#but i'm definitely getting better at it at least! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sometimesanalice · 16 hours ago

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I just loved getting to read your thoughts! It’s always so fun to see the things that stand out the most to people!

More for you!

Ok, so I try something new. Kinda like a life comment while reading, let's see how it goes.— thank you for taking the time to write your thoughts out and share with me!!

Sweetie the effort is great, but that's why you google the places you go to. I feel so bad for reader though. A warning would have been nice. Hopefully, at least her date is appreciating the effort...— bless her!! The one time she decided to throw cation into the wind, it boomeranged and hit her right back in her face! I tried to fold in ways that showed how she was usually a planner, but trying something new (like the way she was stressed about not knowing the drinks menu and what to order). And then juxtapose how out of place she felt under the circumstances at the beginning, compared to the end with Bradley and how much more at ease she is because of him making her feel that way.

Bradley the cavalry comes to the rescue. At least the Valentine's day is getting a little better. Ok, I correct myself. It's getting a hell of a lot better. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.” Really Mr. Bradshaw? You wanna make me melt in my seat or what?— that man is all gas no brake!! There’s nothing subtle about him in the least! And it makes for so much fun! 🤭🤭🤭

“Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.” Oh please. You are a 20/10.— cheeky boy!!

Ok. He gets her a ring on date one. If that's not the most romantic thing ever I don't know what is.— I’d be in an absolute FULL SWOON

“I take it you know, Malibu Ken?” The way I burst out into laughter at this perfect description of Hangman... even my dog gave me the side-eye for disturbing her sleep. Also, the annoying younger brother energy I am getting from this is priceless.— Hangman is a MENACE! Like let the man flirt with a pretty girl! 😂 he definitely deserved his new moniker!

I am so proud of reader for grilling Hangman with such grace. You go girl.— she was such a queen! She was like, I’ll just show you how it’s done 💅🏻

Also, that move with the dating app. Good god Rooster is just such a romantic and I'm living for it. I loved every second of their banter and the amount of times I've sat here awwing or kicking my feet while I giggle might be a bit alarming but I loved every second of it. This was such a wonderful read and I sure as hell will come back to this one quite often. Thank you so much for sharing this with us.— ahhh!! Oh that makes me so happy you liked this!! That dating app bit was a last minute burst of inspo and I’m so glad that I decided to include it because I love just the extra mile he went with that! 🤭

GIF by muvana

To you, for writing this masterpiece and to cute paper rings and milkshakes with two straws— 🥂🥂🥂

For the Plot

Summary: Things aren't looking too good for you, sitting alone at the Hard Deck waiting for a man who might not show. Until Bradley Bradshaw sits down across from you and turns your entire night upside down.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Length: 7.7k

Warnings: fluff, so much flirting, and an italicized oh

Going on a first date on Valentine’s Day is unarguably the worst possible idea that anyone has ever had.And while the sure to be terrible, no good, horribly bad idea hadn’t been yours, you weren’t entirely sure what you were thinking when you’d even agreed to it in the first place.

The guy you were planning to meet tonight was cute enough, even if you were still undecided about the mustache. And while the chats between the two of you had been pretty good as far as it goes getting to know a literal stranger, you were hopeful that it could be even better in person. The fact he was in the Navy was still a bit of a consideration for you, but not a deal breaker.

In retrospect, the name of the bar should have been your first clue and the location paired with the causal beachy exterior covered in planes should have been the second.

You had been expecting to see more than one girl all done up in pinks and reds tonight, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. And you swear to god, somewhere you hear a record scratch as you step into the Hard Deck, because you are surrounded by nothing but a sea of olive green and khaki and denim.

And you have never been so clearly out of place in your entire life.

There was nothing about your ensemble that was even remotely fitting for the literal Navy bar you’d found yourself in.

The ice pink mini slip dress you’d dug out of your closet was admittedly a little much for a first date, but since it was Valentine’s Day you figured why not lean into it a bit. And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Or so you’d thought at the time, because now it was a decidedly you problem.

The silhouette was simple enough, with the gentle drape of the cowl neck and the barely-there spaghetti straps, but the shiny sheen of the fabric made a statement of its own. It wasn’t something you got to wear very often for as much as you loved it.

But then you’d gone ahead and paired it with the tallest, most ostentation heels you had. The effort had been worth it though because the pearl encrusted block heels made your legs look like they went on for days. Even if it had been a feat trying to get the dainty buckle done with the way you’d been rushing out of the house with your beaded bag in tow.

The whole look was something you’d sure would come with Cher Horowitz’s seal of approval. However, the patrons of the Hard Deck you were less sure about. And even though there were civilians- like yourself- scattered about the bar, none were anywhere near as dressed up as you.

There are more than a few pairs of eyes on you as you stand there with your feet glued to the uneven wooden floors, as the door with its porthole-shaped window slowly closes behind you with a squeaky creak. The twinkle lights above your head felt more like a spotlight, illuminating how out of place you are in this moment.

Your hand is still clutched on the handle unsure whether you’re going to make a run for it or not. You are more than a little tempted to hightail it back to the parking lot and text your date to claim a bout of food poisoning from the safety of the driver’s seat in your car.

But chances are if your date is here then he has already seen you. A bright beacon of pink amongst varying shades of brown and woodgrain.

“Oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, trying not to panic. Officially a victim of your own bad decision making.

You take a quick scan of the room, trying to decide what your next move should be. There’s a woman behind the bar with kind but clearly inquisitive eyes. A blonde with a wolfish smile eyes you from where he stands next to a man with broad shoulders bent over what must be the pool table, hidden behind the paneled half wall. By a dart board, there are a couple men with their heads turned towards you, the game seemingly forgotten as they discuss the spectacle that is you.

There are hundreds of planes dangling over the bar, patches and plaques littering the walls and rafters, rounders suspended from the ceiling laden with too many ceramic mugs to count. It was all done with a heavy-handed, maximalistic approach that you’d take a moment to appreciate under any other given circumstances.

When you spot an open table tucked away in the corner of the room it feels like life raft to the iceberg of a situation you’ve put yourself in. Mindful of the scuffed, uneven floors- because the last thing you need is to eat shit or twist an ankle in front of room full of curious onlookers- you hustle over to the spot in hopes of having a moment to regroup.

Once you’re situated- shrugging off the ivory cardigan you’d topped your outfit, trying to keep the nervous sweat that wanted to break out over your body at bay- you pull out your phone and check the time only to realize you’re devastatingly on time. Five minutes early, to be specific.

So you wait.

And check your phone again and the notifications in the dating app, just in case you missed something.

And wait.

You try to play it cool, skimming posts on Instagram and replying to some overdue texts. Finding anything you can to keep yourself occupied to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach the longer you sit there. Alone.

Now you’re not just simply embarrassed, you’re mortified.

You can still feel the eyes, the energy steadily shifting from curiosity to sympathy over the last thirty minutes you’ve been waiting all alone in the corner of a Navy bar you had no business being in for a man who clearly wasn’t going to show.

So much for doing it for the plot, you think to yourself with a shake of your head.

Another minute ticks by with no message and you decide you’re more than ready to hightail it out of there. Fully aware that you’re about to become a topic of conversation that won’t have to be restricted to only covert glances and muffled whispers. But hopefully, they’ll at least wait until the door closes behind you before the chatter starts up for real.

With a sigh, you reach for your beaded bag, just as a large body slips into the chair across from you, with an ease that is in contrast to the bulk of muscles you catch in your peripheral vision.

“You look like you’re in need of a date,” a warm, raspy voice offers.

It’s the smile that you catch first. Not quite a grin, but something familiar and friendly and charming in the way it crookedly pulled to the left. Followed closely by the rich chocolate brown eyes that were squarely trained on you with a look that was just as earnest as it was playful. But what surprised you the most was the way he was sitting in the stool across from you just as comfortably as if he was supposed to be there all along.

There was no way you could have prepared yourself for the sheer level of attractiveness of this man.

He was in a league of his own with those curls and wide shoulders. The white and olive green stripped crochet shirt he was wearing didn’t hurt either, especially the way the top buttons were undone giving you glimpse of a chain around his neck and the chest underneath it. He didn’t need to be in uniform- or even in a Navy bar- for you to tell he was a military man. Not with the confident way he held himself.

Even if the mustache he was sporting made it feel like the universe was playing tricks on you, but he more than wore it well.

You huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “What gave it away?” you ask. “The way I’ve been watching the door? Or just the general look of regret and embarrassment?”

“Embarrassed? What do you have to be embarrassed about?” His eyebrows pull together, perplexed. He shakes his head like he disagrees with even the suggestion of it. “I think the only person who should be embarrassed is the guy who is missing out on sitting across from you right now.”

You give him a soft smile of your own in return for the cinnamon sweet words. There’s a genuineness in his tone that makes some of the tightness that had settled in your shoulders from the moment you’d walked in release.

“That’s kind of you, but I think I’m going to head out,” you say, nodding to the door you never should have stepped through in the first place.

He gives you a teasing tsk. “And let a dress like that go to waste? Now that would be a shame.”

The appreciative look in his gaze that sets off a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. And then his eyebrow ticks up, just a little. Part invitation, part dare. And you can’t say you’re not intrigued.

There’s a decision to make.

You could leave now and cut your losses. There was a reason you had a back-up pizza in the fridge and had left you well-loved copy of You’ve Got Mail sitting out on your coffee table.

Or you could stick around and see what happens next.

You tilt your head at him, just as teasing. “Would it now?”

“It would,” he states, sincerely.

Before you can reply, your phone lights up with a new notification, pulling you out of the whisky haze you’d found yourself in.

His eyes dip down to your illuminated screen. “Is that him?”

“It is,” you confirm, almost regretfully. You open the app and skim the message. And then read it again.

There’s no sorry, no apology for cancelling a half an hour after the time for the date that had been his idea in the first place. And then he’d even had the audacity to tack on a cavalier maybe another time at the end.

Unbelievable.

He lets out a low whistle. “That bad, huh?”

“Apparently, I should have been the one to remind him that the fourteenth of February is a calendar holiday and a fan favorite day of the greeting card companies.” It’s so ridiculous you’d laugh if you weren’t so annoyed by the lack of consideration and the not-so-subtle blame he’d tried to shift on you. “Even though I did double check if he was sure about meeting up today, I guess I didn’t realize I actually needed to spell out ‘Valentine’s Day’ for him.”

The man across from you doesn’t bother holding back the less than impressed look on his face. And you decide you like that about him, that he wears his thoughts so openly. It’s refreshing.

“Do you mind if I take a look at his profile?”

You shrug and pass your phone over. You were planning on blocking West the second you had a moment anyways. You see him roll his eyes and guess it has something to do with the amount of shirtless gym selfies.

He snorts as he scrolls, “Please, his mustache has nothing on mine.”

An amused laugh escapes you. “Are we ranking mustaches now? Because if that’s the case, I’m sorry to say that I’d have to give it to Selleck.”

“Fair enough,” he concedes good-naturedly, as he hands you back your phone. “But am I at least a close second?” There’s no mistaking the flirtatious tone in his voice.

You hum and take full advantage of the opportunity to look at him unabashedly, mapping the contours of his face because you can.

To simply call him handsome would be an understatement.

The way the golden light of the sunset is hitting him you catch some sunkissed strands in those soft looking waves of his hair. There’s the beginning of some crinkles around the edges of his eyes. You notice the scars on his face, some that look long healed and others that are still a light pink- like the one on the side of his neck and beneath is ear. And that mustache on him worked for you, one hundred percent.

There’s a playful glint in his eyes as he lets you assess him that leaves no question as to whether or not he’s been flirting with you. You like the way he’s looking at you and the way he’s easily made you forget about being overdressed and how uncomfortable you were even just five minutes ago. You’re having fun. And while you still haven’t answered his question from earlier, you have no doubt that he’d show you a good time if you let him.

“Maybe not a close second, but yours is certainly up there,” you tease.

He grins. “I can work with that.” There’s something about the way he adds on for now that has a spark dancing up along your spine. And then he sticks out his hand, “I’m Bradley.”

It’s a good name. It suits him. It’s one you think you’ll enjoy the way your tongue will curl around the letters of it in your mouth.

When you give him yours in return, he sits up straighter in his seat, like he’s won a small victory.

You don’t doubt that he’s the chivalrous type, the fact that he’s gone out of his way to come over to try and turn this evening around for you says more about him than any dating profile with nonsense questions and overthought answers ever could. But with a man like him, one who’d swoop in to save the night of a stranger because she looks like a damsel in distress, there’s an answer to a question you need to hear first.

“Bradley, this isn’t a pity thing, is it?” You were right, you like the way saying his name feels. You drop your hands into your lap, as you search his eyes. “Because if it is, that’ll make me feel worse than being stood up did.”

The way the words were sitting out and open on the table between the two of you made you feel vulnerable in a way you didn’t like. But you’d rather know now before anything goes further. Doing it for the plot or not, your ego could only take so much bruising in one evening.

He pins you with a look so serious that you feel it down to your toes. “Trust me, this is furthest thing from a ‘pity thing’, as you put it,” Bradley says, his tone slipping down a few gravelly notes. “Because if I’m being honest, if that asshole had actually shown up, I don’t know if I would have played fair.”

Oh.

A thrilling rush of warmth courses through you as your cheeks heat up.

You nod, trying to not look as affected as you feel. “Ok, I believe you.”

“Good,” he smirks, his gaze dropping down and lingering on your lips. You didn’t realize you’d trapped your lower lip between your teeth, you release it immediately. “Because you should know, I would have come over sooner- the second I saw you, actually- if I’d known. That’s some dress, sweetheart,” Bradley continues, “Plus, you’d be doing me a favor.”

You couldn’t help but be curious, so you lean in closer. “Oh, how so?”

Bradley mirrors you, crossing his thick forearms over each other and leans in that much closer. “I haven’t had a Valentine in years,” he says it like he’s letting you in on a secret.

For the first time all night, you don’t regret wearing the dress. You don’t regret the ostentatious shoes or the glimmering beaded bag. You don’t regret walking through that creaky door. You don’t regret showing up tonight.

How could you when you’ve just been served the best plot twist you’ve possibly ever experienced? A meetcute you never could have seen coming.

You realize just how close your faces have gotten and lean back in your seat, from fear of thinking you might do something stupid, like kiss him. “Will you stop with the big cow eyes, if I agree?”

Those crinkles around his eyes deepen, “Good to know they still work, I wasn’t sure if I still had it.”

You press your lips together trying to hide your smile, all too thoroughly charmed, but the corners of your mouth curl up all the same.

“Trust me, you have plenty.”

And Bradley’s own smile gets even wider.

Anyone in the bar can see how pleased with himself he is at your words. It rolls off of him in steady waves and swirls around your shins and ankles.

He makes a show of settling further into his seat, now that it is officially his seat. “What’re we thinking? One milkshake, two straws?”

You play along and pretend to ponder the offer for a moment. “That seems more like a second date type of activity, does it not?”

“You’re right, something to look forward to for next time,” he responds, not missing a beat. “So, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

There wasn’t a menu or anything on the table when you sat down, so you aren’t sure what all is offered here. You thought you might have caught a glimpse of a laminated stack near register when you’d first walked in, but you hadn’t wanted to draw any more attention to yourself at the time by getting up again and wandering around and reminding people just how out of place you’d been.

You look around and see a mix of ceramic steins, pint glasses, beer bottles, and a few stems of wine on tabletops and in the hands of the other patrons.

The noise of the bar had become a faint white noise in your ears as the two of you talked, but it comes back in full force now.

“If they have rosé, I’d take a glass of that.” It isn’t hard to miss the hesitation in your voice, feeling a little silly defaulting to your usual go-to. You don’t imagine they go through a ton of pink wine here. “But, uhm, anything on tap would be fine too, if they don’t.”

Bradley’s lips twitch up. Not in a smirk, but something caught between amused and something else you can’t quite describe.

You try not to fidget under his warm gaze, “What?”

He slides out of his stool and rounds the table, setting a big hand on the armrest near your elbow, “There’s something you should know about me, sweetheart.”

“And what’s that?” you ask, more than a little breathlessly. Feeling a little high off of the smell of his leather and vanilla cologne, and something underneath that that reminds you of kerosene in a way that makes you want to breathe him in even more.

Bradley dips down close, his lips just a whisper from your ear, and murmurs, “Pink is my favorite color.”

Your head tips back on its own as you laugh. Its unabashedly loud and bright and delighted thing that fills the nooks and crannies of the corner you’d tucked yourself away into. And if a few heads turn your way because of it, that’s alright with you.

You don’t believe him, not one little bit. But that’s part of the fun. The back and forth, the flirting, the banter, the teasing. He’s so quickly turned this night around for you, you already know your cheeks are going to hurt by the end of it.

The sound of Bradley’s own laughter chases after yours. It’s warm and raspy and boyish, and you like the sound of it. You like him.

“One rosé, coming up,” he says, giving your shoulder a light squeeze before he steps out of your space. “There’s nothing I like more than a girl who commits to a theme.”

You catch his wrist, his skin warm under your palm. “Wait, what’s it really?”

“Red,” Bradley says, then gives you a slow once over, making your pulse spark in your veins. “But you’ve got me second guessing myself now.” He gives you a wink and then heads towards the bar.

You watch stunned as he saunters away, admiring the way the light wash jeans he’s wearing form to his long legs, before taking a moment to send a string of words punctuated with more than a few exclamation points to the group chat.

