been gifted with a slew of material from Luke, Nicola, and the Bridgerton cast and, I must admit, those early interviews are some of the most entertaining of the tour. In the very beginning, Nicola appeared as the utmost professional – charming, intelligent, and witty at the right moments – and Luke played her likeable counterpart to “Book Colin” perfection – bouncing between being awkwardly boyish and wickedly roguish, all while looking at Nicola like she had just served him homemade peanut butter crumble.

The two of them together, playing off each other, in my opinion, was better than Bridgerton Season 3 (you cannot beat the World Tour being 99% Luke and Nicola, with only a few random side characters taking up screentime). There was some major “Electric Love” radiating from those two throughout the tour, but it seemed very much heightened in the beginning (probably because they hadn’t yet answered the same question 67 times). By the way, if you haven’t heard that song by Børns, go have a listen. It will, at the very least – hopefully – put you in an upbeat mood for the day.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes – was there a change in behavior between Luke and Nicola when they reached Italy?

Absolutely.

Do I know why?

Absolutely not.

Perhaps Luke was bent because someone spilled his coffee, or Nicola was upset because her stylist made her to wear that little silver bow in her hair. In my opinion, the most intriguing part of Day 1 of the Italy press junket was that Luke and Nicola struggled with answering the question, “What is love?” I swear they both babbled on like two kids in debate class who hadn’t bothered to read the material given to them before taking their respective podiums. They finally seemed to settle on Luke’s “Maybe it’s, like, connection.” Well, they seemed to be missing the “connection” that day.

Honestly, no one can explain their “don’t stand so close to me” vibe during those first day interviews except Luke and Nicola. But, we can at least have some fun and speculate about it with a bird’s eye view. At this point, you should know that I love spreading the puzzle pieces out and seeing how they might all connect. Most people – when putting a puzzle together – start with the side pieces, right? You’ll get my joke in a moment (I hope).

In March 2024 – I don’t know the specific date because my timeline is rather murky going back that far (I was unaware Lukola even existed!) – Luke traveled to Los Angeles for a photo spread with InStyle magazine. I’ve heard two versions of this story. The first being that Luke traveled to Los Angeles with Antonia alone; the second being that he traveled to Los Angeles with his friend group, which included Antonia. I couldn’t tell you which is true, and it really doesn’t matter because it doesn’t necessarily add or take away from today’s story.

Before I get started, I wanted to give a “hurrah” to The-One-Whose-Group-Chat-Fills-in-Lots-of-Missing-Bits-for-Me-Including-the-Part-Where-Video-Footage-of-Antonia-in-Los-Angeles-Seemed-to-Indicate-a-Celebrity-Was-Not-the-Videographer-and-There-Were-So-Many-British-Accents-in-the-Background-One-Would-Fancy-a-Guess-She-was-Traveling-with-a-Group.

Moving along…

On April 7, 2024, Antonia posted a series of photographs and clips to her Instagram grid indicating she had been in Los Angeles, including one where she was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory and one where she was sitting at a table marked with the number “95.” On April 14, she posted a second set of photographs, tagging her location as Beverly Hills, California and using “End of Beginning” as her audio (yes, I side-eyed this choice of music so don’t feel bad if you did as well). The second photo dump included her lounging on a rooftop.

I’m not going to delve into posts made by Luke and Nicola during that timeframe. I mean, I’m sure Nicola’s comment, “’Friends’…sure Jan,” on Luke’s April 11 reshared post about Bridgerton Season 3 was only meant to be applicable to Polin. And, if Luke wanted to use yellow and black hearts to represent the colors Nicola and he were wearing in his April 12 post, that’s cool, too. And, I am definitely not going to speculate on Nicola’s April 15 post (for Big Mood) that Luke liked, and she captioned, “I will bite off anything that dangles.”

By April 21, Luke and Nicola were in Australia at the World Premiere of Bridgerton. I am only going to provide a quick overview of Australia instead of a full-fledged recital because, at some point, I will almost certainly dedicate an entry to this country. Let’s start with Luke pulling off the hottest walk-up in Netflix human history (I mean, have you watched it in slow motion?). Then, we had the hard launch of the handholding business (because why again?). And, we had Luke tripping over his words, “We’re very, like, giving…I’m not talking about those scenes…” Oh, and Nicola telling an interviewer that, “[y]ou can’t keep a good girl down,” and, in response, Luke’s lips curling into a wicked-ass Cheshire cat's. We had them in the garden, with Nicola bending down to hug Luke after she had scratched/hit/petted his head. Perhaps I should not mention the possibility of a man’s shirt being visible on a bed behind Nicola (I said possibility not that it was). And, Nicola telling Luke, “You’re the funnier one,” when he was concerned that perhaps Benedict was funnier than Colin. Then we had the “Nicola-in-the-green-dress” day where, as they were going down the steps, Luke seemed to instinctively reach for Nicola’s hand, but she played it cool and took his arm instead. Oh, and that entire “green dress” day in general (I mean, there was so much shit going on that day). And, best we do not forget Nicola saying, “the best foundation for love is friendship,” which mirrored the bracelet “someone…in Australia” gave Luke that read, “Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?” Because that’s not suspicious at all. Alright, let’s get the fuck out of Australia – but not before I mention Nicola commenting on Luke’s April 27 Instagram post with “Ready for the next?” and Luke replying, “Absolutely.” Yeah, yeah, yeah, their shenanigans in Australia expanded the USS Lukola tenfold.

Oh, also, let me throw this in here because, if you are a “ring truther,” this fact plays a significant role in the Lukola timeline. If you do not know what a “ring truther” is, that’s perfectly fine. You can catch up by reading Entry 6 (The One Where I Explained the Claddagh Ring to My Dad) of my blog. I mentioned in Entry 6 that some Lukola sleuths have stated the metadata they pulled from the sketches of the Claddagh ring uploaded by Chupi indicate they were done as early as April 26. In other words, it means the Claddagh was likely commissioned between Australia and Italy. In fact, if we are to believe Chupi when it said it took four weeks to make the ring, then it had to have been commissioned by May 9, 2024, at the latest. Oh, lookie there, that’s Day 1 of the Italy interviews.

But, before we get to May 9, let’s pause on April 29. That was the day Luke’s InStyle spread was published – yes, the one I mentioned earlier. Luke has pictures from this photoshoot still on his Instagram grid – in fact, Nicola commented, “Yess dude!!” on them – but those aren’t the pictures I want to talk about. No, I want to talk about the pictures InStyle posted on its Instagram grid that day. These photographs came directly from Luke, which was confirmed by the InStyle article when it said, “…the actor delighted the InStyle team by delivering the polaroid photos he’d taken for this story tucked oh-so-carefully in a little brown bag for safekeeping.” The pictures Luke provided, among others, included one where he was laying on a blanket in front of the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles; one where he was sitting at a table marked with the number “95;” and one where he is sitting in a lounge chair on a rooftop. If you want to see the pictures, InStyle still has them available – you just need to go through hundreds of posts to find them. Luke did not like this InStyle post, which was kind of odd because he was tagged in it, and they were reportedly his pictures.

Why did these InStyle polaroids seem so familiar?

Oh, that’s right, because they were.

Remember that April 7 post of Antonia’s I mentioned a bit ago? Yeah, the one where Antonia posted a bunch of random pictures from Los Angeles and – only after InStyle posted Luke’s polaroids – fans realized Antonia had preemptively posted her version of some of Luke’s polaroids.

I am not going to speculate too much about these pictures or their implications in this blog post, but these pictures may resurface in future posts because I find myself side-eyeing the fact they even exist. And, we should probably accept that Luke was aware of them before his pictures came out on April 29 because he threw a like on Antonia’s April 7 post. Could it have been a “blind” like? Sure, I guess, but the logical side of my brain says he probably looked through them at the time she posted. Let’s not worry too much about it right now, though.

After trying to write out my “general” opinion about the pictures several times, I finally decided that the best way I could articulate my thoughts was through the conversation I had with my father. Yes, Dear Dad returns again for another insightful Q&A.

I started by showing Luke and Antonia’s three “matchy” pictures to my dad and then asked him to compare them. To be clear, the pictures were their respective Griffith Observatory, Table 95, and Rooftop Lounging pictures.

Me: “So what do you think?”

Dad: “About what?”

Me: “Ugh! Why did Antonia take those pictures?”

Dad: “Well, to show she’s part of the ‘in’ crowd. The only reason I can see them being taken is if she was going to put them on the Internet.”

Me: “Uhh, as a matter of fact, she did put them on the Internet! Approximately three weeks before Luke’s were published.”

Dad: “See! I’m not as dumb as you think.”

Me: “Whatever. So, you really believe that? She took them to show people that she was, like, there?”

Dad: “Yeah. Why else would she take them? They’re not the kind of photos you’d take normally. What’s she going to do, put them in an album and show her friends in five years and say, ‘Look, I sat in Luke’s chair?’ Who does that? Nobody. Plus, Luke’s pictures look like they were taken with a polaroid camera and Antonia took hers with, I guess, a phone. Why use two different cameras? Again, it doesn’t make sense. Seems to me like she knew what pictures he was taking, and she was trying to copy them so she could put them on the Internet.”

Thanks, Dad.

You do not have to accept my father’s thoughts on the photographs. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. However, I think we can meet in the middle and opine that, at a minimum, Antonia’s pictures caused the weak Lukolas to jump overboard; at most, they gave some people stalker vibes; and somewhere in between, they introduced Antonia's negative influence over the fandom and what some may consider trolling behavior (even if it wasn’t recognized then).

Now, before we land in Italy on May 9, let’s summarize what has happened during the preceding two months.

First, we had Luke traveling to Los Angeles in March with Antonia, either alone or as part of a friend group. Luke had pictures of himself taken while there.

Second, we had Antonia posting pictures in early April that would be linked directly to Luke’s pictures by the end of the month.

Third, throughout the month of April, we had Luke and Nicola traveling together for the World Tour. We have all seen these interviews, and we have all formed independent opinions about them.

Fourth, based on Chupi’s own words, we know the Claddagh ring must have been commissioned no later than May 9.

Okay, now we’ve reached May 9, Day 1 of the Italy press junket.

Besides the press interviews, what happened on that day?

Well, Antonia reposted Luke singing Coldplay’s “Yellow” to her TikTok account.

Uhh… Huh. Interesting.

I mean, it’s possible that this was just a coincidence and she just liked Luke’s version of it. Or, it’s possible Antonia knew that “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song and she anticipated trolling Nicola and/or the fandom with it. But, if we believe she knew “Yellow” was the Polin wedding song, that means either Luke told her, or someone with that knowledge told her (i.e., someone from Luke’s team or family/friend group). We also know that Luke mentioned this song in the May 16, 2022 Netflix Tudum article when Nicola and he were asked about their song choices for Season 3. Luke stated his frontrunner was “Yellow” by Coldplay “because of Penelope’s dresses.” Regardless of why Antonia posted the song, I find it hard to imagine Netflix, Bridgerton, Shondaland, Nicola, or Luke were too impressed by Antonia resharing it on TikTok. I mean, at this point, Netflix & Co. would surely have been aware that Antonia’s “copycat post” went over with the fandom like a wet blanket in December in Canada. I imagine some questions were being asked and Luke may very well have received a hand slap from Corporate – and maybe even from Nicola.

But, that’s not the only thing that happened on May 9.

Luke posted his Homme magazine spread to his Instagram grid on that day, too. He captioned the post, “Chatting through all things S3 with @hommeplusmag [o]ut next week x.” Nicola commented, “Yessss,” and Luke tagged his post with the location of Hackney, London. That last part – about Luke tagging the location in Hackney – apparently sent the fandom into a deep-dive of…Nicola’s backyard. Why? Because Nicola lives in Hackney (Nicola herself confirmed she lived in Hackney in a March 18, 2024 interview with Derry Now), and rumors started to circulate that Luke’s pictures were taken at her home.

Hmm, I didn’t realize May 9 was such a busy day, did you?

So, which came first – the chicken or the egg? Did Antonia repost “Yellow” to her TikTok before Luke posted his Homme in Hackney images to Instagram, or vice versa? I’m sure someone out there has this information. The answer might help shine some light as to why Luke and Nicola seemed “off” in the early part of their Day 1 Italy interviews. But, then again, does the order really matter? Regardless of who posted first, it would seem to me that “Yellow” was a very possible culprit for the different energy on set that day.

That, or Luke really was peeved over someone spilling his coffee.

[steddiealltheway]

(I think I’ve written something like this before but… oh well!)

Steve and Eddie don’t really remember becoming friends.

Sure, they know they must’ve bonded during the Upside Down shit and the aftermath with the series of tests they went through together at Hawkins lab because they didn’t want a repeat of the Will situation.

But they can’t pin point a moment when they started talking to each other as if they weren’t just mutual acquaintances who went through the same hell and shared the same love for Dustin. And the strangest part about it all was that it felt easy.

And here Steve is, sitting in Eddie room, flipping through a magazine he had laying next to his bed, asking question about random things in it just to hear Eddie voice. Plus, he liked all the random information he contained. It kind of reminded him of Dustin, but Eddie was always able to put it into the simplest terms so he could grasp what he was talking about.

But today, Eddie seems somewhat distracted. As if something big is on his mind. And Steve knows that it’s consuming him when he doesn’t answer or acknowledge one of the questions Steve asks about Ozzy.

Steve glances to his right and sees Eddie staring off twirling a silver ring over and over while he chews on his bottom lip. “Eddie,” Steve tries.

Eddie snaps out of it, teeth releasing his bottom lip which is now more plump and red than usual. His hands drop to his thighs as he shoots Steve an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I was off in my own world.”

“What were you think about?”

Eddie shakes his head and leans back against the wall, pulling his hair in front of his face. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Steve continues to stare at him, shifting his knee so it presses against Eddie’s. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Eddie nods but doesn’t look at him. He looks far off again.

But Steve respects his wishes and doesn’t press further. He turns back to the magazine and continues reading on.

“I kissed someone in the Hideout bathroom recently,” Eddie says suddenly.

Steve slowly puts the magazine down and turns to him. “Someone?” Steve prompts gently. Eddie had told him before when they were in matching hospital gowns that he had feelings for men in the past and maybe women too. But he wasn’t sure. He confided in Steve that he didn’t see himself ever dating anyone at the time - didn’t think anyone would want to.

“Some guy,” Eddie answers and sighs, dragging his hands over this face. “I don’t know. It was weird because usually guys want more from me, you know? Especially if they’re dragging me off to the bathroom. But…” Eddie trails off, lost in thought again before he turns to Steve and locks eyes with him. “We didn’t do anything. We just kissed a little, and suddenly he told me he’d see me later. Just winked and ran off. But I can’t tell if he just chickened out or if maybe… maybe this is more than that.”

Steve takes a second to process everything, trying to connect the puzzle pieces of this mystery man to come up with an answer, but he knows there’s a bias within him. He wants so badly for the man to want more from Eddie. For him to want to take it slow and ask him out on a date.

But… a small (big) part of him, which he’s unwilling to admit, wants to find that the man chickened out.

Steve does what he always does and takes the feeling and stuffs it down along with all the other feelings he struggles to hide.

He distracts himself by asking, “And what was the kiss before like?” Which is a horrible question when jealously is practically pulsing through his veins.

Eddie shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t really tell the difference between passion and lust.” He looks down and quietly adds, “I don’t know if I’ve ever had a kiss that wasn’t lustful.”

The statement fills Steve with a deep ache that he wants to file away with everything else. He wants to be detached from this all, but he can’t.

“Why don’t you show me?” Steve asks.

Eddie laughs. “I’m not going to make out with my hand or something.”

“No,” Steve says clearly, and doesn’t back down. “I mean, why don’t you show me.”

Eddie stares at him, the humor disappearing from his face as it’s replaced by disbelief. “You want me to kiss you?”

The question rings true in way too many ways, but Steve just shrugs nonchalantly. “It’ll help me understand the situation more.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before he licks his lips, eyes searching Steve’s then dipping down to stare at his lips.

Steve wishes he could read that expression. Is there longing there? Curiosity? Boredom? Nothing but unenthused wonder? Lust? Passion?

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “We can do that if you’re okay with that.”

He’s more than okay with that. Steve nods. “Yeah.” He wishes more words would come out, but maybe it’s better this way.

Eddie jostles the bed as he stands up. Steve looks up at him and his outstretched hand, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Recreating the scene.”

Steve accepts the explanation and lets Eddie pull him up. He follows him out of his room and into the small hallway.

Eddie gestures to the door and says, “So pretend that’s the bathroom door, okay? I’ll be the guy, and you’ll be me.”

Steve nods, heart already pounding in his chest so hard he can hear it in his ears.

Eddie glances at him and lays a gentle hand on his arm. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I can just try to explain it or embarrass myself making out with my hand or a pillow or something.”

Steve smiles and reassures him, “I’m good. As long as you’re good.”

Eddie nods at him once and turns toward the door hesitating before turning back to Steve. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Steve shrugs. “Sure.”

“Can I kiss you before this whole thing? Just as a warm up before I stick my tongue in your mouth.”

Steve laughs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“Okay,” Eddie says with a small smile and inches closer to him, hands fidgeting nervously at his side.

Steve grabs them and runs his thumbs over the back of Eddie’s hands, squeezing them gently. He steps forward, hands trailing up his arms, his neck, cupping his face gently. “This okay?” Steve practically whispers.

Eddie nods and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie says, leaning forward, eyes fluttering shut.

Steve takes a stabilizing breath before pulling Eddie in, letting his eyes close as his lips brush against Eddie’s, pressing in closer in a gentle kiss before they both pull away.

They stare at each other, eyes wide, not knowing what to say. But Steve’s too scared to say anything when he knows he’s going to sound breathless from a mere peck.

“Ready to recreate the kiss?” Eddie asks, moving away from him and breaking the moment.

All Steve can do is nod and remind himself what this is all about.

Eddie shoots him an awkward thumbs up before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the door, pushing it open and closing it behind them only to press Steve against it.

Steve can’t help the moan that’s ripped out of him at the sensation. But Eddie takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss him, harder than before, almost instantly deepening the kiss, brushing his tongue against Steve in filthy strokes. His hands move through Steve’s hair wildly, pulling him in closer, and tugging at the strands, making Steve practically a puddle of goo in the process.

God, he feels like he can’t breathe in the best way.

His hands come up to press into Eddie back, trying to get him to move closer, to successfully pin him fully against the door, but Eddie keeps his distance. Pulling away from the kiss, nipping at his bottom lip before stepping back completely.

Steve breathes heavily, staring at Eddie’s pupils blown wide, the pink flush to his cheeks, and the glossy look to his lips that Steve can’t help but think is all his doing.

“Well?” Eddie asks.

Steve tries to latch onto the words in his brain floating around. They seem entirely unimportant in this moment, but Steve knows he has a question to answer. A reason he’s doing all of this.

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling the wild strands, wishing he hadn’t messed with it before he got a chance to look at himself. He takes a deep breath and ignores the way he feels and focuses on the question at hand. “It felt more like lust to me.”

Eddie’s face crumples for a moment before he hides it behind his hand. He scrubs them over his face before he laughs humorlessly. “Figures. Jesus H. Christ, I should know by now.”

Steve’s mind lingers on what Eddie said before. “And what if you had a way to know?”

Eddie shakes his head, confused. “What do you mean?”

Steve tries again. “Like, what if you had a measure to know the difference between lust and lo- passion.” Steve silently curses the slip up, hoping Eddie doesn’t notice.

But the other boy just frowns and crosses his arms. “Now how would I do that?”

“The same thing again, only I show you what it’s like on the other side of things.”

Eddie stares at him for a few seconds before inching closer. “You want to do that?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies instantly. “You of all people deserve to know.”

Eddie glances at the ground and shakes his head. “I don’t know about that.”

Steve’s heart breaks, wondering if he’ll be able to show him what he truly means to him. He slowly tilts up Eddie’s chin and takes a step closer, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. He lets his hand linger before resting it against Eddie’s jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. “You do,” Steve says, looking him in the eyes to show him the truth in what he’s saying.

“Steve…” Eddie says as if it’s a plea and simultaneously a disagreement.

And Steve answers him by leaning in and kissing him again. It’s like their first kiss shared in the hall moment earlier, but Steve doesn’t let it be a warm up this time. His left hand presses against Eddie’s back, pulling him in as close as he can. His other hand makes it way into Eddie’s hair, intertwining in the strands as he pulls away to breathe before reangling and kissing him again.

Eddie’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, grounding Steve as his lips move against Eddie’s slowly but firmly. They pull away for a moment, letting their breath intermingle as they catch it before they both move together again.

He lets Eddie learn what it’s like to take his time, enjoy the slowness and linger in the moment. To be held close and gently caressed.

Steve’s hand trails down from Eddie’s hair, tracing the same pathway from earlier but backwards, down his neck, his arms, and to his hands, intertwining their fingers together.

Eddie gasps lightly into the kiss as Steve squeezes his hand, and takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, letting Eddie explore rather than take.

Steve’s not sure how long they stand there, kissing as if there was no tomorrow, lingering in every moment. Breaking away momentarily to catch their breath before swooping back in, not letting the moment end. Because once it ends, they may never come back to it.

The thought hits Steve, drenching his thoughts with painful clarity. This is the moment everything he’s tried so hard to push down finally all comes up. No turning back now.

He pulls away from the kiss and rests his forehead against Eddie’s. He pants out his name quietly when Eddie tries to kiss him again.

He seems to understand, moving to rest his forehead against Steve’s before squeezing his eyes shut. Their hands remain intertwined.

Neither of them say a word, not wanting to break the moment or face reality.

But a question lays heavy on Steve’s mind.

“I don’t think it matters about what the kiss with the guy felt like. What matters is how did you feel during it?”

Eddie shakes his head and squeezes Steve’s hand. “Steve…”

“Eddie…”

Eddie takes a deep breath and whispers into the shared air between them, “Nothing close to what I just felt.”

Steve slowly pulls away and looks Eddie in the eye. “Are you sure?”

“Christ, Steve. No one has ever made me feel the way you just did.”

Steve pauses and asks, “What about other than that kiss? Do I make you feel like that all the time?”

Eddie’s hand loosens it grip as he steps back, shaking his head. “Don’t make me answer that, man.”

He’s stopped when Steve’s grip tightens, trying to keep him close. “You make me feel that way all the time,” Steve says, hoping he didn’t ruin everything they’ve built up to.

Eddie steps closer and cups his face. “You promise?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Thank god. I was about to silently pine for the rest of my life. Shit,” Eddie says with a laugh.

Steve smiles, a laugh escaping from him as joy fills his entire body. “Yeah?”

“I was a fucking goner as soon as you kissed me the first time,” Eddie says.

Steve laughs, “I already was way before then.”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “You’re telling me I could’ve had this sooner?”

It’s seems like Steve’s incapable of doing anything but laugh.

“Steeeeve Harrington, we have so much lost time to make up for,” Eddie says, stepping closer.

“Tell me about it,” Steve says, moving in to kiss Eddie again.

He hopes eventually Eddie will forget what it was like to only know lust filled kisses, but, for now, he settles on helping him learn about passion and love.

[samuelsdean]

I Don't Mind If It's You

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: maybe styling spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

genre: fluff

word count: 1081

author's notes: i missed spencer's long hair so i decided to write a self-indulging fic about playing with his hair.

