#ambs answers
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Note
I made you a bby, loves you ❤️
no words. no words. thank you sdhfjksdhfkjdshf. i love you
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
solomon's so possessive of mc he could probably take mammon's spot as the avatar of greed, but how'd you think to an mc who's possessive over him? even simple things like always being close to him so people know the two of them are together, emphasizing the "my" if they ever say "my teacher/master", or some bites here and there and everywhere.
i'd think he would just giggle and call them adorable, but internally he's screaming crying doing backflips squealing dying etc
Personally, I think Solomon deserves and MC that's just as down bad and crazy for him as he is with them, lol. Somebody needs to match his freak!
Though the idea that MC does much of what he does to establish their relationship is very funny to me. Like, everyone else is already eye-rolling the moment Solomon even breathes to once again call them "my adorable apprentice" but now MC is doing it too?! About him?!?! Don't be surprised if everyone just flat out avoids bringing up either one of you to the other so they spare themselves from the "my apprentice/my master" tirade. Though when Solomon first catches wind of them rambling about him and referring to him as "my master" to the others he damn near throws himself on the bed like a school girl.
On the topic of marking with biting, wouldn't it be cute if MC got matching bracelets/necklaces/rings to also solidify their connection? I'm a big fan of the sun and moon thing for Sol and MC (not me having a Solomon Pinterest board that has sun and moon rings in it), so something along those lines would be neat. MC just comes up to him with the box in hand, watches as he opens it to reveal the jewelry within, and smiles uncontrollably when he blushes so prettily just as expected. And then you anoint him with it, sliding the jewelry onto him whispering "mine" as you do it. Yeah, he's a goner. So now Solomon walks around with bites that just barely peak out from under his turtleneck and some bling that matches yours that he always shows off making you proud.
Anything MC does, loud or subtle that acknowledges their connection brings joy to Solomon because it soothes the ache that you don't want him, the fear of not being enough. Realizing you're just as down bad makes him feel over the moon. He wants to keep you, you want to keep him. Win-win.
#sorry it took me so long to answer!#ily amb 💖#obey me#obey me solomon#jo’s thoughts#blood moon mail
82 notes
·
View notes
Note
Uhhhh, what about several followers with absolutely horrible messy colds (I’m talking totally disheveled and with snot dripping down their faces and on their robes) trying to clamor to the lamb to get a blessing of health and the lamb just being like “NOPE, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME”
Or alternatively (or also if I’m not clogging up the asks) the lamb after having caught the aforementioned cold laying in bed, possibly with one or more followers pampering them.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0e29638161f04478320dc2bfd5d7095d/1e8e6cd93581f7e9-38/s540x810/ac33432368765c60b36671aa5217a080f522274b.jpg)
Sorry this took for feckin ever, I hope you like it! I know the Goat doesn't count as a follower exactly but I ship them so I wanted to draw them together 🥰
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
What's your favorite gift someone has given you?
I have received five gifts over the course of my life.
A piece of chest plate armour from the Village Elder back in my time when I turned sixteen summers. My Champion scarf, from the Princess. A truly hideous but surprisingly comfortable knitted jumper from Saki and Teba, and four rather impressively intricately made plumage beads from Link.
You might be thinking ah, but that is only four, and you'd be right. Each of those four gifts meant something deeply important to me and changed the course of my life.
However, the greatest gift I have ever received was the return of my life itself from - I assume - the Goddess Hylia. Without it, I would still be no more than a ghost upon Medoh, and I would not have been able to see the Village in all it's glory in this new world. I wouldn't have been able to make my ammends with the Champions - nor with Link. I would not have been able to see the Princess find herself beneith the weight of her purpose. I would have missed out on family and friendship and love.
Every day is not easy, coming to terms with an unsettling end, a terrible failure, and a confusing and often grief ridden modern world. However, I am still here, and I am greatful to breath once more.
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b9a702715bd05efbe89790dd4826ebba/a0df886060e004e7-40/s540x810/301c437b50a40e1be0efc71dcf885f695f88f119.jpg)
#gosh i want to draw new answers but i amb so ill dying sick blegh#revali#breath of the wild#tears of the kingdom#age of calamity#legends of zelda#rito#rito village
18 notes
·
View notes
Text
officially just applied to university for a bachelors of fine arts degree
#amb very anxious about it#deadline is in two days#so i had to get the portfolio version DONE#so nervous i procrastinated like craaaaazy#but hopefully my answers could bullshit enough to let them know i want this degree so baddddd#because i want to be a teacherrrrrrr
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
sometimes i miss writing spn fic for the ease of "curses/possession made them say it". meanwhile julius explicitly gets presented with his ideal world twice and rejects it both times and. *shakes him* sir i need you to be more openly unhinged.
i should just do that truth drug fic thing already but ughhhhh everything requires so much exposition :(
#yes striborg julius is the answer but then i gotta explain what happened!#*shakes x2 canon* how are you literally like this and yet SO HARD TO WRITE FOR#ignore the fact that im going through writers block already#v#x2#amb
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
have you seen the blakely lively justin baldoni lawsuit?
yes and i firmly believe my opinion on the issue is too nuanced to be received on social media <3
#i'm assuming you're asking this bc it's somewhat related to amb*r which is fair#but yeah i just feel my voice is not necessary or contributes anything of value to the conversation rn!!#maybe that'll change but i doubt it lmao! sorry if you were looking for that :(#i'm sure some folks on here are covering it?#allie answers
2 notes
·
View notes
Note
whats your favorite south park hc 3 2 1 go
Like broadly?? For the whole thing??? I'm not sure. But, I kinda love that a lot of us love kinda doing the whole academic style with Kyle. And I love the hc of Kenny being a good singer. ;v; That's some good shit.
#ask ambs#feel like most my favs are character specific lol#I meant to answer this way sooner sorry <3#anon
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
softly,
#does anyone know when i got too depressed to read fics#cuz like#i need to read#i can feel my brain getting dumber#need words#miss blorbos#require sustenance#require comfort#require familiar#but brain doesnt work good when im NOT depressed#so i amb struggling to recall#this does jot actually require an answer#i just gotta like#put the thought outside my head so maybe i can do a thing about it
1 note
·
View note
Text
unanswered II
pairing: tara carpenter & female reader
summary: tara finally comes to her senses.
word count: 6k
author’s note: sorry for the wait guys! might be forgiven tho since i claimed this was 4k words but it ended up with 6k.
i tried to include all your suggestions so i hope you like it
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/ba5918c11ab8b5e2a4a50b6bf710c3f0/4251e34e65487bf0-41/s540x810/30ce204c73f4a74d0fbf9e3a3bc78c6490a0ba0d.jpg)
Tara had been blocked.
You had blocked her.
Though, it didn't hit her all at once. The first few minutes, she thought you were just asleep, it had been late when she had texted you after all.
Maybe you needed space after what Tara had said a few nights before, and she couldn't blame you for that.
Yet she still tried texting you, each one more desperate than the last. They were all small messages, apologies wrapped in awkward words that probably didn't mean much for anyone but her.
At first, Tara chalked it up to bad timing, bad service, something.
You had to see her messages eventually, right? So she kept sending them. But there was still no reply. Then, the doubt crept in.
Maybe you were ignoring her.
That thought weighed heavily on her, but she didn't stop.
She was still convinced there had to be an explanation. You always stayed. Even when things were at their worst, when she screwed up time and time again, you stayed.
But something was different this time. She felt it.
Then she noticed the green bubbles. The messages weren't delivering.
Her stomach had dropped. It wasn't bad service. It wasn't bad timing. You had cut her off completely.
Her thumb hovered over your contact, thinking about calling, but she stopped. What was the point? You wouldn't answer.
You were done with her.
She stared at her phone for longer than she should have, as if willing it to change.
But it didn't.
The reality sank in, slow and suffocating. You were gone.
For the first time, she wasn't the one walking away, and the absence of you—your presence, your texts, your warmth—was a hole Tara hadn't even realized she relied on.
It wasn't like she hadn't expected it after everything that had happened.
You always had a way of catching her when she messed up, but things seemed to smooth over eventually.
She never really had to confront her mistakes because you stayed, no matter how many times she got it wrong. Now, though, there was nothing.
Tara wasn't used to this. Sure, she knew she had done something wrong—pushing you away, keeping you in this weird limbo while she figured herself out—but she hadn't thought it would lead to you cutting her off.
Blocking her, even.
That had never happened before. No matter how many times she messed up, you had always been there, willing to pick up the pieces, and things just... worked.
She hadn't even realized how much she relied on your presence until it was gone.
For the first time, she was completely alone. No Amber, no you. Just silence.
———
Tara woke up the next morning with a strange sense of hope. She half expected to see the messages had been delivered, that maybe you'd unblocked her while she was asleep. Maybe it was all just a mistake. You wouldn't really cut her off, not after everything, right?
She grabbed her phone, swiping to the messages she'd sent.
Still green.
Her heart sank, the pit in her stomach deepening as she realized nothing had changed. You were serious. You weren't coming back.
When she got to school, a part of her still thought maybe you'd be there, waiting to talk like you always did, or at least watching from afar. She found herself glancing at the spots where she usually saw you, waiting for that familiar feeling of your eyes on her.
But you weren't there.
But Tara kept walking, her heart heavy as she scanned the hallways. That's when she spotted Amber, standing by her locker, waiting. The familiar feeling of longing tugged at her, but this time it wasn't as comforting as before.
Amber caught her eye and signaled for her to come over, flashing that smile Tara always fell for. Without thinking, Tara did. She walked straight into Amber's arms, letting Amber sling her arm casually around her shoulders as if nothing had changed between them.
For a brief moment, Tara felt like she had what she wanted. Amber was there, holding her close, showing everyone that she was hers—at least for today.
But there was still a heaviness in her chest, something she couldn't shake. It didn't make sense. She was with Amber now, wasn't this enough?
The thought of you crept in, uninvited.
No, it couldn't be that.
She pushed the feeling down, convincing herself that having Amber was enough.
It had to be.
That's what she told herself for the following days, trying to convince herself that Amber was enough, that this was what she wanted.
And for a while, it almost worked. Amber had been good—more attentive, more affectionate than usual—at least during the school week.
The weekends, though, were different. Parties took priority, and Amber's attention drifted.
Yet even when things were good; better than ever if you will, Tara couldn't shake the feeling lodged in her chest, that gut-wrenching discomfort that seemed to cling to her no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
The more she tried to push it down, the more it twisted inside her, leaving her uneasy.
And all of the thoughts led back to you. To Tara's own surprise.
You didn't try to search for her between classes, didn't glance in her direction when you passed her in the hallways. Nothing. Like she didn't even exist.
That was what Tara should've expected, really. After everything she'd done—after the way she'd strung you along, pushed you aside, left you waiting on the sidelines—it made sense. She had no right to expect anything different.
Tara had always been the one to call the shots, to decide when and where things stood between the two of you. Now, for the first time, the power was out of her hands.
She kept telling herself it was temporary. You'd come back—you always did. She just had to wait it out. Maybe this time it would take a little longer, but you'd be there, eventually. You had to be. So she forced herself to get used to it, to the absence, pretending she could handle the emptiness you left behind.
But what really started to get under Tara's skin wasn't just your absence or the way you seemed to move on so easily. It was seeing you with someone else.
She first noticed it during English class. You had been sitting next to some girl—someone Tara vaguely recognized but never really paid attention to before.
At first, she didn't think much of it, but as the days went on, she kept seeing the two of you together. Talking. Laughing. It wasn't just casual conversations either. You looked comfortable. Almost like you were enjoying yourself.
And as the days passed, Tara couldn't help but notice it more.
You hadn't even glanced her way in days, and yet here you were, cozying up to someone else like nothing had happened.
And every time she glanced in your direction during class, there you were, talking to her. Sometimes you'd laugh, or lean in a little closer, your body language relaxed in a way that made Tara's stomach twist.
You weren't just sitting next to each other anymore—you were... comfortable. And it wasn't just in English. She caught sight of you together in the hallways, outside the building after school.
The more she saw the two of you, the more it grated on her nerves. A sharp, simmering anger that built with each passing day.
Every smile, every shared glance between you and this girl made it harder for her to focus on Amber, even when Amber was right beside her, holding her hand or whispering in her ear.
It shouldn't have bothered her like this. It shouldn't have mattered.
You were free to talk to whoever you wanted. For all Tara knew, she was just a classmate, someone you happened to sit next to by chance.
