#and weekday evenings are like when i mainly work so.......

[teenagefeeling]

wish i could invite u all out to a bar with me smh

[poppadom0912]

Hi, Would you make a Halstead!sister where she is a teen and have her very first boyfriend and when she decides to break up with him he hits her. She wants to hide it from her brothers but they found out anyway

Warnings: Abuse and violence, swearing, canon-typical injuries.

A/N: Okay, this fic will be the last one for a while and I mean it this time. Writing this was so random but I got sudden inspo when I found this half written soooo please do enjoy!!

You swear that this wasn't supposed to get as bad as it did.

You were still in high school and it might've been your first boyfriend and it definitely took too many tries to convince your brothers to give you permission to date but somehow, you got it in the end.

Several times, both Jay and Will but mainly Jay, warned you of abusive, manipulative and toxic partners which you knew existed but never thought you would date someone as such.

Joey was nice at first. After inviting him over for dinner a few times, your brothers began to be more lenient towards him though they would never admit it aloud.

Yes, they were still quite wary considering you were both still young and in school but over the course of a few months, you were finally allowed to go on a date alone without them acting as chaperones.

Then, it came to your break up.

During school, you and your best friend found Joey and another girl in your year locking lips against her locker without any shame at all. It was there and then you decided that evening you were going to break it off with him.

The two of you met up in the school car park where he would usually drive you home but unbeknownst to him, you had different plans for that today.

You hated how he was acting so nonchalant, the biggest smile on his face when he noticed you walking up to his car. You felt sick, desperately wanting to smack that smirk off his face.

"Y/N! Baby, I missed you at lunch. Where-" Joey started, opening his arms to embrace you but was cut off.

"Don't call me baby." You said sharply, your tone showing you were being completely serious. "We're done Joey."

Joey blinked, tilting his head to the side in confusion before laughing. "Oh Y/N, you're hilarious! Come on, we're going to my house-"

Once again, you cut him off, harshly shoving his hand off your elbow. "No, I'm being serious Joey. We're breaking up."

His face immediately fell at your words. All of a sudden, with the flip of a switch, he changed completely. It was so fast that it started scaring you.

Before allowing him to get a word in, you turned around so you could walk away and go home on your own but you were held back. A hand was suddenly tightly gripping your wrist, pulling you back towards Joey.

"What the hell!?" You exclaimed, trying to rip your hand out of his but he wouldn't budge.

"Joey, you're hurting me. Let go." You said, trying to reason with him but nothing was working.

You tried to calm him down, Jay's voice in the back of your mind explaining step by step what to do in cases like this but you found yourself frozen, unable to defend yourself alike to how you were taught.

It was all so sudden. One moment you were angrily staring up at Joey and the next you were looking to your left, your right cheek burning as it tingled with numbness.

Both of you were shocked at his actions. Using his shock to your advantage, you pulled your wrist out of his hand, ignoring the burning sensation you felt and ran.

*****

Unfortunately for you, it was a friday night and that meant both your older brothers were at home. Typically, on the weekends, you swapped and went to Will's before going back to Jay's for the weekdays. So that meant Will was at Jay's apartment to pick you up.

You were still breathing heavily as you entered the house, unintentionally slamming the front door shut as you came to your senses.

You were home. You were safe.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Jay shouted from the living room. He heard the door slam and was confused since he knew he specifically told you to never slam doors.

"Uh- yeah." You hesitated, licking your lips as you answered. "I'm, I'm good."

"You're red and sweaty- did you run all the way here?" Jay asked after a moment of studying you, taking note of your red cheeks and sweat collecting forehead.

"Yeah I did, I'm bursting for the toilet." You quickly thought of an excuse, lying about why you ran home.

Before he could reply, you dashed past him towards the bathroom to keep up with said lie.

"Hey Y/N-Oh..." Will words were lost as he watched you disappear as quick as he saw you.

"What's up with her?" Will asked, looking confusingly at Jay and down the hall where you disappeared.

"I'm not sure."

****

Joey went back to disturbing you as soon as monday came. The weekend seemingly getting on his nerves because he was buzzing monday morning to the point that you turned back around whenever you saw him.

But you could only run so far from him because at the end of the day as you waited for your best friend, he was grabbing you way too hard.

This process only repeated itself for the next two weeks, becoming almost routine where you only missed him for two days overall.

Three weeks since he first laid hands on you, you were now covered in an amalgamation of redness, bruises and finger-shaped marks.

Today though, today something changed.

It was friday, nearly a month since you broke up with Joey and you were walking to Med. Will was supposed to pick you up but his latest patient was causing problems and asked for you to walk to the hospital only ten minutes away.

So you and one of your friends who lived near that area walked together, departing as you reached the ED doors and she walked home.

As you waved her off, your smile bright and hurting still from how much both of you were laughing, you weren't paying too much attention to your surroundings. You didn't think there would be much danger outside a guarded ED but alas.

One second your waving your friend off and the next, your on your hands and knees on the floor. It happened so fast you couldn't comprehend what even occurred.

"What the-"

Someone harshly pulling you up stopped your trail of thought, their grip so tight that you couldn't focus on the burning in your palms and knees.

"Joey! Let me go you dickhead!" You shouted at the boy as soon as you looked up at the perpetrator.

Pulling your wrists from grasp, you grunted when his grip didn't let up, instead it did the opposite and tightened to the point that your hand was starting to go pale.

"Please Joey- Please just let me go and we can talk this out, I promise." You pleaded with him, eyes going glassy when he started pulling you away from the hospital entrance, panic finally setting in.

You tried pulling yourself away, heels digging into the ground to stop him but he was too strong, his height and build giving him an advantage along with being on the football team while you barely even participated in gym.

"Joey your hurting me-" You were cut off when he shoved you up against the wall head first and then repeatedly shoved your head back when you kept talking.

"Shut up bitch!" He almost screeched, hand on your forehead to prevent your head from moving, ensuring your eyes remained on him.

Your vision blurred, head banging with what felt like the worst headache in the universe. Your reply was simply a whine, no words possible due to the pain he inflicted.

His elbow was digging into your torso, your lungs and ribs restricted from any movement because of the pressure.

"J-Jo..." Everything of his increased, his grip, his shouts, the pain he caused.

Your breathing was taken away from you when he suddenly brought his fist to your torso repeatedly.

All of a sudden, he disappeared and you were falling, your legs unable to support you.

Before you could meet the ground, you were caught and being hauled into an embrace you hadn't felt in a decade. The familiar cologne one you bought with your own pocket money and a voice you'd known since birth.

"I've got you Y/N." Will whispered to you, cradling you gently in his arms.

"Ethan, you got him?" Will called out to his colleague but you were so out of it you couldn't see the other doctor.

"I'll handle him, get her inside." Ethan replied as he restrained Joey, his past military training helping him plenty.

The last thing you remembered was Will's reassuring words before everything went black.

*****

"We have to wait for her to wake up to determine how bad the concussion is but besides that, she's okay." Will finished explaining to Jay the prognosis who arrived five minutes ago.

"She's also got old bruises." Jay finally looked up from your face to Will's, anguish clear on the latter's face. "This has been going on for a while now."

Jay was speechless.

He was at a crime scene when Will called him, something neither brother did when they knew the other was at work and despite trying to anticipate what was going to happen, he could never guess it would be this.

Will explained that he and Ethan were taking a quick breather outside together after the death of their last patient when they heard a man shouting and though they couldn't see you, Will easily recognised Joey.

While Ethan subdued Joey, Will wasted no time in getting you to safety and inside the ED where Connor treated you.

There would be no long lasting effects from any of the injuries but they were bound to stick around for a while and they would definitely hurt.

Will couldn't get it out of his memory - seeing your ex boyfriend continuously punching you with no remorse and almost strangling you with the death grip he had. Will saw it every time he blinked and felt like puking.

Jay had walked passed Joey when he entered the ED and to say he felt like throttling the boy was putting it very, very lightly.

But Jay had plans for little Joey, he was more than confident that Voight would let him have a few words with him later. Especially if it involved you - his boss seemed to have a weak spot whenever you were involved, everyone did.

"I need to find Goodwin and get off shift early, I'll be back." Will said. Maggie could only do so much for so long.

Jay hummed. "I've got her, she's not going anywhere don't worry."

Will hadn't been gone for long when you started coming back to. Jay was messaging Hailey, asking for updates on what they were doing with Joey when he felt your fingers twitch in his other available hand.

Jay waited patiently, forcing himself to let you take your time and not rush you just in case. Will mentioned a concussion that they weren't too sure on the extent on its damage.

Your whimpers had his heart in your control, a lump in his throat at you clearly in pain and his inability to cure and rid of all your ills.

Seeing your eyes, the colour so bright under the hospital lights and because of the fear you felt so vividly, Jay found himself unable to breath for a moment.

"Is he gone?" You whispered, voice hoarse as you squinted up at your older brother.

"Yes he is." Jay nodded, ignoring the burning that randomly enveloped his eyes and brushed your hair back with such a feather light touch that you didn't register the gesture. "He's never going to touch or bother you ever again, I promise."

The only response you could formulate was tears, the waterworks instant as soon as the words came out of Jay's mouth.

"Will and I will make sure nothing happens ever again, we promise."

[t00thpasteface]

one of my favorite random little fun connections with a total stranger back when i was working food service was when i was taking a customer's order and she looked around 40 y/o or so and gave her name as Lindy and i said "oh, hey, like the lindy hop!!" and she said "yeah!! i'm surprised you know what that is!" and i laughed and admitted i mainly knew about it from a scene in the simpsons where homer dresses up as a panda and does the lindy hop, and she said she'd never even seen that. then once she was done with her meal she came back up to the counter and said "i looked up that simpsons clip you were talking about... that was so funny, i'm gonna show it to ALL my friends, thank you" and i was like okay maybe sometimes customer service ISN'T a nonstop hell-torture :) i hope all of lindy's friends enjoyed being sent a simpsons clip about homer dressed as a panda doing the lindy hop on a random weekday afternoon

[risriswrites]

Booze, Burgers, and Bartenders

summary: short love story involving rooster and penny's favorite bartender.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x fem reader

warnings: none really, just some mild language and minor angst (if you can even call it that)

author's note: wow!! thank you guys so much for all of the love on my second fic "just roommates". i don't have a lot to say about it because honestly i'm speechless! with that being said, this fic has been in the works for months now and i'm exhausted with it. i wanted to write this and get it out back in may but everything with college really held me back and then from there i've just been enjoying summer and have been putting it off. so i apologize for the wait, but i hope y'all enjoy it!! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated :)

word count: 5.7k

“Penny! Where are the extra bottles of Budweiser?” you call out, body crouched just below the countertop of the bar in an effort to find a hidden Budweiser bottle behind all the Corona’s.

Somewhere in the bar, Penny shouts back to you, a muffled, “Just got a new shipment order in this morning! Check in the backroom, they’re probably still in their packaging!” reaches your ears.

Huffing, you force yourself back to a standing position, leaning your weight against the bar for a few seconds before pushing off and heading towards the backroom.

Flickering the light switch on once the door is fully open, you begin the tedious search for the famous beer the patrons preferred to order at Penny’s bar. Sighing to yourself, you grab a stool just in case the box was placed on one of the top shelves. Jaxson had a habit of doing that, he knew both yourself and Penny preferred the heavier boxes on the bottom shelves, but he somehow always managed to “forget” that important factor.

Crouching low you start with the bottom shelves before moving upwards. Luckily, Jaxson put the newest box of Budweiser’s one shelf above the middle. Lifting the box into your arms, you steady yourself before moving back out of the room and towards the bar.

Maneuvering around the tables and chairs scattered throughout the bar was easier said than done. It wasn’t until you were able to push the box onto the countertop that you could take a breath, leaning your body weight onto the bar again with a huff. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you notice Penny coming into your field of vision, a sly grin on her face.

“Jaxson leave the box on the top shelf again?” she questions, quirking a curious brow in the process.

Pinning her with a joking glare you smile, “Not this time, but it’s still heavy.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing it for ten years, trust me hon, it doesn’t get much easier” she chuckles.

Throwing your head back with a groan, you grip the edges of the bar, leaning back on your heels, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon,” straightening back up on your two feet, you turn to face Penny again, fixing her with your stare and point in her direction, “but, if Jaxson continues to put new, heavy, boxes on the top shelf, I can’t guarantee he’ll be around forever.”

Penny lets out a snort and nods her head in understanding, “I’m right there with you, but until then,” she gets up from her seat at the bar and pats the box of beer twice, “let’s get these in the fridge.”

With a forced laugh and a mock salute, you let out a “You got it Pen,” and resume struggling against the bottles of booze.

~

Nights at the Hard Deck fluctuated. Weekdays were a little slow, apart from Friday nights, with Saturdays being the busiest. Not that you’re complaining since that’s when you receive the most tips. And having the local aviators around as eye candy wasn’t so bad, plus, they’re generous tippers.

Tonight though, there had been an abundance of new faces floating around the bar. Mainly naval aviators, not to your surprise, but the sheer amount that had been crowding the bar was just a tad overwhelming.

Even Jaxson was flustered, his eyes flitting back and forth from you to Penny in search of some assistance. Unfortunately for everyone, you each were too busy struggling with keeping up with your own sides of the bar, and just when you thought you had a second to breathe, another patron would waltz up to your side and ask for a drink.

Glancing over towards Penny, you notice her interacting with a brunette clad in a leather jacket, an easygoing smile accompanying the glint in his eyes as he spoke with her. Smirking to yourself, you keep this interaction in mind and turn back to the guy in front of you, grabbing a bucket, loading it with ice and the six coronas he ordered, popping the tab off one before handing it to him with a smile, “Here ya go.”

The blond shoots you a smile, and pats a hand on the bar, shouting a “thanks” back in your direction. Moving around your section, you plucked empty bottles off the bar top and disposed of them in the large trash bin under the bar. And just as you were about to grab a clean washrag to tend to simpler tasks than dealing with the local riff raffs of the bar, another patron squeezes their way up to your side of the bar.

Flicking your gaze over to the guy you shoot him a small smile, “I’ll be with you in a second.” Snatching the wash rag, you tuck it into your jean shorts and take two strides back to the bar, leaning your forearms on the top, you shoot the mystery man a small smile, and pose the million-dollar question, “What can I get ya?”

After mixing the jack and coke your customer requested, you accept the twenty and continue working around the bar, popping bottle-tops off Corona’s, Heineken’s, and the bar favorite, Budweiser. All while simultaneously wiping any spills off the countertop.

A few hours later, the Hard Deck is looking less and less crowded, with all the civilians having cleared out. Which allows for you to sidle over to Penny and pester her for the next two hours before closing, sipping on your Coca-Cola in the meantime.

“Haven’t seen you all night, how’d it go?” Penny questions, permanent smile on her face and a light in her eyes you haven’t seen in a while.

Quirking your head to the side, you raise your eyebrows, “Clearly not as eventful as yours,” you smirk. Wiggling your eyebrows you throw out a second question, “Who’s got you all hot and bothered?”

Penny giggles at your playfulness, swatting at you with her dishrag, “No one special.”

“Now that, is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” you point at her with the pinky finger that had been resting around the bright red can you’ve been holding.

Bringing the can back up to your lips, you smile, “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that brunette with the brown leather jacket decorated in naval patches, would it?”

This earns you another swat from the dishrag.

Leaning away from her, your smirk grows wider, “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Penny playfully glares at you for the second time today, and peers around you, nodding her head in the direction of your side of the bar, “You’ve got another one.”

Giggling to yourself you turn your head in the direction Penny motioned to, the sight before you halting your giggling almost instantaneously.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Cussing under your breath, you take the last sip of your coke and turn to make your way towards him, receiving a swat from Penny’s dishrag in the process.

“Bradshaw.”

The man of the hour turns in his seat towards you, honey brown eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment before one side of his mouth quirks up into a half smile, “Hey.”

“What made the navy drag your ass back here for?” you ask, snorting at his attempt at remaining casual, folding your arms over each other, jutting your hip out in a stance that you hope comes across as vaguely threatening.

Bradley taps his thumb on the bar top and shoots you an award-winning smile, “I’m not really sure about that yet, sweets” he states, his voice coming out in a low rasp, while his eyes wander behind you towards the bottles of liquor.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you open your mouth to shoot him a smart-ass retort, but instead, choose to close it and offer up the same line you use on everyone else, “What can I get you to drink?”

Bradley refocuses his eyes back onto yours, lips forming into a frown at your lack of retaliation, “Bottle of Budweiser if you have any would be great.”

Moving on autopilot, you bend down and sort through the fridge for another Budweiser, gripping the bottle and popping the top off, before sliding it forward towards the tall hunk of muscle in front of you, “You opening up a tab?”

Bradley looks over towards the pool tables where his friends were gathered around, no doubt betting on who was going to have to pay for the next round of beers. Turning his attention back to you, he stands from his seat, pulling his wallet out from his back jean pocket and holds his card out to you, “If you don’t mind, that’d be great sweets” sending you a small smile in the process.

Plucking the card from his grasp, you send a sarcastic smile his way before turning to the computer to input his information.

Bradley lets his gaze linger on you for a moment, then sets off back to his friends.

Hangman is the first to comment on Bradley’s singular beer and the sour look on his face, earning him a rough shove from Phoenix.

Nat turns to face Bradley, offering a sympathetic look, “Didn’t go well I take it?” she mumbles.

Hangman snorts and gestures with his beer towards the bar where you’re currently standing with Penny, “Judging by the way she’s standing,” sucking a breath through his teeth, “I’d say it went swimmingly.”

Jake goes to sip his beer with a smirk on his lips, satisfied with his dig, until Natasha forcefully bumps his elbow, forcing his beer to miss his mouth and instead spill down his shirt. Glancing towards her, scowl present on his face, Nat flutters her eyelashes and pouts, “Oops.”

Bradley covers his laugh with a sip of his beer, looking towards the dart board as a distraction.

“Maybe you should go get cleaned up.” Phoenix smiles, her words sickeningly sweet and not up for debate.

Grumbling to himself, Jake gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the bathroom of the Hard Deck. Once he’s out of sight, Nat fixes her gaze on Bradley, “Alright, tell me what’s going on.”

A huff slips past Bradley’s lips and he slumps into the seat adjacent to Phoenix, “That’s the thing Nat, it’s not really going anywhere.”

Nursing her own beer, Nat plays with the perspiration sliding down the bottle, “It’s probably gonna take some time Bradley. You can’t just show up after not talking to her for a year,” sparing you a brief glance she watches the way you smile and pop a cap off the bottle for a customer you’d been serving for the better half of the night, “stuff like that actually bothers a girl yaknow” emphasizing her words with a pointed look.

Bradley taps his thumb against the tabletop, a low groan leaving his throat, “I know Nat, I just didn’t know how to tell her I was being deployed for six months and then dealing with the Uranium mission on top of that,” he pauses briefly to sip on his beer, “It’s not fair to her.”

Natasha nods briefly, understanding where he’s coming from, “I get that, but that’s not your decision to make.” Pointing at him with her bottle briefly, she maneuvers it to gesture towards you, “She’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.”

Bradley nods his head in understanding, moving his gaze to survey the room briefly, a red blush painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Sensing how flustered he was Nat slaps the table and shoots him a sympathetic smile, “I’m going to get us a few more beers from our favorite girl. When I get back, you’re going to be done with all that sulking and were going to kick Coyote and Hangman’s asses in eight ball.”

An, “In your dreams hot shot,” settling over both Natasha’s and Bradley’s ears, the pair rolling their eyes simultaneously at the overconfident voice of Jake Seresin.

~

“Ready to start cleaning up? It’s twenty minutes before we close.” Penny asks, the clinking of glass bottles ringing in your ears when she tosses them into the trash.

Peeking at her from over your shoulder you send an exhausted smile her way, “Definitely, tonight’s rush took a lot out of me.”

Biting her lower lip, Penny begins wiping down the counter, “That the only thing that took a lot out of you tonight? Or did a certain tall, mustached naval aviator have something to do with it?”

She doesn’t look over at you when you whip your head to glare at her, instead choosing to continue to innocently wipe at the sticky bar top.

“Don’t start.”

Moving away from her, you begin to collect the remaining empties and toss them in the trash.

Ignoring her for another ten minutes, you busy yourself by sweeping up around the front of the building, avoiding Bradley and his lingering group of friends.

Maneuvering back to the bar, you grab the remaining glasses and bring them to the dishwasher in the backroom. Once you’ve loaded it up, you put in the dishwasher detergent and start it on a regular cycle, heading back out to the bar to help Penny finish up.

Gripping the rag in your hand you begin wiping down any places Penny may have missed, hyper fixating on the task at hand to avoid looking over at the man who ghosted you a year ago.

Penny eases herself into the space you were occupying, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt at gaining your attention. Looking up to the ceiling you breathe out, turning your head to give her your full attention. An apologetic smile is what meets you and you instantly feel your resolve soften.

“I’m only going to say this once, and from now on I won’t mention it.” Nodding her head in Bradley’s direction she continued, “He’s a good guy Hon, but unfortunately, he’s still a guy. And guys make stupid mistakes. Trust me,” an eye roll from her ensuing shortly after.

“I’m not telling you that you need to forgive him, but maybe hear him out?” she coaxes.