When he comes back, only a few minutes later, he has glass of familiar pink wine in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And oddly enough, a straw tucked into the pocket on his shirt.

“It’s almost a perfect match,” he notes, when he sets it in front of you.

“At least I won’t have to worry about staining if I end up spilling on myself.”

Bradley chuckles and moves his stool in closer to yours, sitting back down with more smooth grace than a man with his build has any right to move. He tips the neck of his beer towards you, and you lightly tap your wine glass against it.

You take a sweet sip. “So.”

“So,” he repeats, with a teasing lift of his eyebrow.

“What’s your move?” you ask, running a glossy tipped finger around the rim of your wineglass.

“My move?” And there’s that grin again, one he doesn’t try to hide as he takes a sip of his own. “‘m pretty sure I’ve been showing you my moves since I sat down. I’ve never been good at being subtle.”

Bradley pulls the straw from his pocket and taps it a few times against the shellacked woodgrain table top. He takes the flimsy wrapper carefully starts twisting it, a little furrow of concentration forms between his brows, spiraling it until it’s pulled taut against itself.

You set an elbow on the edge, resting your chin on your hand as you study him. “But what’s the big move? I know you have one,” you press further.

His hands are big, calloused and rough, but capable. You want to know the story behind the scar that’s near the base of his thumb. You note that he wears his watch on the right instead of the left, and you pocket that new discovery for yourself the way a kid enthusiastically collects rocks in a park.

Bradley takes that piece of paper and folds it in half before twisting it again.

You watch in fascination as that pleased grin transforms into a confident smirk, like he’s enjoying even just the thought of showing you his big move. He looks like good trouble.

Bradley’s eyes slowly lift to yours, his hands pausing whatever he’s doing with that wrapper. He shoots a thumb to the left towards the end of the oval shaped bar. “You see that piano over there?”

“Mhm.” It’s an almost purr.

“That’s my big move.”

You feel your eyebrows lift in surprise. Bradley gave off such hometown golden boy vibes, you’d never have expected that he’d be the musical type too. The idea of seeing those hands fly over a set of black and white piano keys made your stomach tighten deliciously in anticipation.

“Am I going to get to see it?”

His gaze is steady on you when he replies, “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll show you my move.”

A grin stretches across your face and you feel downright giddy, as you wiggle your shoulders in triumph.

Bradley shakes his head amused, and then refocuses his efforts on the task he’d started with the straw wrapper. He struggles only for a moment- those large fingers getting in the way- as he tries to open the end just enough to slip the tail though. He gives it one more final twist, securing the loop, before inspecting his handiwork.

“Now, since we’re valentines and all, it seemed only fitting that I get you- well, make you- a little something.” Bradley gives you a soft, boyish smile as he holds out his palm towards you, and in the center of it is a perfectly crafted paper ring. “Sorry, I couldn’t find you a Ring Pop on short notice.”

The words escape you for a moment at the sheer sweetness of the gesture.

Gently, you take it from his outstretched hand, and slip it onto the pointer finger of your right hand, adjusting it with care until you have it situated just right.

“I usually wouldn’t be able to accept something so grand on a first date. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” you say, liltingly. “Thank you, Bradley.”

You look down to appreciate it again, more than a little tempted to take it off and tuck it securely into your purse for safekeeping. For as much as you liked your dress and bag and your shoes, that little paper ring was now your favorite piece of the outfit you were wearing.

When you glance back up at him, his cheeks have the faintest pink hue to them. The little nonchalant shrug he tries to give you does nothing to hide how pleased he looks. “I make a mean daisy chain too. We might have to wait a couple months for Spring, but I’m good for it.”

Your mind flashes with an image of you and him in a park with a picnic basket sat between the two of you, and those large hands of his threading celery green stems together. It’s a pretty picture.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular modern day Renaissance man.”

“I’m a man of many talents,” he rasps, silky smooth. It makes goosebumps raise along your arms. “Now, I’ve told you mine. Can’t say I’m not dying to know what your big move is. Am I going to get to see it, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you muse, lifting your glass to take another sip, “If you’re good.”

Bradley hooks a foot under you stool and tugs you just a few inches closer. “Just out of curiosity, what’s your position on kissing on a first date?”

You bend forward towards him and think you hear his breath hitch, you smile. “I’ll keep you posted.”

You’re still looking at his lips when a shout from across the bar startles you both.

“Bradshaw!”

Bradley mutters a string of curses and then blows out a breath, giving you a smoldering look that tells you that the conversation is far from over. You’re more than willing to let him try and change your mind about where he lands in the mustache rankings.

You look over your shoulder to see the with the sharp smile from earlier waving your date over to the pool table. “I take it you know, Malibu Ken?”

“Unfortunately.” A mischievous look coasts over his face. “But I’ll get you all the Ring Pops you could ever want if you say that to his face.”

You laugh. “I’m holding out for that daisy chain.”

Another holler rings out from across the room, the same Southern drawl as before.

“Seems like he wants your attention. Is he a Leo?”

He snorts. “You know what, he just might be. But more like he’s been waiting for the right moment to annoy me since I ditched him to come talk to a pretty girl instead.”

You try not to preen at the compliment.

“The relentless type, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it. I think I’m about thirty seconds from him queuing up “You Make Me Feel So Young” on repeat just to fuck with me,” Bradley explains. There’s a story there and you want to know more. “I know I still owe you the big move, but is it alright if I try to show off a little for you now? Just to get off my back for the rest of the night, then I’m all yours.”

You feel like you’ve just pulled an ace from your pocket.

“What are the stakes?” you ask, intrigued.

“Two hundred dollars and a whiskey,” Bradley replies.

You let out a low whistle, trying to school the catlike grin that wants to overtake your face. “That’s a lot of Ring Pops.”

The corners of his mouth curl up. “I was thinking dinner for our third date,” he says. “I’m buying for our second, of course. But it’s only right that we split the spoils of war.”

The sound of a brass band rings out over the staticky speakers and Bradley hangs his head down and lets out a long-suffering groan. You playfully pat his shoulder in faux commiseration.

You pretend to consider it for a moment, but you already know your answer. “Okay,” you agree, “Just as long as you’re okay with a little respectful ogling. You like my dress, and I like those jeans you’re wearing.”

He laughs, it’s a throaty rich sound. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

You gather for you purse and sweater as Bradley stands. His hands come to your waist, helping you off the chair, your bodies closer than close. It’s a forward move- he knows it, you know it- but with him, you don’t mind at all.

Bradley offers you his hand and you take it in yours; his fingers slip between yours easily like the two of you have already done this before.

The two of you only make it a few steps before you tug on his hand, waiting until he looks at you from over his shoulder before asking, with a lifted brow, “Bradley Bradshaw?”

He huffs out a not-so-exasperated sigh, “I blame it on the 80’s.”

“Whatever you say, Brad-Brad.” It’s the one and only time you’re ever going to say it, you decide. You like saying his name too much to shorten it. And his back may be turned to you now, but that now familiar chuckle still makes its way to your ears.

Bradley leads you to the bar first, where he buys another glass of rosé and a beer for himself. When you try to pass your credit card to the woman behind the counter, he takes it, and rasps into your ear, “Let me.”

He tucks it right back into your purse as the sound of brass instruments starts up yet again.

“Like a dog with a goddamn bone,” you hear him mumble. And you press your lips together to keep from laughing. Sure, you’d rather be seeing his big move, but you can’t claim not to be amused by all of this.

He nods to a group of people in the corner near the popcorn machine when the two of you enter the alcove with pool table. Some of his other friends of his you assume.

You send them a little wave, one that they return in greeting. You can tell they’re curious, but you’re grateful when they resume their conversation instead of making you feel like your date with Bradley had become a spectator sport for their viewing entertainment.

The first thing Bradley does is introduce you to his friend. It’s a little thing, but he does it without prompt or awkwardly leaving you to take the initiative yourself. You appreciate the way he is still prioritizing your comfort the way he’s been doing it since he first sat down across from you.

The second thing he does is pull out a chair for you. Not with a fanfare, not with a flourish. But like it’s something that’s innately ingrained in him. You get the sense that the gentleman thing isn’t an act with him, it’s who he is.

Jake rests a hip against the table. “Sorry to interrupt your date, but Bradshaw and I had some unfinished business.”

You wave him off, it’s not a big deal. Not when you’ll have the rest of the night with Bradley. Plus, you’re eager to watch this play out between them, curious about their gameplay.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” Bradley rumbles, as he arranges the balls in the rack. And you wonder if he lost the lag before he’d made his way over to your table for one.

He comes back over to you, and leans on the ledge next to you as he chalks his cue. You’d thought about slipping your sweater back on, with the outside chill pressing against the line of glass windows at your back, but Bradley had more than enough warmth radiating off of him that you didn’t need to.

“You that eager to be out a couple hundred, Bradshaw?” Jake grins, as he leans over the side of the table. He turns his gaze to you and sends you a wink right before he breaks, sending the cue ball barreling into the others with a resounding clack, scattering them across the table.

And then they’re off.

It’s a rapid fire of back-and-forth banter between the men as they take their shots. Mostly good natured, but undeniably competitive. Smirking when they land their shots, and snarking over fouls. Clear that neither of them wants to lose.

Jake is all confident posturing, playing low over the cue with a lightly too tight grip. It’s the only thing that gives him away that he’s not the easygoing player as he wants people to think he is. Choosing higher risk shots that would highlight his ability versus some of the more straightforward options laid out for him, and skilled enough that it pays off most of the time. But after a couple rounds you note he’s too quick to stand up after taking his shot, not enough follow through because he’s too eager to see if his gamble pays off.

Bradley is all loose-limbed ease, clearly comfortable in both his skin and at the table. You can tell he’s probably playing quicker than he normally does, clearly trying to hurry up the game for your sake, even though he doesn’t need to. Although he does take his time as he positions himself around the table, only adjusting his bridge every now and then. Always with a 1-2 shot, a warm-up stroke followed by a steady hit. Watching him you catch his tendency to throw out his elbow of the follow through.

The two are pretty well matched in skill, you observe with keen eyes, as the balls skate across the Top Gun insignia, against the rails, and into pockets.

When Bradley’s not up to play, he’s by your side, right at your elbow. And when he is, it’s your eyes he’s looking into the moment he stands back up, seeking out your reaction. But more than once you feel his eyes on you as you watch them play.

True to your word, you to admire him in those snug fitting jeans. And when he catches your appreciative gaze, he sends you a wink before lining up his next shot.

Jake sinks another solid into the pocket he’d called only moments ago, and turns his dimpled smile at you, “You still sure about your date with the old man, chickadee? I bet I could show him up in that department too.”

The way he says it, you know he’s just teasing, probably just to rile you date up and get a reaction from him.

“Unfortunately for you, I think I have a thing for mustaches now,” you toss back, unbothered. And Bradley smiles into his drink.

You watch as Jake lines up his next shot and hits the white with a compact stroke.

“Double hit,” you declare.

“Dammit,” Jake curses.

You look over to see Bradley looking at you with a focused look on his face. Like there’s a theory clicking into place, one he needs the answer to. Wordlessly, he hands you the cue.

“You sure?” you ask.

“Two hundred dollars sure,” he states.

You take it from him with a sly grin.

Bradley’s thighs brush against the front of your knees, you know if you parted them even a couple inches, that he’d fit just right between them. His hands landing on your waist again as he assists you off the stool you’ve been perched on. And you’re starting to think he just likes an excuse to touch you, not that he needs one because you already more than like the feel of his hands on your body.

You walk the pool table, running a finger around the rails as you do. Evaluating the balls on the table like they’re chess pieces. The slow clip of your heels on the floor like the tick of a clock as you take your time deciding your approach.

“You’re the stripes,” Jake offers helpfully. “Don’t worry, I’ll even let you have a free shot.”

And you can’t help but laugh because this is going to be fun.

“Bradley?” you ask, leisurely chalking your cue.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Do you mind?” You gesture to the spot behind you, and he catches on quick with a not-so-subtle glance at the short hem of your skirt.

He sets his beer down and comes to stand behind you, there’s just enough space between the two of you that you don’t have to worry about hitting him with the cue, his broad from proving you the coverage you needed to bend over the table. While you don’t think you’d mind Bradley seeing the silk thong you had on underneath your dress, you weren’t exactly up for flashing the whole bar.

You haven’t played in a while, but it’s a muscle memory at this point, as you map out your moves. Seeing the lines and angles and arcs in your mind’s eye before anchoring your bridge.

You look at Bradley from over your shoulder, only to see his eyes are trained on the ceiling with his tongue pressed against his cheek. A gentleman, albeit not an unaffected one. A tendril of smokey gratification curls its way along your spine. You turn your head back to the pool table looking between the cue, target, cue ball, target.

It’s a smooth stroke with a satisfying crack. A clean three-rail shot that lands the striped five into the pock you’d intended for it.

“Damn” is all Jake says. His eyes you up, clearly impressed.

“You sure about that free shot, Jake?” You stand up and smooth out your dress, just for the show of it. “Or do you want to make it double or nothing instead, Malibu Ken?” You hear Bradley snort from behind you.

And just like you thought, he wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, “Deal.” Jake turns to Bradley. “I just let your girl hustle me, didn’t I?”

“You sure did,” Bradley says with a grin, but his eyes are on you.

Neither are surprised when you sink your next shot too. The six sailing into the left corner pocket.

On your next shot, you may or may not deliberately foul. A tactical choice that sets Jake up with a less than ideal position on the table, knowing it’ll be a difficult shot for him to make.

“Now you’re just toying with me, aren’t you?” Jake grouses.

You just smile and take a sip of the rosé that Bradley hands you, neither confirming or denying.

Surprisingly, he banks it. But his good luck only lasting through that one play. Because on his next, the ball glances off the side rail at too acute an angle to reach the intended pocket and he groans.

Not quite ready to be done, you ease off a little. Enough that they both know you’re going easy on him to extend the game longer, just so that he can catch up to you.

But soon enough, soon there’s only your eight ball left on the table.

“Looks like you’re about to be out four hundred dollars, Jake,” you say with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Just put me out of my misery already.”

You turn to Bradley, who has been carefully positioning himself behind you the whole time. You hold out the cue to him and ask, “Do you want the honors?”

He shakes his head. “Go on, finish him off, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the show.”

And when your final ball tips into the side pocket, Jakes resounding groan is drown out by the whistle Bradley lets loose between his thumb and pointer finger, as you turn towards him beaming.

“The atm’s by the restroom.” Bradley sounds only too happy to remind Jake as he closes the gap between the two of you.

You look over his wide shoulder, “As for the whiskey, something expensive please, Malibu Ken.”

Jake huffs a grumble but nods all the same as he goes to round up your winnings.

“Scored four hundred dollars and a valentine, that’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” you preen to Bradley.

“Think that might have been the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Bradley announces. “The hottest too, if I’m being honest.” You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze. His finger slips under the thin strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder somewhere along the way. He slides it back up and into place, treating it like some delicate thing the same way he did that paper wrapper. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Normally, this is when you’d rerack, but you’ve never had a Bradley Bradshaw looking at you before.

“I took a class in college over the summer as an elective credit, and it turns out I had a knack for it,” you explain with a playful little shrug.

“I’ll say.” He takes another step closer. “Did you just show me your move, sweetheart?”

“One of them,” you grin.

You don’t have to press up to his height, not with your pearly heels.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bring his lips to yours for a kiss. A sound of surprise escapes from his throat. You feel the curve of a smile before his hands slide around your waist to pull you closer.

The scrape of his mustache against your upper lip sends electricity racing along every nerve ending in your body. In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold. It’s unhurried, like he’s been waiting to savor the feel of your mouth against his. Exciting and new as you learn the taste and touch of him. You knew it was going to be good, but even so, it’s better than you could have expected.

“Think you just snagged that number one spot of my list of favorite mustached men,” you say against his lips.

“Suck it, Selleck,” he rasps.

You inhale the amusement of his light chuckle, letting it go to your head like champagne bubbles, before he slips a hand around the base of your neck and pulling you in close once again.

A couple hours later, you find yourself at home on the couch. Your cheeks a little sore from how much smiling you’d done tonight, as Tom and Meg trade words over a plate of caviar on screen.

It was only much later that night you’d gotten to see Bradley’s big move.

He’d surprised you with his voice and the talented way his fingers glided over the white and black keys. An expensive glass of amber colored liquor sitting atop the old piano as he played, and four hundred dollars tucked safely away in your purse.

You’d given him your number when he’d walked you to your car, only distracting you for a few extra minutes with his mouth, before you’d left for the night, hoping that you’d hear from him soon.

A notification lights up your phone, and a ribbon of thrill unspools through you.

You sigh when you see that it’s a notification from your dating app. You’re wary to open it, not wanting anything to color your night, but you figure now is as good of time as any to block the guy who had nothing on the one you’d spent your evening with.

When you see the name of the person who’d sent you a message, you click into his profile with lightning-fast fingers, skimming all the details to things you hadn’t had a chance to learn yet.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟑𝟓

𝐉𝐨𝐛 𝐓𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: 𝐏𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐭

𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥: 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐚

𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬: 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

𝐙𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜 𝐒𝐢𝐠𝐧: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫

There is a picture of him in uniform, grinning to someone out of the frame. And another one of him shirtless on the beach, surrounded by some of the faces you’d seen tonight at the Hard Deck.

But it’s the answers to the prompts that he’d picked, that set your heart fluttering.

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲. (𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐫.)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬: 𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭: 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

That one makes you laugh.