But that didn't stop the ugly feeling from growing inside her, gnawing away at her with every interaction she witnessed.
She told herself it was nothing. That it didn't mean anything. But with every glance, every shared word between you and that girl, her anger simmered, coiling tighter until it was all she could focus on.
It wasn't jealousy, Tara told herself. It couldn't be. She had Amber, after all.
Yet there was no denying the way her chest tightened every time she saw you with her. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. You weren't supposed to matter anymore.
But somehow, you still did. Of course you did.
___
"What's got your panties in a twist?" Amber's voice broke through Tara's thoughts, cutting through the low hum of the campus.
Her tone was sharp, playful in a way that normally would've made Tara grin, but today it grated, pulling her out of the spiral she had been sinking into.
They were sitting outside, perched on one of the weathered wooden benches that lined the quad, the usual bustling energy of lunchtime fading as the crowd thinned.
Chad and Liv had disappeared first, throwing out some half-hearted excuse about "something better to do," Mindy had ditched too—not that Tara blamed her, considering she wasn't exactly Amber's biggest fan. Which left only Amber and Tara behind.
Normally, Tara would've reveled in that—the rare chance to have Amber's full attention, unshared, unchallenged by anyone else. She used to crave these moments when it was just the two of them, when Amber's eyes were only on her.
But now, Tara could barely summon the energy to care. The thrill of it had dulled, smothered under the weight of everything else she couldn't stop thinking about—of everything she couldn't feel.
Your absence hung heavy in the air, even though Amber didn't know it was there. She couldn't know.
She wouldn't have cared if she did.
Amber shifted beside her, more out of impatience than concern. "Seriously, you've been acting weird all week," she pressed, her voice tinged with frustration.
She wasn't used to Tara being so distant, and the idea that something might be slipping out of her control clearly bothered her. "What's your problem?"
Tara blinked, her mind sluggish, trying to catch up. It wasn't like she could explain it—not in any way that made sense.
How could she tell Amber that the cold shoulder she had been getting from you had thrown her completely off balance?
That it was the same cold shoulder she'd given you, over and over again, each time leaving you on the outside while she stayed wrapped up in Amber's world. How could she admit that now, when it was her on the receiving end, it felt like a punch to the gut every single time she saw you?
"I don't know," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "I'm just tired."
It was the best she could come up with, the easiest excuse, but even as the words left her lips, she knew it wasn't enough.
Amber wasn't the type to let things slide, especially not when it came to Tara. She was used to being the center of attention, the one calling the shots, and when Tara's focus wasn't on her, Amber always took notice.
"Yeah, well, you've been 'tired' for a while now," Amber snapped back, her tone cutting through the brief silence like a whip.
She didn't sound concerned, not really—just annoyed, irritated that something wasn't going her way. "Maybe you should come out with me this weekend, you know? Party with me."
Amber's suggestion hung in the air between them, and Tara hesitated. Normally, Amber didn't bother to ask.
She'd go without her, living up the night on her own, letting Tara watch it all from the sidelines. She'd see it unfold through Amber's and other people's social media—photos and videos of Amber laughing, surrounded by friends, completely absorbed in her own world.
But this time, it felt different. Tara could feel it in the way Amber's eyes lingered on her, waiting, expecting something—expecting Tara to be excited, to jump at the chance like she would've done before.
But the thought of it, the thought of pretending everything was fine, felt suffocating.
She nodded anyway, forcing herself to give Amber the answer she was waiting for, even if it felt hollow. "Yeah. Sure."
But even as the words came out, Tara felt the weight of them, heavy and wrong.
Because the truth was, none of it mattered—not the party, not Amber's fleeting attention. None of it made a dent in the gnawing ache in her chest that had started the moment you stopped looking at her.
She told herself it was fine. She could play along. She had done it before. But deep down, Tara knew that no matter how much she tried to push it down, nothing could fix this disgusting feeling.
She sat in silence for a moment longer, staring at the ground as her mind whirred with thoughts she didn't want to have.
She clenched her jaw, trying to shake the feeling, trying to make herself believe that this—Amber, the party, all of it—would be enough. It definitely would've been before, hadn't it?
But now, the weight of your absence pressed in on her from every angle, heavy and suffocating. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. It wasn't supposed to matter so much.
Amber shifted beside her, sighing loudly. "Whatever, Tara," she muttered, standing up and brushing invisible dust off her jeans. "Don't get all weird on me."
Tara barely registered her leaving. The rush of relief she might have once felt in moments like these—when Amber turned her attention elsewhere—was gone, replaced by an ache she couldn't name.
A week ago, maybe two, Tara would've called after her, almost running to catch up. She would've asked if they could get ready together, spent half an hour agonizing over what she should wear, hoping for Amber's approval.
Her mind would've spun with questions, things she'd never needed to worry about when she was around you.
What should she wear? What did Amber want her to look like? Was her hair okay down, or should she try something new? She would've sent selfies for Amber's opinion, eager for a reaction, any reaction, to reassure her that she was enough.
But now, the questions didn't come. They felt distant, buried under the weight that had settled in her chest and refused to leave. Tara didn't care what Amber thought anymore. She didn't even care what she looked like.
The weekend came sooner than she had expected, almost sneaking up on her while she drifted through the week in a haze.
Throughout the week, Tara had tried to text you. Just one message each day, nothing too desperate, nothing that screamed she was losing her mind over your silence.
But each time, the bubble turned green, and with every little notification, her hope that you might respond twisted into something bitter, something angry.
Were you with her? That girl from your English class, the one she'd seen you walking with down the hallways, laughing, your head bent close to hers like you didn't have a care in the world.
Tara's stomach knotted at the thought, her grip tightening on her phone every time she imagined the two of you together. Were you sharing the jokes you used to save just for her? Did you laugh the same way?
By the time Friday came around, the anger had wrapped itself around her chest, growing heavier each time she looked at her phone, still green, still silent.
It weighed on her as she stood in front of the mirror that night, staring at her reflection like a stranger. She had thrown on whatever was closest, not caring how it looked—not caring how she looked—and now, standing there, she could feel the frustration boiling over.
She looked terrible, and she knew it. The clothes didn't sit right, her hair was a mess, and she didn't even have the energy to fix any of it.
Normally, she'd have texted Amber for advice, asked her what to wear, how to do her makeup. They might've gotten ready together if Amber cared enough, Amber teasing her the whole time but never letting her leave the house unless she looked perfect.
But tonight, none of that mattered. Tara was angry—angry at herself, at you, at the girl you were probably with right now. She felt like she was spinning, her thoughts spiraling into a million catastrophic possibilities, each one worse than the last.
Maybe she just needed to see you in person. Maybe if she could find you, look you in the eye, and tell you how she was feeling right now, you'd understand. Maybe that's what would finally break through this silence.
If she could just get you to listen, maybe if she could tell you all of it—how she didn't know what she was doing, how none of it made sense to her—you'd understand.
But would you even believe her? Would you even want to hear her out?
Without thinking twice, she pulled out her phone and typed out a message to Amber.
can't make it tonight. smth came up.
She didn't even wait for a response before throwing her phone onto the bed, her mind already somewhere else.
Part of her wanted to look you up, track you down, and talk to you face-to-face. Whether you were with someone else or just avoiding her the way she'd been avoiding you —but either way, Tara was done waiting around for you to reach out.
She stood frozen for a moment, feeling ridiculous as the thought of showing up at your house unannounced settled in.
She could already picture how stupid she'd look, standing at your door, trying to explain herself. You'd blocked her—didn't that already say everything she needed to know?
But then that other girl's face flashed in her mind, the way you laughed with her, walked next to her in the halls.
The thought of her taking you away, of her being the one you shared everything with now, twisted Tara's stomach in knots. She couldn't let that happen. Not without at least trying.
She didn't want to be too late.
Tara hated how desperate she felt, how even after everything, after you'd blocked her, she was still running after you. But she couldn't help it.
Even if she had to look you in the eye and hear you say you didn't want her anymore, she needed to know for sure. She needed to fight, because the thought of losing you to someone else was worse than any rejection you could throw at her.
With a deep breath and her hands shaking, she grabbed her jacket and keys.
Feeling stupid the whole way, she headed out the door, her heart pounding with every step she took toward your house.
___
didn't think u were weak enough to back out.
guess i was wrong.
Amber's text lit up her screen, but Tara barely glanced at it.
Normally, Amber's words usually stung, leaving Tara questioning herself, doubting everything. But tonight, they barely registered. She didn't care anymore, not about Amber's opinion or her insults.
The thought of how she'd been stringing you along—pushing and pulling, hot and cold—made her stomach twist in a way Amber's games never had.
Tara had always hated how Amber toyed with her, how she'd be there one day and gone the next, keeping Tara on a leash just long enough to never fully let go. Now, she realized, she was doing the same to you. She'd been selfish, scared, and now it was coming back to haunt her.
Amber had dragged her through the same emotional mess for so long—back and forth, never knowing where they stood—and now she had done the same to you.
It wasn't about Amber anymore. It was about you. And she wasn't going to let you slip away without at least trying.
She made it to your house almost sooner than she'd liked. The sight of your front door tightened the knot in her stomach, something she wasn't used to feeling.
Tara wasn't the nervous type—usually, she could handle herself in any situation, always sure of what she'd say or do. But now, her palms felt damp, her breath catching every time she thought of you opening that door.
She didn't know what she was going to say. Hell, she didn't even know if you'd open the door. But she had to try, even if her nerves were making her feel like a complete idiot for being there.
But she was already here, and she'd come this far—she couldn't just turn back now. She'd fought her way through every doubt to get here, and backing down wasn't an option.
Her feet felt heavy as she took each step up the walkway, the familiar creak of the wooden steps underfoot echoing louder in her ears than it ever had before.
The closer she got, the more every little detail stood out—the chipped paint on your door, the soft glow of light seeping out from the window.
She raised her hand to knock, fingers hovering just inches away, her heart pounding so loudly she wondered if you'd hear it from the other side.
Taking a deep breath, she let her knuckles tap lightly against the door, the sound swallowed almost instantly by the still night air.
It took long enough for you to answer that her thoughts had time to spiral. She knew your parents weren't home; in the little time she'd spent actually getting to know you, she'd learned that they hardly ever were.
You were probably home alone, and the idea haunted her—maybe you'd invited someone else over, maybe you weren't even alone at all, maybe you were with that girl she'd seen you with before.
By the time she heard footsteps approaching, her heart was beating so fast she almost felt sick, every possibility fighting for space in her mind.
Finally, the door swung open, and for a split second, there was a soft smile on your face.
But the moment your eyes landed on her, it vanished, replaced by something unreadable.
It wasn't anger—your expression was calm, almost neutral, yet there was a guardedness to it, like you'd been caught off guard, not entirely prepared to see her standing there.
The warmth in your eyes had dimmed, leaving something harder to read.
Tara couldn't tell if that look meant you were relieved or if she was the last person you wanted to see right now.
For a second, Tara felt so small. She knew she was short, but this was different—she'd never felt this out of place, like she was shrinking right there on your doorstep. Not since Amber.
Her fingers fidgeted, tracing over her knuckles as she tried to read you, to figure out what was going on behind that guarded expression. She barely registered the sound of her name until she heard your voice.
"Tara.. Hi."
The words hung there, making the quiet between you even heavier.
Tara didn't respond right away, too caught up in the questions swirling through her mind.
Had she interrupted something? Were you expecting someone else—someone who actually wanted to be here?
Her mind raced, flashing back to all the times you'd tried reaching out, inviting her over, and all the times she'd ignored you, too wrapped up in the momentary thrill of Amber's attention.
She hadn't let herself think about what that might've felt like for you.
And now, standing here, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was karma—that maybe you'd moved on, found someone else who didn't make you feel like a backup option. What if, after all this, she was too late?
Finally, after a moment, she managed to speak, her voice barely above a whisper, unsteady.
"Were... were you expecting somebody else?" Her words faltered, her gaze fixed on her hands as she twisted her fingers together, almost as if she could hold onto some kind of confidence.
You furrowed your brows just slightly, a small, almost confused smile pulling at the corner of your mouth as you let out a soft, breathy laugh. "No... why would I?"
Tara's mouth opened, but no words came out right away. She hadn't expected you to look so genuinely surprised, and now she felt her cheeks warming, her gaze darting down as she scrambled for something to say. Her fingers twisted together, and she forced herself to meet your eyes again, feeling silly for even bringing it up.