Looking over towards him, you watch as his drunken form laughs with his friends, “I’ll think about it Pen.”

“Okay honey,” leaning away from you she squeezes your shoulder, “Oh and I’ve gotta go pick up Amelia, soo could you close up?” she pleads.

Throwing your head up, you laugh, “Oh I see, just trying to butter me up so you can sneak out to go be with that Naval officer.”

Penny bites her lip at the thought and begins heading for the door, “Not yet, but maybe eventually,” she vocalizes, shooting you a wink in the process. “Alright guys and gals, time to go!” she calls out to the last group lingering at the back of the bar.

The blond calls back to her, “You got it Pen!”

Giggling to yourself, you finish up a few more tasks as the remaining aviators file out. Going to the storage room to grab some beers to restock the fridges for the following day, it’s always easier on you guys the next day if you restock the night before.

Heading back out to the bar you notice the handsome aviator you’ve been avoiding all night, sitting right where he had been earlier that night.

“Heyyy” Bradley smiles, clearly drunk judging by the flush that’s blossomed over his cheeks, neck, and ears.

Chuckling to yourself, you let an amused smile crawl across your face, “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?”

Bradley hiccups and leans his head on the bar top, “I need to,” another hiccup interrupts him before he continues, “close out my tab” he rasps.

Nodding to yourself, you go over to the computer and close out his tab, printing his receipt and wrapping it around his card, you turn back to him and place the card on the bar top, sliding it towards his drunken form.

Bradley looks you over and smiles, “You’re really pretty.”

Choosing not to laugh at his words you fold your arms over each other and smile at him, “How are you getting home, Bradley?”

He hums, still looking you over in a daze, “I drove.”

Shifting a little in his seat, he uses one arm to reach into his back pocket, presenting you with the keys to his infamous blue bronco, jingling them in front of you with a goofy smile on his face.

Leaning towards him you grip your hand around his, easing the keys from his hand into yours. His eyes watching your hand as it encloses around his.

“I’ll be taking those big boy.”

Bradley groans, reaching his arms out towards you as you lean away from him, “Nooo, come back, I need those.” he whines out.

Shaking your head you muffle a chuckle at his drunkenness, “Bradshaw you can’t drive yourself home,” nibbling on your lower lip you spit the words out before you can take them back, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Bradley shoots his head up at your statement, “You’re taking me, where?” he questions.

Rounding the bar, you grab your purse in the process heading towards Bradley, “I am going to take you home.”

“How do you know where I live?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Cute.

Smirking at him, you quirk your own eyebrow, “I’m a witch.”

Bradley points at you lazily and whispers, “If you’re a witch, then tell me what I’m thinking about right now.” Promptly closing his eyes afterwards.

Looking up, you shake your head, smile growing wider on your face, “Burgers” you declare confidently, crossing your arms in the process. As if this motherfucker didn’t spend every waking minute with you for a year.

His eyes instantly open, mouth dropping in amazement, an emphasized “Yes” leaving his lips.

Offering your hand to him, you give him a small nod, “We can get some on the way home if you want?”

Bradley eyes you skeptically, “You promise?”

Smiling, you fold your fingers in, leaving your pinky out for him, “I promise.”

Slowly, Bradley wraps his own pinky around yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Alright, let’s get going. Joey’s Burgers sounds amazing right now.” Giving his hand a squeeze, you lead the way out of the bar, Bradley stumbling behind you, mumbling about some triple patty burger that they recently added to the menu.

Once the two of you managed to make it out the front door, you turned back to lock up, Bradley leaning his head on your shoulder as you did, making it a little more difficult to maneuver around in the process.

“Okay tiger, lets get you in the car.”

Leaning his weight on you some more, he scrunches up his face in confusion, “I’m not tiger, I’m rooster.”

Lugging his weight across the graveled parking lot and towards the bronco, you snicker at his words, “I know Bradley, it’s just a nickname.”  Earning a low groan from Bradley in response.

Once you’ve made it to the bronco, you focus on getting Bradley’s passenger door open, all while he leans more and more of his weight on you, at this rate the navy should just hire you if you can lug a full-grown man around a dark gravel parking lot.

After you’ve managed to get the door open, you coax Bradley into the passenger seat with the promise of burgers and a movie once you got him home. Rounding the car after ensuring he’s buckled himself in and jumping into the driver's seat.

Looking over towards him, you note the way he’s leaned his head against the window, arms folded over each other, in what you could only guess is an attempt at staying warm. Mindful of his potentially cold state, you don’t bother with turning the air conditioning on, and keep the volume of the radio low, trying to allow Bradley to relax as much as possible. He’s lucky he’s cute when he’s drunk.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you make your way down the street to Joey’s Burgers, ordering two large fries, two medium soda’s, one triple patty burger for Bradley, and one regular cheeseburger (with only ketchup) for yourself. Then continuing your mission of getting Bradley back home for the night before he’s sobered enough to realize he’d not only let you drive him home, but also from the driver’s seat of his beloved bronco.

~

Parking Bradley’s bronco wasn’t an issue, however, getting Bradley to move out of his passenger seat was.

Pleadingly, you rushed out a whispered, “Bradley, please get out of the car, you can’t stay in there all night.”

Receiving only an annoyed grumble in response, you tried again in the form of bribery, “I got you your favorite burger from Joey’s, if you get out of the car you can eat it while we watch a movie.”

This gets his attention and before you know it, you’re lugging Bradley out of his seat and across the parking lot. Somehow, he’s gotten heavier in the past twenty minutes of your drive. Mumbling to no one in particular, you let out a low, “He’s got a lot of groveling to do after this.” Huffing out a breath, you manage to pull him up the steps of the cozy one-story house, forcing Bradley to lean against the wall while you unlock the door.

Once you’ve managed to get the door open, you pull the brunette aviator over the threshold and towards the couch, kicking the door closed once you’ve made it inside.

The grey couch that had been centered towards the edge of the living room absorbs a drunk Bradley Bradshaw into its cushions, earning a content hum from him in response.

Throwing yourself down next to him, an audible sigh slips past your lips, leaning your head against the cushions in an attempt at seeking a moment of comfort before you inevitably must help Bradley into bed.

Lolling his head to the side Bradley fixes his gaze on you, eyes trailing across the expanse of your face, when the question, “What happened to my burger?” comes tumbling out of his mouth.

A sharp laugh is what Bradley gets in response, along with a, “I swear you become more and more like a dog as the night goes on.” Bradley is too drunk to understand what that’s supposed to mean, so instead, he widens his eyes and tilts his head a little, a silent question in regard to the aforementioned burger.

Yep, definitely dog like.

Swiping the bag of burgers and fries from the table, you pull Bradley’s special burger; along with a few napkins, out and hand them over to the man of the hour, who immediately starts to gobble it down like he hasn’t eaten in days.

While the man who resembles a golden retriever consumes his food next to you, you start the venture of looking for a movie you wouldn’t mind focusing your attention on until Bradley falls asleep, settling on “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”.

Settling into the couch again, you curl your legs up underneath you and proceed to snack on the fries you’d gotten.

Everything was calm, for a total of thirty seconds.

Your peace being ruined by an overgrown buffoon looming over you to steal one of your fries from its container.

“You know, I got you your own fries,” you snicker, side-eyeing the Topgun graduate who has resorted to looking like a kicked puppy from your scolding.

“Yours tastes better.”

Snorting at the remark, you shake your head in exasperation, “Finish your food and if you’re still hungry, you can have some of mine.”

Seemingly pleased with the compromise, Bradley gets comfortable on the couch once more, and continues with consuming the fried potato.

After some time has passed, Bradley satisfied with his food and no longer pestering you for yours, you make an attempt to clean up. Which is instantly foiled by a tipsy Bradley Bradshaw, “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you Bradley,” you wave him off, continuing your advances towards the kitchen.

Bradley forces himself off of the couch, stumbling after your composed form, “Sure seemed like it earlier.”

Tossing the leftover food in the trash, you grab a paper towel and the spray bottle of cleaner he always left under the sink, “And I don’t recall you being particularly sober within the past two hours.”

A small smirk graces Bradley’s lips while he leans his body weight against the doorframe of the kitchen arms folded over each other, “I had a triple patty burger from Joey’s an hour ago.”

Rolling your eyes at his retort, you push past him to get back to his living room, “You’re welcome then.”

Like a piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe, Bradley follows after you, “You don’t have to clean.”

Better than having to look at him while he’s sober and engage in this conversation.

Pulling your eyebrows together, you force yourself to concentrate on the coffee table littered with grease stains from the bag and a few misplaced French fries, completely ignoring Bradley’s piercing gaze.

Hearing him sigh, your gaze breaks from the table and flits to where he’s standing. Looks more like leaning to you since he’s clearly still feeling some of the effects of the alcohol. As your eyes roam over his figure, you take in his posture, his arms, and lastly his eyes, which are locked on yours and the way you’re examining him.

Looking up to the ceiling, you huff, bending to your full height. Abandoning the damp paper towel on the semi-clean coffee table before you address him.

“I don’t hate you.”

Bradley’s eyebrows lift, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-hearted smirk, mustache following suit, “So you’ve said.”

Your eyebrows crease while your eyes pinch, fixing him with a glaring look, “But I don’t appreciate being led on for months either,” your tone heavy in the way you spoke to him.

Bradley visibly winces at the jab, “I know, not my proudest moment.”

Crossing your arms over each other, you jut your hip out, “Why’d you do it then?”  

Bradley crosses the room slowly, moving closer to your defensive stance with a slowness that resembled someone afraid of spooking a baby deer, “I didn’t want you to get caught up in all my shit.”

“One mission for six months is bad enough,” he pauses, “Another mission with no guarantee of survival a month after the last isn’t something I wanted to put you through.”

Your frown that you’d adorned for majority of this conversation, deepens, “That’s not something you get to decide, Bradley.”

A forced chuckle slips past your lips, “I’m a big girl, I’ve been able to make my own decisions for myself, for years. I don’t need you and your hero complex thinking you can make those decisions for me.”

Your eyes roam his face scowl still prominent. Finally uncrossing your arms, you poke a finger into his chest, “You should be able to trust me enough to tell me those things, and allow me to decide if it’s too much,” you pause taking a step back, hand retreating back to your side, “or if I care about you enough to stick around.”

Bradley tenderly reaches for the hand you’d forced back to your side, threading his fingers through yours, “I know, trust me I do. I just thought I’d be protecting you,” he breathes out, using his hand to bring you closer to him.

Your hardened gaze softens at his words, he thought he could protect you from himself, from heartache.

Settling your other hand on his chest, you tilt your chin up, the height difference between the two of you showing in the close distance you’re in.

“Like I said before,” you whisper, “That kind of decision I can make on my own.”

Bradley’s eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you, processing your words and what to do next with them.

Silence falls over the two of you, the only noise emanating from the tv next to you.

Breaking his gaze, you look behind him to see the clock hanging from the wall that’s surrounded by framed pictures of his parents along with a few pictures of himself with some of his squadron, taking note of the time.

Glancing back to him, you mumble, “You should probably go to bed.”

Bradley huffs at your suggestion but makes no move to argue.

Instead, he grips your other hand in his and pulls you closer, tilting his head to the side, “Tuck me in?”

Laughing to yourself at his suggestion, you give him a small nod, taking the lead down the hall to his bedroom, “Sure, do you want some warm milk while were at it?” you tease.

Bradley hums from behind you, “Now that you mention it,” he trails off, biting his lower lip to contain his laughter.

“Keep dreaming aviator,” you chortle.

“Oh I intend to,” is the retort you get in return.

Turning into his bedroom you push him towards his closet and gesture for him to change, turning your back to him in an attempt to avoid being distracted by his charm and physique, reacquainting yourself with his bedroom instead.

Not much has changed apart from the bedding which had gone from a pale blue to a darker green.

A raspy, “I’m decent,” makes its way to your ears and you turn to look for the source. Intaking a sharp breath at the sight of Bradley Bradshaw in a plain white t-shirt, and boxers, eyes roaming the expanse of his body before deciding you’ve ogled him too much.

Moving your eyes away from his lower half, you make your way to the closet in search of your own shirt and boxer combo, cause if you’re staying there’s no way you’re staying in your “The Hard Deck” tank top and jean shorts.

Wordlessly, Bradley sidles up behind you and reaches for his old training tee from his first days at Topgun, handing you the shirt and a pair of gray boxers to match.

Mumbling a soft “Thanks”, you make sure he turns all the way around before stripping down to put the new garments on.

Once comfortable, you glance to the opposite side of the bed Bradley’s in, fiddling with your fingers as you fight yourself on whether or not you can trust yourself with him again.

Screw it.

Acting before fully thinking through your decision, you climb into bed beside him, hiding under the covers for some warmth, and maybe from Bradley.

It’s Bradley’s warm hands that bring you out of your thoughts, hooked around your waist and pulling you to him, “You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbles, one leg slotting between yours.

Reaching up with your right hand, you glide your fingers through his locks, earning a sigh of content from him, “I just don’t want to get hurt again,” you confess, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

The confession has Bradley propping himself up onto his elbow, his free hand finding your own, putting it square against his, measuring the sizes of your individual palms, slotting his fingers between your own once he’s satisfied.

“I can’t promise that being with me will never hurt,” he states, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Sighing, he continues, “I don’t know if something will happen to me when I’m in the air.”

You nod solemnly at his confession, running everything over in your head, the pros and cons of being with him, loving him. What that might do to you.

Bradley tilts his head toward yours, catching your eyes once more, “But,” he pauses, “I can promise that I’ll never voluntarily hurt you again, and I will do everything in my power to come home to you.” He finishes, voice shaky and his eyes displaying a vulnerability you’ve never seen before.

Scanning his honey-colored irises, you search for any doubt he may have hidden, finding none, a soft smile graces your lips.

Leaning forward, you nudge your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed at the contact, “Okay” you whisper.

Opening your eyes to scan his face, trailing along the faint freckles that litter his cheeks, your smile widens, “but this is your last shot Bradshaw, don’t ruin it,” you tease.

Bradley grins back at you before closing the gap between the two of you, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss that had been a long time coming; by at least a year.

His tongue traces the bottom of your lip and without much coaxing, you open your mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in, maneuvering his body over yours for easier access. Bradley slides his hands down your frame to trace circles into your hip, while the other braces himself next to you.

Breaking the kiss, Bradley maneuvers his lips down towards your exposed neck, trailing open mouthed kisses lower each time before coming back to your lips, catching them with his over and over until the two of you have settled into a relaxed state, lazy open-mouthed kisses replacing the urgent ones you were enacting before.

Gently reaching your hand up, you slot your fingers into Bradley’s tousled locks, tugging ever so slightly, earning a low groan from him in response.

Smiling to yourself, you slot your lips against his one last time before leaning back, appraising him with a gentle smile adorning your lips, “I thought we agreed on sleep?”

Chuckling, Bradley moves a stray hair out of your face, “Sweets, will you please put me out of my misery and go on a date with me?”

Clicking your tongue, you drag him down closer to you, snuggling into his chest as you make yourself comfortable.

 “Mmm, dating the bartender, huh? Hope it’s for more than free drinks,” you quiz, trailing a hand down to his abs, tracing each one with your fingers.

A tender kiss is placed to the crown of your head, while one large hand sneaks under the back of your shirt, tracing small circles across your skin, “Definitely.”

Humming, you close your eyes, content with the warmth emanating from Bradley and his tender touches, “That’s nice.”

Bradley chuckles at your drowsy state, “So is that a yes?”

He receives a chaste kiss that’s pressed to his shirt, right where his heart is as you mumble out, “It’s a yes Bradshaw.”  

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Olympics AU - Media/The Paris Date

Part 5, basically, if we're going in order. Find the rest on this masterpost.

AU Summary: Paris 2024 Olympics. Gale is on the U.S. equestrian eventing team, Bucky is a U.S. gymnast, they meet on the plane to Paris, and a love story ensues.

Author's Note: I am altering the official Olympic events schedule slightly to accommodate my needs here, mainly so Bucky can watch Gale compete. This installment mentions the stadium jumping round of eventing, which I will likely go back and actually write later. For now, enjoy whatever this is!

---

Bucky will never understand the public fascination with “famous” people’s personal lives. Everyone is always so concerned about all the wrong things. Who was seen with who and are they dating? What does this or that social media post mean? Why does so and so suddenly have a new hair style? 

He also doesn’t quite understand why or how or when he became “famous.” All he ever wanted to be was a gymnast, so he did that. He worked hard, did some flips, won some medals. Then suddenly, one day, there were reporters reaching out to him and photographers taking his picture and morning shows having him on TV and everyone cared far too much about his physical well being all the damn time. He became the USA gymnastics poster boy and he doesn’t recall anyone ever even asking him if that’s what he wanted to be. He won't complain, but he doesn't get it, either. All of a sudden, the girls wanted to date him and the guys wanted to look like him and everyone wanted to know if he was single.

And then, one day, he woke up to a media storm that compounded an already tumultuous time of his life. His coach and teammates were blowing up his phone. Reporters were emailing him and asking ‘for a comment.’ A jilted lover was knocking on his door and demanding he fix this.

It was 7:00 in the morning on some should’ve-been-normal weekday just a few months after the Tokyo Olympics, and suddenly the whole country knew that John Egan, U.S. gymnastics darling, was gay. 

Bucky isn’t exactly proud of the little phase he went through after the Tokyo Olympics. He can admit that now. His older sister, his rock and his best friend, died in a car crash just weeks before he left for Tokyo. She never got to see him accomplish everything she’d ever wished for him. The night that she died, she asked him if he could drive her to the airport. He doesn’t even remember where she was heading - such a small detail in the grand scheme of it all, but one he wishes hadn’t slipped away. He told her he couldn’t, because he had to be at the gym. He had to train for the Olympics, the team to which he’d only just been selected for the first time. So she drove herself. 

She never made it to the airport.

Bucky’s last text to her – “make it alright?” – remains to this day unanswered in his phone. He’ll never even know that she hadn’t been mad at him in the slightest for denying her a ride. That she was just too proud of him. He’ll never know that she’d never blame him, not even for a second. 

At the Games, Bucky managed to concentrate all of his anger, all of his grief, into his sport. He did what they call “angry gymnastics,” and it served him well for those few days. He threw every fucked up thing he felt onto the floor, the bar, the rings, like if he could somehow just win a medal there, do what his sister always believed he could, then it might make something okay again. 

Spoiler alert: It didn’t. 

He did win a medal, a silver on rings. Sure, he was proud of himself. Sure, he knew his sister would be, too. Sure, it felt good. But really, he couldn’t feel a damn thing. He went home. Back to his life. Back to his grief and anger and hate for this unfair world. Hate for himself. 

It’s not like he fell off the deep end or anything, but he was lost for a while. He stopped caring about the world around him. Stopped caring about his own well being. Caring only ever lead to pain. He drank too much. Smoked a joint here and there. Barely slept. Ghosted his friends when he wasn’t in the gym pouring his heart and soul into gymnastics. He went to bars and hooked up with a few too many men. 

And then he met a guy who he legitimately liked at first. They went on a few dates, Bucky always trying too hard to avoid the media. The problem was, the guy didn’t like that Bucky wasn’t out. He wanted to go out together, do things in public together, be together. But Bucky refused. Not only did he have an image to think about, a very public career that he desperately needed to keep intact. He was also terrified of commitment. Or rather, he was terrified of being hurt by someone he was committed to. He couldn’t stand another chip being broken off of his already shattered heart. 

So he dumped the guy. Plain and simple.

But not before some reporter leaked pictures of them together to the media. How they got those photos, Bucky still doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. All he knows is they showed up one day: photos of John Egan holding hands across a table with this guy. Kissing him against a wall. Laughing over drinks. They showed up one day, and they spun his life into something he couldn’t control on his own anymore. Suddenly everyone knew this secret he’d been holding onto, and no one knew how to feel about it. 

That was three years ago. He’s in a good place now, despite the shit show of his leg replacing one John Egan gossip story with another. So yeah, he is, perhaps, a little tired of the media, between all of the ‘John Egan opens up about his sexuality’ stories and the ‘John Egan’s shocking comeback’ stories. It’s exhausting. 

He has to admit, though, the stories going around about him and Gale Cleven are a nice change. 

–

The cameras don’t miss a thing. You learn that early on as a public figure.

The cameras are there when the U.S eventing team wins Olympic bronze, their first Olympic medal since 2004. They track each horse and rider through their stadium jumping round, honing in on every knocked rail and every bad line and every perfect takeoff and landing. 

When Gale Cleven has a solid round, they zoom in on the entire U.S. men’s gymnastics team in the stands, on their feet and clapping like they have a clue what’s going on in that arena. John Egan is at the center, pumping a fist in the air. And Gale, cantering Whiskey out of the ring, looks up into the stands with a smile and a wave, directed right at John. The camera sees it, and the world sees it, too. 

The cameras are there when the U.S. men’s gymnastics team wins silver, their first Olympic medal since 2008. They give viewers an up-close view of every single apparatus. Every impeccable event, every fall, every hand out of place and every step back on a landing. They show Curt’s jaw-dropping vault and Croz’s sheer determination to get it done on pommel horse despite a near slip at the start. The cameras see every facial expression, every celebration and every self-admonition.

