#can we just talk about the way he has ALWAYS looked at her? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sometimesanalice · 60 minutes ago

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Morgannn!! 💖 oh I’m so, so happy you liked this! Fluffy, fun, and flirty vibes for days!

I’m so happy that it was something that made you smile! 🥰🥰

More for you!!

Oh, this was absolutely delightful and fun and exactly what I needed after this week! I broke into giggles and a smile more times than I could count! I love everything you write, but sometimes you pop off with the best little details and phrasings and it's such a joy to read your writing!—🥹🥹🥹

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.

Quite literally the vibe for modern dating, and especially with how many men always forget Feb 14th is a holiday!!!!!— I just imagined her being like “are you sure??” like five times and this guy being like “it’s a Wednesday like yeah”. But truly, the amount of me not utilizing the notifications on their built in calendar is a CRIME. But especially on international hearts day!

And well, if your date didn’t appreciate it, then that was a him problem.

Men don't appreciate good fashion. That's why we dress for the group chat and ourselves!— the girlies(gn) just want to look and feel cute! But also, you know that group chat was popping off with the🔥 emoji, lol

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.

This visual this gave me! A beacon of pink! Get her a drink!— goodness knows miss ma’am needs one! She was just trying to go with the flow and have fun! But I loved trying to find ways to highlight just how out of place she was there, not only like with how she felt but also the setting!

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

STOP, THIS GOT ME!— I MEAN CAN YOU IMAGINEEEEE

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.”

Snaps for Selleck mention.— the OG mustache man!

Oh.

AN ITALICIZED OH, SO YOU KNOW IT'S GOOD!!!— ITALICIZED OH SUPREMACY!! (Also I’m so endlessly tickled by the amount of support the italicized oh has gotten 😂 I know I posted about it specifically, but I love how much love we all have for those two little letters!)

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.

This was entirely too relatable. Those jeans are too slutty and the group chat must know! (nothing wrong with taking a lil pic either 🤫) — I was so obsessed with the idea of her being like “you guys won’t believe what happened” and her phone just blowing up the other night of her best babes wanting allll the tea! You know the brunch talk is going to be popping! (But the slutty beans and that cock walks are a lethal combo!!)

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.

This whole pool scene was so fun! You captured Jake and Bradley's game with so much descriptive detail, it made me want to watch the movie again! Jake would absolutely get hustled, that man has too much ego to not get played.— ahhhh!! This is the best thing you could have said because Morgan I know nothing about pool lmaooooo 😂 I was reading as much as I could and snooping on r/billiards to figure out what was going on hahaha! All the while cursing myself for deciding her ace needed to be her sneaky pool shark skills. He would SO get played, he wouldn’t be able to help himself!

In that moment you are Midas touched, the blood thrumming through your veins feels like liquid gold.

This is quite literally one of my favourite ways a kiss has been described. So visual, yet you can feel it. It's going to be rolling through my brain for a bit, I love it!— stopppp!!!!!! 🥰🥰🥰🥰 there’s always so much pressure to try and get a first kiss right, so that makes me so happy that it landed well with you!! 🫶🏻

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.

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: 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜��𝐫

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!#I’m just so happy you liked it!! 🫶🏻#the babe with the big move

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sinofwriting · 2 days ago

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Burning Satisfaction - Charles Leclerc (Dark Fic) (Part One)

Words: 1,177 Summary: People always said that Charles would do the right thing, they just never actually expected him to do it. Note(s): Slightly Dark Fic, Age Gap of 7/8 years (Reader is 20), Gasly!Reader, Reader is Pierre’s younger sister, barely any physical descriptors are given for reader so she could be adopted (as is usually the case for all my sibling!reader fic). Also Charles calls her ‘Petit’ because she is the youngest aka littlest Gasly. There will be a part two!

Masterlist | Support Me!

“Cha?” He turns at the nickname, beaming at the girl.

“Petit! I didn’t know you would be coming today.” He’s unable to stop himself from looking her up and down, wishing the marks he left on her just yesterday were visible.

Her eyes dart downwards, fingers tugging at the hem of her top. “I need to talk to you.”

The quietness of her voice makes his smile drop and he sets his drink on the bar, wrapping an arm around her and ushering her into his bedroom on the yacht. Happy that everyone is still out on deck while he had left to grab himself a drink while taking a quick call.

“What is wrong, petit?” Charles asks, voice as gentle as he can make it as he guides her to sit on the edge of the bed, easily joining her, so he doesn’t have to remove his arm.

She takes a shaky breath, eyes focused on her hands that are now resting her lap, fingers twitching and he reaches with his free hand, stilling the nervous movements.

He says her name, her head nearly snapping upwards at it, the sound of him saying it nearly unfamiliar to her. “It is just me. You can tell me anything.” He squeezes her hands.

Another shaky breath exits her mouth and he watches as her throat bobs as she swallows harshly. “I,” she pauses, licking her lips. “I think I’m pregnant.”

His hand that had been unknowingly rubbing soothing circles on her back freezes for a split second.

“It’s just, I’m late. And I’ve never been late. And I didn’t lie about being on birth control, Cha, I promise! I know we used condoms and I don’t think any of them broke, but I’m late, and I’ve thrown up the last three mornings from the smell of eggs.” Tears are streaming down her face, her words growing more frantic, but he’s unable to speak. “But, please Cha, you have to believe me, I take my pill every day. At nine am, no matter what. I have an alarm set.” Her breathing is now choppy and he finds his words, shushing her.

“I believe you. I’ve seen your alarm, it is okay.” He soothes, lifting his hand from hers and wiping away her tears that are still falling. “Have you taken a test?”

She bites her lip, shaking her head. “No. I bought one, it’s in my bag, but I needed to tell someone.”

“So you came to me.”

She nods and it burns how he has to stop himself from looking satisfied at the answer.

“How about, you drink this and we will talk.” He reaches for the water bottle on his nightstand, smiling at the giggle she lets out when he has to lay flat on his back to awkwardly reach it while still keeping contact with her.

“You have options.” He says, the words burning, the idea of all of them burning him, though one for a very different reason.

“I know.” She says, after taking a drink of water. “But I want this baby, if I am. It’s just,” She pauses again, looking so shy and unsure it makes him move closer.

“What? It’s just what?”

She looks at him shyly, fingers back to pulling at her top before he intertwines them with his. “There’s a difference between having sex before marriage and a baby out of wedlock.”

His breath hitches at the words, at the shy suggestion. His want and satisfaction overwhelm him, his grip on her hand tightening, but before she can apologize or take the words back, he lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it, hoping she can feel his love and devotion to her through the small action. “I would happily marry you if you are pregnant.” The last four words are forced out of his mouth in an odd way.

“I know how much your faith matters to you.” His eyes focus on the necklace she is always wearing, the cross hidden behind her t-shirt, a gift from Pierre when she had turned twelve. “And I would never ask that you sacrifice it like that.”

“It wouldn’t just be the baby if we were to get married. I, I want a real marriage, like my mama and papa.”

He smiles, “we can have a real marriage. I would not mind having one with you.”

“But if you found someone else?”

Charles shakes his head. “I don’t believe that will happen.” His voice is so firm, so certain, that he sees the slight uncertainty leave her eyes. “Now, finish your water.”

She immediately lifts the bottle to her lips and he has to look away before he smiles at the easy way she listened to him.

He is thankful it doesn’t take her long to have to use the bathroom and he watches as she gets up and goes to the small bathroom attached, the door closing with a quiet click.

As soon as it does, he’s unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face. Head dropping into his hands as he lets out a silent laugh. It had been a gamble if it would work, getting her pregnant. And really he is lucky, she was unlike Pierre, still unpracticed at sex at nineteen, or rather twenty now, and not realizing she should not feel so much leaking out at the end. But it worked. He had gotten her pregnant. Just barely eight weeks after the first time they had sex.

The flush of the toilet has him raising his head from his hands, body itching to stand and open the bathroom door, to stare at the test and watch as it makes his want for her to fully be his, finally be true.

The bathroom door opens with a small click and he smiles at her, opening his arms for her and she doesn’t hesitate, easily sitting on his lap so he can hold her.

“And now we wait?” He asks, running a hand up and down her back.

She takes a shaky breath. “And now we wait.”

The feeling of her in his arms is enough to stop him from going to the bathroom, to stare at the counter and watch as the test changes. It is all too easy for him to lose himself in her warmth, the smell of her, the brushes of her breath against his neck as she breathes in and out.

“Do you think it’s been five minutes?” Her quiet voice breaks the stillness of the room after a while.

“I think so.”

She’s slow to pull away from him, but before she can try and stand, he grabs her waist, keeping her where she is, before one hand raises to gently hold her face, eyes meeting.

“No matter what the test says, it will be okay. We will figure it out.” Charles tells her, waiting for her to give a nod before pressing their lips together in perhaps one of the most chaste kisses they’ve ever shared.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc dark fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 dark fic #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 dark fic #sins fics

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digi-diareis · 3 days ago

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Teen MC snapping at Caleb

Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.

Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.

Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.

So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.

"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."

Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.

He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.

"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"

And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.

"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"

You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.

"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"

"I-I never said -"

"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"

Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.

Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.

He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"

He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.

You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.

"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."

After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.

And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #l&ds caleb #l&ds imagine #love & deepspace #love & deepsace x reader #i #caleb x mc #caleb x you #they/them mc

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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I absolutely love your work! Could I request something where the reader is not the most active person, like... She doesn't like running, she's not fit, she's terrible at fighting. She maybe does research, but that's all. But she's good at picking clothes, she always makes sure Sam and Dean look professional/appropriate to what they'll be doing. And she makes absolutely AMAZING apple pie, and she cooks, and all - just helps "passively", not "actively". So one day she decides that "alright, that's enough, I'm only causing trouble" and leaves - and at first the boys don't care, since she "wasn't too useful" - but after like a week or two they notice that they miss the apple pie, they miss someone who could help them with looking better, especially Sam, who realizes how deep in love with her he is? And maybe she comes back?

I'm sorry if it's too specific, or too much details, or anything😅😅

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ all the little things,

summary. when you start to think just how replaceable you are, sam shows you exactly otherwise

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester

wordcount. 681

notes. honestly, this is just a heartwarming idea! thank you for requesting lovely 🩷

The motel room is quiet when you slip out.

Your bag is packed, everything neat and folded because, well—of course it is. You aren’t a mess. You don’t do things hastily or without thinking. But you’ve thought about this—leaving—long and hard, and the conclusion is always the same.

You aren’t useful.

Sure, you help. You make sure Dean’s FBI suit isn’t wrinkled and that Sam has something other than plaid to wear when interviewing victims. You keep the bunker stocked, and you make damn good apple pie.

But you can’t run. You can’t fight. You can barely hold a gun without it shaking in your hands.

And you’re tired of feeling like dead weight.

So you leave.

No note, no big speech—just a quiet exit in the middle of the night, the way you’re sure they’ll forget you.

Because you? You’re replaceable.

Right?

At first, the boys don’t notice.

They wake up, see that your things are gone, and shrug it off. Maybe you got tired of the life. Maybe you found something better.

They don’t talk about it.

They just move on.

Then things start feeling off.

Not all at once—just little things.

Like how Dean’s shirts are suddenly wrinkled as hell, and his ties are never quite right. Or how Sam keeps losing his laptop charger because you’re not there to remind him to bring it.

And the food? Absolute garbage.

Dean burns everything. Sam tries to cook and nearly poisons them both. They eat diner food three times a day, and after two weeks, Dean stares blankly at the menu and mutters, “God, I miss pie.”

Sam’s fork pauses mid-air.

It’s the first time either of them has said it out loud.

Dean catches himself, scowls, and shoves a bite of pancakes into his mouth. But the damage is done.

They do miss you.

The bunker feels wrong without you.

Your room is empty, hollow in a way Sam can’t stand. He stops by more often than he wants to admit, staring at the bed like it might hold answers, like it might tell him why you left without a word.

At first, he assumed it didn’t matter. But now—now it’s everywhere.

It’s in the little things.

Like how there’s no warm light from the kitchen in the morning, no soft hum of music while you bake. No one teasing Dean about his terrible diet or fixing Sam’s collar before an interview.

No one who makes them feel like they have a home.

It takes Sam longer than he’d like to admit to realize what it means.

He doesn’t just miss you.

He loves you.

And he needs you back.

Finding you takes time.

Sam spends hours searching, fingers flying over the keyboard until—finally—he gets a hit.

Dean doesn’t argue when Sam says, “Let’s go.”

Because he misses you too.

You stare at them when they show up at your new apartment.

“...What are you doing here?”

Sam takes a slow breath. “We need to talk.”

You cross your arms, trying to hold your ground. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dean scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Sam shoots him a look, then turns back to you, softer. “We didn’t realize how much we needed you,” he admits. “Not just for the small stuff—for everything.”

You blink, and Sam steps closer, voice steady.

“You make us better. You make us feel like we’re more than just hunters. More than just the job.”

You swallow hard. “I—I thought I was just in the way.”

Sam shakes his head. “You were never in the way.”

Dean chimes in. “Look, we’re idiots, okay? We should’ve said something when you left.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But the truth is—we suck without you.”

Your throat tightens.

Then Sam says, quietly—earnestly,

“I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Dean smirks. “Took him long enough to admit it.”

Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t look away from you. His hand finds yours, warm and solid.

“So,” he says. “Come home?”

You hesitate—only for a second.

Then you nod.

And just like that, everything is right again.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @szyszoszelest ⋆ @angelicalm3ss ⋆ @writtenbyhollywood ⋆ @larasalii ⋆ @yeehawgiddyup13 ⋆ @xo-zeze ⋆ @jules-pagie ⋆ @freeluigihesbae ⋆ @viarasvogue

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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thewritetofreespeech · 12 hours ago

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Hi, it's me again! Could I request Jason Todd who has a moment of body dysmorphia while really spiraling inwardly mentally with him being so big, so changed after the Lazarus pit, having all these scars and the autopsy scar. His female girlfriend comes to help him and grounds him, reassures him. He's perfect the way he is and really lovable!

-------------------------🦇----------------------------

“Jason! Can you hurry up? I’d like to get in there before we go to bed.”

“Yeah. I’m working on it.” Jason called back to his girlfriend as he finished up his routine for the night.

Patrol had been light. So no need for first aid or stitches this time. Like he needed another scar. Sometimes when Jason looked into the mirror like now, he barely recognized the man looking back at him. Time was not always kind to mortal men who pretended to be superheroes. The physical strain. The bruising. The marks. He glanced over his body in the mirror. Old scars mixed with new. Some that were faded that he couldn’t remember how he got. Simply too old or memories that were lost to him in the Pit.

Jason flinched and clutched his head when he tried to think about the Pit. Visions of knives cutting into his flesh and stitching him back up. The scar down his front from chest to naval oozing with black putrid goo. Banging on his coffin liked the pounding in his head. Flashes of skin sluffed off a bleached white skeleton staring back in the mirror.

'Dead man walking. Dead man walking. Dead man walking!'

His hands lance out for the mirror before he could stop them. Ripping it off the wall with his bare hands before throwing it into the tub with a shatter.