"I... I don't know. I just thought... maybe." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she hated how uncertain it sounded, as if she'd already given away too much. But she couldn't help it—she just had to know.
You tilted your head slightly, still wearing that soft smile, though there was a hint of something knowing in your eyes.
"Is she.. ignoring you again?" you asked, the question so casual yet so pointed that Tara's breath hitched.
She knew you meant Amber—you didn't even need to say her name. And the worst part was, she felt a pang of guilt because, honestly, it wouldn't have been the first time.
She swallowed hard, feeling like her own answer was betraying her. "Actually... no," she said slowly, her voice faltering as she tried to piece together her words. "She, uh, actually invited me to a party."
Your expression shifted, that lightness fading from your eyes, and Tara's stomach twisted painfully when she noticed.
She hadn't expected you to react like that, hadn't anticipated that flicker of hurt crossing your face. And now, standing there in the doorway, she felt a rush of regret wash over her.
Before she could stop herself, she added, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I didn't... I didn't go."
You didn't respond right away, just looked at her, eyebrows raised, silently waiting. Tara shifted under your gaze, feeling smaller by the second, until finally, she started to speak.
"I know you probably... don't want to talk to me right now," she began, her voice a little too fast, like she was rushing to get the words out before she lost her nerve.
She took a shaky breath and continued, "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I mean, it's not like I've given you a reason to, you know, feel any different... or... yeah."
Her hand drifted up to her wrist, squeezing it as she fumbled for her next thought. "I... I messed up. And, I've been thinking about it, like, a lot, and it's just—I didn't know what I was doing. I mean, I thought I did, but then I... I didn't. And I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't... important, or that I didn't care, because I did. I do."
She bit her lip, glancing up at you, unsure if she was making any sense, but she kept going. "I know it's probably too late to say any of this, and you've probably moved on, but I just... I don't know. I didn't want you to think that I... forgot about you. Or... or that you didn't matter."
Her gaze flickering down to the ground, then up to yours again, almost as if she's scared you'll walk away.
"That message where I told you to... that I didn't want anything to do with you..." She shakes her head, struggling for the right words. "I shouldn't have said that. I was... I don't even know what I was thinking. I just... Amber was there, and I felt like if I didn't, she'd—" She stops herself, clenching her fists a little, swallowing hard.
"And all those other messages.. I just kept trying to say sorry, but it was probably just... desperate, I guess. I didn't know how else to say that I... I wanted you, that I didn't mean it. That I still..."
Her words falter, and she sighs, rubbing her forehead as though exhausted with herself. "I know it probably doesn't make up for any of it, but... I swear, I didn't mean it. I never wanted to hurt you."
As soon as she stopped talking, a wave of embarrassment crashed over her, and it was all she could do not to cringe.
She hadn't even planned on saying half of what she'd said, and yet here she was, fumbling through one strained apology after another.
It felt messy, like she was just piling words on top of words, hoping that somehow they'd turn into something that made sense to you, that could somehow make things better.
But in her heart, she knew it sounded like nonsense, just a lot of desperate, pointless excuses that probably made her look even more pathetic.
And you just stood there, looking at her with an expression she couldn't quite read—somewhere between shocked and neutral.
The silence between you seemed to stretch on, making her rambling feel even more pointless, like each second of quiet only added weight to her mess of words.
Tara could feel her face heating up, and all she wanted was to take everything back, to make it sound right somehow—but she didn't even know what "right" would be.
Her fingers tightened around her wrist, her gaze dropping back to her worn out converses as the silence thickened around her. Part of her wanted to shrink back, to stop talking altogether, but she'd already put too much out there to turn back now.
So when you didn't answer, she continued.
"I... I want to do better," she said, each word a little slower, like she was searching for the strength to actually mean it. Her eyes barely lifted to meet yours, as if waiting for something—anything—that might tell her it wasn't too late.
Your hand, which had been holding the door open this whole time, finally slipped away. You clapped both hands against the sides of your thighs, the sound breaking the quiet between you two.
Then, with a tone that was almost unreadable, you asked, "Is that it?"
Tara's face fell slightly when your words cut through the silence. She searched your expression, looking for something—anything—that hinted at forgiveness, but the steady way you looked back at her made her stomach drop.
Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.
"So... you don't forgive me?"
Tara looked up at you, her eyes wide and glistening, almost like a puppy's, searching for any hint of understanding. It was a look she hadn't meant to put on, but somehow it found its way back to her face, a reflex from childhood.
She remembered using those same eyes when she'd gotten into trouble with her mom or when Sam wouldn't let her hang out with her friends. Back then, she'd wielded them like a weapon, a last-ditch effort to melt hearts and earn forgiveness.
Now, though, it felt different.
There was no intent behind it, just a genuine plea for empathy that made her feel exposed, and a wave of embarrassment washed over her as she realized how desperate she must look.
You took a breath before responding, your gaze steady but distant. "I do.. but I don't see why that matters because it'll all happen again." You said slowly, weighing each word.
Tara felt her heart sink at your words, the reality of what you said hitting her hard. She knew all too well how it felt to be caught in that cycle—Amber had done the same to her, repeatedly promising change only to slip back into old patterns.
It was frustrating and disheartening, and in that moment, she understood where you were coming from.
She took a shaky breath, trying to find her voice. "It won't... I promise it won't." Her tone was earnest, filled with a desperate need to be believed, to convince you that this time would be different.
Tara searched your expression, and as your words echoed in her mind—you did accept her apology—a flicker of hope ignited within her. It felt like a delicate promise written in cursive, intricate yet fragile, and she couldn't help but cling to it.
She tried to muster a soft smile, though it felt tentative, as if it might shatter under the weight of everything left unsaid.
"Can we... do you think that maybe we can try again?" The words tumbled out, filled with a mixture of uncertainty and determination. It was a fragile request, a chance she hoped wouldn't be met with rejection.
She could see the flicker of thoughts crossing your face. Your brow furrowed slightly, and she sensed the hesitation lingering in the air between you. It was as if you were weighing her words, measuring the sincerity of her apology against the weight of the past.
She couldn't tell if you were considering her request or if doubt still lingered in your mind.
It felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for a sign, desperately hoping that you would choose to leap with her this time.
After a long pause, a small, soft smile crept up on your face, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. You finally met her gaze, and the warmth in your eyes hinted at something Tara had been longing to see.
"Sure... yeah, I'd like that," you said, your voice gentle but firm, like a lifeline tossed her way.
Tara let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, her shoulders eased slightly at your response, something softening in her expression as she processed your words. It wasn't a promise, but it felt real enough.
A quiet acknowledgment that maybe this could lead somewhere different.
She looked at you for a moment longer, managing a small, uncertain smile as if not entirely sure this chance would hold but willing to take it anyway.
The silence lingered, weighty but almost comfortable. Tara held your gaze, her expression softening just a bit as she let herself settle into the quiet, not wanting to push any further. When she finally managed a small smile, it was tentative, as if she was holding onto it carefully.
"Guess I'll... see you around?" she asked, her voice a quiet murmur, like she wasn't entirely certain if she should even say it.
You gave a slight nod, already moving to close the door. The subtle acknowledgment was enough to let her feel that maybe, just maybe, things could shift—if only a little.
She shifted slightly, like she wanted to say something more but couldn't quite find the words. A small, unsure smile crossed her face as she looked up at you again, her voice softer.
With that, Tara turned to go, casting one last look back at you before turning around to walk away.
___
The next week, Tara's phone buzzed on her nightstand, pulling her from a the books scattered all over her bed.
She squinted at the screen, hoping to see your name lighting up, a sign that things were finally moving forward between you two.
Maybe it was about the plans you'd casually mentioned — plans that did not include Tara bringing out her frustrations in bed with you.
Instead, her heart sank a little as Amber's name flashed across the screen.
u free this friday?
For the first time, Tara felt a surprising clarity wash over her as she read the message. She didn't hesitate, knowing exactly how she wanted to respond without second-guessing herself.
In the past, she'd tiptoed around her replies, always afraid that Amber would judge her for whatever she said.
But now, after everything with you, she was certain of what she wanted. This time, there was no uncertainty clouding her thoughts. So, after a moment, she typed a quick reply.
im actually busy, sorry
With a breath of relief, she hit send and immediately blocked Amber's number. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders.
This time, she wouldn't be waiting for Amber's text, for promises that never changed anything.
She knew what she had now—this newfound sense of clarity—and what she wanted. And that was enough.
This was how it would stay.
#jenna ortega x reader#mabel x reader#tara carpenter#tara carpenter x reader#vada cavell x reader#wednesday addams x reader#melissa barrera x reader#sam carpenter#sam carpenter x reader#amber freeman#mikey madison#tamber
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
the winner takes it all
alexia putellas x reader
summary: an unexpected invitation throws your world off-kilter
words: 6276
content warnings: it's a bit unfaithful
notes: in this universe real madrid is a proper opponent and rival to barcelona, in the sense that funding and history is relatively equal (so it's basically more like the men's rivalry)
idk where this came from tbh
Amb gran alegria,
Alexia i Olga
T’invitem a celebrar la nostra unió matrimonial.
10 d’agost de 2025
Gran Hotel Mas d’en Bruno
You haven’t read Catalan in years. You squint at the details.
You wish you had forgotten it.
Only Alexia would do this to you, twisting the knife as though it’s a favour, a compliment. Make it seem psychotic for not wanting to go, make it seem like it’s not a big deal.
The invitation isn’t personalised. You are not special in her eyes. You have been allowed onto the guest list, you have no mark in her life. Surely Olga would have objected if she’d known, if she’d been told. Maybe Alexia doesn’t talk about it. Maybe she has heard your name on match reports and team sheets, announcements for captaincy, interviews with Las 16 who called you traidora then and call you traidora now.
As if she knew it was coming, your phone begins to light up with messages from Alba. Apologies, perhaps, in her own Alba way. Stuff like ‘are you coming’ and ‘you don’t have to’ and then more buzzing, vibrating the shitstorm into a phone call.
You don’t speak often. Why would you? But you answer it, listless, really, and unsure what the correct approach to this even is.
“Hola, traidorita,” she says with a nervous giggle, reclaiming your nickname in Barcelona but reminding you of how you are perceived nevertheless. “I don’t know why you are on the guest list.”
Alba is like this: straight to the point, unafraid of her sister and unafraid to tell you what she thinks. They are very different, which is why she is the only one who has your current number in her contacts.
“You told her where I live,” you respond. Your shock makes no room for manners. “Because no one there has my Madrid address, Albi.”
“No one here has it, yeah. But she asked around. Well, Olga did.” She laughs again. Her nervousness is high-pitched and easily detected. “Told Ale that she has to have her childhood best friend at her wedding.”
“Childhood best friend?”
“Estranged childhood best friend?” she tries, and you can hear the smile and the teasing fucking smugness in it. You wonder if anyone else knows you have been invited. Alba because your address was squeezed out of her, sure, but… “And my mother thought it was a good idea too, before you try to murder a woman you have never met.”
“I’ve met Olga before,” you say without thinking, because that’s far easier to focus on than the idea of Eli getting involved in this completely undesired reunion that is about two centuries too early. “When I was going out with, eh, I don’t remember her name. A model. You know what they’re like. Olga’s the one who works for… thingie.”
There’s a sigh from the other end. “So many models yet not one name has been retained. Do you even ask them?”
“We’re not usually doing much talking.”
“Zorra.”
“Coming from you…” You smirk at the thought of all the little secrets Alba’s had you keep, a tradition that started young and became increasingly frequent when you removed yourself from everyone else’s lives. It’s like a journal, only you judge her. “You’re doing a good job of distracting me until I agree to go.”
She hesitates, then. You’re not an idiot and you know why she called. Alba is supportive but she has her own agenda most of the time, and no one else knows the exact time you get back from training aside from your fellow teammates. Even then, most are too intimidated to contact you in general, let alone to ask about being invited to Alexia Putellas’ fucking wedding.
Alba is also very manipulative, a professional puppeteer. And she knows exactly what to say. “It’s been fifteen years. Are you going to let her win?” It’s an infuriating provocation but it hits its target with ease.
…
The first step of preparing for this wedding takes place in the form of the Euros: you’re going to win it and be happy enough to ignore the impending doom hanging over your off-season plans. Going into the competition with heavy medals round your necks makes cockiness the slippiest of slopes, and it is safe to say that most of your teammates are prepared to cruise through at least the group stages.