The cameras zoom in on the stands, and the commentators take note when Gale sits down with Marge and Benny, just in time for the fifth rotation. Gale and Benny are both still wearing their team USA riding clothes, leaving no doubt who they are or where they came from. They’d made a mad dash straight here after winning team bronze, and there is only one explanation for why the youngest members of the equestrian team care to rush over to the team gymnastics final. When John Egan puts up a phenomenal floor routine that night, the cameras hone in on Gale, usually so calm and stoic, cheering louder than anyone in the stadium.

When Gale and Whiskey, against all odds, win silver in individual eventing, the cameras capture his touching reaction. The way he looks shocked and thrilled at the same time. The way he throws his arms around Whiskey’s neck and buries his face in her mane. They record every movement as a medal is placed around his neck, a ribbon on the side of Whiskey’s bridle. They're recording as he and the other medalists take a victory lap around the ring. And they record Bucky’s reaction in the stands, pressed to the rail with unquestionable love all over his face.

There was simply never any point in Bucky and Gale acting like they weren’t a thing. Even if they’re not quite sure what they are anyways. They just are. Bucky thinks there must be too many news outlets if so many of them are this concerned about his relationship status, but he gets a good laugh from the headlines.

‘Fly High and Stick the Landing: big wins for an unlikely Olympic couple’

‘Is John Egan dating Gale Cleven?’

‘Summer Lovin’ at the Paris Olympics’

‘Olympic Love in the City of Love’

‘An Olympic Love Story. What Gymnastics and Equestrian Have In Common’

Interest in the equestrian team shoots up practically overnight. If Gale wasn’t in the public eye before, he sure as shit is now.

Pictures circulate of John and Gale together. John’s arm around Gale’s shoulder during the Opening Ceremonies boat parade. John pointing at Gale in the stands after landing an impeccable vault. Gale messing up John’s hair as they walk outside the Olympic Village dining hall, both of them laughing at God knows what. Holding hands at a café. Walking shoulder to shoulder along the Seine. 

And, of course, that picture-perfect moment after cross country. Gale sitting atop Whiskey at the end of the course, right by the fence with John on the other side. Gale reaching his hand down, John holding it in his own. John staring up at Gale like he hung the moon – no, like he designed the universe itself. Gale looking at him the exact same way. 

That’s the picture that has everyone talking. 

‘Everything We Know About John Egan’s New Beau’

“Buck.” Bucky leans into Gale’s side and shows him the article pulled up on his phone screen. “You’re my beau,” he teases. 

Gale squints at the headline and zooms in on the photo. He makes a note to find it again and save it later. “Am I?” He asks. He tries to sound like he’s joking more than he actually is, but he wonders if John can hear the slight pitch in his voice, if he knows that Gale wants him to say yes. 

Bucky turns his head to look at him. “Certainly seems that way doesn’t it?” He presses his lips gently to Gale’s, using his free hand to delicately cup his cheek. 

“You two are fuckin’ insufferable.” 

They pull apart, Gale chewing his lower lip bashfully and Bucky flipping the bird at Curt as he and Croz approach them. “Fuck off,” Bucky tells him, and he hates the way Gale stiffens and shifts away just the littlest bit, the warmth at Bucky’s side disappearing. 

Croz flicks Curt on the arm. “Leave ‘em alone. Gale is the most emotionally healthy guy Bucky’s ever brought home to us.”

“Hey!” Bucky protests. Gale raises an eyebrow at him, amused. A silent is that true? Bucky groans. 

“What?” Croz asks innocently. “We all know it’s true.”

“I don’t,” Gale points out. 

Curt looks at him. Looks at Bucky. Back at Gale. “Trust us. It’s true.”

Gale awaits confirmation from Bucky, who just shrugs and reaches for his hand, thankful when Gale doesn’t pull away or press the subject further. When Marge and Benny arrive, the group of them set off to take on Paris. They’re celebrating their victories: a bronze medal for the US eventing team, a silver for USA gymnastics, and a silver for Gale. They’re far from done. Marge has stadium jumping coming up in a couple of days. Bucky and Curt qualified for individual all around. Plus Bucky qualified for floor exercise and still rings, Curt for vault, and Croz for parallel bars. 

But for now, they’re going to go be silly American tourists and toast the road so far. 

–

Six friends, some old and some new, meander along the Champs-Elysées. They don’t bother blending in, half of them wearing Team USA regalia and the others talking loudly in their obviously American accents. They stop at a café, where Marge and Gale, as the only French speakers, have to order for everyone. Curt, Bucky, and Benny all insist on trying to pronounce menu items in French – a language none of them know the first thing about other than “oui” and “baguette.” When they butcher the words terribly and somehow manage to offend everyone within a half mile radius, Marge has to apologize profusely to the waiter while Gale pinches the bridge of his nose and begs the others to shut the fuck up. 

This leads to an exchange where the waiter refuses to speak French with the stupid Americans, even the ones who speak French rather well. Marge, meanwhile, refuses to revert to English, leading to an increasingly tense conversation where the Frenchman is speaking English and the American woman is speaking French until finally Gale just pulls them all out of there because they’re causing a scene and people are taking pictures.

They choose a different café, where Gale instructs everyone to stand outside and not do anything stupid while he goes in and orders everyone’s coffee. When he returns, he finds Croz delicately holding the side of his face, Marge stifling a laugh beside him. “What happened?” Gale asks in exasperation, box of to-go coffee cups in hand. 

“He accidentally offended a French girl and she slapped him,” Marge explains. 

“How?” 

Marge shakes her head. “You don’t wanna know.”

“And you didn’t stop him?” Gale pleads. 

Marge shrugs, motioning to the hopeless group of young men in front of her. “They have to learn somehow.”

Gale has no words. Bucky kisses him on the cheek, takes the coffees from him, and starts passing them out. “It’s fine, Buck. Croz deserved it.”

“Buck?” Benny looks between the two of them, his brow furrowed. Gale knows he’ll hear about that when he gets back to their room tonight – “He gave you his name!”

Gale shrugs. “Long story.”

“Buck and Bucky.” Curt nods, like it makes all the sense in the world. “Yeah, I can get behind that.” And no one else says a thing about it.

At the top of the Arc de Triomphe, they can see much of the city spread out like a map around them. Roads extend outwards in all directions from this central point at the Place de l’Étoile, like rays emanating from a star. 

They convince someone to take a picture of all of them together with the Eiffel Tower in the background. Their unwitting photographer takes multiple, capturing a slow, stop-motion procession into chaos as Curt’s empty coffee cup blows away in the wind, he tries to catch it, nearly knocks Croz over in the process, Benny starts laughing his ass off, Marge abandons them in exasperation, and Bucky and Gale hardly even notice as they find themselves the only two left, lost in each others’ eyes. 

Bucky posts the entire sequence on Instagram with a caption that says nothing but “Look out, Paris!”

At Marge’s request, they take the Paris métro through the city to Notre Dame. They nearly board the wrong train, and then proceed to miss their stop completely, but they make it, only to find that it’s still not open to the public. Marge claims she knew this and wanted to see it anyway, and Benny complains about having to traverse the whole city just to stand in front of an old building. 

“It wasn’t nearly the whole city you idiot,” Marge protests. “And it’s not just an old building. It’s over 800 years old. And it’s beautiful!”

They stand in a line of six, staring up at the grand architecture, the arches and spires and ornate detailing that on one hand is exquisite, and on the other seems over the top. “It’s like, some kinda church?” Curt asks. 

“Yes,” Gale confirms. 

“Am I supposed to pray or some shit?”

Bucky snorts. “You could start by not sayin’ shit.”

“That ain’t fuckin’ happenin’,” Curt says. But they wander around outside of the building for a while, until the massive crowd becomes not worth it anymore and all the boys start complaining that they’re hungry. So they meander back the way they came, walking along the Seine in the early evening sun. 

They all get a little wine drunk in some restaurant along the riverfront, raising their glass in a toast to team USA. “To Buck and Bucky for bringing this unlikely group together,” Croz proclaims. “And to our victories so far. May our good fortune continue.” Their glasses clink together across the table, and everyone drinks to that. 

Thankfully, after the café fiasco, the non-French speaking boys in the group conceded all food ordering needs to Gale and Marge. Curt manages not to even say anything offensive about the wine or how obnoxious the French can be about it. Benny, however, mutters something snarky as he takes a sip, and Curt nearly spits Merlot all over the table, coughing and gasping for breath after he accidentally inhales the alcohol. Their whole table gets some annoyed looks as they try, and fail, to keep themselves from laughing, and Gale finds that he likes how these two friend groups mesh together. Even if he, feeling buzzed himself and knowing the others are probably worse off, eventually decides to usher them out before they can do any real damage to the American athlete reputation. 

He fears he may be too late, but he can try. 

That’s when they split up, wandering off in separate directions. Marge and Benny one way, Curt and Croz in another. And that leaves Gale and Bucky, alone and tipsy in the middle of Paris. Again. “Not sure it’s a good idea to turn Curt and Croz loose in this city,” Gale says, watching the pair of them literally skip off down the street. 

Bucky grabs both of his hands, pulling his attention back to him. “Don’t worry about them,” he insists. Then he kisses Gale right there on the sidewalk, as if he’s been waiting to do that all day. “City of Love. Where are we going next?”

Bucky doesn’t know what he expects, but it’s not for Gale to take him for ice cream, that’s for sure. Bucky doesn’t think anyone other than his parents has ever taken him out for ice cream, and he has to admit that this feels an awful lot like an actual date. Bucky hasn’t been on an actual date since his forced coming-out media extravaganza.

But they sit at a cute little table outside of a cute little ice cream shop and Bucky eats the cute little strawberry ice cream cone that Gale just ordered for him. Gale ordered it for him, like they’re on a date. Bucky is mid-competition here; he probably should not be eating ice cream. But he decides he doesn’t give a damn because this is the happiest he’s felt in months, and he’d be a fool to say no when a gorgeous, amazing guy orders him ice cream in the middle of Paris. Gale is leaning his elbows on the table across from him, licking the drips of melted chocolate ice cream that are falling over the sides of his cone. Bucky’s eyes are drawn to that motion, locked onto Gale’s mouth as he thinks about what else it can do. 

“Could you be any more subtle?” Gale asks. 

Bucky holds his ice cream out to the side and leans across the table, tilting Gale’s chin up with gentle fingers and pressing their lips together. “Is that better?” he whispers. 

“You taste like strawberry,” Gale murmurs. Then he kisses John again. 

A camera shutter clicks, and Bucky whips his head around, all too used to that sound. He hopes it’s just a stranger, taking pictures of their own Paris vacation, but sure enough there’s a photographer for some magazine or another with a camera pointed straight at them. Bucky rolls his eyes and groans. He tries to scoot his chair around the table so he’s between Gale and the photographer who has decided their personal lives are the world’s business. He glances behind him and sees that a second one has joined him. 

Gale glances over at them and raises an eyebrow, then gives Bucky the same look. 

“Sorry,” Bucky says. “We can leave? If you want.”

“It’s fine,” Gale says. 

“I’m tired of the media thinking they deserve a front row seat to my life. I don’t want them to get to you, too.”

“It’s fine, Bucky,” Gale repeats. “Don’t let them ruin this, okay?”

Bucky nods, but he sticks up his middle finger over his shoulder, making Gale choke on a mouthful of ice cream as he laughs. 

“You know if they keep this up, the cameras are gonna be all on you every single time I’m up tomorrow,” Bucky points out. “Wait, you’re coming tomorrow right?”

Tomorrow is individual All Around. Gale looks at him, amused. Just about nothing can keep him away. “Yes, I’m coming.”

Bucky nods, relieved. “They always show the reactions of people the gymnast cares about. So. That’s you, now.”

Gale doesn’t know what to say to that, so instead he extends his free hand across the table, inviting Bucky to meet him halfway. Bucky does, their fingers twining together without a second thought.

Several pictures of John Egan and Gale Cleven will surface from today. Kissing against a wall outside of a restaurant or across a table at an ice cream shop. Holding hands outside of Notre Dame. Walking down the Seine with their friends, John’s hand on Gale’s waist. Headlines will read ‘Clegan takes on Paris’ and ‘John Egan’s Parisian Date,’ titles which they both think are highly lacking in creativity.

For now, though, they eat their ice cream and try their best to ignore everything else. Bucky knocks his knee against Gale’s under the table. Gale reaches across and uses his thumb to wipe pink strawberry ice cream off the side of Bucky’s mouth. They laugh about silly things and tell each other random facts about themselves. Their favorite colors and favorite foods, music tastes and movie must-sees, their greatest accomplishments and most embarrassing competition moments. 

“How do you say ice cream in French?” Bucky asks as he reaches the end of his cone. 

“La glace,” Gale responds easily. 

“Strawberry ice cream?”

“La glace aux fraises.”

“Chocolate?”

“La glace au chocolat.” Gale shakes his head with a fond smile, popping the last of his cone into his mouth. “You heard me order in there. You just want me to speak French again.”

“So what if I do?” Bucky nonchalantly reaches across the table to take Gale’s hand in his. He rubs his thumb over the smooth skin before pressing a careful kiss to the back of Gale’s knuckles. 

He’s considered making a game of seeing how many times he can make Gale blush, but he’s forgotten to keep track. The flush that rises to his cheeks now is still a victory. Gale looks him dead in the eye, though, with such indisputable lust, and Bucky feels this magnetic pull, a warmth deep in his chest and an unquenchable want, knowing he has Gale’s full attention. 

“Maybe you should learn the language if that’s how you’re gonna be,” Gale suggests. 

Bucky shrugs, leaning further over the table again. “Why? I don’t care what you’re saying. Just that you’re saying it.”

Gale mimics him, leaning across the table until they’re just about nose to nose. His lips are parted, and Bucky flicks his eyes down to them. Gale smirks. “What if I’m saying something rude?”

“I don’t care,” Bucky insists. “I’d still wanna do dirty things to you on top of this table.”

“Mon dieu,” Gale mutters, his eyes fluttering closed as he wills his heart to slow down. Then he laughs softly and shakes his head. “Come on.” He gets to his feet and tightens his grip on Bucky’s hand, pulling him up out of his chair. “I wanna show you something.”

--

Something turns out to be the fucking Eiffel Tower. Which they are currently standing on top of. “Whoa,” Bucky breathes out. He can't even be disappointed that something wasn't, in fact, a bedroom where they could carry on with their shameless flirting. They’re standing at the railing, looking out over the city as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The sky is painted in watercolor shades of pink and purple, streaked with clouds reflecting what little is left of the daylight. They watch as bright white and yellow lights flicker on in the growing darkness, the city lighting up little by little far below them, like a constellation growing into a galaxy.

“You’ve been to Paris before, right?” Bucky asks. He grabs Gale gently by the waist, pulling him in close, and then wraps his arms around him from behind. He rests his chin on Gale’s shoulder, and Gale rests his hands over top of Bucky’s.

“A few times,” Gale says. “France is big on equestrian competition. Home of FEI.”

“FEI?”

“Fédération Équestre Internationale.” Bucky grins as the words roll off Gale’s tongue, the French accent shining through. Even though he can't see it, Gale knows, and he rolls his eyes.

Bucky glances at all of the other couples around them who are taking in this beautiful city with thoughts of romance and grandeur. “You bring all your dates up here?” 

“You’re the only one I’ve ever brought up here,” Gale says smoothly, like it’s not a big deal. But the hint of a smile, that miniscule uptick at the corner of his mouth, gives him away. Bucky’s satisfied with that.

“You know how to make a guy feel special.”

Gale hums quietly. They stand there in silence, broken by nothing but the sounds of life continuing down below and the murmuring of other visitors milling about around them. Reminders that the Earth still turns even as they find themselves stuck in this perfect moment, feeling like the world was built solely for them to exist in each other's presence.

Then Gale tilts his head thoughtfully, biting at his lower lip. His words come out careful, deliberate, like they’ve been roaming around in his head for a while now. “What are we doing here, John?” 

“We’re at the top of the tour eiffel,” Bucky says matter of factly, punctuated by a kiss below Gale’s ear. He even nearly gets the pronunciation correct.

But Gale shakes his head, letting his hands fall away from Bucky’s where they remain clasped across his middle. “I mean, what are we doing?” He doesn’t know how else to ask without risking driving this conversation down a dangerous road. He’s worried he doesn’t even want to ask. He’s worried everything could fall apart right here and now, a moment of infatuation turning to one of disappointment. But he has to know.

He’s never been one for casual, and he knows that Bucky has never been one for anything but casual. He doesn’t think Bucky knows he knows that. Gale desperately doesn’t want this to be some no-strings summer fling, but he also doesn’t want it to end yet. He hasn’t decided if a couple weeks with John Egan is better than nothing at all.

Bucky is quiet for a long time – too long – and Gale, frowning, starts to squirm out of his hold. Bucky’s heart is hammering in his chest, his brain unable to form a coherent response that conveys what he needs to convey. But when Gale tries to pull away, he feels panic well up like a bubble about to pop, and he knows that whatever happens, he doesn’t want to miss out on possibly the best thing to ever happen to him just because he’s a little scared.

He can’t even pause to realize how much personal growth that thought process represents. 

“Wait,” he sputters out, his hands holding fast to Gale’s hips before he can pull away. “Just hold on okay?”

Gale manages to turn around to look him in the eye, breaking Bucky’s grip. He sighs. “I’m not a one night stand kinda guy,” he confesses. Because he isn’t, even if he wants to be. “I’m not a one week stand kinda guy.”

Bucky nods hurriedly. “I know. I just… I’ve never done anything like this before.” Gale opens his mouth to answer, but Bucky puts a hand on his cheek and shakes his head. “Please.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never done anything like this before. I don’t really know how it works. I don’t know where we go from here. But I know I really like you. I know I don’t want this to stop.”

God, he feels like an awkward teenager in a high school romance. The words sound so trivial, so ingenuine, but he can’t for the life of him find the right ones. He closes his eyes, letting his hand drop back down, before he looks at Gale again. “I am terrified of losing people, Buck,” he breathes out, all in a rush. And Gale looks surprised for a moment, both at the honesty and also at the reminder that Bucky quite literally gave him his name, linking them together with some invisible thread that, slowly, is becoming visible to the people around them. That has to mean something, right?

Bucky pushes on before either of them can think too much about it. “But I have been happier here with you than I have been in years. So I don’t really know what that means, I’ve never felt that way before, and I don’t know what to do with it. But I don’t want it to go away. So just, please. Don’t leave.”

Bucky half expects Gale to push away from him, to leave him standing here on the top of the Eiffel Tower, unable or unwilling to deal with the chaos of John Egan’s mixed up brain. He can’t think of another time he begged someone for anything, not in any serious way. But Gale smiles softly at him, and he puts his hands on Bucky’s sides, pulling him in close. Bucky wraps his arms around Gale’s back, and Gale tucks his face into the curve of Bucky’s neck, like it belongs there. “It’s okay,” he whispers, because he feels the same. So lost and yet so sure at the same time. “I won’t go anywhere if you won’t.” 

Neither of them fully knows where that leaves them, or what exactly that means for when their time in Paris comes to an end. But standing there, high above the shimmering, bustling city, they hold on tight to each other as they watch the world pass by below. Tomorrow it’ll be back to the Games. Back to the real reason they’re here. For now, though, they’re just two people falling in love like sparks turning to flame, slowly at first, and then all at once. Nothing about it feels like a summer fling, because that’s never what it was meant to be.

…

…

Next part

[gabessquishytum]

Dream has real magic and to his ever growing shame deep embarrassment he works for a Medieval Times-esque theme restaurant as the "magician" (generic, non-copyright infringing magic professional from ye olde times 🙄).

The job is the pits, but it's not like anyone believes magic is real and it's not like poultice maker is a real modern job. So here Dream stays -- 3 shows a days on weekdays, 4 shows for kids on weekends, and one "after dark" show on Saturday nights for adults only where they serve beer and white or red wine.

The only bright spot is the guy playing the white knight character Robert, Hob. He's so charming and flirty and has seemingly made it his mission to make Dream smile (or flub his lines).

Lately, Hob has taken to asking Dream for a "favor" to wear while he's jousting, saying it will bring him luck. The script calls for Hob to win, but Dream might have added a little magic for luck.

I love this so so so much!!! Such a cute concept for these two. It gave me a crackish thought, too - what if Hob is an actual medieval knight?

Maybe he's immortal like in canon. Or maybe he got time-travelled into the modern age. Either way he used to be an actual sword wielding, joust competing, spur wearing knight! And however he got to modern times, it really tickles him to pretend to be a knight in this silly little restaurant. Sometimes he throws in a little Middle English to his stupid scripted lines, sometimes he wears real chainmail to work, but no one suspects anything. Hob just really seems like a normal guy. His brain doesn't explode when he drinks mountain dew or anything like that.

Whatever the case, Dream is definitely falling for him more and more as the weeks pass. The "luck" that Dream imbued in his favour earns Hob extra tips, and he uses the extra money to go right out and buy Dream a bunch of roses from the market. Dream takes them home and magics them so that they will never fade or wilt <3

When they finally get together as a couple they're both super nervous to "Come out" so to speak... and then Dream gets even more nervous because if Hob is a genuine medieval guy maybe he'll have a thing against magic? But Hob is like "no actually I think it's cool, we always had potions and poultices at home :)" and Dream just falls for him even more. He's so excited to show off his magic!!!