SPENCER HAS ALWAYS FOREGONE STYLING HIS HAIR IN THE MORNINGS. He always thought as long as he could just flick the strands of hair behind his ear, he was good to go. And besides, he had a hair tie with him. He could just simply tie it back—no more pesky hair in his line of sight.

He has always foregone styling his hair in the mornings until he met you. While he was big on practicality & “Hairstyling is a waste of time”!” You were the exact opposite. 

It’s quite a funny thing to think about. Spencer, a certified germaphobe, was uncaring about how his hair looked, whether it was kept well today or it looked like a bird’s nest the next. And then, there’s you. You’re not a germaphobe though you pride yourself as a chic woman. Not a law enforcement job could stop you from looking like you came straight out of a magazine.

You always found the time to make sure your hair looked pretty and presentable before heading to work. In your free time—quite rare for FBI agents—you liked to read magazines for trendy new styles to try or watch videos online for tutorials.

And today was definitely your lucky day. No case. Everyone is off for the holidays.

Unfortunately, that’s where your luck ended.

You got injured during your last case. Your arm is in a cast, unable to move it around like you wanted it to. Fortunately, your hand was still good & thankfully, uninjured, unlike the rest of your arm. So, although you were free to lounge around your home, you couldn’t try that one hairstyle you found in one of those Cosmopolitan articles.

Until a genius idea came to you like a light bulb turning on.

“Hey, Spence?”

You asked your boyfriend, who was busy skimming through what seemed like his third or fourth book of the day.

He’s so cute when he’s all focused like this, you thought. 

He hummed in response, still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the pages.

“I have a favor to ask you.”

This made Spencer look up from what he was reading, staring at you questioningly. You were the type of person who never asked for help or favors—unless needed. You often disagreed with him because he would prefer it if you told him whatever problem you had. Although he was a genius and could help with you, he knew lending an ear to someone was already a big help. 

"You know I can't move my arm around, right?" You asked him, to which he nodded in agreement. 

"Yeah, is it itchy?” He asked, about to go off on one of his notable tangents. “It takes around six to eight weeks for broken bones in casts to heal. Also, around that time, the injured area starts to itch.”

You nodded fondly at the man, not minding a little bit that he went off-topic. You love listening to his mini-lectures—not only do you learn something new, but you’d also hear the soft tone of his voice. One thing about Spencer is he had a pretty voice. You could listen to him talk for hours.

“There are five main reasons why your casts itch—nerves, trapped moisture, immune response, dead skin cells, and body hair.” Spencer continued tattling. “Nerves cause itchiness because the nerve endings in the skin may fire as the cast begins to harden and dry, sending itch-inducing signals to the brain. As for the itchiness being an immune response, it ensues when the body perceives the plaster of Paris or fiberglass as an outside invader. Histamines may be released. Itching, redness, and swelling can be brought on by released histamine.” 

With his excitement to share facts about how broken bones heal, you couldn’t help but laugh at how dorky but adorable your boyfriend was, which made him scrunch his nose.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“You are, but I don’t mind. I like it.”

At this, Spencer’s ears started turning pink, making you chuckle some more. He scratched the back of his neck in shyness as you took it as a clue to tell him what you needed from him.

“My arm isn’t itchy, babe,” you began, “What I need from you is your hair.”

“My what?” 

“Your hair.” 

It was your turn to get shy. You knew Spencer wasn’t a big fan of having his hair messed with. It’s not that he hates it. He just doesn’t like messing with it that much—minus the occasional flicking behind his ear and simply tying it back when it gets irritating.

“I—um,” you explained further, trying to fight against the embarrassment you were feeling. This was your boyfriend you’re talking to!  “I saw this cute new hairstyle online and I wanted to try it but you know, with the broken arm and all…” You trailed off.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You chuckled humorlessly, beyond embarrassed at this point.

This was such a bad idea. Why did you even bring it up? You were about to start berating yourself, ready to hop onto the next train and create a new identity for yourself, when you noticed Spencer shuffling towards you, sitting on the floor between your legs.

“You want me to style your hair?” You asked incredulously, still can’t believe Spencer would let you play with his hair.

“Of course.” He replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world 

Like it was an everyday thing for anyone—you—to do his hair.

“I don’t mind my hair being played with if it’s you.”

At that, you blushed as you started combing through his soft curls with your fingers. Spencer merely smiled softly at the gesture and closed his eyes.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked quietly.

“Yeah?” You asked back as you started braiding his hair. “What is it, Spence?”

“I love you.” He muttered. “I may not like it when people touch my hair out of nowhere. But if it’s you, I don’t mind having you do it for the rest of my life.”

You gasped at his sudden confession and were about to say those three words back when you felt it.

Spencer planted a kiss on your injured arm and pulled your other one down, so he could be face-to-face with you. And before you knew it, his lips brushed against yours, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks.

Maybe styling Spencer’s hair should be an everyday thing for both of you.

[heartsofminds]

my life is changing every day, in every possible way

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” or It's Halloween, Bradley has a precocious eleven-month-old daughter, and he might be in love with her impromptu babysitter.

A/N: soooo here's a halloween thing that i kind of just threw together? i'm OBSESSED with bradley being a girl dad and just love this little girl i came up with (@gretagerwigsmuse knows that we love quincy in this household). anywho, enjoy some poorly written dadley and this super pointless halloween drabble? hope y'all had a good holiday and am sooo looking forward to writing more of this daddy/daughter duo !

“Whatever it is, Bradshaw, you’re not excused this time.” 

Jake Seresin slams his locker shut and shoves his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. The heel of his boot is kicked up, making a soft “thud” on the hollow metal as he leans his back against it. He crosses his arms to lie in front of his chest and adjusts his watch.

The small wooden bench screwed into the linoleum tile perches Bradley Bradshaw, who sits with his elbows digging into the tops of his thighs and his back aching something awful. He softly grunts before he turns to release some of the pressure there. The resounding crack it makes causes Jake to grimace a little before his face returns to the snarky default position it always seems to have. 

“I’m sorry I’m an adult? And have responsibilities?” Bradley rolls his eyes and traces his index finger around a watermark on the wood next to him. 

He notices his Nalgene water bottle sweating and subconsciously picks it up, using the bottom of his t-shirt to dry the wet spots it left in its wake. Jake and Natasha watch him without his knowledge and share a knowing look with each other, but remain silent. Sometimes it’s hard to determine if Bradley’s behavior is because he’s in a vastly different life stage than they are, or if it’s just a Bradley thing. 

Trying to figure it out makes everyone’s brains hurt so they often just let it be. 

The blonde groans again. “You say it like flying a billion-dollar aircraft every single day isn’t a huge responsibility,” he licks his lips before throwing his head back, “Can you take that huge stick out of your ass for once and let yourself have fun?” 

“I have a baby, shithead. I can’t just stop being a dad to go to a Halloween party.” 

Javy slams his locker shut and prances over to Jake and Natasha. A wrinkle in his eyebrows starts to form as he thinks over Bradley’s statement. He finds himself standing next to Jake; his stance is identical and his bargaining skills are tuned and ready to be used. 

“It’s hardly a party at all, man. It’s a costume, a couple of beers at Pen’s place, and maybe one other bar for like an hour,” he speaks and pats Bradley’s shoulder, “Live a little.” 

Bradley sighs; the puff of air housing a hint of playfulness and a hint of annoyance. He knows he’s already lost and that there is absolutely no way he’s getting out of it this time. And so help him God, he can’t believe he’s thinking this, but maybe what Jake and Javy are saying doesn’t sound like too bad of a plan. 

It would be good for him. It would be good them. It would be good for Quincy, and if any of the parenting magazine articles (that he’s kind of ashamed to have budgeted for paying for the subscriptions, if he’s being honest) had anything to say about it, children thrive when their parents are thriving. 

Besides, Penny and Mav have kinda been on his ass about it. Because yeah, she goes to daycare during the day and yes, she’s technically been around other kids and for sure has had her share of being around adults, but she’s one anxious biting attack away from being kicked out of daycare and all the people Bradley trusts (outside of Miss Charlene at the daycare who is a friend of Penny’s and was his babysitter when he was small) are up in the sky so he’s really running himself dry with options. 

Natasha calls it separation anxiety but Bradley calls it a bond. Which is true, Nat had agreed, but it wasn’t just about Quincy being attached. It was also about Bradley being just as attached, if not more. 

In the eleven months that Quincy Elaine Bradshaw had been on this Earth, Bradley hadn’t left her side for longer than four hours at a time. 

And he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s never really had anyone to call his own before or if it’s a “Papa Bear” thing or if there’s some unexplained biological phenomena that won’t allow him to be away from his daughter without spiraling, but he hardly thinks its a problem. . . .

Except when he leaves on his lunch break to go see her at daycare and she’s in a fit of hysterics whenever his hour break is up and he has to return to work. Or when she’s eleven months old and has never slept by herself in her own room before (which is why his back is so fucked, but he’ll never admit it). Or when she’s biting kids and teachers because she’s so anxious she doesn’t know what to do with herself. 

So, yeah. Maybe it is a problem and maybe the root of it all is guilt. 

He can’t let his daughter out of his sight because he can’t help but feel guilty for raising her the same way he was and giving her a ghost that she never asked for – a parent whose approval she will always seek despite never knowing who that person truly is. 

Something about that makes him feel like he has to make up time for two as a punishment for only being one, and being the one who can’t provide her everything she’ll ever need as a growing girl and eventually as a woman. 

“I don’t know,” he says lamely. He wraps his finger around the loose thread on his t-shirt and pulls it in one fell swoop. 

“Okay, fuck. You need to get out. What do you need?” Natasha pipes up, rolling her eyes before sitting down next to him. 

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to answer but she cuts him off before he can. “What’s it gonna take? Do you need a sitter? A lobotomy? You need to live a little, dude.” 

“Well, we know the sitter’s not the issue. The kid’s cute as shit,” Jake speaks up and Bradley scoffs. 

“She’s so fucking cute,” Javy agrees and Bradley has to hide his grin despite being annoyed. 

He helped make the cutest baby ever. Who wouldn’t be obnoxiously proud about that? 

“Absolutely adorable. People are lining up to babysit her,” Reuben Fitch interrupts and joins the group of aviators which further puts a pin in Bradley’s desire to decline the invitation. Rueben doesn’t involve himself in Jake or Javy’s bullshit very often, but when he does, it’s evident that the idea isn’t absolutely batshit crazy. 

Bradley gives him a playful middle finger before straightening his posture and coming to the realization that maybe Jake was right for once. 

“Yeah.” Holy fucking shit. “Rueben’s wife would put her in her pocket and take her home if you let her.” 

And the golden rule is that if Bob is game for something, then everyone else should be. So now he really has no excuse to not go out on Halloween night because he has the Southern Californian equivalent of the fucking Pope giving his two cents on to why he needs to go. 

Fuck you, Bob Floyd for always being the voice of reason. 

“See? Everyone agrees. You’re the odd one out so it’s only fair,” Jake taunts again. Everyone around Bradley seems to be shaking their head in agreement to which he realizes that he’s stuck and there’s no way he won’t be in attendance to the group’s Halloween plans. 

“But it’s her first Halloween,” he tries to reason, “I can’t leave her alone on her first one.” 

Javy sighs. “She’s not even gonna remember it. Yeah it’s a holiday but she’s not missing out on much. She doesn’t even have teeth yet.” 

Jake laughs sarcastically. “Q-dawg’s been chompin’ away on all of her little daycare friends. Haven’t you heard?” 

Bradley narrows his eyes. “Fuck you! I thought you left the room when I was on the phone with the daycare.” 

“Her business is our business now, Bradshaw. Aren’t we allowed uncle duties?” Reuben teases. Natasha clears her throat to interrupt him. “And aunt duties?”  

“Auntie Nat reigns superior and we all know it, but holy shit. She’s biting people? How is she more badass than her dad?” Nat goads and shoves the back of Bradley’s head playfully. She chuckles at how slow his head pops back up and he mocks her laugh and sticks out his tongue at her. 

“Guys, c’mon. I can’t leave her with a sitter on her first Halloween.” Although he knows he sounds silly (and he feels silly saying it, too), his daughter is his best friend in some ways. Despite her not being able to walk yet and only having a vocabulary of a few words, he can’t help but know how deeply he loves her, and how much everything about her matters to him. 

“Then don’t,” Bob says, “Just bring her to Hard Deck for like an hour and then you can run home, meet the sitter, and then meet us wherever else we decide to go.” 

And sometimes Bradley hates how much sense Bob tends to make and wishes that he was wrong. That no, the Hard Deck isn’t a suitable place for a baby, and no, there’s absolutely no way Quincy would keep her cool while being there during one of the busiest nights of the year. 

But he knows it’s a lie because her grandparents are the owners, everyone loves her and fights over having their turn to hold her or even catch a glimpse of a baby smile directed at them, and the fact that Quincy has been to the Hard Deck enough to have developed an affinity for diluted cranberry juice over the Mott’s Tots apple juice sitting in his pantry. 

“Fuck, fine. But you’re finding me a fucking babysitter,” he speaks, pointing a finger between Jake and Natasha before standing up abruptly. He turns on his heel and makes his way toward the door, knowing the only way he can make sense of the predicament he’s put himself in can be solved by seeing his joyous baby girl. 

The sounds of muffled chuckles and shoes squeaking on the ground fill the silence of Bradley’s absence; all of their eyes flitting to each other to decipher if they actually made the most stubborn man alive give into their bidding with minimal effort. 

“Did we just make Rooster. . .cave?” Reuben speaks, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest. His thumb rolls his wedding band around on his ring finger as he waits for someone else to speak up.

“Huh,” Jake huffs, “I think we did.” 

“So I’m guessing the lobotomy is out of the question,” Mickey ponders out loud, “Y’all better know a damn good babysitter.” 

Natasha and Jake’s eyes widen in realization. They better find a damn good babysitter soon.

Carrying a baby is harder than it looks. 

Bradley swears that his daughter is an eighty-year-old woman trapped in the body of a drooly and overly excitable eleven-month-old.

It's not the worst thing in the world, he figures. 

But God, is she giving his arms a workout from the amount of times she’s tried to contort her small body to get a good look at all the ruckus and excitement going on around her. It’s when Bradley feels a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck that he realizes the costume he’s picked may not have been the smartest move; especially when no one seems to get what he’s supposed to be. 

Secreting sweat by the gallon seems like an unfair exchange to be dressed in what he thinks is the greatest daddy-daughter costume of all time. The flannel shirt he has on and the overwhelmingly hot coveralls to go with it was a good idea in theory (that theory being how frigid the Halloweens he used to spend in northern Virginia were when he was a little kid). 

He finally makes it to the saloon-style doors of the bar and is met with “Thriller” by Michael Jackson playing from the overhead speakers above him. Every surface seems to be decked out in cobwebs and dark purple and neon green spiders, and Quincy stares in awe at all the patrons meddling about around her before making grabby hands at the faux snakes dangling around the jukebox. 

She almost slips out of Bradley’s grasp before being wrangled back to a stable position by her chunky rolled arms. 

“Jesus, girl,” he gasps, swallowing the lump in his throat while Quincy giggles in his face. “You tryna kill me here?” 

“Well look who it is!” Penny’s teasing voice sounds in his ears. 

Quincy’s little eyes catch the figure of her faux grandma and she begins to squeal in her father’s ear before reaching her arms as far out as they can go; reaching and moving so frantically it looks as if she’s attempting to swim in midair. 

Penny moves closer to them and raises her eyebrows. Her arms instinctively reach out and she grabs Quincy from Bradley. Her fingers trace the burgundy felt of her costume before she tickles the baby. Quincy erupts in a fit of laughs. 

“What has your crazy daddy got you dressed as?” she teases, her elbow coming out to knock Bradley in his ribs playfully. “Are you an. . .apple?” 

Bradley huffs and rolls his eyes. His gaze instinctively lands on his daughter who clasps her hands on Penny’s face and traces her chubby (and insanely sticky) baby fingers across her red lips. She puckers her lips and chuckles to herself at Quincy’s amazement of red lipstick. 

“She’s a cranberry,” he exaggerates his pronunciation of the word for extra emphasis, “Has Ocean Spray become a relic around here?” 

Penny’s eyes flicker between Bradley and the baby she holds in her arms. The splotchy rosy cheeks and honeyed hazel eyes tells the tale of twins, and she’s reminded of the little boy she used to casually see around Fightertown all those years ago dressed in different variants of the same dinosaur on Halloween. 

“Sweetheart, you’re saying it like it was the most obvious thing in the world,” she starts, simultaneously giving her attention to Quincy and the million and one different things going on around her, “I almost thought she was one of the cement balls outside of Target but realized the red was too dark.” 

He groans, his eyebrows furrowing together and a slight scowl forming on his face. Penny’s heart is warmed because his daughter has a propensity to make the same face when she’s frustrated. 

A beat absent of dialouge passes. Hoots and hollers fill the silence as well as strangers stopping by to coo at Quincy before being on their way to the pool table of their desire. Quincy babbles and talks as if she’s a lawyer prosecuting a case and Bradley’s heart softens at how animated she is. 

Her awkward tongue pushes out more saliva than what would be socially acceptable and the drool begins to gather on her face. He reaches out and wipes her mouth with the sleeve of his flannel while she flops like a dead fish away from the makeshift napkin in protest. 

God, this girl is so dramatic. 

“I handmade it,” he says softly. He runs a dry part of his sleeve across her lips more firmly to ensure he had gotten all the wetness. 

Penny hums in acknowledgement. “And you did good.” 

And he doesn’t know why he’s expecting it; why he’s waiting on Penny (of all people) to see him picking a scab and rub more salt in the wound. He knows that she would never do that and he knows that most of the people (if not all of the people who he considers close to him) see him that way. He knows that people know he’s trying his best and that he’s doing everything he can. 

Bradley knows but he just can’t make himself feel it, and he can never figure out why. 

Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad. Maybe it’s because he’s a single dad without a “real” mom or dad to show him the way. Maybe it’s because he’s finally gotten used to having someone around who relies on him and needs him and loves him unconditionally, and he’s terrified of doing something that will make her sit on a couch in a therapist office and say the words that he’s trying his best to avoid: “My dad doesn’t love me enough.” 

Bradley knows what it feels like to not be loved enough. Bradley knows what it feels like to not be liked enough. But Bradley doesn’t know what it feels like to not try hard enough, and that is something he is determined to never stop doing when it comes to his baby. 

“You’re saying it like I didn’t though.” 

Penny’s face falls and she shifts her gaze from Bradley’s daughter to him. 

“Oh, Bradley,” she sighs, her open palm coming up to cup his face, “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re an amazing dad and you’re doing a fantastic job.” 

He grabs her hand with his and gives her a weak smile in return. 

“Doesn’t feel like it, though.” 

He’s usually not one for feeling sorry for himself. He’s never been too keen on throwing pity parties and inviting everyone he knows to them, and in all actuality, he doesn’t know why this bid for reassurance that he’s serving Penny is even coming up. 

“No. Stop it. No,” she playfully chides, tickling Quincy to make her erupt into a ball of silent baby chuckles. “You’re an amazing dad and everyone knows it. You’re her world and that’s all that matters.” 

Bradley opens his mouth to respond but can’t find the words to accept her compliment. He simply nods his head before the already loud noise of the bar is split by an even louder whistle. 

His neck cranes around to see his group of friends waving him over to the pool table and the anchored weight of doom starts to sink in his stomach. He remains frozen with his hands in his pockets and his body emitting heat from his personal heater of rubber waders. He feels like a seven year old at the park again; his mother standing before him and wordlessly encouraging him to go play and make friends. 

The high pitched scream of his daughter is heard as Maverick approaches. Both Penny and Bradley wince more and watch as his daughter mindlessly babbles and almost flies out of Penny’s grasp in favor of him. 

Pete smiles to himself before grabbing her from Penny. She rolls her eyes at him and he playfully sticks out his tongue. 

“Like father, like daughter,” he says, “M’never not a Bradshaw kid’s favorite.” Quincy sticks her chubby fingers near Maverick’s mouth and squeals as he pretends to bite them. 

“Did the past fifteen years just. . .not happen?” Bradley quips. In the past, the snarky comment would have made Maverick freeze on the spot but since they’ve repaired their relationship, (and Quincy’s frequent stays at Nana Pen and Papa Mav’s on the weekends) the insult rolls off Maverick’s shoulders into oblivion. 

“You’re making fun of the old timer, but I’ve been havin’ myself a grand ole time and you’re in the corner pouting like you’re in timeout,” he comments back, “Don’t you have friends or something?” 

“I’m just – taking my time to get over there.” They all look as Jake lets out an obnoxiously loud holler after hitting the eight ball into the pocket to win his pool game. “M’trying to choose joy tonight.” 

“And choosing bad costumes too.” Maverick holds his granddaughter out in front of him to get a full fledged look at her costume. She kicks her legs in the air gleefully before he pulls her back to his chest. “Who makes their kid the…Target balls?” 

Bradley lets out a groan and rubs at his temples. “Oh my God! She’s a cranberry!” 

“Love you to pieces, kid but I think you need your vision checked. You can’t put a kid inside a red sphere and call it a cranberry,” his finger comes out to poke his granddaughter and he’s met with a giggle, “A quack doesn’t always mean duck.” 

“Aren’t you, like, 5’4 –” 

Penny interrupts the conversation with her hands and quickly grabs Quincy from Maverick’s hold. He flashes her a small pout and is met with the ice cold glare of his girlfriend. 

“Bradley, go talk to your friends, babe. We’ll bring her over in a second,” she says, squeezing Pete’s bicep to drag him with her to the bar. 

“But –” they both begin to complain in unison. Penny gives them a pointed look that immediately shuts them both up. 

“Let’s go get some cranberry juice! How does that sound?” she asks Quincy who begins to smile and clap her hands in approval. Penny turns on her heel to head to the back while Maverick stands frozen in front of his nephew. 

“Do you really think I’m only 5’4?” he meekly asks, genuine concern covering his face. 

Bradley shakes his head and crosses his arms over his chest. The paper  “Ocean Spray” label he’s taped onto his waders bends and he mentally cringes at the crease he knows will probably be there. 

“I mean, sometimes when you turn to the side it’s hard to imagine that you’re actually 5’7.” 

“You don’t mean that.” 

“I said, let’s go get some juice!” Penny’s yells, annoyance dripping off her tone. Maverick claps Bradley on the shoulder before retreating to go accompany Penny in getting Quincy copious amounts of diluted cranberry juice. 

With Maverick’s departure, Bradley realizes that he actually has to go interact with his friends. After all, they’re the reason that he’s here. But when he takes in the swell and dip of the loudness that is contingent on the World Series playing on the televisions around him, he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice tonight. 

He imagines that he would’ve taken Quincy up the street to trick or treat at a few houses before her impatience and curiosity made her lose interest in the activity. They would have abandoned trick or treating and ended up on the couch where she would be cuddled up beside him with her feet tucked somewhere in between his ribs (because she seems to have a talent for finding the most tender spots on his body to lay) and stroking the tip of his mustache with her perpetually sticky fingers as she begins to doze off. They would be probably watching It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown before her bedtime came, and she would be read three books, tucked in, and off to sleep before he caved and pulled her from her crib and let her sleep with him in his bed. 

While it’s mundane and certainly not what he would have considered the epitome of “fun” even two years ago, he feels a weird ache in his chest knowing that he’s missing out on that reality. But he has to snap out of it if he doesn’t want to be miserable and ruin everyone’s night. 

