#she isn’t talked about enough in the fandom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 1 month ago

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karaoke friday ; bradley 'rooster' bradshaw

fandom: top gun

pairing: bradley x reader

summary: you're a bartender at the hard deck with a huge crush on rooster, and rooster (very cheesily) uses karaoke friday to confess his own feelings to you

notes: this goes in SO many different directions and i'm so sorry about that, but i still had so much fun writing it! i hope y'all enjoy even though it is super cheesy (but i tried really hard not to make it cringe) and kinda, super long... please let me know what you think! i really love feedback

warnings: swearing, very poor us navy knowledge (as usual), lots of drinking and drinking on the job, SUPER CHEESY, italics, switching povs (kinda), there's a little bit of 'mean-girl-ness', and it's pretty fucking horny in some places so 18+ PLEASE!!!

word count: 11336

“Do I need to add ‘putting your ass on my bar’ to the sign?” Penny emerges from the bar’s back of house door, her arms wrapped around a case of beer and her best disapproving mum glare painted on her face.

You smile sheepishly and push yourself off the bar, landing on tingly feet from how long your legs had been dangling as you chatted with Maverick. “Sorry Pen.”

“It’s my fault,” Maverick pipes up. “She was replacing a light bulb, and I distracted her.”

Penny heaves the case onto the bar with a huff before looking back at you. “What are you doing replacing my lights on your day off?”

“I noticed it was out the other night, and I knew I had a spare at home so I thought I might as well donate it.” You pick up the busted lightbulb by the bayonet and toss it into the bin behind the bar. “Also, it’s not my day off.”

Penny frowns, tipping her chin forward as she takes a moment to think. You wait patiently, because you’ve worked almost every Friday night for the past three years, and you know she’s probably just forgotten what day of the week it is.

“Well, anyway.” Mav slides off the stool on the other side of the bar. “I better get back to work.”

You turn to him with a frown. “Isn't everyone at their advanced first aid training today, or something?”

“Yeah, but I have a meeting.” He rolls his eyes as he says the last word, as if doing anything in his job description except for flying is just unimaginable. “A lieutenant from another squadron wants a chance to join my squad but won’t take no for an answer until I meet with her.”

Your frown slowly morphs into a scowl as you connect the dots. “Are you talking about-”

“Her callsign is Giggles.”

The next noise that leaves your lips is a mix between a groan and a gag.

Maverick raises a brow. “Not a fan?”

“She’s horrendous, Mav, and she only wants to join your squad to get closer to Rooster.”

“Wait a minute,” Penny pipes up. “Are we talking about that bottle blonde that comes in every Friday night and follows Rooster around like a lost puppy?”

You nod. “Yup.”

Mav chuckles as he slides his aviators up his nose. “Well, regardless of her ulterior motives, she’s not joining the squad. My hands are full as it is and I’m not sure she could cut it.”

You can’t help the small, satisfied smirk that lifts the corner of your lips as you turn toward Penny and her half-empty case of beer. You already know Giggles isn't good enough for Bradley, but hearing Mav say that she isn’t good enough for the squad is a small piece of validation that might help get you through tonight’s shift.

“Anyway,” Maverick says as he moves toward the door. “I’ll see you both later tonight.”

You look back over your shoulder at him. “Are you coming back for a drink?”

He nods, his lips tugging into a grin. “I would never miss watching my godson embarrass himself on karaoke night.”

Realisation hits you and you groan, dropping your head into both of your hands as you crouch down beside the case of beers. “Fucking karaoke Friday.”

Penny laughs softly. “That’s right, it’s the last Friday of the month. I completely forgot.”

It’s not that you hate karaoke, you just hate sober karaoke. If you were seven tequila shots deep and on the other side of the bar, you’d no doubt have the microphone and be attempting to sing some overplayed ABBA song with one of your friends. But no, you’re sober and behind the bar. Watching in horror as wasted patrons embarrass themselves in a hot and crowded room full of sweaty bodies.

Now that you think about it, maybe half your hatred for karaoke Fridays stems from the fact that it is almost always the busiest night of the month.

“Guess you’re not getting out early tonight,” you tell Penny as you slide the last of the beers into the fridge.

She sighs and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”

You often encourage Penny not to stay until close on weekends, because she deserves a little time to herself. Whenever possible, she’ll help you with the evening rush before ducking out for a late dinner or adult sleepover with Maverick. You don’t mind being left to close on your own, because you’re never really alone.

On the nights when you’re the last one behind the bar, Bradley is always the last one on the other side of it. Most of the time, the squad will stay until last call, but then Bradley will bid them goodbye and sit himself in the same stool at the end of the bar. Almost like he's guarding the swinging wooden doors that separate you from your patrons. He usually just asks for tea or water, and when you’re not serving, he talks to you about anything and everything. Then at the end of the night, he waits for you to lock the doors and make it safely to your car before he walks to his.

You’re not sure why he does it. You assume it’s because he has literally been trained to keep people safe, but sometimes you let yourself read more into it. You imagine that he might fancy you, not pity you, and he stays because he likes getting a little bit of alone time with you.

You can still remember the night you first met Bradley like it was yesterday, not nearly four years ago. He had just graduated the Top Gun programme and was celebrating with what felt like every naval officer based on North Island. He was very drunk and hardcore flirting, but only with you. There were throngs of women practically begging him to look at them, but his eyes stayed on you.

You stole his keys out of his pocket that night, not trusting him after the number of drinks you’d watched him sling back. He eventually passed out in a booth, and at the end of the night a couple of his friends stuffed him into a cab. You forgot all about his keys until the next morning when you returned to clean the bar. He was waiting by the door, looking very hungover and very sheepish.

He apologised for everything except the flirting, which he wanted to make abundantly clear. You blushed and waved him off before making him a greasy breakfast and telling him to sit at the bar while you started cleaning. After his nausea wore off, he started helping you despite your protests. You talked and flirted all morning until he announced that he had to go to the Top Gun graduation ceremony.

After that, he spent every night at The Hard Deck until he left North Island, and once he was gone, you had a hard time convincing yourself you hadn’t imagined the whole thing. You were so young at the time and Bradley was older, his career was just taking off. Why would he be interested in a bartender who has no idea where her life is going?

So, despite having exchanged numbers to stay in touch, you resisted the urge to text him. You saw a couple of updates on his social media that you followed, but they were very vague and mostly just signs of life every few months. You let yourself file Bradley away in your brain as something too good to be true, because there was no way someone that perfect really existed.

Years, boyfriends, heartbreaks, and a lot of shifts at The Hard Deck later, Bradley Bradshaw walked back into your bar. Your heart floundered as it tried to break free from your chest and deliver itself to the boy who claimed it all those years ago. He looked fucking good.

You picked up exactly where you’d left off, and so routine became ritual. Every Friday night, Bradley and his friends came to The Hard Deck, waited until last call, and then Bradley would guard you like a K9 Unit German Shepherd until you closed the bar. Eventually, you got to know his friends too, and finally found a group of people you could be yourself with.

After their mission, the squad were asked to stay on North Island as a special operations unit, training under Maverick for specialised assignments. You hang out with them when you can, but it isn’t easy with such conflicting schedules, which is why your late-night closes with Bradley are so precious. The only thing nagging at you these days is your future; what it holds and who will be in it. But you do your best not to think about it, to live in the moment and appreciate every second you get to spend staring at Bradley Bradshaw’s gorgeous face.

“Are you alright if I duck out for a bit?” Penny asks, her voice dragging you out of your thoughts.

You nod. “No worries. I’ll getting everything stocked up.”

“You’re the best.” She slings her purse over your shoulder. “I should be back in about two hours.”

Once she’s out the door, you find your own purse under the bar and grab your headphones. You slip them on, crank the volume on your phone, and start bopping along to the music while you haul cases of alcoholic beverages from the back of house to behind the bar.

- Bradley -

Twenty naval officers file out of the conference room, down the hall, and out into the Friday afternoon sun. Their postures relax the moment they’re out of sight from their superiors, and they all slowly separate into their squads, moving in different directions across the base.

“Well,” Jake sighs as he stretches his arms above his head. “That’s a day I’ll never get back.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Yes. Because learning vital skills that could save lives, including our own, is such a waste of time.”

Jake smirks. “My sentiments exactly.”

Bradley slides his sunglasses up his nose as he walks a little faster to get in between the two aviators glaring at each other. “So, are we going to-”

“The Hard Deck,” Reuben interrupts, a smirk stretched across his face.

“For beers,” Mickey adds with a dramatic wink.

“No other reason, of course,” Natasha joins in the teasing. “Right, Rooster?”

Bradley takes a deep breath of warm, ocean-scented air before sighing it out as his friends snicker around him. “When are you lot ever going to leave me alone?”

“When you grow a pair and ask the girl out,” Jake replies, and Bradley doesn’t have to look at him to know he’s smirking. “Before I do.”

There’s a chorus of oohs from the squad, but Bradley simply rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses. Jake might be a flirt, but he’s not a full-blown idiot, and he knows better than to hit on you.

“Maybe I will tonight,” Bradley says with a shrug, trying to seem nonchalant.

Natasha scoffs. “That’ll be the day.”

“Willing to bet on it?” Reuben asks, stepping up beside Bradley with a grin stretched from ear to ear. This boy loves a bet.

Bradley’s eyes narrow as he considers his friend’s outstretched hand, his heart thumping faster than usual within his chest. Maybe it is time he makes a real move on you. Afterall, you’re only getting more gorgeous with every passing day and if he doesn’t act soon... well, he doesn’t want to think about what might happen.

He grips Reuben’s hand in his own, shaking it once. “Deal.”

“Oh, shit,” Mickey giggles. “Tonight is going to be good.”