Hob is mainly just excited that in modern times he can get gay married to his beloved. Even if he does have to work under the yoke of post industrial capitalism. Swings and roundabouts!

[fluffysucker]

5. The ways you say my name.

Bucky Barnes x Reader (AU)

A/N: Written in Third POV. No use of Y/N. However, the reader is referred to as a female.

I didn't specify anything about the reader's work/job, so it can fit everybody. 

I hope you are enjoying the story so far. I'm so excited for you to read this chapter and the upcoming ones.

Likes, comments, reblogs are VERY VERY highly appreciated. Opinions really matter to me

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Days passed. And days turned into weeks, and weeks became months. Time moved. However, for you, it was moving so fast and yet so slowly.

Having the kids for five days a week all by yourself turned out to be a bigger challenge than you thought. There was always something that had to be done from the moment they woke up until they went to bed. You wondered how long the day was. It felt like two hours for you at most. Your appreciation for single mothers increases by the day.

Then came the weekends. And the house would be so quiet. No loud cartoons. No mess lying around. No school homework. No one is asking for stuff. No one shouts Mommy every five seconds. Your house was no longer home at the weekends. Time would move painfully slowly. Leaving you to yourself. You always tried to make plans with Natasha or Sharon. It didn't always work, leaving you with yet another downside of the split. Loneliness.

It made it a little easier knowing the kids counted the days until the end of the week so they could spend as much time with their dad as they could. Bucky was by no means an absent father. On weekdays, he would call at least twice a day and sometimes show up at the house to see them. The kids would be so happy.

You started to understand why so many people stayed in their marriage just for the kids. Their big smile alone was worth it.

However, this couldn't be the case for you and Bucky.

True to your words, you were great co-parents. Doing your duties to the fullest. When it came to kids, you and Bucky were doing it right. You were communicating well. Keeping the other updated and aware of anything regarding the kids. You had no problem showing up together for important school events, practices, or other kids' birthday parties. Theo's birthday was three weeks ago. You and Bucky planned it all without a minor inconvenience. And the party was amazing. You even let Bucky stay over that day upon Theo's request. In the guest room.

Because once the kids were not involved, you were strangers. Keeping the conversations light and small. Mainly checking the other's wellbeing.

Bucky was in awe of this. He was fully prepared when he showed up to pick the kids up the weekend following your confrontation to have you so cold and short towards him. And he deserved it.

Except you weren't. You were still the sweet and nice person you always were. Inviting him in and offering a drink. Asking about his plans for the weekend. It was like nothing ever happened.

He understood later. You were going to be the best version of yourself possible for Lily and Theo. They didn't deserve parents who couldn't be civilized. It's already hard enough on the six- and four-year-old's, so he followed in your footsteps. And you're doing great.

But sometimes he could see your act falling. Your eyes showing the truth. You were far from fine. You were still hurting from it all. You were begging for a cure for the pain. But never to him. Not anymore.

Bucky wasn't doing that well either. When he wasn't a father, who was he? He used to be your husband. Now he wasn't. And wasn't that what he wanted? To find out who he was when he wasn't yours.

The infamous fuckboy and successful businessman, but nobody believed he would be a family man. Was that what Bucky wanted? Absolutely not. It didn't sound right anymore.

Then what did he want? Why did he damage his life for uncertainty and unclarity?

This was why you always encouraged him to communicate his feelings and share his fears. Because look what happened when he didn't.

Bucky knew the way like the back of his hand. He used to pick you up so much back then. So much.

As Bucky was about to walk into your usual spot, he found you already leaving.

"Bucky. Hi." It never failed to amaze him how nice you were to him. Even when the kids weren't around.

"Everything is okay?" He shouldn't be surprised. You would only expect him to be here for something.

"Yes. I know the kids are spending the day at Becca's. I was wondering if it would be okay if I picked them up and had them over." Bucky was missing the kids extra this week. Maybe not just them.

"Of course. I have a meeting right now. I'll call you once it's over, and we can meet at the house to pick up their stuff." Bucky couldn't help but smile. Being a successful woman and an amazing mother was something you excelled at. It always filled him with pride and happiness.

Before he could say anything, a voice interrupted both of you.

"Ready to go, dear?" Standing behind you was what could only be described as a god of a man. More than 6'3" tall. Muscles unbelievably massive. Fluffy brown hair. Light blue eyes. Features perfectly sculptured. Along with a very expensive-looking suit complimenting him in all the right places. And a voice matching his vibe. Deep and strong.

To say the man was extremely handsome would barely be enough.

He came to stand behind you, resting his hand on the small of your back.

"Yes. Just a minute." You replied, looking comfortable with his presence and his touch.

"So it should be done by five; we can meet then?" You turned to Bucky to confirm your plan.

However, Bucky was staring at the stranger's hand, sliding to your waist, moving you smoothly and slightly so people passing wouldn't brush into you.

Who the hell was this guy?

He snapped out of it and nodded, ensuring it worked for him.

"I'm sorry, let me introduce you." You spoke

"This is our new business partner, Thor Odinson." A new guy then.

"Thor, this is James. My kids' father."

Bucky could swear he heard his heart break into pieces. Your words cut deeper than all his scars.

It was the first time you didn't introduce him as your husband. Bucky never thought it would hurt so much.

He was your man once. Now he is James.

He has no one else to blame.

Bucky swelled the pit in his chest and acknowledged the man standing with a simple nod, which Thor returned.

"Did you check everything?" You turned to Thor slightly, so now his hand was almost wrapped around your waist.

"Stop worrying, my dear. You will do great." Thor spoke softly to you.

Bucky was never one for self-control. The sight in front of him was pushing the limit. He could feel the heat rushing through his body. He hoped it wasn't clear on his face.

You walked away after promising to call him once you were done. You and Thor started talking, and he immediately noticed the man keeping you on the less busy side of the pavement, furthest away from cars.

Who the hell was this man? Why was he touching you like this? Why was he calling you pet names? Why was he doing everything Bucky was supposed to do? And why were you so comfortable with him?

"I mean. If he is just a business partner. Why so close?"

Bucky has been pacing around nonstop in Rebecca's living room since he arrived at her house.

"So let me get this straight." Rebecca finally spoke, fed up with her brother's tactics.

"You saw your ex-wife, who is single, with a hot man doing nothing more than being friendly." She recapped the story that had been eating him alive.

"You didn't see it." This was the only thing he could say to defend his crazy behavior.

"And she is working with him on the weekend. Why?. Aren't the weekdays enough?" Bucky tried so hard to keep it to himself when he showed up at your house, as you agreed. He almost felt the steam coming out of his ear like a cartoon character when you told him you would be busy this weekend, working on the new deal and working with Thor.

"Bucky.."

"I mean, what if he is a creep?. What if he is a serial killer?"

"Or what if he falls in love with her?" Bucky stopped abruptly in his place, looking at his sister.

"He is spending so much time with her. It won't take him long to see the wonderful person she is. So he will ask her out, and what will stop her from saying yes? Nothing." The vivid scenario Rebecca drew was actually Bucky's nightmare.

"Isn't that what you are really afraid of?" Rebecca looked at her brother with all seriousness.

"You realized she is in the market again. She is fair game. And suddenly, you're mad." Bucky looked like a kid who got caught eating candy after midnight.

"Well, let me tell you, Bucky, you are full of shit." Leave it to Rebecca Barnes to give her brother a piece of her mind.

"That woman isn't your toy. You can't choose to love her one day and leave her the next."

"I don't know what you were expecting, but she deserves to move on. To get back on her feet. And you don't even deserve to be jealous. You chose this." And she wasn't going to sugarcoat it.

"That woman was the best thing to have ever happened to you."

It was time for Bucky to have a reality check.

"Do you have any idea how much people warned her about you? Advised her against dating you? They told her you would only hurt her. That you would leave her once you got bored, like you did with every other woman. But she didn't care and chose you."

"She loved you with all her heart and even more. She stayed loyal and kind to you. And what did you do? You proved them right." Rebecca couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice.

"And when?. After she let her guard down and believed it wasn't going to happen, you, in fact, did change. After she had built a whole life with you. A house. A career. Kids. A family. And you still left. For what? Nobody can know."

"I don't know either."

Rebecca looked at her brother, confused, as he sat down next to her on the couch.

"I don't know what happened. I got in my head. I looked back at what my life was like and what it was like now. I let my mind trick me into thinking this is not me. I only ever changed for her. I only did these things because she wanted them, not because I wanted them. That I never wanted this life. The wife. The kids. The white picket fence It's not me."

Bucky couldn't pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but he could remember the dark thoughts filling his head. Deceiving him into missing the playboy he once was. The man who was praised for his many affairs. The one he thought he should have always been.

"And it didn't stop there. I started thinking she was going to see it all. The truth. My truth. A man questioning his life choices. His family. Our Home. A man she deserves so much better than him. So she was going to hate me." Bucky wasn't an insecure man. However, he was never able to shake the fear of him not being enough for you. Of never being good enough for you.

So, with an assumed longing for an old version of himself, his fears were on overdrive.

"So I returned to my roots. Self-destruction." It was an old habit implemented so deep in him. It stopped gradually and almost disappeared after he met you. But with a mess in his head that he couldn't control, he retrieved to the old coping mechanism.

"I stayed longer at work. I hung out with Steve or Sam more than I should have. I took on any work trip I could. And when I'm at home, I'm either at my office or with the kids. I would call off dates before even planning. Our bedroom became so silent. It doesn't take a genius to see what I was doing." Bucky would never find a strong explanation for his behavior. He was blinded by his doubts. Blinded by what could only be described as a mental crisis.

"And she tried. She tried so hard to know what was happening. She could read me like an open book. She knew my mind was playing games with me. She reached out and beyond to know what game it was this time." A sad smile formed on Bucky's face. He recalled every time you begged him, in so many different ways, to talk to you. You wanted to know what was bothering him. What was driving him away from you.

"I could see it in her eyes. She tried to deny it. To deny what was happening. She didn't want it to be true. She didn't want to believe the game was so cruel this time that she was a victim as well. That I couldn't share my worries. That I really retrieved to my old self. I was shutting down on myself. I was shutting her out." Bucky could remember the look in your eyes when you started to realize what was going on. That you were the cause of this wavering. That he was shutting you down so he could find a way to let you down slowly.

"I saw all her calls for help, and I didn't do anything." This had a whole different meaning now that he knew about your baby. It was a new torment that nobody prepared him for.

"And what could I do? Tell her I'm questioning myself, our family, and our home. Tell her my fear that she always deserved better than me was getting too loud." Bucky couldn't find a way to tell you that the demon on his shoulder was taking over.

"I let myself think that it would be better if I left. If I didn't wake up every day and think this life is not meant for me, I should give up. Admit I can't commit anymore." The perplexity Bucky found himself in was overwhelming. So he gave up. He took the route that seemed the easiest at the time, unknowingly to him, it would lead to distressing cycle of pain and regret.  

"I thought I would get back to my old ways. Nights out. Travelling. A different woman every night. A free man." An illusion the evil part of his brain built for him. An illusion he thought he must follow.

"But you still wanted to be part of the kids' lives?" Rebecca couldn't keep the question in for long.

"I thought I could be the fun dad who only sees his kids on weekends and vacations. I would have her carry all the responsibilities. " He wasn't ashamed to tell his sister how low he had fallen. How far his mind betrayed him.

"But I couldn't. I would wake up, think of them, and wait until I could call them. I would count the minutes until I could have them. I want to know everything about them." After ruining everything, his demons failed to make him a bad father.

"It turns out that old me isn't what I want anymore." Bucky finally admitted the truth. The truth is that he let insecurity and a messed-up thought win.

"But that makes it look like..."

"I only couldn't commit to her. That I don't love her."

Because you didn't know he planned to withdraw from the three of you, it appears now that he only left you.

"Truth is.."

"The truth is, I love her more than anything. She owns my heart and soul. She is the reason for everything good that has ever happened to me. Because she used to silence my demons. She was my antidote."

"It kills me that I ended up only hurting her. My sweet girl."

Bucky couldn't keep the tears from falling, so he let them fall on his face. He finally admitted what had been happening inside of him for so long. And he wasn't proud of it.

"Oh, Bucky." Rebecca couldn't find it in herself to watch her brother be so vulnerable.

"I didn't mean to hurt her, I swear." His voice was so small, just like how he felt.

"I really thought it would be better for the both of us if I left. I guess that is why they always say, Let the wife make the decisions." Bucky laughed through the tears. Maybe if he really did open up to you, you would still be his.

"Mistakes happen, Bucky. Some are more expensive than others." Maybe it was the justice of the universe for Bucky to live in regret for the pain he caused you.

"And there is only one thing you can do now." Bucky turned his full attention to Rebecca, needing the advice and the help.

"Move on."

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @almosttoopizza @ragingrainbowshipl @dexter99 @xdarkcreaturex @nash-dara @paarthurnax59 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @unaxv @missmielyhoran @wintermischief @kandis-mom

[himmelsstern]

ice cream

It had started with little things.

Kim always replied to Porchay's messages almost immediately when he wasn't in the studio or in meetings.

He was trying to communicate his feelings better, even if he was still struggling a bit, but it was progress and Porchay was proud of Kim.

He even tried to get on well with Porsche, which was a far more difficult task than expressing his feelings to Porchay.

Of course, Porchay had told his brother about his heartbreak and therefore also about Kim, and it had taken his pleading as well as Kinn's appeasement and persuasion to stop Porsche from killing Kim right then and there.

The fact that the two of them only fought with glances when they met was really a big improvement in their relationship.

But what Porchay only noticed after a few months of dating was that Kim adapted himself and his apartment to Porchay's habits and preferences.

On weekdays when Porchay had classes and Kim's schedule allowed, Kim got up with him, they had breakfast and he would drive him.

Porchay knew that Kim often worked late the night before on new songs and then went back to sleep for a few hours as soon as he got back.

Porchay's clothes were also hanging in Kim's closet, his notes and books were spread out on the coffee table and it was amazing that Kim lived with this without protest, because the rest of the apartment was always almost meticulously clean and tidy.

But it was a carton of ice cream that really made Porchay pause.

Kim didn't eat ice cream, in fact he hardly ever ate sweets, and yet there was a carton of Porchay's favorite ice cream in his freezer.

"You have coconut ice cream." he mumbled and Kim, who was playing a few chords on the guitar, raised his head and looked at Porchay in confusion.

"Yes, that's your favorite."

"But you don't like ice cream." Porchay said and Kim put the guitar aside to give his boyfriend his full attention.

"But you do. Why are we having this conversation?" Kim asked and Porchay quickly bridged the distance between them and tenderly embraced Kim's face so that he could press a kiss to his lips.

"You love me." Porchay stated and Kim seemed to doubt his sanity completely.

"Of course I love you. Are you all right?"

Kim put a hand on his forehead to check if he had a fever.

"I'm fine. I'm just happy." Porchay confessed, leaning his forehead against Kim's.

"If I'd known coconut ice cream would make you so happy, I would have bought two packs." Kim joked, stealing another kiss.

"You make me happy, not the ice cream. Well, the ice cream too. But mainly you and that you remember things like that. And that you're trying to deal with Porsche. That you're getting up with me, that you're visiting your brothers more again. You're trying to do things better and I'm proud of you." Porchay whispered against Kim's lips, on which he pressed a quick kiss as a reward after each sentence.

"There's nothing I won't do for you to keep you safe and happy." Kim said earnestly as he gently pulled Porchay closer until he had no choice but to sit on his lap, where Kim instantly wrapped his arms around him possessively.

[imaginedanvrs]

encrypted relations

part 6 l masterlist

summary: yelena belova x reader. when natasha takes you under her wing, she becomes like family, and the last thing you want is to lose that. but when you meet her younger sister who you know is off limits, you have to decide between what you really want and hope for minimal damage

word count: 3.4k

warnings: nothing, just platonic romantic fluff with a hint of angst at the end

Yelena scratched her fingers under Marty’s chin as the pair of them waited for you to reemerge from the small supermarket. You had been in there a while and the blonde was beginning to wonder if you had been somehow kidnapped in the building. She wouldn’t put it past you. Just as she was about to send you a text, you came out of the exit with your rucksack noticeably full. 

  “What took so long?” Yelena grumbled. 

  “I wasn’t even that long,” you defended as you started out of the parking lot. 

  “I thought you had been kidnapped,” she huffed. 

  “You said that when I took too long in the toilets last time we went out for lunch.”

  “Kate agreed with me,” Yelana stated.

  “It’s not my fault I got lost!” The blonde hummed thoughtfully. 

  “And you're leading the hike?” She queried. You shot her a dirty look that she merely grinned at. 

  “Don’t you trust me, Belova?” You nudged. 

  “I am just hoping that Marty is secretly the leader,” she said. Marty looked back at the blonde upon hearing his name. “Am I right?” Marty barked back. “Thank goodness,” Yelena muttered loud enough for you to hear. 

  “Ass,” you muttered back. 

  You made it to the start of the trail without digging into your snack supply too much, mainly due to Yelena scolding you for doing so, and made your way through the start of the forest. There was a light chill to the breeze that you knew you would be grateful for once you began to work up a sweat and enough sunshine to pak through the gaps in the trees. As you predicted, there weren’t that many people around due to it being a weekday morning so you let Marty off the lead to ‘scout ahead’ as Yelena called it, leaving the two of you to stroll side by side. 

  You didn’t talk much, not feeling the need to fill the comfortable silence that allowed you to focus on the scenery around you, until you felt Yelena’s familiar hand slip into yours. You were taken aback at first, risking a glance at the blonde who seemed tentative about her actions. You smiled, not saying anything, and interlaced your fingers with her own. It felt right. 

  “How often do you come out here?” Yelena asked as she watched Marty take interest in an oak tree. 

  “Whenever I get the chance, not as much as I used to though,” you answered. 

  “Why not?” 

  “I guess I used to come out here more when I needed to clear my head, around the time I met Nat actually, and I don’t tend to need that so much these days.” You could tell Yelena had some follow up questions there so you swiftly continued. “Besides, I don’t always have the time and I never want to drag Nat out here after her missions and Kate’s not good with nature and neither is Ava so,” you shrugged.

  “Is Ava the coworker?” 

  “That’s the one,” you nodded. A beat passed between you. 

  “She seems friendly,” Yelena noted, yet her tone seemed to suggest otherwise. 

  “Yeah, she’s also really into your sister.” Yelena looked like a deer caught in headlights. You chuckled and gave her hand a light squeeze.

  “That might be good for her, maybe if she got laid she wouldn’t interrogate me about my love life so much,” Yelena huffed. 

  “She does?” You queried, surprised that Natasha was actually so upfront about that with her sister. 

  “Everytime I see her,” Yelena grumbled. 

  “What do you tell her?” You asked, keeping your focus on Marty as he paused to wait for you to catch up. 

  “I tell her I have fun,” Yelena said simply. You nodded, not sure what to make of that summary. The blonde recognised your silence though perhaps misreading your mood. “I don’t tell her about you, don’t worry,” she insisted. 

  “Do you want to?” You didn’t think before you spoke. Yelena didn’t answer for a long moment, making you realise that you had never actually asked the blonde how she felt about keeping your secret from her sister. You never thought that, given how close they were, that might be an aspect of her life Yelena would want to share with her big sister. You had Kate to talk about it with, who did Yelena have? 

  “I don’t know,” she finally said, though she sounded unsure. 

  “Really?” You stopped, pulling on Yelena’s hand gently so that she paused as well. She looked to the floor and you lifted her chin with your thumb.

  “I want whatever you want,” she said, sounding almost too devoted. “Come on,” she smiled, pulling you back to the trail. “I want to see where this ledge is.” 

  “It’s just up there,” you pointed left to a steep hill half a mile away, struggling to forget the obvious signs that Yelena wasn’t as comfortable with your secret as you were, not that you were particularly enjoying it yourself. 

  Marty seemed to recognise the area because he started to dash on ahead until you called him back, cautious of him getting too excited by the ledge. He came back to your side promptly and you compromised with his eagerness by sprinting up the final stretch with him until you reached the top. The ledge overlooked the entire trail with a sea of trees beneath them and the city just beyond it. You could only hear the faint hum of New York if you listened closely for it, otherwise it was pure peace. 

  “This is a cool view,” Yelena stated as she gazed out. 

  You took your rucksack off and pulled out the flannel print picnic blanket that you had triple checked for before you left the apartment, and laid it down on the ground. Yelena joined you as you pulled out the food you had brought, some of which being new to the blonde, and got Marty’s water bowl that you filled with water. 

  “I’m sure you’ve seen some pretty cool views before this.”

  “Yes, I was always the best sniper so I always got the sights,” Yelena recalled somewhat fondly, as though they provided a silver lining in hindsight. “Lots of cities,” she added. 

  “What was your favourite?”

  “Amsterdam,” Yelena answered immediately. 

  “Did you go to the red light district?” You asked, only half joking.

  “Where else would I have been?” She deadpanned. “Our transportation was late so I got to go sightseeing a little.” 

  “I’m sure you got an eyeful,” you accused, making the blonde chuckle without denying anything. 

  “So what if I did, you would too,” she pointed out. 

  “If I ever go I’ll let you know,” you said. Yelena hummed as she rummaged through the snacks you brought. 