Besides, Jake and Nat promised him free drinks all night and they already found him a babysitter and paid her for him. He’s in too deep to back out now.

Bradley takes a deep breath before approaching his friends and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears as Jake and Mickey scream as the Texas Rangers score their first homerun of the game. 

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Reuben teases, forcing a beer into his hand that had been on standby until Bradley’s arrival. 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too excited,” he deadpans before moving around the group and telling everyone hello. 

He’s met with joy and little jabs about graduating to “old timer” status that he playfully ignores. Bradley knows that they’re all just joking with him and that they mean no harm by their comments. Even he’s slightly surprised that he went through with coming out tonight; not to mention coming out while wearing a costume. 

His eyes catch Jake slyly handing over a twenty dollar bill to Javy accompanied by a middle finger before he turns his attention to Bradley. 

He can already sense the half-assed greeting he’s about to get from him before Jake even begins to speak. 

“Got a lot of questions for you but I’ll start with this one,” Jake begins and Bradley rolls his eyes before he finishes his statement, “What the fuck are you supposed to be?” 

He groans before pointing to the crumpled “Ocean Spray” label taped to his front. “Fucking Christ. Does no one know where the fuck cranberry juice comes from?” 

Jake laughs before taking a long swig of his beer. His ridiculous belt buckle and cowboy boots tell Bradley exactly what he’s supposed to be. Well, that and the fact that for as long as he’s known Jake, he’s always the same thing every year for Halloween. 

Leave the Texan to always be a cowboy. 

“My first guess was one of the guys from “Deadliest Catch” but since you wanna be a diva about it. . .I’ll just pretend like the Ocean Spray farmer was beyond fuckin’ obvious” he takes a long swig from the beer bottle he has in his hand, “But that’s not important. Where’s our girl?”

Bradley sighs and looks around near the back of the bar where he knows his baby is being given the spotlight by all the older Hard Deck patrons that can’t believe that, “Little Bradley Bradshaw has a baby now!” He’s known that he’s always had a knack for attention, but his daughter lives for the limelight. He’s never known anyone in his life to be so incredibly outgoing, nevermind the fact that Quincy is already the life of the party and she can’t even speak coherently yet. 

“Pen and Mav took her to get cranberry juice,” he emphasizes the word and Jake rolls his eyes at him this time instead of the reverse, “They’re gonna bring her by in a bit.” 

Natasha makes her way over to the two men; extra smiley and smelling like she had bathed in tequila. Natasha always parties hard but never lets it keep her down. Her ability to drink liquor like a fish and be perfectly fine the next morning has always been a mystery to Bradley. She’s called Phoenix for a reason, he knows. 

“Bradley!” she cheers. Her dark hair is hidden by a copper colored wig and he almost wouldn’t recognize her if he hadn’t known her face so well. The green eye makeup and the plastic vines wrapped around her shoulders and legs cue him into the fact that she’s dressed up as Poison Ivy.  

“Hey!” he cheers back, matching her enthusiasm. 

“You’re the fisher guys from “Deadliest Catch”! That’s so clever!” 

Bradley’s face drops and Jake begins to lose his composure beside him. Natasha’s eyes immediately soften with worry and she starts to search for the words to profusely apologize. 

“No I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings! I swear it! I was just – I thought — I think that it’s really cool and the overall thingies look great on you! I’m so sorry,” she word vomits and Jake continues to laugh hysterically. 

“Nat, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he speaks gently, “Just calm down a little.” 

She takes a deep breath and Bradley can physically see her brain wipe the incident away as if it had never happened. He’s been her best friend for years and knows what she looks like when she’s close to being black out drunk. There’s maybe a thirty-five percent chance she even remembers this interaction at all. She blinks blankly at him before getting distracted by the baseball game and almost topples over with how fast she turned her head. 

Jake lightly smacks Bradley’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go grab her a water. You want anything?” he asks, gently. He doesn’t want Natasha to overhear him because they both know that she’ll refuse his help no matter what state she’s in. 

He shakes his head “no” before hearing the clunk of his boots carrying him to the bar, leaving him and Natsaha alone in the pocket of the bar that their friend group has claimed as their own.

Natasha’s eyes follow Jake’s path to the bar and Bradley has to hide his grin and hold his tongue to not set her off while she’s so vulnerable. Natasha has always been the tiniest bit sweet on Jake but is too stubborn to admit it. Even with all the logical circuits in her brain turned off, she refuses to let herself ponder on this fact for longer than a few seconds. She catches herself staring at the blonde in a half-assed Halloween costume before she returns her attention to Bradley. 

And just as expected, she changes the subject as if their earlier conversation had never even happened. 

“Where’s Quincy Wincey?” she asks and Bradley chuckles. 

Even with no coherent thoughts in mind, Natasha still loves his daughter and wants nothing more than to see her. 

“She’s behind the bar with Pen and Mav. She’ll be here shortly.” 

Natasha nods before opening her mouth again. “You know, you’re a great dad, B.” 

Her sudden revelation takes the words out of Bradley’s mouth. He’s known Natasha Trace for nearly fifteen years and he has never known her to give out genuine compliments half-assed. He has half the mind to ask her what she means by it, but knows that it’s no use given the state she’s in. 

All that matters is that she really means it, so he settles for a simple “Thank you” instead. 

Jake announces his return by forcing a cup of ice water into Natasha’s hand which she gripes about but begins to drink anyway. 

“Your daughter’s back there chummin’ it up, by the way,” Jake states simply and Bradley pauses. 

“What do you mean?” His hands come out to rest on his hips. 

“Well, for starters,” he begins, unwrapping a toothpick and putting it in his mouth, “She’s got people handing her candy and peanuts into a little paper bag. She’s being pretty efficient about it if I say so myself. Had half the mind to grab her from Mav while I was up there cause I wanna see her, but I didn’t wanna get in the way of her business efforts.” 

“She’s what?” 

“Paper bag. Candy. Peanuts,” Jake lists, “C’mon, man. Keep up!” 

Bradley stalks toward the bar to go get his daughter. He’s not angry, in any sense of the word, but kind of disappointed given that she’s technically trick or treating for the first time and he’s not there to witness it. Part of him is starting to feel restless at his lack of interaction with her and wants her back in his arms immediately. 

“Hey, don’t insert yourself in her business endeavors! Be happy your daughter is likable. We all know she doesn’t get it from you,” Jake shouts before returning his attention to the World Series playing out in front of him. 

By the time Bradley arrives to the bar top, he takes note of exactly what Jake had seen upon his visit. There is his daughter with ruddy cheeks and a toothy grin absolutely hamming up her cuteness at some captains and their wives with Maverick holding her up so she can stand semi-confidently on the table. Her little fist holds a brown paper bag that Penny uses for her peanuts and is full with candy and crinkled due to her lack of a proper graspar reflex. 

His daughter is a world class charmer and she has an equally charming grandpa to help her do her bidding. 

“Bradley!” Maverick cheers, turning Quincy his direction so that she can have eyes on her dad. 

Like magic, she abandons the little bag she was holding in favor of the arms of her father. He grabs her without hesitation and she glues herself to his side as if it’s her permanent position. 

“You better not be making my baby a con artist, Mav,” he weakly threatens. He coos at Quincy and marvels in the way she lays her head on his shoulder. 

“Hardly. She’s a people magnet, kid. Everyone would be happy to do anything she wanted them to do.” 

Bradley sighs, knowing that he’s missed one of her milestones. This is the price he’ll have to pay forever with being a more than single parent with the kind of job he has. He swallows the disappointment down and saves it for later. He knows that it’ll come up another time anyway, so why even bother with addressing it now? 

“You’re treating my kid like a Kennedy, Mav. Don’t get any ideas on how to sneak her onto base to get you out of trouble.” 

Pete laughs and holds up his hands in defeat. “Can’t make any promises,” he simply says, “Don’t you have to go meet the sitter soon?” 

Bradley groans at the gentle reminder his uncle is giving him. Maverick doesn’t know what it’s like to be a parent in the slightest, but he knows what good parenting looks like. He had seen it with Goose and how much he had cared for Bradley in the very short amount of time he was given, there’s no doubt in his mind that Bradley is the best dad that Quincy could ever ask for. 

But what he also knows is how perfectionistic and borderline obsessive his nephew can be. He deserves a break and a break Maverick knows will be spent in good company with people who love him. 

Bradley deserves this, and he knows that Mav’s gentle reminder is more of an order telling him to be kind to himself. 

He looks down at his watch and sees the little hand inching towards the eight. “Yeah. We need to get going.” 

Pete leans over and gives Quincy a kiss on the head as a “goodbye” before shoving the paper bag of candy into her father’s hand. 

He closes his hand around Bradley’s fist and gives it a firm shake. “Have fun tonight. You deserve it.” 

Bradley nods before bidding goodbye to Penny who is beyond excited at the idea of Bradley finally going out, baby free, for the first time since he found out he was going to be a father. 

And when his daughter incoherently hums along to “The Girl is Mine” by Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney in the backseat, Bradley knows how hard leaving her alone tonight is truly going to be. 

She shouts at him which he knows is her trying to get his attention to sing along with her. 

“You ready, babe?” he asks, eyes flitting up to peek at her in his rearview mirror, “Because, the doggone girl is mine.” 

Quincy bursts into a fit of baby giggles as he tries to ignore the feeling of impending doom brewing in his chest. He grabs a piece of chalky bubble gum from her candy bag and pops it in his mouth. He cringes as he chews. 

Who the fuck gives gum to a baby? 

Bradley doesn’t know why his heart is pounding out of his chest. 

He knows that he’ll only be gone for two hours maximum and that Quincy will probably sleep the entire time anyway. She may be precocious and charming, but she loves bedtime more than anything, and from the active night she’s had, he’d be surprised if she even made it fifteen minutes before passing out somewhere on the living room floor. 

He trusts Natasha’s judgement (and Jake’s, he’ll begrudantly admit) and he knows the sitter they found for him is nothing less than amazing. You’re a childhood friend of Natasha’s that had recently moved to the area and had been Jake’s date one time to the Navy Ball six years ago (which he had learned from an Instagram post dated from 2017). 

And Bradley will say he doesn’t know much about you (outside of his deep dive stalk that he had done days before, but that remains beside the point, he thinks) but that would be a big fat lie. He feels a little pathetic to admit that he had created a faux LinkedIn profile to be able to look you up and see your credentials as well as finding every mutual follower you had amassed between Natasha, Jake, Javy, and Bob. 

And it’s a little creepy, he admits, but he’s only just looking out for the safety of his daughter! Just because you know his friends doesn’t mean that he knows you (which he knows is wildly untrue given the overwhelming amount of Internet stalking he had done on you in the past week). 

Bradley is burning a hole into his living room floor by pacing back and forth with his daughter in his arms. As anticipated, she’s started to doze off and he chuckles to himself. Quincy loves bedtime and that remains uncontested by the way her little lips are pursed and she lets out light snores. 

The sound of a car door opening and shutting keys him into being aware of your presence and he scares you half to death because he opens the door before you can knock; your knuckles almost coming into contact with his chin had you not been paying attention. 

“Oh,” you mummer, “Ummm. You’re Bradley, right?” 

And you’ve never felt as dumb as you do now because of course he’s Bradley. You know what he looks like and the baby asleep on his shoulder and the last name “Bradshaw” printed on the doormat outside should be enough for you to deductively reason that that’s him right in front of you. 

Not to mention, you’ve been Internet stalking him and know what he looks like for a fact because of the amount of photos Natasha has of him on her Instagram and in her story highlights. You had always found him attractive whenever your eyes graced those pictures, but that’s all it was; a fleeting thought that was never watered and was gone as soon as it was there. 

But now that he’s in front of you, now that you’re getting a really good look at him holding a precious baby on his hip and somehow making rubber waders look amazing, your mouth starts to get dry and your heartbeat starts to quicken. 

“You must be the sitter,” he declares and he mentally kicks himself for how cold he’s coming off. His nerves have a tendency to put him into fight or flight and the pressure of being in your presence merely adds to that. 

He clears his throat when he notices your lips forming a thin line and rejection teeming from your body language. 

Fuck. Why do I always do this? 

“Oh! Uh – Come in,” he steps aside and closes the door behind you as you walk in. 

From what you know about Bradley, you know that he’s a single dad who had a less than stellar record for wanting female companionship. When Nat would come to Williamsburg to visit you all those years ago when you were fresh out of undergrad and working as a TA, barely scraping enough money to pay your rent, she would lay on your floor and crone about how she had a friend who never seemed to be able to keep a girlfriend. 

But he was amazing, she would insist, and he’s such an awesome person, she would say. Somehow though, Bradley always seemed to be heartbroken and searching for the next way to smash what little he had left of it into unsalvageable pieces. 

Even though that was close to a decade ago, you know that the fact remains true when you peer across the pictures in his living room. Photos of a blonde couple and a dark haird little boy that you know are his parents. Photos of him with the infamous and insane Maverick. Photos of him with his daughter, but no photos of him and his daughter’s mother; let alone a girlfriend of any kind. 

“So she’ll probably sleep the entire time. Don’t put her in her crib because she’ll scream bloody murder and not calm down for a long time so you’re free to keep her on the couch or put her in my bed,” he lays her down in the corner of his couch and puts the large blanket laying there on her lower half, “She’s allergic to strawberries but I don’t think she’s gonna be eating anything while you’re here and I don’t have strawberries in the house.” 

He pauses, wracking his brain for more information to tell you that wouldn’t just be him retelling his daughter’s entire life story. “Oh! This is kind of weird, but if she wakes up and won’t go back to sleep, just play “The Girl is Mine” –” 

“The Paul McCartney song?” you question. Your eyes search his face and are full of amusement. He can’t help but feel his chest flutter at the little glimmer they give off. 

Focus. You can’t flirt with the babysitter. What’s wrong with you? 

“Well, it’s Michael Jackson’s song featuring Paul McCartney but yeah. It usually calms her right down and she’ll settle enough to doze back off.”  

He knows that his daughter is more than quirky. Sometimes he settles for the word “particular,” but he knows quirky is the right one to use. 

You start to laugh a little. “That’s so –” 

“Weird?” he inserts, “Yeah, I know. I’m raising a sixty-year-old but there could be worse songs. Be grateful she’s phased out of only wanting to listen to “Break Free” because there’s nothing worse than listening to EDM on a loop at three AM because she won’t fall asleep unless it’s playing.” 

You shake your head and agree. “Well, I promise that we’ll behave ourselves and not get into anything too crazy. She’s adorable, you know, so if she asks, I don’t know if I can stand it to say no.”

You can’t flirt with her dad. You can’t be the babysitter that’s trying to get banged by the dad. What’s wrong with you? 

He chuckles and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ll see to that. Her sitter is pretty cute too so I think I’d be pretty forgiving.” 

And fuck. Is he, is he flirting with you? 

You’re left speechless before his phone rings and he rolls his eyes before grabbing it off the entryway table. 

“Hang on a sec,” he says before swiping across the screen to answer. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Jake. I’m on the way.” 

He grabs his keys and starts heading toward the door, his cell phone wedged between his shoulder and ear and you have to stop yourself from drooling. “Calm the fuck down, dude. I’m leaving like right now. . .Yes, I’m literally walking out the door – Can you chill? I’ll be there when I get there?” 

He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble. 

He bids you goodbye with a simple wave before shutting the door and running to his car. The sound of the front door closing instantly wakes Quincy who shoots her head up and frantically swivels it around in pursuit of her father. When she can’t spot him, her bottom lip droops and starts to wobble. 

She spots you and immediately lifts her arms up, telling you that she wants to be held. You graciously comply and coo softly to her and marvel in the way she instantly koalas to your side as if she had always had a spot there and had always known you. 

Part of you thinks that it’s fate. That in some way, you’re meant to be in her life and meant to stick around but you know that this silly schoolgirl thinking will only get your heart smashed to pieces. You decide to ignore it. 

Besides, Natasha would kill you if you ever expressed to her how hot you found her other best friend. 

Some things just aren’t meant to be. 

Bradley jogs into the next bar that his friends had decided to go to with a slight smile on his face. He scans the crowd and spots Jake and Bob trying to hold up a beyond inebriated Natasha. 

“You’re awful happ — Oh dear God. Don’t tell me you screwed the sitter,”  Jake greets and Bob looks away bashfully once the statement leaves Jake’s mouth. 

Bradley mocks him before helping them guide Natasha to a booth. 

“Can you ever just say "hello" like a normal person? Do you always have to be bitchy?” he remarks. 

Jake lets Natasha rest her head on his shoulder and looks down to check on her. “It was just a comment. You know we picked her because we wanna set you guys up, right?” 

Bradley’s world stops. He raises his eyebrows and feels his mouth go dry. 

“You what?” 

“I mean, she’s cute. She’s smart. She loves kids and she obviously didn’t vom on you from getting a look at your face, so I assume it went well,” he starts listing his reasonings on his fingers, “You also bounced in here like you have a can of jumping beans shoved up your ass so you’re giddy about something.” 

Bradley scoffs. “I do not have anything shoved up my a– Why do you care so much about who I’m seeing?” 

Jake looks at Bob who starts to shrink a little in his seat. He instantly knows that the set up wasn’t all just Jake and Nat. It was probably the entire squadron. 

“We want you to be happy, dude. I mean, this is a good opportunity for you and for Quincy,” Bob starts and Bradley knows that he needs to listen and take it into actual consideration if he knows what’s good for him. 

Jake and Natasha are class A meddlers, but everyone else getting involved shows how much this matters to him.

“You’re doing great and I know for a fact I’m not half the man you are, but you also gotta cut yourself some slack. You have to let yourself be happy, too. Life isn’t all just about sacrifice, you know?” 

“And we made a reservation for you both at that one rooftop restaurant downtown. There’s a $250 cancellation fee so you kinda have to go,” Jake adds and Bob facepalms himself at their friend’s lack of tact. 

“You did what?” 

“Also she thinks you’re hot. She texted Nat about you ten minutes ago and she’s way too drunk to respond so we did for her and as of now, “He totes thinks you’re hot too. Make a move when he gets back.”” 

Bradley’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words to say. 

“Thank us when you’re getting us together about the proposal.” 

There’s something about the way that life flashes before your eyes and there’s never anything you can do about it. 

You can take photos or collect trivial keepsakes. You can talk about the events in past tense and have the story change slightly every single time the words leave your mouth. You can dream about it in watercolor memory and try to make sense of it all. 

But no one ever tells you what it means when you’re standing before your daughter, a dark haired beauty with such elegance and spunk that it’s impossible to put a label on it, as she embarks on a journey to truly be her own person. 

No one ever tells you how to cry so you don’t smudge your mascara. No one ever tells you the hole in your heart this day will give you but the rainbow of joy that supersedes it when it’s all said and done. No one ever tells you how all the times she had a nightmare or scraped her knees or needed you sit at the forefront of your brain. 

And when you stand before your daughter dressed in a white dress and getting married to the love of her life, you can’t help but recall the night that you fell in love with her and remember the little baby she was all those years ago. 

So around all the orchids and wedding guests and happy tears, you settle to retell this moment in the only way you know how. 

“The first time I met my daughter, she was dressed as a cranberry.” 

And somehow, that statement is all you need to explain the love between the two of you. 

[ssentimentals]

Hi, are you only take requests from the prompt? I’m gonna leave my request and if you want to write it I’ll be really happy…🙏🏼

So the reader is also a singer but her brother is one of the f1 drivers can be Sainz or Leclerc, and she is dating (can be S.Coups, Joshua or Wonu) and they meet for the first time at the GP and get along really well .

Thanks 🤍🤍🤍

oh my god. my dear anonie. i have no hope left that you are still here, but in case you are - i am so, so sorry for catching up so late with this wonderful message. i was focused on prompts and my inbox was floored. but i got to it now and i am hoping that you'll like it!! sorry again :((

seungcheol + singer!reader (carlos sainz's sister)

seungcheol had many nerve-wracking moments in his life. his first ever performance, first tour abroad, performance on international festival, performance in front of a president for god's sake. but nothing really made him as nervous as he is now, entering the race venue. for all his bravado on being the fearless leader, seungcheol feels fear gripping his heart at the thought of meeting your brother. he tries to tell himself that it's all good - it's not like cheol has anything to hide and it's not like your brother is some kind of-

'is that carlos? oh my god, it is! carlos! carlos, carlos sainz!'

right. no biggie. seungcheol follows the direction of running and screaming girls and instantly clocks familiar red posters and dozens people with cameras around. he pauses and pulls his cap even lower, taking a deep breath. you can do this, he pep talks himself, slowly coming closer. so what that he's a famous f1 driver? so what that he looks like one punch from him will send me flying to the next wall? it's all good, all good. seungcheol notices you too when he comes as close as fans allow him to; you're standing not far from your brother, looking beautiful in red ferrari merch, smiling happily at the sight of people swooning over carlos. seungcheol lets himself enjoy these few moments of just looking at you without you noticing, just taking you in. he saw thousand photos of you from your concerts and red carpets, even more from your ads and magazines, but nothing beats just looking at you up close. your beauty never fails to amaze him; he still has no idea how he managed to make you his. sometimes it all does feel like fever induced dream from his part.

'sorry, excuse me,' seungcheol makes his way through the fangirls and photographers, waving a little when you notice him. your face lights up at the sight of him and his heart skips a beat - how did he get so lucky? waving him over, you giggle loudly when he hugs you tight. 'hello, gorgeous.'

'you made it!' you squeal, hugging him even tighter before pulling back. 'you weren't replying, i thought maybe something else came up.'

'sorry babe, just wanted to surprise you.' seungcheol is relieved that for once cameras are not pointing at you two; he confidently wraps his arm around your waist. 'everything's okay?'

you nod, smiling. 'i'm so excited! it's been a while since i came to the race.' your eyes drift to your brother's tall figure before looking back at your boyfriend. 'are you ready to meet my brother?'

seungcheol hopes his smile is convincing. 'of course i am. i'd love to.'

you see through his acting and squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. 'you have nothing to worry about, cheollie. he's amazing and he already knows so much about you!'

seungcheol gulps. he knows exactly what? does he know that he made you cry one month agoo during your fight? does he know that he gets weirdly possessive over you? does he know this or does he also know that seungcheol makes sure you have a bouquet waiting for you in every single hotel you stay whenever you're touring or that since you came into his life he never had eyes for anyone else? what exactly does carlos sainz know?

'come meet cheollie, carlos!' you wave at your brother, who walks over to your side, eyes trained on seungcheol.

seungcheol does not tremble. he does not shiver. he's a world class performer and he puts on his best smile and shakes carlos's hand with what he hopes is an adequate amount of strength. carlos's raised eyebrow tells him that he fucked up that one. 'nice to finally meet you,' carlos says, voice rather friendly even if his face remains impassive.

'likewise,' seungcheol says and tries to come up with something else, hating his own short answer: 'uh- happy to be here! on the race, i mean. good luck today, beat everyone.'

carlos tilts his head and chuckles. 'it's just a free practice today, race is on sunday.'

next to him, you snicker and seungcheol feels how tip of his ears burn in shame. god, what a way to go. right when he's scrambling for words to say, carlos saves him with a friendly pat on the shoulder: 'it's okay. you know nothing about racing, right?'