“That’s ok. I didn’t need to shower anyway….”

Jason looked up, panting in his panic & rage, to find [Y/N] standing in the door. Her expression even but clearly freaked out about what he had done. The uncertainty of what he was going to do next. “Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Jason hissed through his teeth. No, it wasn’t ok. Why did people say that when things weren’t ok. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He said as he rubbed his face with his hand. How could he explain what was going on? “I just get these flashes sometimes. Headaches. Probably something to do with the Pit.”

“Well, coming back from the dead can probably be very traumatic for the brain.” She agreed. “Not to mention all the other trauma.” [Y/N] aware of his past, before & after coming back from the dead. She knew of his superhero exploits, and even his new role as a vigilante. “Why don’t you take a break for a while? Get your head straight?” She suggested. Carefully coming into the bathroom to avoid any glass or startling him as she came in to place her hand on his shoulder. “It might do you good.”

“I can’t.” He told her. “If I do then what was all this for.” Jason gestured to himself. All the pain. All these scars. His body mangled and twisted, along with his mind. What was the point of it if he couldn’t do some good, in his own way, with it.

“Maybe it’s just about you being here, and not some bigger picture Jason.”

[Y/N] wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his shoulder, giving him a light squeeze. “I know saving the world is important to you, but it’s not the only thing in the world. You need to focus on yourself sometimes. Talk to me. Or talk to someone. I think it would do you good.”

Jason listened to what his girlfriend was saying, then lifted his hand to grip her arm around his waist. “So, you don’t think I look gross?”

“What? Of course not! Is that what this is about?”

Jason shrugged. It was what had started all this but now it felt like it had spiraled into something more serious than he intended.

[Y/N] just rolled his eyes and let him go. “I’m not going to just stroke your vanity, Jason. You already know how hot I think you are.” She kissed his shoulder and gave him a withering look in the direction the mirror should be. “Come to bed you idiot. I’ll show you just how ‘not gross’ you are. You’re gonna be real disappointed in a minute though that you didn’t let me shower first before you blew up the tub. You’re cleaning that up tomorrow by the way.”

Jason chuckled. The shift from caring concern to just plain annoyed at how ridiculous he was being somehow grounding to him. “Yes ma’am.” He simply replied as he followed her into their bedroom to make good on her promise.

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plethorawrites · 3 days ago

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I'm back to my once in a blue moon Roy post. And again, I can't stop thinking about how any person he dated HAS to be approved by Lian.

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---_

It doesn't matter how much Roy Harper likes you or how perfect he thinks you are, if Lian doesn't like one of his partners, he'll break up with that person the next day.

He obviously waits a while to see if he even likes you enough to introduce you to her, but once he makes that decision, it's nerve wracking. He wants her to approve. He really does. And you want her too as well. He drones on about her constantly. Basically the entire first date was him relating every question you asked him back to her somehow.

Favorite place to go? The zoo, because Lian loves it. Favorite food? Grilled cheese, because he makes it for her so much he got hooked. Favorite color? It changes when hers does because everything she owns switches shades too. But he's partial to the color closest to her eyes.

And you're just as excited and nervous to meet her, knowing exactly how important she is to him. Lian is a good judge of character, she can know instantly if someone is wrong for her dad and she doesn't want them around him.

With you, it's the same as all the others. She's standoffish, curious but hesitant, asking you questions that only seem to have bad answers the way all kids somehow manage to do. And you're panicking, admittedly, not only at the questions, but at seeing Roy slowly deflate when he realizes how judgmental his daughter is.

At some point he excuses himself from the room for a moment, either to take a call, or try to take a breath because he's suddenly thinking about ending the relationship. But the second he walks away and both you and Lian can see the disappointment in posture, you both soften. Mostly her.

"...He works a lot," she told you, almost like a deterrent.

You nodded softly. "I know."

There was a pause, her princess crown falling a little bit. "Things with mom didn't end well," she mumbled.

You fixed her crown. "I know that, too." Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear you scooted closer to her on the couch. "I don't want to replace your mom, Lian. I just...want to love your dad."

She looked up at you. No one he brought home ever said the L word before. Not unless it was in some patronizing way as they talked about her while squishing her cheeks.

Her lips quirked, fighting a pout. "He's always busy," she repeated with emphasis. "I don't even see him for a week or two." She knew why, of course, and never blamed him. It still hurt.

Things suddenly clicked for you, realizing Lian was less worried about you, and more worried about you stealing her time with him.

"Well...maybe when he's gone, you and I could go somewhere? Do you like the aquarium?" You suggested hesitantly, watching her furrow her brows in skepticism as she nodded. "And maybe when he's back, we could all do something too, like a movie..." She seemed to relax a little, still pouting. "I'm not trying to steal him from you. You're the most important thing in his life, you know? You'll always come first."

...

A while later, Roy had all but prepared his typical break up speech, planning to tell you he liked you a lot but needed to take care of Lian and her needs first before focusing on himself. It hurt more this time, though, rehearsing it, than it usually did.

He walked back into the living room, freezing when he saw you braiding Lian's hair, a blanket pulled over her lap as she clicked the buttons on a remote.

"Oh, there you are," you said, glancing up. "We were going to watch 'Brave', do you want to join us?"

He blinked a few times, glancing at his daughter to ensure she wasn't just pretending. Then again, she never went along with anything she didn't actually want to do.

Roy nodded slightly, sitting next to Lian, squishing her in-between you two as she found the movie on the TV.

"You should make us popcorn," she practically demanded, starting the movie and glancing back at you as you finished her hair. "He makes really good popcorn."

You nodded curiously, giving her a small smile. "You ever tried it with M&M's in it before?"

Her eyes widened, head snapping towards her dad as if already asking for it. "O-okay, yeah, I'll check if we have any," he muttered, standing up, sparing a glance over his shoulder as he saw you pulling a blanket over Lian's lap while she passed her favorite princess crown to you.

It seemed she did approve, this time.

#headcanon #x reader #plethorawrites #dc comics #roy harper x you #roy harper x reader #roy harper imagine #roy harper #roy harper x gender neutral reader #gender nuetral reader #x you #x gn reader #lian harper

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thecheshireprincess · 3 days ago

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The Game Itself

Chapter III: Nine of Hearts AKA You Won't Say You're in Love

A Chishiya x childhood best friend reader (Niragi's sister!) Series

Content Warning: Canon-typical violence, killing, mentions of blood and injuries (somewhat explicit), mentions of a tumultuous childhood, curse words, Aguni is so girl-dad coded and I refuse to write him any other way

A/N: I literally never want to see this chapter again 😵‍💫 idk what happened, but I blacked out and wrote like 7000 words and then spent over a week rewriting and editing it. I'm so sorry 🤣

Previous Chapter The Game Itself Masterlist

When you've finished getting cleaned up, you make no move to leave the bathroom; standing stuck in a silent face off with yourself in the mirror. Chishiya sighs, pulling himself off your bed and padding over to stand behind you. Though you're not exactly thrilled with his presence right now, he knows one easy way to return to your good graces and settle your fraying nerves all at once.

His left hand extends past you to grab your hairbrush from the vanity, the right gently finding purchase among your sleep tangled locks. Chishiya's touch is soft in your hair but efficient, well-practiced. Your eyes close involuntarily, your brief attitude quickly melting away. Both your best friend and your brother knew that more than just your hair would be tamed when they brushed it for you.

Once the tangles have been worked through, Chishiya begins a double French braid; working his long, nimble fingers down each side of your hair meticulously. You open your eyes again to meet his in the mirror, "are you sure you want to keep wasting your time in medical school? You could have a promising career as a hairstylist."

Your friend smirks in satisfaction at this, taking a beat before responding. He ties off the second side of your hair with an elastic and pulls both braids forward to sit in front of your shoulders, placing his hands against your arms. Maintaining your gaze and bringing his lips to whisper directly in your ear, "the only hair I care to be styling is yours."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

It was the middle of summer, the sun's rays washing over you, tanning and freckling your skin. The hot air blew past you thickly as you ran the familiar path down the bustling street towards your favorite cafe with Chishiya hot on your heels. Thirteen years old and feeling so free; you don't think you'd ever known happiness like this. Niragi was further back, eyes trained on the two of you. He had long since stopped trying to keep you from racing in such a busy area, knowing that you'd never listen. Today was a special day, after all, and you were still so young; you deserved to celebrate.

Once the three of you were sat in your favorite booth, you were already eyeing the picture of the fat tabby cat longingly, "Niragi," you whined, attempting to draw his attention away from the flimsy paper menu in front of him. Niragi hummed, affirming that he was listening to what you had to say. "When can we get a cat just like this one??"

The man sighed dramatically, setting the menu down in front of him to meet your eyes, "Koko . . . We've talked about this . . ."

You interrupt what you know will be more of the same soliloquy as usual, "Yeah, I KNOW that technically our landlord doesn't allow pets, but Himari has like five cats smuggled in her apartment!" you cry. The injustice.

"Yes, well, Himari doesn't have to worry about staying in the good graces of social workers and receiving visits from them constantly," your brother reminded you, exhaustion obvious in his form.

"I know, but now! Now we won in court, and the social workers won't have to come visit as much, and we can get a secret cat! What could be better?" Chishiya smirked beside you, saying nothing but always on your side.

"Very sweet, but look, you've already got a cat companion right beside you," Niragi jests, trying anything to distract you from the cat he absolutely did not want. The two of you laugh, and Chishiya's smirk widens. Deflect and distract.

The kind-eyed - and super timely - waitress comes around the bakery case with your desserts just then, setting your honey toast in front of you. Your eyes grow as big as saucers seeing the sickly sweet substance in front of you, Niragi grinning brightly at your reaction. Saved by the dessert. He knew letting you get your treat before your meal was a great idea - he had once again successfully dodged the cat talk.

Sunlight streams through the sheer curtains covering your window, bathing your face in light like a good morning kiss. You begin to stir beneath your fluffy duvet, smiling lightly at the memory of your dream. You realize now, smile growing, that Niragi had not wanted that cat at all. Stretching your limbs without opening your eyes yet, you begin to think about the day ahead of you and what it might hold; if the sun had anything to say about it, it could even be nice . . .

Except you had ended someone's life last night

You shot straight up in your bed like a bullet, eyes wide open in realization; though you were in your own bed, you were hardly in your own world. Your sweet dreams had nearly wiped your memory of this sick place clean away, but it was all back now, hitting you like a freight train. Your sudden movement startled the sleeping man beside you and he jumped up too, obviously still on edge, "what happened?! What's wrong? Are you okay?" He moves to run his fingers over you, checking for injuries that weren't there.

You slowly turn your head to look at him, eyes crazed, "what do you mean, what's wrong? Everything is wrong! We don't know where we are. Where Niragi is! And I . . . I murdered someone last night!" You wailed, your adrenaline from the game clearly having worn off and allowing the gravity of your situation to sink in. "How the fuck am I supposed to live with this?" You begin running your now shaking hands through your hair.

Chishiya sits quietly, observing; just as you'd expect from him. Unemotional fucker. You want to slap the calm right off his face because damn it you are so upset. So angry. So scared. What you really wanted was to vent your emotions, to commiserate a little bit with someone. You didn't even expect a solution, just . . . someone to tell you that they agree how much it sucks. That they're scared too.

But you'd never had that, had you? Niragi deals with big feelings the way any decent parent figure probably would, he tries to fix them. He never just listens or lets you wallow in self pity; nor does he complain alongside you. If he were here listening to you now, he'd probably be on the phone trying to find yet another therapist. Good luck finding one in this fucked up world.

And your only best friend since you were old enough to crawl, the person you tell everything to and share everything with, is sitting right in front of you. But he doesn't complain, he doesn't tell you that it's okay because he's afraid too, he doesn't feel upset by this new world. In fact, you're certain he doesn't feel anything at all, ever. It's infuriating.

Chishiya places his hand gently on the back of your neck, cooing indistinctly and shushing you - his poor attempt at being comforting. You were already too far gone, losing yourself to the deep abyss of negative emotions swirling within you. You shake his hand off of you immediately, fury burning inside of you so brightly you can't stand to be touched. You notice a brief flash of something - hurt? - in his eyes as you push him away before his usual emotionless mask is replaced. This stokes the flames even further - couldn't he actually just be upset? If he yelled at you for being a petulant brat. If he threw something across the room and broke something. Anything to show that he was the least bit affected by all this, but no. You're really alone in this feeling. A sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh escapes your lips and you decide you both could use some space to process things.

You roll out of bed without another look at your friend and walk to your closet. You pull out a pair of leggings, a strappy mint cropped workout top, and a gray zip up jacket with a hood; it's obvious you'll need to be comfy and capable of movement in this new world, but that doesn't mean you can't look cute while kicking ass at death games. You enter your bathroom to change and get cleaned up, slamming the door shut to punctuate your continued annoyance. Your frustration grows somehow even more when you move to turn on the sink - nothing. Chishiya had told you the plumbing wasn't working last night, but you weren't in the headspace then to worry about things like that. The least you can do is change your clothes and assess the damage to your appearance. You take a deep breath and glance up to meet your reflection.

Sick. You look sick. Face pale, eyes red and puffy, framed with massive black bags; hair untamed and matted from restless sleep. You regret looking at all, truthfully. You don't suppose putting on makeup will do much good, and it's probably a waste of time in a place like this. A soft knock interrupts the self-deprecating thoughts blasting in your mind - Chishiya. You roll your eyes, but open the door for him anyway. You give him a blank look - if he could be cold, so could you. You can at least try. He hands you a few bottles of water, presumably to wash your face and brush your teeth with. You take them, saying nothing as you turn back to your own battered gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the same way you had in the cafe yesterday, tense. Good tense. Tell him. "I . . . you . . . we . . .," you sputter, unable to spit the words out of your mouth. You were short circuiting. It was like you'd completely forgotten how to speak the only language you'd ever known, and didn't have the letters in the right order. I love you. Instead, "I-i'm going to go check the other apartments in the building. There could be resources we need." And you run away from him. You are a chicken.

Chishiya is left standing in your bathroom, dumbfounded and still holding onto your hairbrush like a lifeline. For the second time that day - and the sun had just risen - he had failed to say the words that you needed to hear. He has never been good at saying the things that you deserve to hear from him, and he knows that.

I'm sorry. I know you're afraid, but I'm going to keep you safe. You did so well last night. I'm scared too. I love you.

The man doesn't know if it's the lack of a proper childhood and decent parents that makes him so cold, or if he really is just an empty human. But would an empty human be able to love you so deeply? And how was it that your childhood was arguably worse, more violent and tumultuous, but you were so capable of feeling and expressing and loving? He's faced this conflict with you for as long as he's known you, but now? Now he has to contend with the fact that either of you could die at any minute.

Now he could be running out of time to say it.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

It turns out that raiding the other apartments had been a great idea. You found tons of stuff - canned foods, snack items, bottles of water, medicine and bandages, and even . . .