  “What is a twinkie?” Yelena questioned as she held up the packaged cake. 

  “Something you need to try if you're gonna stay in America,” you told her almost sincerely.  

  “Nat said she would bring me back food from England,” Yelena said as she opened the treat.

  “She better be bringing me some too!” You exclaimed. 

  “Perhaps I will share,” she considered. 

  “I can’t see you as the sharing type,” you grumbled. 

  “Depends how good it tastes,” Yelena muttered back. You bit back a smile.

  You spent some time with the blonde introducing her to the western foods she hadn’t yet tried, most of which she surprised herself by enjoying, while she pointed out the different species of birds that could be heard from the ledge. 

  “I never knew you were such a bird head,” you quipped. 

  “I thought this was basic knowledge,” she objected. 

  “The red room thought that was basic knowledge?” 

  “I can also identify types of snakes,” she said. 

  “That’s pretty cool,” you admitted. 

  “Snakes are very cool,” Yelena corrected. “I want one.”

  “I would come over to see that.”

  “Just to see that?” She asked, a small smirk playing on her lips. 

  “What else would I be there for?” You asked, a coy smile starting on your own lips. 

  “Maybe the owner of the really cool snake,” she replied, leaning closer to you. 

  “Well I guess she sounds like a fun person to hang out with too,” you muttered, placing a hand on the blonde’s cheek to pull her in for a tender kiss, both of you smiling. 

  “Come on,” you said as you pulled away. “There's a creek a little way North that Marty likes swimming in.” Yelena helped you pack up before you both made your way back down the hill with Marty starting on ahead, his tail whipping through the air frantically. 

  This time, you were the one to reach out and take Yelena’s hand, swinging it comfortably as you felt her give you a soft grin. “How does the assassin keep her hands so soft?” You queried aloud. 

  “It’s important to moisturise,” she said simply, enjoying the way you ran your thumb over the back of her hand. 

  You made it to the creek within an hour, comforted by the fact that it was entirely the same as the previous times you had visited. As you strolled down, you found the thick oak tree that had fallen over the creek what looked to be years prior and didn’t hesitate to climb onto it with Yelena close behind. You held out your hands steadily, cautious of any slippery spots and occasionally feeling Yelena’s hands on your waist to steady you. You made it to the middle and sat down, your shoes barely an inch above the water. 

  Marty stood several feet in front of you in the creek, unaffected by the gentle current that only reached his stomach in the deeper areas. You kept a watchful eye on him as you picked up the stick on the tree and threw it as hard as you could, making Marty go bounding after it. Yelena laughed lightly as she observed your dog find the stick with impressive ease and come bouncing back, surprising you both when he stood in front of the blonde to give her the stick. 

  “Does that mean he thinks I’m in charge?” Yelena asked as she took the stick and threw it back into the creek, getting it significantly further than you did. 

  “He has good intuition like that,” you said, taking your phone out to snap a couple photos of Marty running back. 

  “And you found him in a dumpster?” Yelena recalled. 

  “Yeah, he was being kicked out by a family of raccoons,” you said, remembering how you had been passing by the alley when you heard the commotion. 

  “And he protects you every night,” Yelena mused, throwing the stick again.

  “In his defence, he was injured at the time! I took him to the vet and… I don’t know. I guess I thought it would be good for both of us if he stayed with me. He seemed to agree,” you recalled. “He stopped my nightmares,” you added after a pause. 

  Yelena glanced your way for a second then looked back at the creek, considering her words. “What did you dream about?” She asked outright. You didn’t mind. 

  “I kind of used to hack into S.H.I.E.L.D before I started working for them,” you started. Yelena looked at you with a wide grin, seeming somewhat impressed. 

  “No way,” she laughed. “And they hired you?”

  “Thanks to Nat,” you nodded. “Anyway I used to pass on the information I found to some not great people and it got a lot of people hurt,” you explained, the guilt still present. “So I used to dream about what happened to them, because of me.” Yelena stared down at the water running beneath her, knowing that feeling of guilt all too well. 

  “You help people now though,” she said. “You made it work.”

  “Yeah,” you smiled. You had rebuilt your life the way you wanted it, you couldn’t dwell on past mistakes.

  You stayed by the creek until Marty eventually tired himself out and decided to head back. Yelena hopped down first, greeting Marty several steps ahead and giving you a chance to take your phone out again and take a swift photo of the blonde while she was distracted. You smiled at the moment you had captured and pocketed the device before Yelena noticed. 

  The blonde gave a dramatic cry of distress when Marty began to shake all of the water from his body while Yelena was standing too close. “You’re not ready for a dog if you didn’t see that coming,” you called to her. She gave you a middle finger in response as she wiped the droplets from her face. 

  “Now I’ll have to shower you both down,” you told her with a tut. 

  “I’m not sharing your shower time with your dog,” she told you with a glare though she held out her hand to take your backpack from you to give you a break.

  “Thank you for showing me this,” Yelena said.

  “Thanks for coming,” you shrugged. “I knew you would like it and you’re not bad company,” you quipped. 

  “You’re not so bad yourself, detka,” she smiled. You loved when she called you that, but you were admittedly more conscious of it since pondering the ethics of keeping what you and Yelena had a secret. 

“We’ll tell Nat soon,” you said suddenly. Tell her what you weren’t sure, having never used any label with Yelena before. “Just let me get my will finalised first.” Yelena gave you a soft smile that you got the impression from that she wasn’t entirely certain. 

  “We don’t have to,” she assured but that didn’t matter to you now that you knew how she really felt. You needed to ask Yelena what you would even tell her sister. It felt like you were more than friends with benefits but to say it aloud? To be the one to do it? You didn’t want to risk discovering you were wildly misreading your connection to Yelena. You didn’t want to be the one to admit you wanted to be more than that. You didn’t ruin what you hoped to someday look back on as your first date. 

~

You didn’t look up when you heard the six small wheels run across the floor in front of your desk followed by the dull thud of your coworker propping her elbows up next to your screen. She peered around to gain an awkward look at your work before setting her gaze on you. You cracked a smile but didn’t meet her gaze having been used to Ava’s interruptions since you first met her.

“You wanna come over to eat leftover pizza and watch cringy reality shows tonight?” She asked. 

  “I don’t even get fresh pizza?” You quipped. 

  “I’m too broke to spend on you,” she said with a grin until you swiped your hand out to knock her elbows off your desk. 

  “Some other time, Nat’s coming over tonight.” It had been a while since you had seen the redhead. She had been away for a few months which you had leant to be normal in the years that you had known her, but it didn’t mean you hadn’t missed the Russian. 

  “Tell her I say hi,” Ava smirked.

  “Stop trying to get in her pants, she’s too much of a workaholic to try that with,” you chuckled as you saved your latest report. 

  “As long as she’s not straight I can still work my magic.” 

  “Work it at Stark's next party,” you said with a pointed look. As much as you loved Ava, you weren’t going to spend your rare evening with Natasha as a wingwoman. 

  “Fine,” Ava huffed with a smile as she pushed herself back from your desk and wheeled back to her own in the office chair to grab her bag as you did the same. 

  The walk back to your apartment was as safe as they came. Once you reached the mainland, it was a ten minute walk to your apartment complex with every step of the way being unofficial S.H.I.E.L.D grounds just like your apartment. In some sense, it was a safehouse. Not all of its tenants were those that needed some precautionary protection, but they were all S.H.I.E.L.D personnel. 

  In your first year working at S.H.I.E.L.D it was mandatory that you lived in the building, partly as house arrest and partly from genuine concern. Though you had struck a deal with division that let you off lightly, there was still a trial period needed to ensure that you had the intentions you claimed you did. But they had also never found Rae. She never returned to your old apartment though occasional public security footage showed that she was still out there and able to avoid S.H.I.E.L.D with alarming ease. 

  After the first year, you were welcome to continue staying in the apartment building and Natasha had insisted that you should for your own safety. The redhead had given you various self defence lessons and encouraged you to take the ones S.H.I.E.L.D offered, then told you it was best to stay at the building for practicality. Then she had told you, in a less guarded tone, that she wanted you to be safe. That protectiveness had only grown over time. 

  When Natasha arrived, she brought with her a six pack of beers which you knew meant a lot of catching up. “Hey, flash drive,” she said as she hugged you in the doorway, holding on for a second longer than usual despite holding the pack. Yeah, she had a lot to catch you up on and she wasted no time in doing it. 

  “Then, being the dumbass she is, she put her batons together and shoved them into the propeller! Luckily I had a parachute pack on and got to her quick enough to get it on her otherwise I would have been so pissed at her!” Natasha exclaimed before taking the final swig of her beer. 

  “She sounds badass,” you input as you tried to visualise everything Natasha described. Her little sister sounded like somewhat of a firecracker and you were dying to see that in person. Maybe it was just the alcohol in your system, but Natasha made Yelena sound like someone you definitely wanted to get a drink with. 

  “I’m sure you two would get on great,” Natasha said as she rolled her eyes with a small smile. 

  “I hope I do meet her soon, I want to hear all about what you were like as a kid,” you admitted. Natasha shook her head as her smile widened, though a second too long passed for her to think about how things weren’t always good. You knew this, she had told you before. Once you had told Natasha about your time living with Rae, she had decided to share that vulnerability and tell you about the red room. So to hear that the redhead and her sister had been able to give them such a blow? You were thrilled for her. 

  “She’s helping the other widows now, the ones we couldn’t get to.” You hummed, thinking about the scale of what Yelena was taking on. “I told her I would help as much as I can but…” she gestured around. 

  “The rest of the world needs you to,” you shrugged, knowing that was what she meant. 

  “I wouldn’t be back if I wasn’t so sure I was leaving it in safe hands,” Natasha admitted. “I just hope she's not doing anything I wouldn't do, especially with Alexia there to encourage her.” 

  “You wouldn't be happy if she did some of the things you do actually do,” you pointed out. 

  “That's different!” She exclaimed with a laugh. “I have a lot of big sister nagging time to make up for! Just wait until she has her first girlfriend.” Oh? 

  Natasha must have noticed you taking note of that because she tapped your cheek with the back of her index finger. “Don't even think about it,” she warned with a knowing smile, making it impossible to tell if she was joking or not. You were about to ask, but Natasha was reaching for the TV remote. “And you better not have been watching Survivor without me.”

[wildemaven]

How Good It Is

Pairing: Benny Miller x Single Mom F!Reader

WC: 1411

Warnings: 18+ Blog; single mom, mention of child, new relationship/secret for the sake of the child, p in v (unprotected; on birth control), cumplay (I think), oral (f receiving), nipple play, feelings and fluff!

A/N: This is set early on in their relationship, before Supply & Demand. This was mainly based off some steamy kitchen blinking, and then I decided to add some feelings to it too. This is not beta’d, so all the mistakes are my own doing. Title is based off of this song.

Wild Love Series / Playlist / Main Masterlist

You were familiar with early mornings. Seeking solitude in the stillness as you meander throughout the house, coffee ground and dripping steadily before the sun had a chance to penetrate the kitchen windows. 

Weekday mornings were more structured and planned out—  breakfast, work emails and light chores were tended to between sips from your ceramic mug. Then you were rushing through last minute homework questions, packing lunches and adjusting outfits before heading to the bus stop at the end of the block. 

Weekends were less demanding of your time. There was an ease to them. If it was your weekend with your daughter, there was nowhere to rush off to, your time spent reading the book you had picked up from the library recently as you gradually drained the coffee pot. 

That was until Benny ambled into your life 9 months ago. A steady friendship grew into something a little more intimate as the weeks went on. 2 months after meeting him, following the win of one of his fights, he was asking to see you exclusively— girlfriend. 

Between work emails, you now quietly text him asking about his plan for the day, how his training session the night before went, even an exchange of a selfie or two— him still laid back in bed with his tousled hair and sleepy smile; you with your freshly washed face and a light touch of mascara, standing in front of the stove with a few eggs sizzling in a greased pan. 

If there was an opportunity for an actual phone call, you took it. You felt like teenagers, spending hours chatting about nothing and everything— there was never a dullness when Benny was involved. 

Those early morning phone calls slowly progressed into steamier conversations. Pent up desires, eager to be released in any capacity, resulting in the exchange of breathy gasps and yearning moans as orchestrated pleasure ripped through the sound waves over the phone. It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough— holding you both over until the next moment alone together. 

It was mornings like this one that you looked forward to, the house decorated in a trail of revealing lingerie, boxers and abandoned blankets leading to the hub of your home. The kitchen is quiet, save for the passionate efforts between the two of you, that had you reeling in bliss. The two of you alone, hands finding purchase on bare slick skin and any sturdy surface. 

“Oh Fuck! Ben— don’t stop! fuckfuckfuck! I’m almost there!” You manage to say as Benny holds you against an open kitchen wall, your leg thrown over his hip while he avidly thrusts into you. 

“Same— shit! You feel so good, Babe! Not gonna last much longer!” His words muffled against your neck. 

With one hand firmly on your propped up leg, he manages to snake the other one between your bodies, settling on your little bundle of nerves. His fingers work beautifully in circular motions, your aching cunt seizing up instantly. 

“Ahh! Yes! Ben— fuckyesyesyes! I’m going to come!” A whine emerges from your throat, your head falling back against the wall as your orgasm begins to break— muscles tensing and pulsing in rapturous delight. 

Your fingers card through his sweaty blonde locks, scraping against his scalp in such a manner that has his hips stuttering as he chases his peak. 

“You’re so good! Let go, Ben.” Your words hit somewhere deep within him, plucking that last cord in just the right way. 

“Fuck! I— I lov— fuckhnnghshit!” His hand flying up and slamming into the wall behind you as his spend empties into your still pulsating heat. 

His head rests against your shoulder, releasing your leg gently onto the ground. His hands settle on your hips, his touch warm and thoughtful as you both come down for your highs. 

“Shit! I got too caught up, forgot to pull out. ‘M sorry.” His breath fans across your chest, his apology riddled with sincerity. 

You pull his head up to your face, his baby blues still beaming in a lusty daze as he gazes at you, your fingers still toying with his hair. 

“It’s okay— I told you it was fine with the birth control they put me on. It was kind of hot too!” You smirk at him. 

His lips find yours in an unhurried manner, a post kitchen sex make out, all while those 3 words he almost said were still fresh in your mind. 

“I love you too.” You say against his kissed out lips. 

Pulling away briefly, a smile plastered on his handsome face, taking in fully what you had said. 

“I wanted to say it fully, but then— ya know.” 

“I know. And I still love you, too. I want Rory to meet you.” You say, the l-o-v-e word still tickling your lips. 

“Meet me? I’m confused, she knows me pretty well.” His brows fur at you suggesting he meet your daughter, again. 

“Yeah, but she knows you as Benny— the MMA fighter, the fun guy at the barbecues who lets her have an ungodly amount of sugar, the guy who listens intently to her stories and makes her laugh at his silly jokes. I want her to meet you as Ben, my boyfriend.” 

“Yeah? Are you sure?” Your words hitting him fully, the possibility of being able to openly act like your boyfriend has excitement stirring in him. 

There was an understanding when you began seeing each other, that you wanted to wait until you were ready to tell your daughter. You wanted to be sure that he was serious about not only you, but your daughter as well— and over the last few months he had been nothing short of amazing in proving that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“Very sure.” 

His softened cock finally slips out of you, his spend trickle down your thigh prompts him to grab a towel from the counter, kneeling down and gently wiping it off. 

“When is Rory due back?” He asks, kissing your hip then standing to his full height. 

You peer over to the clock on the stove, noting it’s 7:00 am and  your ex should be dropping her off around 8 am. 

“In the next hour or so.”

“Okay. I can grab my stuff, be outta here in the next 20 minutes.” He says before taking a drink of his forgotten coffee. 

“Or— you could stay and we can all have breakfast together?” Grabbing the mug from his hands, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. 

“Today? You want to tell her today?” You nod softly, smiling into the mug as you finish off the rest of his coffee. “Shit— Yeah! You think she’s going to like me?” A worried look creeps over his face. 

“Ben— She loves you! Don’t worry— we can have breakfast here, then maybe walk down for some donuts and more coffee— I drank the last of yours and I’m out of beans.” 

He grabs the cup from you and places it on the counter, pulls you from where you’re still against the wall and spins you over to the kitchen island. Patting at your hip, encouraging you to jump as he grabs the back of your thighs to help you onto the counter top. 

“How much time did you say we had?” He says as he plasters kisses along your collarbone. 

“Mmmm— ‘bout an hour. Her dad will call when they’re almost here— Ahh!” You gasp as he takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue massaging over the pebbled flesh before releasing it with a pop. 

His hand pushes at your chest to lay back, a few tugs at your hips to get you to scoot closer to the edge of the counter. A counter stool scraps across the wood floor, placing in front of your spread legs, he takes a seat. 

“Plenty of time for round three!” His breath is hot against your sensitive and wet cunt. 

A sexual essence infuses with the faint aroma of coffee, the minutes ticking away as Benny enthusiastically seeks out another earth shattering orgasm— discovering early on that over achieving was one of his best qualities. 

“Oh god!” You moan into the room as licks through your folds, his own moan vibrating against you as he tastes the salty mixture of you both. You grab on to the side of the counter, your back arches as his tongue flicks smoothly over your clit. 

“Just Ben, Babe.” 

[fibretwo]

Fasting tips ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚.

Got recommended this by this by some comments under one of my posts (go follow them btw!!)

In all honesty, a lot of my fasting ability comes from willpower, but i have some tips of stuff i do.

1. Decide on how many hours you’ll fast for. Once you have a goal on how long you’ll go without food, it can really help knowing when to break your fast and leaves you food to look forward to if that motivates you. Personally, i just fast until i’m forced into eating, but setting a goal used to help heaps!

2. Get an app to keep track of your fast. Even stopwatch on your phone, really helps track your progress and just feels motivating to see how far you’ve come without food

3. If you need coffee or sugar free drinks, drink them!! Sugar free drinks help with fasting soooo much, esp caffeinated ones like diet coke as it reduces your appetite and fills you up. You can still drink them, i don’t care what anyone says, if it helps do it!

4. Find something to occupy yourself. I mainly fast on Thursdays or weekdays where no one is home for dinner. I go to school, stay occupied, come home and do something. Usually, i’ll sit at my desk, draw and lock in with some commentary YT video in the background. I completely forget about food

5. Sleep when you can! If you have the chance to sleep, just go for it. Sleeping can distract you from binge urges or food, because you’re literally unconscious, like you’re not gonna be eating any time soon?

6. Slowly cut back on your calories. You can slowly cut back on the calories you’ve had for the day and then fast! I see full grown adults do this when they do intermittent fasting, so idk, maybe this approach works? never done it before.

7. Don’t fast if it isn’t right for you. If you need to have little meals throughout the day, then do so. You don’t have to push yourself, and you don’t have to fast to feel valid. Any amount of time without food contributes to a fast, even when you’re asleep! Keep up the good work!

Rock on 🤘

- Mav <3

[callsign-phoenix]

I wrote this for a lovely anon, I hope you like it!

It is a Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x female!reader imagine.

Thank you @famfan-1034 for proofreading!

Warnings: none

Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw didn’t have anywhere to be after his work ended at 1600, which was why he simply decided to spend some time at the Hard Deck on most weekdays.

That was how he had started becoming friends with you, because you liked to spend time at the bar before too many people were there.

You loved the atmosphere of the quiet bar and it really helped you wind down and write your poetry, plus watching the occasional gorgeous aviator wasn’t exactly disabling your imagination.

The second you had met Bradley you had been slightly crushing on him, but just by the way he acted around you you could tell that he wasn’t into you.

He liked you, that was for sure; after your first meeting he came by more often and just liked to sit by your side when you wrote, sometimes talking to you and sometimes sneaking a peak at what you were scribbling in your old and used notebook.

You had settled for a friendship with the young aviator but if you were honest you were more into him than that, you had written a few longing and heartfelt poems that expressed your emotions, and that you had kept far from his sight.

Your crush wasn’t immense, it was mainly just that you found him attractive and he was both funny and charming, so you could keep your feelings at bay.

You met that way occasionally when he was off work, it was mostly just the two of you and Penny who stood at the pretty much still empty bar.

This went on until one day at the usual time the door of the Hard Deck opened, and a group of aviators came in.

It had to be at least half a dozen people and Bradley immediately stood out to you, no one was so laidback, bulky and tall, and no one wore their sunglasses while entering the dimly lit bar except for him.

With the sunglasses on you couldn’t quite see if he was looking at you but he pulled them off quickly when he saw you, giving you a grin and a wave as he tugged them in the front of his white shirt that was below one of his endless Hawaiian shirts.

Your exchange didn’t go unnoticed by the other people with him and Bradley excused himself, making his way to you to give you a hug.

“Come meet my friends. They’re fun, I promise,” he asked and you obliged readily, closing your notebook and making your way over to his crew.

You didn’t consider yourself very conventional, you didn’t like going to bars in the evenings because they were too crowded, you didn’t dress like everybody else you knew and you felt like you stood out.

You were pretty sure that Bradley would usually go for the conventional blonde model kind of woman, which was why you hadn’t made a move on him before.

You joined everyone to say hi and after a while all of you decided to get some drinks, venturing to get some beers from Penny.