'i'll teach him everything!' you volunteer, snuggling closer to his side. seungcheol is thankful for your support and he's also happy that carlos doesn't point out anything about your pda. 'by sunday he'll be your main fan, carlito.'

'i already am!' seungcheol rushes to say. 'a fan, big fan, i mean.'

carlos is nice enough to let his awkwardness slide. his eyes linger on the way seungcheol's arm is wrapped around his sister's waist, but he says nothing. 'let's go to the paddock, you'll meet my team.'

seungcheol has a running suspicion that he fucked everything up, but the way you glow happily makes him think otherwise. he leans in, kissing your cheek and smiling at the way you lean more towards him; it feels so good to be able to do this without worrying. 'are you happy?' seungcheol asks, not being to look away from your shining face.

'i am,' you confirm, turning to him. 'you are here, my brother is here, it's a race weekend! everything is great.' you reach out, caressing his cheek. 'he likes you. i can tell, don't worry.'

'i am making a fool of myself in front of him,' seungcheol whispers, very close to whining. 'tell him that i am not like that usually.'

'i know how you are usually,' carlos suddenly says, turning to him with a wide smile. 'she tells me everything. always gushes about you.' carlos pauses, letting them catch up with him. he jokingly slaps seungcheol's shoulder. 'you're putting that bar very high, my friend.'

seungcheol rarely blushes but he is sure that his face is all red now. it feels undeserving to have carlos praise him like this, for some reason.

'he makes me happy!' you proclaim, making seungcheol's heart squeeze in his chest.

carlos's gaze softens and he reaches out, gently ruffling your hair. 'i know he does, bebe. it's good.' he then turns to seungcheol: 'you better keep it that way.'

seungcheol clears his throat. 'planning on it.'

carlos nods, satisfied. 'good. now let's go and turn you into tifosi.'

a/n: what a crossover this is :D hopefully you liked it, let me know! - nini

find more seventeen works HERE

find more formula 1 works HERE

[perkypeony]

𝕋𝔸ℕ𝔾𝕃𝔼𝔻 𝕀ℕ 𝕋ℍℝ𝔼𝔸𝔻𝕊

Model Nanami Kento x fashion designer reader

You were flicking through the pages of your sketchbook, your head spinning as you tried to decide which design would be best for your new streetwear collection. You thought you’d ask your friend's opinion later, but for now, you were going to get ready and head to the newly opened branch of your daily wear boutique.

Despite studying fashion design during your time at the creative arts academy and being able to create meticulous designs, you opted to build your own brand of daily wear that’s stylish yet affordable. Your business started small, but with the support of your friends—who happened to be the famous actor Gojo Satoru and the rising singer Geto Suguru—more people came to know your brand. Just last week, you opened the third branch of your boutique, and you were already planning to open the fourth branch overseas in a few years.

You got out of your midnight black Mini Cooper and saw a long line outside the boutique. It was probably too crowded inside, so the staff had asked the customers to queue outside. You made a mental note to install some sort of shade so the customers wouldn’t have to wait in the sun. The staff recognized you immediately and greeted you, asking if there was anything they could help with. You told them you were just doing a little observation.

You smiled as you overheard a customer praising the high quality of the material despite the affordable price. As you walked around, talking with some customers for feedback, you spotted a blonde man wearing a black mask—one you’d recognize anywhere. It was the hot model, Nanami Kento. He became famous after modeling for big brands and even appeared on the front covers of internationally known magazines. And to add to that, he was your crush back in the creative arts academy and still is today. That’s why you would remember him forever.

You admired his calmness and respectfulness. He always maintained a very professional work ethic. Unfortunately, you and he had never been close, only talking a few times. The only person you still kept in touch with was Nanami’s best friend, Haibara. He tried to set you up with Nanami, but you were always too shy and quickly declined his crazy plans.

You were surprised to see him in your boutique. Did that mean he wore your creations? Not gonna lie, sometimes you imagined him modeling your designs, but you had never hired a famous model before. After all, you had two famous friends willing to post pictures of themselves wearing your brand on social media. Without those two idiots, you wouldn’t have been successful today.

You gathered all your courage to say hi to him, hoping he would remember you. “Hi, Nanami. Uh... what are you looking for?”

“A hoodie,” he replied, then looked up to meet your eyes. “Y/N? I never thought I’d meet the designer herself.”

So, he did remember you. You could feel your stomach do silly things. It was probably the butterflies. “I’m just doing a quick observation. Is this your first time at my boutique?”

“I’ve bought a few pairs of pants and shirts from your boutique before. I really like them. And since this new branch is closer to my condo, I thought I’d give it a visit.”

“Thanks for your support. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he said with a warm smile. “We haven’t seen each other in quite a few years. Do you have any plans tonight? Maybe we could catch up over dinner?”

A dinner? With your crush? That surely sounded like a dream come true!

“I would love to go to dinner with you tonight,” you answered, trying not to sound too giddy.

“Perfect. Text me your address, and I’ll pick you up at 8.”

“Alright. I have to go check on the... um... cashier. See you tonight.”

Nanami nodded and smiled as he watched you leave. He couldn’t wait to tell Haibara that he had finally asked you out for dinner.

[captain-pheonix]

Currently menstruating, id like to see the TF2 men (or support classes) experience the wild ups and down of mother nature when Reader lashes out at them over something comically stupid and then starts crying dramatically out of guilt for being so mad. Then goes back to happy and normal a moment later. Because i am an emotional wreck when the blood flows and i need an outlet for it. Thank youuu!!! Angle 📐 😇🪽

A/N: I know your pain bbg ❤️ tysm for sending it in Angle! I did a sort of half oneshot half headcannons thing, hope that’s ok, here you are! (Sorry this took a bit, life had been terrible recently)

Warnings: talk of menstruation (duh)

Scout:

- Whenever your on your period he would probably go to Medic for advice and some remedies

- He might think it’s really gross but he knows you can’t really control it after he got it explained to him

- He might notice if something is a little off about you that day

- Maybe by the way you seem annoyed or you trying to fight a fed up expression

- Most likely you would just be hanging out in his room at the base, laying in his bed and Scout drawing in a notebook, chatting with you

“Hey, d’you wanna try drawin’ somethin’? I’ll teach ya!”

“Oh, sure? Why not.”

- While you two are drawing you start having trouble following along with him

- The lines don’t match up with the ones you draw next and you start getting annoyed

- Eventually, you snap and just tear the paper in half

“Why are you such a good artist!? It’s unfair!”

- You get up off the bed and start pacing around, uncontrollably fuming

- After going from one wall to the other, you look back up at Scout’s crestfallen expression, sad kicked puppy eyes with a hint of realization

- The tears start falling and Scout smiles and lets out a little sigh, and beckons you to come sit beside him

“Hey, sweetness. C’mere.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s all good. I get it. Just let me take care of you.”

- Scout presses a kiss to your forehead

Sniper:

- Would likely enjoy it quite a bit if you just wanted a few lazy days with him

- He might go get candy and snacks to take care of you for the week

- He might not fully understand how periods work but he’s probably heard some things

- you two could hang out in his camper and read magazines/listen to music/cuddle

- maybe you start thinking about how you have chores to do and how you’re not doing anything

“Jeez, what is wrong with me? Why can’t I just get up and do dishes or something?”

“It’s alright, roo. You have all the time in the world. Just rest.”

“But—I mean c’mon, I have to do something.”

“Well, do ya feel up to it?”

“Uh…no, I’m in a lot of pain, but—“

“So don’t.”

- the feeling that you need to something starts making you feel bad about yourself and you start silently crying and trying to wipe your tears away

- when Sniper notices he gets concerned and wraps his arms around you

“Hey, hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, heh, sorry. Stupid hormones.”

- Sniper just huffs a laugh and keeps hugging you

Demoman:

- ok let’s be real he would offer you some booze for the pain and stuff

- a movie night would work nicely, because demo could probably pass out sometime during it and it would be a calm night

- the characters in the movie start making you angry, but weirdly angry

“Why do we have to watch this? It never ends up well for the main character! This is depressing!”

“Uh..We could watch something else, ya know.”

“WHY AM I SO ANGRY ALL OF A SUDDEN? WHY DO WE HAVE TO WATCH THIS STUPID THING?!”

- Demo turns off the TV

- you start crying after realizing you snapped at him

“Wait—no no I’m sorry.”

“Hey, lad/lass, c’mere.”

- Demo and you end up cuddling and then both passing out on the couch

Spy:

- I feel like he might know a bit about periods

- But it would really gross him out

- At least he might romance and charm you to make you feel better

- 100% get you fine wine and snacks to make you feel special and loved

- Lounging in his smoking room 10/10, might even offer you some of his special cigars or something if you smoke

- Treats you like high royalty

- Probably goes to medic for painkillers and other things to make you feel better

- Totally a chance to learn to dance to some music on the record player in his smoking room

- I feel like making a bunch of mistakes would set you off

“This isn’t working. Why aren’t my feet working? You’re the best teacher there could be, what am I doing so wrong!?”

- You break away from Spy and hide your tears by turning away from him

“Mon Chérie, are you alright?”

- He walks back in front of you to see you crying

“I’m...sorry.”

- Spy gives you a forehead kiss and wraps you in a warm embrace

- 10003939/10 gentleman he rubs your back until you feel better

Heavy:

- Heavy would likely not care at all, growing up with 4 other women for most of his life

- Considering this he would probably be at least a little educated

- Any questions he had would likely be answered by Medic

- I feel like Heavy would be one of the most understanding mercs

- At Heavy’s turn for making dinner, you decide to go help him because you feel like you’ve been lazy all day

- You burn your hand and start cussing wholeheartedly

“Am I just that bad at cooking!? I’m honestly so useless. Why can’t you teach me to be better!?”

- Heavy’s just straight up confused for a second

“Oh..oh no. I’m sorry.”

- tears start falling

“Is ok. Heavy understands.”

- bear hugs and then finishing up dinner <3

Medic:

- Bro has every remedy on hand and definitely tracks it for you

- So he would already know hormonal vs. Actually being mean/sad

- A good scenario might be a lazier day when you just hang out in his lab, and he educates you more on what he’s doing and why

- It starts you feeling like you’re not good enough and that Medic is so much better at his job than you

“And das how it’s done! Fascinating, ja?”

“Yeah. I guess I just wish I could do all this great stuff like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, c’mon, you know everything! You know so much you can just do surgery on someone and everything works out!”

“Well, it’s not that simple,—are you crying?”

- You just nod

“Ah. Come here, mein liebling.”

- gives you hugs and kisses until you’re better 🥰

———————————

Thank you for reading!! Again, I’m so sorry that took so damn long. I’m getting back into writing today!

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Burn Out the Day, Burn Out the Night

Pairing: Vincent Bauer x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Allusions to masturbation; Poorly written smut; Mentions of pornography

*Some of reader’s physical appearance mentioned

Summary: Maybe you are a little closer with Bauer than you originally thought.

“Christ, Bauer, I need to pee!” You kicked your right heel against the door, still padding around barefoot after waking and stretching. Your legs were already starting to get chilly from the air conditioning, your sleep shorts not providing much coverage in that area. You already knew that your nipples could cut glass behind the fabric of your thin camisole and the man on the other side of the door would hone in on them immediately. Even before you began the job, you had never known someone to be so ridiculously, insatiably horny. 

You, Bauer, and Cartwright had grown close over the years. 

Several years. 

Four hours per year.

Maintenance engineers, the three of you. Keeping up with mundane, routine tasks to ensure that the special individuals on the levels below you survived until the world’s air was again breathable. It wasn’t much of an existence and was a choice you questioned constantly during your four hours per year. Still, you did what needed to be done. The tasks were divided between the three of you and you completed them within the time frame—

—which was counting down minute by minute while you had yet to even empty your bladder. “Bauer!”

You heard Cartwright chuckle behind you as his fingers clacked away over the keys at the control station. “He does give us the opportunity.”

“Don’t you dare take his side!” You leaned against the wall and  pounded a fist against the door. “I’m removing this lock instead of eating today, I swear to god!” The toilet flushed behind the metal, but you knew the man enough to know he was at least hygienic and would wash his hands, likely even going the extra mile to prepare his toothbrush before granting you access—simply to be extra annoying. Just when you thought about grabbing the garbage can beside the control panel, the door flew inward to reveal Vincent Bauer, still longjohn clad, with his precious Playboy folded beneath his arm and his toothbrush nestled in his cheek.

“Mornin’, C-cup.” He grinned around the tool, blue eyes flitting down to your breasts and back up. You had called it. You’d never tell him he had got the size correct. 

“Get outta the way!” You grabbed his ratty t-shirt and pulled him forward only to shove him to the side, rolling your eyes at the sound of his chuckles while you disappeared into the bathroom. The moan that vibrated from your throat as you finally felt the relief of an empty bladder, well—it was borderline erotic. There came a goddamn from the other side of the door that had you stifling your own laughter. You sat on the toilet for a few more moments, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and just contemplating life or rather, the lack thereof. You wondered if you’d ever see the sun again, feel the rain, smell a flower. It was a futile train of thought but one you found yourself boarding every cycle. With a heavy sigh, you finished up and washed your hands, avoiding the mirror as you always did. Quickly brushing your teeth, you rinsed your mouth and flung open the door. 

“You sure you were just takin’ a piss in there?” Bauer didn’t look away from his damn magazine, but he had an eyebrow arched. The man reminded you of a teenager, the way he was perched on the table, swinging his legs while he scanned the pages. “Sounded like somethin’ else.”

“Not everyone feels the need to be in a constant state of orgasm, Vin.” You shook your head fondly, crossing in front of him to make your way to your locker, his foot stretching out to tap against your ass as you passed by. Cartwright would never get away with calling him that. You had insisted upon it when Bauer had stopped using your last name. He’d tried to backpedal but absolutely not. Even when he had reverted to your last name, Vin had stuck. Eventually, you had both settled on a first name basis, even if you used a variation of his. 

“Well, that’s boring.” He casually replied.

Another roll of your eyes as you pulled your clothing from the locker and traipsed over to the small medication storage unit that was kept on the maintenance level. You hated your injections. It was a battle to convince yourself to continue to use them when they always hurt so badly. The pain was fleeting but still intense. The cocktail all but shut down your reproductive system, dissolving the lining of your uterus, thus avoiding the need for a monthly cycle and any concern of pregnancy should you enter into a sexual relationship with one of your coworkers. It was that or a hysterectomy when you accepted the job. 

Why were they so worried about your body deciding to function properly for two hours anyway? It was like being in a state of cryogenic sleep, it was unlikely your uterus would ever work properly, even IF the world became inhabitable again. 

You couldn’t be honest and say you hadn’t thought about it, with Bauer. Cartwright, something was just off about him, no matter how much you enjoyed his company. Vin, though, was a completely different story. It was undeniable that he was attractive. Built sturdy with lean muscle and shoulders for days, he was definitely the one to handle the heavy lifting that was required. You didn't mind watching him do it either. 

Dirty jokes aside, he was respectful toward you, never touching you in a way you didn’t mind. In the world before, he would have been a walking sexual harassment charge, but not there. You didn't mind his verbal advances, though you couldn’t be sure he even meant them. The two of you were family, which was a dilemma because you shouldn’t picture family piledriving your cunt with the thick cock you knew hung behind the fabric of his work pants. 

“Y/N.” The man that was just unknowingly responsible for the ache between your thighs was snapping his fingers in front of your face. Shaking your head, you blinked at him. “I asked if you wanted me to do it.” Vincent had given you the injection a few times, when you just had lacked the nerve to do it yourself. Even if he didn’t perform the task, he always stood nearby and offered an arm or a shoulder for you to squeeze during the peak of the pain. A few times, he’d caught you when your legs gave out. 

Licking your lips, you considered him before nodding and handing him the alcohol prep and syringe. “No jokes, okay?” Your voice shook when the cold pad was swiped over the skin of your abdomen, just to the left of your navel. Bauer nodded and pulled the cap from the auto-inject syringe, pressing the end into your flesh and watching your eyes, waiting for permission to activate the device. “Do it.” A click hiss signaled the cocktail entering your system. It was painless at first, but you knew what was to come, a hand already on Vincent’s bicep. A quick glance at his face revealed his lips moving in a silent countdown. He had this down to a science, knew exactly when to expect the onslaught.

When the burn of the chemical inside you struck, seconds felt like hours. You knew you had shouted. Bauer had told you with a stricken expression once that you always cried out. In reality, it was over as quickly as it started, leaving you trembling with a grip tight enough to bruise the man. It was one of the times you had gone boneless, finding your face pressed against his sternum and his arms hooked beneath yours.

“Already over. On your feet.” He urged, encouragement in every syllable. It was easy to go back to business as usual, his palm clapping your shoulder before he had strode over to slip his work attire over his shirt and longjohns. Zipping up the outer layer over his torso, he smirked at you. “You got somethin’ against bras? Not that I’m complain’ but the ladies are always lettin’ us know when it’s too cold in here.”

“Shut up, Vin.” You laughed, stepping into your pants. Glancing at the clock, it read 1:42.

You could hear Bauer belting out some song from down the hall, likely off key and with more enthusiasm than you ever seemed to be able to conjure in that life. When you came down for the job, you had passed the physical and psych eval with flying colors; no substantial family history, no red flags. You had been a perfect candidate before those doors had sealed. Nothing could have prepared you for floating through time, losing years without aging. Even with the two other individuals keeping you company, you had never felt so lonely, trapped, starved for human touch. More than the occasional pat on the back from Cartwright or even the hugs from Bauer. 

You adjusted your weight a little more evenly on the rickety old step-stool, balancing the vent grille in one hand and the new filter in the other. Switching to free up one hand, you plucked the old filter out and made to toss it over your shoulder to grab afterwards. With the sudden shift, the stupid stool tilted beneath you, gravity deciding that it would no longer be your friend and down you tumbled. “Shit!” 

Expecting the hard metal of the grated floor, you were quite surprised to land against something firmly soft with an oomf beside your ear. You clutched the grille and filter to your chest like treasure, blinking big eyes up at Bauer while he arched a brow in return. “If you wanted me to hold you, all you had to do was say so.” He chuckled, already letting your legs slide off of his arm. God, he was warm. 

“Thank you.” You said softly before clearing your throat and stepping out of his space. “Hey, would you—” With a quick gesture of your hand, you indicated the duct that he could easily reach without the deathtrap stool.

Vincent snorted and moved the toolbox to the other hand. “Give it here.” He didn’t even sit down his burden before positioning the filter and holding his hand out expectantly, wiggling his fingers for the grille. You passed it over and sighed in defeat when he popped into place with an ease that made you sneer at him. With that smug grin of his, he turned down the hall toward the other door. “You’re welcome!” He called over his shoulder. 

“Asshole!” You smiled. You picked up the discarded filter and reached for your tool box, the cold handle instantly making you feel the warmth of the body you had just been pressed against. He felt so nice. God, it would have been like heaven to just stay there for the next—

1:13

You sighed. There was still so much to do. You still needed to—

The pulse between your legs happened so suddenly that you gasped. Biting your lip, a rush of warmth came with the next one. You couldn’t remember that last time you had been aroused but it was definitely before those doors had sealed. Maybe you could make an excuse to go back up and hide in the bathroom, take a page from Bauer’s book. Not literally. Those magazines were filthy. 

No way. There wasn’t time for this shit. You had a job to do and there was no way you were gonna let a little thing like sex-brain get in the way of that. Lifting the box, you hadn’t taken two steps before that door opened and Bauer traipsed out, wiping sweat from his brow with his free hand. He had his head bobbing to the music in his headphones—much too loud since you could hear it. 

Watching him move, you pictured him how you saw him every time you woke up. T-shirt with the sleeves loose around biceps that flexed when he did his pushups. Longjohns that were loose enough to only provide a teasing glimpse of an outline. He always talked a big game but you wondered if he could back it up. 

You blinked, the thoughts dissolving as quickly as you allowed them to intrude. Bauer was looking right at you with an arched brow and a mischievous grin. 

“What?” 

He reached up and moved the headphones to sit around his neck. “You’re starin’. Somethin’ on your mind?” 

God, he was attractive. A rush of heat traveled from deep in your belly straight to your core. You shook your head minutely. This was Bauer. Vin. Sure, he was a huge flirt but you doubted he was really interested. 

“Still starin’.” He chuckled. 

Maybe if you came off as playful, he would give you some sign that you could get a little more serious. “Oh, just wondering if those magazines really get the job done.”

With a tilt of his head, he bent sideways to place his toolbox on the floor. “You got my attention.” He crossed his arms, hands tucked into his armpits, and stood impossibly straighter. 

You shrugged, shooting for nonchalant. “Just seems like it’d be a constant disappointment. Jerking off like a teenager when a real pussy would be so much better.”

He chuckled. “You offerin’, C-cup?”

It took all you had to keep your voice from shaking. “Maybe.” It was almost comical the way his expression morphed into something between shocked and hopeful. You took a step toward him but he closed the distance in just a few long strides. 

“Maybe isn’t yes or no.” He was a hair’s breadth away, the proximity making your skin burn and your heartrate accelerate. 

“Yes.” You whispered, hating how it sounded more like a question. Still, Bauer made no attempt to advance. 

“Gotta be sure, doll. We live together in a place where it’d be difficult not to see each other if we make a mistake.” The sight of his tongue raking across his lips made you weak in the knees. 

“I don’t want to fuck up our friendship, you know.” You chewed your bottom lip for a moment, reaching out to toy with the zipper on his uniform jacket. “But I’ve—noticed you for a long time now. Well, as long as four hours a year allows.” You laughed. He didn’t, but the corners of his mouth lifted. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

His lips were on yours within a heartbeat, large hands cradling each side of your neck. There was absolutely no stopping the moan that slipped so easily from your mouth and into his, providing the opening he needed to slide his tongue past your teeth. The two muscles tangled, battling. He tasted of the cigarettes he always somehow managed to find, along with the mint toothpaste that was well stocked in the supply closet. 

You were pulling at the zipper of his pants when he caught your wrists and pulled back to free your lips enough to watch you pout. 

“Not here.” Bauer looked up at a camera that was conveniently placed right at the end of the hall. “Don’t want Cartwright playin’ with the wizard’s staff while he watches us.” With a pointed look toward the camera that would have made you laugh at literally any other time, Bauer grabbed your waist and hoisted you up, your legs anchoring around his midsection. Your arms wound around his neck to hold yourself securely to his body while he twisted the wheel lock to open the door of the room he had exited only moments before. He pulled the door closed behind him and pressed you against it. You maintained your hold on him until he pushed on your thighs, urging you to drop your boots to the floor. 

It was a frenzy of sloppy kisses as you removed your jacket—leaving your camisole—and shed your work pants and sleep shorts. Bauer was less interested in removing his clothes, simply pulling down his pants and the longjohns underneath just enough to free his cock, stroking the already hard length as he stepped toward you.

“Sorry about the quickie, C-cup. Time isn’t exactly on our side here.”

“Less talking.” You lifted your right leg and curved it over his hip, driving the heel of your foot against the back of his thigh to bring him flush against your body. Kissing you with a hunger that ignited a fire in your belly, Bauer bent his knees slightly so he could obtain a firm hold on the backs of your thighs and lifted you to your previous position. You could feel the heat of his cock through the thin fabric of your panties, the hardness pressed against your folds. “Fuck me already, Vin.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Gripping his shaft, he used his pinky to shove your panties to the side and entered you in one swift thrust that had you both moaning lewdly. “Christ fuck.”