“And it’s karaoke night,” Bob points out.

Mickey shakes his fists excitedly. “I fucking love karaoke night.”

They all launch into an animated discussion about what songs they should perform tonight, and even Bob makes a few suggestions, but Bradley isn’t paying much attention. He can see his Bronco up ahead, and he is itching to get to the bar. To get to you.

“Rooster!”

A voice that he doesn’t recognise makes his head snap to the left, and there’s a collective groan amongst the dagger squad as a grinning blonde bounces toward them.

“Hey Giggles,” Bradley says, trying not to sound as unenthusiastic as he feels about her presence.

“Did you just finish your first aid refresher?”

He nods, offering her a half-assed smile as he realises that he doesn’t actually remember what her given name is. His brows furrow as he tries to picture the letters stamped on the side of her jet, but then he realises that he can’t remember the last time he saw her in a jet. Up close, at least. The dagger squad train almost exclusively on their own. They rarely interact with other squadrons.

“I did mine last week,” she says. “If I knew which day you were scheduled, I would have definitely tried to join today’s group.”

Bradley nods once, unsure what to say to that but still lost in his thoughts trying to figure out what her actual name is.

“Anyway.” She flips her hair off her shoulder. “I just had a meeting with Maverick.”

“Oh,” is all Bradley responds with.

“Yeah, I’ve been wanting to work with him for– like –ever. He’s just legendary, you know?”

Bradley’s lips tip up into a smirk. “I think notorious would be more accurate.”

She giggles, because that’s what she does. “Well, he said I could fly for him and try out for your squad.”

Bradley freezes, and the whole squad comes to a screeching halt.

“Try out?” Jake echoes, before snorting a laugh. “This isn’t a cheerleading squad. We were selected and trained as a specialised unit. This isn’t something you can try out for.”

“Hangman,” Natasha warns. “Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude, she’s being delusional.”

“Excuse me?” Giggles props her hands on her hips.

Bradley turns to Natasha with a quizzical frown, but she just shrugs. He looks back at Giggles. “Look, I’m sure whatever you spoke with Mav about will be great for your career. So, good luck.”

He offers her one last clipped smile before continuing toward the parking lot. Jake winks at the angry blonde before Javy puts a hand on either of his shoulders and steers him away.

Natasha quickens her pace to match Bradley’s. “You don’t think Mav would really consider-”

“No.” Bradley shakes his head. “There’s no way.”

It’s not only that the squad are not particularly fond of Giggles, but it’s also the fact that none of them are keen on the idea of adding to the team. They’re all too close and too comfortable, and they work exceptionally well together. Changing that dynamic could seriously impact their functionality and in turn, damage any one of their careers that they’ve worked so hard to achieve. They’re all exactly where they want to be, and they don’t want their positions to be challenged by anyone.

Bradley pauses before breaking away from the group. “Six o’clock?”

They all nod and mumble their agreeance.

“Does anyone need a lift?”

“You’re driving?” Reuben asks. “I thought you were going to ask your girl out tonight.”

Bradley frowns. “I can’t do both?”

Reuben chuckles. “Well, you’ve had plenty of sober chances to ask her out, so I assumed you’d need a little liquid courage to actually do it.”

Mickey laughs so suddenly that he snorts.

Bradley rolls his eyes playfully and points a finger at Reuben. “You just lost your ride privileges.”

Reuben groans in protest and Mickey laughs even harder as Bradley turns on his heel and walks toward the Bronco. He pops the door and falls into the driver’s seat, jamming the key into the ignition. As he drives home, his left knee bounces nervously. He’s always thought about asking you out, but actually doing it? He has no idea how he’s supposed to muster that kind of courage.

- You -

The clock on the wall opposite the bar taunts you. Its hands move slowly, creeping around its face at a painfully slow pace. You know exactly what time Bradley and your friends usually get here on a Friday night, and it’s still forty-five whole minutes away.

“You know,” Penny says, “staring at it won’t make it go any faster.”

You drop your gaze down to the glass you’ve been drying for at least a couple of minutes now. “I know, but if I don’t try then I’ll never know if I’ve magically developed superpowers.”

She laughs softly and takes the glass from your hands. “Why don’t you see if you have super lime slicing powers, hm?”

You roll your eyes playfully and tuck the tea towel into the back pocket of your jeans – the ones you know make your butt look incredible – before turning toward the small cardboard box of limes on the bench. You take a chopping board out from under the bar and a pairing knife. You set up a little station where the box of limes is on the right of the chopping board, and a bowl for the slices is to your left.

“Why don’t you just ask Rooster out?” Penny asks right as you cut the first lime in half.

Your cutting hand slips but you’re quick enough to flinch away before the knife slices your fingers. “Jesus, Pen. Could you learn a thing or two about timing, please?”

She rushes toward you, her brows crease with worry. “Are you okay?”

You nod. “I’m fine.”

She relaxes once she sees that your fingers are unharmed, taking a step back and casually leaning her hip against the bar, waiting. Her gaze bores into the side of your face, but you stubbornly focus on the limes.

She waits until you drop the slices into the bowl to ask again. “So, why don’t you?”

You sigh. “If it was an easy thing to do, I would have done it a while ago.”

“What’s so difficult about it?”

You put the next lime on the chopping board and hesitate, frowning down at the little green fruit as if willing it to give you an answer that doesn’t sound as whiny as what you’re about to say. “Because he’s him, and I’m me.”

She quirks one brow, silently asking you to elaborate.

“He’s just”– you wave the knife in the air, at which her eyes widen slightly –“you know? He’s gorgeous and successful. He’s got every chance in the world and every damn woman on this island after him. Then there’s me, and I’m just” – you gesture down at the short black apron tied around your waist –“this.”

Penny’s brows pinch together, a mixture of confusion and curiosity painting her face. “What’s wrong with this?”

You sigh again. “I’m a bartender, Pen.”

“So am I.”

“No.” You drop the freshly sliced lime into the bowl. “You own a bar. There’s a difference.”

“Honey.” She pushes her hip off the bar and takes half a step toward you. “That boy doesn’t look at you like a bartender. He doesn’t see the girl who pours his beer. He looks at you like you hung the moon just for him.”

You feel the bridge of your nose pinch and your eyes sting, but you decide to blame it on the citrus instead of your own emotions.

She sighs and bends down to take a shot glass out from under the bar. “Here,” she says, pouring tequila into the small glass. “I know you’d rather be on the other side of the bar, but try to have a little fun tonight. On me.”

Your eyes widen as you look at the shot and then at Penny, who’s lips are pulled into a smirk. Without a second thought, you snatch the shot glass off the bar and tip it to your lips, grimacing as the liquid burns down your throat.

“You know what,” she says as she fills the glass up again, “I think I’d like to have a little fun too.”

You can’t help the laughter that bubbles from your lips as she tips the tequila into her mouth and winces. You don’t necessarily want to be a bartender forever, but you find it hard to think about the day you’ll have to hand your resignation in to Penny. She’s a pretty cool boss.

You continue cutting limes while Penny serves an influx of customers. Once the whole box of limes has been sliced, you cover the bowl in plastic wrap and place it at the bottom of one of the fridges. The bar is filling up slowly but surely, and you start pouring drinks while Penny handles the cash.

After you hand a beer to the last customer of a small rush, the light overhead – the one you replaced earlier – blinks and dies out. “Shit,” you mutter, staring up at it. “Maybe I didn’t screw it in properly? Mav kind of distracted me before, I didn’t double check it.”

Before Penny can protest, you kick the small, folding stool toward where you need it and step onto it. You brace your hands on the bar and bring one foot up, focusing all your balance and coordination on standing up straight and getting your other foot planted on the bar.

“Please be careful,” Penny says, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m fine, don’t stress.”

More voices join the chatter in the bar, and you can hear Penny greet the new patrons as you crane your neck to look up at the dead bulb. You reach up, silently praying to any god who might listen that you don’t get electrocuted. Your fingers gently grab the bulb and twist, it blinks back to life and delivers a small shock of electricity to your hand. It’s nothing more than a zap, but that’s enough to make you startle. You shift your feet without thinking and the heel of your boot comes off the edge of the bar. You quickly lose balance and fall.

You yelp, but you don’t hit the floor. A strong pair of arms catches you – one around your back and the other behind your knees. Your saviour makes a soft ooft noise as he takes all your weight and holds you against his chest. When you look up and see the stupid grin stretched across Bradley Bradshaw’s face, it feels like every inch of your skin has been lit on fire.

The bar erupts into cheers and claps as Bradley chuckles. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you breathe out.

You stare into his eyes for a moment, appreciating every fleck of brown and gold as he stares back. Then he clears his throat and gently lowers your legs, his other arm helping you stand upright.

“Thanks,” you say as you right your skewed apron.

“Anytime.” He chuckles again. “Like, seriously. Anytime you want to fall for me, I’m right-”

You roll your eyes and swat a hand at his broad chest. “Oh, shut up.”

You turn to the rest of your friends and greet each of them, taking every sarcastic comment that they throw at you. Once you’ve given them each a hug or a high five, you walk the rest of the way around the bar to get back through the swinging wooden doors.

Penny looks at you with her mum glare. The unimpressed one.

“Sorry?” you offer sheepishly.

“Next time, leave it.”

You roll your lips to hide your smile as you bring your fingers to your forehead in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She shakes her head and turns toward the other side of the bar to serve someone that isn’t your friends, knowing you would prefer to serve them. You take a few short strides toward the beer taps, dust your hands on your denim-clad butt, and pick up a glass in each hand. You know their orders, you don’t have to ask.

“How was first aid?” you ask Natasha, because she’s the one right in front of you now.

Bradley is a step back from the bar, leaning toward Reuben and speaking too low for you to discern.