Bradley was leaning against the bar in his proper lazy fashion and you were grinning at him for no reason, you were caught in a comfortable silence as Penny got your beers.

You acted on instinct when you reached for Bradley, pulling the sunglasses from his shirt collar and putting them on.

“How do I look?” You grinned broadly, knowing that the aviators were too big on your face, and not caring about it at all.

You had turned away from Bradley at first and had asked the others but afterwards you turned around, that silent laugh on your face and the too big aviators hanging askew on your nose.

He knew you had done it to diffuse any possible tension and be funny but with your smile and playfulness Bradley couldn’t help himself, his eyelids fluttered slightly and his lips opened just a hint, but it was enough to give away to the people who knew him well what was happening.

He gulped and tried to look away but he couldn’t tear his gaze from you, he was caught in the moment until you cocked your head and a slight frown appeared on your face, replacing the playful grin.

“What?” You asked but he just shook his head, trying to busy himself with the beer that was placed in his hand by Penny in that moment and hearing his friends chuckle knowingly.

He knew he was turning slightly red so he hoped that downing a lot of the cold beer would help, his breath was slightly hitched and he tried to give you a grin back that would make him seem normal again.

Despite his best efforts you could see a shift in him you couldn’t quite determine, but you were quickly caught in a conversation with a lovely WSO called Bob, still wearing your friend’s glasses on your nose.

You didn’t notice Bradley and his friends talking because you were focusing on what the shy backseater had to say, but Bradley’s friends made his feelings abundantly clear.

“That was pathetic, Bradshaw,” Jake laughed, swatting his wingman on the shoulder.

Bradley was still watching you even though you didn’t notice, and it just made your friends laugh even more.

“That was priceless, Roo,” Nat added, her teasing grin etched into her face for minutes now, and Bradley rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“It’s not… I mean I didn’t…,” he tried to say but he found no words.

His eyes once again returned to you and a small smile appeared on his lips as he watched how gentle you were with the WSO.

“I didn’t realize it was her,” he added, and the teasing smiles faded.

You glanced over at Bradley to see how he was doing and your eyes met over the distance of the almost empty bar, a smile playing along your lips to show him you were okay.

“She’s special, I’ll give you that,” Jake said to Bradley when he noticed just how infatuated his friend was, clapping him on the shoulder once again before stepp back slightly.

“Go talk to her,” he said and Bradley nodded, taking a deep breath and chugging back the rest of his beer before he approached you to interrupt your talk with Bob.

Nat, Jake, Penny, Maverick and everyone else of his friends watched as Bradley asked you out, and everyone heard your excited laughter when you undoubtedly said yes.

tagging: @starkleila @mayhem24-7forever @green-socks @letsfvckingdance @shadeds-library @a-reader-and-a-writer @yespolkadotkitty @whateverbagman @neptunes-curse @sweetheartlizzie07 @top-gun-rooster @iloveprettyboysblog @ateliefloresdaprimavera @imjess-themess @littlebadariell @angstyjellybean @marchingicenotes7 @midget713 @supernaturaldawning @gspenc @adorephina @gigisimsonmars @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bespinnn @malindacath @aerangi @kassieesworld @kwanimations @18crazybutcutealsopsycho @marvelandotherfandomimagines @luckyladycreator2 @mavericksicybabe @kendra-rose @desert-fern @mavrellover91 @allivingstone01 @rhettabbotts @withakindheartx @trikigirl271 @cherrycola27 @footprintsinthesxnd @bonitanightmxres @ratcatcher2world @glowingtree @wingmanvenus @roosterforme @oliviah-25 @natasharomanoffisbaebby @kmsryles343

(please tell me if you want to be added to the taglist, or use this link)

[carlos-in-glasses]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you for the tag @chicgeekgirl89 @theghostofashton @sugdenlovesdingle @ladytessa74 @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @lemonlyman-dotcom @bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand @orchidscript @alrightbuckaroo @liminalmemories21 @strandnreyes @welcometololaland @rmd-writes @jesuisici33 ❤️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Twenty! <- Linking to the masterlist I recently made because I love the banner! -> This is a direct link to my Ao3.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

270,729

3. What fandoms do you write for

Only 9-1-1 Lonestar. It’s hard to imagine writing for anything else, but time shall tell.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Chasers 🏃🏽 When Soulmates Swim 💦 Afterglow of a Supernova ⭐ The Heart Behind the Shield ❤️‍🩹 The Light of Our Life 🦎

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I sure do. The idea of not responding breaks my heart a little, and I always feel bad for keeping people waiting, although I do. I like to respond chattily if it matches the commenter’s energy, and with a lot of gratitude, but on weekdays I usually end up in a headachy stupor so end up pushing responses until I feel awake. I’m so grateful that people take the time to read and comment. I have to tell them. I don’t even know how to explain how it feels to receive positive comments on my writing after writing into the void for so long before I tried my hand at fanfic. 

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think any of them are truly angsty because they all end on a note of TK and Carlos loving each other through anything, but it’s probably Sweet Dreams and Flying Machines because it’s a 3x08 coda and TK is grieving. Or The Center of the Maze because the last chapter is partly a 4x18 coda Carlos is grieving for Gabriel. These boys have been through a lot!

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

With Infinity Folded into it – plot being that right after TK proposes, Carlos reflects on the first time they said ‘I love you’. It’s fluff all the way down. But I also want to throw The Ruins of Wonderland (breakup/reconciliation AU) and Release the Hand to Relax the Animal (smut city) into the mix.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I was recently visited by the Carlos-hater fairy, as a few of us have been. It stung. But mainly I came away feeling really sad for the person behind that account.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

The kind where Carlos faceplants the headboard. The kind where they break the bed. The kind where they have tantric sex for hours. The kind where things are inside Carlos while he’s inside TK. The kind where they frot despite potentially being overlooked by ghosts (not as dumb as it sounds).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t, but I’d love to write a Tarlos fic that heavily involves Kevin and Captain Holt from B99. I’d find it challenging to get Kevin and Holt’s voices right, so inspiration will really need to grip me.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes – I was alerted by a lovely reader that portions of one of my fics had been plagiarised. I had to contact Ao3. A lot of people in the fandom really rallied and helped in various ways when it happened and I was lost at what to do. I want to say a big thank you because you shone like a beautiful bright light. It’s not at all flattering to be plagiarised – it feels absolutely terrible.   

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I’d like to! It’s a question of finding the time (and agreeing ideas and how to go about it) so as to not let the collaborator down.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Tarlos. And may it never find land.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I typically only work on one thing at a time – so I don’t have an unfinished WIP gathering dust. I hope I’m able to write and post all the ideas I have eventually.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve been told more than once: Imagery, dialogue, characterisation, and carrying themes through.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotting and the more technical stuff. Being a good creative writer doesn’t necessarily translate to perfect grammar and syntax and all that jazz (I did very poorly in school across the board, which I’m sure is a surprise to nobody). I spend a long time editing my fics and fixing things post-production. What gets uploaded to Ao3 is the result of many rethinks and rescue missions. 

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I would like to work some Spanish into my current WIP (and in fact I’m planning for it to have a Spanish title) I think it’s completely fine to include other languages within fics. If anything it can provide context.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

9-1-1 Lonestar – my beloved, my first and only.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

The 90k story known as Flashback Fic (for now), which I’ll start posting in November, is my favourite fic because I genuinely think it’s the best thing I’ve written ever and I can’t wait to share it. I’ve been exploring the pasts of TK and Carlos in a way I’ve wanted to do for a long time, and linking it to the present, wherein Carlos is has been seeking Gabriel’s killer and floundering. For posted fics, When Soulmates Swim was the most fun I’ve had with characterisation and I loved spending time with TK and Carlos in my head throughout. Chapter 4, Lover’s Leap, was challenging to write but I love how it came out. Feedback on the ‘big moment’ in that chapter has been amazing. But I’m also really proud of The Center of the Maze, which I think is the most ‘beautiful’ and consistently so. I feel weird saying that about my own writing, but I felt really good about it during a re-read (I don’t often re-read them).

I'm not entirely sure who has/hasn't done this so open tag (please tag me back!) and if you haven't done it already/want to: @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @taralaurel @heartstringsduet @paperstorm @rosedavid @chaotictarlos @catanisspicy @noxsoulmate @three-drink-amy @sanjuwrites @lightningboltreader @goodways @wandering-night19 @mikibwrites - no pressure/ignore at your leisure 💘

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 7 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria's last night out before she's a married woman only fuels her hesitations about marrying Michael, but despite her attempts to distance herself from him, he pulls her in deeper with an earth-shattering revelation.

Note: This takes place pre-Vatican II which changed a lot of things in the Catholic Church, including how mass was celebrated (seems like weekday mass has always been short though, lol), but it’s nothing too significant for now. Additionally, the name Ciro is pronounced Chee-ro in Italian.

Warnings: Angst, descriptions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion. Predominant Catholic themes and symbolism, mainly involving guilt.

Chapter 6 | AO3 Link | Masterlist

Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

“Okay, so my parents are watching the kids tonight, and I know your people will be there, but I left the number for the club anyway,” Gloria said, slipping her foot into a black heel.

“Alright, darling. Don’t have too much fun,” Michael said, though she knew he loathed the idea of the bachelorette party the moment Vivian brought it up just two weeks prior.

It didn’t help that Connie and Sandra jumped on the idea too, even though a wedding date hadn’t even been set yet. Gloria hadn’t heard anything about the annulment in a while. She supposed the other Corleone women were just as antsy as she was to get out and go somewhere for the night.

Vivian insisted as soon as she sniffed out the slightest resistance from Michael, claiming it was only fair because the Corleones had already thrown their own engagement party in Lake Tahoe, and Gloria’s parents certainly wouldn’t do anything of the sort. He only conceded when Connie mentioned a nightclub the family operated in Manhattan. Gloria was itching to get back to that scene, thoroughly bored by domesticity.

“I’ll probably be back late. Don’t wait up for me.”

Michael smiled a bit, the purplish-gray bags beneath his eyes betraying yet another days long bout of insomnia. While Vivian and Jackie were over for dinner just two evenings before, Vivian had offered to get him in with one of the doctors at Sacred Heart to write him a prescription for sleeping pills. Michael had politely refused, insisting he was fine and had his own doctor.

Pride wouldn’t allow him to resort to turning to medication to cure his insomnia, not when he was already so reliant on it to manage his diabetes. Knowledge of his having that condition was so closely guarded, Gloria wasn’t always sure who in the family knew and who didn’t.

At times, Gloria wondered if Michael considered his suffering through his insomnia a form of self-appointed penance. Then again, that would require him to feel guilt about something. She tried not to think of Fredo, his memory potentially haunting his brother, but it was difficult not to when her own brother was around more often. 

A car horn outside signaled the arrival of her partying companions for the evening. Michael had arranged the driver, a newer family associate who had worked for the man who previously lived in their house before he passed away.

“If you need anything, call the house. If I don’t pick up, someone else will,” he said. “I love you.”

She gave him a quick kiss. “Love you too.” She grabbed her purse and rushed out the front door. Off to the races.

Connie was halfway out the back window of the car parked outside. “C’mon Glo, there’s room back here if we all squeeze in!”

Gloria shook her head, opening the front passenger seat instead. “I’ll sit up front with Ciro.”

The young man smiled at her remembering his name. They’d only spoken twice before, though she saw him more often when she’d bring the kids into the city after school to meet Michael at Genco and go for dinner. Ciro usually stood guard outside the olive oil company’s modest office building, stoney and suspicious-looking until he’d see her and smile, betraying his youthful face.

“Good evening, Mrs. Corleone,” Ciro said.

Sandra reached over the seat, playfully shaking Ciro’s shoulder. “Not Mrs. yet Ciro! That’s why we’re going out tonight!”

Vivian cheered, and Ciro laughed, smiling once more at Gloria before driving off. He entertained their antics, even bashfully acquiescing to Connie’s invasive question as to whether or not he had a girlfriend.

“No,” he answered, “not for some time.”

“C’mon, a good-looking guy like you?” Vivian asked.

“I’m focusing on work right now,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right for me to have a girlfriend and not be able to spend any time with her.”

“Aw, Gloria, tell Michael to give Ciro a vacation so he can find himself a nice girl,” Sandra said.

Gloria scoffed, “That’d go over well.”

They arrived at the nightclub not long after that, greeted by a bright, neon green sign for The Archer.

Ciro pulled up to the valet, all of the passenger doors opened for them upon their arrival. He parked directly in front of the club’s main entrance, the only car allowed to do so.

“I’ll be out here. You find me when you need to be driven home,” he said.

“You can’t come in for one drink?” Gloria asked.

He shook his head. “Thank you, I really can’t.”

Their coats and bags were collected at the door, the host emphatically reminding them that all drinks were on the house as he led them to a VIP booth.

The Archer had recently been remodeled, the walls covered in emerald green, scale-shaped tiles that resembled a snake’s glimmering skin beneath the club’s dim lighting. The booth was a sleek, modern white, deceptively creamy yet plush to the touch as it wrapped in a semi-circle around a crystalline table with gold accents. 

Funny, Michael wouldn’t be caught dead in the very nightclub he owned. Instead, he preferred old-fashioned, kind of run-down family-owned places with generous servings, strong wine, and attentive table service. The owners would always come out from the back to personally greet him, offering antipasto or a bottle of wine on the house. It almost made Gloria feel like being with a celebrity. And he was, in a way, among this eccentric group of people to whom he was more important and influential than the president.

A waitress came by the table to take everyone’s drink orders, Gloria requesting her usual rum and coke. As soon as she walked away, a waiter practically ran to the table with glasses of champagne for all four of them.

“Courtesy of Mr. Corleone,” he said.

Gloria smiled. “Thanks.”

“How about a toast, huh?” Connie proposed.

“Alright, may you and Michael have at least fifty wonderful years of marriage and half a dozen kids running around,” Sandra said.

“You’re supposed to be wishing her luck, not her worst nightmare,” Vivian joked, though it was clearly missed on Connie and Sandra.

“She’s kidding,” Gloria quickly said, shooting a glare at her sister-in-law. 

“Nothing but happiness for you and Michael, god knows what he would’ve done if you weren’t around, Gloria,” Connie said, not missing a beat.

Vivian grinned as she gave her toast. “Here’s to committing to the same cock for the rest of your life.”

Sandra laughed loudly, nodding in agreement, “God willing!”

“This is getting out of hand,” Connie snickered.

“Alright, cheers,” Gloria said, clinking glasses with her companions. 

Gloria threw back the champagne, not caring for the taste but dealing with it for the significance of the occasion. Still, she wanted it gone by the time her rum and coke came around. She tried to pace herself on her first drink, sipping while listening attentively to Vivian dishing the latest gossip from the hospital. Though it seemed she was catching Sandra and Connie up on just about everything that had happened since she started working there nearly fifteen years before.

“There’s this woman who works down in the maternity ward, her husband used to be a priest,” Vivian said.

“Hold on, was he a priest when they met—“ Sandra’s eyes widened as Vivian nodded, “Madone , and I thought I’ve sinned.”

“I mean, there are plenty of ‘em around at Sacred Heart. I’m just surprised they didn’t fire her.”

“All those nuns probably aren’t so innocent themselves,” Connie said.

Gloria laughed. “God, if my mother heard you all right now.”

“Oh, I don’t tell her half the stuff that goes on there. She’d have a heart attack,” Vivian said.

After another round of drinks, Gloria decided it was time to dance. She wasn’t particularly great at it, but it was fun, and dancing on her own in the house wasn’t the same. Michael refused to join her, especially when it came to the more upbeat, contemporary songs she preferred, but late at night, in tender moments when it was just the two of them, she could convince him to share a slower dance with her in the confines of their bedroom.

She loved Michael best in their bedroom. She didn’t have to restrain herself there, not when they were in bed together or just in each other's company. He showed unprecedented vulnerability there, the way he had during their clandestine rendezvous in Las Vegas hotel rooms, when he didn’t have to be Don Corleone. Any time she’d been with Michael outside of a bedroom, whether as his mistress or his fiance, there’d have to be distance, restraint, like they were respectable people when they both knew they were the opposite. 

So she let loose on the dancefloor, probably the last time she’d be able to go clubbing like that. The end of an era. She downed another glass of champagne in memory of the soon to be deceased party girl. She’d made it last longer than most. Wincing at the taste, she quickly ordered another rum and coke.

Her rotation of dance partners was dizzying as everyone moved about haphazardly. She wasn’t sure if rock n’ roll was on The Archer’s usual rotation, or a special request someone had made on her behalf that night, but at least she was going out with a bang. 

Leaning against the bar, feeling sweat begin to roll down the side of her face, the bartender offered to pour her a shot. She accepted, throwing it back just as ‘All I Have To Do Is Dream’ began to play. One of the few contemporary songs Michael would dance to with her. She wouldn’t sit that one out in his absence.

Her gaze fell to Ciro, now standing by the coat check. Maybe it'd gotten too chilly waiting outside.

She waved him over. 

His dark brows furrowed and he pointed to himself. 

She nodded. 

“Will you dance with me, Ciro? I love this song,” she asked when he walked over.

“I don’t know…I’m supposed to be working—“

“Just this one?”

He nodded, reluctantly taking her hand in his. He kept a safe distance between them, almost laughably farther apart than the other slow dancing couples who were wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Ciro’s a very Italian name,” she said over the music.

He chuckled softly. “Well, I am Italian.”

“You probably have half a dozen brothers and sisters.”

“Eight of us,” he answered. “I’m the fifth.”

“So I bet we all don't seem that crazy to you.”

“No, not at all.”

“How old are you, anyway?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Me too,” she said. “Y’know up until a few months ago, I used to work in a place like this.”

“Out in Las Vegas, right? Don Corleone mentioned it once.”

“I can imagine what else he’s said about me,” she joked.

“He cares about you very much. At least what I overhear,” he said, quickly adding, “I don’t make it my business to eavesdrop.”

She smiled. “It’s alright, Ciro. Your secret’s safe with me.” The song came to its end a little too soon for Gloria's liking. “Thanks for the dance.”

He nodded. “I should get back now.”

Thinking she should do the same, she made her way back to the table. Dancing with Ciro felt nice, almost normal, though she didn’t have much of a comparison for what normal was. Before she was engaged, she supposed.

Vivian reached for her hand, patting it. “I gotta call it a night.”

Sandra nodded. “Me too.”

“Lightweights,” Connie teased.

“Too old is more like it,” Sandra said. “Gloria, I’m gonna be asleep before you and Michael even have your first dance at the wedding party.”

“Thanks for coming out tonight,” Gloria said with a smile. “It was fun.”

They parted with kisses on the cheek, and she watched as they made their way over to the coat check, gathering their things while Ciro got the car ready outside.

“More drinks?” Connie asked.

“I could get a few more rum and cokes in me,” Gloria said.

By the time a server brought over her fifth of the night, she was beginning to doubt her own statement. By Connie’s own admission, she hadn’t restrained herself when it came to the near-endless shots of tequila that were brought to the table every few minutes it seemed. She switched things up with a martini, however.

“You know Sandra and Tom are—”

“I kinda figured,” Gloria said. “Takes one to know one.”

“I feel bad for Theresa, but I mean, after Sonny was killed, Tom was the only one who could get through to Sandra. Sonny loved all of us, but Tom was his favorite brother even though he’s not blood. I guess it was only natural for them to share their grief that way."

“I can’t imagine,” Gloria said. 

She really couldn't. Michael seemed larger than life, impervious to death itself. If anything, he was to be feared over the great unknown, colder and more distant than death and whatever lay beyond it could ever hope to be. If even a fraction of what she read in the papers were true—and she knew they were—he dealt death like a deck of cards. No matter the hand, it was always in his favor. 

“Sonny would’ve liked you,” Connie said. “I think–he would’ve been glad for Michael. He always saw the best in people. At least, to me he did.” She downed the rest of her martini, nearly slamming it on the table when she finished. “Then Michael blamed Carlo for it, and he—Carlo could be a mean fucking prick, believe me, but he was my husband. What gave him the right to—”

“The right to what?”

“But Sonny was hot-headed. It could’ve been anyone who set him up. Then right before we moved to Nevada—dead. It’d been nearly ten years, but that didn’t matter. An eye for an eye. I don’t think I’ve really been happy since,” Connie lamented quietly.

The noise in the bar became muffled. Gloria’s lungs burned with each breath she tried to take, as if she were suddenly dropped into the deep sea without oxygen. Her vision blurred, watery and uncertain. Maybe it was how Fredo felt when he drowned. Drowned.

She realized then the extent of Michael’s unwillingness to forgive–inability sounded more like it.

Connie grabbed Gloria’s shoulder, shaking her a bit. “Hey, I’m drunk, what do I know?” 

Gloria forced a smile. 

She could hardly concentrate when Connie steered the conversation elsewhere, and within an hour, they decided to call it a night. Ciro had returned from dropping off Vivian and Sandra, and Gloria felt almost bad asking the guy to drive back to Long Island again. He didn’t seem to mind, though, helping Connie into the car when she nearly tripped over her coat on the way in. Gloria sat in the back with her this time, her gaze drifting between the buildings out the window and the back of Ciro’s head.

He dropped Connie off at her place first, walking her to the door and making sure she got in alright. 