An unexpected injury rips Jenni’s opportunity to play from her grasp (an echo of her ex-girlfriend, you briefly think), and she is flying back to Mexico before the tournament begins. Montse is a captain down – of course only this kind of disaster could happen to her – and before Patri can even open her mouth to volunteer for the role, you are dragged into a leadership meeting.
You’ve worn the armband before, though it seared and burned and blistered until you threw it in Jorge’s face and demanded someone else absorb the hatred it brought. He went ballistic as you’d said it, you remember, his face going red in the soft glow of your hotel room the night before the World Cup final. He’d leaned forwards, fist clenched, knuckles white and wanting to choke the life out of you.
“You have no respect!” he’d roared, voice splitting like thunder against the thin walls of your hotel room. “Not for me, not for your country, not for anything!” His breath was coming out in sharp ragged gasps. He spat. You’d wiped it off your body. “I thought you had scraped all the Catalan out of you, but here it is!” he’d screamed, loud enough to be heard but so comfortable in his power that it did not seem to frighten him. “Selfish and arrogant. You should have made it Seventeen.”
He’d left in his rage, slamming his door.
You regretted smiling in pictures with him, shaking his hand, kissing his cheek. You regretted the press conferences and interviews, the shaky defence you had constructed, the words of faith and trust you had professed and tried to believe. It had changed you, just a little bit, that incident. Made you think about who you are, where you come from. Made you remember someone you’d tried to forget.
But Irene and Alexia, staring at you with both contempt and confusion as you take a seat at the conference table, don’t know any of this. Why would they? To them, this is the traidora.
“Y/n is going to take Jenni’s place as third captain,” says Montse firmly, if she even knows how to do that. Irene and Alexia share a glance. Their roles have been restored for this competition and they are not prepared for an intruder to take that from them, although Irene will later remind Alexia that it is not your fault Jenni got injured. “I trust you three will come up with a suitable management plan. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
None of you really do know where she lurks, but she is walking off before you can clarify.
“We already have a strategy.” And she says it in Catalan, looking falsely apologetic when she is kicked underneath the table.
“Good job, Alexia,” you tell her, so nauseatingly saccharine that you almost think of the nearest route to a toilet. She’s surprised you’ve granted her a reply though, which is satisfying enough. About to spit out another remark to divide yourselves further, you shift in your chair, stretching out your legs underneath the table.
It is then that her ring catches your eye.
It’s delicate, shiny. A neatly cut diamond set in platinum with slight details that tell you someone thought about Alexia when they had this made and got it all wrong. Or maybe this is what she likes now. It’s not what you’d have given her.
She sees your eyes fall to her fingers, watching carefully as your gaze heats the metal and makes it almost too hot for her to keep on. You don’t really want her to know that you’ve seen it but you’ve made it bleeding obvious and so the predicament spirals and Irene wants, desperately, to leave you two alone – she knows shouldn’t, she’s aware of the health and safety risk.
There is something about the way Alexia clenches her jaw, posture stiffening as she allows herself one flicker from your face to the ring, that tells you she is bracing herself for a bullet. She always did have an uncanny ability to read you, however unwanted it was.
You lean back in your chair, aware of how the bystander is holding her breath, and decide to swallow the words burning on your tongue. You’ve accepted her invitation, and bitter manners are still manners. “Congratulations,” you say, words clipped and brittle, each syllable more venomous than the last.
The chair makes a screeching sound as you stand. Irene flinches but Alexia does not move. She refuses to watch as you walk out of the room.
…
Three hours later, Alexia is off the phone with Olga and knocking on Irene’s door with an embarrassed suppression of urgency. Shoulders hunched and lips downturned, the sight is enough for her to be ushered inside with only the quiet flap of Irene’s arms to beckon her forwards. With this part of the training camp being not quite tunnel-vision yet, Irene’s room is littered with toys and toddler stuff. Usually Alexia would be looking at them in quiet excitement. Right now, she is not so sure.
“Second thoughts?” Irene asks, and Alexia half-jumps backwards in shock, about to furiously shake her head and profess her love for Olga– “I think the plan is good. I don’t think we need to worry about Y/n in the centre, seeing how she’s been playing there this season.”
It slowly dawns on Alexia that Irene has assumed this is pre-tournament nerves, and that she is being shown such a vulnerable side of her co-captain because, well, who else can be? No one wants to see their commander gulp at the sight of the battlefield.
“She still favours her left,” Alexia gets out. “She might drift, leaving a big gap for you to cover.”
“She’s got offers from PSG, Chelsea, and Washington Spirit. It’s in her interest not to drift.”
“She’s good at drifting.”
Irene doesn’t respond to that.
“Since when did you wear your ring to training?” is what she chooses to say instead, asking the question with a healthy fear of getting her head bitten off, taking a small step backwards to put her at a safer distance.
Alexia doesn’t reply immediately, her fingers grazing the ring as she thinks. The weight of it seems heavier now, almost suffocating in the sterile air of the hotel room, as though this is everything she’s been trying to avoid. Her heart thuds against her ribcage. It feels like everyone is starting to notice.
“I didn’t think it was an issue.” Her voice is tight, defensive, but with a subtle, betraying crack. She pulls her hand back from the air, letting it fall to her side. “We hardly did much more than pass the ball today so I kept it on.”
It’s a poor excuse. It comes off for the cameras, not the contact of the game. Irene knows that. But, to her credit, she doesn’t push. She just watches Alexia, eyes narrowed slightly in an unreadable expression. “I just thought you guys were keeping it a bit more… private.”
Alexia turns her gaze to the floor, staring at the scattered toys and items around the room. The simplicity of it all, the domestic innocence, makes her feel even more tangled. She feels an urge to lie, to say that Olga asked her to, worried that you’d misinterpret its absence, but Olga doesn’t even know she has reason to lose sleep. She hasn’t found the courage to explain. She hasn’t felt the need to.
And, really, the truth is right here, echoing between them. Irene would have pieced together the story, as many of Alexia’s teammates have, hearing drunken retellings on nights out from whoever has known the two of you the longest that time. Maybe Alba has spoken to her, revealing everything after a round of tequila shots, as she tends to do. There are a few suggestions the older woman could make to her teammate, wounds she could open and then nurse, but she doesn’t and so she waits.
Until, finally, Alexia admits, “it’s complicated. She has caught me off-guard.” It could mean many things, but it is either your captaincy or the acceptance of her wedding invitation that has done Alexia in. She wonders whether this feeling of dread and uncertainty is the game – or the life waiting for her after she comes back from Switzerland. “Look,” she says abruptly, “I’m not here for advice, Irene.”
“Then why are you in my room?” She doesn’t have an answer for that. Irene sweeps her outside, gently but firmly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do,” she treads lightly, “but when was the last time you had a conversation with her?”
…
The training pitch in Switzerland is unseasonably hot, the kind of heat that clings to the air and makes tempers run shorter than usual. It’s almost a cure to homesickness but then the team look at each other and are back to hating every minute of this. There’s an undeniable divide. Montse either does not care or has not caught on.
It’s about your twentieth rondo this session, the ball zipping across the wilting grass as it touches Barça foot to Barça foot, the girls obviously enjoying this. You’re only holding back because too much investment will lead to another injury, and you are getting somewhat tired of being called a traitor. The players surround you with a ruthless efficiency that is starting to fray your nerves, and you make a note to talk to your coach about training, knowing that it will be easy to manipulate her into following something akin to what the girls at Madrid are more accustomed to.
Alexia is one of your taunters. Of course she is.
“Just three more interceptions,” she calls out, false strain, false support, false encouragement.
You bite back a retort, instead standing still as Aitana rolls a ball right past you. You wipe the sweat from your brow, feigning exhaustion, but the pretense is only that in name. Everyone knows you are one of the best defenders, the Barça girls especially, with their insane pride for La Masia.
“Lazy,” Alexia mutters.
You don’t respond, focusing instead on the fire in your chest as you forcibly break the circle and march towards Montse. She looks up from her clipboard as you approach.
“We should split training.” She pauses and then nods. “Attack and defence, at least. And don’t let the press hear this, but, my god, Montse, I do not like how they’re all back.”
“We’re a stronger team,” she says, but she’s smiling and you are definitely her favourite. Another deep breath and she is calling a water break.
The girls retreat to the sidelines for ice and hydration, and you reunite with the people you like. Your club teammates prefer you at national camp, because there is something less reclusive about you. It’s as though you’re trying to prove that you get on.
Olga hands you a water bottle, the contents of which you guzzle down in one go. She begins to comment on the absurdity of Alexia’s mandated rondos (“why do they have to keep reminding themselves how to pass a ball?”) and while you agree, your attention is diverted. Alexia is standing a few meters away with Mariona Caldentey. She’s listening to something the forward is telling her, face focused, finger twisting her ring around in circles.
That fucking ring.
You look away before you are caught in such a compromising position, wiping your forehead with your damp training shirt.
“Oye,” Misa’s voice pulls you back, “are you paying attention?” You’re not even sure when she joined the conversation. Your relationship with the goalkeeper has always been overly complicated. You work very closely, what with you commanding the backline and her… also commanding the backline. But she’s friends with people who must have at least once wished you dead, so it’s hard to tell where you stand. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” you lie, screwing the cap back onto the water bottle and placing it in Olga’s held-out palm.
“You’re never this spacey. You’ve been off since the meeting,” she presses, her voice gentle but insistent. “If this is about the captaincy–”
“It’s not,” you snap, harsher than what was meant. Her eyes widen slightly and you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sorry. It’s not about that. I’m fine.”
Misa doesn’t look convinced but she nods, letting it drop. Gratitude relaxes your shoulders but the uneasy silence that follows is punishing enough for you to be eager for training to resume.
Now that the rondos have been left behind until tomorrow, you divide into teams for a scrimmage. The squad is split into four and you throw yourself into the exercise. Every touch, every pass, every run is perfect, and you are unrecognisable from your lackadaisical lull only ten minutes ago. You’re pushing your body and it flicks onto autopilot, driven by muscle memory and determination.
Your head’s not in it. You can’t outrun her shadow. You can’t think when your teams are against each other.
The ring must have come off now, and she is getting stuck in. She’s relentless and irritating, evading your teammates’ tackles and drawing you into her. It’s almost transportative: back you go to gardens after school or being barefoot on the beach, forced out of your relaxation and into an endless game of ‘tackle me like you mean it’. She has that same glint in her eye, that same goading gleam. You consider it, but crutches at a wedding is a low blow.
And so you lay off. Just on her, and only just enough so that she knows you are not trying. You do not care for petty squabbles. You are not willing to go back to those memories, to that time.
Or at least, that’s the message you hope she gets.
The games slowly wind down, prompted by Montse’s whistle to signal the end of the session. You stay on the pitch longer than anyone else, taking you time to collect the stray balls scattered across the grass. It’s partly an excuse to delay walking into the locker room, where the tension will be thick (you were not the right choice for third captain in the eyes of your teammates), and partly because you need a moment to breathe.
The others slowly disperse, peeling off to the showers or collapsing onto benches. Alexia lingers longer than most, wiping away her sweat with her shirt, abs exposed and tensed. She watches you as you move across the pitch, and though her gaze is subtle, you can feel it blazing hotter than the sun lashing down on you. But, despite her staring, she too is eventually coaxed away. You’re unsure whether she is thankful for the interruption.
When you finally make your way to the changing rooms, most of your teammates are in the showers, and the sound of running water mingled with laughter echoes. You take a seat at the locker you were assigned and let out a slow breath, peeling off sweat-soaked socks with mild disgust. You turn to fling them into your laundry bag, but their flight path is blocked by a blonde who has clearly delayed her own shower to talk to you.
She’s looking oddly pensive. You don’t like it.
“We need to talk.” It’s uncomfortable for Alexia to say and it’s worse for you to hear. You’re not sure you’re okay with her decision to become reasonable and mature. It’s quite the compliment to always be the cause for stoic, rational Alexia Putellas going absolutely batshit crazy.
Driving her up the wall is fun.
“I’ll send you an invitation. No need to tell me which room is yours.” You give her a smile. And, like you always do, you walk away.
…
There’s a charge to the air that is choking you by dinner time. The upgrade to captain allowed for your own room, and it is easy to blow off teammates who want to have plans with you with the simple excuse of needing to talk to your agent. You technically do, since you are going to leave Madrid during the transfer window, but you have no intention of dialling his number until he confirms the best and furthest team wants you.