“It was fine,” Natasha replies. “Although, Hangman had some other thoughts.”

Jake drops a forearm on the bar and leans in. “I’m not saying it was totally useless, but a whole day to teach us what should already be common sense?”

“Something which you have very little of,” Natasha retorts.

You snort a laugh as you slide their drinks across the bar. “I’m not going to lie, Seresin. If you think first aid training is useless, then you’re my last pick to be stranded on a desert island with.”

Instead of acting offended, his smirk curls a little further and the mischievous glint in his eye twinkles. “Oh, come on. You know we’d have some fun.”

Bradley clears his throat and steps into Natasha’s place as she scoops her drink up and vacates with an amused grin on her lips.

“What kind of fun are we talking, Hangman?” Bradley asks, his brows raised in question.

Jake draws a long sip of foamy beer before turning his body toward Rooster. “Come on, Bradshaw. Use your imagination. There are a lot of things for two people to do when they’re alone.”

Your eyes bounce between the two men as they stare each other down. Jake’s lips are still pulled into a smirk, but Bradley’s are set in a firm line beneath his moustache, and the outline of his clenched jaw is more defined than usual.

“Well,” Jake sits his beer back on the bar, “we could-”

“Play Hangman!” you interrupt excitedly, deciding to cut the imaginary tether of tension that had been pulled taught between them.

Jake’s smirk breaks into a soft laugh. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”

He winks at you, and you roll your eyes playfully before turning your attention down to the glass you just finished filling with beer. It’s a little too full, the foam on top threatening to overflow as you raise it up to place on the bar in front of Bradley. When the heavy bottom of the glass hits the hardwood bar top, the froth spills and drips down over your fingers.

“Oops, sorry,” you say, eyes flicking up to meet Bradley’s.

His usual soft brown gaze is so much darker than usual, and something about it is making the little hairs rise on the back of your neck.

“That’s alright,” he says, his voice low and a little raspy.

His fingers brush yours as he takes the glass, and when you pull your hand back, you suck your middle finger between your lips to clean the beer off. You’re not sure why you do it, and you don’t even realise what you’ve done until you drag your finger out of your mouth. All the while, keeping your eyes locked with Bradley’s.

“Really?” Jake’s voice slices through the tension. “You two are unbelievable.”

You blink a few times and the noise of the bar returns, as if getting lost in Bradley’s eyes had silenced the rest of the world. You can feel the apples of your cheeks burn, and you quickly dust your knuckles on your apron before picking up another glass.

Bradley clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, but he stops. You hear Jake chuckle and Bradley sigh, but you don’t let yourself look up again. By the time you finish pouring two more beers, Mickey and Reuben are standing in front of you with ear-to-ear grins.

- Bradley -

Jake slides into the booth beside Natasha while Bradley slides in next to Bob, but his eyes are still trained on the bar. Or more specifically, the bartender.

“Oh, my God.” Jake smacks a hand against the table. “You two should have seen what I just had to witness.”

Bradley sighs and drops his head, staring at the swirls and knots in the wood tabletop.

“I have never experienced such blatant eye-fucking!” Jake exclaims, a little too loudly. “I mean, seriously. That felt more explicit than watching porn on a public bus.”

Natasha, despite the amusement on her face, nudges Jake in his ribs. “Keep your voice down, Bagman.”

Bob chuckles and turns to Bradley. “Did you ask her out?”

“No!” Jake replies before Bradley can.

“Well, you better do it quick.” Natasha says. “It looks like you’re not the only interested party here tonight.”

Bradley’s eyes snap back toward the bar, narrowing on the man standing in front of you at the beer taps. He’s tall and broad, with close cropped blond hair and a smug smile painted on his face. His thick forearms are resting on the top of the bar, and he’s leaning so far forward that if he turns too abruptly, he might smack his nose on one of the taps.

“Is that Romeo?” Bob asks.

Bradley doesn’t respond, but he can see Natasha nod from the corner of his eye. No, this guy’s parents didn’t hate him so much that they gave him some lame Shakespearean name. It’s his callsign, and it's not too hard to guess how he got it.

Bradley doesn’t like the way you’re smiling at the blond man. In fact, he hates it. He doesn’t like the way your cheeks turn pink when he leans in a little further in, or the way you shyly tuck an imaginary piece of hair behind your ear. He does, however, very much like the way your eyes flit toward him every couple of seconds, as if checking that he’s still there.

He realises after a minute that you’re not acting shy, you’re uncomfortable with this guy, and that makes him feel a little less explosive. The pink in your cheeks and the timid movements aren’t because you’re feeling bashful, but because you feel awkward. Bradley is your security, your guard dog, and all you’d have to do is nod for him to leap out of his seat.

“Down boy.” Reuben chuckles as he slides into the booth beside Bradley. “He’s trying to flirt but she’s shutting him down.”

Javy takes a seat in the booth beside Jake while Mickey steals a chair from another table and sits himself at the head of the group.

“You know,” Mickey says thoughtfully, “I’ve always thought that Romeo and Giggles would make a good couple.”

Natasha snorts a laugh. “Yeah, maybe they can produce one braincell between the two of them.”

Jake gasps dramatically. “Phoenix! Don’t be rude.”

She rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t count when they can’t hear.” She then turns her attention to Bradley, who is taking a very generous sip of his beer. “Speaking of Giggles, did you talk to Mav?”

Bradley sculls half his drink before plonking it back down on the table. “No. I was going to call him, but he texted me to say he’d drop by the bar tonight. Thought I’d just ask him then.”

“Good.” She nods. “I have enough shit to stress about. I don’t need to worry about that airhead joining the team and blowing up everything we’ve worked for.”

The group start a half-hushed discussion about what Maverick could have possibly told Giggles to make her think she’d have a chance at joining the squad. Bradley hardly listens though, aside from giving the occasional head nod or chuckle when he catches a word or two. He keeps his eyes trained on you. The way you move around the bar, performing your job effortlessly. Everything is muscle memory; from the way you pour a beer to the way you shake the cocktail shaker.

When the crowd at the bar dies down, you say something to Penny before turning around and walking through the swinging wooden doors. He can’t help but ogle your ass in those jeans; the way it moves as you walk and bend toward tables, collecting empty glasses. The jeans hug you in such a way that makes him jealous – yeah, he’s jealous of denim now. They pinch into the crease between your cheeks and your thighs before stretching down your legs – those legs that would look perfect thrown over his shoulders as he buries himself inside of you.

The cuffs of those mouth-watering jeans are tucked into boots. Big black boots with scuffed toes and frayed laces. Bradley has never seen you wear any other shoes at the bar. They’re your chosen uniform, and he’s thought way too much about fucking you in nothing but those boots.

An idea pops into Bradley’s head as he watches your booted foot shove an unoccupied chair out of your way. He nudges Reuben. “Move, I need to check something.”

Reuben frowns as he slides out of the booth, freeing Bradley.

“Get another round while you’re up, would you, darling?” Jake calls after him.

Bradley waves a hand in acknowledgement as he beelines toward the other side of the bar where the karaoke machine is. There’s a thick, tattered binder sitting atop the machine that lists every song available to be sung. He flips it open and starts searching.

It only takes about ten seconds to find the song he’s looking for, and his heart starts pumping a little faster. He’s going to need a lot more drinks to pull this off.

“Bit early to start that, isn’t it?”

Bradley flips the binder shut and turns to Maverick, who is standing beside him wearing that signature smirk. He drops the binder back atop the machine. “I need to talk to you.”

Maverick sighs. “What have I done now?”

Bradley leans an arm on the top of the karaoke machine as he explains the squad’s earlier interaction with Giggles. Maverick doesn’t look shocked or sheepish, he looks exasperated by the time Bradley finishes.

“This woman is relentless.” Mav presses two fingers against his temple.

“So, she’s not trying out for-”

“Of course not.” Maverick says. “That’s not even something she could do. This is an elite unit of specially selected and trained aviators. Giggles barely graduated TOPGUN. I’m not even sure how she qualified for the programme.”

Bradley tips his head curiously. “Then what did you tell her?”

“She wouldn’t let up unless I gave her something, so I said I’d fly with her. One weekend, we’d do a quick drill and I could give her some pointers. Maybe give her a reference if she impressed me.”

Bradley chuckles. “You really have an excellent way of communicating with women.”

Mav scowls at his godson, though it’s much less intimidating than he’d like given the height difference. “I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear.”

“Obviously not.”

Mav sighs again. “Obviously.”

At that moment, the devil herself walks into the bar. Her blonde locks bounce as she walks, her eyes scanning every face in the room as she searches for something. Or someone.

“Maybe you should talk to her now,” Bradley says quietly to Mav. “Better to set things straight before she tells every naval officer on North Island that the elite dagger squad is holding try outs.”

Maverick chuckles. “Good idea, Rooster. I think you should join me. Maybe you can clear something else up for her too.”

Bradley’s brows pinch into a frown, but before he can protest, Giggles has spotted the two of them and Mav is waving her over.

- You -

It’s almost like your body is connected to Bradley’s in some intrinsic way. You can’t not be aware of him, his presence and where he is. You’re the North to his South, like two magnets being held close enough to make each other move but not yet close enough to snap together. Though you’re not sure how much longer you can resist his pull.

“In the next lull, I’m going to grab some more vodka.” Penny’s hip bumps yours as she fills a glass of beer beside you.

You nod. “Grab an extra bottle for me, yeah?”

She laughs softly as she leans forward and places the beer on the bar. You dance around each other easily, having worked together for so long that you know exactly how the other is going to move. You feel at peace behind the bar, despite how busy the place is getting. Your movements are easy and familiar. You fill beer glasses, you pour shots, you fill short and tall glasses with ice and soda, and you take cash and swipe cards.