Chishiya's favorite biscuits

The ones in the cute yellow bag with red writing. They were in Himari's apartment, and you beamed upon seeing them. Truth be told, you were feeling really guilty. Not only had you let your emotions get the better of you this morning and launch you into a temper tantrum, but you'd then made a complete ass out of yourself with Chishiya in the bathroom. Not being able to tell the person you normally told everything to how you really feel about them is truly debilitating. You wished you could get advice from Niragi about it, but even so, you already know what he would say.

First, he would laugh at you, "of course you're in love with him, anyone with eyes can see that. Good job figuring it out though, I'm proud of you." And when you'd express concern about your feelings not being reciprocated, he'd laugh even harder, "come on, Koko. He's even more obvious than you!" You smile, thinking about him. Just how had that man gotten so smart?

You trudge back into the apartment, accidentally slamming the door behind you. As you drag your haul through the long corridor, arms heavy with your loot, something peculiar catches your attention. Your school bag. While not necessarily out of place, how had it gotten there? You'd had it with you in the cafe before your world was turned upside down, but remember opting to leave it in the booth while you searched your surroundings. You scramble to pick it up and inspect it for clues you knew you wouldn't find. Niragi. He must have gone looking for you and Chishiya and found it. So he HAD come back here at some point.

But now where was he? What if he was dead?

"Chishiya!" you called out desperately to your friend, your awkwardness and avoidance of him temporarily forgotten.

It took him only seconds to appear at the bottom of the stairs, moving as stealthy as a ninja as usual. Maybe more like a cat. Grabbing a bag of the yellow wrapped biscuits and meeting him in the hallway, you hold them out to him, "truce?"

"I wasn't aware we were in need of a truce, Koko," he says slowly, taking the cookies from you anyway. "You know I'd never pass on an opportunity for biscuits, though," he smiles, eyes sparkling.

"Look," you say, pointing a little shakily at your bag, "I think Niragi was here looking for us before we got here. W-where do you think he could have gone?" A simple question, but behind your eyes was something not so simple. Fear. Despair.

Chishiya glances at the bag, then back to study your face. He could see that you're already thinking the worst, so he shakes his head before attempting to comfort you. "His thought process is probably to try and find you in a game. The arenas are all over the city, and it would be unwise to come all the way back over here if he was drawn to a game across the city," he reassures you. "We have six days on our Visas, we should work on finding as much information about our new home as we can." Deflect and distract. Just as Niragi always had about that cat you wanted.

You nod, having had similar thoughts. You got a lot of good information from the players last night, but there was still so much you didn't know. The magician that had played against Chishiya provided some insight into the ranking system; the numbers 1-10 did indeed represent difficulty, which you had already guessed. The suit? Represents the type of game that would be played: Diamonds for Intelligence, Spades for Physical, Clubs a Team Challenge, and Hearts . . . Well hearts were special. Hearts were a game that forced you to play with the heart and emotions of another, and maybe even yourself. You shuddered thinking about the magnitude of a hearts game, hoping with your entire being you'd never end up in one.

And then of course, the man you'd had to shoot had explained the Visa system to you. Linked to the difficulty of the game, you earned days on your Visa equal to the number on the card. You and Chishiya had already earned six days. Thinking on it, you'd hate to play in one of these death games and earn one or two measly days, that hardly seemed worth it.

"We should explore the city. It would be really beneficial to be able to predict which arenas would produce which suits," you interject, "we can chart a map and start looking for patterns." Chishiya nods in agreement, already munching on his cookies and dropping crumbs on his shirt. "It looks like you got us set up with resources already, but we can also make note of places that are good for future supply runs," he observes, eyes glancing over the bags stuffed full with the items you'd chosen.

And so for five days, the two of you do just that. Every morning, you eat breakfast and get ready for the day, pack your backpacks full of supplies, and head out to a different area of the city to investigate and work on your map. You find tons of game arenas, sometimes waiting to talk to the remaining participants after they finish to find out if your predictions were correct. It became somewhat of a fun competition between you and Chishiya - seeing who could predict the highest number of them correctly. It provided you the distraction you so desperately needed, and you were grateful for having had a little while to get settled in a new routine with your best friend.

By the time your Visas are about to expire, you've gotten pretty accurate with three of the four suits. Unsettlingly, though, you were almost never able to accurately predict where Hearts games would pop up. Thinking about it made the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach grow. It would never be safe to play a game with Chishiya. You've also been unable to locate Niragi, and he hasn't returned to the house either. Chishiya does what he can to keep you busy from worrying about it, but even he is starting to feel concerned about your brother's whereabouts.

Too soon for your liking, it's time to leave the apartment to renew your Visas. You're more well-equipped and informed this time, so you should feel confident. Instead, you feel sick at the thought of being separated from Chishiya after spending so much time with him over the last couple of days. It's been nice. Really nice.

"Since we won't be playing together tonight, let's plan to meet back up here after we win," Chishiya suggests assuredly, pulling your mind back to the present. You nod, though with a little hesitation. Your friend notices and sighs, "I promise you that I'll come back. I won't leave you here, not ever." You blink, tears threatening to form.

Chishiya looks back at you expectantly. Calm. "I promise to come back too," you ascertain, letting out a breath and forcing the tears down, "it'll be just a couple of hours." Who are you trying to convince, him or you? He nods, smiling. A rare, real smile.

Your eyes trail over his face, studying him a little longer before the two of you need to leave to make it to your games. As tough as you're trying to be, you momentarily allow your emotions to get the best of you, throwing your arms suddenly around his neck to bury your face into his soft hoodie. The force you've thrown yourself at him threatens to send you both tumbling to the floor below you, but he steadies you with ease. Chishiya usually isn't big on physical touch, but with you, it's always felt natural. Enjoyable, even. His arms snaked around you and pulled you tightly to him, squeezing as much comfort into your body as he has to offer.

A minute or two passes and he whispers in your ear, "let's get going, hm?" The man hummed, gently rubbing circles into the spot between your shoulder blades, "the quicker we get it over with, the quicker we'll be back here." You nodded from your place still tucked into his shoulder, sighing. You can do this.

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

The early evening air is cool, brushing against the exposed skin of your face and neck and making you shiver. You look up to study the sky above you, the stars already starting to peek out among the pink and orange canvas of the sky. You had never had the privilege of seeing the stars glimmer so brightly above Tokyo, you felt them take your breath away. Stunning.

You continue walking in the direction of the abandoned community center you had scouted as a game arena earlier today. Chishiya was heading the opposite direction - toward the library you always studied at together. There were games lighting up all over the city, every night. This was the first time you were personally testing your game arena predictions, a higher stakes competition between the two of you. You hoped you were right.

The community center stood tall above you, covered in foliage and vines that you were certain hadn't been there before. Time flows differently here, you knew that with certainty - otherwise you should have run into Niragi the first night you arrived, and the fresh foods should have survived longer than what felt like a few hours to you. Nature was already beginning to reclaim the land; it was partially beautiful and partially unnerving.

[Game Arena - 5:00 Minutes Until Registration Closes]

[Players Required: 12]

You took a deep breath just before you pushed open the flimsy doors to the center; you'd been hoping for a Spades game when you chose this arena. Please let it be ANYTHING but a Hearts game. You yank the hood of your gray jacket over your head and steel your face. Emotionless.

Entering the dimly lit and sparsely decorated lobby of the building, you immediately take note that the front desk is holding the phones, One Per Person, same as before. This time though, they aren't alone. Your blood runs cold; a variety of weapons and an old fashioned lantern lay ominously beside them. There is already a large group of people waiting for registration to close, though most don't even look up at you as you enter. Off in their own worlds panicking probably, which is exactly what you wanted to do too. You approach the desk to grab your phone and suddenly feel eyes burning on you. You decide not to glance around, but if you had you'd have noticed an intimidating presence studying you. Trying to decide if you were the person he had been hunting for the last week.

[Identity Verification in Progress . . .]

Just as before, the phone correctly provides your information. You aren't surprised, but it still gives you an uneasy feeling. Another question on your list - how did they know your name and face? Government records?

[Registration Closes in 4:00 Minutes]

You put the phone nonchalantly in your pocket and move to sit in the row of seats normally reserved for parents waiting for their children performing activities at the community center. You slump down low, allowing your head to fall against the rigid backrest of the chair in thought. You'd taken swimming and gymnastics lessons here since you were really little, as long as you can remember. And Niragi, he'd always been here. Waiting for you. Always waiting, always supportive. You missed him.

You look to the seat on the end of the row, the one he'd always be sitting in. He liked to be as far away from the other guardians as possible. Instead, you now find a large, muscular man sitting there. Hair cropped short, close to his head. Staring right at you. You're surprised when you accidentally make eye contact with the older man, looking away quickly as if you'd been the one caught staring. His eyes continue to burn a hole in your head.

You peek up now to study the others gathered in the space. You notice the staring man has a partner, both of them wielding large guns. They are talking lowly between them, both with their eyes on you. Weird. Chishiya would urge you to ignore them, whatever they wanted from you was not in your best interest. Across from you was a group of three girls, likely in their 20s. You decided they must have been a group of friends from the original world. Your heart sank for them, because you knew what it was like having to play in a death match with someone you cared about. Loved.

A little girl with curly pigtails, likely only ten or eleven stood with an older gentleman. A grandfather and his granddaughter? Now your heart was pounding. It seemed children would not be exempt from the cruelty of this land. A man stood propped up against the bulletin board, wiry hairs sticking out all over the place. His gaze was crazed, looking all over the place, at you and the others. This was not his first game. But it could be his last. And yours.

You watched as another group of three waltzed into the center, the final three needed to start the game. Like the girls, you predicted that they were friends before coming here. They must have forgotten themselves for a moment, because despite being about to register for a literal death match, they walked up to said group of girls to flirt. You scoffed, but simply lowered your gaze to the floor. You don't know them.

[Registration is Now Closed]

[Difficulty: Nine of Hearts] Your pulse rushed in your ears and you couldn't hear for a moment. The one suit you hadn't wanted . . . And at a nine? What the fuck. Seriously?

[Game: Underground Gathering]

[Rules: Three players will act as the persecutors, guarding the torch from the gatherers. The gatherers will attempt to gain access to the torch and gather safely around it in their designated sanctuary. Unlocked rooms in the building are a safe haven for gatherers, but persecutors have free reign of the hallways and can capture gatherers that are running between safe spaces. Weapons are allowed and encouraged]

[Clear Condition: Gatherers - Obtain access to the torch and have all remaining players gather around it in the sanctuary.

Persecutors - Prevent the gatherers from getting the torch and gathering, at all costs; to win, persecutors must have an equal number or more players on their side]

[Game Over: Gatherers will receive a game over if they fail to bring their torch and all remaining members of the party to gather in the sanctuary within the time limit. Persecutors receive a game over if the gatherers succeed within the time limit, or if they are unable to capture enough gatherers]

[Time Limit: Two hours]

You shrunk further into your hood, breathless. The players assigned to the role of persecutor would be forced to kill off the others, that's what the weapons are for. Not only do they have to prevent the stealing of the torch, but they also had to eliminate players to be equal to or less than the three on their side. At least six people would have to die tonight for the persecutors to win. Being a gatherer would be easier, but certainly not without its struggles.

The cheerful voice you hated so much rung out once more, interrupting the war in your mind. [Your roles will now be assigned]

Your phone chimed, pulling it slowly out of your pocket with a sick feeling in your stomach, you see:

[You are a persecutor. Take the torch, grab a weapon, and proceed to the kitchen as your starting position. Good luck.]

You could have fallen to the floor in despair reading these words. How the fuck were you going to kill off six people tonight when killing even one was the worst thing imaginable just a few days ago? Emotionless. You have to stay calm.

You nod to yourself, standing from the chair and approaching the table holding the weapons. Unexpectedly, the power goes out entirely, causing the players around you to scream. Of course, another twist. It would be far too easy if everyone could see properly.

Using the light from your phone, you survey the options available. You didn't think you had it in you to stab someone to death so you chose a rifle. Grabbing the torch, now lit on the corner of the same desk, you begin trudging slowly toward where you knew the kitchen to be.

You were lucky Niragi had insisted on you spending so much time on activities in this building, being able to navigate would surely help your mission. What would he think of what you were being forced into? Would he be disappointed by having a murderer for a little sister?

You reach the kitchen in no time, placing the torch in the middle of the rounded metallic island. The object bathed the dark room in a warm light, glinting off of the shiny, sterile objects all around you. You settle the heavy rifle against your shoulder and lean up against the cool metal, waiting. You were starting to feel a little numb, knowing what would have to transpire in the next two hours.

The swinging wooden door is slowly pushed towards you, allowing your partners in crime to enter. You don't move an inch, but flick your gaze up to see who it was - your heart constricts when you see the older gentleman - the grandfather of the little girl - and the muscly looking guy. The one who was staring holes in your head in the lobby. Wonderful.

The younger man breathes a sigh of - relief? - upon seeing you standing there. This only serves to confuse you further, just who the hell was this guy? Maybe your emotionless act was better than you thought, and the man thought you'd be a good teammate? You lower your gaze back to the floor without a word.

[Game Start] The robotic voice chirps.

Here we go. In two hours, you could be out of here and on your way back to Chishiya. You can do this. Stay cold, stay numb. Do what you have to do.

"Okay, you two. We need to devise a plan," you hear your voice commanding, as though it was separate from the rest of you. "At least six people on the opposing team are going to have to die, AND we need to stop them from bringing the torch to their sanctuary."

Neither of the men move to answer you, so without looking up from the floor, you continue "I'm positive that the pool is their sanctuary. It's at the furthest point away from here. To make things more difficult, you know? A further distance to travel once you've gotten the target. We should split up. One person to guard the torch, and the other two to capture." Your voice sounds cold and calculated. You'd be impressed by you if you were hearing yourself.

The younger man hums in agreement, without saying much more. Not a big talker, you presume. The older gentleman agrees too, "I'm not as young as the two of you. I should stay with the torch," he suggests.

You grab your rifle and push back through the double doors of the kitchen, a silent agreement with his offer. Though your heart is racing, you know you need to stay in character. Fake it til you make it, right? The military like man is hot on your heels, ready to clear the game too.

Walking quickly through the halls, you are on red alert for the other team. It was imperative that you caught them in the hallway as soon as possible, or they could run the time down hiding in their safe zones. You can only see by the sparse emergency lights placed strategically along the floor and the small light from your phones, but you know the man is looking at you again. You look up to meet his eyes this time and sigh. He opens his mouth, and the most shocking thing that could have happened to you does. He says your name. Quietly at first, like a question. When you react, obviously stunned, he says it again. More sure this time.

You know in the back of your head that you should be cautious with this, but the man IS on your team for this game, whether you like it or not. "How did you . . .?" you whisper. He nods knowingly, "I've been looking for you. Turning the city upside down to find you." And now you're scared, but have to know. "But why? How did you know to be looking for me?"

"Your brother. He is willing to burn all of Tokyo down to find you, I swear he's getting closer to it every day, " he says lowly. Your ears perk up and if you weren't in the middle of a death match, you would soar with joy. "Niragi? You know him? He's safe?" You're a little disturbed that Niragi had made friends with anyone, let alone a guy like this, but you couldn't be happier to hear that he's ALIVE and has been looking for you too.