It felt like he was splitting you in two. True, it had been a long time since you’d felt a cock inside you, but it had never felt like this. The first thrust punched a sound from you that you couldn’t even accurately describe. The fullness was a feeling you hadn’t even realized you had missed so intensely until he was moving inside you, his lips attached to your neck, your collarbone. 

“Goddamn, you feel so good.” He grunted, his large hands squeezing your ass, kneading and spreading you open. With your back against the wall and his solid grip below you, it was easy for him to lean back, his eyes locked on where he slid in and out of you with ease. “Come on, baby. Wanna watch you cum on my cock.”

The dark maintenance room was lit by only a single red light, which somehow contributed to the ambience of the moment. Bathed in scarlet as his skin met yours again and again, Bauer was beautiful. Your heavy-lidded eyes watched him, lips parted and brow furrowed in concentration. The perspiration beading on his skin glistened, his hair damp with it. You rewarded his efforts with sounds that had him groaning against your flesh, his thrusts quickening. 

Your hand nearly left his shoulder, the thought of rubbing your swollen clit a mere fleeting consideration once you felt the first vibrations of your climax approaching from his cock alone. The knot in your belly was tight, soon to snap. 

“Cum for me. That’s it, pretty girl.” He cooed, his fingers sliding into the cleft of your ass to spread you impossibly wider. His breathy encouragement was influencing you in all the right ways. 

“Fuck, Vin, I’m gonna cum.” First, your legs began to shake, tingling with the first sensations of your orgasm. “Oh god, oh shit.” Your nails dug into his shoulders, your clit beginning to throb. Without even a single brush to the sensitive nub, you began to cum, shouting his name and pressing your back hard against the door to angle your hips upward. The new angle allowed him to hit the deepest spot inside of you, each thrust prolonging the pleasure coursing through your cunt, your stomach, down to your toes. 

“Fuck, girl. Squeezin’ me like that—I’m gonna—fuck!” His hips stuttered, his grip tightening to borderline painful, only spurring you onward in your blissful journey. Distantly, you felt the warmth fill you, the pressure flowing against each and every nerve deep inside. Vincent pressed himself against you, his head dropping to your shoulder, each breath a heavy pant against your neck. Your hips jerked sporadically as you came down from wherever he had sent you, his cock still pulsing inside of you. “God—goddamn.” He rasped.

You grinned, still catching your own breath. “Better than a magazine?” He didn’t answer, not right away. He remained just as he was until you could no longer feel his heart galloping against your own chest. When he straightened, his blue eyes were thoughtful, with something you couldn’t name twinkling behind the vivid color. His quickly softening cock slipped free of you as he placed you on your feet, pulling up his longjohns and pants with one hand while he bent to snatch up your clothing and hand it to you.

Bauer zipped up his work pants. “Don’t think I’ll be needing Miss 1979 anymore.” He jested while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “This a one-time thing?” His eyes were dancing over your face, hard to read, but you could have sworn you caught a flicker of hope there.

“I hope not.”

When he kissed you then, it felt different and in the best way possible.

“I’ve got our cocktails ready.” 

Cartwright was loading the mixture into the correct receptacle above each bed. Though you found yourself loath to enter the chamber, there was no avoiding it. At your locker, you peeled off your uniform, the chilly air much more uncomfortable than it had been when it had attempted to cool your body while Bauer had been inside of you. 

Risking a glance, you spotted Vincent at his own storage space, a magazine in his hand. His tongue dragged across his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed in thought. After a moment, he twisted to drop the publication into the garbage can behind him. 

Without moving your head, your eyes slid over to Cartwright, his mouth agape. When your sights moved back to Bauer, he was hanging his jacket inside the locker, a smirk painted over his features. He knew you were watching him, the little shit. 

Glancing at the clock, it read 0:12. 

You always dreaded going back into the chamber, frozen in time, feeling so much older with each emergence though your body hadn’t changed. Now, you wondered if the 6 months of forced sleep would bring about an awkwardness that preceded the dissolution of your friendship with Bauer. Maybe you had made a mistake. You had let your baser needs outweigh logic and reason and at what cost?

“See you soon.” Cartwright was already prepped and lying on the table, his voice muffled by the plastic cylinder. You gave him a soft smile and a nod, turning toward your own chamber as your comrade’s began to close. Your hand had barely touched the metal when your opposite wrist was snagged and you were spun around, your chest pressed snugly against Vincent’s. You heard Cartwright’s exclamations as his chamber closed, the “hey, you two are—oh my god—that’s why he threw away—” making you chuckle against Bauer’s mouth after you were drawn in for a kiss. 

By the time the two of you separated, you were breathless and the clock was at 0:06. You were cutting it close but could you really complain? Hell no. 

“See ya in six months, C-cup.” He damn near whispered, a fingertip fondly tracing your jaw. Your anxiety melted with each tender sweep of the digit, your eyes fluttering closed. “Go on now.” Spinning you, he gave your ass a slap and backed toward his own table. 

“Asshole.” You laughed, climbing up into the chamber. Inserting the needle into your arm and the cannula below your nose, you laid back and shifted to get comfortable. Rolling your head to the side, you watched Bauer do the same before meeting your gaze. 

“Night.” He said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Night, Vin.” You continued holding his gaze until the metal closed in around you. As you began to feel the effects of the cocktail, your mind growing hazy and your eyes fluttering closed, you could only focus on the image of Bauer’s smile that had been etched into your memory, the ghostly whisper of his hands in your skin. You began to drift off, the uplifted corners of your mouth slowly relaxing. 

Maybe you could enjoy living life two hours at a time after all.  

[hyuniemyunie]

*gulp* u...uh... can I please please request a reigen x f!reader where theyre childhood friends who've been mutually pining for eachother ever since they met.. 👁👁💧[nervous and shaking because I dont wanna seem like im asking 4 too much]

reigen arataka x f!reader childhood friends to lovers

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

OMGGGG HIII😭 FINALLY A REIGEN REQUEST. no no ofc youre not asking for too much i actually got so happy when i saw ur request😭💞💞

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Reigen leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his desk in a rhythm he wasn’t even aware of. You were sitting on the couch across from him, flipping through a magazine, but he couldn’t focus on anything except you. The light from the window caught on your hair, and he caught himself staring—again.

Get it together, man.

He cleared his throat, hoping the sound would distract you, but you didn’t even look up. It wasn’t like he wanted you to notice him staring or anything—it’d just make this whole thing more embarrassing. Still, his chest tightened at the sight of you so at ease, like this was any other day.

For you, it probably was.

For him? It was torture.

He’d known you forever, back when your biggest concerns were playground fights and scraped knees. Back then, he thought he had all the time in the world to figure out why being around you felt different. But here you were, all grown up, sitting just a few feet away, and he still hadn’t figured out how to deal with this... this feeling.

He rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look busy as his thoughts raced.

How do you even say something like that? “Hey, remember how we used to play tag? Yeah, well, now I’m in love with you.” Great plan, Reigen. That’s not awkward at all.

“Something on your mind?” Your voice broke through his spiral.

Reigen nearly dropped his pen. “Huh? No! Nothing at all!” The words came out too fast, too loud. He winced internally, watching as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve been weird all day,” you said, setting the magazine aside. “Are you okay?”

Weird? He felt his stomach drop. Had he been that obvious? “Weird? No, I’m just, uh, busy. You know how it is—clients, spirits, paperwork...” He gestured vaguely to the empty desk in front of him.

Your lips twitched like you were trying not to laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He groaned, slumping forward onto his desk. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m a little distracted.”

You tilted your head, watching him curiously. “Distracted by what?”

By you.

He wanted to say it. The words were right there, lodged in his throat, but every time he tried to let them out, he froze. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if he ruined everything?

“I’ve just been thinking about... stuff,” he said instead, his voice a little quieter.

“Stuff,” you repeated, your tone teasing.

“Yeah, stuff,” he shot back, sitting up straight. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to act casual. “Big, important, grown-up stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness in your expression that made his chest ache. “Sure, Reigen. Whatever you say.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. He could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the occasional creak of the building settling. And through it all, his mind kept circling back to the same thought:

Just tell her.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Hey,” he said, his tone lighter now, “remember when we were kids, and you tripped during that school play? You faceplanted right in front of the whole class.”

Your laugh was immediate, bright and genuine. “You were the one who told me to run in those stupid shoes!”

“Hey, I was trying to help!” he said, grinning despite himself. “Besides, you still got a standing ovation. Well, mostly out of pity, but it counts.” You threw a magazine at him, and he caught it easily, laughing as he tossed it back onto the couch.

Moments like this were why he couldn’t say anything. Why he couldn’t risk losing you.

But as he watched you laugh, saw the way your eyes lit up and your shoulders relaxed, he felt that familiar pang in his chest. He’d been holding this in for years, telling himself it wasn’t the right time, that he’d figure it out later.

Later was starting to feel like a cop-out.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer now.

You looked at him, your laughter fading into a small, curious smile. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the desk. He wanted to tell you. He needed to tell you. But instead, he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Never mind.”

Your brow furrowed, but you didn’t press him. “Okay,” you said, standing and stretching. “I’m gonna go buy a drink. You want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he said, watching as you walked toward the exit.

The moment you were out of sight, he let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair.

'One day,' he promised himself. 'One day, I'll tell her.' But for now? He'd just have to settle for this.

---

Reigen tapped his fingers on the desk, his mind racing as he listened to the sound of you entering the office again. You were just a few steps away, and yet the distance felt insurmountable. His heart pounded in his chest, loud enough that he was sure you’d hear it when you came back.

You can’t keep chickening out like this. She’s been your best friend for years. If anyone’s going to understand, it’s her.

But what if you didn’t? What if you laughed, or worse, pitied him? He shook his head, trying to shove the thought away. Before he could second-guess himself again, you reappeared, holding a can of soda. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together. “You’re being weird again.”

“Am not” he shot back, too quickly.

You set the glass down on the table and crossed your arms, giving him a look that told him you weren’t buying it. “Reigen.”

The way you said his name—it wasn’t accusing or impatient. It was soft, full of concern, and it made his stomach twist. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh.

“Alright, fine. You got me. I’ve been... off” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

You stepped closer, sitting on the edge of his desk. “What’s going on? You can talk to me, you know.”

That was the problem. He could talk to you—about anything, really. You’d always been there, always listened, even when he rambled about ridiculous clients or over-the-top exorcisms. But this? This was different. Still, the way you were looking at him now, with that quiet patience and trust, made something in him snap. He couldn’t keep holding it in.

“I... There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he started, his voice faltering. Your expression softened, and you leaned forward slightly, waiting.

He took a deep breath, his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his pants. “Look, I know this might sound... weird, or out of nowhere, but it’s not. I’ve been sitting on this for years, and honestly, I’m tired of pretending it’s not there.”

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing. “Reigen, what are you—”

“I like you,” he blurted out, cutting you off. Then, as if realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he winced and quickly corrected himself. “No, I mean... I really like you. Like, more-than-friends kind of like.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever said before. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, his eyes fixed firmly on the desk as he continued.

“I know I’m not the most... normal guy. I’ve got my flaws, my quirks—probably too many to count. But you’ve stuck around anyway, and that’s meant more to me than I can even put into words. And somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend and started thinking of you as... everything, hell, even my mom thinks we're dating.” His chest felt tight, his pulse hammering in his ears. He dared a glance at you, and the look on your face made him pause. You weren’t laughing or frowning. You were just staring at him, wide-eyed, like you were trying to process what he’d just said.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he added quickly, his voice a little more frantic now. “And if this messes things up, I get it. But I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. I just... I needed you to know.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Reigen felt like the ground might open up and swallow him whole. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

And then, you smiled.

It wasn’t a big, dramatic smile. It was small, soft, and warm, the kind of smile that made his breath catch in his throat.

“You’re such an idiot,” you said, your voice teasing but full of affection.

He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’ve liked you for years, Reigen,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing. “I thought it was obvious.”

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he was completely speechless. Then, he let out a laugh—part disbelief, part relief—as he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re kidding. You’re kidding, right?”

You shook your head, your smile widening. “Nope. Dead serious.”

Reigen leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he let out a long breath. “Well, now I feel like an idiot.”

You laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears. “You should.”

He sat up, looking at you with a grin that was equal parts sheepish and overjoyed. “So... does this mean you’d be okay with me, uh, taking you out to dinner? As, you know, more-than-friends?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “Yeah, I’d be more than okay with that.”

“Great!” he said, standing up and holding out his hand dramatically. “Well then, allow me to escort you to the finest ramen shop in town.”

You took his hand, laughing as he pulled you to your feet. “You’re such an idiot..”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot now!!” he shot back, winking.

And as the two of you walked out of the office together, Reigen couldn’t help but feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’d actually done something right.

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part IV)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC!reader

A/N: And finally, we have the fourth part. I hope you enjoy it. It’s so hard to write them, but I feel so happy seeing the path they take. I hope you like it.

Gavi realized he still hated the cameras, and the media side of football was something he had carried with him since he was just a kid. Yes, he was only 17 years old, and as he grew, people always said that his shyness around cameras would eventually pass, but it wasn’t. He still got embarrassed during interviews, felt equally uncomfortable in photo shoots, and, above all, it was still strange to see his name in newspapers and gossip pages. That’s why he had mentally cursed the person responsible for the chaos he had been dealing with in the past weeks.

Journalists kept speculating about the nature of his relationship with her, weeks after the confusion during El Clásico. He had hoped it would have blown over, but on the contrary, people loved talking and making things up. What comforted him was that maybe she was also suffering from the incident, as she had locked her Instagram account, which was previously public.

"What are you thinking about?" Pedri asked. Gavi looked up at his friend, who had an inquisitive look on his face. That was another thing he had to deal with—Pedri had been a little annoying lately, especially when the subject involved the Madrileña.

"Don't you think this should have blown over by now?" Gavi asked. "I’ve already made it clear that I was just helping her, and people keep making things up. It’s annoying," Gavi huffed.

"Well, it’s a hot topic—‘Barcelona’s son and Madrid’s daughter,’" Pedri said dramatically, referencing a magazine headline. Gavi's scowl was immediate as if the title itself had struck him. He hated the way those words sounded like they were trying to tie something between him and Florence. It was ridiculous and infuriating. Not just because it was a media invention, but because there was something uncomfortably real about how people insisted on placing him next to the girl. Gavi huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Why do I care so much about this?" he asked almost unconsciously. It was just a stupid phrase from a magazine, but his mind kept returning to his interactions with Florence as if trying to decipher something beyond his understanding.

"So, what’s your thing with her, anyway?" Pedri pressed.

"There’s no thing," Gavi said quickly.

"That’s not what it looks like. You get all worked up about her," Pedri pushed further.

"I don’t!" His voice came out louder than he intended, but he couldn’t let Pedri think he was right. Not when even he didn’t fully understand what was going on. The silence that followed made his stomach twist. He glanced at Pedri, who had raised his eyebrows.

"Your reaction proves my point," Pedri laughed, and Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Why are you being so annoying about this?" Gavi asked defensively.

"I’m just worried. You get too affected by what she says." Gavi abruptly stopped his workout, his mind flashing back to a similar accusation Florence herself had made.

He didn’t care that much about what she said; she was just... Boring, and someone had to tell her. Now that he knew who she was, she probably didn’t hear it enough. So, if the task fell to him, he would make sure she knew.

"If it were just a back-and-forth of insults, I wouldn’t be worried. But the problem is, it bothers you. I’m concerned it might start affecting your game," Pedri said with honest concern. Gavi swallowed hard. To him, Pedri’s worry was exaggerated. He didn’t care about what she said, quite the opposite, so he didn’t see how it could affect his performance. "I think you should ignore it if you want my advice."

Gavi thought about it and suppressed the urge to say he didn’t want the advice, but he didn’t want to be rude to Pedri. He understood his friend’s concern, but it was unwarranted. He wasn’t affected, and he wouldn’t let it impact his performance on the field.

"Yeah, I think I’ll just ignore it," Gavi said, avoiding Pedri's attentive gaze. Gavi remained silent for the rest of the training, lost in his thoughts.

******************************************

Florence used to love parties and gala dinners. Since she was a child, she was used to attending these events with her grandfather. They were her playground, where her favorite characters—football players from all over—were the main stars. She was always walking around, paying attention to conversations and taking photos.

But since her grandfather had turned it into a professional obligation, the events had become dull. Especially now, Florence felt he was still punishing her for the mess she had caused during the last El Clásico, which had drawn the kind of attention Florentino hated.

The King was hosting a special dinner for the Spanish national team, a sort of good luck in advance for the Nations League finals.

Florence was accompanying Carvajal, the Real Madrid player who had been called up. Both were greeting the royal family and had engaged in conversation. Florence listened carefully to what the princess was saying, but she wasn’t paying attention. There was something about her that got on her nerves, though she couldn’t explain what it was. That’s why she internally celebrated when others approached, allowing her to step aside.

"A little more of your visible irritation with the royal family, and I think we’d be kicked out," Carvajal whispered as they sat at their assigned table. "Princess rivalries," he joked, and Florence laughed.

"I’m not in the mood to be social tonight," Florence shrugged.

"Is your grandfather still making your life difficult?" He asked with concern, knowing well the expectations the man placed on his heir. Florence shrugged, choosing not to respond so the conversation would end quickly. She didn’t want to be there, and she didn’t want to talk about her grandfather.

Carvajal started a conversation with other players sitting at the same table, and Florence looked around the room, noticing a few important people. Her grandfather always said these events were about being noticed and building connections, and she was sure that when he saw her, he would ask for a summary, so that's why she walked gracefully around the room, greeting some important people.

But before she could venture further into the hall, she stopped as some speeches began, including one from the king. The man and his family loved sports and were always present when the Spanish national team was playing, so there was always a higher level of formality. Florence sighed in boredom; at other times, she would have loved all of this. As she watched the king’s speech intently, she felt an irritatingly familiar presence beside her and didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes. As if she had developed a sixth sense for noticing the player’s presence, she could use that to avoid running into him. After all, Florence was furious; because of him, she was at odds with her grandfather and had to deal with stupid, baseless rumors.

Gavi stopped next to the girl, and though she didn’t bother to look at him, the way she took a deep breath showed that she had noticed his presence.

"Is your mood bad because your team is doing poorly this season?" Gavi teased, and she finally looked at him.

"We’ll eventually find our way back, unlike you guys, who start well and then it’s a complete disaster." Gavi’s expression hardened, and a smile appeared on the girl’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked forward again.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Gavi looked at her again, his brows furrowed.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"The last time I saw you, you had that same confused look on your face. Have you figured out what it was?" She asked with a shrug, and Gavi’s mouth dropped in surprise at how well she had read him. Gavi quickly glanced back, seeing that Pedri had a watchful eye on him. Gavi gave a small smile to his friend and turned his attention back to the girl beside him, ignoring the memory of the conversation he had with Pedri.

"No," she concluded, turning to face forward with a smug smile.

"It wasn’t anything important." Gavi replied, trying not to lose face, and she looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You seemed really bothered," she insisted.

"Oh, querida, is this concern for me?" Gavi joked, watching Florence grimace.

"Never," the girl quickly retorted. Gavi nodded with a smug smile, raising his glass to his mouth.

"Why aren’t you over there with your girlfriend?" Gavi choked on the liquid he was drinking, drawing attention from a few people, and felt his face heat up. He looked up at the girl in front of him, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Gavi asked, clearing his throat. Florence tilted her head in a direction, and Gavi followed it, seeing the king and his family in the distance. This time, Gavi's face twisted into a grimace.

"Your fans attacked me for days, claiming I was ruining their couple," Florence said humorously, remembering the numerous hateful messages she received after the confusion in the last El Clásico. Gavi had seen some fan pages sharing things along those lines—it was funny. The player looked at Florence, who remained focused on the royal family’s table, and then looked back at him.

"Would you leave your career for her?" Gavi resisted the urge to choke on his air.

"What are you talking about?" He asked indignantly.

"For you to date someone from the royal family, you wouldn’t be able to be a football player anymore. Because of all the rules they have to follow and everything," Florence explained. Gavi scanned the girl’s face for any sign of mockery, but she was serious. For the first time, they were having more than just teasing conversations, and it stirred an odd sensation deep in his stomach.

"I’m not going to stop being a football player," Gavi said impatiently, just thinking about it gave him a headache. Florence tilted her head, analyzing him.

"So how are you going to be with your princess?" Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," he said, feeling frustrated, his face heat up. A mocking smile appeared on Florence's face.

"Or, she’d have to stop being a princess to be with you, which honestly would be a mistake. Imagine, giving up being a princess for you." Florence looked him up and down, and the action deeply infuriates Gavi.

"Have you stopped being a disappointment to your grandfather?" Gavi asked all at once. The words flew out of his mouth so quickly that even he was surprised. Here's the thing: she pushed a nerve in him, something that drove him crazy, something he only felt at the height of adrenaline in a tight game. Gavi had seen that her grandfather’s approval was important to her, and the silent, hidden crying he had also witnessed, told him that he had hit a sensitive topic. The girl looked at him in shock, her eyes wide for a moment as if he had just struck an exposed nerve. Anger flashed across her face, hardening her expression. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she were about to say something, but the words failed to come out. Instead, Florence clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and with a sharp motion, she pushed Gavi. She spun on her heels, her legs rigid as she marched toward the exit, each step echoing on the floor like a relentless beat. Involuntarily, Gavi found himself following her.

"Leave me alone," Florence said over her shoulder, visible irritation in her voice.

"You’re losing your talent for insulting me," Gavi said, more annoyed than he wanted to admit. Florence turned to face him.

"Don’t worry about that. You’re an idiot, a terrible player, with a huge ego," Florence said all at once, and Gavi laughed.

"If I’m such a terrible player and I still beat your team, what does that make them?" Gavi asked humorously, and Florence rolled her eyes.

"You got lucky. You can’t rely on luck forever, Pablo," she said with a shrug, and Gavi was a bit shocked because up until then, she had never mentioned his name.

"Oh sure, when you lose it’s the other team’s luck, but when you win, you’re extraordinary, practically a Renaissance masterpiece," Florence furrowed her brows and let out a small laugh at the insult but quickly tried to hide it, turning away and continuing her escape from the hall. Gavi promptly continued following her to a distant area. On the way, they bumped into someone. An older man, accompanied by what was probably his family, looked familiar—some director of one of the leagues or something like that, Gavi couldn’t quite remember.

"Miss Perez, your grandfather hasn’t replied to my emails," the man said bluntly. Florence took a step back, bumping into Gavi, visibly uncomfortable.

"He’s busy," Florence said simply, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, and then he turned his attention to the player.

"Gavi, you’re having a brilliant season."

"Thank you, sir," Gavi replied, returning the gesture. The player couldn’t see Florence’s expression clearly, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

"My daughter is a fan, Charlotte," the man turned to the shy girl behind him, who took a step forward. Gavi extended his hand to greet the girl, who blushed. Florence rolled her eyes—seriously, what was it with girls and their fascination with him? Florence impatiently poked him, and the player quickly turned, seeing a disapproving look on Florence’s face.

"Oh, so the rumors are true," the man pointed to the two of them. "I thought Florentino Perez would never allow it, but it’s good for the new generations to understand that rivalry is only on the field." Gavi frowned, trying to decipher the director’s words. Gavi turned his attention back to the man, visibly confused by the direction of the conversation. "A beautiful couple."