You’ve spent the evening avoiding the majority of the players, which Montse took advantage of, encouraging you to spend dinner discussing tactics with her and her staff. You feel like the teacher’s pet. You know how angry it is making Alexia.
Collapsing on the bed when you back into your room, you let out a loud groan, sinking into the mattress. Your phone buzzes on the bedside table and for a moment, you think it might be Alba, allowing you no peace and quiet despite her distance. Instead, it’s a message on the team group chat from the strength and conditioning coach about tomorrow’s gym session. A wave of relief washes over you; anything but her.
Still, as you scroll, you catch yourself lingering on the names in the group chat, your thumb hovering near Alexia’s. Your stomach tightens and the memory of her tone, her expression, pulls at you like a tether.
She’s not going to drop this.
It’s no longer a matter of avoidance in the camp. You’ve said you will be present. She must want to ensure you will not make a scene.
A knock at the door, so quiet you are almost convinced it was imagined, breaks you out of your brooding. Your eyes watch the wood as though it will be splintered in a moment, but when you make no move to get up, a more insistent knock sounds. You sigh as you pull yourself off your bed, dragging your feet towards the door. Opening it, you find Alexia standing there, arms crossed and wearing an expression you can’t quite decipher. It lacks her usual burning hatred. She looks exhausted.
You struggle to feel any sympathy.
“What?” you snap. It’s a bit harsher than intended but you don’t let on that that’s the case.
“Can I come in?” You guess that she didn’t pick up the hint when you gave her no invitation. You do not want to talk. You don’t do that to people much anymore.
She expects the door to slam in her face – and you consider it – but it’s your hesitation that tells her she can, and so she slowly moves inside, shoulder brushing yours because you refuse to move out of the way. And then she raises a deliberate hand towards the door, pushing it shut. You ignore the ring.
You lean against the door once it’s shut, arms folded as she wanders further into your room. She looks out of place somewhere so personal to you, standing awkwardly in the centre and trying not to look at the explosion of clothes and books that has been detonated on the floor.
She reads the titles of a few – classics that look dense and boring. Something hungry inside her dulls a bit, because you have not changed in this respect.
“You’re quiet for someone who wants to talk,” you prompt, mostly because the silence is unbearable.
She doesn’t respond immediately. Her arms drop to her sides, fingers twitching as if unsure what to do with themselves. She tries to meet your eyes, but falters when she sees the cold indifference staring back. You’re looking at her like she’s a stranger. It stings more than it should.
“I didn’t invite you to the wedding,” she says finally. “Olga doesn’t know about us.”
“There’s no ‘us’,” you snap, sharper this time.
Her jaw tightens and for a second, she looks as though she’s been struck. “Don’t lie.”
“There is no ‘us’,” you repeat, your tone icy now. “That disappeared the minute I–”
“Left,” comes her interruption, her voice trembling just enough for you to notice. She steps closer, her shadow crossing yours, and her eyes narrow. “Which was your decision, not mine.”
You scoff, a bitter laugh escaping you. “Don’t act like you didn’t have a say in it.”
“I didn’t!” she fires back, her voice rising. There is something raw beneath it – something fractured. “You didn’t give me one. You walked out, and you shut me out like I was nothing. Like we were nothing.”
Her words hang in the air and for a moment, you don’t know whether to shoot or turn away. But her gaze pins you in place, fierce and unrelenting, as though daring you to deny it.
You hold her stare, your throat tightening. “And you didn’t try to stop me.”
The silence that follows feels deafening. Neither of you moves. Neither of you blinks. You’re both standing on landmines and have nowhere to go.
Her jaw clenches, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Her voice, though low, crackles with the heat of restrained anger.
“You didn’t give me a chance to stop you.” And she steps closer, ready to bite. The door presses against your back as you instinctively move away. “You made up your mind before I even knew what was happening.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t see it coming.” You shake your head. “I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to leave, Alexia.”
Her expression darkens, something in her eyes flickering dangerously. “That’s not the point. You didn’t just leave the club. You didn’t just leave me. You left everything. Our family. Our life. Do you have any idea what that felt like? Watching you walk away as if none of it mattered?”
Your chest tightens but you refuse to let her words land. “You don’t get to make me the villain here.”
“I don’t have to,” she snaps, her voice rising now, accent thickening with her anger. “You were part of my family, part of me. You were at every Christmas, every birthday. My mother adored you. Alba still loves you like you are her own sister! And you just disappeared like none of it meant anything. Like we didn’t mean anything.”
You flinch at the weight of her words but force yourself into steadiness. “I didn’t belong there. It wasn’t mine, it was yours.”
Her face twists in disbelief, voice trembling as it rises again. “That’s bullshit and you know it! You were my family. My first everything. My first kiss. My first…” She pauses, her voice cracking. You swallow hard – you don’t want the fucking itemised list. “My first time. You think I just gave that to anyone? You think that it was just fun and games?”
Your stomach churns as she stokes a fire you’ve tried to smother for years. “It wasn’t nothing,” you agree, although it sounds like you are contradicting her in a way that causes her to falter on her drive forwards. “It was everything. That’s why I left. Because I couldn’t be what was needed anymore. Because I knew if I stayed, I’d only–”
“Only what?”
You gulp.
She’s back in your face, voice laced with venom. “Hurt me? Ruin me? Let us all done? Guess what, you did that anyway. Leaving made it easier? Made it hurt less?”
“I didn’t know what else to do!” you shout, voice splitting.
“You stay!” It echoes and it bruises your skin. Her eyes are blazing now, tears threatening to spill but held back by sheer force of will. “You stay, because that is what you do when you love someone. When you love a family. You don’t just walk away from them. You fight.”
You open your mouth to respond, but the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between guilt and pride. She sees it and it only seems to enrage her further.
Her voice drops, anger so torrid she has to purposely cool her tone. “You know, I thought that my world was ending then. I thought you’d done your worst. But I was wrong. Because your betrayal wasn’t just personal, it was… political. To not see someone you love except for when they are sitting at the feet of this. Corruption’s pet. Pandering to an organisation you hated, while the rest of us fought for scraps.”
Heat rises in your chest. How dare she– “I don’t pander to anyone.”
“Don’t lie to me,” she spits. She’s too close. She’s too inescapable. And her anger is no longer fiery but icy, piercing through your skin. “I’ve seen the way you act around them, bowing your head and playing the loyal soldier while they tear us apart. You think I didn’t notice how he favoured you? Or how Montse magically replaces an irreplaceable member of–”
“It’s not like that,” you counter, but the words feel hollow even to you.
“Then what is it?” she demands. “What is it that makes you stand there and let them walk all over us? Let them divide us? And don’t you dare say it is for the good of the team. The team hates you for it. We all do. You’ve earned every bit of it, traidora.”
The word hits you like a whip, lacerating and making you bleed. Your hands curl into fists so tightly your nails dig into your palms, the sting barely enough to contain the fury surging through you. “Don’t you dare call me that!” The sentence tears out of your throat, rough and jagged. You take a step forwards, the air between you crackling with tension, your voice breaking as you spit, “you don’t get to say that to me. Not you.”
“Why not?” she challenges. “It’s what you are. You left, you betrayed everything we stood for, and then you came back just to make things worse. You made your choices.”
For a moment, all you can do is stare at her, the anger and heartbreak in her eyes, eviscerating and leaving you hollow. But then, something shifts in the air between you, and you find your voice again, souring from before.
“Is that why you’re here, Alexia? To throw all of this in my face? To let out fifteen years of harboured emotion? Or is it something else?”
Her brow furrows in confusion. Surprise. And then her expression twists into anger. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
You take a step forward now, and she is forced to retreat. “Do you not want to marry Olga, Alexia? Is that it? Is that why you’re here? Because you think you can come into my room, dredge all of this up, and make me the reason you’re unhappy?”
Her face pales as she takes a deep breath, hands trembling at her sides. “Don’t,” she warns, firmly enough to signal you need to push.
So you do.
“You came here because you’re scared.” She shakes her head but it’s rigid and forced. “Because you’re not sure you can go through with it and you want me to give you a reason to back out. Well, I’m not going to do that for you. This isn’t my mess. It’s yours.”
She says nothing and you feel sick. Her chest rises and falls with each gasping breath. She opens her mouth but again, you are left with silence, and the expression in her eyes flickers between defiance, confusion, and vulnerability. For a long moment, it feels like everything that could be said has been.
The air between you is charged, but neither of you know which way it will go.
You stare at her watching her waver. And it hits you: she doesn’t know what to do.
All of this, all the anger and the pain, all the accusations and betrayals, has led her here, to this moment. She thought she had an answer, she thought she would be able to end this, but now? Now, Alexia is lost. There is too much here, too much to lose. And for the first time in a long while, you are feeling the same thing. You are both no longer sure if you want to fight.
She takes a hesitant step closer and you freeze. But then, just as quickly, her hand moves – not to strike, not to harm, but to touch you. Her fingers brush lightly over the fabric of your sleeve, almost tenderly, before they fall away, and you don’t know if the motion was meant for comfort or something else.
Her breath is ragged, coming in slow, uneven gasps. Her eyes never leave yours. You don’t want them to.
“I don’t know what to do with all of this,” she murmurs, the rawness in her tone shattering any remaining wall between you. “I don’t know what to do with you.”
How do you respond to that? You want her to leave but the thought is unbearable. You want space but she is not close enough. Something inside you stirs, something you can’t fight; a need to understand her and make her understand you. To make her see how tangled this, how impossible it has always been.
Before you can form the word, before you can even think, she moves in closer, and there is no longer distance. She doesn’t ask for permission. She doesn’t hesitate. And then, without warning, her lips are on yours.
It’s soft, tentative at first, as though testing the waters of something neither of you is sure of anymore. But then it shifts. Her body leans into yours, and the kiss deepens, more urgent now, as if this is everything that has not been said and has been at the same time. Your heart races, a million conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, betrayal, love – it is all here, you can taste it on her lips. It’s fierce, desperate, and it feels like an endless cycle of need and regret, pulling you both back to something raw, something irretrievable.
Her hands find your waist, gripping tightly as though anchoring herself to something that could pull her under. You instinctively respond, pulling her closer, drawing in the heat of her touch, the scent of her skin, the pressure of her body against yours. For a fleeting second, everything else fades away. There’s no past, no future, only here and now.
And then the fog clears.
You pull back, breathless and worse off. You’ve fucked up again. Alexia is crying.
“I’m not the person you think I am anymore,” you say, but it’s hard to meet her gaze. “I can’t be that person for you.”
Her eyes search yours desperately for lies, for deceit. She wants it to be wrong. She doesn’t know why. And she replies, “I don’t care what you think you’ve become,” because she doesn’t. It doesn’t matter to her.
You stare at her, heart pounding, and you want to feel like this will be worth it, but nothing comes except cold emptiness. You force yourself to stay upright. “I think the wedding will be good.” She swallows. “You’ll be happy with Olga. I’m sure of it.”
It’s a death sentence.
This time, it is Alexia who leaves.
…
The wedding is beautiful. Blissful sunlight makes the venue seem to glow and it is hard not to be impressed with how they have set this up.
The model at your side is also beautiful, but you remind yourself it is not a competition. You focus on the whispers of anticipation from the guests, the rustle of the dresses as people pass in merry groups, clinking their glasses and finishing their champagne as they take their seats. Everything looks perfect, plucked from magazines and tasteful brochures. This must be what Alexia wanted.
Your date is occupying herself in conversation with the man seated next to you, who might be hitting on her, though you don’t care. She slides a hand over your thigh anyway.
The ceremony begins, although you’re not really concentrating on it. You try to focus, listening as the officiant speaks, but the words have become a dull hum. It’s all so rehearsed, so expected, and it’s boring. You won’t be getting married anytime soon, that’s for sure.
You know the flow of these things: the vows, the promises, the kiss, and the crowd’s applause. It’s a performance, though it’s not quite a farce.
And then, it comes. The moment. The one that feels like a trap.
The officiant pauses, glancing out over the gathering. “Si algú s'hi oposa, que parli ara o calli per sempre.”
For a heartbeat, time slows. The air thickens. Every muscle in your body tenses and the world around you goes still. You catch yourself holding your breath, gaze instinctively shifting to the woman standing at the front of the altar.
Alexia.
Her eyes flicker briefly in your direction – just a flicker, but it’s there, unmistakable. It’s her moment of hesitation, well masked but clear as day to you. But before you can make sense of it, she’s looking away, eyes fixed back onto Olga. Her expression hardens, more composed now, and you know that you are not going to break this silence.