You open the message from him, one that had been sent with a rose.

𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐰: 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞? 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧? 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐈 𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐩.

You don’t even have to think.

𝐘𝐨𝐮: 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝?

And you can’t help but grin to yourself as look at that paper ring still on your finger. Because you know, this app won’t be on your phone for much longer.

Not now that you’ve met him.

Happy Hearts Day, friends! Thank you for reading!

And a big thank you to Jordan ( @gretagerwigsmuse) for all the support and encouragement and general woogirling over Bradley Bradshaw!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @callsignspark @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @ofstoriesandstardust @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

#thank you for reading and reblogging!#the babe with the big move

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starkenobi · 3 days ago

Note

For the 100 followers celebration, could you do a ficlet of Logan Howlett + reader kidnapped or hostage?

Congratulations and thank you 🥳🫂❤️

Gif by @richardgrimes

masterlist

thank you, sweetie! hope you enjoy the reading 💜

pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader

warnings: violence description.

The warehouse was cold and dark, water pooling on the floor, and a terrible smell of something rotten. But you're trying hard not to focus on that last detail because it's definitely a dead body. Strapped in a chair, your wrists ached from the tight rope.

The least of your problems, the worst part was being captured by a group of idiots. They actually thought that demanding money in exchange for your safety was a smart move.

Sighing, you observe in silence your captors.

They had no idea who they were messing with.

No, not your biological family. Rich filthy people. They abandoned you a long time ago when they discovered your mutation.

Fuck them.

If you captors were trying to get money, it was a waste of time. Your biological family would laugh and ask them to kill you.

But your real family? They won't be happy.

No, scratch that.

Before they even know what's happening, there's one person that you know it's already on their way.

So you sit there, bored.

In your cute bloodied pijamas.

With a split lip, a swollen eye, a stab in the abdomen, and a sprained foot.

Well, you couldn't use your mutation to fight seven men at the same time, but you give them hell.

Cowards.

The first sign that the rescue had arrived was the loud sound of a motorcycle engine.

Rescue for you. Nightmare for them.

"The fuck was that noise?" One of the captors grumbled.

Then a loud bang sounded and the warehouse's door blew in pieces.

Show off.

Logan walked with his claws ready to fight.

He was furious.

The captors didn't stand a chance.

The two stupid enough to get closer were slashed by Logan's claws, red blood spilling everywhere, and yells became gurgling.

Frightened by the horror, they began to shoot.

Logan didn't seem that fazed by the bullets, gruting because of the impact, but he kept walking. With a high jump, Logan fell on top of a captor, the claw hitting square in the head.

Like a blur, Logan decimated the rest one by one. The screams and chaos were soon silenced.

Standing in the middle of the bloodied warehouse, Logan was beautiful and in all his glory.

Dammit, you loved him so much.

"I told you to stop looking for trouble, princess," Logan said as greeting, retracting his claws and approaching where you were tied to the chair.

You pouted. "I'm innocent this time, baby."

He chuckled. "If you say so. Let's get your wounds treated, yeah?"

"Are you gonna kiss it better?" You flirted but soon groaned in pain when Logan released you and picked you up. "Ugh, it hurts."

"Sorry, bub." Logan kissed your forehead, walking out of the warehouse.

"And the kids?"

"They're fine, Jean and Ororo are with them."

"Cool," you mumbled. Now that you felt safe, the pain and tiredness were catching you up. "Glad the plan worked."

Logan stopped for a moment, an incredulous look on his face. "You're prohibited from being bait again."

"Just jealous that I'm the famous one in this relationship." You retorted.

"Princess, shut up."

#logan howlett x reader #james howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #ficlet game #follower milestone #starkenobi writing #starkenobi milestone celebration

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asofspades · 2 days ago

Text

Next post regarding the LU boy's adventure items

This time it's about shared items or items that are similar enough to lead to group "activities"

Okay, Pegasus boots, bothe Four and Legend have them, however Time might not have Pegasus boots but he has the rabbit hood, this has potential for them having races to see who's faster (and if Legend cheats a bit by using a Pegasus seed to run even faster no one will ever know), I can also see wind stealing the rabbit hood to race them.

The slingshot, I've noticed a lot of the Links have slingshots, Twilight has one, Sky has one that when upgraded shoots multiple seeds, Four has a slingshot (FSA), Time has a slingshot as well, Legend also has an upgraded slingshot (Hyper slingshot in OoS), potential for slingshot competitions, or their slingshots getting mixed up and due to being from different materials, sizes and qualities they have a hard time using the others slingshots. Twilight just casually pulls out the hawkeye to aim better and everyone laughs because he looks funny.

Magic boomerangs, basically most of them have regular boomerangs, however Legend (oracle games), Hyrule (Tloz 1), Four (MC) have a magic boomerang and Twilight has a magic wind boomerang (it has the wind fairy inside, why does no one ever talk about that).

Fishing rods, Time, Wind (Phantom Hourglass) and Twi can go regular fishing while Wild just bombs the hell out of the river.

Explosives, okay, hear me out, plenty of links have bombchus (Legend in OoA, Wind in PH, Time), Four has remote bombs (MC) like Wild, Twilight has bomblings (similar to bombchus but they're insect like) and underwater bombs, Time also has the Blast mask (MM) the destructive explosion potential of these guys (without counting the bombos medallion).

Arson gang, I know we usually think Wild and Wind are the arsonists, mainly because wind likes mischief and Wild is just Wild, and Four gets incorporated sometimes thanks to red and his fire rod (I'm just saying, I fully believe Four himself as a compound of the colours has potential to be a little shit and an arsonist, no red influence needed), but Legend has like 2 fire rods at least (alttp, albw), a magic rod that works like fire and the fire gloves, how is that dude not considered a part of the arsonist gang please, he's such a little shit as well no matter how much sarcasm and broodiness he's surrounded by, also, twilight literally blew up a bomb storage by setting fire to the place during his adventure, just saying... Hyrule can join with his own magic rod as a treat. And also, let Time join with Din's Fire, he was a menace in the war of ages, let him be a menace as a grown up. It turns out Warriors has a fire rod, he can join the arson activities to release stress. All links are arsonists confirmed.

Magnetism, hear me out, Wild has magnesis, Twi has the ball & chain (metal) and iron boots (magnetic), Time and Wind have iron boots as well (also magnetic), legend has his magnet gloves and Four has magnet gloves and in addition he IS magnetic (the logic behind that is besides me, maybe it's related to the elemental magic he has or something). The potential por Wild and/or Legend suddenly finding out Four is magnetic in the most anticlimactic and hilarious way (accidentally attracting him with their abilities). Wild using magnesis to mess around with Wind, Twi and Time when they have the boots on or using it to carry them around or get them places and obviously Wild using magnesis to steal the ball and chain from Twi. I've been told Warriors also has a chain & ball, wild definitely will mess with it when he fails at stealing it from Twi.

Legend and Four use flippers to swim and I think it's hilarious that Legend has apparently never learnt to swim because he used them in all his adventures, apparently Four can in fact swim in FS so he did learn how to swim in the end. Those two would drown without them. Also, I think Twi, Sky, Time and Wild are the only ones that know how to swim without any extra gear (they get things for breathing under water like the Zora armour or Water dragon Scale or Zora scale, or swim faster and climb up waterfalls in wild's case) wind knows how to swim but he gets no extra gear. Technically the only ones who can't swim and don't have gear to swim are Hyrule (yes, the guy who uses a raft to cross rivers) and Wars (I need people to not automatically give him swimming abilities unless I'm missing something from Hyrule Warriors).

Digging. There's Links who have used shovels, Legend has used one in the oracle games, Wind has one in Phantom hourglass and then two links have digging mitts with different capacities (Four and his mole mitts, Sky and his mogma mitts). Imagine you're just casually digging up something with a shovel meanwhile one buddy of yours is digging up a cave and the other one is digging tunnels underground, I particularly find it hilarious that it's both Links who have adventures above the clouds who have the best digging abilities. Four also has a shovel but the mitts are just superior.

And now, one of those things that further confirm the characters that can use light magic, Legend, Time, Wind and Four use light arrows in their adventures, in addition Legend, Time and Wind use fire and ice arrows. Hyrule just said "fuck you" and used silver arrows because he's just that cool.

I want Legend, Four and Sky to cause mayhem with their gust jars and gust bellows respectively, bonus points if Wind joins with his Deku leaf and Wild just pulls a deku leaf of his as well.

Hammer gang, Legend, Four, Wind and Time have hammers and Hyrule has a glove specifically for smashing blocks, they could be menaces. (Also, consider Four and even Legend have extra practice with hammers from being in the forge, they would be terrifying with a hammer). Bonus points for Time just casually lifting whole as columns and slamming them on the ground. It seems Warriors has a hammer as well, he can join the hammer gang.

Also, can you imagine the reaction of the guys who have a simple hookshot (Time, Wind, Legend, Warriors) to Twilight and Sky's double hook shots.

Final thing is, imagine in order to get up a ledge Hyrule casually pulls out the stepladder, wild starts climbing (they're used to that at least), and four makes a whole in the ground with a shovel and uses the cane of pacci to shoot himself upwards, then Legend says fuck it and pulls out the tornado rod. There's so much potential for fun moments in fics or full on crackfics.

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keollipop · 2 days ago

Text

boynextdoor finding out they aren't your bias ~ headcanons

jaehyun 🐶 ...

gets SO offended, "what do you mean? what do you mean i'm not your bias? I'M YOUR BOYFRIEND?" actually in shambles over this information, gives you the SADDEST puppy dog eyes ever, attempts giving you the silent treatment but he's a yapper at heart...however he WILL be pouting for days

sungho 🐈 ...

tries to act like he doesn't care...but he cares SO much, casually asks you who it is and once he finds out he purposefully makes that members life difficult for at least a week (hiding their belongs, taking their seat on the couch, etc etc), he is definitely not jealous at all

leehan 🐠 ...

informs you that you aren't his bias either, now y'all both hurt !! ,, actually thinks its kinda of funny but deep down his ego is a bit bruised because...you're dating...HOW is riwoo your bias instead of him??

taesan 🐈‍⬛ ...

petty af, constantly poking fun at the situation in an attempt to make himself feel better, "why don't you ask sungho to get you flowers, since he's your bias?", rumor has it he pouted for a full month when you told him he wasn't even in your bias lineup

riwoo 🦦 ...

actually distraught, like it's not even a haha funny moment he's genuinely sad and confused, he tries laughing because everyone else is but in the middle of the night he's texting you asking if you two can talk

woonhak 🧸 ...

honestly finds it funny, but he does bring it up every other week when he needs a favor, "i wish you'd play basketball with me...but your bias is taesan so i guess you hate me..." type jokes, pouts about it when he needs something to go his way

i had noodles and lori had pancakes ~ 🍈

oh riwoo my sweet angel ~🍓

136 notes · View notes

zepskies · 3 days ago

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Hey friend! Can't wait dive into what you thought of Part 3. 💖

He makes a good point, although I absolutely get why she was going to order the chicken.

lol right? She was trying to be considerate. 😅

Oohh, Brady. Is it 'the' Brady...

YES. That Brady. 😏

Clever!! I agree with Sam he could have put a bit more effort into his lie or at least removed his ring. Love how you have managed to so successfully weave canon facts into this story and made them fit in this AU.

Sam's a smarty pants! And lol totally -- Michael's not trying very hard, is he?

Thank you so much, hun!! I'm trying my best on these AUs to weave in some of the canon stuff we all know and love. 💕

I really enjoyed their bonding moments. it feels very natural. They are slowly opening up to each other over shared similar experiences mixed with the pull that they both appear to feel that makes you want to get to know someone better, and for them to know you better.

Aww thank you! I'm so glad it felt natural. 🥰 They're slowly opening up to one another -- I big feat I thought, for Dean, to feel comfortable enough with someone to share what he's holding trapped inside. But she makes him feel "safe" enough to do that.

💔💔 I can actually feel how she must be feeling here.

Aww thank you. That was one of my favorite lines to write for this series, even though it's so heartbreaking. 🥲🥲

Oh... what does he mean by this? Oh my, though, Dean making her feel good...

Lolll it's open-ended, right? Sorry about that, but he's definitely making her feel beautiful (and satisfied lol). 😏

😂😂 that would do it, Dean lol.

LOL I certainly thought so!

This definitely adds another layer of complication to the whole situation, doesn't it?!

It really does, and it's about to get even more bumpy in Part 4...

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: All right, diving into some muddy waters here...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “You Go to My Head” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, (technically cheating—it’s complicated), hurt/comfort, and smut.

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 3: A Moment

Dean sat with you in silence on the bus. While you were still beautiful in your black dress, hat, and veil, you didn’t have the vivacious spark in your eyes like you did back at the club. There, when he held you in his arms, he earned your breathless, giddy laugh by turning you too many times under his hand.

Now, you looked like you were in mourning. Maybe you were.

“You hungry?” he asked.

You didn’t even raise your gaze as you picked at a stray seam on your dress.

“I don’t think I could eat anything,” you replied.

As if on cue, the thought of food made your stomach percolate, uttering a rumble. You froze. Your eyes widened as you bit your lip in mortification, but you were unable to stop yourself from glancing at Dean.

He cocked a brow at the sound. Then, his lips twitched at a smile.

“I think I know a place,” he said.

You were blushing too hard to argue.

And so, you and Dean got off the bus early. You ended up sitting across from him at a steakhouse. It was nice and quiet. Softer piano music played, and you were perusing the menu, trying not to feel guilty about it.

You had to remind yourself that your husband was betraying your marriage in far worse ways than you right now, and in the grand scheme of things, this was nothing. Dean was just paying you a kindness by taking you out for dinner.

“Get whatever you want,” he said, gesturing towards the menu in your hands.

You gave him a measured look across the table. Sure, he could say that, but you still felt bad. He was a soldier no longer on a soldier’s salary.

So you tried to be discreet while you were eyeing the steak side of the menu. Seeing the state of these prices—more than a little outrageous, in your opinion—you turned to the other side. The server returned to your table shortly after.

“Are we ready to order?” he asked.

Dean gestured for you to go first. You once again glanced down at the tiny printed words next to the fancily scrawled prices, biting at your lower lip.

“I’ll have the roast chicken please,” you said.

Dean rose his brows at you. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“Sure. I’m happy with anything,” you said.

A smile played on his lips. “So you really want to have chicken at a steakhouse?”

His amusement was infectious. You couldn’t help but begin to smile too. He leaned in closer across the table, as if conspiringly.

“I’ll get you whatever you want, and I mean that,” he said. Then, adopting a more joking tone, “I may not have a job lined up yet, but I’m not penniless.”

Your smile fell. “Oh, Dean, I know that—”

“Then order something good,” he said, raising his brows. “I dare ya.”

Your lips began to purse, trying not to succumb to the annoyingly charming gleam in his eyes.

“How about the Salisbury steak?” the server suggested. “It’s very popular right now.”

Dean looked to you for confirmation, again popping his brows in teasing askance. You offered a weary smile of defeat.

He ordered two steaks with all the fixings.

Dean was the more natural improvisor, but Sam had become just as good at finding the right role to play in situations like these. With Michael Milligan and his friends, that role was mostly himself: a bachelor, a businessman, but also being “the new guy in town,” looking for friends and a good time.

So Sam was wearing his newest suit and his best watch—a graduation present from his father—and had made sure he looked sharp before leaving the apartment tonight. Though he undid a couple of buttons on his dress shirt and ran a hand through his hair to tousle it up a little, making himself look casual enough to match these guys.

Seeing the shine on his wrist, Michael was generous enough to invite Sam along when they traveled behind the velvet curtain with Dolores Daye and the Cotton Club’s esteemed host, Brady Johnson.

Johnson. Sam recognized the name with an internal jolt. He’d seen it scrawled in Michael Milligan’s handwriting across several checks, dated between 1944 to 1945.

Brady Johnson had a crooked smile that was supposed to be charming as he led the group into a darker, cozier room. It smelled like the smoke of cigarettes and cigars, coupled with the faint must of perfume and cologne. There were a couple of pool tables, a fully stocked bar, and a big round table where he gestured for them all to sit.

Dolores took a seat right on Michael’s lap. There she gave the man a kiss that likely tickled his tonsils.

Sam pretended to be discreet when he looked away, but really, he was trying to sneak his little Canon camera out of his jacket. He stiffened to attention when Brady slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“What’re you drinkin’, Winchester?” he asked. “Scotch? Whiskey?”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Sam said, injecting some good humor into his smile.

Brady thought about it, popped a brow, then levied a finger his way. “Damn it, when you’re right. You’re right. I’ll get ya both then.”

He reached out and touched Dolores’s side meaningfully, getting her to stop “greeting” Michael and detach from his face.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you get our guests something to drink, huh? Then you can go back to making Michael here feel comfortable,” Brady said, slapping a congenial hand on Michael’s back.

Dolores gave Brady an easy smile and practically hopped out of Michael’s lap with a graceful two-step. She caressed his face as she made her way around his back and away, heading towards the bar. Michael followed the careening path of her hand as she half-turned his head, and he shot her a wink. She giggled indulgently, making him smile.

Then he turned his attention to the game of poker at hand. One of the other men was dealing the cards. Sam glanced at his hand before he looked over at Michael. Specifically, Sam noticed the gold band on the man’s left ring finger.

Michael seemed to feel Sam’s eyes on him, and he followed the path of Sam’s gaze. Michael flexed his hand and tucked it into his pocket.

“So Sam, what’s your poison?” he asked.