"Yes, we have to go," Florence quickly interrupted, grabbing Gavi’s arm and dragging him away from the conversation before he could process what was happening.

"What was that?" Gavi asked, his voice filled with irritation and confusion. "You just implied we’re together. Have you lost your mind?"

Florence gave him an impassive look. "He was going to ask for a picture, and believe me, you don’t want to be associated with that man. I did you a favor."

"Favor? You’re just making everything more complicated," Gavi shot back, his eyes fixed on Florence, searching for an explanation. There was something more behind that gesture, something he couldn’t quite grasp but that made him uncomfortable.

Before he could press her further, Pedri appeared beside them, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, clearly curious about the tension between them.

Gavi averted his gaze from Florence, his blood boiling with frustration. "No, she’s leaving," he responded brusquely, his tone colder than he intended.

Florence raised an eyebrow, defiant. "I’m not. Nice to meet you, I’m Flo..." She extended her hand to Pedri, but before she could finish the introduction, Gavi grabbed her hand and dragged her away, his touch firm and decisive.

As they moved away from Pedri, Gavi led her to the table where a player from her club was sitting, but when they got there, he hesitated. There was a palpable tension in the air, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to break. Florence looked at him, perplexed, her expression shifting between confusion and frustration.

Gavi abruptly let go of her hand, the warmth of the contact still pulsing on his skin. "Why do you feel the need to disrupt my life?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Florence heard him.

She took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, her eyes shining with an intensity that made him hold his breath. "Isn't that what we both do?" she replied quietly, her voice laced with something deeper, something Gavi wasn’t ready to face. "Why are you so upset about this?" Her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

Gavi stared at her for a long moment, lost in the intensity of that gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed him. The strange sensation in his stomach that he had felt earlier was now almost unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and walk away, leaving Florence behind, unsure if he was running from her or himself.

Gavi walked away, the feeling of disorientation growing with each step. As he moved further, he realized that contrary to what he had imagined, Florence's presence still lingered in his mind, like a persistent echo. He tried to convince himself that the discomfort was just irritation, but the image of her intense gaze wouldn't leave his thoughts, her voice was imprinted deep in his mind. It was deafening and maddening, the space she had occupied in his head, and he couldn’t understand or control the effects she had on him.

**********************************************

Gavi walked quickly through the hallway leading to the box where his family was. For the past few weeks, he had been avoiding the people who knew him so well, especially his sister, who could read his mind with just one look. With the mess inside his head, he decided he didn’t want to face them, which is why he hadn’t been going to his family house. Instead, he hid away in his apartment in the city center, so he could be alone with his confusion without anyone asking him about it.

He hugged his family quickly and exchanged a few words, a slight discomfort hanging in the air. Then he said goodbye just as quickly, but not before his sister Aurora stepped in front of him and looked at him intently.

“What’s going on?” she asked directly. Gavi frowned and grimaced.

“Nothing, Aurorita.” Gavi forced a smile and saw the frown deepen on his sister’s face.

“You only call me that when you want something or are hiding something from me,” she concluded.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gavi shrugged.

“But something is going on. You’ve been avoiding us, you look exhausted, and according to your friends, you’re more annoying than usual.” His sister looked at him with concern. Gavi swallowed hard, feeling the anger rising within him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his own family.

“I swear, it’s not—” Gavi didn’t finish his sentence, because the voice he heard echoing from the hallway caught his attention. He looked back so fast he felt a strain in his neck, but there was no one there. Great, that damned voice was stuck in his head.

He turned his attention back to his sister, who was watching him curiously, but before he could continue speaking, the voice echoed again, this time louder. “I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing his sister on the cheek before pulling away.

He walked fast down the corridor, but his steps were cautious, once again that feeling that a monster might jump at him at any moment crept in. In an involuntary gesture, Gavi clenched his fists, a growing anger, a strange sensation burning in his chest. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, he saw the monster that had been haunting his mind.

She was leaning against the wall, her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Florence’s eyes were closed as she listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, her face drawn in visible frustration. Gavi, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, watched the scene with a sick satisfaction. Seeing her suffer comforted him in a way he refused to admit. It was a relief to know that, like him, she was also under pressure.

“What do you want me to do?” she said in a louder tone, breaking the bubble of concentration she was in. Gavi narrowed his eyes, realizing she hadn’t yet noticed his presence. A sly smile formed on his lips as he impulsively decided he wanted to interrupt whatever was happening.

“You’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said casually, not caring if the person on the other end of the line could hear him. And there it was, big blue eyes, looking straight at him. Florence’s response was an eye roll as if his presence was insignificant.

“No, I’m not,” she said into the phone, completely ignoring Gavi, which instantly irritated him.

.“I can’t do that, and I won’t,” she continued, her eyes now fixed on his. He saw impatience growing in her, but he also noticed something deeper, something he rarely saw: her eyes began to shine with a repressed emotion. She was becoming emotional, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking twice, Gavi crossed the hallway with firm steps, snatching the phone from Florence’s hand and ending the call without ceremony. The gesture was brusque and impulsive, but seeing the surprise and anger in her eyes made him feel... Something.

“What did you do?” Florence practically shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. Gavi froze for a second, only then realizing what he had done. Her expression grew even more perplexed when, out of pure reflex, he covered her mouth with one hand.

“I already told you, you’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said quickly, trying to maintain control. She frowned, and with a swift movement, pushed his hands away, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. Gavi felt a current of electricity run through his body at the brief contact, and he hated how that kept happening. His eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary, and he found himself wondering if she felt it too.

“Have you gone mad? He’s going to be furious,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, which only increased the tension. Florence made a desperate attempt to retrieve her phone, but Gavi lifted it out of her reach.

She grunted, frustrated and visibly exhausted. “Can you stop being so annoying?” she asked, almost in exasperation. For a brief moment, Gavi let his eyes wander over her face, and suddenly he understood. The weight of the conversation. It was about her grandfather. Of course it was about him.

Florence rarely showed vulnerability, especially not in front of him. But whenever her grandfather was involved, it was like an invisible wall came crashing down around her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still full of tension. Gavi frowned, confused.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her body in a gesture of self-protection. Gavi noticed the movement. It was subtle but clear. A barrier. He knew that gesture; he had seen it many times. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to seem. And knowing that made him feel a mix of power and discomfort.

“I don’t pity you,” he replied, letting out a short laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time, without the same force. When she didn’t throw a quick retort, he decided to press her. “Quite the opposite... I’m just making sure you behave. Like I said, you’re not at home.”

“Thank God I’m not,” Florence shot back. “I’d be extremely upset if this were my house.”

Gavi narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with provocation.

“Vinicius is going to destroy you today,” she replied confidently, making Gavi laugh out loud.

“You wish, querida,” he said with disdain. At that moment, Florence’s phone vibrated in his hand, and without thinking, Gavi glanced at the screen. The sight of a photo of Florence with the other player, he felt anger someway...

“Of course...” he muttered to himself before tossing the phone back to her, his irritation now evident.

Florence caught it in the air and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head, clearly exhausted from the exchange. Gavi, on the other hand, felt something shift inside him. He was eager for the game, not just because it would be the last El Clásico at Camp Nou before the stadium renovations, but because, somehow, something else was consuming him from within. Something he couldn’t name.

When the ball started rolling, Gavi played with unmatched intensity. He was truly having the game of his life, but his teammates didn’t seem to keep up with his pace. Misplaced passes, missed goals—it all piled up. He was furious.

"You need to tone down your intensity, or you’ll end up getting sent off," Xavi warned during the halftime break.

Gavi let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If the rest of the team was playing, I wouldn’t have to," he muttered. The locker room fell silent for a brief moment. He waited for some reaction, but nothing came. Xavi kept talking, and everyone started getting ready for the second half.

As he put on his jersey, he felt Pedri’s gaze on his back, watching his every move.

“What?” Gavi asked, frustrated.

“I thought we agreed you’d ignore her,” said Pedri, reminding him of the last conversation they had. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, frowning.

“Then why did Aurora text me asking what you had with her?” Pedri turned his phone, showing a picture of Gavi and Florence in the hallway.

“Aurora are being nosy. And so are you,” Gavi said, his patience running thin. “And why are you so interested? Are you interested in her?”

Pedri laughed. “As if you’d let that happen.”

That phrase hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It bothered him deeply. “Man, I’m not trying to push your buttons,” Pedri started, but Gavi cut him off.

“Then don’t,” he shot back, his voice cold. “You’re annoying me with this. Nothing is going on, so stop getting involved.”

Pedri raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. But Gavi was already at his limit. He stormed out of the locker room, bursting with pent-up energy.

In the second half, his intensity only grew. The frustration with Pedri, the confusion about Florence, the team’s mediocre performance—all of it boiled inside him. When Vinicius Jr. ran down the left side of the field. Gavi didn’t think. He slid in, taking the player down aggressively.

Chaos ensued. Real Madrid players rushed at him, and Gavi, of course, didn’t back down. He shoved Benzema, who was yelling in his face until the referee intervened. Vinicius got up with a mocking smile, and Gavi tried to go at him again, only to be held back by his teammates.

The red card was inevitable.

Laughing in disdain, he walked off the field. His eyes drifted toward the box seats as if trying to spot Florence. The anger boiled inside him. As he shrugged off Xavi, who was both trying to confront and reprimand him, he headed straight for the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone.

When he turned the corner, there she was, sitting on a bench. He huffed, frustrated.

He huffed, frustrated. "Not now, Florence. I’m not in the mood for your provocations." His words came out harsher than he intended, but it was the truth. Her presence stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to deal with. She slowly raised her gaze from her phone, with an expression he couldn’t read. The air between them suddenly felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the space between them.

"Not everything I do is about you, querido." Florence shot back, but this time, there was no teasing. The absence of mockery in her tone threw him off. It was rare to see her like this, without her usual wall of sarcasm. And for a second, he felt an opening, a crack in the wall she kept so high. "But if you want some advice..."

"I don’t," Gavi said sharply. What was it with the people close to him today wanting to give him advice and tell him what to do? Florence stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Gavi felt his throat go dry at the sudden closeness. His eyes ran over her face—there was no sign of irony, no sign of irritation, but still, Gavi could see that lingering glimmer in her eyes, the one he had promised himself he would strip away so he could see it more clearly.

"Your intensity and provocation on the field will be appreciated up to a certain point. But at some point, it’s going to get annoying, to the point where even your fans will start to hate it," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. That caught him off guard. Florence rarely spoke with such gentleness. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Gavi felt a discomfort growing in his chest.

That was new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind immediately went back to when he saw her at the gala dinner hosted by the king, and she stopped him from taking pictures with a guest, someone Gavi later realized wouldn’t have been a good association. He looked at her, confused.

Florence raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Could she be right? The doubt appeared quickly and annoyingly, but he pushed it away. No. He was playing well, and giving it his all. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, the uneasiness grew.

Ignoring how he felt, he turned his back on her and headed for the locker room. But no matter how hard he tried, her words echoed in his head. The discomfort increased. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was so surprised by the calm and honest tone that he didn’t know how to react. That wasn’t her, that wasn’t them. The player stopped on his heel and turned back. Immediately, a smirk appeared on the girl's face.

"You know what, I don’t need your advice. You can’t just sit on your pedestal and think you have any superiority to talk to me." Gavi snapped, completely annoyed.

“Okay...” she replied with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t your good luck charm.” She raised her brows. Gavi furrowed his, confused, and then his mind recalled when he had made that connection. There it was—the provocation, the irony. That he could handle, that he could push back against. Gavi chose not to respond, so he turned and continued on his way without saying another word.

Gavi had declined his usual ride with Pedri, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his friend. He also didn’t want to go with his family because they would ask questions about his mood and his expulsion, especially his sister, who would bombard him with comments, and the last thing he wanted was to be rude to yet another person that night.

So now he was with his friend Chris, about to enter his friend’s girlfriend’s house. It was funny how Chris had a key to her parents’ house and everything, for someone who swore the relationship wasn’t serious, it was at quite an advanced stage.

“Baby,” Danielle said as soon as Chris walked in, kissing and hugging him. Gavi quickly looked away from the scene, feeling awkward for a few minutes. “Oh, you brought company,” Danielle said, stepping away from her boyfriend and greeting Gavi with a quick hug.

“You're okay with it, right?” Chris asked, and Gavi wanted to kill him because he had sworn he had already talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s just... well, I had to bring someone too,” Danielle said, somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s not like we’re short on rooms. If it’s a cute girl, they could even share a room, and Gavi could finally get out of his rut.” Gavi flipped his friend off while Danielle let out an overly loud and awkward laugh. Chris looked at her, confused.

“They’d kill each other before that happens...” she muttered under her breath, but Gavi heard it, which confused him until he heard footsteps coming from the stairs and a familiar voice that had been haunting him everywhere.

“Dani, are these the only towels you have?” Silence fell when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, distracted by something on her phone, not even bothering to look up. Danielle quickly glanced between her boyfriend and Gavi.

“Florence, darling, I told you we don’t have 500-thread Egyptian cotton towels or anything like that. We’re mere mortals. My mom was hoping you’d bring some so she could steal them from you,” Danielle said, walking toward what Gavi now realized was her friend. The girl finally lifted her eyes to her friend and then noticed there were more people there.

“Oh, hi, Chris...” She came down the last step and then got a full view of Gavi. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” she said, shocked. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Chris said, finally catching on. “You guys are enemies and all that,” he said, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. Gavi was in his bubble of shock. He quickly glanced around and realized that Danielle’s house was the same one where Chris had hosted his last party, where he had also ended up running into Florence. Gavi had always wanted to ask how his friend knew Florence but had never had the chance—or needed to.

Florence crossed her arms in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Gavi. If she expected him to greet her, she could keep waiting. All he wanted was to end the night in peace; she had already disturbed his life enough that day. He must have seriously offended the universe with how it was playing tricks on him. With the distance between Madrid and Barcelona, and considering the teams only had four Clásicos that year, their encounters were becoming strangely frequent.

It was almost as if his hatred for her had the power to transport her directly into his reality.

Gavi looked at his friend and saw him whispering something to Danielle, who was watching the scene, concerned. Before anyone could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God...” Danielle exhaled. “It must be the pizza.” She laughed awkwardly and walked past everyone to the door. Before Gavi could see who it was, he noticed Florence’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock, which made him turn quickly, seeing a tall man dressed in a suit.

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice rising, with something Gavi couldn’t identify as anger or disappointment.

“Come on, Florence, your grandfather told me not to leave here without you. And if necessary, to carry you.” The man sounded impatient. Gavi looked back at Florence; her eyes were bright, and her face was turning red. That strange feeling inside Gavi returned.

“Well, tell him you didn’t find me,” Florence said simply.

“Your grandfather knows this is the only place you’d come. He asked me to remind you that you’re still a minor, and he’s responsible for you when your parents aren’t around.” The man continued. Florence let out a bitter laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me then because I’m not going voluntarily,” Florence retorted, defiant. Gavi glanced at the man by the door. Despite his cold posture, Gavi could sense worry and hesitation in his face.

“He said if you don’t come with me, he’ll disinherit you, and you’re fired from your club duties.” Silence fell over the room to the point where even breathing could no longer be heard. Gavi lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, and also refused to look at Florence because he knew if he did, that strange feeling inside him would return to haunt him.

“Incredible,” she said with a shaky breath, and it was impossible not to look at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes briefly falling on Gavi’s, and he saw her face turn red again. Gavi wanted to make some sarcastic comment, maybe smirk at the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to; he just kept his eyes on hers.

“Florence, your grandfather will disinherit you when he finds out about this,” the man said more firmly, noticing the exchange of looks between the two. Gavi looked at him, confused about what he was referring to. Florence sighed heavily and walked past everyone, grabbing the bag that was on the couch. She quickly hugged Danielle.

“I’ll see you in Madrid,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and heading out the door, bumping into the driver.

Danielle quickly closed the door and then turned to Gavi.

“I know you love provoking her, but if you tell anyone about this or use it against her, I’ll kill you myself,” she said firmly to Gavi, who widened his eyes. He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the way she had spoken to him or by the fact that Florence had talked about him with someone and even blamed him for their situation. If it was her who provoked him, ironically, Danielle’s words had no effect, as Gavi couldn’t suppress the internal laugh at the thought that he now had something to continue his exchange with Florence.

**********************************************

a/n: I hope you guys have like this one, let me know... We probably won't have the same scheme as it was with pedriii, with three chapters, and bonus ones.

[son-of-a-top-gun]

Sky's the Limit (part 1)

Hello all, so I rewatched Top Gun Maverick last night and was inspired to finally finish this enemies-to-lovers series I've had in my drafts for literally months featuring everyone's fav sexy asshole Hangman!

Warnings: two idiots as usual, Jake being arrogant, innuendo, author fem!reader

Sky's The Limit

You take off your glasses and slump your face into your hands. You had been staring at the same blank document for the last two hours and still had not typed a single word. You hear the bar door swing open and chatter filling the bar, but you do not look away, instead keeping your face in your palms.

When your Aunt Penny had offered you the chance to stay with her in sunny San Diego over the summer to finish your long-awaited second book, you practically leapt at the chance. Back in New York,  your agent, publisher and frankly every literary magazine were rabidly awaiting the next brilliant idea from bestselling debut author ‘Sky Bentley’. What you couldn’t tell them was that ‘Sky’ didn’t have a single clue what that brilliant idea was. So you had leapt at the chance to not be Sky, just for a little bit, while you tried to figure out your next steps.

You had only been in San Diego less than 12 hours before scuttling down to the Hard Deck. You had loved spending your summers here as a teenager, but hadn’t managed to come back since graduating from NYU. You had tried writing in the house this morning, but Amelia had some friends around and you couldn’t think with all their excitable chatter, so here you were. You knew the bar was pretty empty during the day, but the day was rapidly turning to evening and it was becoming less quiet. But you could tune it out. Until.

“You know darlin’, this is a bar not a library right?”

***

When Jake Seresin walked into the Hard Deck that day, he had assumed it was just another quiet evening as usual.  He had strolled over to the pool table as usual, confident that he would win, as usual, when something caught his eye. Unusual.

There was a person sat in a booth, who was…working? It was hard to discern much, except they were wearing a baggy Top Gun T-shirt and what looks like short shorts, although they are sitting cross legged so it’s hard to tell. Judging by this and the messy bun, he thought it might be a girl, but he wasn’t not sure. They had a computer out, but their head was slumped in their hands, with glasses strewn to the side. He had never seen anyone try to work in the Hard Deck in the whole time he has been coming here, especially not at 5pm on a Friday.

“Who’s that?” He asked Javy, who is setting up the balls. 

“Damned if I know.” Jake looked over in thought. Javy elbows Payback. “Hey, maybe we’ve found a girl in California that Hangman has managed not to sleep with.” Phoenix coughs. “Except you of course, Natasha.”

Jake smirked and started walking over. He loved a new game.

“Well, not for long.” Javy sighed. Nat considered the scene more closely. She had a good feeling about this.

“How much are you willing to bet?”

***

“Sorry?”

When you finally remove your hands, your vision is still blurry. You can tell there’s some sort of guy in front of you, in what looks like Navy uniform. Fantastic. It was hard to tell as you looked around for your glasses, but you had dealt with enough of these kinds of guys at family parties. Just another meathead who would say the same old shit as they always did. 

“Pardon my manners, sweetheart but you seem to be lost. The library is -” Before he can finish, you cut him off.

“Oh yes, actually, I think I am lost. I thought I was at the Hard Deck, but from the looks of you this is where Chippendales go to die? I hope you don’t mind but I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling, thanks.”

You hear him laugh a little.

“I’m pretty sure we’re the same age.”

You look around for your glasses.

“Sure, whatever the Viagra guys keep telling you, buddy.” You can see him fold his arms out of the corner of your eye, but you ignore him, continuing to search for your glasses. Silence ensues for what seems like forever.

“I think you’re looking for these, Grandma.” He hands you your glasses, and you snatch them out of his hands.

“Thanks.” You put them on. You see him properly now. He’s tanned, blond and incredibly handsome, like he’s walked straight out of a Hollister ad. He leans back, arms still folding and biceps definitely flexing and your heart skips a little. Sure, it had been a while since you had gotten some, but then he smirks and it’s clear that he’s the sort of handsome asshole who knows how good-looking he is. You roll your eyes and straighten up, folding your laptop.

“I’ve gotta go. It was a real displeasure meeting you,” You stand up, but before you can turn around, you hear a familiar voice.

“Ladybug! It’s you!”

“Bradley?” At this point Bradley Bradshaw swans into the bar, wearing one of his usual god awful Hawaiian shirts and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“Ladybug?” Navy Ken raises an eyebrow. Bradley turns and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, I should have known you’d be sniffing around here already.” Bradley turns back to you. “You’ve had the pleasure of meeting Bagman, I see?”

“Bagman?” You mimic Bagman’s expression, complete with raised eyebrow.

“It’s Hangman. Although most people know me as Lieutenant Jake Seresin.” Jake winks at you. “At your service.” You scoff.

“If I’m at your service, I think I’ll rather die.”

At this point Bradley lets rip with a belly laugh, placing a hand on a bare stretch of your arm. You swear you see Hangman’s jaw tense a little.

“How do you two know each other again?” 

“Me and Ladybug grew up together.”

“We’re old family friends. Bradley used to babysit me and my sister when we were little.”

“And look at you all grown up now, some bigshot fancy auth-” You shoot him a glare. Bradley is one of the few people in the world you’ve trusted with your secret, and you explicitly told him not to tell anyone. You just wanted a summer to be normal, with no pressure.

“Fancy what?” Jake looks you up and down.

“Academic. She’s a pHD student.” Bradley says immediately. Damn, that was quick, you think to yourself. You look up at him. Was Bradley always this good at lying?

“Yeah. English lit. Here working on my thesis.You wouldn’t be interested.” You make sure to put extra venom in the ‘you’. 

Bagman’s furrowed brow offers a little fake smile, but before he can retort, Bradley leads you over to the other aviators. While you are a little tense going into the group of navy guys, most of them are immediately friendly. You struggle to remember everyone’s real names and call signs, but they don’t seem to mind. In particular, the girl, who is called Natasha, links arms and drags you off to a corner.

“Thank god you’re here. It will be nice to have another woman in the midst.”

“Honestly, it would be nice to just have someone who isn’t a pilot”. Her lanky WSO pipes up. “I heard you were doing a English lit degree.”

“Oh, er, yeah. It’s Bob right?” I mean it was sort of true. Except you had completed said degree about five years ago, but it certainly helped as Bob started enthusiastically talking about books. He was cute, and you were trying to reply, but you found it hard to focus when you could feel a certain pair of green eyes boring into you from the other side of the pool table. You deliberately refused to look in Hangman’s direction the rest of the night, until you couldn’t stand it any longer.

You stride over and gently put your hand on the guy who you think is called Fanboy. 

“Do you mind if I take this?” You pick up the cue. He nods and you turn back to Hangman. “Right, are you going to play me or what?”

He tilts his head in disbelief. “Darlin’ are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, darlin’ If it means you stop staring at me like a wounded puppy all night, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

The rest of the squad have all dropped their conversations to turn and stare at the two of you.

“Suit yourself.” He sets up the balls to break, before leaning over to whisper in your ear. “Just remember if it gets too much, you can always beg me to stop, Ladybug.”