“Ciro, will you drive around just a little bit more?” Gloria asked when he returned to the car. “I’m not ready to call it a night yet.”

He hesitated, but nodded, driving down a side street instead of continuing on the way back to the house. As homes and street signs passed by, she knew the direction he was heading. Her eyelids grew heavy, yet she awoke when he parked near the Long Beach boardwalk. The cool sea breeze reinvigorated her when she stepped out of the car.

He followed her to the boardwalk, the both of them leaning against the wooden railing just a few inches apart.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Not really, but what can you do?”

Nothing. There was nothing he could do. He was young, and in the family hierarchy probably a buttonman or soldier, whatever it was called. Maybe not even made yet. From what she'd gleaned working in Vegas and conversations with Michael, it took a long time for someone to officially be considered part of the family, and besides earning trust and respect, one task was almost certainly required of these men. It wasn’t like she could ask outright ask him, ‘Hey Ciro, ever killed someone for my fiance?’ Regardless, she didn’t want to know.

They watched the ocean waves in silence, the moon glittering off of the water in the pitch dark night. She wished she could dive under and emerge somewhere far across the sea.

“It’s getting late. I should bring you home now,” Ciro said.

Gloria wordlessly began making her way back to the car. A melancholy swept over her as they neared the house.

“Thank you for everything tonight, Ciro. It means a lot.”

“Good night, Gloria.”

She smiled, waving at him as she made her way up the short walkway to the house.

For the next few days, she avoided Michael when she could. Something about being around him made her feel uneasy. Or maybe it was the morning sickness, which she made attempts to hide from him by going on early walks and throwing up in neighbors’ flower bushes. The first time it happened, she attributed the sickness to food poisoning. Except food poisoning didn’t last for weeks on end. 

Gloria spent more time at her parents’ house, knowing Michael would generally steer clear of there unless absolutely necessary to go. Ironically, she spent more time with Anthony and Mary as a result, the kids asking her to bring them with her whenever she’d express her desire to go over. Her parents doted on them. Her mother and Mary were usually occupied in the crafting room, probably painting while Julia educated Mary on the ins and outs of New York's Democratic politics. Anthony had quickly grown close with her father, the two of them watching Yankee games in the living room whenever they were on. When they’d all walk to the park up the street, they’d play ball, Julia and Mary playing outfield while Gloria would referee from the wooden park bench nearby.

“Mary says you’re sick all the time in the mornings,” Julia said one afternoon, taking a seat next to her daughter.

“I drink too much,” Gloria lied. She hadn’t drunk since the bachelorette party, when after two days of vomiting she began to suspect the worst.

“When was the last time you bled?”

“Stress can cause that too.”

“You should make a doctor’s appointment.”

“They’ll tell me it’s nothing.”

Julia held up her hands in acquiescence. “Whatever you say.” That didn’t mean her mother was finished throwing hardballs her way. “When was the last time you went to mass?”

Gloria groaned. “Mom—“

“Drop the kids off at school tomorrow morning and then meet me at the church. St. Catherine's still has daily mass at 8:30.”

Anthony and Mary had been enrolled in the same Catholic school Gloria had gone to growing up. Even though there were parishes closer to Gloria and Michael, it had become their parish by virtue of her family already going there. They certainly weren’t going to turn down the generous donation to the parish on behalf of the Corleone family.

During the tour of the school before Michael had enrolled the kids, Gloria felt an indescribable deja vu sitting in the principal’s office again. Except she wasn’t in trouble, and the nun behind the desk was relatively young and incredibly nice, far more so than Sr. Margaret had been. Sr. Jeanne expressed that she’d do everything she could to make Anthony and Mary feel welcome despite starting there in the middle of the school year.

“I’m gonna drop the kids off at school tomorrow,” Gloria said later that evening. “I’m meeting my mother at 8:30 mass.”

“What brought this on?” Michael asked.

“She asked me. I guess I figured I’d humor her.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at your parents’.”

“So?”

“Nothing. It’s good to spend time with family,” he said, almost dismissively, but she could hear his displeasure lurking beneath the surface.

He noticed she was avoiding him and clearly thought her parents’ dislike of him had something to do with it. But he couldn’t protest it, not a man so obsessed with tradition and hierarchy. Despite how Americanized she was, Gloria and her family were still Sicilian, so as long as she and Michael weren’t married, her parents preceded him.

The following morning, Gloria drove her own car to drop Anthony and Mary off at school. It was a nice drive with the weather getting warmer, so they left the windows rolled down, Gloria’s favorite rock n’ roll station playing on the radio while the kids sang along to the songs they’d begun to recognize. 

When she pulled up to the school, she parked just between it and the church. She walked them up to the front doors, giving each of them a hug and extra lunch money.

Her mother arrived at St. Catherine’s just as Gloria made her way up the steps of the imposing church. The last time she stepped foot in St. Catherine’s was her high school graduation nearly a decade prior. It looked exactly the same as the last time she was there—marble floors and brick walls that led to a high ceiling supported by wooden rafters with ornate gold leafing. Each step one took inside the building would echo throughout. It was pretty much impossible to leave in the middle of mass unnoticed, which some people tried to do after communion.

She genuflected before getting into one of the wooden pews, her mother following. A few minutes went by, and they were joined by a friend of her mother’s, an older woman who also seemed to attend mass daily.

“Gloria, it’s been so long! Good to see you again, dear,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“And congratulations on the engagement. About time for a woman your age.”

Gloria smiled as politely as she could. 25-years-old and these people considered her nearly dead for not having a husband. If she had it her way, she wouldn’t even be engaged. 

“Any plans for kids?” she pried.

“Believe me, we’re trying,” Gloria said, feeling especially pleased at the scandalized expression that fell upon the old woman’s face, unable to react as mass was starting.

Though it’d been a while, Gloria knew weekday mass was always shorter than Saturday night or Sunday morning mass. She could endure half an hour of it.

As mass proceeded, she could still vaguely follow, though her Latin was rusty. St. Catherine’s offered four languages to its high school students. Gloria found French confusing despite her mother’s near insistence she take it, and Spanish was too close to Italian which was highly discouraged by her parents. She settled on Latin, and it ended up being one of the few subjects she consistently did well in, occasionally earning As on her report cards amongst the usual Bs and Cs.

She went through the motions of mass almost mechanically, her muscle memory of the service emerging from the mental depths she’d buried any piety under. The only reading for the mass came from Matthew, toward the end of chapter 18. Among the half-comprehensible verses, she caught one word in particular. Dimittam. To let go of or release-forgiveness.

Her chest tightened at recognition of the verse: Lord, how often shall my brother offend me, and I forgive him?

Jesus’ answer was symbolic, the nuns had told her. Forgiveness was limitless, to be doled out generously whether to one’s own brother or to those who didn’t deserve it. 

She thought back to what Connie had said at The Archer, the reason why she’d been avoiding her finance ever since. Coincidence, or a sign from a distant god that her suspicions about Michael were right. For as long as she’d known him, he could never let things go. She hadn’t minded it when it was for her benefit, like on their first trip to LA together. They had gotten dinner with Johnny Fontaine at a swanky nightclub he recommended. Gloria had nearly passed out when Johnny introduced them to Liz Taylor. Yet, later on that night, some up-and-coming actor wouldn’t give her the time of day despite her being a fan of his, complimenting his performance in his latest movie. The following morning he sent over a bouquet of flowers and personally called to apologize for his behavior, claiming he hadn’t been feeling well the night before when they met. Funny…she couldn’t remember his name anymore.

What had been on her mind wasn’t a perceived slight from an actor, though. If his own family wasn’t spared from his wrath, then neither was she. The priest’s homily was about forgiveness, something Michael rarely if ever doled out. Gloria could certainly hold her own grudges, but she couldn’t exactly do anything about them like he could. Maybe she understood the reasoning behind his ordering Connie’s first husband to be murdered; she'd want the same if someone had set Jackie up to die. But she couldn’t shake Fredo from her thoughts. What could he have possibly done to be denied forgiveness by his own brother? 

Her gaze drifted up toward the large crucifix on the wall behind the altar. Try marrying Michael Corleone.

Miraculously, she wasn’t struck down by a bolt of lightning, but after receiving communion for the first time in years, she prayed for Fredo’s soul, wherever it was.

Mass ended not long after, and she left her mother to talk with her obnoxious friend. She froze upon seeing Michael waiting outside for her.

“Michael, hi,” she said.

He smiled a bit, “Just ‘hi’? No, ‘I’m glad to see you’?”

“Of course I’m glad to see you.”

She gave him a kiss, a bit awkward and chaste, but she could chalk it up to being outside of a church.

“It’s a nice morning for a walk,” he said.

She nodded. “There’s a garden behind the convent. It’s pretty this time of year.”

He took her hand in his, and they meandered to the convent behind the church, following the worn stepping-stones to the prayer garden. Colorful and full of flowers, beautiful in the springtime, each blossom at its peak in May when they’d celebrate the Blessed Mother. She paused to look at a rose bush. Probably only a few days away; she’d know if she’d been paying attention.

“Darling, are you alright?”

She hummed. “Sure, I’m fine.”

“If you’re trying to convince me, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“The homily today was about forgiveness.”

“And?”

Her fingers twitched against his palm. “It’s just–you seem to have a hard time forgiving people.”

“Forgiveness isn’t compatible with what I do. You know that.”

“Is it worth it?”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

“Forget about all of that. I have great news.” He squeezed her hand. “We got a letter from Cardinal Spellman this morning. The Vatican approved the annulment.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. This is actually happening.”

“We can finally set a date.” He smiled. “How does this summer sound?”

Too soon. “Perfect.”

“Why don’t we head home? I’ll drive us back in your car. Ciro has to run an errand for me, anyway.”

The drive back to the house wasn’t nearly as pleasant as the one she took earlier in the morning. No rolled down windows taking in the spring breeze or rock n’ roll stations playing her favorite songs. It was almost eerily silent, and a foreboding grew in her stomach as they neared the house. Or maybe she had to throw up again.

Something was off when they walked inside.

“Where is everyone?” Gloria asked, the house unusually empty for a weekday.

“I sent them out, gave them the day off. There’s something we need to discuss alone.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just something I want to keep between us. We can talk about it in my office.”

She nodded, though she was sure her heart was going to jump out of her throat when she followed him into the room. He closed the door behind her despite their being alone. A heavy dread set over her body, and suddenly she felt cold, shaking as she sat down on the couch. He leaned against his desk, lighting a cigarette in his mouth and handing it to her.  

“Very few people know what I’m about to tell you, Gloria. Kay didn’t know. Most of my family still doesn’t,” Michael said. “You cannot repeat this to anybody. Do you understand?”

“I won’t.”

“You’re not going to be my second wife. Kay was my second wife.”

“What happened to your first wife?” Her curiosity was slaughtered the moment she asked. Looking into his eyes suddenly felt like being dragged to the second circle of hell.

His words cut through her curiosity with a closely controlled violence. “She was killed in Sicily by a car bomb that was meant for me. Her name was Apollonia. We were only married for a few months.”

Gloria froze. There it was, that drowning feeling again. Limbs heavy, lungs burning, sound muffled, everything moving in slow motion as the cigarette fell from her hand and onto the carpet. Her head drooped, and she let out a pained wail.

Her father’s words from just a few weeks prior echoed in her ears. ‘Has he got you living in some fantasy world? Where all that shit won’t touch you? That if you look the other way or keep your head in the sand, nothing will happen? He has no right promising you peace or safety when he deals in the opposite.’

Michael approached her cautiously, the way one does a wounded animal as not to frighten it. 

“Why would you tell me this?” she asked, looking up at him through the mess of black hair that had fallen in her face, voice strained as she held back a sob.

He knelt beside her, brushing her hair back to reveal black tear tracks that streaked down her cheeks. “So that you understand why I do the things I do, things I can’t always tell you about. Kay never understood, I don’t think she wanted to, but now you do. I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, and our baby. I had the man who did it killed, and I’d do the same for you, but it won’t come to that. Do you understand?”

There was no denying it anymore. No use in throwing up in flower bushes on early morning walks in the neighborhood to hide the clear signs of morning sickness from Michael. Whatever was inside of her, she wanted it out. Wished she could reach inside of herself and give it to him if he wanted it so bad. Kay’s abortion wasn’t so puzzling anymore. 

Against all better judgment, she clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck. Trapped with him, by him, his arms wrapping around her like a snake. She’d heard being burned alive was the most painful way to die. Unless it was instant, Apollonia spared the agony and passed it onto Kay, who through her abortion passed it onto Gloria. But there was no one else to turn to or confide in, no one who could do a damn thing about it.

“Gloria, it’s alright. As long as you listen to me, nothing will happen to you. No one will touch you.”

“You can’t promise that! You don’t know!”

“I love you,” he said, holding her tighter. “I love you.”

“More than you loved her?”

He was silent.

[elizaditton]

TSTBA And Life Update

Hey everyone, I thought I'd give an update on what's going on with me and on my progress with Too Small To Be Afraid. TL;DR at the bottom for those who just want the quick deets.

I've been struggling to work on the story since the start of the summer, mainly because I got a "real" job (as part of the IT department at a local high school). Despite the fact that it's only 17.5 hours a week (3.5 hours every weekday), it was a lot more than what I was used to (which was literally doing nothing except for volunteering at various places maybe one to three times a week), and it took me a really, really long time to adjust to that mentally. I would come home dead tired and just... not feel like writing. Or doing anything at all. Sometimes I'd come home at 3:00 pm and proceed to take The World's Longest Nap™ only to wake up when it was time to go to bed anyway. Part of this, I realize, is probably the result of an undiagnosed sleeping disorder of some kind (my psychiatrist says maybe sleep apnea) mixed with ADHD telling my brain to Not Work™. But yeah, this has been a major contributing factor in my lack of writing time recently. And on top of that, I got another job working for my church on Sundays as a Production Assistant, which has so far been awesome, but it means I'm also exhausted on weekends. Not only am I working 7 hours on Sunday (setup + rehearsal + service + do all that again for the second service), but I'm also waking up at 4:30 am now at the very latest on Sundays depending on what campus I'm working at. And on top of all that, I'm still working occasionally for my old boss one Saturday out of every month until he wants me to start coming in more frequently. So all in all, I'm pretty much working every day but Saturday, except for when I'm also working on Saturday. And I do enjoy working all of these jobs, it's just that I've been struggling to adjust to working so much and how to balance that with my hobbies and my home and family life. So there's been little time for writing these past few months.

The writing club I was a part of also lowkey disbanded as we haven't been meeting for several months. (Hi if any of you are reading this, I miss you guys lol.) Before we stopped meeting, I was pumping out a new chapter at least every two weeks, and it was amazing! I was part of a group that encouraged each other to write and on top of that even edited/critiqued each other's writing. I really do miss it. The group always got me so motivated to write during the week and to write during our meetings, and I haven't felt that same joy about writing since we stopped meeting. I'm thinking I'll start another writing group, either online or at my church. Leaning towards at my church since I need in-person contact with people, but idk hit me up if you're interested in an online writer's group??? Or being a beta reader???

Lastly, something that's actually related to the story itself. The plot. Hoooooooo boy the plot. The plot is... a thing that exists. There's things I want to tie into the story that I want to be a big deal, but I'm not sure if I introduced enough elements beforehand for things to make sense if I go the route I want? Then there's the fact that I look back at the first few chapters and sort of cringe, thinking of all the things I'd change if I would let myself have at it before the first draft is done. But yeah. Things are... going. I've been very, VERY slowly but surely working on fixing up things in my outline so I know where I'm going, but yeah, all the aforementioned has kinda made it hard to actually write.

So that's where I've been. So where do we go from here?

For one thing, I'm at least somewhat confident that chapter 18 WILL come out in the next few weeks, before the end of the month. It's going to be a long one, and I hope it's worth the wait.

I previously had a goal of finishing my first draft by the end of the year, but if I'm honest, I'm thinking I won't get there until at least the spring of 2025. And then, of course, after that comes editing, revising, rewriting, and so on. I'll likely be writing at least a second draft before I even think about printing.

But can you expect me to update more regularly from now on? To be honest, I have no idea. All I know is that this book is still my dream, and I haven't given up on it yet. As long as this fire continues to burn within me, I'm going to continue to write. As long as it takes. Until it's done. But maybe starting another writing club would help hold me accountable for regular updates, ha ha.

Thank you all for your unwavering support as I've gone through this journey. Whenever I see someone's been enjoying this story, it fills me with so much joy, you don't understand. I hold every little comment close to my heart.

Thanks for reading, and I hope to see you soon with an update to the story!

TL;DR: I suddenly acquired three jobs and am very tired all the time. This combined with no accountability after my writing club lowkey disbanded has made writing difficult. I'm still writing, slowly but surely. Expect a new (and long) chapter this month for sure. Hmu if interested in starting a writing club/being a beta reader btw

[where-dreamers-go]

“Scattered Emotions” Dick Grayson x Reader

(A/N: A Part two for “Emotions Read” soulmate au where we jump back in to Reader and Dick’s new relationship and see what changes and reactions are happening. Their relationship is platonic—they’re still becoming friends! 1960s Robin time!

Warnings: Reader has social anxiety. Minor angst. Use of (Y/N).