The officiant, oblivious to the storm passing between you both, waits for a beat longer before continuing, his voice echoing in the silence.
And she’s married.
You breathe out a sigh of relief. It’s over now. You’ve let her win.
556 notes
·
View notes
Note
Squeeeeeeeeeze!!! You've been given a hug! Send this to all the people who deserve a hug. See how many you get back 😊 Now let the hugging begin! 💚
eee thank you for the hug bubs 🩵 I’m squeezing back real tight.
I’m gonna tag people here for a big group cuddle 🥰
you my love, @navybrat817, @sweeterthanthis, @rookthorne, @jobean12-blog, @emerald-chaos, @vibraniumcollar, @bitchassbucky, @sexyprise, @late-to-the-party-81, @sunshinebuckybarnes, @lookiamtrying, @writing-for-marvel , @jen-with-a-pen , @buckyismybicycle, @smutconnoisseur, @mrsmischief209, @mickeyhenrys, @bucky-barnes-diaries, @buckycuddlebuddy, @flordeamatista, and anyone else reading this
44 notes
·
View notes
Note
PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE TO DRAW AMBS AND BAL (MOVIE VERSION) ON THEIR WEDDING DAY KISSINF AGHHHH
HII I'm not good at drawing people kissing in the lips but I got these!!
References and some thoughts under the cut!
-One of the ways I imagine them marrying is through the civil (? whatever it's called in English), where Nimona would be right behind Ballister when he's signing like, sign, Ballister, sign the contract now! like that scene in Shrek 4 with Rumpelstiltskin
-Neither of them carried a bouquet, but they got one anyways just to throw it (Ambrosius did)
-Apparently in some Mexican weddings they throw the groom in the air to celebrate him and I love the idea, so both Ballister and Ambrosius get thrown in the air djfkdf
>(better if they're part of the crowd that is throwing them, and then it's them catching eachother when they fall aaa)
-Also the dancing, imagine it with any sort of music in the background and both of them dancing together and then just deciding to have fun on their own and doing whatever dance moves, even if they have nothing to do with the music (like there's cumbia sounding and Ambrosius is doing the gangnam style and Ballister is throwing it back or something 😭)
-They have a lot of fun wooo
-Also wanted to draw them in traditional clothes too wiwiw I hope you know what I mean with the 'groom pose' sjdksd both hands held in front of them
-Based this (unfinished) thingy on a TikTok I saw of 'if I (anxious person) were to get married' and thought of both of them but drew it with Ambrosius.
-It goes like:
Ambrosius: Hey! So- Just wanted to confirm, is the wedding still on? (Ballister answers) Ambrosius: Yes? (Ballister says something) Cool! I'll see you there then! Ambrosius, in his blue wedding clothes: I'll be the guy in blue. (Ballister says something) Yeah! Okay, bye, love you :D
>And at the other end of the thing, there was Ballister all nervously rambling to a very bored Nimona about what if Ambrosius calls it off last minute? Or what if he regrets marrying me right now? I can't just ask either, that'd be- and then there's the call and he's like, yes, it's still on! :D Yes I know, and remember I'll be wearing a dark sherwani. See you there, love you too :D
>And then they're both a bit more relaxed with that sjdfks (they're some rooms away from each other)
>[btw, those are supposed to be Ambrosius' moms helping him get the final details in his clothes done, like patting him to iron out the sleeves (they're ironed already) and placing his headwear and stuff]
-They're still pretty nervous tho, so, based in a video I watched, imagine them like:
Person marrying them: Now, I, Ballister. Ballister and Ambrosius, at the same time: I, Ballister- Ballister: ? I'm Ballister. Ambrosius: No, it's me. Ballister: Oh, okay. Ballister: No, wait what--
-Ambrosius: Hi, I'm Ballister's husband :D
>Ambrosius: This is my husband, Ballister. We're married :DD
>Ambrosius: We're the Goldenhearts :DDD
>>
-(some of the references)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b5fd520f2d389357ed5d54124e227817/14c6934947a2598a-c2/s540x810/3f1470fa92f83b429181dee7c22ef54657b8d183.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/0d0ac9f83c12afd6321c1dca57abcc0f/14c6934947a2598a-6a/s540x810/198d7deb7639e5505b2d2e0c00645ddb75b05afa.jpg)
That's it!
#nimona#ambrosius goldenloin#ballister boldheart#goldenheart#my art#the page with red drawings is mostly based on a video of two people marrying in Mexico and they seem to be having so much fun#in one the bride tripped on her dress when dancing and the groom was doing the gangnam style and i found it funny djfkdf#nimona is barely here but I'm more focused on goldenheart djfkdg#I don't like how that drawing of Balli carrying Ambrosius bridal style came out but i don't want to just leave it there djfkd so I added it
202 notes
·
View notes
Text
a clingy drunk
pairing: amber freeman x reader
summary: in which you get a little too drunk at one of amber's parties
warnings: implications of sex, mentions of alcohol poisoning
word count: 1900+
author's note: this was a request (find here!) hope yall enjoy :D
“So, is tonight just the group or is it the whole school?” you asked, your eyes trained on your own reflection as you tried to do your hair in the style that always drove Amber wild. You glanced behind you in the mirror, catching sight of your girlfriend as she looked through her closet for something to wear.
“The whole school,” Amber answered, pulling a cropped shirt from its hanger and holding it up for you to see. “Thoughts?”
You gulped, nodding quickly. “Definitely. Wear it with those low-waisted jeans you got the other day.”
She hummed as she crossed the room, shirt in hand, and leaned down, her chin resting on your shoulder. Her eyes locked with yours in the mirror, and she asked, “Making yourself all pretty for me?”
You shivered at her words, her warm breath fanning against your cheek. “Yeah, Ambs,” you agreed, turning your head to peck her on the cheek. “All pretty for you.”
Amber grinned, leaning in to kiss you. “My pretty girl,” she mumbled against your lips, and butterflies circled your stomach, making you beam with joy. She stood and left your side, going to dig through her dresser for the pants that you had mentioned earlier.
You carried on with styling your hair, humming along to the quiet music that was playing in the room. You loved when things were like this--both of you existing in the same space yet doing your own things; it was pure domesticity.
Amber’s voice cut through your concentration, drawing your eyes back to her through the mirror. “Baby?” she began, her voice soft and lulling. You swore up and down that you could fall asleep to it.
“Yeah?”
“Try not to drink too much tonight, alright? I don’t want to have to call the ambulance again.”
You shuddered at the memory of what had happened at Amber’s last party nearly a month prior. Chad and Mindy had egged you into trying your first keg stand, and, upon successfully completing it, they decided to celebrate by feeding you shot after shot of tequila. Needless to say, the night had ended with you being rolled out on a stretcher, Amber following behind with wide, worried eyes, and having your stomach pumped.
“I definitely won’t be drinking that much tonight,” you promised. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
She smiled, and your heart fluttered at the sight. “Good.” She pulled the jeans from her drawer, a mischievous smirk on her lips and a familiar spark in her eyes. “Wanna help me get changed?”
You leapt from your seat and rushed toward her, giggling the whole time.
* * *
For a good hour, you kept your promise to Amber. While people were still filing into her house, you simply wandered around, offering half-assed greetings to your peers and sipping at your beer; every so often, you’d pester your girlfriend for her phone so that you could change the song, or you’d just walk right up to her and plant a kiss on her lips--she never complained about either.
However, when your friends arrived, your night was quickly turned around.
“Y/N! My favorite girl!” Chad cheered as he walked through the front door, a six-pack of beer dangling from his fingertips. He pulled you into a tight hug, ignoring as you deftly swiped a drink from the case. “How you doing tonight? You ready to get fucked up?!”
“Not too fucked up, Chad,” Mindy interjected as she sidled up beside him, grinning at you. “Can’t have you in the hospital again, can we? Took me days to get that smoothie out of my hair.”
Unfortunately for the twins, at school the day after your little…incident, Amber had taken it upon herself to avenge you, resulting in both Meeks-Martin kids going home early with smoothie dripping from the tops of their heads.
“Definitely ready to get mildly fucked up,” you said, laughing.
Chad frowned. “We can do better than mildly.”
You looked around, making sure Amber wasn’t within earshot, and said, “As long as Ambs isn’t watching, then I’m all in.”
It didn’t take much time for the twins to get you more than mildly drunk. Within half an hour, you were slurring your words and swaying where you stood, your cheeks flushed a bright red and your eyelids drooping.
“Oh, we’re fucked,” Mindy stated when she realized just how intoxicated you were, her eyes flitting from person to person to see if your girlfriend was anywhere in sight.
Chad shook his head, taking a sip from his beer. “We’re only fucked if Amber notices,” he said.
“Amber!” you gasped suddenly, your eyes going wide at the mention of your girlfriend. You whipped your head around, stumbling backward and into Mindy’s arms at the force, searching for the raven-haired girl. “Where is she?”
“Uh, I’m not too sure,” Mindy said, glancing at her brother. “Do you need her?”
You twisted around and nodded furiously at Mindy, your face taking on the most serious expression she had ever seen. “Yes. Need her now.”
Chad furrowed his eyebrows, placing his drink down on the nearest surface he could reach. He put his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to face him. “And why do you need Amber?” he asked.
You sighed dreamily, pulse speeding up at the thought of the girl. “‘Cause I love her,” you slurred. “Love her so much. Just want to squeeze her little cheeks.” You mimicked the action with your hands, scrunching your face up as you did.
Mindy chuckled. “As if Amber would let you squeeze her cheeks.”
“Oh, she does,” you said, your voice convincing. “All the time. She likes it.”
“Are we talking about the same Amber?”
“Why would I want to squeeze a different Amber’s cheeks?” you asked, dead serious, and Chad barked out a laugh. You looked at him, confusion painted on your face. “I only love my Amber. I promise.”
“Oh, I know, champ.” He patted you on the top of your head. “Everyone knows. But, right now, you can’t have Amber because--”
“Because what?” Amber asked, and you squealed at the sight of her standing behind Mindy. You pushed yourself out of Chad’s grip and hurried toward her, immediately wrapping your arms around her waist and burying your face into her neck. She was left a little disoriented but no less loving as she quickly hugged you back.
“Baby!” you exclaimed, and she flinched back at your voice so loud in her ear.
“Hi, pretty girl,” she cooed quietly, running her fingers through your hair before settling her sight on the twins. “Why is she so…excited?”
“She’s a little drunk,” Mindy said.
Amber’s eyes narrowed. “How much is ‘a little,’ Mindy?”
“Four beers and three shots,” Chad offered, cringing when Amber’s jaw clenched.
“I thought I told you guys not to let her drink that much tonight!” Amber chided, her hold on you tightening. You nuzzled further into her. “You remember what happened last time, don’t you?” There was a threat in her voice as she spoke, her tone sharp and demanding, and both twins squirmed beneath her glare.
“She’s fine, Freeman. She’s just…really set on being with you right now, that’s all,” Mindy told the other girl.
Chad nodded. “Yeah. She’s at about that point in the night where if you leave her alone, she might cry.”
Amber sighed and glanced down at you. “Guess I just won’t leave her alone, then.” She looked back at the twins. “At least, not with you two. Don’t you dare give her another drink tonight. Or else.”
Both twins raised their arms in surrender, taking a few steps back as Amber nodded, satisfied with their reaction.
“Come on, baby,” Amber said to you. “Let’s go find Tara because I need to get more drinks from the basement.”
Almost immediately, you hugged her tighter, shaking your head. “No,” you whined, and Amber couldn’t help but think it was cute how determined you were to stay with her. She grinned as you emphasized the thought. “Only wanna be with you.”
You looked up, smiling at your girlfriend. You kissed her before raising an arm to squeeze her cheek. She blushed at the action, shooting a deathly glare toward her friends as you cooed like she was a puppy.
“You’re the cutest person ever,” you said. “I just wanna be with you forever and ever and ever.”
She blushed even harder. “I love you, too, baby,” she said in response, because she’d have rather died than say something so cheesy where Mindy could hear her. “Now, can we please go find Tara so she can watch you while I run to the basement?”
Your face soured. “Depends. How long will you be?”
“Not even a minute.”
You furrowed your eyebrows, stuck in deep thought, and finally decided, “Okay. Fine. But can we cuddle after?”
Mindy tilted her head behind you, mouthing ‘Yeah, Amber. Can we cuddle?’ with a sly smirk. Amber had never been so tempted to tackle her to the ground.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Of course,” even though, in reality, she would have loved nothing more, but, again, she couldn’t let Mindy know that.