You’re so in tune with the bar that you almost feel the main door swing open, revealing a gorgeous blonde bombshell wearing a tiny pink sundress. Your stomach sinks and your feet freeze. You’d have to be an idiot not to think she’s attractive – albeit a little annoying – and you don’t blame anyone in the bar for craning their necks to stare at the Barbie doll that just entered.

“Here.” Penny slides a shot glass across the bench below the bar. “I’m going to get some more bottles. Are you good?”

You lift the shot to your lips, not caring who sees, and swallow the tequila without so much as wincing. You drop the little glass into the sink. “I’m good.”

You try hard not to watch Giggles approach Bradley and Mav, but it’s hard when you don’t have anyone to serve. The rush has died down, and most people are now seated with their friends, chatting and sipping happily. You wipe down the bar top and the bench, you fill the dishwasher and start a cycle, and you restock the napkins and straws, but your eyes still wander back over to Bradley. You need a distraction.

“Hey, beautiful,” Romeo – you have no clue what his real name is – says, leaning forward on the bar.

You take a deep breath. Not that distraction.

“Another one?”

He nods, sliding his empty glass toward you.

“Same?”

He nods again as you take the empty glass, put it in the sink, and grab a fresh one.

“Saw you sink that shot just now,” he says, lips pulled into a smirk. “Do you get off early tonight? Maybe we can have some fun.”

You shake your head, eyes glued to the golden liquid filling the glass. “No. Just trying to get through the night.”

“That’s a shame.” He leans forward even further, and you worry for a moment that he might actually climb over the bar. “What time do you get off?”

“Late.”

He remains undeterred by your clear disinterest. “How late? Maybe I could give you a lift home.”

You plonk the beer on the bar in front of him. “Too late.”

You hear a shrill giggle, and you can’t help it. Your eyes snap toward Bradley, and you see Giggles’ perfectly manicured hand wrapped around his bicep as she leans in way too close to him. Your stomach ties itself in another knot.

“I see.” Romeo pushes himself off the bar and grabs his beer. “You’ve got a thing for birds.”

You turn back to him, eyes narrowed and arms crossed. “What does that even mean?”

He rolls his eyes as if you exasperate him. “Just so you know, she’s joining his squad. They’re going to be together every day while you work your flat ass off for minimum wage every night. So, good luck competing with that.”

“Excuse me?” Penny snaps, appearing beside you with a box full of large liquor bottles. “You better apologise before I kick your ass out of here.”

Romeo scoffs, his mouth popping open to retort when two other patrons step up to the bar.

“Got a problem here, ladies?” Jake asks, a challenging smirk stretched across his lips as he turns to face the blond idiot whose face is getting redder by the second.

Penny raises her brows at Romeo. “Do we?”

He takes a deep breath, eyes bouncing between Penny, Jake, and Javy. “No, we don’t.” He looks at you and mumbles, “Sorry.”

The four of you watch as he turns and stalks toward his table of friends, not daring to look back.

Penny shakes her head. “I can’t believe that asshole said-”

“It’s okay, Pen,” you quickly interrupt. “He was just throwing a tantrum because I turned him down.”

Javy chuckles. “I don’t think Romeo ever has been turned down. Might have to give him a new callsign.”

You grab two clean glasses and start pouring your friends another drink each. “I think ‘assface’ sounds good, and it’s definitely more fitting.”

Jake nods. “His face does resemble an ass. A bad one.”

The corner of your lips tip up as you slide the two beers across the bar. When Jake tries to hand you his card, Penny pushes it away. “This one’s on the house.”

“Penny, my dear,” Jake says. “You are too kind.”

Javy tips his head in thanks as they both turn and head back toward the booth where the rest of your friends are.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Penny asks as you start unloading the box of liquor.

You nod once. “Yeah, fine.”

You know it isn’t convincing, but she doesn't have time to press you as another wave of thirsty patrons approaches. You let her serve and handle the payment while you make the drinks, silently sliding them across the bar until the small rush dies down. When you both have another moment to catch your breath, Penny turns to you, hand on hip and mouth poised to speak, but she stops. Her eyes move to something behind you.

You glance over your shoulder and your stomach flips up into your throat. How is it fair that Bradley can elicit such responses from your body simply by standing there?

You turn to face him. “Another drink?”

He nods. “Yes, please.”

Always so polite. You wonder for a second if he’s that polite in bed, or if he- Nope. Stop that.

You pick up a clean glass and start filling it, watching the golden liquid even though you can feel his eyes boring into you. When you look up, he’s wearing the same dark expression as before.

Your fingers brush his as you take his card, and your tongue darts across your bottom lip. You turn to the machine, ring up the drink, swipe the card, and turn back to him. You almost drop the card from the way you’re handing it to him, trying to avoid his touch.

Another shrill giggle makes you flinch, and you instinctively look over to where Mav is stuck in conversation with Giggles. He looks tired and like he needs saving.

You can’t help yourself when you turn back to Bradley. “I hear you’ve got a shiny new teammate.”

His brows pinch. “Where did you hear that?”

You shrug one shoulder, not really wanting to explain your earlier altercation with Romeo. “The grapevine.”

“Well, the grapevine is very wrong.”

You frown at him. “What?”

He takes a long sip of his beer, draining almost a third of it. “She got a little confused with what Mav said earlier today. To be honest, I’m not sure she’s even heard what he’s said to try and clear things up. She just keeps giggling.”

You laugh softly, rolling your lips to stop yourself from giggling. “Well, she certainly lives up to the name.”

He nods. “That’s for sure.”

You suck your bottom lip between your teeth and press both palms on the bench beneath the bar, leaning forward. “Do you live up to yours, Rooster?”

He tips his head curiously, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “How do you mean?”

You shrug again and relax your weight back onto your feet. “You tell me. How did you get the callsign?”

He hesitates, and you can hear the dishwasher beep to signal it’s finished cycle. You step toward it, not too far from Bradley, and pop the door open.

He still hasn’t replied, so you decide to prompt him. “Are you an early riser? Do you like to sing in the mornings?” You pull out a rack of glasses and carry it to the bench right in front of him. You place it down and lean forward again. “Are you particularly vain? Or do you just have a massive cock?”

“Excuse me.” An older woman standing to the side of the bar calls for your attention. “Where are the toilets?”

Bradley’s cheeks are flaming, his eyes like saucers, and you have to control your laughter as you turn to face the woman. “Just that way.” You point at the very obvious sign.

Two more patrons step up to the bar, and you turn to Bradley with a wink. “Saved by the bell.”

You leave the stunned man to serve the other customers, and when Penny returns with armfuls of empty glasses, another rush kicks in. It’s that time of the night when everyone starts to stock up on liquid courage, slinging back drinks and shots and getting themselves ready for the karaoke.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you pour drinks and make jokes with Penny. You’re feeling a lot lighter about being on this side of the bar with a bit of tequila in your system, and you honestly feel like it’s making you even better at your job. You’re more bubbly, more willing to talk nonsense with chatty patrons, and you’re actually looking forward to seeing your friends perform some embarrassing karaoke.

“Okay, gorgeous.” Jake thrums his hands against the bar. “We’re going to need a round of shots to get Fanboy up there kicking the night off.”

You smile at him and nod. “Go sit down, I’ll bring it over.”

Penny is already arranging a tray with a bunch of shot glasses on it. You count them. “Eight?”

She nods. “I’m turning a blind eye tonight.”

You wedge a bottle of tequila under one arm and take the tray with both hands. “You know what, Pen? I think you would have been an absolute blast in your twenties.”

She rolls her eyes playfully and places a hand on each of your shoulders. “Trust me, I was.”

You can’t help the giggles that bubble from your lips as she turns you around and steers you toward the swinging wooden doors. You carefully make your way weaving through the groups of people toward your friends, who all cheer when you drop the tray of shot glasses on their table.

Bradley is sitting on the end of the booth seat to your right, and your knee brushes against the outside of his thigh as you bend over to start pouring the tequila. You can feel his eyes on your profile, but you don’t dare look his way. You’re too close and he’s had too many drinks. You lost count about half an hour ago and made a mental note to swipe his keys as soon as you get the chance.

“Alright, boys and girls.” You slide the tray into the middle of the table. “No funny faces. I want you all to swallow like Seresin on a Saturday night.” You pick up your own shot, shoot a wink at Jake, and tip it to your lips. The liquor hits the back of your throat and burns all the way down before sizzling in your empty stomach. You should really try and eat something soon.

When you look back at the group, they’ve all got their heads tipped back and the little glasses pressed to their lips. Your eyes fall immediately to the man beside you, watching the column of his tan throat as he swallows. With the tequila swirling through your body, you’re starting to feel a little feral, like you could just sink your teeth into him right here. Right now.

“Okay, one more!” Mickey exclaims, slamming the shot glass back on the table. “Then I’m doing Dancing Queen.”

There’s a mixture of groans and laughter from the squad.

“Dancing Queen?” Jake echoes. “That’s so overdone.”

Mickey throws him a scowl. “I don’t care. I’m feeling young and sweet, only seventeen.”

You laugh through your nose as you concentrate on pouring another round, leaving yourself out this time. You have to lean a little further over the table, and thanks to the most recent nip of tequila rushing to your head, you almost lose balance. But before you can fall forward, a warm hand grabs the back of your thigh, just above your knee. It squeezes tight, almost too tight, and holds you steady.

All the air leaves your lungs in one quick whoosh. You know who’s hand it is, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. He’s too delicious right now. A little drunk, hair mussed, sunglasses perched low on his nose, and that stupid, gorgeous grin tugging at his lips. Yeah. If you turn around, you might not be able to stop yourself from mounting him right here in front of everyone.