He nods once. "I've promised to get you to him, so we need to focus on clearing this game," his gruff voice sounds. You hum in agreement, looking at him expectantly. His eyebrows knit in confusion at the way you're looking at him. "You know my name, and we're about to kill a lot of people together. You could at least tell your name too," you say sharply.

"Aguni," he responds quietly. Definitely not much of a talker.

It's then that you hear a sound, one of the gatherers. The man glances at you once before taking off stealthily down the hallway toward it. You're surprised that he's able to move like that looking the way that he does. Suddenly the building is way too quiet, and it feels like you're being suffocated by the silence. You hear a short, masculine scream, a crack, and then nothing. You clasp your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming out yourself, finding the wall and leaning your weight on it for a moment.

[A gatherer has been captured, 8 gatherers remaining; 3 persecutors remaining] You know you need to keep moving. The gatherers can only be killed in the hallways, and there is still a lot of work to do to ensure your victory.

You meet Aguni at the intersection of two hallways, "You should go back to the torch," he whispers, momentarily confusing you. "I don't think the old man can handle it and our job will be harder if they get it," he whispers, turning you back around the way you'd just come. He wouldn't say it, but he was trying to spare you the pain of having to kill a lot of people, you knew that.

[Two gatherers have been captured, six gatherers remaining; three persecutors remaining]

You'd just walked away from Aguni, so you knew that must mean the older man was under attack. You begin sprinting, as quietly as you can, throwing the swinging door open just in time to watch the old man drop to the floor, dead, his granddaughter sobbing hysterically beside him. She was holding onto the torch like a lifeline, two of the men from the group of friends on either side of her, trying to pull her out the back entrance.

You freeze. She was a child and you couldn't just shoot her. Of course you couldn't. But you needed to try to at least capture the men that had used her as bait against her grandfather. A hearts game, indeed. As soon as the little girl was out of the way, you took aim, dropping both men to the ground in a single shot each. If you weren't right on the edge of throwing up, you'd almost be proud of your accuracy.

It's then that the robotic voice sounds out, surrounding you on all sides [The gatherers have captured the torch, four gatherers remaining; two persecutors remaining, one hour left]

You dash madly through the kitchen and towards the back entrance the little girl had gone through, slipping through the puddles of blood coating the floor. You were certain that the three remaining adults with her would be close by, and you had to try to take at least two more out AND prevent them from gathering. You were exhausted.

You creep along the empty and dark corridor towards the pool, careful to control your breathing. This side of the building is decidedly darker and creepier, and you have to steel your mind again to keep from panicking. You can hear feminine whispers coming from a nearby room, the nursery; it must have been two of the remaining girls from the former group of three. You wanted to feel bad for them, knowing they'd just lost one of their friends. You don't have the energy right now. You press your body up against the wall furthest from the classroom and slip silently past, wanting to measure just how much further the pool was. You walk a few steps around the curve before seeing the beginnings of blue glow from the pool reflecting on the floor and ceiling. It's then that you accidentally drop your phone out of your jacket pocket, making entirely too much noise for such a quiet environment. Fuck.

You hear the girls gasp and shush each other in turn, they know you're out here now. A standoff. You won't be lucky enough to catch them off guard while running towards the pool now. It will be a fight to the death then.

Time is ticking down, and the two twenty year olds are still sitting in the nursery. You pace back and forth, knowing your hands are tied. After a few minutes, you turn your back to the room to take a quick glance into the pool; the little girl was in there with the torch in the gathering spot, and one man is circling the perimeter. The man that had arrived with Aguni. You couldn't allow the two girls to get past you to the gathering spot. But you also couldn't let the girls die, and the man get to the gathering spot. Your victory was in a precarious position now.

Without warning, an unfamiliar weight hits you in the back, sending you and another person sprawling to the floor - one of the girls. Standoff over. You saw a brief flash in the blue light emanating from the pool, she had a knife. A large one. Using both legs, you forcefully kick her away from you and scramble to your feet. You'd almost forgotten about the second girl, until she yanks your gun wielding arm behind you, twisting so hard to get you to release the weapon you hear a sickening pop and cry out.

You're still holding on for dear life to your weapon, so the first girl comes flying toward you in tears, using all her might to slice her knife across your midsection. Whimpering out again and seeing white blind your vision, you know you won't be able to stop the girls from joining the rest of the team. You feel like you're falling in slow motion as the girls push you away from them and move to enter the pool.

Just then, two shots ring out and you just barely see their bodies crumple like used napkins to the floor. Aguni.

"They can still win, Aguni," you sputter out to the man, "all he has to do is make it to the center of the room with the little girl." As luck would have it, the man was too curious for his own good. He came storming out of the pool room, the door opening to allow the air thick with humidity and chlorine to blast you in the face. Aguni stood waiting for him with his gun raised, the man looking at him in shock. Right, they were friends or something. You're having a hard time keeping your eyes open to watch what's happening as the pool of blood beneath you grows. You aren't exactly a doctor yet, but you know that's not good.

[Two minutes left]

You can hear the two men throwing punches above you. Someone's gun goes flying across the room, ricocheting off of the glass wall that looks into the pool. You spend a solid minute trying to push yourself up to sitting, you need to help Aguni. Your stomach turns when you hear the sickening crack of the man hitting Aguni in the head and sending him unconscious to the floor. The man turns to limp slowly back into the pool. Fuck. They're going to win. You and Aguni will die.

[Thirty seconds left]

But your rifle is still laying on the floor next to your hand, and you don't want Aguni to die because you chose to give up. You still haven't confessed your love to Chishiya. You haven't seen your brother one last time. You wanted to live.

Your adrenaline allows you to pull yourself all the way up, charging into the pool room. The little girl must have left the safety zone to help guide the limping man to the middle of the room. A true miracle. You raise your rifle for what you hope is the last time, and pull the trigger without hesitation to drop the man to the ground.

You realize then that the little girl could win alone, being the last of the gatherers alive. She realizes too, and starts running back towards the torch. Your vision starts to blur with tears and the static that tends to accompany passing out as you watch her little legs get closer to the circle. You allow your body to collapse once more to the floor, there was no way you were going to kill that girl. It was time to accept your fate.

[Time is up, the gatherers failed to gather with their torch in the time allotted. Game clear for the persectors, congratulations] You felt hot tears start to cascade down your cheeks. You cried even harder as the red laser shot down from the sky, you knew what that meant without even looking. Thank goodness you couldn't look. Your breaths were beginning to feel shallower, you were losing too much blood. But Aguni would get to live, you hadn't let him down.

You don't know how long you lay there after being given the game clear. Your shoulder is 1000% dislocated and your bleeding hasn't stopped. You try to drag yourself towards where you knew Aguni had fallen in the hallway, you were the only two survivors. Assuming you didn't bleed out on the floor. The pain from your shoulder and from the jagged slice in your side cause your vision to blur once again as you work on dragging your exhausted body across the floor. You try in vain to call out, your voice coming out a gasp. You feel your head swim and your world go dark.

"You did good, little one," Aguni tells you, lifting you into his arms gently, "Time to get you back to your brother."

You can feel yourself slipping in and out of consciousness, but have just enough energy within you to weakly cough out, "Chishiya."

♤ ♡ ◇ ♧

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The Game Itself Masterlist

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munsonsmixtapes · 5 hours ago

Text

That's My Man

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) handjob, the interviewer makes some inappropriate comments about reader

This is a request made my the always lovely @the-witty-pen-name who also came up with the title!

Eddie puts on the pair of headphones that were pervaded for him as the “on air” sign glows the bright red, signaling that the show has started. He doesn’t even know why he even agreed to this interview. The guy’s an ass and Eddie just knows that he’s inevitably going to say something inappropriate.

He’s really only doing this because his team begged him to. Why, he doesn’t know since the majority of the band’s fanbase hates the kind of guy that Rick is. He’s everything in the book that Eddie can’t stand and now he’s gotta sit here for an hour for his segment. It can’t be too bad, can it?

“Eddie, welcome,” Rick greets and Eddie puts on a smile even though all he really wants is to kick Rick’s ass. He’s unfortunately caught clips of the show here and there and all he does is sexualize women and talk badly about people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“Hey, thanks,” Eddie replies, trying his best to not say something he really shouldn’t. He just sits there and waits for Rick to start the conversation.

“So you’ve got a new album out which is “From the Upside Down.” What was the process like for creating the record?” Eddie’s genuinely caught off guard by the question considering that Rick never seems to care about that kind of thing. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he initially thought.

“It was actually so different from what we’ve done for past albums. We actually did everything ourselves this time and that was really fun. We took some time off and wrote a bunch of songs and Gareth actually produced them so that was a really cool process to see.”

Eddie loves talking about his music. It’s like a parent talking about their child. He’s always so proud of himself and his bandmates for what they do and he doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. They worked so hard to get where they are now and he’s nothing but grateful that this is his job.

“That’s very interesting,” Rick nods and there’s just something about the look on his face that makes it obvious that he’s about to say some dumb shit. “So I know you’re seeing y/n l/n and can I just say, well done, man.” Yep, definitely some dumb shit.

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. Normally, Eddie would love to talk about you. It’s actually his favorite thing to do. But not like this, not in the way that Rick and a lot of other men like to. Where they just sexualize you and reduce you to an object. Eddie won’t stand for that for anyone, but especially not you.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m “seeing” her,” Eddie laughs nervously. You’ve been trying to keep your relationship under wraps for the past six months but it’s so hard to do when the two of you are under a microscope.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t categorize this as seeing her?” Rick asks as he pulls up a photo of you and Eddie kissing outside a bar. He didn’t even know that anyone had taken photos of that and now he feels gross.

“Well-” he tries to explain himself but Rick quickly cuts him off.

“Is she a good kisser? Better yet, is she good in bed?” All of this makes Eddie want to throw up and he can’t believe that men like Rick actually have the audacity to ask questions like that.

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” he answers politely even though he’s seconds away from a crash out.

“C’mon, you can tell me. It’s just us.” It’s actually not considering it’s a live radio show and even if it wasn’t, that’s something just between you and Eddie and no one else. Especially not pigs like Rick.

“No, I’m not sharing anything about our relationship. That’s the only thing we have that’s ours.”

“Is she flexible? I bet she’s flexible.” He shows Eddie a photo of you doing a split on stage and his lunch is about to come up. “Oh yeah, definitely-”

Rick doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Eddie snatches the tablet and slams it down on the table. He would never let any woman be talked about this way. Especially not his girlfriend.

The anger is festering and he’s having a real hard time trying to keep his cool. Fuck that. He’s not going to be so nice anymore, not wanting anymore disgusting things to be said about you. He can’t let anything else be said about you or he’s going to do something he regrets.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he points at Rick, glaring at the man and the man actually looks afraid of him. Good. “I know you tend to objectify women and that shit stood today. If I ever hear you talk about anyone else this way or in a derogatory manner, you’ll have me to answer to. Now keep my wife’s name out of your mouth or we’re going to have a problem.”

With that, out of the room. Nothing is worth sitting there and letting that man sexualize you. It makes him feel disgusting and now he feels like he needs a long shower. He’s wiping his jacket with his hands to try to literally get rid of that feeling, but he knows the only thing that will help is seeing you. He just needs someone to talk to about the whole thing.

He’s driving to the venue where you’re performing tonight before he can stop himself. He just wants to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loves you, hoping that you haven’t been listening to the radio even though he’s sure that you are because you always listen to his interviews.

Eddie’s so angry about the whole thing, still letting it eat at him even though he already took care of it. He just needs to calm down and he will as soon as he sees you. That always makes him feel better. Just thinking about you is doing the trick and when he pulls up to the venue, the weight on his shoulders is lifting.

You’re sitting in your dressing room, doing your makeup when he walks in, your face lighting up when you see him in the mirror. The anger on his face seems to melt away when he sees you, his smile matching yours as he makes a beeline for you. He saw you just this morning but the time you’ve spent away was far too long.

You get up from your chair and he’s quick to pull you into a hug, a tight one as he buries his face into your neck. This is all he’s wanted all day, especially since he stormed out of the interview. You always seem to calm the screaming that’s constantly going on in his head. Your hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kisses your neck, moving your hair away from it as he does so.

You pull away far too soon for his liking before pulling him in for a kiss. He’s needy and desperate and he just wants to show you how much he loves you. Your hands are in his hair as you lick into his mouth, moaning loudly which is only making him harder. He needs your cunt so bad and is so close to taking you right there until you begin to grind against him.

“I heard what you said on the radio,” you tell him as you kiss down his neck, unbuttoning his jeans. “Defending me like that, it was so…hot,” you whisper the last part into his ear before biting down on the lobe before kissing his neck again, giving it a rough suck, making him squirm.

You’re backing him up against the vanity, pinning him there as you continue to suck, his hands falling from you to grip the table behind him, white knuckling it as he lets out a whine, his cock hardening even more to the point where you can now fully feel him against you.

“Now I feel like I owe you.” He defended you and you know it’s because you’re his wife, but you know that he would do that for anyone and that’s how you know you got one of the good ones.

“You-you don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he breathes. He really wants whatever you’re willing to give but only if you really want to not because you think he deserves in return for defending you.

“How about I suck you off, is that payment enough?” His eyes widen at both your question and the way you’re biting down on him.

“Please,” he whines, needing to get some sort of relief. You give his neck one more kiss before pulling down his jeans, his underwear following as you get down onto your knees. You’re looking up at him with lustful eyes and he watches you, wondering what you’re going to do next.

You start by spitting into your hand then grab hold of the base, slow strokes to warm him up but they progressively get more intense. He’s already leaking with precum, letting out stuttered breaths as he watches, white knuckling as a moan escapes his lips.

You keep up the pace, moving as fast as you can as Eddie lets out moan after moan. He’s coming undone already so you know he won’t last long. And you only have a few more minutes before you have to be on stage, so you’ve gotta make it worthwhile. You’ve really gotta make this count.

You bring your tongue to the slit, licking up the cum that’s already come out, not wanting to waste a drop then bring your lips to the base, kissing it which catches Eddie off guard. You’re now peppering it with kisses and he somehow gets even more hard as he watches you leave lipstick prints behind. It’s hot. You’re hot and he thinks this is where he likes you most, on your knees.

You then bring your mouth back to the slit, licking it again before bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly as Eddie’s hands wind into your hair, letting out yet another whine as you bring him in deeper, sucking harder as your tongue swirls around the head. You’re taking him inch by inch and he’s so close, on the edge of an orgasm as you finally get the last bit of him inside.

Cum leaks into your mouth as he screams your name, your eyes watering as the head hits the back of your throat, gagging as you suck him off for just a bit longer. Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, making sure to swallow as he helps you to your feet.

Eddie pats your tears dry with a tissue so as to not smudge your makeup before you press a lingering kiss to his lips. You clean him up before pulling up his pants and touching up your lipstick.