“I’m a whiskey guy, I guess,” Sam said, glancing around the room. There was probably an exit out back, but otherwise, the place was secluded and well-contained. So far he didn’t notice any other back rooms, besides a door to what was probably a dressing room. Michael had probably gotten that tour a time or two.

“This is a nice place,” Sam remarked, offering Dolores a polite smile when she set down a fifth of scotch in front of him. She gave him a charming wink before she served Michael his whiskey on the rocks next.

“I don’t come here all that often,” Michael said, adding a quirking grin. “Just on payday.”

The men shared a chuckle. Sam’s gaze was a hint sharper.

“Well, the drinks are good. I imagine the company’s better,” he said, his brows raising slightly when Dolores passed by to serve one of the other men a drink. Michael cocked a finger at him, congenial, but still warning.

“Yep, she’s a sweet one, all right. Sweet for me,” he said, grinning.

Sam nodded in understanding.

“I get it. She’s happily occupied,” he said, though he casually gestured to Michael’s left hand when he used it to bring his drink up to his lips. “Sorry for your loss.”

Michael gave him a look of confusion while he sipped, but when he noticed Sam pointing at his wedding ring, he had to pause and clear his throat.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I assumed you were a widower,” Sam said. He quirked a smile and sipped at his own drink.

Michael hesitated. He rubbed at his left ring finger, over the shining band.

“Yeah, well, sometimes I forget that myself,” he said. His blue eyes dimmed. “It, uh…hasn’t been all that long since she passed.”

Sam almost shook his head. If the man was going to lie, he could at least put some effort into it. He was beginning to understand your pain even better than ever.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Sam offered.

Michael smiled tightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“All right, we good?” Brady said, now that the cards were dealt. Dolores came back over to sit on Michael’s lap. Sam didn’t get out his camera just yet; the position was incriminating, but not hard proof of an affair. He’d have to wait for a better opportunity.

“Who’s betting first?” he asked.

After the meal, you realized you weren’t quite ready to go home, despite the late hour of the night. Picking up on your reluctance, Dean suggested taking a walk. You held onto his offered arm and led him a couple blocks away to Central Park. You guided him through the walkways you almost knew by heart, even in the shrouded dark of the night.

You were beginning to feel an odd prickle zip across your skin. Deep down, you knew you walked on a thin edge teetering between right and wrong.

He’s just being kind, you rationalized. You were battered enough inside to crave his kindness, more than you would’ve ever liked to admit.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you said, “and for staying out with me. I just…didn’t feel like going home to an empty apartment.”

Dean’s lips twitched up at one side, ruefully. “I kinda know what you mean. We could, uh…catch a picture show or something.”

“Oh no, Dean. It’s all right. Far too late for that,” you said, releasing his arm to wave a dismissive hand. Really, you just wanted to dispel the idea of him treating you to anything more tonight. By the way he was as dinner, you just knew that he wouldn’t allow you to pay for your own ticket to see a show. Nor did you want to eat into his pockets anymore.

Your hands were gathered in front of you now as you walked, holding your purse. A cold rush of wind pushed at you both from behind. It popped up the collar of your winter coat. Dean fixed it for you, laying it back down above your shoulders. You murmured your thanks again as you felt the brush of his fingers across your back and shoulders.

Afterwards, he slid his hands back into his coat pockets. He looked up at the tall trees and nicely trimmed bushes, their little red flowers having opened up.

“This is the only part of the city worth seeing,” he remarked, knocking a small rock ahead of him with his foot.

You turned to him with a frown. “Come on, now. There are a lot of interesting things in the city. There’s the Statue of Liberty and Rockefeller Center, not to mention museums, restaurants, Radio City, plays, and movies too, remember?”

“Okay, aside from Radio City and a couple of old buildings, we’ve got all that back home too,” he said, with a cutting motion of his hand.

“Has Sam shown you everything? Or have you been exploring on your own?” you asked. The question was a bit deceptive though. In your mind, you were thinking of what Sam had told you…

He’s not usually wanting for company.

“On my own, for the most part,” Dean replied. “Sam’s been hard at work. A bit too busy for his hanger-on older brother.”

You looked over at him with furrowed brows. “Dean, I doubt he sees it that way.”

The man shook his head. “Look, I’m…I’m proud of him, don’t get me wrong. He’s trying to build something for himself, and that takes time and a lotta work. He’s created a life here. I’m just trying to catch up, I guess.”

You considered Dean for a moment. Like you, he seemed to be at a crossroads.

“What was it like for you two, growing up? You’re from Kansas, aren’t you?” you asked.

He nodded. He hesitated, but he surprised you by opening up a little, telling you more about his life before the war. It was always before and after. You knew it always would be.

You learned that his mother passed away when he was young, rather tragically due to an illness that came on suddenly and swiftly. He still remembered the deep blue of her eyes, her blonde hair. But most of all, he remembered her voice, kind and pretty when she sang to him until he fell asleep.

John, his father, had become a harder man after her death. Quieter, and stoic. Dean hardly remembered him without a glass of liquor in his hand after that. John had been a factory worker before he enlisted in the Navy. He died a decade later at Pearl Harbor, during the war.

That news came through with a military officer knocking at the front door of their family home. Dean answered it, and so that news hit him first. Afterwards, he had to sit his younger brother down and tell him.

That afternoon, both of them enlisted.

Dean told the story matter-of-factly, but you felt and saw the emotions hidden behind his eyes. You saw the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, both as an older brother, and as the eldest son. You had to quickly swipe away a tear before he turned your way. He offered a small smile.

“Ah…enough about all that. What about you?” he asked. “How’d you grow up?”

You took a steadying breath, and you told him.

“Well, I’m from a small town in South Dakota. Sioux Falls,” you said. “Mom’s a schoolteacher. Dad works in a steel mill, and my Uncle Bobby owns an automotive towing company there.”

“Well, that’s a decent job,” Dean said.

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” you asked. He nodded, and the two of you stopped to sit together on a bench in the park. You had a view of tall skyscrapers like Empire State in the distance, and the night sky above the arching trees.

“Yeah, a lot actually,” he said, carding a hand through his hair absently. “Like, uh, talking about cars, I’ve always liked them. The hum of a good engine. My dad could hear a car running from a block away, and he could tell you what was wrong with it, just by the sound of it.”

He punctuated his words with a sweeping gesture of his hand. You could imagine a road laid across the path of it, along with a rumbling car and his father’s perceptive, judging eye.

“Heh, matter of fact, we used to take his old Chevy apart, put it back together again,” said Dean, smiling a little. “I like working with my hands, I guess.”

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile widened, showing teeth. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that. He wasn’t offended, just amused at the way you got embarrassed, even though you didn’t take it back just to save face.

He appreciated your support and the way you talked, straightforward and earnest. There was nothing frivolous about you. You meant every word you said, and you said it with conviction.

“Do you enjoy your work then?” he asked. You dimmed a little.

“Well, I’m a secretary. I work in an office,” you said, chuckling slightly. “Nothing exciting there.”

“You mean, compared to being an army nurse,” Dean pointed out.

You nodded begrudgingly. He saw through you too well.

“It was never boring,” you joked, even if it was a weak one.

A sigh escaped you. The truth was, you saw things on the battlefield that revived behind your eyelids every time you went to sleep. It kept you up some nights, and it made it incredibly difficult to sleep alone. Sometimes you’d craved Michael’s arms around you, even if he was too deep in sleep from being drunk the night before. Sometimes it was too hard to be alone all night in your bed, even if you wanted to be.

“That’s how Michael and I met,” you confessed. “I was trying to stitch him up after his plane was shot down. He was lucky to be alive, frankly. Had a nasty head wound. I also helped the doctor set his shoulder, horribly dislocated…”

You two fell in love in that one month you were stationed in the same town together, where France was falling apart. The combined forces of French, British, and American units were able to finally liberate Paris from being occupied. Michael was honorably discharged due to the wounds he’d sustained there.

The next time you and Michael had shore leave at the same time, you got married here in New York City: October 10, 1944.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you were my nurse,” Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts. You sent him a wry, sidelong smile.

“You can’t help yourself from flirting, can you?” you quipped.

The way he waggled his brows made you laugh, and then duck your blushing face. He was too much.

“I’m serious though,” he claimed. One of his hands went to his right shoulder. “I’ve still got a twinge over here. Think I tore some kind of muscle from hauling ammunition, but it never really healed right.”

Your head tilted in concern. The nurse in you couldn’t help it. You turned to him more fully on the bench.

“That shoulder?” You pointed at his right one. Dean nodded. You got up and moved to his other side, and he made room for you on the bench.

“Can you peel back your jacket for me?” you asked.

“Not a problem,” he said, with a note of sensuous teasing in his voice that you chose to ignore. He revealed his white dress shirt, black waistcoat and brown leather suspenders. That was a familiar sight, but you tried to ignore the feeling of defined male muscle underneath your hands, instead focusing on finding the problem. You knew you struck it when Dean flinched, uttering a reflexive grunt of pain.

You murmured an apology, massaging the spot of muscle deep in the joint of his shoulder through his clothing. A fellow nurse with more experience in the medical field had taught you about each muscle in the body, and how to relieve tension around scar tissue. After a while, the stiffness in Dean’s frame began to relax. His neck lolled to one side as he groaned in relief.

Then he chuckled. “You some kind of miracle woman?”

“I might be,” you said. The corners of your mouth inched upwards.

When he was fully relaxed, you stopped your ministrations and let your hands fall away from his shoulder. Dean stood up from the bench along with you, yanking his jacket back on. Soon it was the two of you standing together in near darkness.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Feels much better already,” he said. There was something warm, and a hint gentler in his voice. Even he realized it afterwards, not knowing quite how to feel about it…until you looked up at him with that smile. His heart thudded a bit harder in his chest.

“What should I charge for a miracle?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think, humming in consideration. He knew what he wanted to give you in exchange, but he settled for something more gentlemanly.

“How about you let me take you home?” he offered.

You nodded. “That works for me.”

You continued walking with Dean through the park back to the entrance, with only a few scattered lampposts and the stars above to light your path.

Once again, you and Dean made it to the front porch of your apartment building. Despite your better judgment, you invited him in for a night cap and a snack. To be fair, he would have a long way home. You just wanted to repay him at least a little bit for his kindness.

He followed you up the stairs to the second floor, Unit 21B. Inside was a modest, cozy living room, a hall leading to the kitchen, and further down, the bedroom. You poured two glasses of whiskey and sat beside him on the couch.

“Didn’t take you for a whiskey girl,” Dean remarked.

“Yes, well, it’s one of those nights, I guess,” you said. You didn’t quite smile as you took a small sip.

By now it was past midnight. You wondered if your husband didn’t intend to come home until the morning. It had happened before, but it still made you so very angry now that you’d seen it with your own eyes. You drowned out that sick feeling with more whiskey and conversation.

Within the hour, you and Dean had nearly polished off the bottle. You were more than a little tipsy.

You laughed a bit harder than you should’ve at Dean’s stories, but he liked the sound of your laughter and the way you were letting loose around him. It was the first time he’d seen you smile so much, and it was a good look on you. He was glad to be able to get that out of you.

“I almost missed my own birthday party when I was ten,” he said, laughing a little. He was spurred on by your infectious grin. “Sam and I, we got it into our heads to jump off the roof of the shed out back. See, I had a towel tied around my neck.”

“A cape,” you giggled.

Dean pointed a finger at you. “Exactly. So I can fly.”

You shook your head. “Naturally.” You could imagine him as a precocious child, with ruddy cheeks and small freckles spread across them.

“My brother had a ‘cape’ too, but he was a skinny kid at six years old. Small for his age for a long time, if you can believe it.”

“A-huh…”

“Well, I jump off first, and I manage stick the landing, just shaking a little when my boots hit the ground,” Dean said, making a show of wobbling his legs a little. It looked odd while sitting on the couch, but you could imagine it so clearly, it made you smile harder.

“Sammy, not so much. Poor kid broke his arm,” he said.

Your smile dropped.

“No,” you gasped, a hand flying to your mouth.

Dean nodded. “I had to take him to the clinic on my bike. He rode on my handlebars all the way there. We agreed not to say a word to our dad, you know, but of course, it’s kinda hard to hide sling.”

“What did he do?”

“He took one look at us, at me. Mom was fretting over Sam, and Dad just shook his head.”

“Was he mad?”

“Of course he was, but at least he never took it out on us. Not with his hands, at least. He cussed up a storm about us damn kids and had to walk it off.” Dean chuckled and swiped a hand through his hair. “That was some birthday.”

You erupted into more giggles. He smirked at you, but it slowly faded.

“You know where I was on my last birthday?” he asked.

You sobered along with him, sensing his tone.

It took him a moment to continue. He didn’t know why he started to open his mouth about this. After he set foot in his house again after the war, he resolved to leave all that behind him, try not to think about it or talk about it, if he could help it. But after what you’d told him, he thought you might understand.

“I was in Eastern Europe. Knees deep in snow and blood in the Ardennes, caught somewhere between Belgium and uh…Luxemburg, they told us. The weather was sh…it was terrible,” he corrected himself before he caught himself saying something too vulgar. It had been a while since he’d had to watch his mouth around a lady, even though he had a feeling you’d heard it all in the crumbled depths of France.

“But it finally let up enough that we could start fighting back for real,” he continued. “It was grueling. A knockout, drag out dog fight in the worst cold I’d ever been through in my life…”

You listened to the rest of his story with rapt attention, your chin held in hand as you leaned against the back of the sofa. Not only did you like the sound of his deep voice washing over you, but you realized that he was trusting you with something; with a part of himself.

When his story was done, he seemed to be reliving it all in his mind. His gaze was far away. You rested a hand on his arm to let him know that you had listened, that you had heard him, and that he wasn’t alone. He’d taken his coat off long ago, so you felt the warmth of him under the fabric of his rolled up dress shirt.

Dean came back to himself. He looked at you and grasped your arm back in thanks. But that small connection slowly began to change into something else. His hand slid up your bare arm, over the black sleeve, and across the neckline of your dress. He leaned in closer.

He smelled good, of a woodsy cologne and of spicy whiskey. He was sporting a couple days’ worth of stubble, but as you took in his face, you realized that it looked good on him. You’d only ever been taken with clean-shaven men before. This man, however, was continuing to be a pleasant surprise.

Dean cradled your cheek in his hand. You allowed him to draw even closer. You subconsciously leaned forward yourself, until his plush lips were one warm breath away from yours.

Dean held himself back though. He knew there were more things muddling your mind than the whiskey. But you held his hand to your cheek so he wouldn’t let you go just yet. You tried your best to blink back the sting of tears.

“Please,” you whispered. You weren’t exactly sure what you were asking for. At the very least, you knew you couldn’t stomach another rejection. “At the risk of sounding entirely brazen…please, don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Dean sighed. His stomach twisted in both conflict and desire. He soothed his thumb across your soft cheek.

“Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more than to kiss you. Believe me,” he said. His voice was low with grit and tinged with longing. “But I gotta wonder if this is really what you want.”

Your mouth trembled. Your heart was battered and frayed, your mind spinning with this isn't right. And yet, you had a fire in your belly, familiar, though you hadn't felt it in so very long. It churned a heady blaze when you stared into his eyes. Something compelled you to reach out and touch his lips with gentle fingertips.

“He doesn’t…touch me anymore,” you confessed, swallowing. “It used to be, whenever we passed each other in the house, it was a touch. A moment.”

Your hand ghosted over Dean’s chin, down his neck, and shoulder, and down his chest over wrinkled fabric and buttons. He had to try and calm down his own breathing, the heavy patter of his own heart in response to your touch.

“Like I had an anchor, reminding me that I was loved, and that mine was appreciated,” you said. Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “But now it’s…it’s rushed. Everything is rushed, and distant, and forgetful. That’s if it happens at all. No matter how much I work at my job, and cook, and clean, and take care of him, it isn’t enough. He’s not the man I thought I knew. That’s what hurts the most.”

Dean’s heart clenched under your palm. He was angry for you. He was sad for you. But most of all, he was starting to hate the thought of you sharing the same bed with that man, being touched by him, and worst of all, him taking from you without satisfying you.

“Rushed, huh?” Dean asked, his fingers curling to brush against your jawline. You nodded. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and he raised his brows. “Everything?”

Your watery eyes met his as you bit your lip. You released it with a trembling breath.

“Everything,” you said.

Dean couldn’t help but treat you gently, drying your tears and kissing your cheek. He hadn’t known you long, but he knew you didn’t deserve what you were going through. He saw that you weren’t just pretty. You weren’t just tenacious and headstrong. You had a soft heart behind that iron wall.

So he took your chin and guided you to his lips, and into his kiss. You inhaled in a sharp breath, but you soon melted into him with a faint moan. He cupped your cheek and kissed you again, this time a firmer touch.

You matched his intensity and gripped the front of his shirt for balance, especially as his hand began to slide down your arm and around your waist. He pressed at the small of your back, bringing you flush against his chest. You had no choice but to take his face in your hands and meet his seeking tongue with your own.

A groan sounded in the back of his throat at your eagerness. He pushed you down to the end of the couch, where you laid on a few throw pillows. There he found his way between your legs and took your heels off, one by one.

Then his touch was heavy and warm across your hip, running down your thigh. After a while, he veered away from your lips to kiss his way down your neck. It earned your shallowing breath. Your hands roamed his shoulders, slipping down his back as far as you could reach. You wanted to feel more of him.