“Here you go.” You stand back up straight, but his hand doesn’t move. Not even as he reaches forward, picks up a shot, clinks it with the others, and tips it into his mouth.

The squad, now very well lubricated, launch back into discussion about whether or not Dancing Queen is a good enough debut song for Mickey tonight. You laugh along with them as you gather the glasses onto the tray, but when you go to wedge the tequila bottle under your arm again, Bradley stops you.

He grabs the bottle and stands up, forcing you back a step from the table. “I’ll give you a hand.”

You nod and turn on your heel. You’ll let him give you a hand, however he wants to lend a hand. Literally, any way he wants to give you a hand, you’re willing.

As you walk back toward the bar, you internally scold yourself for letting your thoughts run rampant. Part of you blames the tequila, and another part blames Bradley for how downright sinful he is looking tonight. But you know it’s mostly yourself who’s to blame. Your own stupid brain that too often fantasises about what it’d be like if Bradley felt the same way about you that you feel about him.

You stop at the back end of the bar, away from where Penny is serving, and put the tray of glasses down before turning to Bradley. “Thanks for that.”

He nods. “Anything for you.”

You take the bottle and put it on the bar. “Anything?”

He nods again, his eyes half hooded behind his sunglasses. You roll your lips and let your eyes trail down the front of him, appreciating the deep neckline of the singlet beneath his open Hawaiian shirt, and the smattering of hair that peaks out just below his clavicle.

You take half a step forward, eyes trailing back up. “Anything at all?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his head drops to look at you. “Anything.”

“Well...” you sigh, your voice barely above a whisper. “What to pick.”

There’s less than two inches of space between your bodies, and you have to concentrate to stop your hand from trembling as your fingertips dance along his belt. His chest is starting to rise and fall a little faster, and you can’t help the smirk that stretches across your lips as you dip your hand into his pocket.

He draws a quick, sharp breath, and you pull your hand back out with his keys pinched between your fingers. “Looks like you’re catching a cab tonight, Bradshaw.”

He lets go of that breath and chuckles, his whole body relaxing. “You wanted my keys?"

You nod and take a step back, trying to ignore how hot your cheeks are.

“You could have just asked."

You shrug one shoulder as you turn to walk away. “I like getting you all flustered.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you retreat toward the doors that lead behind the bar, so you let your hips sway a little extra from side to side. You don’t know it yet, but you’re definitely going to pay for that little stunt later.

You step up beside Penny and immediately start serving, keeping your focus on the customers in front of you rather than thinking about the way Bradley had just practically melted under your touch. It’s only because he’s drunk, right?

After a minute or so, you see Mickey stand up and walk across the bar. The squad are all cheering and gathering their drinks to follow him. He doesn’t look apprehensive or worried, he looks excited. You watch him turn on the karaoke machine and don’t bother going to help, because he’s done this over a dozen times before. Jake walks past his friend toward the jukebox and unplugs it. The music cuts out and every head in the room turns to Mickey. He grins, clears his throat into the microphone, and then the iconic opening to ABBA’s Dancing Queen blasts through the speakers.

It barely takes ten words for the rest of the bar to start chanting along, and you realise that this might have been his plan all along. He’s not stupid, he knows the drunks can’t resist ABBA, and what better way to break the ice than to get the whole room singing along.

The song eventually ends with Jake and Reuben up beside him, all shouting into the microphone without an ounce of talent. You make a mental note to tease Jake about this later. Overdone, my ass.

You lose yourself to pouring beer once again as people demand more drinks so they can get up and embarrass themselves too. The squad practically man the karaoke machine, and more often than not end up alongside the singer toward the end of the songs. They’re all so drunk and so happy, you can’t help but laugh.

Mickey and Natasha sing Bonnie Tyler’s Holding Out for a Hero, and then Jake and Javy sing Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten. There’s a lot of ABBA and Queen from patrons you don’t recognise, and then the squad cause a huge scene trying to get Maverick up for a song. He refuses until they drag him up to the bar for another round of shots, and then they all perform Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me.

After that, Mickey, Natasha, and an adorably drunk Bob sing Cherry Bomb by The Runaways. You’re not sure you’ve seen Bob drunk more than once before, but it’s possibly the cutest thing in the world to see him red-faced and stumbling over words while bopping his head to the beat of the song.

You’re cleaning a glass and giggling when Bradley and Reuben step up to the bar. “Beer or tequila?”

Reuben chuckles, his grin looking strangely conspiratorial. “Both.”

You tip your lips into a downward smile and nod your head. “Trying not to lose momentum?”

“Rooster has a big number coming up.” Reuben elbows a very sheepish looking Bradley. “He needs his liquid courage.”

You nod, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “I was wondering when I was going to see you up there. You’re usually one of the first.”

He chuckles, but you can sense that he’s nervous. About what, you have no idea. Bradley is one of the only ones with a modicum of talent. He’s that charming guy with a decent voice who everyone regrets inviting to karaoke night because he actually sounds decent.

“Well,” you say, sliding two shots across the bar, “good luck.”

They both sink the shots and scoop up their beers. Reuben pays, winks at you, and clasps Bradley on the shoulder as they walk back over to the group. You want to wonder more about why Bradley could possibly be so anxious, but you don’t have any time before Penny hands you a slip of paper for an order of cocktails.

Another two songs pass while you make the drinks and deliver them to the table where Giggles and her friends are waiting. She has a twisted smirk on her face as you place the glass in front of her, and a part of you wishes you’d known so you could have spit it one of the cocktails.

You give her your widest, cheesiest smile before turning around and walking back toward the bar. You’re about halfway there when you see Reuben shove the microphone into Bradley’s hand and push him toward the front of the crowd. He doesn’t look so nervous anymore – he still looks like sex on legs – and he’s laughing as the sound of tambourines fill the speakers.

You cheer along with the crowd, holding the empty drinks tray under one arm so you can clap. You’re only a few feet from the front of the bar, so you look at Penny with raised brows as if to ask if she needs you, but she shakes her head and waves a dismissive hand, silently telling you to watch the show. But the smirk on her lips makes you think she might know something you don’t.

When you look back at Bradley, he’s got Natasha up on one side and Mickey on the other. They’re dancing like loons as the drumbeat kicks in, and then they all start playing the air guitar as soon as the familiar riff blares through the speakers.

Bradley’s glasses are perched low on his nose, his grin so wide you can’t help but grin too, and as he brings the microphone up to his lips, you wonder if this man might have been a rockstar in another life. “So one, two, three, take my hand and come with me, because you look so fine, that I really wanna make you mine.”

Something between a giggle and a shriek leaves your lips when Jake and Reuben pop up beside you. Reuben grabs your wrist and drags you forward into the crowd, while Jake yanks the drinks tray from under arm. You go with them willingly, dancing and laughing with your friends who you’ve never seen so carefree. You could definitely get used to being on this side of the bar.

The rest of the squad are up beside Bradley now, playing the air guitar and banging their heads like maniacs. You stop right in front of him, staring up at him like he’s a god, and he turns to look right at you as he sings. “Now you don’t need the money, when you look like that, do ya, honey?”

Another shriek splits from your lips when he grabs your hand and yanks you toward him. You almost crash into him, but he’s too smooth to let that happen. He lets go of your hand and wraps an arm around your waist, catching you and holding you against him.

“Big black boots.” He tips his head and winks at you over his sunglasses. “Long brown hair.” He leans back as Javy leans over his shoulder, and they sing together. “She’s so sweet with her get-back stare.”

The others crowd around as the chorus kicks in, and you all shout the lyrics along with the rest of the bar. But Bradley doesn’t let you go. He keeps his arm around you, still allowing you to dance but not without rubbing a part of your body against his.

The chorus finishes and the room goes quiet except for the backing track. Bradley drops his head forward again, watching you over the frame of his sunglasses as he sings. “I said, are you gonna be my girl?”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you know your cheeks are redder than a maraschino cherry. The room cheers and Bradley chuckles. Everyone starts dancing and playing the air guitar again, and Mickey and Reuben lean toward the microphone to sing the start of the next verse with Bradley.

There’s another quick guitar break where Bradley turns back to you, a light sheen of sweat covering his exposed skin. “I say you look so fine, that I really wanna make you mine.”

Your head spins. If it weren’t for his arm, you’re almost positive you’d be passed out on the floor.

Mickey and Reuben join back in for the next verse, but their voices are lost in the sea of singing from the whole bar. You don’t dare look out at the crowd though, you’re already nervous enough being held against a very sweaty and very delicious man.

When the verse ends, the whole squad turn to you, point at your feet, and shout-sing. “Big black boots!”

You roll your eyes and laugh before joining in on the chorus. But just like before, when the chorus finishes, everyone stops singing along as if they’ve been told to. Bradley squeezes you even closer, sounding a little out of breath as he sings, “I said, are you gonna be my girl?”

The guitar returns almost immediately, and Bradley finally lets you go to clap along with the song. The squad all clap too, and the whole bar claps and stomps their feet to the beat. You can feel the floor shaking.

Bradley holds the microphone up to Mickey and he shouts, “Oh, yeah!”

Bradley then moves it along the line to Reuben. “C’mon!”

The clapping and stomping doesn’t stop. The energy is so high, you’ve never experienced a karaoke Friday like this, and you know it’s not just the tequila to blame. Something about tonight is a little bit electric.

For the final chorus, everyone shouts as loud as they can. Bradley holds the microphone, but it's useless at this point. The only reason you can hear him is because he’s right next to you, an arm wrapped around your waist again.

“Be my girl,” the room shouts.

Bradley winks at you, and everyone echoes again, “Be my girl!”

He holds the microphone above his head as everyone screams the final line of the song. “Are you gonna be my girl, yeah!”