“How’s that for repaying you?” You ask and he smiles, still dizzy from receiving the best head of his life as he follows you to the side of the stage, wondering how he can get you to do that again once your show is over. He’s sure that you won’t need much convincing.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut

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the-winter-spider · 2 days ago

Text

Yours, Always | Part Eight

Steve x reader, Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Angst, fluff, little bit of this little bit of that

A/N: Only like 2 more parts of Bucky in the hospital, I just want him home so we can get to the good stuff 😅🤪

Masterpost

---

The door clicks shut, the sound hanging in the silence like an aftershock.

Bucky stares at it for a long moment, like maybe if he looks hard enough, it’ll open again. Like maybe you’ll come back, but you don’t.

His chest feels hollow, his hand still tingling from where yours had been just minutes ago. He swallows hard, then drags his free hand over his face, his fingers trembling against his skin.

Winnie watches him, her gentle, knowing eyes never leaving his face.

She saw it the moment you walked out of the room the way something inside her son cracked. Bucky lets out a slow, shaky breath and in a voice that’s so small, so quiet, he asks “Who’s Steve?”

Winnie’s brows pull together slightly, her lips parting. “What did she tell you?” she asks softly.

“Not much,” Bucky murmurs, his voice tired, strained. He leans back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling as his jaw clenches, unclenches.

On an exhale, barely above a whisper “Not much about anything.” His throat bobs, his brows knitting together as his lip quivers, just barely. “Her life isn’t anything like I hoped for,” he admits, the words stinging his tongue like acid.

Winnie’s expression softens, something deep and heartbroken settling in her gaze. “Oh, James,” she whispers, shaking her head. “What did you expect?”

Bucky says nothing. Because he truly doesn't know what he expected but it didn't feel like this.

His jaw tightens, his eyes still glued to the ceiling like if he blinks, if he moves, the pain will swallow him whole.

Winnie lets out a breath, sitting down beside his bed, her hand covering his forearm, grounding him.

“That girl loves you so much,” she says softly. “Her whole world stopped when you were gone.”

Bucky flinches, because he knows he heard it in your voice. Felt it in the way you held him like he might disappear again. Saw it in the way you couldn’t even look at him when you talked about your life.

“She said there was a funeral for me...” he murmurs, his voice barely holding together. Winnie closes her eyes for a moment, as if she can still see it the way you stood at that funeral, hands curled into fists, face vacant, lost, broken beyond words.

“She never really believed it,” Winnie admits. “Not completely. Even when we had to bury an empty casket. Even when they handed me that folded flag. A part of her always thought maybe just maybe you’d find your way home.”

Bucky presses the heel of his hand against his eyes, inhaling sharply. “Who’s Steve?” he asks again, his voice raw this time.

Winnie sighs, her heart aching for him, for you, for all the years that were stolen. “Her husband.”

The air leaves Bucky’s lungs all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink, then, he exhales through his nose, sharply, his hand dragging down his face.

“Right.” His voice is flat, unreadable, but Winnie can see it the devastation in his eyes, the way his fingers twitch like he’s trying not to clench his fists.

“He’s a good man,” she continues softly. “He loves her and Y/N, she loves him and Lily too. Maybe not the way she loved…loves you but its there.”

Bucky’s brows pull together slightly. “Lily?”

Winnie hesitates for half a second, gently. “Her daughter.”

Bucky closes his eyes.

And for the first time since he’s been back, since he’s been rescued, since he’s been breathing, since he’s been staring at the ceiling in this goddamn hospital bed, he wishes he hadn’t made it home at all.

Bucky’s entire body goes still. Not just still, paralyzed. His fingers twitch, then curl into the thin hospital blanket, his grip tight like it’s the only thing tethering him to this moment.

“She has a daughter?” The words barely make it out. His voice is hoarse, strangled, like they were ripped from somewhere deep in his chest.

Winnie watches him carefully, her lips pressing together before she gives the softest nod. “Not in the way you think, sweetheart.”

Bucky’s throat bobs, his breath uneven.

Winnie’s voice is quiet, steady, filled with something he can’t quite name. “She’s her daughter legally, on paper and in her heart. But she didn’t birth her, that’s all I’m saying. The rest… she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”

Bucky just stares at her, the words should mean something but they don’t sink in.

Not yet, all he can hear…all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the one expanding, consuming, suffocating.

“A daughter,” he repeats, like if he says it enough times, maybe it’ll start making sense.

But it doesn’t.

Because how the fuck is he supposed to make sense of any of this?

Of years stolen, of an empty casket, of a love that never got to be anything more, of a life that kept going without him?

His heart is hammering, his breath is short and vision blurs.

He presses his fingers against his eyes, hard, inhaling sharply, forcing the lump in his throat to stay down, forcing his grief into the cracks of his ribs where no one can see it.

“James.” Winnie’s voice is gentle, but firm.

Like she already knows exactly what’s going through his head, like she knows that in the seconds since she spoke those words, he’s already convinced himself that he should have never come back at all.

“Look at me, baby.”

He doesn’t want to. He knows if he does, he’ll break. Slowly, reluctantly, his eyes meet hers.

They’re the same eyes that used to look at him across the dinner table when he was sixteen.

The same eyes that welcomed you into their family like you were always meant to be there because you were.

The same eyes that had to bury an empty casket and pretend it was enough.

“What did you expect?” Winnie says softly. Her voice isn’t harsh, isn’t cruel but it still feels like a knife between his ribs.

Because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know what he expected.

That you’d be waiting? That time would have frozen in his absence, just like he did? That you’d still be his, in some way, any way, even after all this time?

“I…” His voice cracks.

He looks away, shaking his head, running a hand down his face again like it might wake him up from this nightmare.

Winnie sighs, squeezing his arm. “That girl loves you so much, James,” she says. “Her whole world stopped when you were gone.”

Bucky flinches.

“And when she had to start it again, she did the best she could.”

Bucky swallows, staring at the ceiling, blinking rapidly. A broken sound leaves Bucky’s throat.

A breath, a sob, a fucking plea for something he doesn’t even know how to name. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “She deserved better.”

“She deserved you.”

His breath stutters and his jaw clenches.

“James,” Winnie murmurs, rubbing slow circles on his arm. “She made a life for herself. She did what she had to do to keep moving forward but don’t think for a second that it didn’t cost her everything. She lost you, baby. She lost herself right along with you.”

He felt it the second he saw you. The way you looked at him like you’d seen a ghost, the way your hands shook when you held him.

The way your voice cracked when you spoke his name, the way you couldn’t even look him in the eye when you talked about your life, because somewhere deep down, you knew it was never supposed to be like this. None of it was.

Bucky swallows then clears his throat. He tells himself not to ask but he does anyway. “Do you think she’s happy?”

Winnie watches him for a long time.

So long that his stomach twists, turns, knots itself into something unrecognizable. She sighs. “I think she tries to be.”

Bucky nods once. Slowly and quieter than ever. “Does she love him?”

Winnie pauses.

She doesn’t answer right away, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “She loves him the best she can,” she finally says. “And he loves her and she loves that little girl with everything in her.”

Bucky stares at the ceiling, silent and suffocating.

“But,” Winnie continues gently, her voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear it “Not the way she loved you.”

His chest caves in. It doesn’t feel like victory, it doesn’t feel like hope. It feels like a slow, agonizing death, like mourning something that’s still standing right in front of you, like grieving a love that was never given the chance to grow.

“Get some rest, baby,” Winnie whispers, brushing his hair back like she did when he was a kid. “Goodnight my sweet boy.”

He nods absently. “Goodnight Ma.”

---

The night air was cool, wrapping around you like a soft whisper. The sky stretched endlessly above, a dark canvas splattered with stars, the moon casting a soft glow over the riverbank.

You and Bucky lay side by side on an old plaid blanket, the fabric rough against your skin, the scent of pine and damp earth grounding you.

This had been your thing for as long as you could remember. Escaping the noise, the weight of the world, and just… being.

Bucky sighed beside you, his hands resting behind his head, eyes locked on the constellations above.

“Do you ever think about love?” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the stillness.

You turned your head slightly, studying his profile. His features were relaxed, but there was something behind his voice, something careful, hesitant.

“Yeah,” you admitted, turning your gaze back to the stars. “I think about it.”

“What do you think about it?”

You breathed in deeply, the scent of cedar and the lingering smoke from your small fire filling your lungs.

“I don’t know,” you said, voice softer now. “I think it’s rare, especially true love…I think when it’s real, it’s the most powerful thing in the world but I also think it’s messy and complicated.”

Bucky hummed beside you. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. “Have you ever been in love?”

You froze.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of the blanket, your heart hammering against your ribs. You kept your eyes fixed on the sky, but suddenly, the stars didn’t seem so captivating anymore because how do you tell your best friend, your only friend that you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him and you have been since you were eight? You don’t.

You could feel Bucky watching you. “Y/N?”

You wet your lips, swallowing hard. “I…”

And blessedly, cruelly he kept talking. “I am.”

Your breath hitched.

Your stomach twisted, a dull ache spreading through your chest. You forced yourself to breathe, to keep your face neutral, to not let it show.

“Oh?” You managed, your voice painfully even.

He let out a breath, something like a laugh, but it was softer, like he wasn’t sure if it was funny or not. “Yeah. I have been for a while, I thought it would go away if i ignored it but it's not, it's just....stronger."

Your throat tightened as you swallowed the lump caught in your throat.

You thought of Stacy. She was pretty, she was sweet, kind, popular pretty much everything you weren’t and would never be.

She had been hanging off his arm for weeks now, giggling at his jokes, showing up at his locker, touching his shoulder whenever she spoke to him.

You had told yourself it didn’t bother you. That it didn’t matter and you didn’t care.

You inhaled sharply, forcing a small smile. “She’s lucky, then.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, his brows pulling together slightly. “Huh?”

“Whoever she is.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “She’s lucky to have you.”

Bucky didn’t say anything for a moment.

Until quietly, carefully he did. “Do you think anybody could ever love me?”

Your chest ached.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dark. He looked so vulnerable, so open, like he didn’t even realize it.

“Bucky,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Any girl would be stupid not to love you.”

Something flickered in his expression. Something unreadable.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He looked at you for a long time, too long and he turned back to the stars. “What about unrequited love?”

Your stomach dropped.

“What about it?” you whispered.

“Do you think it’s worse than never loving at all?”

You licked your lips, feeling like you were unraveling.

“Maybe,” you said carefully. “I think it depends.”

“On what?”

You hesitated, your fingers digging into the blanket. “On whether or not the person you love ever really sees you.”

Bucky let out a shaky breath.

“Yeah.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I think you’re right.”

The air between you was too heavy now, too thick, filled with words neither of you had the courage to say.

Bucky sat up abruptly, stretching his arms above his head. “C’mon,” he said, his voice suddenly lighter, different. “It’s getting late.”

Just like that, the conversation was over, it was buried.

You let out a breath, blinking up at the sky one last time. The stars were still there but they didn’t look the same anymore.

---

You don’t remember walking through the hospital.

You don’t remember saying goodbye to Winnie, don’t remember the quiet hum of nurses and the faint beeping of machines as you moved through the halls.

It’s all a blur, a haze, a dream that refuses to make sense.

All you know is that one moment, you were in his hospital room, holding onto him like you’d lose him all over again, and the next you’re outside. The cool night air wraps around you, but you barely feel it. Your legs move forward, autopilot taking over, and then you see blonde hair.

Steve, he’s there, he’s always been there, leaning against the rental car, arms crossed, waiting. His eyes land on you immediately, and whatever tension he had melts away when he sees you.

He pushes off the car, his expression softening. Before you even realize what you’re doing, you walk right up to him, straight into his chest. His arms are instantly around you, wrapping you up, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath comes ragged, uneven, as you grip onto the front of his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright and barely above a whisper. “It’s him.”

Steve’s hold tightens.

“It’s really him, Steve. This is real.”

His lips press against your hair, lingering there, warm, reassuring. “It’s real, baby.” His voice is gentle, steady, the kind of calm you desperately need.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing against your cheek, and for the first time since you walked out of Bucky’s room, you exhale.

Steve presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then moves to open the car door for you. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

You nod numbly, stepping into the car, your fingers curling into your lap as Steve shuts the door behind you.

A moment later, he’s in the driver’s seat, keys in the ignition, but he doesn’t start the car right away. He just watches you. You stare straight ahead, completely still, completely silent.

The hospital entrance glows behind the windshield, the weight of it all sinking in, pressing into your ribs, your throat, your lungs.

“Sweetheart.” Steve’s voice pulls you back, but barely.

You blink, finally turning your head to look at him, and the moment your eyes meet his, the dam breaks.

Tears well up, spilling over, and a sob tears through you before you can stop it.

Steve doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for you, his palm cradling your cheek, his thumb swiping away the tears just as fast as they fall.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I don’t…”Your breath stumbles. “I don’t know how to feel, I feel, its so much Steve, I...”

Steve exhales slowly, his free hand finding yours, gripping it tight. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight, okay?” he says, his voice calm, certain. “You’re allowed to just… feel it. Process it.”

You nod shakily.

“I was so scared,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I thought…” Your voice breaks. “I thought if I ever saw him again, it wouldn’t be him. That it would be some version of him I wouldn’t recognize.”

Steve nods.

“But it’s him.” You suck in a sharp breath. “It’s Bucky. It’s really him.”

Steve doesn’t speak for a second, softer than ever. “I know.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate, because you don’t know what to say. You don’t know where to start, where to end but you do know one thing. “I don’t want to go back to the hotel yet.”

Steve studies you for a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

He pulls away, his hand leaving yours just long enough to put the car in drive and as he pulls out of the parking lot, the city lights stretching out ahead of you, you close your eyes.

The city lights flicker past the windows in soft blurs of gold and white as Steve drives, the hum of the engine filling the silence between you.

Your mind is somewhere else.

Somewhere back in that hospital room, somewhere between the past and the present, trying to find a place where they can coexist without breaking you.

Steve’s voice pulls you back. “Lily says she misses you.”

You blink, turning to him. “You talked to her today?”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I did, she kept asking to see you.”

Something in you softens. “Do you think she’s still awake?”

Steve glances at the clock on the dashboard before huffing a quiet laugh. “Of course, it’s Saturday. She’s probably still watching movies with my mom.”

You hesitate for half a second before reaching for your phone, your fingers trembling just slightly as you hit FaceTime.

It rings once.

Twice.

“Mommy!”

Lily’s beaming face fills the screen, her strawberry blonde curls a wild mess, her little pink pajamas slightly wrinkled. The sight of her is an instant balm to the chaos in your chest.

“Hey, baby.” You smile, your grip on the phone tightening like somehow it’ll bring her closer.

“I miss you,” she pouts, eyes wide, sweet, so full of love.

“I miss you too.”

“Are you coming home tomorrow?”

Your breath catches, because home, your true home is wherever he is, wherever Bucky is and now you have her too and suddenly you don’t even know what that means anymore. “Soon, angel,” you say softly. “I’ll be home soon.”

She tilts her head, studying you the way only a child can. Then, her brows pull together. “Why do you look sad? Why are you crying?”