“Yay!” you cheered, unraveling yourself from Amber. You intertwined your fingers with hers and let her pull you through the crowds in search for her brunette best friend, her thumb rubbing along the skin of your hand comfortingly as she did.
It took a few minutes before you finally found Tara. She was sitting on the couch, a drink in her hand as she talked to Wes. Her head tilted when her eyes landed on you and Amber, lips quirking into a smile at your clearly drunk state.
“Did Chad and Mindy get to her?” she asked Amber, who nodded with a huff.
“Unfortunately,” Amber drawled. “Could you keep an eye on her? We’re out of beer. I need to grab more from the fridge downstairs.”
You frowned, like you had forgotten all about the fact that Amber needed to get more drinks. “Can’t I come with you?” you asked hopefully.
“I don’t think you could make it down the stairs like this, baby. Just stay here with Tara and Wes, okay?” She kissed you quickly before pulling away. When your frown deepened, she added "I'll be two seconds."
“Okay,” you grumbled, throwing yourself onto the couch between your friends and watching as your girlfriend disappeared in the direction of the basement.
“So, having a good night so far, Y/N?” Tara asked.
You sighed, crossing your arms. “Guess so.”
“You don’t sound too happy,” Wes pointed out.
“I miss Amber,” you huffed.
Tara chuckled. “She’ll be back soon. You’re a clingy drunk, huh?”
“No,” you denied, even though it was obviously the truth. “Just like being around Ambs. She’s so pretty, and cute, and she always makes me laugh, and she’s a really good kis--”
Amber appeared in front of you, a grin on her face, and you cut yourself off, hopping off the couch and right back into her arms.
“You’re back!” you exclaimed.
She laughed. “I told you I wouldn’t be long.”
You pressed a kiss to the side of her jaw. “Can we go upstairs and cuddle?” you murmured, and Amber nearly melted.
“Sure, baby. C’mon.” She started to walk away, you close behind, before she stopped and looked back at Tara. “Just…kick people out when it gets late, okay? I probably won’t be back down.”
Tara grinned at her. “Have fun, kids.”
Amber rolled her eyes and started leading you toward the stairs, trying to calm the fluttering of her heart as you chanted, “Cuddles! Cuddles! Cuddles!”
2K notes
·
View notes
Note
yo hear me out, so it started with R shouting "You're crazy Amber?!!" cus she found amber is ghostface and amber reply with "wel don't you think you shouldn't have let in a murderer inside your house" and they starred each other off and just have a makeout session + passionately fuck?
thankyou.
smut. 18+ pls.
do not repost for any reason.
you opening the door in nothing but a t shirt and underwear, recognizing the frantic knocks from amber. she was dressed in her black robe, a cut on her arm, bruises littered over her body.
you didnt even think to question it, your girlfriend was injured and that was all you were worried about, the strangeness of the situation not hitting you until you were done cleaning her up, wrapping her arm up.
“what the hell happened?” you asked, finally taking in her clothing. “what the hell are you wearing? is that a fucking knife? amber what the hell are you doing?” your never ending questions not allowing her answer. then it hits you, the robe, the knife, the blood, the recent murders.
your girlfriend was ghostface.
“you’re fucking ghostface? you’re the one thats been killing everyone? amber what the fuck!”
she grabs your shoulders, its startling and enough for you to shut up for two seconds. “calm down.”
“calm down? amber you’re killing people! my girlfriend is a fucking murdered and you want me to calm down? amber, you’re fucking crazy!”
she pauses for a moment.m, her eyes narrowing. “im crazy? you’re the one that let a killer into your house.” your eyes widened, fear washing over you for a brief moment. “you think im just randomly killing these people? its for you, its all for you. everyone of them is for you.”
shes fucking crazy.
amber had always joked about how she would kill for you. at least you thought it was a joke, now you weren’t so sure. it scared you, just a little bit.
but it was hot.
your eyes meet hers as she sets her knife down on your countertop. theres still blood on it, streaks of dried blood coating the blade. your lips are on hers before you know it. its hot, her tongue dancing with your own. she turns the two of you around, trapping you between her body and the counter. she reaches behind you, your lips never leaving each other as she pushes the knife away from you.
she taps your thighs and helps you onto the counter, her hands unable to keep still on your body. she kneads and pulls against you, forcing whines to fall from your lips. her fingers finally meet your clothed cunt, feeling the wet spot that appeared on you underwear. she pulls the fabric to the side, far to eager to have you right now than to take the time to pull them off of you.
her fingers run through your folds before sinking into your cunt, curling them slightly. you pull away from her lips, starting to feel lightheaded at the lack of oxygen and the pleasure. your hot, heavy breaths mixed with each other, both of you so needy for the other.
“all for me?” you whisper the question out and amber nods. your walls squeeze at fingers at the confirmation, everything she’s done has been for you, and it was attractive in its own way. it doesnt go unnoticed by amber, a smirk creeping onto her lips.
“you little freak. do you get off on the fact that im killing for you? hmm?” you walls squeeze around her fingers again, giving amber the confirmation she needed. her lips trail down your jaw, using her free hand to tilt your head up slightly, allowing her more access to your neck.
“ambs,” you suck in a breath as her teeth scrape your neck. she presses a gentle kiss to the skin.
“hmm?”
shes sucking a deep mark, her fingers not to stopping their movements inside of your cunt. you let out a shaky moan, already so close, “please.” her thumb starts to rub your clit in tight circles, the added pleasure bringing you closer to your high.
you cant control your moans, everything about amber was just driving you crazy, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “im not stopping you, hun.”
#mikey madison#mikey madison x reader#wlw smut#scream#amber freeman#scream 2022#amber freeman x reader#i want amber#scream smut#amber freeman smut
187 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lost and Found | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader
Single Dad!Bradley x Reader
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/090f1efdd910bce6ad2ea5124741abd2/670dbe24560c592b-4a/s540x810/b5952bfa8cb7ebfde9b8491673694327d3c9c90a.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/a23fe0815b9a87574450de979bdca4a4/670dbe24560c592b-de/s540x810/f75cffcc10785724ead8d81b8c5d7dfe3028c13f.jpg)
![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/b8fdf48b5e487e1eb6c46c9d22ed352a/670dbe24560c592b-d7/s540x810/0f9e8b434ac18a50f455573c1855a372a55803dc.jpg)
Part One of my Single dad!Bradley miniseries | part two | library blog
*all my works are 18+, minors DNI
Summary: When Bradley’s four-year old daughter goes missing during a trip to the mall, he doesn’t expect to find himself so taken with the pretty stranger who helps her find her way back to him.
WC: 3.6K
Warnings: I suck at titling my stories and summaries :), a bit of angst, mentions of pregnancy and abandonment, (briefly) missing child, mentions of anxiety/panic attack, but then so much fluff, Bradley’s kid being too cute for her own good, implied age gap, I feel like dilf Bradley needs his own warning
a/n: I wrote this months ago and I’m a bit nervous to share, but the response to the teaser was so amazing (thank you <3) and dilf Bradley lives in my head rent-free, so I’m excited about this one! Also the picture on the right just screams dad Bradley to me! Thank you for reading, as always I’d love to hear your feedback, so please leave a comment/reblog <3
• • •
Bradley directs his gaze away from the rack of little girls’ clothes he’d been perusing, injecting enthusiasm into his voice as he holds up a hanger with a small, baby pink t-shirt dress hanging on it. “Hey, Bug. What do you think of this–?”
He cuts himself off before the end of his question when he realizes that he’s talking to no one. “Where did she…?”
He trails off, brows furrowed. Still holding up the child-sized dress that looks especially tiny next to his large frame, Bradley spins around, perplexed. She was just here.
- - -
Bradley’s daughter, Caroline, who’d just recently turned four— and was growing up way too fast for his liking— was set to begin preschool next week. His little girl was growing right before his eyes and she needed a new wardrobe to accommodate that. So, Bradley had taken her to the mall to buy some new clothes for school. He didn’t know the first thing about little girls’ fashion, but he was sure he could manage.
He’d spent the last hour searching through clothing rack after clothing rack in the girl’s section of a department store, Caroline at his side, lips in a pout and shaking her little head ‘no’ at all of his choices, sandy brown curls bobbing along with her every movement. Bradley could tell the four-year old was getting bored, and he was becoming frustrated.
The buzzing of his phone with a text from Maverick granted him a brief reprieve from his predicament.
“One second, honey.” Bradley sighed, affectionately patting the top of his daughter’s head before looking toward his phone to answer some question Mav had about work.
He was happy for a moment’s distraction from getting ready to tear his hair out wondering if he was going to have to send his daughter to her first day of preschool wearing a trash bag because he didn’t know what the hell kind of clothes he’s supposed to buy for a picky four-year old girl.
Bradley had been a single parent for most of his daughter’s life. He and Caroline’s mother, Amber, had only been seeing each other for the better half of a year when they found out the news that they were expecting. And even then, their relationship was never really official.
The two met not long after the Uranium Mission, while Bradley was still on North Island taking some time to relax and awaiting another assignment. He’d gone to the little diner Amber was waitressing at, he thought she was cute and they’d hit it off straight away. Bradley got her number and the rest was history.
The Navy kept Bradley busy. He was always traveling for some assignment or deployments – sometimes gone for months at a time, so they only saw each other on the rare occasions he was in town.
They’d hang out and hook up, maybe go on a date here and there, a sort of friends-with-benefits situation. There was definitely a sense of care between Bradley and Amber, but the lack of time they were able to spend together meant it never went beyond that.
When they learned that Amber was pregnant, they both knew it wouldn’t be easy. But they thought that, together, they could make it work.
A few months after Caroline was born though, Amber admitted that she couldn’t handle things.
Bradley took to being a father so easily. From the moment their baby was born and she looked up at him with those big, honey brown eyes that matched his own, he knew that he’d do absolutely anything for her. Caroline instantly became his world.
Amber, on the other hand, really struggled. She loved her baby of course, but deep down she wasn’t sure she was ready to be a mother. If she’d ever be.
She figured it was better if she’d gone while Caroline was still young enough that she wouldn’t remember her, and knew that their daughter would be just fine in Bradley’s loving hands. And just like that, she left the both of them.
Bradley resented Amber for a while, but in time he came to understand. Not everyone was meant to be a parent. Besides that, he knew that there was no time for resentment.
He was on his own with a four-month old baby and he needed to put all of his energy into taking care of her. So, he requested a more permanent position at Top Gun so that he could stay in one place to raise his daughter, and it’s been just the two of them ever since.
- - -
Bradley couldn’t have been turned around for more than thirty seconds before he pocketed his phone and reached back out to grab the little pink dress off the rack to show his daughter. But, when he turned back, Caroline was nowhere to be seen.
Ok, don’t panic, Bradley tells himself. She can’t have gone far.
“Caroline?” He calls out calmly, eyes darting around the surrounding area as he spins to look in every direction.
When he doesn’t receive a response, Bradley puts down the dress he was holding and begins to walk among the sea of clothing racks, still calling out his daughter’s name.
He searches the entire girl’s section of the store without success and decides to broaden his search, his heart beginning to speed up in his chest. Ok, he’s starting to panic.
Bradley picks up his pace, maneuvering from one section of the store to another, asking the other customers and few employees that mill about if they’ve seen his daughter.
He knows he must look crazed, practically sprinting, his sneakers squeaking as he moves across the shiny floors as his repeated calls of Caroline’s name become increasingly more frantic — panting and on the verge of tears by the time he’s finished searching the entirety of the large department store to no avail.
Bradley stands frozen in the middle of the store, tears pricking his eyes, chest rising and falling rapidly on the brink of hyperventilating. He’s at a loss for what to do. His mind racing through all of the worst scenarios. What if she’s hurt? What if someone took her?
It’s his job to protect his little girl and make sure that she’s always safe, and he failed her. He’s all that Caroline has, and he feels like a failure of a father.
- - -
You’re walking through the busy mall with a couple of bags in hand, all finished with your shopping and ready to head home when you see her.
A little girl — tiny really, she can’t be older than five — with curls a golden shade bordering between both blonde and brown, standing by the bottom of the escalator, alone.
Playing with her little fingers as she looks around the crowd aimlessly with unshed tears in her big, brown eyes. The scared look on her adorable little face breaks your heart, and you know you can’t leave without making sure she’s okay.