The backing track fades and everyone cheers, louder than you’ve ever heard. You can’t stop giggling, and you can’t look at anything except the gorgeous man grinning down at you. The noise from the rest of the bar fades away as you stare at him, tracing the lines on his face and licking your lips when you see a small droplet of sweat fall from his hairline.

Then the noise slowly returns. It’s different from before, louder somehow. Organised. It’s a chant. The whole bar is chanting. At you.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Your heart is beating so violently against your ribcage, it’s making your whole skeleton shake. Your eyes are wide and your cheeks are red. You’re paralysed. You want to reach up, but you can’t. You want to kiss him, but you can’t make yourself for the fear of rejection.

Bradley chuckles, his voice raspy from singing. “I like getting you all flustered too.”

Then his lips are on yours, hard and soft all at once. He urges against you and then eases back, letting you fall into him. He tastes like beer and sweat, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted in your whole life. His other arm wraps around your body to pull you impossibly close. There’s cheering, but you can barely hear it over the thrum of your pulse in your ears.

Your hands find their way up his body and into his hair, threading your fingers through his locks. He pushes forward again, forcing you to tip your head back so he can deepen the kiss. His tongue slips past your lips and you moan softly. But then he’s gone. He stands up straight and chuckles again, because you’re wearing the most indignant frown. To him, you look adorable.

“As much as I’d love to keep going,” he rasps, “maybe not in front of the whole bar.”

The reality of where you are comes crashing down, and you quickly pull yourself out of his arms. He catches your hand though, linking your fingers together as he follows you out of the spotlight. He stops you before you can slip through the bar’s wooden doors, tugging on your arm so you turn to face him.

“So,” he says, brows raised. “What’s your answer?”

You frown. “Answer to what?”

He nods back toward where you’d just been singing your hearts out, and your eyes go wide.

“Wait, you were-”

Before you can finish, he surges forward and captures your lips again. You stumble but he catches you, one large hand on either side of your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before, stealing your breath and making your stomach do a whole gymnastics routine.

When he pulls back, your head spins. All you can do is blink at up with a confused frown. “You meant all that?”

He shrugs, his smile turning sheepish. “Why do you think I was so nervous?”

You tip your head back and stare at one of the model planes hanging from the ceiling. “So that’s why you drank so much tonight.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, sober Bradley couldn’t ask you out.”

You nod slowly, your lips tipping up into a smirk. “Is that so?"

He nods.

“Well then, which Bradley do I need to ask to fuck my brains out? Drunk Bradley? Or do I have to wait until-”

“Both,” he interrupts, his voice low and his eyes dark.

His expression is dead serious now, aside from the pink in his cheeks. He almost looks feral as he towers over you, pupils blown with lust and lips puffy.

“Good.” You pat a hand on his chest. “Then if you stick around, I’ll drive you home.”

You turn and step through the doors into the bar, feeling his eyes burning into your backside as you sway your hips. You work the rest of the night with a smirk on your lips and an ache between your legs. Your friends come and go with teasing comments, but you let them, because all you can think about is Bradley’s predatory stare. He doesn’t let you out of his sight all night, and he looks even deadlier when Romeo approaches for another round of drinks. But the rest of the night passes without incident, and when it finally comes time to close, you actually have to kick a few patrons out.

Bradley waits leaning against the passenger door of your car as Penny locks up. You promise her you’ll be there in the morning to help clean, but the knowing smirk on her lips when she sees Bradley at your car definitely means that she doesn’t believe you.

You give her a little wave as she heads off toward her car and you walk toward yours. When you walk past Bradley, he reaches out and grabs your wrist, tugging you toward him.

“Hey,” he says quickly, before kissing you again.

You push up onto your toes as you kiss him back.

“You know,” he murmurs against your mouth, “this isn’t just one night.”

Your heart kicks into overdrive again, trying to crack your sternum.

“I want you. All of you. I have for God knows how long, and I’ve been too chickenshit to do anything about it. But I need you to know that this isn’t a onetime thing and it’s not just because I’ve had a few drinks. This is it. You and me.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to convince yourself that you’re not dreaming. When you open your eyes and look up at him, your heart swells so much it feels like it might burst.

“I want you too. All of you.”

He grins and swoops down to kiss you again, only quickly. “Good. Now let’s go, I have to fuck your brains out, remember?”

You roll your eyes despite your burning cheeks. “Yeah, you do.”

As you walk around the front of your car on wobbly legs, he adds, “Oh, and you should probably tell Penny that you won’t be here in the morning. You’ll still be getting your brains fucked out.”

END.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster #rooster x reader #miles teller #top gun #top gun: maverick #top gun maverick #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #one shot #jake seresin #hangman #maverick

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prettygirl-gabi · 3 months ago

Text

Special Guest

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

POV: First-person

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 1,500+

Summary: we have a special guest for the podcast

Tags: @paigeshirleytemple , @unknowngirlypop , @paigeluvvr , @melpthatsme , @authentic-girl03 , @lessi-lover , @courtsidewithlani

I adjust my mic and glance at Kayla, who’s lounging comfortably against my pillows, setting up her recording equipment.

“So, let me get this straight,” I start, tilting my head at her. “You, Kayla Williams, decided that my dorm—my bed, specifically—was the best place to record this episode?”

Kayla smirks. “You act like this isn’t the most comfortable setup ever. It’s cozy, it’s intimate, it’s giving vibes. Plus, do you really think I was about to record in one of those stiff chairs in the common room? Be so for real.”

I shake my head, laughing. “You just didn’t wanna book a studio.”

“Correct.” She grins, popping a piece of gum into her mouth. “Now, get comfy, and let’s start—”

Before she can finish, my dorm door swings open, and in walks Paige.

Scratch that—drags herself in.

She looks exhausted, still in her practice gear, her low ponytail a little frizzy from sweat, and her duffle bag barely hanging onto her shoulder. She doesn’t say anything, just lets out a deep sigh and makes a beeline for my bed.

“Uh, hey?” I say, watching as she tosses her bag to the floor, taking her ponytail out and flops onto the mattress like she’s been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Without hesitation, she burrows into me, laying her head directly on my stomach, her arms loosely wrapping around my waist.

I blink down at her. “Paige?”

She hums in response but doesn’t move.

Kayla raises an eyebrow. “Yo, is she good?”

“She had morning practice,” I explain, running a hand through Paige’s locs. “Guess it wiped her out.”

Kayla snickers. “Nah, this is crazy. She didn’t even say hi.”

I poke Paige’s shoulder. “You good, baby?”

Paige nuzzles deeper into me, sighing. “Mhm.”

“Wanna move?”

“No.”

I glance at Kayla, who’s grinning like she’s witnessing something hilarious.

“Oh, she’s whipped,” Kayla says, adjusting her mic. “You sure you still wanna record? Your girl looks real comfortable.”

I glance down at Paige, who’s already breathing slower, her body completely relaxed against mine.

“She’ll be fine,” I say, settling back into the pillows. “If she’s tired enough to fall asleep while we talk for an hour, she probably needs the rest.”

Kayla shakes her head, still smirking. “Alright, your relationship is crazy soft, but let’s get into it.”

She presses record, and just like that, we start the episode.

—

Thirty minutes in, Paige hasn’t moved an inch.

She’s completely knocked out, her breath warm against my hoodie, her arms still lazily wrapped around me. Every now and then, she shifts, sighs, or tightens her grip, but for the most part, she’s dead to the world.

Kayla, of course, is having way too much fun with this.

“Okay, so what I’m gathering,” she says, pointing at Paige’s sleeping form, “is that you got this superstar, face-of-UConn-basketball, Paige Bueckers, so down bad that she literally needs to be on you to function properly?”

I roll my eyes. “She’s just tired.”

Kayla gives me a look. “Nah, see, I’ve known Paige for a while, and I ain’t never seen her like this with anyone else.”

I fight a smile, absentmindedly running my fingers through Paige’s hair. “She likes being close to me. Is that a crime?”

Kayla grins. “Not at all. It’s just hilarious how you try to act all nonchalant about it.” She leans toward the mic dramatically. “Y’all, let it be known that Paige Bueckers is a clingy girlfriend. Possibly the clingiest.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “She’s not that clingy.”

Kayla gestures at Paige. “Bro. She fell asleep on you mid-podcast. You might as well get her a ‘Property of Y/N’ shirt at this point.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “She does have a hoodie that says ‘Y/N’s Favorite.’”

Kayla howls. “Oh, nah! That’s crazy. Ain’t no way.”

I nod, grinning. “Got it for her last Valentine’s Day.”

Kayla wipes a fake tear. “This is beautiful. True love.”

I shake my head, still smiling as we move on to the next topic.

—

By the time we wrap up the episode, Paige is still dead asleep.

Kayla stretches, cracking her knuckles. “Alright, that’s a wrap. Great episode, and we got bonus content of you being the human equivalent of a teddy bear.”

I snort. “Glad I could provide entertainment.”

Kayla stands, gathering her stuff. “I gotta bounce, but good luck getting your girl off you.” She nudges Paige’s leg. “Yo, Bueckers, you alive?”

Paige groans, barely lifting her head. “Barely.”

Kayla smirks. “Your girl’s free now. You gonna let her move?”

Paige ignores her, instead snuggling back into me, her voice muffled against my hoodie. “No.”

Kayla cackles. “Yeah, I’m outta here.”

She gives me a knowing look before heading for the door. “Text me when you finally escape.”

I roll my eyes. “Bye, Kayla.”

Once she’s gone, I glance down at Paige, brushing a few stray locs out of her face. “You good, sleepyhead?”

Paige hums. “Better now.”

I smile. “You slept through my whole podcast, you know.”