You exhale slowly, forcing a small smile. “They’re happy tears, Lil. I’m happy.”

She frowns, unconvinced. “Good, you always look sad.”

Your heart clenches.

A sharp, aching twist in your chest. You swallow hard, nodding quickly. “You make me happy.”

She watches you for another second before nodding, her expression softening into something so small, so knowing. “I’m happy that you’re finally happy.”

You feel it like a punch to the gut.

Because when had she noticed? When had she learned to read the sadness on your face like it was written in ink?

Your throat tightens, but you keep your smile steady. “I love you, Lily.”

“I love you more!” she grins.

“Not possible.”

She giggles, covering her face with her hands before peeking out between her fingers. “Good night, Mommy. Good night, Daddy!”

“Good night, baby girl,” Steve says, smiling.

The call ends.

The car is quiet again, but it’s a different kind of quiet now.

You stare down at your phone, your mind circling back to her words, over and over again.

“You always look sad.”

Steve must see the shift in your face because he reaches across the console, taking your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Softer than ever. “Things are gonna change, aren’t they?”

“I'm not sure how much more change I can take.” Your voice, quiet, broken.

---

The air was still warm from the afternoon sun, golden light spilling in through the open kitchen window as the sound of Lily’s laughter echoed from the backyard. She and Sarah were out in the garden, something about finding the “biggest, most beautiful flower ever” to bring inside.

You were standing by the counter, drying dishes while Steve put them away, the two of you working in perfect sync, like you had been doing this forever, in a way, you had.

Steve leaned back against the counter, watching you, his eyes filled with something soft, something warm. “So, I was thinking…”

“That's never good.” You smiled, glancing over at him, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “About?”

“Ha ha, funny.” He breathed out, then he hesitated for a second, running his fingers over the edge of the counter, almost nervous. “About Lily.”

Your stomach did that little flip it always did when he talked about his daughter. “What about her?”

He inhaled deeply, steady, certain. “I want you to adopt her.”

You froze, the dish towel slipped from your hands. “You….what?”

Steve pushed off the counter, stepping closer, close enough that you could feel his warmth, the steady presence that had held you together for so long. “I want you to be her mom, officially. If…if you want to.”

Your chest tightened, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Steve…” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“I mean, you already are,” he continued, rushing now, like he wanted to say everything before you could stop him. “She calls you Mom. You tuck her in at night. You make her lunches and hold her when she cries and tell her stories about mermaids and astronauts and whatever else she’s obsessed with that week.”

His voice is quieter now. “You love her, she loves you..” he swallowed “And if anything happened to me, you’re the only one I’d trust to take care of her.”

Your eyes burned. You did. You loved her so much it terrified you sometimes. “I just…” You wet your lips, blinking fast. “I just don’t know if I have the right…”

Steve’s hands found your arms, gentle but firm, grounding you. “You have every right, Y/N. If you want it.”

You exhaled sharply. “But Natasha…”

“What about her?” His voice was soft, sure.

“She’s her mother, she always will be.”

Steve nodded. “She will and you know what? She would’ve loved you.” His lips curled slightly. “She would’ve been happy knowing Lily had someone like you in her life. That she had you to love her.”

Your breath caught, your throat tightening as you blinked up at him. “You really think that?”

He smiled, warm and certain. “I know it.”

You stared at him, at the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, at the quiet confidence in his voice, like there was no doubt in his mind.

Suddenly, there wasn’t any in yours either. You let out a shaky breath, nodding once, then again, stronger this time. “Okay.”

Steve’s brows lifted slightly, his breath catching. “Yeah?”

A small laugh slipped from you, wet and disbelieving. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

Before you could say anything else, Steve had you in his arms.

His grip was tight, almost desperate, like he wanted to hold on forever. You felt his breath against your hair, his heartbeat steady against yours.

“I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too.”

When Lily ran inside a moment later, dirt-streaked and breathless, holding up a flower that was much too big for her little hands, Steve knelt beside her, his eyes shining.

“Hey, baby girl. How do you feel about making it official?”

“You asked her daddy?! She said yes?!” She squealed and threw her arms around you, burying her face in your neck. You knew you’d never be able to live without her being your daughter ever again.

---

The morning air is cool, crisp, the sky a dull gray, mirroring the weight in your chest. Steve pulls the rental car to a stop outside the hospital entrance, shifting into park but not moving to unbuckle just yet.

You exhale, smoothing your hands over your jeans, the fabric cool beneath your palms. Neither of you rush to speak because this is it.

Not forever, not yet, at least but for now. You decided your stay till Bucky heads home, Steve’s heading today.

You finally turn to him, your lips parting slightly, but he’s already looking at you and you see something in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize.

You don’t know what it is but he does. He’s been coming to grips with it for the last few days, and now, sitting here with you, he feels it down to his bones.

He knows how this ends, how you two end because if it were Natasha, if she had somehow come back to him after all these years, after all the mourning, after all the grief he knows exactly what he would do and he knows exactly what you’re going to do. He doesn’t know when it will happen, or if it’ll even be you to do it. He hasn’t decided yet, but for right now he’s going to keep you as long as you’ll let him.

“I don’t have a flight booked yet,” you murmur, forcing a small smile. “But Bucky said he should be getting released soon, so I should be home in a couple of days.”

Steve nods, you don’t notice the flicker of something behind his gaze. The way he’s memorizing this moment, committing it to memory because he knows, this is the last time you’ll say it like that, the last time you’ll consider him…home.

“Take as long as you need,” he says instead, his voice gentle, steady, warm. “Lily and I will be waiting when you’re ready to come home.”

You nod, reaching for his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you,” you whisper.

You wanna say more, say thank you for everything, for understanding, for never holding you back, for never demanding more than what you could give.

He swallows, then lifts his hand to your face, brushing his thumb along your cheek and he looks at you like he’s already mourning you. Like he’s saying goodbye without saying it, like he’s letting you go, even before you’ve made the decision to leave.

But you don’t see it because you still think that maybe, somehow, you can hold both pieces of your life together.

That somehow, this doesn’t have to be a choice, but Steve knows better.

So, he just smiles. “I love you.” He says it like It’s not a question, not a plea, just a fact…one that will always be true, even after this.

You smile back “I love you too.”

Steve nods once, then pulls away, his hand leaving your cheek, his warmth fading as he reaches for the gear shift.

You step out of the car, the door closing softly behind you and as he pulls away, you watch him go, lingering in front of the hospital doors longer than you should.

You step through the hospital doors, the cool air inside a stark contrast to the warmth of the morning sun outside.

You move down the hallway, rounding the corner just as Winnie is walking out of Bucky’s room.

She spots you immediately, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Just in time,” she says, giving your cheek a quick kiss as she passes. “I was just heading to grab some breakfast. I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You nod, offering a small, tight smile. “See you later, Winnie.”

She squeezes your arm before continuing down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

You take a breath, then another and it still somehow doesn’t feel like enough but you knock lightly on the door before pushing it open.

Bucky is sitting by the window, his good arm resting on the windowsill, staring outside. “Ma, I told you, I’m not hungry.”

You smirk, leaning against the doorway. “Jeez, Buck, it’s only been ten years. Didn’t think I aged that much.”

His body stiffens and faster than you can even register he spins around, eyes wide, disbelieving. “You’re back.”

He’s on you again, his sling is gone now, his left arm still wrapped at the shoulder, but it doesn’t stop him from wrapping both arms around you and you feel it.

His hands, both of them pressing against your back, pulling you flush against him.

You swallow hard, your fingers clutching the back of his shirt. “Of course I’m back,” you murmured into his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. His arms just tighten, holding onto you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I don’t know,” he finally whispers.

You don’t say anything to that, you just let yourself sink into the feeling of him, a feeling that will never be enough, not after all this time apart.

After a moment, the two of you sit down by the window, you pulling another chair beside his. The view outside is nothing special, just the distant skyline, the tops of trees swaying in the breeze, the occasional car moving down the street.

But Bucky stares at it like it’s everything. “One of the things that kept me going,” he says after a moment, voice quiet, distant, “was looking up at the sky.”

You turn to him, watching the way the morning light touches his face.

“No matter where I was, no matter how far away it felt, I kept thinking…” he pauses, swallowing, ”that you were under the same sky. That we weren’t really that far apart after all.”

You squeeze your hands together in your lap, swallowing back the lump in your throat.

You don’t say anything, you don’t think you can.

Bucky turns to you. “Tell me about Steve.”

You freeze, your stomach tightens.

“You mentioned him a couple of times yesterday,” Bucky continues, watching you closely. “And I heard Ma say he was waiting outside for you.”

You nod slowly, your fingers fidgeting with your left hand, the one that should have your ring on it. “He’s my husband.”

Bucky goes still, he knows of course he knows, his Mom already told him but it feels different hearing you say it. It was something he thought maybe, just maybe if he played his cards right you would call him some day but he doesn’t say anything.

You keep going. “He’s… amazing, really. He anchored me, I don’t know where I’d be if he hadn’t…” You shake your head, trying to find the right words.

“Where did you meet?” Bucky asks, his voice calm, steady, unreadable.

“A grief support group.” His brows furrow slightly.

You exhale, looking down at your lap. “He was the first person who really tried with me after I lost you. He didn’t have anybody for the first little bit, either. It was just… us.”

Bucky nods slowly.

He’s trying to picture it. Trying to imagine you, his girl, showing up to a grief support group because of him. Because he left, because he felt like he had something to prove because he felt he would have it all figured out if he just did a couple of tours. Because you thought he was dead, he should have been.

“Steve lost his fiancée,” you continue. “Natasha, she died giving birth to their daughter, Lily.”

Bucky’s head tilts slightly. “Lily?”

You smile softly. “She brought out a kind of joy in me that I hadn’t felt since you.”

Bucky’s chest tightens.

“After a couple of years together, we eloped.”

Bucky stares at you. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nod, your smile turning a little sad, distant. “Nothing crazy. Nothing big.”

“But you always wanted some big wedding,” he says, almost like he’s confused.

You meet his eyes then and you see the realization settle over him before you even say it. “That was before I lost you.”

Bucky’s mouth opens, then closes and nothing comes out.

Because what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

What is there to say?

You clear your throat, breaking the silence. “After we got married, I legally adopted Lily.”

His brows pull together again.

“She knows about Natasha,” you assure him. “We keep pictures of her all over the house. She knows who her mom is.”

Bucky nods slowly. “You have a family,” he says after a moment.

You nod. “I have a family.”

Bucky inhales deeply, running his hands over his thighs before exhaling slowly.

“Are you happy?”

And without hesitation, it slips out before you have the chance to even think it through. “No.”

Bucky flinches, like the answer actually hurts him. Hewas expecting you to say yes, to tell him that you were fine, that you had moved on, that you had found happiness again.

But you didn’t and he doesn’t know what to do with that. “No?” he echoes, his voice almost uncertain, like maybe he heard you wrong.

You just stare at him. “No.” You take a deep shaky breath looking back at the buildings surrounding the hospital watching the car drive by, you can feel Bucky staring at you waiting “I tried to be, I really did. I have moments where I feel joy but they always get dimmed. I just, my life isn’t what I dreamed it would be, I think that's why.” You pause and in a low voice “I thought about it y'know.”

“Thought about what?” Bucky's voice is soft, gravely, his eyes never left you.

You finally turned to him making eye contact “Ending it all, I almost did it once but I just thought what if you were still out there.”

“Y/N…”

“I know it's heavy and you have enough going on I just, I’m so happy you're here.”

He reached out taking your hand in his squeezing “If you ever, ever think like that again please, I beg you please talk to me.”

You nod, deciding to change the subject your eyes go to his shoulder, the one wrapped up. “What happened Buck? Your Mom says you wont talk.”

Bucky inhales sharply, his fingers twitching where they grip yours, he doesn’t say anything not right away he just stares down at your intertwined hands like maybe if he focuses hard enough, the past ten years will disappear.

Maybe you’ll be kids again, sitting in the back of his truck, dreaming about the future that never came.

He sighs. “Because there’s nothing to say.”

You narrow your eyes. “That’s bullshit.”

He smiles slightly at that, the you from before never letting him off the hook that easily.

He watches your eyes drift to his shoulder, wrapped in thick gauze, the skin underneath bruised, raw, healing. “What happened?”

His gaze flickers away for a second and he exhales hard through his nose, his free hand dragging over his face, quietly, reluctantly. “They almost took it.”

Your stomach twists violently. “Took what?”

His lips press into a thin line before he finally looks at you. “My arm.”

A chill crawls down your spine. “Bucky…”

“It happened right before they found us,” he continues, voice flat, almost detached. “We didn’t know help was coming. We thought that was it. We thought we were gonna die in that fucking basement.”

You stiffen, your fingers tightening around his.

“They must have figured out a rescue was close,” Bucky goes on, staring at some invisible spot on the wall. “Because they started executing us. One by one, taking us out before anyone could get to us.”

You stop breathing.

“It was my turn, they went to drag me out,” he says, his voice eerily even.

He huffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Carlos tried to stop them. I told him not to, told him it was too late.”

His throat bobs. “He didn’t listen.”

You can barely keep yourself together.

“Carlos tackled one of them before they could pull the trigger and in the chaos, I got loose… but one of them had a machete.”

Your stomach drops.

“He just started swinging the thing, tried to take my whole arm off. Got through most of my shoulder before the blast happened.”

Your lips part, but no words come out.

“I thought I was dead,” he admits, voice rough, raw. “I thought…I felt myself slipping and then the whole place shook. I woke up in a helicopter with a medic shoving a needle in my neck.”

Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to stifle the sob that’s rising in your throat. “Bucky.”

He finally looks at you. “They saved it,” he says, glancing at his shoulder, at the thick gauze covering the mangled skin beneath. “It’ll never be the same, and it hurts a lot, the nerve damage is irreversible.”

You shake your head, tears burning in your eyes. “But you’re here,” you whisper.

His expression softens, he nods. “I'm here.”

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charmed-asylum · 20 hours ago

Text

I want to start with saying this among so many things I’m gonna say though out honey idk about u but damn u are talented like way you wrote this and wrote it so realistic so authentic so well amazing. Lee not perfect plastic version of himself or foam at the mouth monster but a more if this was everyday thing I see this and the reader too. He didn't mind. Everyone talked about him too. Granted, he was a bit shady sometimes, with his secret businesses here and there, but it was something he had in common with you. Both of you fell outside of what was appropriate.

As I said we start right off the back on an odd way to start him out ( which he probably done so often ) eating lunch on watch or should I say watching her. ( which u so wonderfully done brought it back and put a bow on it ) He noticed that about you. How your body moved almost fluently away from others. You didn't like to be touched. I mean it in my mind feels or looks what a ballerina would look like . All in her own little world .

We know from his little thoughts to himself that he been watching her for a long time . How long is she like 5 years younger or so and he grew up with her or longer. Fascinated !! lol like from what goes around to watching to even speaking to your parents and they didn’t see the signs probably how reader been missing it but let’s be realistic sometimes it’s like that which is probably like many others I too find myself drawn and maybe 🤔 rooting for the two .