You try not to react. After all, it’s better he thinks like this. Having watched him play the last few games, he was clearly a very good player, but you knew you have to play the player, not the game. As you break, the game begins fairly normally. He manages to pot a few in quick succession, looking visibly relaxed with a gloating smile over his beer. You deliberately shuffle, and readjust until you can tell he’s stopped looking at you. This is the time you make your move, potting several balls to take a significant lead. Jake turns back suddenly, his jaw slackening a moment before regaining composure. You can hear Bradley stifle a snigger. Being dragged around from base to base with few kids your age to play with meant that Bradley had grown up watching you whoop the ass of everyone you played at pool since the age of eight. 

“Something funny, Rooster?” Jake’s head swivels around.

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Jake starts playing more ferociously, almost clawing it back until you’re both got two balls left. You walk past. 

“If it gets too much, you can always beg me to stop.”  You look him up and down, before you whisper in his ear. “I like a man on his knees.” Jake’s cheek flushes and with that you pot the final two, claiming victory. You yawn. “I think I need to head home, but it was lovely to meet you all. Well almost all of you.” You blow a kiss to Jake, before waving goodbye and swiftly leaving after giving Bradley a hug. The rest of the group stand in stunned silence.

Jake raises one hand. “Don’t say anything.”

****

Jake lies on his bed. He couldn’t sleep. This was unusual. Well, not the not sleeping part. He always struggled to get asleep. At least, when he was sleeping alone. That’s why he made an effort not to. But tonight was different.

For one, it was rare for him to be alone in bed on a Friday night. But he had been so distracted, he hadn’t even managed to follow up with the pretty blonde who had asked for his number at the bar.

He couldn’t stop thinking about your stupid face.You and your stupid face and stupid glasses and stupid lips and the stupid way you said on your knees-

He got up and paced around the room.

This would simply not do. 

Not only were you completely infuriating, but you beat the great Jake Seresin at pool. Bradley said you were here for the whole summer.  So Jake had some time to get his own back. But how? He had noticed something odd about the way you looked at Bradley when he mentioned your pHD. Something was up, Jake could just tell, and he was going to get to the bottom of it. But not before he had a cold shower first.

part two

[vhagarlovebot]

VALENTINE’S DAY.

pairing: modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

summary: on valentine's day everything seems to have a discount for couples, so why not pretend to be one to save some money and have fun?

content warnings: fake dating trope, hurt/comfort, pining, some mildly suggestive content, confessions.

note: hello, lovely reader ! i just want to say a few things before you start reading. this was one of my first ever works here on this app but in a different blog way back when i used to write for the marauders. this was actually a request sent to me from a prompt list i can’t find anymore, and it was about sirius black. i edited it the best i could, so you’re probably still going to see some very poor grammar and it’s because i’d just started writing in english and because of that it is completely normal for me to still have problems writing in a language that isn’t mine. i really hope you enjoy! reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

“YOU SHOULD COME WITH US.” your friend maris says, applying lipstick in front of her mirror.

“and be the third wheel?” you ask from your spot on her bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine. “it’s bad enough you are dating my brother.” sighing, you toss the magazine having lost all your attention. “besides, i’m sure aegon and aemond are on their way.”

at the sound of their names, cregan’s head appears in the door. “you didn’t hear?”

“what?” you roll your eyes.

“aegon has a date.” the couple says, looking at each other, and then you.

“he what? fucking traitor.” you get up, going for your phone. “didn’t even have the decency to tell me. but he’s go—aemond is calling me… i swear to the seven if he’s going to cancel our plans i’m goin’ to kill myself.”

cregan laughs, calling you a dramatic as he walks away.

“you heard?”

aemond laughs. “yea’, i played matchmaker.”

“aemond?!”

“stop being so dramatic, i’m on my way.”

“and who the fuck is his date?” you ask again.

you hear him sigh, but you really want to know who’s this girl your friend is ditching you for. “just a friend.” his answer doesn’t make you feel better at all. it’s silly but this tradition of the three of you eating junk food and watching slasher movies has been going on for three years. it all started the valentine’s day your useless ex-boyfriend dumped you and both of them cancelled their dates to stay with you. you never really thought this day would come.

“it’s okay, just one more reason to be mad about.” you collapse on the couch, going immediately for the remote to search for a movie. “you bringing the food, right?”

“about that…” you sigh, ready to be stood up. “maybe we should go out.”

“what?”

“just make sure to be ready by the time i get there.”

then the call cuts out.

maris and cregan look puzzled at you, asking what’s going on without actually asking. you shrug and that is the only answer you give them, because you really don’t know what his plans are.

and not even five minutes have passed when aemond is knocking on the door.

an expression of pure terror crosses your face and before cregan opens the door, you run to maris’ bedroom.

“what’s going on?” she asks, her dress half buttoned.

“aemond said something about going out,” you explain while going through her clothes. “and m’not going out in sweatpants.”

you find a red skirt that goes with one of your tops and with a little help from your raven-haired friend you have as a roommate, ten minutes later, with an “are you done?” coming from the living room, you are ready to go to wherever your friend is taking you.

aemond is chatting with cregan, neither of them aware of your presence, so you take the time to look at him… like really look at him.

he’s wearing his leather jacket, the one he got during sixth year at boarding school and hasn't taken off since then, the same one you used to see girls wearing all around campus when he was with them. never the same girl twice. aemond is dressed entirely in black and you can see his chest peeking out from his button down.

aemond catches you staring and looks at you with a raised eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips, only to show you what’s behind his back; a bouquet of roses. it’s part of the tradition but it still makes your heart beat faster. you accept it with a smile, smelling them and leaving the bouquet on the table.

you pout, crossing your arms. “are you going to tell me what you have planned?”

“nope, let’s go.” aemond grabs your arm, dragging you out of there.

“no, seriously, he’s kidnapping me and you’re not doing anything.” you protest, looking back at your brother who just laughs, waving you goodbye. “i’m telling mom and dad!”

the door closes behind you and you let him walk you out of the building.

“aaand?” you ask once more, walking down the street, your arm around his.

you see couples everywhere, a few of them with flowers and balloons, holding hands, radiating love. and a part of you wishes for something like that. maybe not the balloons and a lot less cheesy, but the commitment, the tender love, someone with whom you can share your thoughts with, your nights, your future. you want to feel the passion, the need to have someone kissing every part of you, worshiping your body, sleepless night with bodies intertwined. you don’t want a one-night thing; you want it all.

“there’s a restaurant with discount for couples and is giving dessert for free.” his lilac eye looks straight into yours, a lopsided smile on his face. “and i was thinking about eating there, then bring dessert home and watch texas chain saw massacre on your couch.”

“that sounds like a great idea.” you smile, walking beside him a little more excited than before.

“you know we’ll have to pretend to be a couple, right?” he stops walking.

you roll your eyes. “know your limits.”

“i’m serious!”

“i know you've been dying to kiss me since forever, but that’s only going to happen in your dreams.”

he brings a hand to his chest, feigning sadness. “you are cruel.”

you slap his arm, pushing him aside. “fine, but keep your hands to yourself. i’m not one of your groupies.”

“you could be.”

“in your dreams.” he just laughs, walking by your side.

neither of you spoke again, but every time his arm grazed against yours a cold shiver ran down your spine. and that is something you haven’t felt since seventh year, when you walked in on aemond having sex with a girl and couldn’t look him in the eyes for weeks. you weren’t exactly quiet, dropping the books was what gave you away, and the girl was focused on something else, that being her body being pushed against the bed, so the only one who saw you was him. you’d think he would stop, maybe feel embarrassed, right? that is not aemond targaryen. he just kept doing it, eye focused on yours, on the way you held your breath when he moved his pelvis a certain way making her cry out. you were frozen in place, your eyes going from the spot where their bodies met to his eyes, and it was only when he moaned something that sounded a lot like your name, you got out of there.

you couldn’t look at him, opting instead on avoiding him and all the questions from your friends. eventually, what you saw was left in the past, even though he tried to talk about it you didn’t give him the chance. you couldn’t. even if a part of you wanted to know what he was going to say, even if you spent the rest of the year dreaming about it, wishing to be one of those girls. even if you still want to be one of those girls.

“oh gods.” you say, stopping in front of a sushi restaurant full of valentine’s day decorations.

the host greets you and aemond immediately gets into character, hand going to your lower back, right where your top meets the skirt, leaving a few centimeters of bare skin. your whole body reacts at that and it’s like touching the sun.

the whole place is full of heart-shaped balloons hanging from the ceiling, the tables have red tablecloths with red roses in vases, and each one of them is named after a romcom.

“your table.” the host smiles, stepping aside.

“no strings attached? really?” you could cry at how cheesy, awkward and stupid everything is.

“i wanted that one with matthew mcconaughey because it is your favorite, love. but it was already taken.” he seems genuinely sad and you smile, fixing the collar of his button down.

“it’s okay, aem.” you kiss his cheek. “thank you.” you give the man standing in front of you a smile and sit in the booth. it’s discrete and you are grateful for that, not wanting to pretend the whole time you are going to be there, afraid of arousing suspicion.

“your waiter is going to be here any minute. if you’ll excuse me.” the host walks away and you can finally breathe normally.

aemond sits beside you and when you make eye contact, it’s impossible not to laugh.

“i can’t believe we are doing this.” you hide behind your hands, making him laugh even more.

“i knew you’ll like it.” aemond winks at you. “no, but really, i can’t believe how they do this.”

“and how people like it.” you pretend to throw up, and he laughs again. “but at the same time it’s kind of cute?”

“are you serious?”

“it’s cute to see couples enjoying this day, going to restaurants like this and enjoy each other’s company.” you shrug, playing with the rose petals, avoiding eye contact.

“you want that?” he asks, moving closer, creating a bubble around the two of you.

“yeah.” this time you look up, meeting his eye looking intently at you. “i’ve wanted it for a long time, but i think i’m not made for that.”

aemond must see the sadness on your face, because he places his hand on top of yours. you smile, feeling the sudden urgency to run your fingers through his hair.

“i know the right guy for you is out there, maybe you just need to pay more attention.”

“you think so?” you lean towards him, whispering.

“maybe what you’re looking for is… right in front of you.”

you smell the cigarettes and peppermint on his breath and are almost able to see and count all the freckles on his face, you just need to move a little closer to know if his lips are as soft as they seem.

“aemond targaryen?”

a third voice startles both of you, and just like that the moment has passed.

a blonde girl stands in front of the table and by the pad and pencil in her hands you know she’s the waiter. she has green eyes and a bright smile addressed to aemond.

“do you—you known each other?” you ask when a minute has passed and none of them has said a word.

“um, yeah.” aemond moves away from you, hands resting on his thighs.

“i think the word known falls short.” the girl giggles and you want to throw up.

“i thought you were off tonight.” it’s like you are invisible for him right now.

in any other circumstance you wouldn’t care, but not today. not right now, not after what almost happened a moment ago, because you’re a hundred percent sure that if this girl hadn’t shown up you two would be doing a totally different thing.

“i didn’t know you were in a relationship.” her green eyes look at you. “i mean, if i’d known i wouldn’t have gone to your apartment yesterday.” there’s poison in her words, she’s doing it on purpose to hurt you, and succeeding.

you chuckle, closing your eyes. why does it hurt?

aemond says something and you immediately let your guard down, allowing you to believe, and wish, and dream about things that most likely aren’t going to happen. ever.

you thought the little crush you used to have on your brother’s best friend had vanished, but one night with him was enough to know that aemond targaryen still has power over you. that’s why you are never alone with him; you don’t trust yourself.

you never made a big deal about it until that incident in seventh year. that was the moment everything changed. but you were able to get over it, or so you thought.

“it’s okay.” you smile, trying not to look at aemond at all. “we’re just pretending, aemond wanted to get the discount.”

she giggles again. “couples only, sorry.” she doesn’t look sorry at all. “i’ll give you time to look at the menu.” with a flirty little smile, she disappears.

“why did you do that?” aemond asks, touching your arm for a second before you move away. you don’t want him to think something’s wrong, but it’s a little hard for you to pretend you’re not hurt.

“did what?” you play dumb, pretending to look at the menu.

“why did you tell her we’re not together?”

you frown. “’cause we’re not? and you had sex with her yesterday, if we’re going to pretend at least let me have some dignity.”

“you are getting it all wrong.” he huffs, running his hands through his hair. “if you let me explain—”

“you have nothing to explain, aemond.” you say, looking at him and trying to swallow the urge to scream. “i know how you are, we’re friends, remember?”

“but—”

“you know what? i think i would rather order something from mcdonald’s and call it a night.” smiling, you touch his hand trying to make it look like everything’s okay and you don’t want to jump in front of the blonde girl and scratch her face. “you are more than welcome to join.”

you don’t give him time to say something else, standing and walking out of the restaurant in less than a minute. not bothering to look back to know if he’s following, all you want to do is choke on ice cream and watch a movie, the thing you should be doing tonight in the first place.

the night is cold, but it helps to clear your mind.

you’re not even a block away, when his voice makes you stop in your tracks. “i like you.”

you’re surprised by his confession, even a little flame of hope taking place in your heart.

“tonight was supposed to be fun.” aemond sighs, and you know he’s scratching his neck, something he usually does when he’s nervous. “but i messed everything up.”

you stopped breathing after his first confession, but you still can’t turn around because you’re a coward, not sure what to do with a confession you have been dying to hear for so many years.

“i didn’t have sex with her.” you hear his footsteps and, in a second, he’s in front of you, his fingers lifting your chin up, lilac eye locked fixed on your face. “and haven’t had any in a very long time.”

“what?” you can’t hide the surprise in your voice.

he chuckles. “i know i haven’t been good at showing it, but i’ve had a crush on you since forever.”

“stop messing with me, aemond.” you don’t want to believe him, you really want to walk past him and forget this night happened at all. but the part inside of you that still wants this to be real, won’t let you.

“m’not!” both his hands are now on each side of your face, the only thing you can see is his good eye, his lips, the longing on his face. “i’ve wanted to tell you for a very long time… seventh year, to be exact.”

your eyes open a lot more at that. “are you—”

“yes.” he chuckles, his cheeks a soft pink. “it was stupid, but i thought you would take the hint. after all, i moaned your name on purpose.”

“shut up!” your face is burning, you don’t even need a mirror to know you’re blushing hard. “you were having sex with another girl, aemond.”

“but i was thinking of you.”

“that does not make me feel better, y’know.” you step away from him, taking some distance.

“i know, i’m an idiot.”

you silently agree, not jnderstand anything, tonight has been a blurry, a lot of things happening in so little time. old feelings resurfacing, jealousy, heartbreak, happiness.

“but i like you too, idiot.”

his face lights up. “i knew.”

“you—what?” you frown, heart about to get out of your chest.

“i had a feeling.” he shrugs, slowly getting closer to you again, making sure you are not running away this time.

“are you serious?”

“i think i just buried ‘em because was sure nothing was ever going to happen. you were, well, you. and i was not willing to suffer because of those feelings.” your arms wrap around his shoulders, fingers interlocking in his soft hair.

“i always thought you deserved much better. and i was a total coward, too afraid of not being what you expected.” he smiles, his hands going to your waist and caressing your soft and delicate skin, still burning for his touch. “and i kept denying it and denying it. denying that my heart beats faster every time you walk into a room, that i want to kiss you every time you laugh, every time you make fun of cregan, or cry watching animal planet, or talk about what you like and don’t like. that the only thing i’ve wanted for years has been to hold you in my arms and touch every part of your body, to make you feel what i feel. to show you what love really means, to show you things you haven’t experienced before. and just… to be by your side.”

all you feel is him, his calloused hands creating patterns on your bare skin, his peppermint breath, his warm, rich, woody scent engulfing you. and for the first time in years, you let those feelings rise to the surface. you let yourself burn for aemond targaryen.

[shares-a-vest]

Steve looks up from his magazine, one of Keith’s many car subscriptions that he is gifted as leftovers, to find Dustin not not looking straight at him and fiddling with the same copy of Hello! Dolly he had picked up a solid ten minutes ago.

He is fairly certain he knows Dustin’s movie preferences. And they don’t include Barbara Streisand’s matchmaking through song and big hats.

Dustin turns away, revealing a backpack that now sports a gigantic Hellfire patch sewn onto the front pocket, courtesy of Robin and Eddie’s joint sewing endeavours.

“Henderson!” Steve calls, frowning.

Nothing. The kid might as well be twiddling his goddamn thumbs as he chances a glance over he shoulder, very obviously hearing him.

Steve snaps the magazine shut and rounds the counter to the musical section. But Dustin scampers away, setting a steady pace as he comically power walks down the split horror-comedy aisle in order to double back to the front of the store.

“Hey! What the hell, man?” Steve says, taking a few strides to get ahead of the kid so Dustin is blocked right between him and the front candy display, “What the hell is up with you?”

He probably sounds more accusatory than curious, judging by Dustin’s wide and panicked eyes. The boy shrugs and looks away.

Yeah, Dustin not talking and not blabbering away about anything, let alone whatever it is that’s up? Fucking weird.

Steve looks him over, examining his young friend’s movements as he shuffles on the spot and periodically scuffs his sneakers on the sun-faded green carpet.

“Um, uhhh...” Dustin hums after a long pause.

Still strangely incomprehensible for him – but it’s something, at least.

“What is it?” he asks, voice low as he searches for a shred of eye contact.

“Do you, I dunno... maybe...” Dustin trails off, gesturing in the air as a pair of nervous eyebrows disappear up under the Cubs cap Steve gifted him for Christmas 1984.

Not that Dustin cares about the Cubs – then or now.

Dustin slips his hands under his backpack straps and rocks on the spot as he continues prattling on.

“Do you wanna hang out on Sunday? I mean, if you don’t have a date or anything.”

The kid sticks out his bottom lip and rolls his eyes, not at all appearing as casual as he seems to want to be.

“Sure,” Steve shrugs, confused.

Jesus Christ, since when is this kid all nervous about hanging out?

“Steve,” Dustin sighs deeply, pinching his nose (good, back to his bratty, if a little exasperated, self), “Sunday is Father's Day.”

“Oh.”

He must have passed by the greeting card display at Melvad’s, over and over during every lunch break as he headed in for a can of soda and whatever non Family Video-sponsored candy Keith was craving.

It’s not like he had any reason to remember. His folks haven’t been home since the ‘earthquake’ and they almost never call. Hell, he has enough of a time conversing at any length when his mother does call, let alone asking her to put his father on the phone.

Not that he wants to talk to his non-college attending, barely-high school graduate son who works minimum wage retail and has no girlfriend, anyway.

Not that all of that matters much when Dustin is looking back at him with a rare sadness in his eyes.

“I mean, your dad isn’t home – obviously,” Dustin starts, though not quite as harsh as his usual barbs, “And Will spends the day with Hop now. Eddie and Wayne go fishing. And I would be going to visit my grandpa but he and Nanna went on a cruise. I think they went – ”

“Sure, buddy,” he blurts out, offering a pat on the shoulder to make up for inadvertently cutting the kid off. He pauses and frowns, “But what about your mom?”

Dustin shrugs, “She wants to have a girl’s day with Valerie.”

Ah, yes. Valerie Richardson, Claudia Henderson’s best friend and Hawkins’ biggest town gossip courtesy of her job as the receptionist at the doctor’s office. Steve can’t help but laugh – Valerie really knows her stuff.

“I’m assuming their girl’s day will involve a charcuterie board and wine?”

“Charcuterie,” Dustin mutters, beyond displeased at the thought of dips, fruit and water crackers – a far cry from his mother’s prized lasagne.

“Alright,” Steve announces, rubbing his hands together, “We’d better pick out some movies. I’m thinking we hit the arcade, then have a movie marathon over the cheesiest of pizzas...”

Dustin grins.

[harringtonstilinski]

Be My Forever Valentine? - Eddie Munson

Author: @harringtonstilinski​ Characters: Eddie Munson x Henderson!Reader Word Count: 4,141 Warnings: fluff, using the scene with chrissy in the woods again, set in '85, Requested: no | yes; I hope this meets your expectations, @fandom-princess-forevermore Smut: no | yes; A/N: Hi, friends! So, as stated in the warnings above, this is set in 1985, when Eddie went through his second Senior year. Pre Vecna, but right before the Mind Flayer & Russian stuff in S3. Also, Lucas and Mike have older brothers in this, and Reader is referred to as "kid" by Steve and "sweetness" by Eddie. BYE! If you like this, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox. As always, read at your own risk and enjoy 😊

eddie munson masterlist

eddie munson playlist

Valentine’s Day. Not the best holiday to celebrate, in your opinion. Mainly because… you never had anyone to celebrate with. No one had ever asked you to be their Valentine, no one stuck any secret admirer notes in your locker. Not even a platonic Valentine. The holiday just sucked for you.

You sighed, walking your way to your locker after fifth period, lunch break starting as you got to your locker, twisting in your combination and opening the door, a letter falling to the bottom.

With a confused look, you put last period's book into its designated slot before grabbing the letter and opening it, reading the words scribbled on the page.

Meet me at the picnic table after school.

You looked around at who would’ve shoved it in your locker, but you couldn’t see anyone. Spotting your best friend, you sighed as he walked over. “What do you want, Steve?”

Completely ignoring your question, Steve looked at your hands, smiling a little. “What’cha got there?”

Looking back down at the letter furrowed brows, you answered, “I’m not really sure. Maybe a…-” You looked back up at Steve, deadpan expression on your face. “- a letter.”

“Secret admirer?” he asked, leaning his arm against the lockers next to yours. 

“I don’t know. Maybe?”

“What does it say?”

Taking another look at the letter in your hands, you read the written words back to Steve, a knowing smile on his face. He saw this secret admirer shove the letter into your locker as soon as fifth period ended.

“Should I… go?” you asked, a little hesitantly.

Nodding his head in a nonchalant way, he looked at you with a small smile on his face. “Yeah, you deserve it.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Just..-” Releasing it, you closed your eyes as you continued your words. “-...don’t mean to the poor guy.”

“Okay,” Steve replied. “You got it.”

“Thanks,” you said, giving him a hug. “Oh, and Happy platonic Valentine’s Day, Stevie.”

“You, too, kid.”

Turning to walk towards the cafeteria, you looked at the doors with the smallest amount of confidence and the smallest smile you could give yourself. Walking in the big room, you took a deep breath, making your way towards the table your other best friend sat at.

You weren’t a part of Hellfire, more of an honorary member. Eddie made sure of that. The two of you had become friends after being paired up for a book report in English class during his first year as a Senior. A crush inevitably grew on Eddie, your heart racing almost every time you saw him, and today was no different.

Sitting down on his left, you sighed, looking at the note still in your hand, gaining his attention.

With furrowed brows, he looked at you before looking down at the paper in your hands, slightly stiffening for a moment before quietly clearing his throat. “W-what’s that?” He cursed himself, inwardly at his small stutter.

Shaking your head, you folded the paper back up, setting it on the table. “A note, I guess. I found it in my locker just now.”

“What’s it say?” Eddie asked as he opened the magazine in his hands.

With the smirk you were trying to hide, you looked at him and said, “I’m not telling you. It’s from a secret admirer.” With raised brows, the older male looked at you with what could only be described as a flirtatious smile. “Oooohhh, a secret admirer, huh? You lucky girl.”