She grins sleepily, eyes still closed. “Best nap I’ve ever had.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “You’re so spoiled.”

She finally cracks one eye open, looking up at me with that soft, lazy smile of hers. “By you? Absolutely.”

I can’t even argue with that. Instead, I kiss her forehead, letting her sink back into me.

She’s gonna be wide awake later, and I should make her get up soon.

But for now?

I let her stay exactly where she is.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

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nataliescatorccioapologist · 3 months ago

Text

Exploring all of the main Yellowjackets ships (and what makes each of them so compelling)

In honor of everyone fighting about which ship is the best in this fandom, I wanted to do a rundown of each of the main Yellowjackets ships and why they are all so interesting and believable in their own ways. I am only going over the most popular ships in the fandom (romantic pairings with more than 100 written works on ao3), so sorry if some of your favorite rarepairs are missing! And if you’re looking for a post all about how these relationships are so cute and healthy, this isn’t it (except for maybe Taivan). I’m mostly going to talk about how toxic, tragic, and tumultuous they all are, because that’s what we’re actually here for.

Jackieshauna

Jackieshauna is all about possession (in the best, most homoerotically intense way). Their dynamic is fraught with contradictory feelings that somehow exist alongside each other. Shauna idolizes Jackie’s magnetic influence, but she is also deeply resentful of her. Shauna adores Jackie, but she’s also suffocated by her. She feels like can’t live without Jackie, but she also can’t stand living in her shadow anymore. Jackie cares deeply for Shauna, but she also needs to own her; she needs to be validated by her position of power over Shauna.

The queer subtext in their relationship is so strong that it almost doesn’t feel like subtext at all. From the longing stares and the constant, almost hypnotic closeness to the way they interact with each other, the line between platonic love and romantic obsession blurs to the point of becoming indistinguishable. Their entire dynamic reads like a suppressed, unspoken desire, with both women using Jeff (and Travis eventually) as a way of redirecting their intense feelings towards each other. Shauna’s betrayal with Jeff doesn’t just feel like a “best friend stole my boyfriend” situation—it feels like she wanted to be Jackie, to consume her, to get as close to her as possible. And Jackie’s reaction isn’t just about the betrayal; it’s about the fact that Shauna was hers, and suddenly, she’s not. Jackie is so devastated by the knowledge of Shauna sleeping with Jeff that she no longer believes in love and loses her will to live entirely.

Shauna’s grief over Jackie isn’t just guilt; it’s, once again, possession. She talks to Jackie’s frozen corpse, hallucinates their conversations, braids her hair, does her makeup, eats her ear. It’s as if, in death, Jackie becomes more hers than she ever was in life. I just can’t get enough of the line, “I don’t know where you end and I begin.” Shauna eating Jackie is the ultimate culmination of this. It’s an act of worship—taking Jackie into herself, keeping her close in the most visceral way possible. But it’s also an act of domination—Shauna, who spent so long being beneath Jackie, is now consuming her, overpowering her in a way she never could while Jackie was alive.

There are so many layers to Jackieshauna; it’s love, admiration, obsession, ownership, codependency, resentment, and jealousy all wrapped up into one severely intense relationship. Their story is so tragic because it’s full of unspoken things—words that were never said, feelings that were never acknowledged, and a love that was never fully realized until it was too late.

One word to describe them: Possession

Their best scene: Their last fight

"Did I force you to live in my shadow, Shauna? It must be hard being this jealous all the time. You're so fucking jealous of me you can barely breathe."

“Are you quoting Beaches at me right now?”

“No…”

"I'm not jealous of you, Jackie. I feel sorry for you. Because you're weak. And I think that deep down, you know it. I’m sure everyone at home is so fucking sad to be losing their perfect little princess, but they’ll never know how tragic and boring and insecure you really are, or how high school was the best your life was ever gonna get.”

Taivan

Taivan is a peak golden retriever/black cat ship. Van is the golden retriever: loyal, endlessly optimistic (even in the face of getting nearly fatally attacked by wolves), and always trying to bring humor and lightness to situations, even when things are at their worst. She’s playful, affectionate, and follows Taissa around with unwavering devotion, even when Taissa is pushing her away or making choices that Van doesn’t agree with. This loyalty extends to Taissa’s sleepwalking, as Van’s support of her never falters even when faced with a darker, more dangerous side of Tai.

Taissa, on the other hand, is the ultimate black cat: fiercely independent, emotionally guarded, and always trying to maintain control, even when she’s clearly struggling. She’s skeptical, calculated, and reluctant to accept things that don’t fit her worldview. This initially translates into her relationship with Van, as she doesn’t want to be vulnerable, but you can tell she feels such a deep love for Van that keeps drawing her back in; unable to hide this softer side of herself. Van softens Taissa in the best way, cracking open that hard shell and allowing Taissa’s vulnerability and warmth to reveal itself. The most telling moment of this is Taissa’s willingness to enter Lottie’s spiritual circle to support Van. For someone as practical, skeptical, and grounded as Taissa, this is a significant sacrifice of her usual hard-edged pragmatism. But her desire to be there for Van, to show up in a way that is vulnerable and supportive, speaks volumes about the way Van has brought out a warmth in her that no one else ever could. Taissa’s love for Van is not just a passive emotion—it’s an active, deliberate decision to let go of control. The fact that she does this for Van is a testament to just how deeply she cares. And the Doomcoming “I want to see you” scene? That girl loves Van with her entire being.

In the adult timeline, Tai and Van cope with what happened in the wilderness in opposite ways. Taissa obsessively looks to the future and refuses to look back, while Van remains stuck in the past, refusing to move on. When they reunite in Season 2, they’re able to meet somewhere in the middle; a collision of the past and present.

It is clear that these two will do anything for each other, whether it’s fighting off a pack of wolves, tying themselves to each other at night, or going on life-threatening expeditions just to support each other. They are devoted to each other in any form. I can't wait to see them fuck on a table in the adult timeline in S3.

One word to describe them: Devotion

Their best scene: I ❤️ you (in blood)

“This is how you’re choosing to say ‘I love you’ for the first time?”

“You’re kind of leaving me hanging here, lady…”

“I love you, too.”

Lottienat

Lottie and Nat are classic narrative foils. They contrast so sharply with one another, yet in those very contrasts lie hidden similarities that shape their dynamic. Natalie was raised in a trailer park while Lottie was raised in a mansion, but they both grew up lonely and neglected by the people who are supposed to love them. Both of them feel alone and unloved, but where Natalie learns to toughen up and rely solely on herself, Lottie begins to seek connection in something bigger than herself—spirituality and the Wilderness. Natalie is the pragmatist/skeptic while Lottie is the spiritual prophet, but they both want what's best for the group. Lottie and Nat are arguably the two most compassionate, empathetic survivors, but they wield this empathy in different ways (i.e. Lottie offering Travis hope that his brother is alive, Natalie offering support through the grieving process as she guides him towards accepting his brother is dead). Together, they are two halves of a whole, each offering something the other cannot.

Lottie is both Nat's salvation and her undoing. Lottie offers Natalie the hope, purpose, and sense of belonging that she so desperately craves in her lowest moments, but in doing so, she inadvertently sets in motion a chain of events that ultimately leads to Natalie’s emotional and physical destruction. When Natalie is more alone and outcasted than she has ever been in the wilderness after the card draw, Lottie grants her the title of the group’s new leader. With this new title, Nat finally receives the love and appreciation she has always needed, but she also receives the burden of being in charge of (and therefore responsible for the actions of) a group rapidly descending into darkness, only intensifying the guilt and trauma she lives with for the rest of her life. When Natalie is on the verge of suicide, Lottie rescues her and takes her to her wellness community, which leads to Nat discovering self-forgiveness but also places her on the path towards her untimely death.

Their dynamic is defined by Lottie reaching out, trying to hold Natalie, to nurture and protect her, while Natalie fights and resists. The hypnosis/sharing shack scene is so important. It's Nat finally surrendering to Lottie (and all that Lottie represents). It's Nat allowing herself to be held (thinking of the way she lays her head in Lottie's lap, and the way she and Lottie are embracing each other as they dance around the fire), to be vulnerable and receive the love and care she never thought she deserved. It's so tragic that Lottie begins to spiral again just as Nat is beginning to trust her.

There are so many great Lottienat moments: the hint of pre-crash banter in "You don't talk shit unless someone really deserves it", Natalie comforting Lottie in the middle of the night when they sleep in the cabin for the first time, "Did you read that on a fucking fortune cookie?", Lottie always offering Nat her blood, Lottie's "I just want you to be safe", the iconic bathtub truce scene, the coronation scene with Lottie kissing Nat's hand and Nat looking up at her with awe and tears in her eyes, Lottie keeping tabs on Nat over the years to make sure she's okay, kidnapping her before she could kill herself, Natalie regressing to her teen self in the sharing shack as she rests her head on Lottie's lap, Natalie's "I think it's time for you to stop resisting", and Lottie and Nat dancing together around the fire.

One word to describe them: Tension

Their best scene: The bathtub scene

"Good game, you fucking loser."

"You talking shit? You little bitch, you ended up with nil, the same as me. But fine, good game."

Lottielee

So much of Lottie’s life leading up to the plane crash was about shame and self-confinement. Her father made her afraid of her own mind, and she spent much of her youth suppressing herself through medications and a socially acceptable mask. Laura Lee is the first person to accept Lottie as she truly is. She’s the first person to offer Lottie an alternative to her father’s control. Where Lottie has only known repression and self-doubt, Laura Lee provides a safe space where Lottie is believed. Not only does Laura Lee offer Lottie validation—she offers her a sanctuary for expression. She’s not afraid of Lottie’s abilities or her spirituality; she sees it as a part of who Lottie is, something to be embraced rather than suppressed. Lottie’s relationship with Laura Lee is foundational to her entire character; her psyche, her self-identity, her motivations going forward, and her path in life. Laura Lee helps Lottie develop an assertiveness and confidence she had not been able to access before, which in turn allows her to ascend to the extremely influential figure she ends up becoming.