Isn’t funny how it’s the ones that don’t do or act the same like the general does that look away . Little things and poof they draw it up to a big thing “ Too different, too quiet, or too loud. You didn't say the right things, you didn't like the right things. You were too honest. “ I like how you add it more of a separation then the others. Because it makes it feel idk show more realistic not just oh she different because she has brown hair and blue eyes not blonde hair and blue eyes or what not which I mean if that’s your reader good but way u write it feels more like you ( as in the reader reading it) . Then we got him talking about his little fantasies hehe man OO man this man something else

It’s so sad but true how many of us can relate again to this reader, “ It was the time that you could disappear in a story and live a life you were never going to get. Experiencing all the emotions and adventures safely from your own home. Romance, and travels, fighting dragons or being a ruling Queen. In real life you liked things simple, but in your head you were free to do whatever you wanted. In your head people liked you. You belonged.” And again this is a prime example of why like me why this story means so much . I mean what do we do all time from a sport to video games to online videos or simulation games we all do something to escape. It’s funny because she this adorable girl and she so innocent huh something I’m sure Lee Lee drool a water fall if he knew knew maybe guess but not knew. And she reading smut fantasy fairy tales lord if only Lee can read your mind u be wrap his chubby fingers.

In all the places I assume Lee be somewhere else but to pick her at a library lord he bold. Hehe just imagining him in his uniform between those book shelfs . But dang a lang snap me out a brown paper bag and glass cup of ice and water bc I never thought I saw this but man o man was this such a scene.

“They said he liked the booze and he loved the ladies who gave it away for free. He had always been pleasant if you ever saw him, devoted to his work, but gossip still followed him” now silly but it’s a question he was always been pleasant do you mean like she always seen him but in hindsight or in general because this kinda goes with beginning when he lays the ground work on his history with reader. So she been aware of him but still doesn’t realize it. Man o man I can’t say a thing bc I tend to act the same way.

Remember how I said I see now and agree w Lee well haha that went to 💯 percent higher after watching they laugh at her about chairs CHAIRS really shit we all need a little bit of comfort Im sure no one laugh at Goldie locks so why her I swear ooooo I will attack w my small hands and sharp nails rawwww and kick them til they are nothing bit soup 🍜. Like really really well this is the world we sadly live in . “ So you had talked to your boss if he could make an exception, if you could keep yours, and store the new one. But of course he hadn’t wanted to. And you admittedly got a little upset. Word got out, or maybe they heard you. You had cried on the toilet, but tried very hard to gather yourself and continue like nothing was wrong. It didn’t matter. They knew. And they thought you were crazy.”

Then we hear what she feels about her parents. “Your parents were disappointed, no doubt, but they always assured you they loved you, and that it would be nice in their old day to spend it with the three of you. You wondered if they had a different child than you, if they had wanted to get another. Someone easier to handle.” I mean shit this poor girl can’t win. LEE SAVE HER OR USE I NEED AN ALIBI FOR WHOOPING THIER ASS. and in walks Lee once again coming to save the day. Again once again it’s like having to take it from page one. Hehehe like he doing it all and she so use to not being treated or ask her opinion she doesn’t know how to deal with it. Small convocations complements etc etc all I wanted to do was eeek with excitement and then again pass out grab a brown bag and glass of ice water . Like way she was so into the story and ask about chickens or how she blurted out her favorite color. And he offers her how to drive ahhhhh loving it. Way he spoke to her and kept giving her words of encouragement ahhh my god or calling her cleaver or what not I am getting tattoo this story name to my heart bc I’m who always was addicted went more by now even about wanting a cat or learning to drive being lonely my god I don’t know how she made it I be dead but in all it’s smart on him getting the ability to talk to her with no way out and calling her a good girl he won just with that even though I don’t think she realizes what happening being she was like oh I will help him find a good girl but also was left a smile and was like I need to find ways to talk to him better next time in all this was such a good 1st chapter

Dream Of A Girl

Part 1

Summary: The sheriff had his eyes on you for a while, the town's joke of an Omega. You never thought you'd find love, but around him you just can't help acting on your inner instincts.

Pairing: Lee Bodecker x reader

Word count: 3899

Warnings: Lee, small town gossip and bullying, neurodivergent reader, slurs\insult of neurodivergent back in the day, no cats🥺, turns slightly non-con at the end, Alpha\Omega

Notes: absolutely loved writing this, got really into it, I hope you'll enjoy it, and make sure to drop me a comment, I would love to hear what you think!💕

Series masterlist

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

He was watching you again. Inside his car, on his lunch break, slurping from his milkshake as his eyes never left your form. Your head was turned down, watching the pavement as you moved, yet you seemed to be aware where everyone else was because you never bumped into anyone. He noticed that about you. How your body moved almost fluently away from others. You didn't like to be touched. You flinched if someone did.

You were alone a lot. Listening to the noises around you, or he would sometimes hear you murmur to yourself. Sometimes you made strange noises if you were excited. He knew what they said about you.

They thought you were weird.

He didn't mind. Everyone talked about him too. Granted, he was a bit shady sometimes, with his secret businesses here and there, but it was something he had in common with you. Both of you fell outside of what was appropriate.

Of course, he was the sheriff, so no one dared to say it to his face. But they did to you. He had watched you for years. With your pretty hair, and that body…

He shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. You always had an effect on him.

He loved your eyes, although you barely look up to him. You do that. You glanced past people, or talked with your face turned a different way. Some people looked at you funny when you did.

But he knows why. Your parents told him once. When you got dared into doing something naughty. You didn't like it, but told him you had said you would do it before they told you what you were supposed to do. And you needed to keep your promises.

He talked to you sternly about how wrong it was of you, and you sat there with tears in your eyes. Head down. Like you had committed the worst crime. You were a good girl. Your parents told him that. It wasn't your fault. It was those kids. They thought it was funny. School talked to them. They left you alone. But you didn't make many friends.

Too different, too quiet, or too loud. You didn't say the right things, you didn't like the right things. You were too honest.

He liked that about you. He didn't need to wonder what you thought. You weren't two faced like all the other bitches. Who smiled at him in hope for favors, or in hope he would turn his eyes away from what they were doing. You were, you.

When you were alone, or thought you were anyway, your shoulders relaxed and he could sometimes see you smiling. Most times you would if you spotted an animal. Talking to it, like it was your friend. And you were good with kids. Really good. They flocked to you and you easily handled them. You didn't like sudden noises, and you were very clear about that, and they listened to you.

That's something people did like about you, they had no problem ditching their kids on you. You were a natural.

It was one of the things he noticed first about you. That drew him towards you. Your natural motherly instincts. He knew you would do excellent with your own. And the idea of you, one or 2 kids by the hand, belly swollen with another, made him rock hard each time.

God, you would be so pretty. He imagined your children; babies with brown hair, maybe a cleft in their chin, like his. The family Bodecker. You, all soft and sweet smelling. A ring on your finger. It made him come so swiftly once he touched himself.

He was happy no one snatched you up. They all couldn't look past your different behavior and see the gem underneath. They were blind to your qualities. What fools. But it worked in his favor though. Such a good, sweet girl. All ripe for the picking.

You were growing and seemed to not be aware of him. That was okay, he was fine with letting you have this time for yourself. Just out of college, young women needed to find their own way. He didn't want you to feel like you missed out on everything once he married you. That led some housewives to turn a little crazy, he saw it all the time, married at 18 or even 16 at times, high school lovers, and by the time baby number 2 was on the way, they looked worn out and disappointed in life.

Not you though. You finished school, you had a nice job, good parents. He gave you that time. He never was far away though. Watching you. Making sure you stayed out of trouble. Or trouble didn't find you. There weren't many boys to approach you, but those with eyes did, those who were too eager to be bothered with your quirkiness. He made sure to scare them off. He didn't need the competition.

He had a good job, a job that gave him power over this town, a nice house. He could afford a family. When the time came, he could convince your parents he was a good match. But most important was he needed to convince you.

📖

You walked into the library to return your books and pick up new ones. You came here at least once a week, often twice, as you loved reading. It was the time that you could disappear in a story and live a life you were never going to get. Experiencing all the emotions and adventures safely from your own home. Romance, and travels, fighting dragons or being a ruling Queen. In real life you liked things simple, but in your head you were free to do whatever you wanted. In your head people liked you. You belonged.

Lately you got very into fairytales again. Consuming every book you could find, rereading classics, daydreaming about the magic that was both wonderful and scary. The Alpha King, and Omega and the false mate, Sleeping Beta…they were all lovely stories and you couldn't get enough. You walked through the rows upon rows of books, feeling calm and like you were amongst friends. Here you were safe. Here you were liked.

Your hands occasionally picked up a book and read the cover, lost in thought. You didn't even notice the presence next to you, until a voice shook you out of your thoughts.

“Excuse me.”

You froze and looked up. Sheriff Bodecker looked down at you.

“Oh”, you said, stepping away.

He chuckled and shook his head. “I didn't mean for you to leave. I just wanted to grab this book.”

You watched him as he picked up a faded green book. He flipped through the pages. You hadn't expected him to read. You scolded yourself after the thought. You didn't know him. It's just that…he didn't seem the type. You heard stories about him. They said he liked the booze and he loved the ladies who gave it away for free. He had always been pleasant if you ever saw him, devoted to his work, but gossip still followed him.

Gossip was tricky, though. For years rumors went around that you were stupid. That you were rude. That you were mentally challenged. They didn't understand you. And you honestly often didn't understand them. Luckily your parents loved you and stood up for you. They might not always understand but they didn't punish you the way other parents would have. They didn't make you feel bad for not always looking them in the face. Or for being blunt and too honest. How your head was in the clouds at times. Or how people overwhelmed you sometimes. But other people, they didn't get it. And they didn't like what they didn't get.

You watched everyone around you making friends and falling in love. Easily getting through events you struggled with. They got married, and started a family. It was difficult at times, to realize you wouldn't have that, but eventually you accepted it. You were comfortable with your life. You had your family, and one or two acquaintances, and you were okay. It was nice being alone. Quiet. When you were alone, no one expected something of you.

You watched out of the corner of your eye how he assessed the book, before he looked at you again. “Do you know if it's any good?”

You glanced at the title like you had to think about it. “It's a little boring. But I don't know what you're looking for.”

“Just a little something to entertain me in the evenings. I was never much of a reader, but I thought why not read a book once in a while instead of always putting the telly on, ya know?”

You nodded. “What genre are you interested in? Action? Or mystery.”

“Romance.”

You blinked. “Romance,” you quietly repeated. You're eyes gliding past the titles of books and thinking to yourself.

“I don't mind it being a little…naughty, might motivate me even more to be honest,” he chuckled.

Your cheeks heated, but you tried not to show any signs of your discomfort. A heated romance. Of course you could list a few, but it felt awkward sharing that with him. You hummed softly under your breath, more out of nerves than anything, but you grabbed a book eventually. “A little naughty, and definitely romance,” you told him.

He hummed and turned the book in his hands. “Thank you, I didn't know where to start.”

“The librarians are happy to help if you can't find anything.”

“Yes, I'm sure they are, but you seem like you know more about this stuff.”

Maybe you did. Maybe it was easier to approach a visitor than the strict ladies running this place? You continued your search, but he did not leave.

“Don't you have enough books?”

You frowned. How could anyone have enough books? And why was he criticizing you? “I like reading.”

He laughed. “ No, I can see that, but do you really read all these in a week?”

“No. Sometimes I read them in a few days.”

“Oh, really. Okay. That's impressive. I really need to catch up if I were to compete with you.”

“It's not a competition. You can read how you want.”

“Oh I know, I was just joking.”

It wasn't a very good joke in that case. “Oh.” You thought, then replied. “Do you need anything more?”

There was silence, then he answered awkwardly. “No, you helped enough.”

You nodded.

He said your name quietly and when he didn't continue, you looked to the side at him. Your eyes locked and you blinked before you looked away.

“Tell your parents hello from me, will you?”

You nodded. You would, if you remembered.

He walked away and you were left feeling a little weird about the whole conversation. Sheriff Bodecker, reading a romantic book. It seemed a little silly. But maybe he was a little lonely. He was unmarried and didn't seem to be in a hurry to get settled.

He asked for something a little naughty, though. If he wanted anything naughty he should've gone to a different section of the library. They had a few of those, although most people didn't dare to pick them up and give the ladies anything to gossip about. Sheriff Bodecker, with a naughty book. You smiled to yourself. It would be the talk of town.

🤎

You wrapped your scarf around your neck, it was a little chilly today. Maybe you were just tired. It had been a long day at work today, your hands were cramped from all the typing, and your colleagues had left you feeling a little upset. Normally you tried to not listen to their chatter and ignore if they were ever negative about you. But today…they had stood a little nearer and you had more trouble filtering their voices.

They had talked about Marcie, who had found herself a beau. If only it had stayed about Marcie, it would have been fine. But they had looked over at you and pretended to lower their voices.

“Spinster”, they had used. They giggled slightly during it. You pretended not to see them staring at you. Or how they didn't care if you heard it.

“She’s never going to find anyone, I mean did you hear her talk about the different office chairs to mr. Johnson? One would think she had to sit on spikes.

You bit your lip. You did not want to cry in front of them. They had changed the chairs two days ago, the old ones too worn out to be pleasant. But you had liked them. You were used to them. And it felt like an old friend had been ripped away from you. So you had talked to your boss if he could make an exception, if you could keep yours, and store the new one. But of course he hadn’t wanted to. And you admittedly got a little upset. Word got out, or maybe they heard you. You had cried on the toilet, but tried very hard to gather yourself and continue like nothing was wrong. It didn’t matter. They knew. And they thought you were crazy.

And now they kept bringing other things up in their conversations. Like they enjoyed your discomfort.

You did your job well, however, so you were pretty sure if you laid low for a while, mr. Johnson wouldn’t fire you. You always made sure to finish all your work, even if you had to stay longer. Got the job done.

But now, at the end of the work day, you felt exhausted. It was tiresome keeping up pretense. The constant noise of the workplace around you. A short break to try and relax and be alone wasn't enough. You knew maybe things would be easier if you sat with them and told them things you heard, so they could gossip about someone else for once. But you didn’t like them. And they were too much. You needed your break to rest before getting back to work. You often sat outside on a bench alone, or took a walk.

You took a deep breath. Tonight you were going to read your new book, and ask your daddy if he wanted to play the piano. He didn’t do it as often as he used to, but you always enjoyed his music. He would do it for you, you knew it.

As a single Omega, you still lived with your parents. It was common to do so. You couldn’t live alone with your designation and it didn’t seem like you would ever move out and get your own home to look after. Your parents were disappointed, no doubt, but they always assured you they loved you, and that it would be nice in their old day to spend it with the three of you. You wondered if they had a different child than you, if they had wanted to get another. Someone easier to handle.

You walked past the shops, occasionally looking through the windows. You liked window shopping. Seeing all the new things on display, even if you didn’t buy much. You didn’t need it. But sometimes you saw something pretty and pondered if you should get it. You should buy a new dress. Most of the ones you had were getting a little old. But they were so comfortable and new dresses felt a little tight and rough. Perhaps your mother would buy some fabric and sew one for you. She knew your tastes.