Word Count: 5,126 words)

~~~

A sunny morning at the stately Wayne Manor and all was calm. In the main sitting room, Bruce Wayne continued reading the weekend newspaper as his youthful ward and yourself pushed through homework.

Sitting beside your soulmate on a Saturday morning was something you wanted to get used to. Truly. Homework being included wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t terrible. It would be completed. Plus you had good company.

Two weeks since the baseball game. Two lives learning to intertwine. Two very studious people.

Even though you went to separate schools, subjects were no different. Algebra was still algebra. Languages still had many verbs to memorize. Although you both had teachers who had differing teaching techniques. That came in handy.

I’ve been here twice before now and I’ll count Mister Wayne was a teacher, you thought. He’s like an encyclopedia. In the best way. And he’s turning Dick into one.

Jotting down another answer for your science homework gave a little boost to your confidence. There was no rush to finish. No guardian eager to do more than sit around.

You felt comfortable in the Wayne Manor. They welcomed you with bright smiles and warm greetings. Pressure to start random conversations didn’t exist. You didn’t have to put on a fake smile or hide your amusement. It was wonderful.

Beside you, Dick knocked your knee with his as he hid a smile in a textbook.

Goof.

Your happy mood was not a mystery to him. Never. He could do something about it now that you knew one another. Many possibilities.

Discreetly, you tilted your wrist back and poked his arm with the eraser of your pencil. Only once.

You both brought out a playful side when in the other’s presence. Refreshing and incredibly fun.

Moments and feelings you wanted played over and over in your mind. Mainly fun ones. It did make you wonder about his average days. You wanted to know if Dick always did his school work in that room. Was he always in such a good mood? A day to see him laughing at your stories even if it was all true and not too exciting would lighten your day’s stresses, surely. What would you two do two months in the future?

Time had not sped by since officially meeting your soulmate. There was time to process the news. But there wasn’t enough hours in a day to speak to one another. It was nice still. Lovely, even. You wouldn’t change any of it. You were both having fun and happy to know the other. It didn’t matter what activity you were doing—usually school related so far.

You hoped it would last. Naturally and genuinely, you wanted the connection to be real.

A firm blink of your eyes and you refocused.

Everything’s fine. You thought, considering yourself silly for a moment. We’re the only soulmates I know. It’s fine. Truly fine. And he’s safe and doing fairly well. Really well. Mister student council. Impressive and busy. How’s he find time to sleep?

It was a wonder Mister Wayne and your guardian could schedule study sessions on the weekend. It would not be every weekend nor a random weekday. Everyone was busy.

That didn’t mean you hadn’t crossed your fingers.

Over to your right, Dick progressed to the next algebra problem. Dark eyebrows pinched together as he surveyed his options.

He might fight off ‘x’ before he finds it, you thought, amused. Or—wait. No. He still has to—it’s after—

“Holy homework,” Dick murmured.

Leaning closer, you read over the problem from the textbook. Your cheek almost touching his shoulder.

“Hmmm.”

“Yeah. ‘Hmmm” is right.” He sighed.

“Well, hold on a second. Wait.”

Starting with the first step, you checked over his work. You backtracked near the end. Double-checking where he had stopped.

“Oh.” You pointed to his paper. “You were suppose to subtract two from both sides.”

“Gosh, (Y/N).” Dick sat back against the couch cushion. “I should have remembered that.”

“Hey,” you said softly. “We’re still learning. That’s one of the purposes of school.”

“They’re right, Dick.” Mister Wayne added in from behind the newspaper. “Learning takes time and commitment. Forming a well-rounded education is a key stepping stone into becoming a contributing member to society.”

Wow.

“So true.” Dick nodded.

“That should be on a poster in school,” you announced, completely serious.

Your soulmate smiled as Mister Wayne hid his expression behind paper.

Does he always speak like this? Gosh. Was he an inspirational speaker for fun? And Dick is hearing this at home. Explains a bit.

Your guardian never gave life advice like that. Then again, they cringed any time you mentioned schoolwork. You guessed they didn’t have the best memories in association.

Before getting back to the work at hand, you glanced over to Dick once more. He took notice.

“I got ‘x’ equals four.” He turned the paper for you to see.

“Nicely done.”

His lips upturned happily. So proud and charming.

“I can make you a copy of my notes, if you’d like? I put examples.”

“Really? Oh…you don’t have to.”

“I want to. If it’d help.” You bent the corners of your paper.

“That’d be great. Thank you.”

Swirls of leaping warmth grabbed your attention. His gratefulness expressed in more than words.

It gave a little tug to your heart.

“Of course.” You smiled and pulled your textbook a closer on your lap. Eyes only glancing. You fiddled with your pencil. Anything to get back to the task at hand lest thoughts of his smile claimed your concentration.

It’s just notes. You thought and attempted reading over a question. Again.

Borrowing school notes. Giving notes to someone? It was an offer you had never given your school friends. Not once. Then again, they only ever complained or never discussed homework at all. You couldn’t blame them. Schoolwork wasn’t a fun topic. It was more tiring than anything. But Dick…was alright with it, fine even.

Dick could talk about school with light in his eyes. I just…it just is.

Not to admit that you saw a pattern, but it did appear that you spent more time with education than free time in other activities. Did you have much choice? Kind of. No wonder your guardian was just glad you were out of your room and socializing. Although, they were very extroverted themselves. So you saw why they pushed for you to do the same.

Or they’re bored. But it does go against the ‘do well in school’ household rule. Or not? You thought. Both can exits. Like mammals that can live in water and breathe air. Birds that can fly and sim. Of course penguins are among the exception.

You blinked twice.

Why am I thinking about penguins?

In one movement, you sunk back into the couch.

How did I even get there? The next question is about biomes.

Dick shifted beside you.

All it took was one look and you remembered.

The consistently bright and sweet smile of his.

What made his so different? Surely being soulmates had no effect. It was an expression.

No wonder his apology that day I came over worked so well.

Lost in thought, you hadn’t noticed Alfred walk in.

“It’s the phone, sir.” Alfred announced.

Dick leapt to his feet, excitement rapidly radiating from him. It all but startled you. His textbook discarded to the coffee table.

Alfred proceeded to whisper something to Mister Wayne.

Hesitation hit Dick’s posture as he went to turn in your direction. He wouldn’t meet your curious gaze.

What could get him so excited about a call?

Mister Wayne stood up. Professionalism coating his demeanor.

“It’s an old college chum of mine. He’s in town for a short time. He’s invited me to look over his photography portfolio of his last trip to Europe.” He looked to his ward. “Dick, this could be an excellent opportunity for you to experience other forms of art.”

“Oh.” He glanced to Alfred.

“Please forgive us for the sudden change of plan,” Mister Wayne apologized.

“That’s perfectly alright, Mister Wayne.” You smiled Kindly and started collecting your belongings. “I have some things to take care of at home.”

Stepping forward, Alfred said, “I would gladly drive you home.”

“Thank you, Al—Oh! Before I forget.” You took out a book from your bag and offered it to Dick. “The one you talked about the other week.”

“Gosh, (Y/N). You remembered?”

“Of course. You can borrow it if you’d like.”

“Thanks.” He grabbed the book. “Is it alright if I call you later?”

“Sure.”

“Great!” Dick hurried out of the room followed by Mister Wayne.

You stood there grinning to yourself as you felt your soulmate’s expanding excitement, but there was an unexpected uneasiness lurking. Partially odd for him. You reasoned it was the sudden end of your visit and decided it best not to dwell on it. He was still happy.

“He really loves learning new things, doesn’t he, Alfred?”

“Indeed.”

✧ ✧ ✧

A tall cave ceiling and expansive area of incredible technology lay ready. In the center: the Batmobile.

Robin slid down his designated Batpole. Landing softly, he exhaled. He felt a bit torn. The further he moved to his destination, the more he noticed.

Jumping into the Batmobile gave him a thrill and a sense of duty. A routine. Ready to help and solve a case. To bring justice to Gotham City.

Not a word was spoken as the engine roared. It was time to be the dynamic duo.

Giving an excuse in order to head over to check out brewing trouble wasn’t new. However, lying to you gave a nasty twist in his stomach worse than lying to his aunt. It was so much harder. He knew he should have better prepared for it. What they did was for your safety as well. He would have to be grateful that he didn’t feel distaste, anger, or annoyance from you after he left. That gave him room for relief.

They really meant it was alright.

Speeding down winding roads, the Batmobile gave Robin time to reflect and think.

Study sessions were becoming regular, but how many would be interrupted?

He wanted your blooming relationship to be smooth. No complications to distance you two. He had barely known you a month, he didn’t want to chance spoiling it. He liked you. Everything he knew thus far intrigued him. From your study habits to your taste in music, there was much to know.

Dick was thrilled to have found his person who he’d share his inner most thoughts with. All considering they sensed each other’s feelings, he figured they could share more if they were each comfortable. He didn’t want to hide everything of himself.

It’s different with them around, he thought. Even Aunt Harriet was thrilled to see me with a friend over, but she’s wanting to know more about them. I can’t blame her. So do I.

Taking a glance to his left, Robin saw Batman’s focused expression. More serious than earlier. No newspaper in sight.

Bruce was happy to schedule study dates, er, hours. Robin leaned into his seat more. (Y/N) seems to like it.

Education was important. Bruce wasn’t about to let either one of the young soulmates forget that nor let their habits drop. He basically welcomed you to the household.

Even Alfred was delighted to see you in Dick’s life and in the manor. You brought a unique light of your own; as he told Dick.

The youth felt a giddiness just thinking about it all. What happened was real. He was lucky to have noticed your emotions as he first saw you. Not everyone could interpret in the moment. Perhaps it was due to the experience he gained as Robin.

His life held growing responsibilities and learning opportunities. It was the secret ones that made him worry about you.

Being Robin meant protecting.

He did not want to burden you with knowing. Having you worry or at risk for knowing he was Robin was not something he was willing to live out.

Even if it meant pushing down an emotion, he couldn’t let you know his hero identity.

✧ ✧ ✧

Midday light struck you as you exited a local bookstore. Shielding your eyes with one hand, you held a bag of books. Treats you were willing to share. Dick had recommended one of them some time ago.

Adjusting to the light took a minute. Thankfully the sidewalk wasn’t busy.

I didn’t mean to spend more than an hour, you thought. Time flies when you’re absorbed in finding good reads. And when I’m not paying attention.

You dodged a woman’s purse and picked a direction.

Home for lunch. I told Alfred I would.

“Oh.” You stopped in your tracks.

There, parked by the sidewalk was the Batmobile. No hero in sight. A variety of citizens stood by the vehicle, curious. Amazed.

Guess I’ll hear about it on the news later.

You took a step to the side in hopes of navigating around the people. Their distraction left them blocking a majority of the sidewalk.

Your mind was apparently your distraction.

A hand touched your shoulder. A quick prevention from bumping into one another. A green glove.

“Sorry—.” Words were cut short as the young man looked at you.

The absolute surprise in his blue eyes matched the sharpness coming from your soulmate.

He froze.

No breath came from you and no words for that matter.

The Boy Wonder was staring at you and you at him. An unlikely meeting.

“Robin.” Batman’s voice tore through the thick confounding moment.

Cape billowing behind him, Robin bounded off towards the Batmobile.

You blinked as the black vehicle raced away.

“What the heck just happened?”

No, no. No, no, no. Not real.

Your mind went full throttle with connecting the dots.

Same hair style. Eyes. His voice. Just a word. Holy—

You weren’t sure you were ready for that ride of information.

A secret! You thought and hurried in the direction of home. No one knows Batman and Robin’s identities. No one is suppose to! It protected them. Their loved ones. The mystery brought fear to criminal minds. They. Are. Heroes. Fighting crime! They’ve been against the Penguin!

Walking faster, your emotions overpowered those you sensed from your soulmate. Heart pounding in your ears the whole way.

Please let me be imagining things. Please.

✧ ✧ ✧

Speeding back to the Batcave to analyze a clue, Batman had his hands full.

“Deep, slow breaths, Robin.”

The youth’s grip on the windshield and seat was concerning.

“Focus on a ten count. Breath.”

The thumping of Robin’s heart and the whoosh of wind battered his eardrums.

…seven, Robin counted and stared at the road ahead. He could hardly hear his own thoughts.

He closed his eyes and all he saw was you. Wide eyes seeing straight through his mask.

Taking in a sharp breath, he restarted his slow breathing. Concentration for the case felt miles away. Robin placed a hand on his abdomen.

It’s like vines are coiling my insides—with thorns. I can breathe, but…

“I’m worried, Batman.” He let his gaze roam all of the buttons and switches.

“I know, old chum. I know.”

Robin held on through the ride. On the inside, under the mask, Dick Grayson’s fears were highlighted by his soulmate’s emotions. Shock, anxiety, and panic all mixing together with barely a filter into him.

Breathe, (Y/N), please.

✧ ✧ ✧

Hours later, a late afternoon snack was well deserved. Being home the whole afternoon gave you ample time to pace and stare at the wall to collect your thoughts. And eat. All after hiding in your room for a couple hours with the music blasting louder than your thoughts.

I’m ready to sleep, you thought. I must’ve sent Dick a storm of emotions. Way to go.

Sipping on some water, you glanced up to your guardian who sat on the adjacent armchair.

“Glad to be home?” You questioned, voice neutral.

“My feet are happy I’m sitting down.”

“I’m sure.”

“Did you have fun today?”

“Uh, yeah.” You thought back to sitting beside Dick and quietly getting each other’s attention. “I finished all of my work too.”

“That’s good.”

And I’m still trying to stop thinking about the high probability of Dick being the Boy Wonder. What am I suppose to do with that? He saw my face. He knows I wasn’t calm.

“You really like visiting the Wayne Manor, don’t you? You’re more eager to go.”

“Yes. They’re really nice.”

“I’ve never seen you take your homework anywhere else.” They laughed, amazed. “Or compliment everything. Can’t say the same about the trip to visit my cousin and you’ve known them for a least ten years.”

“I don’t have much to talk about or do there,” you reasoned.

“True, but you haven’t been to that one friend’s house in months. The tall one. Not the one with ripped jeans. They love having you over.”

You sighed quietly, suppressing a groan.

They keep inviting me over, you thought with a grimace.

Information needing to be told. No time like the present.

“Well. I don’t like going.” You stated flatly. “Every time I went over, their dad interrogated me. He doesn’t think I’m that good. He keeps trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. And he keeps questioning if I ate.” You explained as shortly as possible. “I can’t just sit or have fun. It’s ridiculous.”

Your guardian was silent. Their eyebrows set in a deep frown.

“You don’t ever have to go there again,” they said firmly. They looked at you seriously. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I don’t know…I guess, that’s just how it was and I had to deal with it.”

“Absolutely not. Thinking you’re a bad kid,” they scoffed. “If I see him, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.”

“Yeah. And I’d rather not go, especially now because….uh.” You shut your mouth. Thoughts switching to how that friend in particular was judgmental of others and you did not want them to know about your new friend—your soulmate. “Well, nothing I do there is normal for them.”

And I’d rather them not make outrageous and stupid claims about Dick Grayson. They don’t know him.

You leaned your head on your hand. Completely ready for the day to be over.

In the other seat, your guardian muttered. Spilling out frustration for the other adults from the forefront of their mind.

“It’s no wonder you like visiting the Grayson boy. He’s all smiles when he sees you. Very polite.”

Tiredly, you answered shortly, “Yeah, he is.”

In a final huff, your guardian reached for a snack on the coffee table, however stilled their hand at the sound of the telephone ringing. They sprung up from their seat and headed to answer the call.

You stifled a laugh.

Their demeanor changed, however underneath their light voice answering the phone lay someone ready to start a heated argument.

At least I never have to go to that house again.

“It’s for you.”

What? Why?

The confusion must had shown on your face because they sent you a smirk.

Your heart nearly leapt from your chest.

“Who?”

They only gestured for you to get over there.

Please be Dick Grayson. Please be Dick Grayson. Pl—wait. What would he need to say? No.

Placing the phone on your ear, you focused on one word.

“Hello?”

“(Y/N)? Hi. It’s Dick.”

“Hi.”

“I wanted to apologize again for this morning. I’m sorry we had to end our….time short.”

Standing there at home, you were receiving waves of nerves from him like an incoming tide.

“It’s fine. Really.” You assured him. “Did you like looking at the pictures?”

Because I definitely saw you in a mask.

“I did,” he answered quickly. “How was your day?”

“My day was productive.”

“Productive?”

“I might have spent about an hour or so in a bookstore.”

“Oh.”

A tickle of amusement came from him. Light and airy.

“And I bought a few books and I think you might like one.” You twirled the cord of the phone around your finger. “So I got that too.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Well, I, uh… You know what? How about this? If you won’t read it, I definitely will.”

You heard his light laugh from on the other end.

“Sounds like a good read, uh?”

“I’ll let you judge it for yourself.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

You were more than glad the conversation turned into something more light-hearted. Books were an easy topic. You definitely could not bring yourself to ask him about being Robin. Not even hinting at it. That was not a conversation to have over the phone. Especially with your guardian less than fifteen paces away.

Your grip on the phone relaxed a fraction.

Entertaining him with a story came naturally. For that, you were grateful and relieved. Another tale from school you forgot to mention that morning. One about a cobweb in the back corner of the science classroom where a spider proudly named Jorge lived. Updating Dick on how a student tried feeding the spider, but the teacher stopped them as they were climbing the counter.

Sure, school days could be boring, but you managed to witness a few wild occurrences. It gave Dick something to think about, you were certain. If not, he got a laugh out of the story.

All nerves were forgotten enough to not be felt.

Was it guaranteed that neither of you would ever mention Robin? No.

Could you act regularly while knowing? You hoped so. There were many other things that tended to gain your attention. A few being: new books, possibility of more phone calls with Dick, fresh dessert, and literally knowing your soulmate.

You would always consider yourself lucky in that perspective.

“Hey, Dick?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for being you.”

✧ ✧ ✧

A cool, cloudless evening settled above the Wayne Manor. Inside, the young ward Dick Grayson sat deep in thought.

Dick hadn’t seen his soulmate in practically a month and found himself missing you more than he anticipated. Calls weren’t quite enough in the two weeks, however he never complained.

Yet his calls did not go unnoticed.

When he and Bruce were out of the house, Aunt Harriet had been asking questions. Alfred had informed him again not too long ago. It was a giant reminder that he held another secret.

Golly, Dick thought.

“Bruce.” He said just above a whisper. Quietly, he watched as the man set down an old volume.

“What is it, Dick?”

“I need to tell Aunt Harriet about (Y/N). I want to tell her, especially now that we’re not busy.”

“It’s your call, Dick. If you’re ready.”

“I am.” He stood up. “Aunt Harriet should know.”

“What should I know?” Aunt Harriet walked into the sitting room.

Her abrupt entrance made even Bruce get to his feet.

“Perhaps you would be more comfortable sitting down.” Bruce said calmly and evenly.

“Oh?” She let her nephew lead her over to the couch. “Is everything alright?” She looked between the two.

“It’s good news.” Dick informed her and sat beside her. “Just…big news.” His hands clenched together.

“Alright.”

“I found my soulmate.”

Her eyes widened.

“It’s (Y/N).”

Aunt Harriet gasped loudly, “Dick Grayson, are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m positive.”

“Oh!” Opening her arms, she brought him into a hug. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Forgive us, Aunt Harriet,” Bruce explained, “we had to be absolutely sure before telling you.”

“Gracious me.” She softened, emotional. Releasing the boy, she raised a hand to her heart. “I just can’t believe Dick found his soulmate. And at his age!” She hugged him again and squeezed him tight for a moment longer. “And they’re so sweet.”

And a great person. Wonderful! And as nervous as I am about people knowing.

“Aunt Harriet, I need to ask you to please not tell anyone.” Dick held her hands between them. “I’m not ready for more people to know.”

“I won’t tell anyone. Not one.”

Dick allowed himself to fully grin.

“Thank you. It really means a lot to both (Y/N) and I.”

Her smile doubled at that. Consumed by joy. Too soon, her curiosity took over.

“Why haven’t they been around lately? Are they alright?”

“They were studying for a big test,” Dick explained. “They’re fine.”

Disappointment did linger from when you had to turn down an invitation to the manor. Understanding your need to study at home and not with him didn’t take much effort. You couldn’t be together all the time. Dick knew your decision impressed Bruce with your studying.

Aunt Harriet seems to be both disappointed and glad. It’s great. I just want to know how well they did. Dick thought. And see them. It feels like months have gone by. I hope they’re not still troubled after seeing Robin.

A hand patted his own.

He glanced up.

“I am very happy you told me.” Pools of unshed tears shined in his aunt’s eyes. She sighed softly.

One less secret.

Dick sat back against the cushion.

“It’s too bad (Y/N)’s been busy,” said Aunt Harriet.

✧ ✧ ✧

Gotham City illuminated the night.

Comfortable in an armchair, you were smiling to yourself once more from a burst of your soulmate’s joy. You flipped a page in your biology textbook.

Something must be happening, you thought. He’s been in a really good mood for the past couple of hours. Kinda wanna know what it is.

Not too far from where you read, your guardian spoke on the telephone. They had been chatting since some time after dinner.

You were simply glad of your ability to tune them out. Being cooped up in a room with a textbook again wasn’t high on your to-do list. You’d erase it if it was. You had plenty of that in the past two weeks.

Knocking on the front door startled you.

Holy heart palpitations.

Setting the textbook aside, you headed to check it out. Quietly of course. It was an unexpected guest after all.

You peeked through the peephole and saw your well-dressed soulmate.

Dick!

Unlocking the bolt quickly, you swung open the door.

Standing in cleanly pressed clothes was Dick Grayson. No mask or cape to hide himself. Only an unabashed smile.

“Hi?” You could laugh at how happy you were to see him.

“Hi.” He beamed, his expression brighter with each second he looked at you.

Moving aside, you gestured him inside.

He held up a book after you closed the door.

“You’re returning the book you borrowed?”

“Yes.”

“After eight o’ clock at night?” A small laugh weaved into your question. “There wasn’t any rush.”

“I know.”

Taking a moment to review his surroundings, Dick asked, “Where do you keep your books?”

Right! First visit. And he’s alone? Wait. Why’s he alone?

Dick held the book in front of himself patiently. Always so patient with you.

“Over here.”

You walked him passed your guardian who waved and into a small room. Two bookcases, art on the walls, and a desk were the main decorations in the room.

Is he alright? He must be fine. He’s been nothing but happy. You thought as you stood by the desk.

As if on cue, his voice grabbed your attention.

“Do you spend a lot of time in here?” He asked and handed you the book.

“I’ve basically taken claim over the desk on weekdays.” You set the book down.

That incredibly charming and contagious smile of his appeared. Warm and genuine.

Why’s his smile so distracting? It’s kind of unfair. I have questions!

“You came all this way to return a book?”

“Yes and to tell you something.”

“Yeah?”

Color me intrigued. Did he set a record at school?

“It’s nothing bad,” he said. “I promise.”

“I trust you. Now, come on. What is it? You’ve been on cloud nine for hours. I’m curious.”

“Oh. Right.” Dick’s smile turned sheepish. “Today I told Aunt Harriet about us being soulmates. I hope that’s alright. She was excited and asking where you’ve been.”

“She was excited?”

“She likes you.” He reassured you. “I asked her not to tell anyone and she promised.”

Relief flooded you like a warm bath.

“Aunt Harriet was talking about you through most of dinner.”

“Oh boy.”

“She likes having you around too.”

“Too?”

“Everyone does.”

Oh-kay. That’s a lot. Good though.

You ducked your head for a moment to collect yourself.

“I guess I’ll have to go over soon.”

Each ounce of Dick’s joy passed through to you immediately.

“I hope so.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

Almost too quickly, your thoughts roamed back to your guardian. They loved how you were spending time at the Wayne Manor. Going to be with anyone instead of being by yourself made them proud. There was just something bothering you. The unknown.

“I still haven’t told them,” you announced and gestured towards the door. “I just…the time’s never right.”

“I understand.”

“Thank you…for the hundredth time,” you murmured, “for understanding.”

“We don’t have to rush. We agreed on that. Tell them when you feel ready.”

You nodded.

He’s right. It’s fine. I can take my time telling them and he—goodness—he doesn’t have to tell me anything about running around in a cape. I can barely watch the news. He’s out there.

“(Y/N)?”

Dick gave you a concerned look.

Exhaling, you calmed yourself and stepped into his space. Without a word or sound, you hugged him tightly. He returned the gesture tenfold. Each of you pouring your relief into one another.

It was the first hug you two shared.

Time ticked away; yet neither of you were willing to let go. Not yet.

Every day you were reminded of the other. Emotions were never silent for long. Each morning was a healthy reminder that the other was there, somewhere. A friend and teammate in life no matter how it was navigated.

You didn’t have to be alone. Dick wasn’t a stranger. All could be as you two wished in your little corner of the world.

Neither of you had a word to say as you walked him to the front door. The door was left ajar.

Taking a step forward, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. A soft silky feeling filled your chest, like it didn’t need any more than what it was. It could exist without words. A soothing nature keeping all safe and unhidden.

“Goodnight, Dick.”

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he said softly. A tender look in his eyes.

Holy butterflies.

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

~~~

Part 3 --> "Emotions Ignite"

~~~

coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

DC Tags: @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**