You approach her slowly, as if she were a frightened animal that might bolt at any moment, speaking softly so as not to scare her any further. “Hey, honey. Are you alright?”
The look she gives you is a shy one, eyes widening before she looks down at her light-up sneakers and shakes her head.
You can tell the little girl is apprehensive about talking to a stranger — smart.
Kneeling down to be at her eye-level before speaking again, and setting your shopping bags down at your sides, you tell her your name and ask for hers.
“I’m Caroline.” Her voice is sweet and shy, a near-whisper as she chances a glance up at you, eyes still shining with tears when she lifts her head.
“Are you here alone, Caroline? Are you with your mommy and daddy?” You ask her gently.
She shakes her head again, curls swaying along with the motion. “I was with my daddy, but I lost him.”
The adorable pout on her lips might’ve made you smile, if it weren’t for the tears that follow, finally spilling from her eyes and trailing down onto her rosy cheeks.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I can help you find him!” You soothe as your thumb moves to brush her tears away. “Where did you last see him?”
Caroline sniffles and thinks for a moment before speaking, a little bit louder this time.
“We were buying me clothes for preschool in one of the big stores, and my daddy had to answer the phone so I was looking all by myself. And then I got lost and I couldn’t find him.”
You continue to wipe at Caroline’s tears as she talks in that rambling sort of way that all little kids do.
“Preschool, wow. That sounds fun!” You try to take her mind off of the scary situation for a second and she nods excitedly at that, still sniffling. “What’s your daddy’s name?”
Her tears finally begin to slow as she talks about her dad.
“His name’s Bradley, but everybody calls him Rooster! He flies planes!” Caroline explains excitedly.
You can’t help but chuckle as you tell her that her dad has a funny nickname, and that his job sounds fun. You’re happy to see Caroline give you a small smile back.
“Do you remember what store you and your daddy were shopping in?”
She has to think for a long moment, the most adorable, pensive pout you’ve ever seen on her face as she tries to remember.
She doesn’t know the name of the store, but she is able to describe it for you, and you’re able to make a distinction from there.
Standing back to your full height, you readjust your bags on one arm and extend your free hand out towards Caroline, offering her a reassuring smile.
“I know exactly where that is! Ready to go find him?” Caroline grins as she takes your hand with an excited nod, tears no longer visible in her big brown eyes.
The two of you walk on in search of her dad — Bradley, and Caroline talks your ear off the whole way. She is absolutely adorable, telling you more about herself and asking you questions about yourself too, and you find yourself falling more in love with her sweet disposition by the minute.
Within five minutes, you make it to the store that Caroline had been in last, hopeful to reunite her with her father who you figure must be worried sick.
- - -
Bradley isn’t quite sure how long he’s been scouring the massive department store looking for his four-year old daughter— though it feels like forever, time seeming to move in slow motion— on the brink of a panic attack and just about ready to phone the police when he hears a familiar high-pitched shriek of, “DADDY!”
He turns around at lightning speed — and practically gives himself whiplash — to see Caroline approaching him, holding a woman’s hand.
When she lets go and bounds right towards him, Bradley lets out a massive sigh of relief. Kneeling down to catch his little girl in his arms, he feels like he might cry all over again, overcome with a flurry of emotions now that his daughter is safe in his embrace once again.
“Caroline, baby, you scared me half to death!” Bradley can’t keep the emotion out of his voice as he lifts his daughter into his arms and stands back up to his full height, lying his head atop of hers and squeezing her tight. “You can’t just wander off like that, you could’ve gotten hurt.”
He tries his best not to sound angry — she is only four after all, and he’s just thankful that she’s okay. Caroline’s arms wrap around his neck as he holds her tight, her face burrowing into the crook of Bradley’s neck.
“Daddy, I’m fine!” She insists. “And I made a new friend!”
It’s only then that Bradley looks up at the woman who had reunited him with his little girl, standing a few feet away and watching them with a sweet smile.
Oh. It’s only then that he realizes, you are beautiful.
Bradley’s honestly convinced you might be an angel. Pretty, bright eyes and a glowing sweet smile that nearly takes his breath away. And, you’d been kind enough to help his daughter safely find her way back to him.
Bradley just stares for a moment, lips parted and still holding Caroline in his arms, and he hopes that you’ll chalk it up to the overwhelming nature of the situation.
“Uh– thank you so much for bringing Caroline back to me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” He rushes out, hand cradling the back of his baby’s hair. “I-I’m…” Fuck, why is he so nervous all of a sudden?
“…Bradley,” You finish for him. “Or, Rooster. Right?”
His brows furrow, a pensive look on his very handsome face, a look that you realize matches the one you had seen on his daughter’s face earlier. Cute.
“How did you-” He begins to question how you know his name — and call-sign — but is promptly cut off by his four-year old practically screaming in his ear.
“I told her, Daddy!” Caroline exclaims proudly.
For a man called ‘Rooster’, you sure were not expecting Caroline’s dad to be this good looking. But, fuck, is he hot.
Though he’s clearly got a few years on you, Bradley’s all tall and sun-kissed, tan skin. Broad shoulders and big, muscular arms on display in his fitted black t-shirt while he holds up his little girl, sandy curls a shade or two darker than hers. Whiskey-colored eyes that match his daughter’s, that you can only describe as puppy dog eyes.
His deep, husky voice that sends tingles down your spine and beautifully shaped pink lips framed by a mustache that you’re surprised you find so attractive.
“Well, I’m glad I could be of help.” You hope that he can’t see the flush you can feel blooming on your cheeks as you speak. “And, Caroline was great company!”
You wink at the little girl who giggles against his shoulder, and when Bradley smiles at you graciously, you can’t help but smile back. God, his smile is pretty.
Up in his arms, Caroline gets distracted playing with her dad's curls. There are a few moments of silence between you, though not uncomfortable, before Bradley speaks up again.
“Well, thank you again. I–uh,” Bradley clears his throat.
“I guess we should let you go. We’ve gotta find some clothes for this little troublemaker, otherwise she’ll have to go to school wearing a garbage bag.” Bradley jokes in a playful tone, bouncing his daughter around in his arms as she giggles, and you can’t help but laugh too at the infectious sound.
“Daddy, wait!” Caroline shouts out before you can answer him.
“What is it, little bug?” Bradley murmurs as he strokes a hand lovingly over her curls. Caroline turns in his hold, directing her next question toward you.
“Can you come with us?” Oh, her puppy dog eyes are even cuter than Bradley’s, and you imagine he probably has a hard time ever saying no to her. “Daddy has no idea what he’s doing when it comes to girl clothes.”
You can’t contain the giggle that escapes your lips as Caroline dramatically rolls her eyes and Bradley lets out an offended huff, the two of them staring at each other with matching, petulant pouts. Adorable.
“That is not true!” Bradley practically shrieks at his daughter and it only makes you laugh more.
“And, honey, she probably doesn’t want–” Bradley begins to protest before you interject.
“I’d love to.” You chime in with a coy grin and Bradley looks back at you, bewildered.
Sure, you figure he probably has a beautiful wife waiting for him at home, but what’s the harm in spending just a little more time with a handsome pilot and his adorable daughter? So far, you’re having a lot of fun.
Bradley’s brows furrow skeptically. “Are you…sure?”
You purse your lips, staring up toward the ceiling for a moment as if you really need to think about it before you grin and offer him a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah, I’ve got nowhere to be.”
You hope you don’t seem too eager, but the matching smiles you receive from both Bradley and Caroline tell you they don’t mind.
Bradley’s honestly a bit shocked that you— a pretty, young, complete stranger, want to stick around to hang out with him and his kid, but he isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
So, once you assure him again that you’re happy to stay, he sets Caroline back on her feet and offers — more like insists — that he holds your shopping bags, and the three of you set off to peruse the oh-so daunting girl’s clothing section of the store once again.
Bradley watches in awe as Caroline grabs your hand, tugging you along as you help her pick out some articles of clothing.
The two of you chatter the whole time, bringing him into the conversations too, holding up articles of clothing and asking what he thinks, and Bradley is delighted to see how good you are with his daughter.
“This would look pretty on you!” Caroline holds out a little girl’s purple sweater dress in your direction. “Wouldn’t it, Daddy?”
You’re biting back a grin as Bradley looks to you and then back to his daughter and chuckles.
“I don’t think it comes in her size, Bug.” Bradley’s gaze returns to you, mirth in his eyes when he continues, “But yeah, it would look very pretty.”
You know he can see the obvious flush to your cheeks this time as his lips pull up into a smirk.
Shaking your head, you look back down to Caroline with a grin. “I think it’d look even prettier on your dad.” That pulls a giggle out of both of them.
Things go on like that as the three of you continue to shop, Bradley admiring how sweet and funny you are, how patient you are with his daughter.
The two of you discreetly sharing amused looks at some of the obscure things Caroline says that could only come out of a little kid’s mouth, banter coming easily between the three of you.
After a short while, Caroline has an array of new outfits for school— and a new stuffed animal after some begging and very convincing puppy dog eyes from his four-year old while you stood by and tried not to giggle, and Bradley knows that he wants to get to know you more.
He hasn’t done much in the way of dating since becoming a single father. Aside from the simple lack of time, Bradley’s always been afraid that most women won’t want to stick around when they find out he has a kid.
That they might not get along with his daughter or worse, be upset when they realize that Caroline will always be his number one priority.
Too scared to let his daughter get attached to someone only for them to leave, Caroline is his world and he’s been content with that.
But now, after seeing the way you are with his little girl — and in such a short time, he can’t help but think that he already likes you being a part of it.
With the clothing shopping done, the sun is setting by the time you're all ready leave the mall. Bradley and Caroline walk you out to your car, and both are reluctant to say goodbye to you just yet. You can't say you’re too happy to part with them either.
As he helps you put your bags in the trunk of your car, Bradley knows he needs to take his shot now — or as Hangman likes to tell him, he needs to get off his perch.
“Hey, could I possibly get your number?” Bradley asks, trying to sound as confident as his voice can possibly muster. “I’d love to see you again.”
Caroline pipes up from next to you, jumping up and down while she still holds your hand. “Me too!”
Is he asking you out? The breathless laugh you let out is one of shock, and you’re sure the look on your face matches as you glance between the adorable father-daughter duo.
You’re also sure that you’re blushing again.
For a moment, you can only stand frozen, lips parted, and when you realize you’ve yet to answer his question, you promptly close your mouth and attempt to school your features, quickly nodding your head.
“Yeah, I’d like that.” You tell him shyly, and Bradley can’t help but smirk at the color that’s begun to paint your cheeks.
He hands over his phone and tries not to smile too hard as you type in your number, glancing up at him and biting back your own grin while you send yourself a text so that you’d have his too.
You kneel down to squeeze Caroline into a hug, the little girl happily wrapping her arms around your neck. You leave her with a promise that you’ll see them again soon, though the way you look up at her father over her shoulder lets Bradley know that that promise is directed at the both of them.
When you stand, Bradley gazes at you with a thoughtful smile before bringing you into a hug too.
“Have a good night, sweetheart.” The deep rumble of his voice so close to your ear, as well as the heat of his touch, leave your body feeling warm all over. That warmth never fading even as you watch Bradley and Caroline cross the parking lot, hand-in-hand, to get to their car.
Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t mind seeing him again soon.
- - -
Thank you for reading! Leave a comment/reblog if you enjoyed, feedback is always appreciated! x
Part 2 will be up next Wednesday! <3
UPDATE: you can read part two here ! ❤️
tag list: @wkndwlff @sebsxphia @chaoticassidy @dempy @ohgodnotagainn @shanimallina87 @mavrellover91 @memoriesat30 @that-bitch-bri @classyunknownlover @hisredheadedgoddess28 @foreverrandomwritings @lt-spork @princess76179 @gigisimsonmars @kidd3ath @averyhotchner @sammyrenae68 @tv-fanatic18 @one-sweet-gubler @simonscumsock
also tagging some people who reblogged/replied to the sneak peek : @fanficfandomlove @hangmanssunnies @milestomaverick @maverick-wingman @teacupsandtopgun @katiemcrae @colourfulsuitwonderland @becks-things @bradshawsbaddie @bradshawsbitch @valhallaas @roger-that-cap @woodkiller
. . .
#bradley bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x female reader#top gun maverick#bradley bradshaw fanfiction#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw x y/n#rooster x reader#bradley bradshaw fluff#top gun fic#miles teller#dad bradley#single dad bradley#my writing
1K notes
·
View notes