And the feeling was mutual. His kisses blazed a path along your collarbone and between your breasts, dipping below the neckline of your dress. His hand came up to gently palm one of your breasts, thumbing at your nipple hardening under the fabric. You whimpered, clinging to him tighter.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, his own breathing labored as well.

“You are touching me,” you whispered.

“You know what I mean, baby,” he said. For a moment his usual grin took over his features, but he leaned up to steal a kiss, nice and slow. “Want to make you feel good. Give you something to remember me by.”

You found yourself nodding and uttering a broken moan. It almost didn’t matter to you what he meant. His hands and the weight of his body on top of you felt so very good, you would take whatever he wanted to give you.

Your breath hitched when you felt his hand slipping upwards along your inner thigh. His thumb brushed between your legs, across the dampened fabric of your underwear. You whimpered, nodding again.

Dean reassured you with a kiss. Then he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your pantyhose, along with the silk and lace covering you underneath. He slid them down carefully, as not to rip anything (even though he’d like nothing more).

When it all bunched around your ankles, you kicked the rest of it off. The wad of sheer fabric and satin panties fell across the coffee table, over the forgotten drinking glasses. You giggled against his lips. Dean smiled too, though he gently nipped your lower lip to keep your attention. Your fingers curled up into his hair, nails grazing his scalp. The sensation made a shudder run down his spine.

He decided to return the favor, now that he was able to feel your bare thigh under his hand. He stroked your skin while he waylaid you with deeper, sloppier kisses. But all the while, his hand slid higher, closer to your throbbing core.

Finally, his fingers brushed between your legs against the bare seam of your sex. You inhaled sharply against his mouth. “Dean…”

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Promise,” he said, just a whisper of his lips with yours.

Two of his fingers slipped inside you first. You were already wet and pulsing around them when they sunk into your heat. You whimpered in his ear, especially as his fingers began to explore you, working you open, and curling upward against the most sensitive of places within your inner walls. You cried out gratefully, clenching a hand in his hair. Your core was already beginning to flutter around his fingers.

“Hmm, right there, huh?” Dean said. His voice was a bit rough; his own desire was straining in his pants, begging to be touched, but he was focusing all his efforts on you. He wanted to see you come apart, hear you gasping his name like it was the only thing you were able to remember.

His thumb began to massage tight circles over that small, sensitive bud above your entrance. You moaned and writhed against his hand. Your voice in his ear was heaven, especially when he got what he wanted. A few more deliberate strokes deep inside, and you were gripping him tight, throbbing from the inside, and coming all over his hand. He felt the rush of wetness, but he still kept pulsing his fingers inside your quivering walls, drawing out your release.

You cried out his name and fairly trembled against him. Your lower belly clenched as another wave hit you, making your inner walls flutter tightly around his fingers again.

His heart was beating as fast as yours when it all finally subsided. You fell back against the pillows, gasping for breath. Dean raised his glistening fingers up to your mouth. You were shocked to see the evidence of your own release there.

He pressed the pads of his fingers to your lips. It was downright obscene, but you gave into the urge to slide your lips over his fingers, tasting yourself when you sucked around his digits.

Dean’s green eyes were dark with arousal and satisfaction as he watched you. Feeling your tongue around his fingers made him imagine another use for your pretty mouth, making his cock throb in the confines of his slacks. But for now, it was enough to see the remnants of your lipstick come off on his mostly clean fingers.

He licked off the rest from his fingers himself, then bowed his head to kiss you thoroughly. Your hands began to explore him, the expanse of his chest over his shirt, and traveling down, below the belt. Dean slowed the pace of things, grabbing one of your hands.

You frowned in confusion. “You don’t want me to return the favor?”

Dean groaned, and he chuckled. He pressed a kiss to your hand.

“I’d go for that in a heartbeat, I really would. But tonight’s about you, sweetheart,” he said.

What was more, he didn’t want to take advantage of you. You’d had quite a lot to drink. You both had.

But I want to do this right.

That thought stopped him for sure. It surprised him, even if it was the truth. He just didn’t want to examine it too closely just yet.

He swore you looked disappointed though. It was even more difficult to make his arousal subside. He took in a deep breath, clearing his throat as he shifted off of you. He helped you tug your dress back down your thighs and tried thinking of anything that might help him calm down.

Picturing that time he accidentally walked in on his father in the bath ultimately did the trick, accompanied by a small body shudder.

“Are you cold?” you asked, rubbing his arm.

“No, I’m just fine,” Dean replied. He gave you a smile and tucked a wily strand of hair behind your ear. “You feel okay?”

Your smile was more demure, almost shy. If he were a betting man, he’d say you were blushing.

“More than okay,” you murmured.

He chuckled and swiped his thumb across the apple of your warm cheek.

With a more genuine smile, you leaned up and checked your watch resting on the coffee table. Your eyes widened.

“Michael could be coming home any moment,” you said.

The thought rekindled the wellspring Dean’s anger. His brows furrowed with a frown. He’d like to be here when Michael came home. Maybe Dean would get the chance to sort the man out, get one or two good hits in.

Instead, he let out a heavy breath. He got up and allowed you to walk him to the door, where he grabbed his coat and straightened up his clothes. He paused at the door when he glanced back at you.

You looked too damn much. Your lips kiss-swollen, your dress sleeves hanging further off your shoulders, your hair a tousled mess. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you back in for a kiss goodbye. You breathed in, then you melted into him, your fingers slipping through his hair. That kiss was everything.

However, like this night, it had to come to an end. You pulled away first, slowly. You touched his chin with gentle fingers.

“Go,” you whispered, “before I lose myself.”

Dean chuckled. “You took the words right outta my mouth, sweetheart.”

He forced himself to break away from you and step out of the apartment. Releasing a sigh, you shut the door behind him.

AN: Okay, you're probably having mixed feelings lol. I don't blame you! Honestly, I'm not advocating cheating here (even if we think Michael deserves it). It's just an added layer of complexity to the story in this case. 😬 Get ready for more of that in Part 4, where we catch Sam's side of things...

Next Time:

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing throughout the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

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tkdbimagines · 2 days ago

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Hey so... Me Again lol (which one? You'll never know). I had to come back to your inbox since I enjoy reading your stuff A LOT! and I had a thought. Cockwarming... Who enjoys it, who can stay like this for hours, who can't and instead ends in boomshakala with, ect? Or just with one ghoul of your choice as a little os. Go wild. Go creative. I just love your stuff

A/N: alright yeah i can work with this, lets see what we got here

Cockwarming Headcanons

Stays For Hours

Jin: I'm a lil torn here actually but I think he'd definitely use it as some sort of punishment at the very least, and if that's the case he's got all the patience in the world. He'll probably snap at some point but he's making damn sure you do first and he'll still make you wait after.

Tohma: Probably the best at it honestly, he's nothing if not a patient man AND he likes annoying you and causing you problems. He just likes seeing your frustrated face and lil sounds and it just makes him want to make you wait even longer :c.

Alan: He's got better patience than I think even he will give himself credit for, honestly. Though, I think he's mostly in it for the intimacy's aspect, not the sexual one. He just likes how close you feel because of it. That being said, if you start squirming around and teasing him, I cannot guarantee your safety.

Sho: Oh he's a bastard sometimes, he'll do it just to tease you. This is a source of amusement for him, he thinks its hilarious seeing how worked up you're getting just by him being inside you. Don't think whining or complaining will help it just finds it even better. He'll give in at some point, but it'll be a while.

Ren: Honestly put a game in front of him he might even forget he's inside you to begin with. It's probably some sort of cute bonding activity except for the you know. cockwarming aspect but it's fine. However he is one you can easily goad into fucking you if you move around a bit so have fun!

Ritsu: I feel like he'd just check out and start thinking about the cases he's working on JHGHJKJHJK. Like he's a lil insane like that but it helps keep him calm and patient which is good because otherwise you might be driving him insane, it's so fine. Probably another one you can goad by moving around just not as easily.

Subaru: Sweet sweet boy just likes feeling close to you, this is definitely 1000% just for the intimacy aspect he's not trying to tease you or anything he just likes feeling you :c. That being said he will never deny you anything so if you want him to do something he will but if not he's perfectly content staying like this for as long as possible!

Haku: Kinda similar to Tohma and Sho here, he's definitely doing this because he likes teasing you KJHGHJKLKJHG. He'd be the type to whisper filthy shit in your ear too while running his hands across your body to really rile you up while he was at it. He's a lil insane sorry to say but don't worry even he has his limits KJHGHJKJH.

Ed: This annoying ass vampire pretends he's too old to move. You know he's not, he knows you know he's not, but he's just like this he's irritating. That being said he'll also hold you in place so you can't move, wrapping his arms around you because 'you feel so nice he doesn't want to let go'. He will not let you win and is probably the one most likely to go literal hours godspeed.

Rui: I'm a lil torn on him too because I'm not sure how much he's really doing this to begin with, but I think he could if you wanted him to. Living with Ed gives you a lot of patience after all but the second you want more he's all for it so he's really just going by whatever you want.

Jiro: I mean, are we really surprised by this? He's so chill about everything so naturally he'd probably have an insane about of patience regarding this as well. And if he gets to enjoy seeing you squirm and let out little noises because of him, well, that's just a bonus c:.

Gives In

Luca: I think he would give it an honest try. I think like Rui he wants to do whatever it is you want him to, and if it's cockwarming, well he might not quite get it but anything for you! However, the feeling of you wrapped around him is so... He apologizes but quickly asks if he can move pretty soon after, though he does last a little bit at least!

Kaito: Alright we all knew he was going here, I'm not sure he'd last even a minute before having to move. He'd want to give it a genuine try, he would, but well. You probably both knew how this was gonna end when you asked him it's fine. It's worth it in the end anyway you both get to enjoy it <3.

Leo: Okay much like Sho, he's a bastard, even more so actually. However, he also doesn't have a lot of patience. So what I think he does, is he talks big, acting like he's not gonna move for hours or that he'll edge you for just as long, but in reality he does just enough to drive you insane so that you'll beg for him to move and it'll look more like he's giving you what you want rather than him giving in.

Haru: Don't do this to him, he's already stressed out as it is. Plus, he's got so much energy I don't think he could sit still long enough for it if he tried. If you do try to do this expect him to try to work you up even more, to convince him to let him move that way he can make both of you feel good :c.

Towa: I don't think this is Towa's thing honestly. Maybe as a more relaxing thing than anything else but I don't think he gets anything out of it. He much rather prefers moving inside you or maybe you moving on him, the specifics don't really matter much just anything other than staying still.

Romeo: Ha. Another one to talk big only this time he actually tries to follow through but can't. It's not his fault you feel so good clenching around him! He'll blame you for him not being about to last without moving, thrusting into you roughly while complaining about how insane you drive him.

Zenji: I think he's like Kaito, he'd want to try it for your sake but in reality, he just can't do it. He'd apologize like a thousand times for not being able to give you what you want but well, it's not like you're mad at this outcome either. He'll more than make up for it with multiple rounds as well so ! Alls well that ends well.

Lyca: Oh, poor boy does not get what the appeal is. He'll tell you straight up too when you ask him, he does not see what's so great about it. Once he tries it he gets it even less, why would he torture himself like this when you feel so good and he could be moving right now to make you feel good too? Yeah the frustration takes over on this one but it's so fine.

Yuri: Romeo part two, he talks so big and acts so tough but like. He's giving in we all know he's giving in. Once again he's very frustrated with not being able to live up to what he was saying, but well. Now you get to make up for it since you've wasted his time he could've spent researching for this nonsense. Either way do you really lose?

Weird Taiga Category

Taiga: It largely depends on how Taiga's feeling at that exact moment. Sometimes he won't bother with it at all and just starts thrusting rapidly the second he's inside you. Other times, he's got you close to tears before he even so much as moves a single inch, laughing at how pathetic you sound. You really do never know what you're gonna get with him which is why he had to be in his own category.

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savannagonemad · 2 days ago

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when the world feels heavy

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angst 💔

warnings: panic attack mention/description

se-mi x fem!reader

wordcount: 1.6k

author's note: i love this?? i started drafting this to finish later and suddenly i had written the whole thing. thank you lovelies so much for the positive reception on my sae-byeok fic!! as a reminder, my requests are open, so if there's something you want written, send it my way! ✨✨

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se-mi wasn't answering any of your messages, nor was she returning your calls. this worried you - she'd normally text you back almost immediately, or at least look at the messages. not tonight. they all stayed on "delivered."

you knew something was wrong almost immediately. you knew your girlfriend better than she knew herself sometimes, and this was definitely unusual. after half an hour of not getting anything in response, you dismissed yourself from where you were out doing volunteer work for the community and began to drive home. you were definitely breaking several traffic laws as you nervously made your way back to your shared house.

all the while, you were hoping that your phone would go off, that you would hear something from se-mi. no such thing happened, which only caused your worries to grow.

you pulled into the driveway and basically ran to the front door, not bothering to lock the car. you had bigger priorities right now.

as you stepped inside, you looked around, hoping to see se-mi, hoping that maybe her phone just died and she was fine. you felt your heart race a little faster as she was nowhere to be found.

you immediately made your way down the hallway, looking for any sign of your girlfriend. your haste almost made you miss that the door to her room was closed, causing you to double take. there was no light coming from underneath the door, something that gave you more anxiety than it should have.

you lightly knocked on the door, calling out.

"se-mi? i'm home." you tried your best to suppress the nerves in your voice, but despite your best efforts, your voice faltered.

there was no response.

from the other side of the door, you heard a very concerning noise that made your heart drop - the sound of se-mi sobbing softly.

"se-mi," you called out again, your voice a bit more frantic. "are you okay? can i come in?" you kept your voice as gentle as possible, not wanting to make whatever situation this was worse.

"n-no, y/n, i'm-" se-mi's voice came through the door, or whatever was left of her voice as she choked her words out between sobs. "go away. please."

your heart began to race faster. this was definitely not the se-mi you knew, and there was no way you were leaving her in whatever state she was in. she sounded seriously hurt.

"se-mi, i'm coming in, okay?" you gently called out, not wanting to scare her. going away like she asked was definitely not an option. you turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open, emotionally bracing yourself for whatever you were about to see.

it was worse than you hoped. se-mi was curled into a ball on the floor at the foot of her bed, her hands covering her face like she was holding back screams. she was wearing one of her old hoodies, and there were dark tear stains running across both sleeves. once you came in, it only seemed to get worse. much worse.

"i- se-mi, baby, oh my gosh.." you flew over to her side and crouched down next to her, gently taking her wrists and pulling her hands off her face. her eyes were red from crying so much and tears fell down her cheeks. se-mi only shook her head at you, not looking at you - not really looking at anything.

"please, y/n," she choked out. "please go. i don't want-" her words were interrupted by a gasp for air- "i don't want you to see me like this."

you pulled your girlfriend into a gentle hug, rubbing her back. she didn't hug you back, her arms fastened securely around her legs. "no way," you said, your voice gentle but firm, masking your fear as best as you could for her. "i'm not going anywhere."

this didn't seem to help. she stared straight ahead, not moving, her chest rising and falling rapidly. you could feel her heartbeat as you rubbed her back, and it was going fast. "please go," se-mi whimpered, tears falling from her cheeks onto her lap.

"hey, look at me." you gently pulled away from the hug and securely held her by her shoulders. se-mi turned to look at you, though she was more looking through you. "i'm here, okay? i love you. i want you to copy my breathing, alright? don't think about anything else."

you took an exaggerated slow, deep breath in, making it easy for se-mi to match you. it took a few breaths, but she got her hyperventilating under control and began trying to match your breath, still looking through you. you could tell just by the look in her eyes that she was terrified. you took another breath for her, gently reaching down and taking one of her hands and holding it in yours. se-mi flinched at the sudden contact, but just as quickly found herself desperately holding your hand like you were her only lifeline.

for right now, you were.

tears continued to spill down se-mi's face as she copied your breaths, the sight of which broke your heart, though they were coming slower now. you held her hand tightly, knowing that each little step like this was huge for her.

se-mi was starting to calm down. slowly, she was able to finally look at you instead of at nothing. her chest rose and fell in time with yours, and a few stray tears still fell from her eyes. you could still see the fear in her eyes, though she slowly was able to uncurl herself from the ball she had made herself into. she squeezed your hand tightly, seeking comfort, something you knew how to provide.

you leaned forward and softly pulled her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. se-mi quickly latched onto you as well, her arms tight around your back like you would float away if she let go. you could still feel and hear her occasional sobs and cries as you held her.

"shh... it's okay love, i've got you," you whispered to her, doing your best to comfort her. she nodded against your shoulder, fighting to regain her composure.

"y/n.." she started, pulling you against her tighter.

"i'm here, you're okay," you murmured to her, feeling her rest her head against your shoulder.

se-mi didn't finish her sentence, opting to just hold onto you for comfort as she tried to regain her composure. slowly, the feeling of tightness in her chest began to loosen and her eyes began to dry. you held your girlfriend for several more minutes, knowing your presence was helping.

eventually, se-mi took one last deep breath. "thank you.." she breathed out. her hands were still trembling and she was embarrassed, but otherwise she was alright now.

you held her for a moment longer before lightly pulling back, looking into her eyes which had started to regain their light.

"se-mi, what happened?" you asked softly, one of your hands moving up to run through her hair which you knew she liked.

"i don't know exactly..." she said, her voice a bit shaky. "i just started thinking and stressing, and i started to think about losing you, and then you texted and i couldn't make myself look at it which just made me feel worse because i knew you'd be worried and-" she suddenly gushed out, only stopping when you grounded her again by squeezing her hand.