Giggling, you brought one of your feet up to rest on the chair, your leg bent at the knee, your laced fingers meeting at the top of your shoes. “The funny thing is… is that I wasn’t expecting it. Like, every year I see these girls with either flowers, or teddy bears with balloons attached, or even those heart packages with the random filled chocolates inside. No one’s ever done that for me.”

As the rest of the group sat down in their spots, Eddie couldn’t take his eyes off of you as he swallowed his nerves, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with the movement. “Well, whoever gave you that must really like you, then.”

Looking at the folded paper on the table, you softly sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Your eyes stayed locked on Eddie’s for a moment before Shawn’s laughter brought you both out of your moment. Casting your eyes down at the magazine, you cleared your throat. “What’s that say?”

Eddie picked up the magazine, eyes reading the words on the pages with a deep, dramatic voice. “The Devil has come to America. Dungeons and Dragons, at first regarded as a harmless game of make-believe, now had both parents and psychologists concerned. Studies have linked violent behavior to the game, saying it promotes satanic worship, ritual sacrifice, sodomy, suicide, and even…-” He slammed the magazine down, making you jump a little before he said, “-... murder.”

“Don’t fucking do that again,” you breathed.

Reaching his hand to your knee under the table, he whispered, “Sorry,” before looking at Shawn, Bobby and Pauly, sharing a laugh. 

What struck you as odd was the fact that Eddie’s hand didn’t move from your knee for a good two minutes while he chatted with his friends before hesitantly removing it. A part of you was sad about the fact that he moved his hand. 

Two trays slamming down next to you made you jump, Mark and Danny sitting in their seats next to you. “Jesus H.,” you said, looking at Danny. “Don’t. Fucking. Do. That. Again.” “O-okay,” he stuttered. 

You weren’t the scariest or meanest person in the group. Being the only girl simply just gave the vibe that you were. If anything, you were shy, kept to yourself, always had your nose stuck in a book. So, when you were stern and cussing like you did a moment ago, the scary vibe was there.

Turning back to Eddie, you played with a corner of your letter, saying, “Well… society has to blame something. You guys are an easy target.” “You’re in this group, too,” Pauly said in more of a question.

“She’s an honorary member,” Eddie said, crossing his arms. He took a moment to get himself back on topic. “Exactly, Pauly. We’re the freaks because we like to play a fantasy game. But–”

As he went to stand up, you watched him, eyes following him as he stood to his full height. “You’re not gonna do anything stupid and embarrassing, are you?”

“Embarrassing?” Bobby asked. “Says the girl who’s friends with King Steve.”

“Shut up, Bobby,” you said, taking a piece of Danny’s corn and throwing it at Bobby.

Eddie’s foot on the table had your attention back on him as he stood on top of it, whispering, “Focus, love,” before shouting, “As long as you’re into band, or science, or parties–” 

You looked over at the party table, seeing one of the guys flipping Eddie off before your best friend cupped his mouth to shout, “Or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!”

Protests sounded across the cafeteria, someone shouting, “Loser,” had you standing from your own seat, standing where your ass was previously occupying. “Shut up, Johnson!” Watching as Steve’s co-captain stood from his seat, you pointed your finger and said, “Don’t do it, Charlie!”

Completely ignoring you, he asked Eddie, “You want something, freak?” to which Eddie responded by bringing the backs of his hands up to his head, index fingers pointing up and making a humorous demonic sound from his mouth, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he did. 

You sat down back down, your leg back in its previous position and Eddie turned around to walk back down the table, saying, “It’s forced conforming. That’s what’s–” before jumping off the table to shout, “Killing the kids!!” at a teacher, bowing not a few seconds later with his arm out to let a couple of cheerleaders pass by. “That’s the real monster.”

Eddie sat down, taking a pretzel from the bag to pop it into his mouth before readching into his lunchbox, handing you a ziploc bag of Doritos as Danny said, “So, uhh, speaking of monsters, uhh, Sam had to do his, uhh, balls-in-laundry-baskets game. So…” He started chuckling as you looked at Eddie, the boy's eyes on his laughing friend as Danny continued, “He’s not gonna be able to make it to Hellfire tonight. And I know there’s no way we can beat your sadistic campaign without him. So me and Mark, we were talking, shooting the shit, and we were thinking that maybe tonight we…”

Looking back at Eddie as Danny stuttered, you could tell he was going to be angry with whatever they were asking. You had sat with Eddie in his room while he was writing the newest campaign for that night’s game, the boy pacing his room dramatically as he read to you what he’d written, scratching things out or adding things in, giving your opinion when needed.

“Postpone,” Mark said, which caused everyone but you and Eddie to go into an uproar.

“Postpone? You can’t just drop this on us!” Bobby said, Pauly’s voice rang over everyone’s as he said, “Over my dead body!”

“Shut up!” Eddie shouted, causing you to flinch again, his knee touching yours. 

Shawn groaned, his eyes casted towards Eddie, the dungeon master saying, “You saying Sinclair’s been taken in by the dark side?”

“Uh, something like that?” Mark questioned.

“Something like that?” Eddie repeated, throwing the pretzel that was in his hand at the oldest Wheeler boy.

“Jesus Christ,” you and Danny muttered.

“And rather than find a sub for him, you want… you to postpone the Cult of Vecna?” your best friend asked.

Defending himself, Mark said, “I-I don’t want to postpone it. We don’t want to postpone it, it’s just that–”

Eddie’s knee leaving yours had a pang of sadness filling you as he got up from the table, the chair scratching the floor under him as he pushed it away, his body facing the windows.

“Most of the subs will be at the championship game?” Mark continued.

“Oh, it’s the championship game?” you and Eddie asked, your tone more shocked than Eddie’s.

“Yeah?”

“Can I level with you? Henderson and Bobby both graduate this year, Shawn’s got, what, a year a half? Me; I am army-crawling my way toward a D in Ms. O’Donnell’s. If I don’t blow her final-”

“I told you I’ll help you stu-,” you interrupted, only for Eddie to continue his words by saying, “I’m gonna walk that stage next month, I gonna look Principal Higgins deeeeead in the eye, I’m gonna flip him the bird, I’m gonna snatch that diploma and I’m gonna run like hell outta here!”

“Didn’t you say that last year?” you and Shawn asked.

“Yeah, yeah, and I was full of shit. This year’s different. This year is my year. I can feel it.” Eddie looked right at you and said, “ ‘85, baby.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up at the pet name before you blinked a couple times, saying, “You know what that means?” Walking towards the table, slowly, Eddie said, “Not what I’m probably thinking.”

Crossing your arms with an amused look, you countered, “And what would that be, Edward?”

“It means that these boys…-,” he started, coming to squat in between Danny and Mark, his hand on their shoulders, his right hand skimming your own shoulder every time he moved. “-... are the future of Hellfire. I knew the moment I saw them. They sat on that table right over there, looking like…”

“Two little lost little sheep?” you asked.

Eddie’s eyes locked with yours as he said, “Exactly.” Looking at Danny, he said, “You were wearing a Weird Al t-shirt, which I thought was brave.” Turning his head to look at Mark, he added, “Mark, you were wearing whatever shit your mommy bought you from the goddamn Gap.”

The boys laughed for a moment as you giggled before Eddie yanked them up from their seats, their laughter subsiding as yours turned into a chuckle as Eddie stood with Danny and Mark, turning to his left to add, “And we showed you that school didn’t have to be the worst years of your lives, right?”

They both said their no’s, Eddie agreeing with them while adding, “Well, I’m here to tell you that there are other little lost sheepies out there who need help. Who need… you.” Turning them around to face him, Eddie looked at each of them as he added, “And all you guys gotta do… is get your Bo-Peep’s on and go and find one.”

After Eddie pushed them away, he turned and locked eyes with you, smiling softly before coming back to the table, to sit at his spot at the end, stealing a Dorito from your bag, giving you a pretzel in return before you could steal one for yourself.

Yeah, your crush on Eddie just grew tenfold. 

~~~

The last period of the day seemed to drag on and on, the teacher acting like they didn’t want to be there anymore, most of the class either sleeping or daydreaming. You were reading the letter over and over again, trying to almost decode it, in a way. 

As you were studying the writing, you tried to remember where you’ve the handwriting before. When you almost had it figured out, the bell rang to signal the end of the school day. Once you exited the classroom, you went straight to your locker, Steve leaning against the one next to you with his arms folded across his chest.

“Twice in one day? I’m a lucky girl,” you teased, putting in your combination and opening the door. 

As you put your book and notebook back into your locker, Steve said, “Heck yeah! I have to see my best girl!”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you chuckled. After grabbing your crossbody purse, you pulled the strap over your head to rest on your shoulder, closing the locker door. “Got a hot date tonight?”

“Nah,” Steve said. “I mean, not if you count popcorn, a movie and whatever girl randomly shows up tonight for a good fu-”

“Aright, there, loverboy,” you interrupted, patting his arm as the two of you walked out of the back doors. “I don’t need to hear about your sexual adventures.”

You both chuckled as you looked ahead of you, seeing the tree lines to the woods. Sighing, you reached your hand back, putting your hand in your pocket, the folded paper rustling on your palm. “I guess I should go.”

Steve put his arm around you, saying, “Don’t be nervous. You might actually like who shows up.”

You turned to Steve, giving him a hug before pulling back, your hands resting on his shoulders as you said, “Happy Platonic Valentine’s Day, Stevie.”

“You, too, kid,” he smiled. Turning you towards the woods, he chuckled before saying, “Now go!”

Chuckling, you started walking off towards the woods, your nerves starting to show as you made your way to the picnic table that you knew was sitting there. Standing by the table, you enjoyed the breeze of the wind, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath.

The sound of a branch snapping pulled you out of your little moment, your eyes flying open. A squirrel running across some leaves had your anxiety levels spiking a little, your feet moving backwards before you even realized.

You had only backed up a few steps before you crashed into someone, your back meeting their chest as you screamed out.

“Wow, sweetness, it’s me!”

When the voice hit your ears, you instantly recognized it as being Eddie’s. You turned to look at him, a hand on your chest as he rested one hand on your upper arm.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Don’t do that,” you breathed, reaching your own hand up to rest on his shoulder, your head tilted forward.

“Sorry,” Eddie repeated. He stepped forward, bringing his arms around your shoulders with your own arms going around his middle, cheek pressed into his chest as his scent filled your senses. “Come on. Let’s go sit.”

The both of you moved to the picnic table, he went to one side as you went to the other. Deciding to act on impulse, you removed the letter from your pocket and threw it on the table. As you stared at it, you thought about the handwritten words inside.

“Hey, Eds?” you asked.

He hummed in acknowledgement as he sat down across from you. “What’s up, sweetness?”

“Do you ever feel like… you’re losing your mind?” You looked up at him from the paper, two chocolate eyes already on yours. “And… be honest.., Eds.”

“Uhm, ya’know, just on a daily basis,” he responded, a smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, I feel like I’m losing my mind right now, sitting here with my amazingly beautiful best friend.”

Yeah, your cheeks definitely heated up at his statement as he tapped the table a couple of times. 

“Even though we’re best friends and hang out all the time, that book report last year wasn’t the first time we’ve, uhm… hung out,” Eddie said.

“No?” you asked, a confused look covering your features.

“You don’t remember?”

“Ed, I think I would remember the first time we– oh my god!” Your words were cut off by Eddie pretending to stab himself in the heart, his back hitting the ground.

As he stood, he said, “I wouldn’t remember me either, sweetness.” He turned around to face you, brushing his fingers through his hair as he asked, “Do I have something in my hair?”

You laughed as he turned to face you, his arms crossing as he asked, “You don’t remember me?”

“Before the book report? I-” you chuckled. “I’m trying to think, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Looking down at the ground for a moment, Eddie said, “Middle School, talent show. Back when you were a cheerleader, you were doing your cheer thing. Ya’know, the… the thing you did.” He raised his arms in a cheerleader type way.”

You giggled as he continued, “It was pretty cool, actually. And I… I was with the band.”

“Corroded Coffin!” you exclaimed.

He punched his palm as he turned around, starting to say the band's name before pointing at you, saying, “I knew you remembered, sweetness.”

“Well, with a name like that how could I forget?” you said, laughing at the end.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re a freak.”

“Hanging out with you long enough, I turned into one.” 

The two of you smiled at each other, your fingers grazing the folded paper once again. You wanted to ask him about it, but decided against it for the time being, enjoying the moment you were having with him.

“Back then, you looked so–”

“Different?” Eddie interrupted. “Yeah, well, my head was buzzed and I didn’t have these sweet ol’ tatties yet.” He pulled his shirt to the side, showing part of his skull head and spider tattoos on his chest.

“I remember you just jamming on your guitar that day,” you said, eyes casting from his to the paper in front of you.

“You know I still do, sweetness. You haven’t watched us play in a while. You know we play at The Hideout on Tuesdays.”

“With your crowd of about five drunks?”

He winked at you as he said, “You know it.”

“I mean, The Hideout isn’t exactly the Garden, but you gotta start somewhere, right?”

Smiling at you, Eddie said, “One day, when we’re playing the Garden, you’re gonna be there. Right by my side. Cheering me on.”

Chuckling, you nodded your head. “You know it, Eds.” You thought about your next words for a moment, enjoying the small but comfortable silence that fell between the two of you. “Ya’know… you weren’t at all what I thought you’d be before we got partnered up for the book report. You looked so –”

Grabbing a small piece of his hair, he moved it in front of his mouth as he said, “Mean and scary?”

All you could do was nod, a small smile tugging at your lips as you tried to hide it. 

“Yeah, well, because you’re friends with The Hair, I actually thought you’d be kinda mean and scary, too.” He walked back to the table, placing his hands on the table top.

“Me?” you asked, a little confused. 

“Terrifying,” he smiled, sitting down on the bench.

Scoffing, you tossed your head back with a laugh. “I have my nose stuck in a book half of the time! I’m even remotely in the same category as mean and scary.”

“Yeah, well, your flattery worked with me.”

Tilting your head to the side a little, you couldn’t help but smile at your best friend. You cast your eyes down to the table again, your orbs finding the folded paper. With furrowed brows, you reached for it, holding it between two fingers.

When your eyes found Eddie’s again, you noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, so you asked the question that’s been on your mind for the last two hours. “Did you put this in my locker?”

“I - uhh -”

“Edward Munson,” you warned. “Tell me the truth.”

Sighing, he hung his head down, his chin meeting his chest before releasing a deep breath. “Fine.” Picking his head up, he looked at you. “Yes. I did.”

“Why didn’t you just ask me to meet you here at lunch? Like you sometimes do?”

Taking another deep breath, Eddie released it, saying, “I thought it’d be more romantic.”

Confused, you looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Why would it be-” Then it hit you. Like a bus. Since your hand had dropped a couple of inches, you raised your hand back up, the note swaying as you did. “You’re my secret admirer?”

Eddie stood and shrugged, turning his back towards you.

“Why?” you whispered.

“Why what?” he asked. Turning to face you again, you saw a pang of hurt in his eyes. “Why I ended up falling for my best friend? Why I couldn’t tell you that every time your nose is stuck in your books, I look over and smile at you? I couldn’t tell you that I’ve been falling for you since I first saw you on the first day of my Sophomore year.”

You watched as he moved around the table to sit next to you, your eyes locked on each other’s as he gathered his next words.

With a soft voice, he said, “I couldn’t tell you that all I think about at night before I fall asleep is your lips on mine, my arms around you as you rest your head on my chest, falling asleep peacefully. I couldn’t tell you how in love with you I am, sweetness.”

Turning your face away from him, you sighed, wanting to tell him that his feelings were reciprocated. Feeling like you couldn’t, you closed your eyes before feeling his finger and thumb on your chin, a gentle touch that set your skin on fire. 

Eddie turned your face back towards him, his eyes dancing between yours. “Don’t turn away from me, baby. I know you feel the same way.”

Taking a sharp intake of breath, you opened your mouth, asking, “How?”

With a smirk playing on his lips, he softly chuckled. “Because you wouldn’t be here with me right now.”

Your own smirk appeared on your lips, your eyes lowering to his shirt, looking at a random spot on the cotton material. Feeling his hand cupping your cheek, you looked back up at him, eyes moving to look at his lips. “I very much would like to kiss you.”

“Good,” Eddie whispered. “ ‘Cause I was gonna do it. Ya’know… to test the waters.” As you giggled, he leaned forward at the same time you did, your lips gently pressing to each other, testing the waters.

It didn’t take long for the gentle kiss to turn into a passionate one; lips moving in sync, small smacks sounding between the two of you as you pulled apart slightly, only to dive back in. Unfortunately, you denied him access when his tongue swept across your bottom lip, asking for entrance.

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Not there yet.”

Eddie understood as he placed one last chaste kiss to your lips. Moving his hand to cup the side of your neck, he smiled that playful smile that had you weak in the knees.

“What?” you giggled.

“I just have one last question.”

You gave him eyes that said proceed.

“Be my forever valentine?”

The laugh that sounded from you had his smile growing, a chuckle sounding from him as you gave your answer.

“Duh.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 2:  hi, friends! i tried to figure out if i wanted to age dustin up a year, but realized i'd have to age mike and lucas up, too. so, i had to add two different characters into the cafeteria scene, BUT just think of dustin and mike...? let me know what you thought! again, please do not hesitate to reblog and give some feedback, whether it be in the reblogs, comments, or my inbox.

Additional Notes: i'm trying to add the character masterlists onto all my one-shots from here on out! let me know if it makes it easier for y'all to back and choose what to read!

~~~

Forever / Everything Taglist: @stiles-o-dylan24 @stixnstripesworld @fandom-princess-forevermore @quanticobae @mischiefandi @kellyashcroft @lauren-novak​

If you’re tagged and didn’t want to be, please let me know.

Italics wouldn’t let me tag!

~~~

*Please don’t post my writing anywhere else without my consent. The author of this work will always and forever be @harringtonstilinski​.

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Posted on February 15, 2024 *Happy late Valentine's Day!*

[meiyudo]

Linecook Anakin HCs

pleaseeee i cannot get this idea out of my mind (maybe i’m just tryna romanticize my job lol) also lemme just say this list is hella unorganized ( just like my brain lol)

warnings: cursing, ani is a typical horny young adult, smoking; weed

Muscular arms, veins!!

Beautiful blue eyes look up at the screen to see the next meal prep (you imagine those same eyes looking up at you like that if you ever get him on his knees)

He always finds something to compliment you on (even though there’s not much room for expression due to the standard comply uniform)

He’s almost always working cause he wants money and honestly doesn’t mind the atmosphere of the kitchen. 

Plus weed isn't cheap and he likes to smoke :)

On breaks you’ll often see him out back smoking a cig or a vape (depending on his mood).

“You know that stuff is bad for you right?” 

“Yea, i dont really give a shit tho”

You roll your eyes, “well don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when you’re carrying around an oxygen tank in thirty years”

He sent a play sad face your way and exclaimed “That’s so sweet, you’re looking out for my health”

“You’re so full of shit Skywalker” you say as you go back inside.

Though, after that encounter you notice he started to chew a lot more gum and smoke a lot less

He flirts with other waitresses too, but you are definitely his favorite

Reaches stuff on the top shelf when you can't. 

“Need some help princess?”

Winks at you from behind the window

Before you got to know him, you were a little afraid of him

He’s honestly so good at his job that it’s scary- he rarely messes up an order and if it's messed up it’s usually ‘cause someone rang it in wrong.

He’d be messing around one minute then barking orders at people when it got busy- he was always so focused on whatever he was doing whether it be cooking the meat, tossing salads, making desserts, etc

You used to see him roll his eyes or talk shit to other waitresses when they didnt do something right. 

“There’s a button for that ya know-”

“You didn’t tell me no onions”

“Ring it in if he wants it that way- I got too many orders to keep up with the shit you’re tellin’ me”

But he seems to be nicer to you…

“Hey Ani- could I get no tomatoes on this please”

“Sure thing, sweetheart”

“There’s my favorite girl” he says when you walk into the back. 

Some servers get jealous of his blatant favoritism (he takes longer on their orders when they’re nasty to you)

The other cooks get along with him fine

You can often find them goofing around in the back

But they think he’s waaaaay too handsome for his own good.

“Why you workin’ here when you could be on the cover of a magazine?”

“He’s here cause Skywalker’s got terrible manners and no game” another cook laughed.

“the fuck I dont” Anakin responded as the rest of the cooks all laughed along. 

His coworkers like to tease him when they see how flirty he gets when you come around. 

Nicknames include: “Pretty boy”, “player”, “heartthrob”

The heat of the appliances mixed with the rush of the night end up giving him a sheen of sweat and a warm blush to his pretty face. 

Ngl, this man would get greasy by the end of the night…

Dried food, condiments,and oils staining his black shirt

By the end of the shift he would have a lingering smell of char from the grill as well as a combined smell of all the food in the kitchen and his own musk from his sweat.

But the blend of labored scents mixed with his cheap cologne and deodorant made for an oddly enticing aroma.

You would joke with him during closing about how bad he smelled, though deep down you knew you liked it. 

“Yea, well we can’t all be in the front smelling like daisies and sunshine” he joked. 

He thought you smelled nice? You had worked a full day too- there was no way.

You insisted you didn’t smell much better than him but he shook his head, “nah princess, I could breathe you in all day”

That may have been a little creepy coming from anyone else, but it was anakin… the hottest guy in the restaurant, the talented cook, the guy you had a huge crush on. 

He’ll saunter into the back while you’re rolling your silverware and chat with you

“Ugh, I’m so ready to ge the fuck outta here” he sighs.

“Tell me about it, today has been so long” 

“Have you atleast made decent money?” 

“Yeah”

He laughs

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t know why I even asked if you made good money- I should know the answer to that when talking to a girl with such a pretty face,” he says, before slipping back into the kitchen, leaving you with a heavy blush. 

He loves when you’re on ice for side work because the ice machine is right by him in the kitchen 

He likes to watch your ass as you bend down to shovel the ice- if he’s lucky he catches a glimpse of your lacy panties as they ride up your hips. 

When it’s not busy he carries the bucket for you and revels in all of your adorable “thank you’s”

His least favorite side work for you is when you are assigned to the front house because that means you’ll be spending most of the night in the dining area rather than in the back with him. 

Asks what you’re doing on your day off. 

“Probably gonna get high with some friends”

His eyes widened, “you smoke?!”

“Occasionally”

“Weren’t you the one who told me i’d be toting around an oxygen tank?” he quipped and you rolled your eyes. 

“Chill out pretty boy, I mainly just do eddies”

“And you never told me this?!” he grabbed at his heart with a dramatic expression. 

With the new info he spends the next few days working up the nerve to ask you to smoke with him sometime. 

Lucky for him, you’re closing on Saturday and so is he. 

After you check out all of the other servers and do your side work, you head to your car but Anakin calls your name before you leave the kitchen. 

He invites you to hot box in his car before you go and to his surprise you agree (you had a rough night, so why not? plus he is your crush after all)

You get into his car and unbutton your top a bit, it was hot in the restaurant today. 

He turns on the AC and steals a glance at the lacy bra you have on. 

After passing around a blunt the two of you are getting up there; maybe it’s the delirium or maybe it’s the weed, but he is looking finer than ever

you can’t help but hold the blunt between your fingers as you lean across the center console and press your lips against his

he sucks in a breath in surprise before he returns the action.

soon you’re on his lap, grinding on his growing bulge as he runs his strong hands through your hair and all along your body

tbh, you don’t even care that you have open shift tomorrow- this is worth being sleepy