A car honked next to you and you startled. When you looked around with a beating heart you noticed the car of the sheriff. He had rolled down his window and called out to you.

“Sorry, little lady, didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you walking and thought maybe you wanted a ride home?”

You blinked. A ride with the sheriff. You had never done that. “I’m fine walking.” You replied and tried to smile.

“You just look tired, is all. And it is going to rain soon.”

Was it? You didn’t feel much like getting wet. Still, this was weird. Different. What were you even going to say to him?

He opened the door from the inside though, clearly expecting you to get in, and you didn’t want to be rude. He meant well.

You clambered in, fixed your dress and your hair.

“Long day?” he mentioned. “You look tired.”

“Yes.” you answered.

“I get that, I’ve been busy since 5 this morning myself.” he sighed. “Got a call in for a robbery. Those damn Callen boys always stealin’ them chickens from the Bookers farm. Not exactly the most exciting job.”

You blinked, thought of how to reply. “Did you get them back?”

He chuckled. “Well some of ‘em. They ate at least two, but I arranged for them to work a few weeks at the place to pay them back. And I'll make damn sure they're going to show up and do the work.”

You nodded. The Bookers were cheapskates, but a theft was a theft, and you were sure they enjoyed the free labor. Those chickens couldn't be worth that much.

“You look nice today,” he mentioned suddenly.

You looked down at your dress. A little frayed around the edges. Your hair must've been less than proper because you tended to play with it if you were in thought. Maybe he was being nice. “Eh, thank you,” you mumbled.

He hummed. “That dress is a nice color.”

“Blue is my favorite,” you blurted out. You wore red today, you didn’t know why you said it.

He chuckled. “Is that right? Well I love blue.”

Your eyes looked anywhere but him, at the passing buildings and bushes. What else were you going to say? It was polite to talk back, your mother had told you. Ask about something!

“Ehm, this is a nice car,”

He turned to look at you again, not keeping his eyes on the road and you swallowed. “Well, it comes with the job, but it does its work.”

You nodded.

“Do you know how to drive?”

“Oh no. No, no. I do not.”

“I could teach you.” he offered, and your heart rate increased.

“No!...no. I don't think I can, I get nervous.”

“Well everyone gets nervous the first time, but you’ll learn soon enough, you’re a clever girl.”

You blinked at him. No one had ever called you clever before. You weren’t stupid, you werent, but no one thought you were particularly bright. “I get nervous.” you told him firmly.

He hummed “Well alright, If you change your mind, I'm more than willing.

“I don't mind walking.” you told him.

“Yeah, I see you walking around. You like looking at things don’t you?”

You looked down, ashamed, but his finger lifted your chin. You startled at the contact.

“Wasn't mocking you. I just see you sometimes. Gotta keep an eye on the crowd to make sure nothing happens, part of the job, I can’t help it. So I see you walking and befriending the neighbors cats.”

“Oh.” You didn't know what to think of this. Being watched. You always felt like you were. “I like cats.”

“I like them too. They’re a little feisty. You got one at home?”

You shook your head. “No, my parents don’t want one.”

“I was thinking about getting one. Might be nice to come home to something, you know? House is all empty.”

You understood. You’re parents rules, however, nothing you could do about it.

He sighed “ Yeah…. gets real lonely for a man by himself. You got someone waiting on ya?”

“Eh no. No, no one.” You felt nervous. You knew it was common for a girl your age to settle, or have settled already. It was embarrassing to admit.You had never even kissed before.The thought of it made you anxious though, How to even do that with a tongue, and how to move? It seemed mighty complicated.

“Me neither,” he admitted. “It’s a hard job, and not everyone can deal with being the wife of a sheriff. I’d treat her right, though. Yessir. I’d be a good husband. For the right woman. I always wanted that. A house, a wife, some kids. A nice meal when I get home…”

You hummed, like he had done before.

"You can cook?”

Your eyes moved rapidly over the car interior. “Why, yes?” it came out as a question.

“Yeah I expected you to. You’re a good girl after all. Momma raised you right.”

You felt warmth shoot through you. You didn’t know why. He was being nice. And you weren’t used to that. You actually were a pretty good cook. And you liked doing it. Relieving your mother from the hard work running a household was. And showing you cared. You know you weren’t always good with that. Often absorbed in your own head and your own feelings. So cooking was something you could do.

“Would love to have a home made meal again. It’s been so very long.”

You nodded.

He eyed you. And as the silence lingered he tsked. “Well, who knows, maybe someone will invite me someday.”

“Oh. Yes. I'm sure,” you were quick to agree. It would be nice for him. Someone cooking. Maybe Miss Oleson would, the woman was all alone and about 70, she probably would love the company.

You would ask her, so he wouldn't feel embarrassed. Miss Oleson would watch you sometimes when you were younger, and she was kind to you. She always gave you candy even if your parents had told her not too. You were fond of her.

You arrived at your house soon and you got out. He leaned towards the window again.

“If you want, I can come pick you up again tomorrow.”

You blinked. Why? Was it going to rain again tomorrow?

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s my pleasure.” he grinned. “Unless i’m being called away, but if so, I’l call you.”

“I don’t have a phone.” You eyed the laces of your shoes.

He laughed. “No silly, at your office, I can call the company.”

“Oh. Yeah that would work. I guess.”

“That’s settled then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” you mumbled and turned to walk towards the door.

As you heard him leave behind you, you suddenly remembered you hadn’t said goodbye, or thanked him. You felt your cheeks heat. You were supposed to thank someone for helping. You messed up again. Tomorrow, when he picked you up, you would make sure to thank him then. Maybe he wouldn’t think you rude anymore. And maybe you should find some questions to ask him about. So he didn’t ask you weird ones when there was silence.

You hung up your coat at the door, suddenly smelling a nice scent coming off it.

The fabric had absorbed some of his that lingered in the car. You sniffed carefully and then reared back in shame. It was kind of improper to just smell someone. You only did that to someone you knew better. Like family, or…or a suitor.

Still, the scent lingered in your nose as you walked away, and it was pleasant enough for you to feel a little lighter for the rest of the evening.

Part 2

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https-kittyx3 · 11 hours ago

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pls pls pls could you write a poly!odypen x reader? I really loved your Telemachus story!!! :D

we will fall in love with you again

TEEHEE thank you very much, i wasnt so proud of that so i'm glad you loved it!!

also poly odypen request???!?!? YES. UESUESUEUSEUSYESUEYS i really really want more Epic requests aaahh i am obsessed with writing stuff about it. i have multiple hermes fics i started and never finished lmao

btw i swear i've seen you in the tags before, you should totally write epic the musical fics!! i'm curious about the one you said you have based on your self insert >:3

also this is kinda angsty i think? but it leads up to fluff!! i promise i won't break your heart <3

not proofread at all, excuse is in the tags lolol

lowercase intended || art cred

all throughout your life, you would have never expected what kind of relationship you'd have in your adulthood. younger you would imagine settling down with someone you fell in love with, living in a house together and spending the last of your days side by side.

the idea of having two lovers was the last thing you'd think about. it wasn't even something you knew you were capable of — loving two people at the same time? wouldn't it be unfair if you ended up loving one more than the other?

as much as that worry was understandable, it'd never end up becoming a problem; odysseus and penelope both earned your affections equally. they've both been your friends since what felt like the beginning of time - you never kept anything from each other, always made time for one another, and never had trouble speaking your minds... until things became complicated.

you tried so desperately to ignore it—the growing feelings you felt towards both of your best friends. it was anxiety inducing, especially since it was overly clear that the two were interested in each other. no matter the way it went, someone was going to be heartbroken. someone was going to be sad and the three of you could never be the same. it was agonizing to think about, to imagine the outcomes - you adore them both, to lose what you have would be your biggest regret.

ignoring your feelings seemed like the best bet for the longest time, but there was always that pang in your chest every time they'd talk about each other to you that reminded you of your own heart.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"it's endearing how awkward he gets," penelope airily chuckles as she folds strands of her hair over and over in a pattern to create a braid, "sometimes, it's like he can barely form words around me... i wonder if that means he feels the same."

you feel yourself biting the inside of your cheek, carefully braiding the other side of penelope's hair for her. it was a mindless action the two of you fell into as you chatted together. all you manage to give her is a hum, your heart growing a tad heavy once again. penelope shifts, almost as if she senses your hesitation.

"is something the matter?" she questions with concern, tying the ends of her hair together to keep the braid from coming undone. penelope's always been the one who can read your emotions — it's one of the many things that made you fall for her. she's gentle, earnest... there isn't a chance in the underworld that she'd ignore your sadness. as your friend, she's here for you. she always has been.

you gaze at her slowly, almost afraid to look her in the eye - you could break at any moment, admit everything you're feeling, and ruin all you're familiar with. you don't want that, even if it leads to an eternity of heartache.

"of course! i apologize, i'm just distracted..." you sheepishly admit, finishing the other part of her braid. you let your hands fall away and sit in the grass below, a few strands nestling between your fingers. you grip onto them, pulling blades from their roots.

penelope sighs, having heard this time and time again over the course of your friendship. it wasn't uncommon for you to dismiss her concern, just to pop up later needing to vent - she understands it, even. so, she picks at the grass with you, but instead grabbing a flower that grows in the grass beneath you both.

she leans over you, gently placing the flower's stem behind your ear with ease. penelope then places her palm against your cheek, directing your gaze towards her with a soft touch. you feel yourself flush under her eyes and touch, your cheeks warming against her palm — part of you wonders if she notices the way you react to these small touches, and if she knows how you feel underneath your veil.

"you know you can talk to me about anything," penelope whispers with softened eyes. behind that kindness lingers her own conflict, confusion, and fear - but it wasn't known to you in this moment. in hindsight, perhaps it would've been more obvious if you looked deeper. if only you had talked to her then and there, taking up that sincere offer, things would've been more simple.

instead, your lovesick-ridden mind came up with the silliest thing you could have said;

"penelope, you're so sweet i could kiss you." you speak before you're able to think about how that sounds. you mean it as a joke... mostly, but in the moment it was meant as a way to accentuate how kind she is. instead, and with the amount of passion you spoke those words, it came off as a genuine confession.

and it's clear that penelope took it that way, with how quickly her cheeks darken in red. you pull back immediately, throwing in an awkward laugh as you gently push her hand down.

"i'm kidding! you're just... so kind. i don't know what i'd do without you."

inwardly, you sigh in relief as you watch her relax. crisis averted, you think. penelope responds with a laugh — a genuine giggle, a jingle of joy — it warms your heart faster than your face.

"likewise." she speaks with a gorgeous smile.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"i just... i don't know what to say to her!" odysseus rambles on and on about penelope, occasionally asking for your thoughts on what he should do or say, all while swinging a stick at a tree as if he were fighting a massive creature. at the same time, he paces back and forth while looking up at you from where you sit on that same tree. your legs dangle from the lowest branch, hands gripping it tightly so you don't fall. it's a rather sturdy tree - an olive tree, specifically. the one where the three of you tend to spend your spare time together, though these days it's more often just two. becoming too busy is inevitable, after all.

this day was not one of those, however. penelope is to meet the two of you any minute now, though it's becoming apparent that she's been swept away by something or other - leaving you, odysseus, and the complicated feelings within.

even though you have feelings for both of them, having only one or the other around stresses you out. you're so unstable with your feelings and thoughts that you barely trusted yourself to stay quiet about them.

"what would you do?" odysseus tosses the stick to the side, plopping down against the trunk right under the branch you sit on.

"what would i do about what?" you question, not realizing that odysseus had been talking on and on as you zoned out from above. at this point in time, you were being no better than a certain goddess who was hopeless when it came to love advice. odysseus raises a brow up at you, "about... confessing your feelings?"

"oh!" you sit up straight, a panicked look on your face that is almost comical, "what feelings? i don't have any feelings for anyone!"

odysseus snorts, resting his head against the trunk, "i was talking about confessing my feelings for penelope, but... now it sounds like you might fancy someone." odysseus teases you, but it's not so clear in the moment — you feel caught, like all your thoughts had been read and exposed. your heart picks up in pace as you shift awkwardly, trying to think up any excuse to get out of this topic, before you realize that you're leaning on nothing but air.

you fail to catch yourself before you're falling backwards towards the ground, letting out a scream as you brace for impact. you're lucky you're only so far from the ground, because any further would've been death for you.

odysseus catches you swiftly, feeling lucky that he was right below you. he didn't even have to get up to snatch you from the air — all he had to do was lean forwards and pull you against his chest to cushion your fall.

and cushion, it did. your head falls against his collarbone, and your back lands right against his torso. his arms are wrapped securely around your chest, holding you up as you lean your head back to take a look at his face.

"looks like i fell for you, heheh..." what an awful joke for an awkward situation. odysseus does the same as penelope had done — he takes your joke as a poorly veiled confession, and as much as it may be, it's not something you want to admit right after he finished talking about his feelings for someone else. that 'someone else' being your mutual companion, your third member. your best friend.

ugh. what a situation to get yourself into.

odysseus' eyes are wide and cautious, but not for long as you sit yourself up with the dismissal wave of your hands, "no, no... that came out weird! i was doing a joke, but it was bad timing..!"

oddly enough, you see odysseus' face fall into a neutral expression for a faint moment, before glowing up and into a hearty laugh. similarly to penelope, again, it warms you to hear him laugh so sincerely. he finds you funny, and that brings you joy.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

despite all the signs of the mutual feelings between the three of you, it'd be a good while before things are finally shared. the next few years are spent pining after each other, battling that inner anxiety, and finally... admitting it to yourselves.

your heart is big enough for both of them, and it's something you have grown to come to terms with. all of that confusion and inner conflict subsided into an understanding, regardless of how anxiety-inducing it all still was. penelope and odysseus were simply just the most open about their feelings for each other at first. it took you a bit more time to finally open up, but once you did, you were surprised at how open the both of them were to you.

it was exciting to finally be able to express your feelings to them, to finally be able to tell them how in love with them you are without being afraid of losing them.

unbeknownst to you, it was an internal battle for the two of them as well. that feeling of loving two people at once, yet not knowing what to do about it for the fear of losing both of them.

the three of you, now together as one, share more love between you than anyone has ever seen. even athena, whose lifespan escapes the confines of time, has never witnessed such an incredible bond as yours. she's also heard endless stories about your romance from odysseus, who can't find it in him to stop talking about you and penelope — but who can blame him? he's blessed with two of the best partners he could have asked for.

even as you three grow older, take over more dire responsibilities, and marry one another, your love never wavers.

even after penelope bears a child, after the dread of a war looms ever closer, and odysseus is swept off to save the lives of many — your bond is true.

it's ever lasting.

he'll come back to his spouses and son, whether the gods want him to or not.

#odysseus x reader #odysseus x penelope #penelope x reader #epic x reader #epic the musical x reader #etm x reader #i hope this is good enough i'm writing it while sick as heck :')#ill do fancy title color text thing later i am so exhausted fodiejdjkde

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