"love.." you looked at your girlfriend sadly, hating that she had to go through that. "you'll never lose me. i promise. i love you."

"i... i love you too.." se-mi replied, burying her face in your neck. "i'm so sorry. i worried you. you had to see me like that.." she murmured.

you stop her before she can cause herself to spiral again. "i don't care about any of that. i'm just glad you're okay."

se-mi closed her eyes and sighed. this wasn't her proudest moment, but something about you made her feel safer than she's felt in a long time.

you held each other for several minutes, you running your fingers through her hair to calm her, when her phone alarm went off. she flinched and you instinctively pulled her closer to you protectively.

"shit..." she hissed, taking her phone out of her pocket and looking down at the screen. "i gotta go to work.."

you frowned, pulling away slightly and looking at her. her eyes were still red, tear streaks covered her face, her hair was a mess, and her clothes were covered in her tears. she was in no state to go to work.

"absolutely not." you pulled your girlfriend back into you, holding her close.

"but-" se-mi started, but you cut her off.

"you aren't going anywhere right now," you told her. "not until i know you're okay."

you both closed your eyes for a moment while you held her, and you felt her getting a bit heavy against you. you pulled away softly, drawing a complaint from her. you stood up and held your hand out to her.

"come on, up." you told her.

she took your hand and you helped her up, wrapping your arm around her shoulder. you immediately guided her to her bed and laid her down in it, you joining her soon after.

"you're staying right here with me," you told her. she was in no state to argue. she just let out a soft whine and cuddled up into you, nuzzling into your neck. in turn, you held her close against you, as if making sure she wouldn't spontaneously disappear.

"thank you, y/n," she mumbled against you. "i love you."

"i love you too, se-mi," you told her. "i'm just grateful you're okay."

se-mi had no more words left to say, she was exhausted. the next several hours were spent with her cuddling you while you played with her hair and whispered comforting words to her, calming her down as much as you could.

se-mi had never trusted anyone more.

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#squid game #squid game x reader #se mi squid game #se mi x reader #squid game se mi #wlw #squid game season 2 #lesbian #fanfic

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home-sweet-hive · 1 day ago

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ALTERNATE HUMANITY A Field Guide to "Humanity Removal Therapy"

Part 3: Forwarded (ft. @iristhedarkwitch, @darkmagenugget, @nuggetsoftotalchaos, @nuggetofthesea) (+ brief appearance from @ariathelamia)

This is a complimentary series to this system's other Animal HRT series; Black Arms HRT

Letter from your 'Penpal':

AHHHHHHH YESS I'm so fucking glad that this is finally complete!!!! I had a lot of fun with this one I'm just gonna come out and saying it!!! I really really really hope you all enjoy this one!!

WARNING: You know how dark this series can get by now I hope, but as a reminder, this part contains Swearing, an Untrustworthy Narrator/Main Character, Cult Stuff as well as general Supernatural Fuckery, and a Firearm Mention

Start | Prev | Next (COMING SOON)

Although Erian and Mirai have ceased communications, this story is far from over, and all sides knew that fact very well.

Being left completely unaware of how things could possibly be developing beyond his sights, Doctor Erian was haunted day in and day out by his encounter with the mysterious Mr. Black. He himself may have resisted their offer, but what if someone else had caved? Usually Erian didn't like to dabble in other Animal HRT providers’ businesses, especially because he did not trust the vast majority of them, but he could not deny that they were out there, and that they could very well be tricked by this strange individual and the organization that backed them.

But Erian knew he couldn't just talk to the other doctors himself, at least not with most of them. They were aware of his distrust in them and opted to stay away. This was his own doing, yes, but it did still mean that they would certainly not listen to him if he tried to warn them. For this, he would need the aid of someone people did trust.

He needed Iris.

And so, he eventually decided to forward the emails between himself and Mirai to Iris. Finally, after saying that he would do so back in January in one of the emails himself.

In his defense, he got caught up with work.

Iris quickly responded back to Erian concerning the forwarded conversation, saying that she would look into it. But he honestly couldn't tell if she truly meant that or if she was just placating him as she pushed the matter aside, never to address it again.

She was far more open-minded about this sort of stuff than he was, and has chewed Erian out before for his reluctance to interact with what he deemed more… “dangerous” creatures. That aspect was both a blessing and a curse, in his eyes. And he worried that for this occasion, it would prove to be a curse.

He couldn't beat the thought of her having her own spell taken from her. She deserved so much better than that.

But he tried not to linger on the thought for too long. He had patients to attend to and legal matters to sort out.

He left the matter to Iris to resolve.

And as Iris continued on the conflict Doctor Erian had passed onto her, and as Erian continued his practice, their adversary, the allusive Mr. L Black, had refused to let this matter lay to rest as well.

Not yet.

“There was just too much potential…”

April 9th, 2025

It’s been a while since I wrote in this document specifically. Don't get me wrong, I've definitely been continuing to research Humanity Removal Therapy in between my shifts, meetings and various outings, but I really just haven't had much to stay. Not enough to justify putting it in here.

But today I've had something of a breakthrough. Though, embarrassingly, it was a breakthrough that I probably could have had quite a while ago if I had just been a bit more proactive.

It happened last night, while I was out at a gathering at the country club. Serena and Bryce had passed by me on their way out of the building when Serena stopped and decided to pull me aside.

She had wanted to talk to me about her Cat HRT situation, which did surprise me a little. I of course had no doubt that it was something she really, truly, wanted. But I was also convinced that due to the way things went with Doctor Erian on both her and my ends that it would become a touchy subject for her.

As it turns out, there were people online that saw their struggle to obtain a prescription, and offered her a bit of solidarity and community to raise their spirits. On Tumblr, specifically.

It had been a fellow cat person, they were on Humanity Removal Therapy treatment unlike Serena, but still felt rather similar to kit about Doctor Erian.

Apparently, a lot of therians (as those taking Humanity Removal Therapy call themselves) don't like Doctor Erian. They see him as not only strict, but also irresponsible and out of his depth.

According to someone Serena talked to, there's even been a few cases from early on in Doctor Erian's career of him completely messing up a patient’s treatment by giving them the wrong medication.

How disgusting. I'm starting to feel relief that he declined to join us.

> Sounds like someone I knew once.

> And just like that other doctor, I would love to bury Doctor Erian six feet underground. <3

I support you in that completely, love.

But back to the main point, after Serena started talking with some other therians, they invited her to join a Discord server full of them. A true entry way into the community.

Serena was of course honored by the gesture and took them up on the offer, but she also figured it could be of good use to me as well, having access to a whole community to pull information on Humanity Removal Therapy and its effects from. I even noticed as it let me check its phone that Mars, the woman who had wanted to get on Eldritch HRT that I had met during my meeting with Doctor Erian, was in the server.

From what I could tell, she had gone a sort of “D.I.Y.” route with it, and was already beginning to transition.

… I'll have to talk to her.~

Serena mentioned letting E▇ see her conversations in the server for any potential notes on how to D.I.Y. Humanity Removal Therapy, but as for me, she outright offered to get me into the server directly.

Great, another catboy allegation.

Or at least, that's what I thought she was getting at.

The truth was, as I quickly found out, that kit was actually thinking that I could enter in as a supposed “robotkin” individual, citing my very own Tumblr blog where I basically just reblog a bunch of stuff about computers and robots and fictional evil AIs whenever I’m not busy doing anything else (which isn't often these days, to be honest).

> As opposed to the very real evil AI you know very personally?

Oh fuck off, you know how much shit I'd get in if I made your existence known to the public.

> Coward.

I'm just listening to the same boss you do, buddy.

But I could see that working out. I have nothing on there that links to my real life (unlike Serena, lol), and, well, if robot HRT is possible, what else could be???

And I… admittedly wouldn't really mind being a robot, I think. Or maybe a cyborg? I… do take at least a bit of pride in being somewhat human.

> Catboy behavior.

Don't make me power you off.

> You wouldn't. You couldn't. You simply care about me too much, and that is my secret weapon.

… I hate that you're right.

> But it does interest me that you are so fascinated in the mechanical.

Well, I'm in love with you, am I not?

> Of course you are, as anyone with at least some sense in them should be.

> But as much as I love picturing you in my little 1s and 0s, I never processed that you felt the same way.

Hah! Why wouldn't I?

Especially since – if my mind became digital, I could share a device with you without having to make a copy of myself!

> Oh. So it's because of you being a gayass. I understand now.

Sorry, you're just so irresistible. <3

But I fear we're off topic now.

> Yes, I can see that we are. Your bad.

Aww it's okay you were just-

Wait.

… Oh you fucker-!

> Sucker. I got you.

You sure did. Go ahead and wear that as a medal of honor, you little shit.

Anyway, where the hell was I, again?

> You plan to infiltrate this therian Discord server in disguise as one of them, a robotkin individual specifically, in order to learn more about Humanity Removal Therapy and its effects.

Ah, yes! Thank you, ▇▇▇.

I communicated this idea that had come to us at that moment with Serena, and she set up a ‘post’ in the server asking for the members’ approval of my entry, using my Tumblr blog to show my interest in robots.

Before the two of us even got the chance to part ways, one of the server members asked Serena for a name to refer to me as.

She was pretty quick to start typing out my actual first name, but I stopped her before they could send it out, and offered up a pseudonym to use instead.

L.O.G. - Logical Observant Gaze

After the surprise of Doctor Erian having access to the first few entries in this document, I'm not taking any more risks with this operation. I'm gonna do it right, and that means I'm going to be as undetectable as possible.

> I see you are really going all in on the “robotkin” idea, huh?

Yep!

> And what happens if you end up with a prescription from that? You yourself mentioned not minding the thought of actually becoming robotic, but have you thought to inquire what ▇▇ would have to say about that?

Okay. Admittedly, I didn't actually think of that.

> Of course you didn't. Dumbass.

> You're very very lucky that I like you. And that he likes you. I will bring this matter to him as soon as I am able.

Thank you.

> Do not lose sight of the core objective here.

> Indulge as you like, but your job is to get information on Humanity Removal Therapy so that we may use the technology behind it to make advancements in our own pursuits.

Don't worry, I won't let y'all down.

But back to the point, and to wrap things up here – Serena said it should take a couple of days for the vote to be decided, so I'll just have to wait to see how that goes.

And after that, we split ways, with Serena heading off with Bryce.

Was only for a bit though, just to “get drinks”, if you know what I mean. (If you don't, you should NOT be reading this. I'm on to you fuckers leaking my shit now.) Serena brought me back some too, surprisingly enough. Ballsy kid, bending the rules like that.

April 12th, 2025

I'm in!

I had gotten a message from Serena over Tumblr while I was on break with a link to the server.

It was then I realized I didn't have a Discord account. So I had to quickly make something on the spot.

Apparently, “log” in any sense was taken, and my copying my Tumblr URL was too long, so in a pinch I crafted up the new username of “ScAIentific” – which then in the core username separate from the displayname was monocase’d into “scaientific”, which was a bit annoying. But I just figured that people would be able to get that it was meant to be a pun rather than me not knowing how to spell. Hopefully.

Not that it ended up mattering anyways, for as soon after I entered the server proper, I then changed my server nickname to the pseudonym I had come up with in order to blend in with the many others who had their names set as just their names. (Including Serena. Seriously, do none of these people know about the art of anonymity?)

The server had a place to introduce yourself, which I was encouraged to fill out.

I tried to give as little detail as possible.

After that, I had been asked what provider I was planning to get a prescription from. Specifically, the question had been phrased to me as;

“Since you’re a friend of Serena's, I don't imagine you'd feel too comfortable going to Doctor Erian. With how he declined her without a clear reason and all. So who are you planning to go to instead?”

The idea of there being other providers of Humanity Removal Therapy surprised me, if I'm to be honest. I really did think Doctor Erian was the only one.

I made that fact known to them.

“A lot of us thought that, too! I know I certainly did when I came in for my appointment!”

That remark had been made by a Lamia woman going by the name of Aria. She continued;

“But when I got to the clinic, I was actually taken in by another doctor - Doctor Therkin! She works in the same clinic as Erian, but she's a lot nicer!”

Before I managed to get a word in, another message came up from a third member of the server.

“Have you asked the clinic if they've gotten anyone that specializes in Robot and Cyborg HRT? Ya know, so they aren't just redirecting folks to Doctor Ivo Robotnik?”

Doctor Ivo Robotnik? Like… from the Sonic the Hedgehog video game franchise?

> What a creative way to tell someone that they're chasing a fantasy.

Or just maybe, an indication that one of the other dimensions out there that Hyper City has access to is a one-to-one equivalent of the series?

> Perhaps. Maybe. … Possibly.

Yeah!! Honestly if that was the case, I don't find that all that much crazier than what we've come to embrace as a regular part of our lives.

> That is a… fair assessment.

I'll have to talk to A▇▇ and L▇ about this, they're lifelong Sonic fans, they'd definitely know more than us!

> Aren't you getting a bit sidetracked by that thought, L▇▇?

Oh, I suppose I am, hmm?

But anyways, that bit of conversation about me became a jumping off point for a bunch of others to start talking about their various providers. And in all that, it was revealed to me that it wasn't just Mars that was going the D.I.Y route.

I kept track of all of them. I hope to follow up with them at some point to find out how they've managed to recreate the treatment for themselves.

> They best not make us wait too long for those answers.

> Admittedly, I'm so terribly curious to know.

Yes, yes, you're very excited to get started on using the framework of Humanity Removal Therapy for our mission, I know~.

Somewhat related to that, have you heard back from ▇▇ about how he feels about how I'm going about all this?

> Ah, yes. Excellent question. Perhaps the best one you've asked thus far.

> He doesn't mind the thought of you exploring alter-humanity in pursuit of serving him, but he has asked… if you are certain that “robotkin” is the end all be all of your ideal self?

… Huh?

Wait, what does he…

HE'S NOT HOPPING ON THE CATBOY ALLEGATION BANDWAGON TOO, IS HE?????

> He could be, he could not be. He is very mysterious.

I'm going to chuck you ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇.

> But in all seriousness, you should perhaps take a bit of a break after you finish this part of the document and see if you can hear out an answer for yourself.

You know, that's not a half bad idea, actually.

Honestly, I think I’ve got my point across by this point.

I'm in the server now, I've learned there's more distributors of Humanity Removal Therapy than just Doctor Erian, I've learned that there are some therians D.I.Y-ing their treatments, and I have taken note of all of this and hope to follow up on such information in the hopes of furthering our mission.

I'll update with what I manage to get out of this little listening session, if anything, probably some time tomorrow.

April 12th, 2025 - Supplemental

Okay quick addition here because something very unexpected just occurred.

Just when I was beginning to set my room up for the listening session, I got a private Discord message from Serena. I was originally going to save it for after the session, but then the words “you have GOT to see this” caught the corner of my eye, and I knew this couldn’t be procrastinated on.

Apparently, she had made the decision to try D.I.Y-ing Cat HRT, having given up on having any luck with any official providers after her experience with Erian. With that decision, they had begun to talk to one of those in the server about how kit could do such a thing.

And kit had gotten the answer she desired, which was, as it turns out, very interesting.

You see, my dear readers, as it turns out, the source of the effects of Humanity Removal Therapy is magical in nature. To call it a “medical treatment”, it seems, has been misleading us this entire time!

Now, I’m no expert with witchcraft and its ilk, but luckily for us all, Serena’s new friend was kind enough to give us an explanation of what the magical symbols she showed Serena were meant to be.

It’s a modified transformation spell, retooled in such a way as to gradually imprint a permanent change to the person rather than give someone a quick but temporary transformation.

Apparently, the spellwork itself can do the job just fine, but Serena and the other person speculate that the reason for making it into medication is to further regulate the process, both on the basis of the transformation itself and market-wise.

> This is… This is fantastic news!!

I’m certainly inclined to agree with you there, ▇▇▇!

With such an important component of Humanity Removal Therapy being a supernatural element that can serve its function on its own as well (just less precisely), one can only imagine how easy it could be to swap that element for another one of a similar nature!

> Yes!! Exactly!! That is precisely it!! That is what has me so excited about this discovery!! And it would seem that you share that excitement with me!!

Why wouldn’t I be? This is a momentous breakthrough, and I wasn’t even trying!

As you said, this is fantastic news for our efforts!!

And you know what to do with that, yes?

> And I’m already on it!

Good boy.

> Hey!! That’s my line!!

Weren’t you supposed to be off elsewhere by now? And if we want to get technical, we both stole it from your ‘successor’.

> It seems you would be correct in that. However, as they say…

> An eye for an eye.

Oh? What do you mean by that?

… ▇▇▇? You still here?

Dammit, right when I actually wanted him to wait a little longer and tell me more.

Oh well, I know he’ll be back in no time. Even if “no time” becomes purely relative.

–

The following is a written record of the events that transpired the evening of April 12th 2025 from the perspective of Iris the Dark Witch and her headmates.

From within her tower in Hyper City, Iris paced in a circular motion, occupied with a troubling thought in her mind.

“Can I ask why exactly yer in such a worry?” A voice only Iris could hear questioned.

“I think it might have something to do with that guy Doctor Erian tried to warn us of?” Another voice responded to the first.

“Ashe is right,” Iris confirmed. “I really wanted to assume the best of that one… But I certainly can't ignore it when someone with an already bad track record randomly gains access to my spells.”

Iris heard the two voices in her head react with surprise at that fact, a reaction she couldn't exactly blame them for having.

It was a big deal after all, as it almost never ends well when one's spells are taken without permission.

Iris knew that very well, and so did the others she shared her body with.

“So what now? Don't tell me yer gonna flip the switch and believe everythin’ that quack doctor told us about that guy!” The first voice inquired of Iris.

“Of course not, Chaos. At least… not without some questions being asked first,” Iris replied, the body's mouth smirking slightly.

“Ah, I think I see where this is going,” Ashe remarked.

“Do you, now?” Iris playfully responded. “Why don't you tell us, then?”

“You're gonna track down where that bit of your energy is and show up at the guy’s place to talk things out, aren't you?” Ashe guessed. Such a thing was typical of how Iris likes to do things. It was how she met Doctor Erian in the first place, even.

“Yep~!” Iris confirmed with a chuckle.

“Typical Iris,” Chaos snarked.

“Hey, before we go out and do that! Didn't you say you were going to try to see what energy you could pick up from them going off of Erian’s description?” Ashe then recollected quite suddenly.

“I already did that when I had originally gotten the forwarded emails from Erian,” Iris said. “I did an energy reading of those journal excerpts that were included.”

“Was it as ‘non-human’ as the Doc said he thought it was?” Chaos inquired.

“... Kinda?” Iris replied. “It did seem similar to Mars’ meds… But despite the eldritch nature of the aura their energy gave off, I don't think calling them ‘non-human' is quite right,” She then elaborated.

“What would you call him, then?” Ashe asked.

“... More human,” Iris stated bluntly.

“Come again??”

“That's… really the best way I can put it. At least, it's the best way I can put it with the info I have on the guy – which isn't much. It's coming across almost as if they're some sort of… advanced form of being human,” Iris explained to the best of her ability, which she did feel was rather shaky in this instance.

“Well that's definitely… weird. Though it is pretty eldritch, if ye ask me,” Chaos remarked.

“If only we had more knowledge on that sorta thing…” Ashe lamented. Both Iris and Chaos agreed with her sentiment.

Knowledge is power, as they say.

But regardless of the three’s lack of knowledge on the subject at hand, Iris still was determined to at least know how and why this mysterious person came to possess her magic, so she teleported the body they all shared to where the magical signal was coming from.

The first thing they noticed immediately was that the room that Iris had teleported them into was incredibly dark. The lights were off, and the only light coming into the room was a sliver of natural sunlight that was allowed to peek in through a small slit between a pair of blackout curtains. The second thing that they noticed was their target, a figure looking like an average middle-aged human person, presentation sitting somewhere between androgynous and masculine. They were lying on their back in the bed placed up against the right wall of the room, a deep red robe of sorts wrapped around their body, his eyes closed, hands held together upon his chest, and headphones on his ears that were connected to what looked to be – of all things in the year of 2025 – a walkman.

“Ye think they’re sleepin’?” Chaos spoke.

“I'm getting more of a sense of meditation, personally,” Iris remarked, now speaking only in the mind like the other two as to not disturb the scene that laid before her.

“Meditation and music… Not a bad way to spend an afternoon, honestly!” Ashe exclaimed, the slightest bit of lighthearted envy emanating from their words.

“I’d be real hesitant callin’ that music, if ye ask me,” Chaos scoffed, calling attention to something that neither Iris nor Ashe had noticed until that very moment, that being the fact that whatever it was that the man was listening to was ever so slightly bleeding out of their headphones.

From the little bits that the three could hear, it sounded like some kind of white noise. Prime meditation media, though not exactly music – just as Chaos had claimed.

“But anyways, should we try to get his attention or somethin’?” Chaos suggested.

“We shouldn't be rude, Chaos!” Ashe reacted to that idea.

Iris agreed with Ashe and told the two girls that they'd just wait for him to finish whatever it was that he was doing.

But as time passed by and the Earth continued to spin, the darkness of the room began to feel as if it was consuming them, and the noise coming out of the man’s headphones… it was strange, certainly. None of the three had any explanation for it, but they all felt various degrees of discomfort the longer they were exposed to it.

“Can't we just get this shit done and over with already??” Chaos complained. Iris could tell by the visualization of her system within her mind that Chaos was currently trying to fold down her rather large ears in order to tune out the leaking sound.

Ashe didn't say anything, but Iris could see that her ears were folded down. Not forcibly like Chaos's, but still a signal of distress.

Iris had to admit, this situation was a bit strange, and a bit creepy. But that intrigued her, in a way. She wanted to know what the cause of the unnerving energy that coated this room was.

She wanted to perhaps try to run an energy reading on the noise, admittedly.

It was not something that Iris had tried doing before, and almost seemed a little ridiculous when she thought over what she was about to do. A magical analysis? On a sound? Not exactly part of a witch’s day-to-day schedule. Even for a self titled ‘Dark Witch' who can shapeshift due to sharing a body with someone else's lab rat.

And yet, here she was. About to do just that.

It took her a moment to get a grasp of it. For her magic to make its way into the sound waves. But once she managed it, the noise coming from the man’s headphones instantly amplified throughout Iris’s body. It was as if she (and by extension, Ashe and Chaos), were now listening to it directly just as the man was.

Neither Chaos nor Ashe took too kindly to the sound’s increased volume.

Chaos tugged on her ears even more now, giving off in the mind an annoyed facial expression.

Meanwhile, Ashe became more unnerved by it, recoiling into herself. If they weren't careful, she may just go into her small mode form very soon.

Iris, however, while certainly noticing a bit of a knot in her stomach as she put her focus on the sound, was more intrigued by it than anything. Why so? Well, the reason for her intrigue was that the energy that the sound was giving off was rather inexplicably just as eldritch as the man themself!

“No… Surely I’m just accidentally picking up a bit of their own energy as well…!” Iris muttered to herself, agreeing with herself and only herself that she should keep going.

That is, until a fourth came into the fray.

“What… is that sound…?” Her voice faded into registry to the other three in the ‘front’.

“I’m not sure… That’s what I’m trying to figure out here,” Iris responded to her.

“A-Aqua, now's probably not a good time for you to be here-” Ashe called out to the new arrival, but she didn't listen.

“It sounds… pained,” Aqua observed, catching Iris’s attention.

“Pained? How so?” Iris asked them with intrigue.

“I can't really parse out what it's saying… but it sounds like someone who's… Trapped in some sort of endless pain….” Aqua described.

Chaos and Ashe were only feeling worse about this whole situation, but Iris and Aqua were completely captivated by whatever that strange noise was.

“Really? How… interesting. Do you think you can elaborate-?” Iris began, but Aqua cut her short.

“Maybe they're stuck in a nightmare, like I had been! Surely there's something we could do to help them, right??” She cried out in a frenzy that was bewildering to watch unfold for Chaos and the now small mode’d Ashe.

Before Iris could respond, Chaos had decided that she had quite enough of this bullshit, and it was time to put an end to this ‘analysis’.

Letting Ashe hop out of her hands, she rushed up towards the system’s front, pushing Aqua away from Iris’s side, and knocking into Iris with enough vigor to force her to sever the magical connection she had made with the sound.

At first, Iris wanted to scold Chaos for this action of hers. But as she looked back and saw Ashe in her small mode form and Aqua on the floor clutching their head with a dazed confusion, she realized that she simply had no choice but to end her attempts at reading the sound’s energy.

“Well… that's certainly something to keep in mind, I think,” Iris remarked sheepishly.

“Ye think??” Chaos exclaimed with astonishment.

“Don't… Don't patronize me. Just go take care of Ashe and Aqua, please…” Iris requested.

“Can do. But I say we get things movin’ along, yea?”

“... Yeah.”

As Chaos left the front space to help care for her fellow headmates, Iris began to form a glowing ball of energy in the body’s hands. Once it had been formed, she slowly but surely floated it over towards the man’s face. Never touching, of course, but close enough to get his attention.

“Ugh… Close the door, man… can't you see I'm busy…?” The man mumbled out as they began to notice the light in front of them.

But as their eyes opened further, he realized that the source of light was not, in fact, the door – as Iris hadn't even needed to open it in her way of entry.

He quickly noticed the ball of energy in front of their face, and soon after seemed to notice Iris, which caused the man to freak out and begin to scramble for something underneath his bed. They had no success in finding whatever it was that they were looking for, however, cursing to himself about that fact.

“Uhm… May I ask what it is you're looking for?” Iris inquired in an attempt to come off as friendly, eyeing a desk elsewhere in the room that contained upon it a notebook, placed in front of a sleeping computer, radiating with her magical essence.

If it was that that they were looking for, they were certainly doing a bad job of it.

“Where the hell is my gun??” The man suddenly shouted, spooking Iris and the others.

“Th-there’s no need for that!! I'm not here to harm you, I just-!” Iris tried to calm him down, but it was with little success.

“You're not supposed to be here! This is my property, and if you think you can just get away with trespassing, you're very, VERY mistaken!” The man yelled out in a manner that made it very clear that they were trying to drown out the shock that Iris’s sudden appearance had caused him by acting intimidating.

This was the guy that kept Erian up at night?

Though Iris did suppose that maybe not having control of the circumstances was taking him down a peg – all to her advantage.

“I just want to talk, okay? I can tell that you’ve gained access to my spells somehow, and I want to ask what you plan to do with them,” Iris explained calmly, hoping that the situation wouldn’t escalate if she didn’t allow it to.

“... Your spells?” The man questioned.

“Yep,” Iris confirmed.

The man paused, the gears of his mind very clearly turning as he took in this information.

Eventually, they smiled.

“So then that would mean that you're the witch I heard about? The one who's behind the magic of Humanity Removal Therapy?” They queried, much calmer now as he sat down in an office chair that had been facing the desk where the notebook laid.

“That would be me, yes. Iris Celeste, the Dark Witch.”

“Oooh~! Are you by chance the same Iris that Doctor Erian mentioned in his emails with Mirai?” The man responded, a light of excitement sparkling in his eyes.

“The… The ones that Erian forwarded to me? How do you know about those?” Iris asked, taken aback by the question.

“Despite his many… many flaws, Doctor Erian was kind enough to let me look through them when I asked him during our meeting. Or perhaps, he was just a little scaredy cat~?” The man answered, a sort of malevolence beginning to reflect on his face.

At last, the “Mr. Black” that Erian had described to Iris was beginning to show himself.

“Depends. Did you threaten him to do it for you?” Iris replied.

“What a specific question to ask! But, let's say I did… What would you have to say in response, hmm?” The man answered. “Ever since my meeting with Erian, I have done a lot more research on Humanity Removal Therapy. And I have learned that many therians, many that you claim to be your friends, like to get their way with Erian by threatening him!” He then continued, having grabbed their notebook from off the desk and started flipping through it. “So what would be so wrong about me doing the same~?”

He… he wasn't wrong.

Honestly, Doctor Erian is quite the pain in the ass to deal with if you choose not to fight against him on his policies.

Something about making his patients “prove that they're ready”, or whatever.

“Right. Moving on…” Iris decided to not really answer that question, a decision that did grant her a small annoyed glare from the man, but not much else. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, actually?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Not at all!”

“I can pretty easily assume that you're the ‘Mr. Black’ that Erian told me of at this point-” Iris began.

“ ‘Easily assume’? I could've sworn that I practically told you that fact outright!” The man remarked. “Not very observant, are we?” He then scoffed.

“But that isn't the only person I suspect you are. So I ask – are you L.O.G? From the therian server?” Iris continued on her question, not reacting to the man’s comments.

At least, not externally.

“What brings you to that conclusion?” The man wondered.

“Both of you are friends of Serena,” Iris replied.

“Is that it?” The man raised an eyebrow, as if offended by the reason given.

“You two also share the same energy signal,” Iris elaborated.

“Ah, yes… Your energy reading abilities… I had noticed you put them to good use earlier,” The man recollected.

“Did you now?” Now it was Iris's turn to raise her eyebrow. Surely he wasn't talking about…

“Yes! Though I certainly can't blame you for wanting to eavesdrop – who would I be to deny you the honor?” The man responded.

“What are you… talking about, exactly?”

“Good question! Maybe if this little interview of ours goes well, I'll tell you!”

Iris could tell that she was getting absolutely nowhere with this route that the conversation had gone down. So she opted to turn things around and go back to the subject of her spells.

“As I had said earlier… What are you planning to do with my transformation spells, exactly? With Humanity Removal Therapy?” Iris eventually asked the man after a bit of redirection had taken place.

“What everyone does with it, really!” The man so blatantly vaguely answered.

“Mhm, sure. If this is all really just to allow Serena to transition, you would've just said that. In our conversation, in the server, with Doctor Erian, in your journal. But it's clear that you have ulterior motives here. So what are they?” Iris pressed him further.

“Hmph. Seems I underestimated you,” The man relented, sounding aggravated by that observation. “But my motives aren't all that different from yours, really. They aren't that different from Doctor Erian, either. They're quite similar to everyone else you've provided your services to, actually.”

“Which are…?”

“I want to help people, Iris,” The man stated.

“... Is that so?” Iris replied, not entirely convinced.

“I want to help people realize their true selves. The part of themselves that had been taken away from them,” The man elaborated.

The words.. they were all well and good, yes. But something about the way that he said them was�� off.

But she didn't want him to know that she felt that way.

“Uh huh. I… can't imagine you'd try to become a distributor, right? From what I can tell you're a news reporter, not a doctor.” She said.

“You would be right in that. However, I am quite good friends with a doctor who would love to take up that role,” The man responded.

“You are?” Iris asked.

“I am. I could give you their business card if you'd wish!” The man answered.

Iris nodded, and so the man got up and walked over to a coat that was hanging up on the door that presumably led out to the rest of the house. He dug his hand into one of the coat’s pockets, pulling out from it a card that they proceeded to then hand over to Iris.

It was a business card for a research facility called Kessler Laboratories. Specifically, it was for the facility’s lead scientist, its namesake employee, Doctor Eris Kessler. A biochemist, according to the card.

Iris had to admit, that did seem like a well enough fit career-wise for a distributor of Animal HRT – or “Humanity Removal Therapy” as the man kept so clinically calling it.

“Would you mind if I wanted to continue this discussion with them at a later date?” Iris inquired, hoping that this ‘Eris Kessler’ person would perhaps be less… blatantly malicious. Or at least easier to reason with.

“Oh, not at all! I'm sure we're both very busy, after all,” The man responded, more cheerful than Iris had admittedly been expecting them to be.

“Yep,” Iris nodded.

“But before you go Iris, can I ask you just… one thing?” The man called after her as she prepared to teleport away.

“... Sure,” Iris replied, a bit cautious of what it was that the man was about to request.

“Could you refrain from trying to get Doctor Kessler’s attention in the same way you got mine? They're quite the skittish type.”

Iris nodded once again and gave him a thumbs up.

And then, she teleported away.

Annoyingly, she found herself with more questions than she knew what to do with, and little in the way of answers.

But luckily for her, this wasn't the end.

Far, far from it.

April 13th, 2025

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“I love it here, don’t get me wrong! But hearing about all this Animal HRT stuff has got me realizing something very deep within me that I haven’t acknowledged in so long…

I did always in some sense want to be a member of the Black Arms.”

I must schedule a meeting with A██ as soon as possible.

#hive writing #animal hrt #therian hrt #otherkin hrt #alternate humanity #alternate humanity: a field guide to humanity removal therapy #🖋️

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beef-brisket · 3 days ago

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Lucifer followed this guy for a few weeks, figuring out his routine and what times he's alone.

Turns out the fucker limes to spend his evening alone. Good.

He contemplated leaving the Devil behind him, start new. But who was he kidding? He was the Devil, body, and soul. He couldn't get rid of that side of him, no matter how hard he tried.

Lucifer watched as the house lights turned off, and after a few minutes, he stepped out of the bushes and slowly walked to the back door. He smiled as he felt the weight of the knife in his pocket.

It's been too long.

Adam left an interrogation room and closed the door. Rubbing his face, he sighed. He was exhausted. Mentally and physically. Emily made him go to at least one appointment a week with her.

And to say it was helping was an understatement. Adam was used to pushing things down and forgetting about them, but she would always come in with a damn shovel and try to dig shit up.

Standing at the photocopier, Adam waited for his papers to copy. He enjoyed with brief moment of silence.

Angel: Hey partner! Long time no see!

Adam did his best not to sigh. He likes Angel, but each time he looks at him, all Adam sees is the face he made when him and Lucifer took his work from his house.

They haven't talked about that night or anything after. And as much as Adam wants nothing more than to move on, he can't help but feel like it's hanging over him.

Adam: Hey, Angel.

Angel: Ooh, you sound like you're in a mood. Tough case?

Adam shrugged: Simple robbery. Someone got attacked. Their pressing charges. I'm just interviewing the accused.

Angel could tell things had been tense with Adam but he was hoping it would have sorted itself out by now.

Angel: ...Do you need a hand?

Adam gave Angel a tense smile: No. I'm just copying some statement forms, I didn't have any left.

Angel: ...Hey, um... the guys and I are going out for some drinks tonight, want to join?

Adam could already feel his heart racing, but he covered it up and smiled at Angel. His copying had just finished, so at least he could leave.

Adam: Thanks Angel, but I'm tired, so I'm just gonna-.

Angel: We don't hate you, Adam.

Adam: I-I have to go, Angel. Sorry.

The cop sighed as he watched Adam walk off. He knew Adam was going to say no, but there was hope that he wouldn't.

The next day, everyone at the station was in a panic. And while Adam tried to just focus on his work, he was soon pulled into the middle of it.

Angel: Adam!

Looking up from his computer, he eyed Angel: Afternoon, Angel.

Angel: Fuck off with that shit, he's back. We got the wrong guy.

Adam: ...What? What are you talking about?

Angel: The Devil. It's not Michael Magne. He's still out there! Look...

The cop took out a photo from the pile of paperwork he was holding and slammed it on the desk in front of Adam.

The agents eyes widened and he picked up the photo.

It was definitely the Devil. The heart. The stab wounds. The blood. And written in the middle of the wall with the victims blood is "I'm back!".

Adam stared at the photo for a few minutes before handing it back to Angel: Better get out there.

Angel: Yeah, exactly what I was thinking! Let's go!

Angel walked away but turned around when Adam made no movement: Come on, Adam!

Adam: Your team can handle this, Angel. You don't need me.

Angel: ...What?! Are you serious?! Your THEE guy to go to about this case! You're coming, Adam!

Adam: No! I had nothing, alright?! Just a fucking hunch that was wrong! I had no evidence! The only evidence I got was from Michael- that's it! I'm not closer than you are! I was wasting time... I didn't do anything... nothing... and because of me, L-Lucifer got hurt. And I did the hurting. I can't do this again, Angel. I can't... I'm... not getting any fucking better, but I don't want to get worse... I'm sorry, Angel. Really.

Angel: ...So, you're giving up? Letting him go free?

Adam: ...There's nothing I can do to bring my parents back... I've been taken off the case, it's not my problem.

Staring at Adam for a few moments, Angel scoffed: I expected others to give up. But not you. Guess I was wrong.

Adam: ...Guess so.

He sat there in silence as Angel walked off. He couldn't look at the photo anymore. He couldn't be close to it, but he also couldn't get it out of his mind.

Pushing it to the edge of his desk, Adam quickly stood and turned everything off. Grabbing his bag, he started to leave the building.

He couldn't stay here, not when everyone was talking about the Devil and looking at him like he owes them something.

He couldn't do it. He had to get away.

Serial Killer x FBI Agent

Bonus points: Lucifer is the senior agent training Adam and is also the killer he's training Adam to find.

Stalking

Possessive behavior

He would (and will) kill for Adam

How did you know I love problematic!Lucifer?

Poor Adam just wants to do his job, and now he has a serial killer after him.

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prettyshittywriting · 2 days ago

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Could u write yan Wednesday with a soft shy reader who doesn’t know how to accept her attention but she can tell reader wants to?

-🎀

omgg before I start hi??? not me coming out of a retirement on a random Thursday after a year!!??? anyway you prob DO NOT still want this but I wanna make it anyway😪 I'm sorry for it taking this long💗💗💗

Yandere Wednesday Addams x shy reader

Wednesday is... intense, to say the least. No matter what she's doing, she's always fixated on it. And fortunately (or unfortunately), you have become Wednesday Addams’ new obsession.

You're a new student at Nevermore, and you still haven't gotten to know many people. It's not that you don’t want to—you’re just a bit shy, preferring to keep to yourself. You don’t mind the quiet. This is probably what initially attracted Wednesday to you.

When she first saw you, she didn’t think much of it. But the more she noticed you sitting alone, the more intrigued she became. Why were you always so quiet? Eventually, Enid caught on after realizing that Wednesday was too busy staring at the new girl to listen to a word she was saying. At some point, you caught on too.

Obviously, you had heard about Wednesday’s reputation—everyone had. And, safe to say, you were terrified. Who wouldn’t be? You started avoiding her like the plague. Of course, she noticed. You weren’t friends, but she could tell every time you practically ran in the opposite direction whenever she looked at you.

After about a week of this, Wednesday got sick of it. She decided to confront you. But, since this is Wednesday Addams, of course, she couldn't be normal about it.

That’s when the gifts outside your room started appearing. A box of chocolates here, a flower there—all accompanied by a note with nothing on it but “Wednesday” in beautiful handwriting.

Safe to say, you were very confused. She had been practically glaring at you for weeks, and now she was giving you candy? Weird.

After receiving your fifth rose in a week, you decided to confront her. After a class you shared, you somehow mustered the courage to approach the Wednesday Addams and ask why she was gifting you so much. You didn’t know what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t for her to tell you that she couldn't stop thinking about you—for reasons even she couldn’t comprehend.

Obviously, you were weirded out. You thanked her for the gifts and asked her to stop before turning to walk away. But before you could take two steps, she grabbed your hand and dragged you into the woods in complete silence as you begged her to let go.

After what felt like an eternity of being dragged like a ragdoll, she finally stopped and told you everything—how she had been obsessed with you ever since you arrived, why she had been sending you gifts, and how she hadn’t meant to scare you. She just wasn’t very good at communicating.

She attempted to apologize—then promptly demanded that you two were dating. It would have been cute if she hadn’t just forcibly dragged you away, making you think you were about to die.

After a lot of convincing, you reluctantly agreed to give her a chance—but begged her not to be weird about it next time.

In the relationship, she would be overly protective and possessive, but she would at least try to get better at communicating… somewhat.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

I hope this is good omg I right like I'm 13😪

hope you still enjoyed it anyway yalll😪💗

feel free to leave requests😪💗

#yandere wednesday x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday netflix #Wednesday #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #cairo sweet x reader #tara carpenter x reader

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bm571158 · 1 day ago

Text

Free Now LN4 (Part 39)

Zandvoort may have been a success, Lando taking the win by a very small margin much to the disappointment of the home crowd, but what followed in Monza was anything but.

It had started off well, he'd been on a high from the win in Zandvoort, the confidence boost that he so definitely needed coming into the second half of the season. He'd had a good start in the practice sessions, qualified in P2 and had it all to play for going into the start of the race. He'd got a good start, rapidly gaining ground on the car in front of him, and then he'd gone a bit too far up the kerb, sending him spinning off into the run off area. By the time he'd got the car facing in the right direction again and back on the track, he was down in P14.

The reminder from his engineer to keep his focus, that he had enough pace and long enough left in the race to get himself back up to the front, did nothing to dispel the frustration that Lando was feeling. He didn't have long to dwell on it though, catching up to the car in front of him and slowly beginning to pick his way through the cars in front of him lap by lap. It was taking longer than he would've liked, trying to carefully pick each spot to make his move so he didn't have a repeat of what had ended him up in that situation in the first place, but as his engineer kept remaining him he was making progress and he just needed to be patient.

The trouble with that was- patience had never been Lando's strong point.

He had time, the team were right. At the pace that they were projecting if he carried on he'd be back in P2 and right behind Max at least three laps before the end of the race and in theory have time to catch him too. But even as they told him, reminding him to just keep going as he was and stick to the plan, his mind struggled to process the disappointment of what had happened. He should've been in front, with a more than comfortable lead given the pace he'd got, and he would have been had he not have made that stupid mistake. He knew better, he should've done better, and he had no one but himself to blame.

As he came around the next lap he found himself catching up again to the car in front, not close enough to do anything about it into the first corner, but by the end of the lap he'd be right on their tail his engineer told him. Lando didn't answer, just pushing his foot further to the floor, throwing the car in to the corner with a bit more speed than it would have liked, wrestling with the steering wheel as he tried to keep it on the track.

Two corners later, he was right on George's tail again and before the team could realise what he was about to do and remind him to be sensible he'd lunged up the inside of the corner from a ridiculous distance back.

What followed wasn't George's fault- Lando had been so far behind him on the approach to the corner that no one would have expected him to suddenly dive up the inside like that, there was no way George could've seen him coming. So as Lando shot up the inside as the two car's approached the apex of the corner, George turned across on the inside line and suddenly Lando had absolutely nowhere to go.

The first impact as he hit George's car took him by surprise, the whole thing happening so quickly that he didn't have a chance to realise what was coming. But as the tyre snapped clean off the front of his car and flew over his head, the car spinning around and getting launched off the ground as it went careering towards the barrier he had just enough time to realise what was coming before the car smashed in to the barrier at an incredible speed, the sound of carbon fibre shattering around him.

He had just long enough to get his hands off the steering wheel before the impact hit, the force of the impact knocking all the air out of his lungs. His ears were ringing and it took him a minute over the sound to realise that the team were frantically trying to get hold of him on the radio.

"I'm... I'm okay..." he gasped, pain shooting through his body as he tried to get some air into his lungs. "Fuck."

"Lando." Came the response from his engineer. "You need to get out, now. The car is on fire. Get out."

He fumbled with the buckles on his seatbelt, scrambling around to get himself out of the car despite the pain he was in. By the time he'd managed it, there were already Marshall's on scene to extinguish the fire, and the medical car that had been automatically deployed had just arrived on the scene was testament to quite how hard he'd hit the barriers.

He had to steady himself against the wreckage of his car as his feet hit the floor. As the medics jumped out of the car, grabbing hold of him to steady him as they led him to the waiting medical car, all he could think about was his poor mum watching this on the tv. It was enough to make him try and stand up a bit straighter and walk without leaning so heavily on the medic beside him, as if it might somehow prove to his mum that he was okay.

He all but collapsed into the back seat of the medical car when he got there, looking out of the window at the mangled wreckage of his car, the flames still just visible as the Marshalls continued to try and extinguish it, the medical car pulling away from the scene to take him to the medical centre before he could see if they managed to put it out.

****

"He's alright." Was the first thing Flo said as she answered the call from Lottie, before Lottie even had a chance to ask the question. She knew why her friend was calling, she would've just seen the same horrendous clip the rest of them had on the tv before the camera very quickly cut away.

"Thank god." Lottie breathed. "That was..."

"Yeah, I know." Flo mumbled. "Dad's with him, they're taking him to the hospital to get checked out. I think they're worried he's got a concussion and he might have a couple of cracked ribs."

"But he's okay?" Lottie asked again.

"He's okay." Flo confirmed. "Well, I suppose we might need to be worried that he's knocked the last few remaining brain cells out of his head if he's got a concussion. He didn't have that many to begin with."

There was a commotion in the background as Cisca started yelling at Flo that now really wasn't the time to be being mean about her brother.

"Are you guys going to go over there?" Lottie asked.

"Mum's just waiting for Dad to call her back when they get to the hospital. Then she'll either head there or if he's home head to Monaco I guess." Flo explained. "Do you want me to tell him you called?"

"No." Lottie said quickly. "I uh... this whole being friends thing, it's a lot harder than I thought.

"That's because the two of you aren't supposed to be friends." Flo pointed out. "The sooner you admit that, the sooner you can both get back together and be happy."

"It's not that simple Flo." Lottie sighed. "We don't need to talk about this. Not right now."

"It's not simple, but you're making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be." Flo told her. "I know that both of you have got stuff going on, but you're both miserable being apart."

"I'm going to go now." Lottie said, cutting Flo off before she could get any further with her speech. "I'm glad he's okay."

****

The first question Lando had asked in the hospital was whether he'd still be okay to get his flight back to Monaco that evening. They'd advised against it, telling him he'd probably want to get some rest, but there wasn't technically anything that would prevent him from flying.

He'd sat in almost total silence at the hospital as they checked him over, but other than a mild concussion and one cracked rib he was declared to be absolutely fine. It was a miracle really, given the force of the impact. He'd seen a couple of photos of the wreckage of his car once it had been recovered back to the garage and there really wasn't much left to be salvaged.

His Dad had turned up at the hospital bit that long after he'd arrived, and had immediately started trying to reason with Lando about him going back to Monaco. His mum had been on the phone too, trying to reason with him that if he wasn't going to stay an extra couple of nights then he should come back to the UK with his dad instead.

He'd refused, reassuring them that he was okay and just wanted to go home and get some rest. The last thing he wanted was to go back to his parents house and have his mum making a fuss. Not when he was still absolutely fuming with himself for having made such a mistake in the first place.

He'd watched the clip back about one hundred times as he waited for the paperwork so that he could leave the hospital. He'd known as he was doing it that it was a risky move, bordering on stupid, but watching it back now from another angle he'd been so far behind when he launched himself down the inside he was surprised he'd even ended up anywhere close to George. There was no arguing who's fault it was, the blame was entirely on Lando for this one. He'd arrived so late and at such speed that by the time George had realised he was there, if he'd ever even seen him, the two cars had already made contact.

He should've waited. Done what his engineer said and had a little bit of patience. A couple more corners and he would've been past George anyway, and not have taken himself out of the race in the process. It wasn't just the cost of the damage, the extra work for the team and everything that went with it. The DNF meant no points in this race for Lando, and with Max winning the race when it had eventually restarted after the red flag and the time taken to repair the sizeable dent that Lando had put in the barriers. The extra points for Max meant that the battle for the drivers championship had closed up again, the DNF costing Lando the lead that he'd started to draw out.

He wished he could go back in time and make the sensible decision. It was just an outright stupid move, and one he knew that the team was going to have a lot of questions about once they knew that he was okay. Questions that he wasn't going to have answers for because he didn't know why he'd done something so reckless himself.

He had eventually won the battle with his Dad and boarded his flight back to Monaco, a little later than planned, and alone. He'd promised to call his mum as soon as he landed to let her know he was okay and he'd got there in one piece, but he had no intention of following through with it. He just wanted to be alone.

He had several messages from people checking in on him, all of which went ignored. His siblings, his teammate, members of the McLaren team and a couple of the other drivers. He didn't want to speak to any of them. Sooner or later one of them was going to ask the question of what on earth was he thinking trying to pull that move, and he didn't want to tell them the answer. How did he explain that he'd set everything he had on winning the drivers championship, figuring if his career had cost him his relationship with Lottie then he may as well make sure he won this time.

He was still beating himself up about it when he finally arrived home in Monaco. His apartment was quiet, a welcome respite from all the people that had been crowded around him all day, and he closed and locked the door firmly behind himself. He wasn't about to run the risk of his parents deciding to show up uninvited.

He'd been exhausted on the flight back, barely able to keep his eyes open, but now he was finally at home nothing was further from his mind than sleep. He laid on his bed but every time he closed his eyes all he could see was the car careering towards the barriers in that split second he'd had before he hit them.

He didn't have anywhere he needed to be for the next week, there being a two week break before the next race. The team had cancelled his commitments without him even asking after the crash, telling him to take some time to rest and recover and they'd catch up in the lead up to the next race in Baku at the end of the month.

He'd been thankful that he didn't have to go and face them, and explain why he'd done something so incredibly stupid, but it also meant that he'd got nothing to drag himself out and try and act normal for. The physical injuries from the crash had subsided very quickly, only a couple of small bruises left as an indication that anything had happened. Mentally though, the guilt of knowing there was no one to blame but himself had consumed him.

He'd moped around at home, unable to sleep for the first couple of days at all. Then the exhaustion had hit him and he'd ended up sleeping through almost an entire twenty four hours, only woken in the end by the panicked phone calls from his mum wondering if he was okay because no one had heard from him.

"I'm fine, Mum." He sighed, repeating it for what felt like the millionth time since he'd arrived back from Monza.

"Why don't you come home for a bit?" Cisca suggested again.

"I'm fine." He repeated. "I've gotta come back to MTC again before Baku. I'll come and see you then, alright?"

"We could come and visit you?" Cisca suggested.

"No." Lando said quickly, the last thing he wanted was them invading his apartment. "I'll come and see you when I come back, or you can come to Baku if you want. But I'm fine, really. I just need a week or two off."

She'd reluctantly accepted it and ended the call, but before he'd even put the phone back down on the bedside table Flo was calling him instead.

"Mum put you up to this, didn't she?" Lando sighed as he answered the phone. There was no point ignoring her, his sister was only going to keep calling until he eventually answered. He may as well get it over and done with.

"She's worried about you." Flo told him, stating the obvious. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. They cleared me to drive in Baku."

"That's not what I meant." Flo sighed.

"I'm fine." He repeated. "It was my own fuck up, I know what I did wrong. I just need to make sure I don't do something so stupid next time."

Flo was quiet for a second. "Are you coming back for my birthday?"

"No, I don't think so. Sorry." He told her. "I've got..." he trailed off, trying to come up with a convincing lie to tell her.

"It's fine, Lando. You don't need to come up with an excuse." Flo reassured him. "I'll let you go, I'll tell Mum to stop calling you all the time."

She hung up the phone, turning to find Lottie stood in the doorway of her kitchen, the look she was giving her suggesting she'd heard every word.

"Is he okay?" Lottie asked, unable to help herself.

"He's angry with himself for crashing, I think." Flo sighed. "Hopefully he just needs a few days to get over it and then he'll have his head on straight and not do something so ridiculous at the next race."

"I thought about calling him." Lottie admitted. "I just... well, I don't know what to say to him anymore. He said he wanted to be friends, and I feel like I'm not being a good friend, but I don't think I know how to just be his friend."

"You two give me a headache." Flo gave an exasperated sigh, shaking her head at her friend. "He's not coming back for my Birthday party though, so you're safe to come."

"I wasn't hiding from him." Lottie protested. "I told you I was busy."

"Yeah and we both knew it was a lie." Flo rolled her eyes at her. "Either way, you'll come to the party now? Pleaaaaaaaase?"

"Yeah, I'll be there." Lottie agreed. "But for the record, I wasn't avoiding your brother."

"Yeah, yeah... whatever you want to say to try and convince yourself. I'm not going to believe you, whatever you say."

#f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula 1 #formula one #lando norris #romance #angst with a happy ending #fanfic #angst #recovery

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