I think so much can be said about the importance of touch in their relationship. Holding each other’s hands to guide each other, embracing each other, placing a hand on the other’s chest and holding it there. Laura Lee provides a gentleness/tenderness in her touch that Lottie has been craving her whole life. The act of placing a hand on the chest is particularly significant. When Laura Lee touches Lottie in this way, it is a moment of emotional anchoring. The chest is where the heart is, where one’s truest self can be felt and expressed. To have someone touch you there with reverence is a profound act of acceptance and recognition. And this is something that stays with Lottie, becoming an integral part of her spiritual practices. When Lottie offers this kind of touch to others, she’s not just comforting them; she’s offering the same acceptance and safety that she first received from Laura Lee. It’s a form of healing, of passing on the love and belief that Laura Lee gave her, a way for Lottie to channel her strength into others and to demonstrate the kind of acceptance she once craved.

Lottielee is about nurturance and sustenance. I love the absolute awe on their faces when they look at each other. In a way, they have faith in and worship each other.

Laura Lee’s death is extremely impactful and devastating to Lottie, so much so that she still sees Laura Lee’s ghost even 25 years later. Echoes of Laura Lee exist in everything Lottie does.

One word to describe them: Acceptance

Their best scene: The lake baptism

"I saw fire— a light."

"That's the holy spirit, you've been touched."

Mistynat

This ship has got to be the most hilarious out of any on the show. On paper, it makes absolutely no sense. Natalie is dark, brooding, cynical, and emotionally guarded to the point of being downright cold in the adult timeline. She has carefully curated an emotional armor; an air of detachment and apathy that she uses to maintain distance from anyone that could possibly become close to her. In contrast, Misty is a perpetual ray of sunshine—a walking bundle of overzealous energy and bubbly optimism wrapped in frilly, vintage-inspired cat sweaters. She's needy, socially unaware, and often acts out of a desperate desire for affection and validation. Their personalities, seemingly at odds, create a rich, almost absurd juxtaposition that makes their interactions fascinating to watch.

At the heart of their relationship is a shared sense of longing. Both Natalie and Misty crave connection and appreciation, but they have no idea how to foster it in healthy, meaningful ways. Both of them have been deeply isolated throughout their lives, though for different reasons. Natalie’s isolation stems from her trauma. She doesn't feel worthy of love and she's afraid of hurting people, so she keeps everyone at arm’s length, often sabotaging any potential for intimacy. Misty, on the other hand, is isolated by her intense neediness and socially awkward tendencies. She becomes overbearing and obsessive, constantly seeking affection in ways that alienate others. This creates such an interesting dynamic when the two are together, as Misty is obsessively pouring all of her loyalty and energy into Nat, while Nat is constantly pushing her away and struggling to maintain a safe distance between them.

While Mistynat is definitely stronger on Misty's end than Nat's, I think you can see the soft spot Nat has for Misty. Nat is begrudgingly charmed by her. Christina Ricci has said that she thinks Natalie was the only one to show any kindness towards Misty growing up, and I couldn't agree more. There are moments when Natalie shows a surprising level of affection and understanding toward Misty, even if it's fleeting or passive. Nat protects Misty from Shauna after Shauna punches her ("It's not her fault! Misty did everything she could!"), she appears genuinely happy to see Misty at the reunion, and the line "We're all like this, aren't we?" is Nat realizing how alike she and Misty are; how they share the same trauma.

It is so heartbreaking that Misty, who saw herself as Nat's greatest protector and most loyal follower, was ultimately the one to kill her. And it will also be so heartbreaking to see Misty's obsession with Nat extend to her wearing Nat's clothing and taking on her persona in Season 3 as a way of remaining close to her. Here's to seeing more of them in the teen timeline this season!

One word to describe them: Unpredictable

Their best scene: Misty snorting Nat’s coke

"Misty! Get off my coke! Oh my god you're possessed!"

Lottieshauna

Lottie is the only one to truly understand and embrace Shauna (even the darkest, most suppressed parts of herself). While she has other close relationships on the show, they all accept only a portion of Shauna (the portion they’re comfortable with, the portion that doesn’t feel dangerous, the portion that Shauna displays to others because she knows it won’t scare them away). Jeff, Jackie, and even Taissa can’t fully comprehend the depth of Shauna’s rage, the thrill she gets from danger, her desperate need to be seen, or the fact that she wants an outlet for the violent impulses she keeps buried. But with Lottie, Shauna can be her full, unfiltered self.

Lottie doesn’t just accept Shauna’s darkness—she encourages it. She doesn’t flinch from the things that would make others recoil. When Shauna is discovered to be talking to Jackie’s corpse in the meat shed, Lottie is the only one to extend empathy and understanding to Shauna. She covers up the piece cut out of Jackie’s arm and gives Shauna Jackie’s necklace because she knows that it’s what Shauna needs. After the death of Shauna’s baby, Lottie risks her life to allow Shauna to take her rage (and her intense grief) out on her. In the adult timeline, Lottie’s goat trust exercise (not sure what else to call it lol) is what makes Shauna realize how she has been keeping the people she loves at arm’s length; and it is what lays the groundwork for true healing. Lottie always understands what Shauna needs.

Shauna initially resists Lottie’s influence, but as the story progresses, you can see her slowly being drawn in to her web. I think there’s something thrilling for Shauna to be seen and accepted for her true self (instead of all of the masks she puts on to be what others want her to be). Their connection is one of shared experience, unspoken understanding, and the potential for something both destructive and healing.

One word to describe them: Cathartic

Their best scene: The beatdown

"Shauna, I know there's a lot of pain right now, but let it out. Shauna, we need you, let it out."

Travnat

There’s only room for one heterosexual ship on this list, and that is undoubtedly going to be Natalie and Travis. Travnat is tragic, toxic, and narratively doomed in all of the best ways. Travis and Natalie are two people who cannot help but destroy themselves and each other. Nat and Travis are birds of a feather, which means they have a deep understanding of each other (an understanding they have never received from anyone else), but it also means they have a mutual capacity for self-destruction.

When Travis lashes out after his father’s death, Natalie sees herself. She recognizes that rage, that despair. It’s something that no one else in the group can fully understand or sympathize with, because they haven’t been through the same kind of loss and alienation. But Natalie does understand, and she is the only one who offers him any kind of empathy or care initially. Even when Travis resists, when he pushes her away, she remains steadfast, because, deep down, she knows exactly what it feels like to be abandoned in your pain, to have no one who understands the depth of your grief. It’s this shared history of suffering that makes their connection so strong, yet so toxic. It’s not just about comfort—it’s about two people who have never been allowed to heal properly, and who are only capable of hurting each other as a result. They have the same coping methods: numbing and distraction (whether that be through drugs, sex, or reckless behavior), which causes them to spiral and relapse into their old habits whenever they reconnect.

Natalie describes Travis as "my best friend, the only person I ever loved, the only person who ever really knew me." There is no denying that these two have a deep love for each other. In their light, playful moments in Season 1, you can see what might have been if they had connected before the plane crash. But now they have gone through so much of the same trauma that there is no way for them to be around each other without reminding each other of their shared pain. Nat is a constant reminder to Travis of the loss of his little brother, and Travis is a constant reminder to Nat of the intense guilt of what she did to survive out there. Despite this, they attempt to take care of each other over the course of 25 years. There’s a tragic dance between them: they push each other away, only to pull each other back in, over and over again. The more they try to heal each other, the more they wound one another, and this constant tug-of-war between love and destruction is what makes their relationship so compelling.

One word to describe them: Trauma-bond

Their best scene: Post-Doomcoming hug

"I'm so sorry, I didn't want to. I fucking love you, Natalie."

Jackienat

On an outward, surface level, Natalie and Jackie are polar opposites. Jackie is the classic queen bee—privileged, popular, and used to being admired. Natalie, on the other hand, is the rebellious outcast, rough around the edges and unwilling to conform. The ‘queen bee’ and the ‘burnout’. The ‘prude’ and the ‘slut’. Jackie cares too much, Natalie doesn’t care enough. But, in actuality, these are the cliche labels that have been placed on them/assigned to them by external sources. These are the false fronts they put on to hide the vulnerability underneath. Nat and Jackie are actually much more similar than either of them would probably care to admit.

At the core of their conflicts is jealousy. Jackie envies Natalie's ability to be carefree and unapologetically herself (you can hear genuine admiration in her compliment to Nat, “I love that you don’t care what anyone else thinks. You are so completely yourself). Jackie, for all her outward confidence, is constantly performing the version of herself that others expect, and she longs for the kind of authenticity that Natalie seems to embody. On the other hand, Natalie is jealous of the life Jackie represents—privilege, stability, being adored without having to fight for it. But they’re both deeply insecure in ways that mirror each other. Jackie isn’t as effortlessly perfect as everyone believes, and Natalie isn’t as indifferent as she pretends to be. They are both trapped by expectations, and neither of them truly feels like they belong.

If circumstances had been different, I think they would have actually been very close. Their humor is actually similar—sharp, a little sarcastic, but often disarming. They’re both sarcastic, raspy-voiced little shits and I would have loved to see them play off of each other a little more. My personal headcanon for these two is that they actually used to be very close friends when they were little but grew apart in middle school/high school due to societal expectations. Maybe Jackie used to be more carefree before she learned she had to be perfect, and maybe Natalie used to be softer before she learned no one would protect her. There was no huge falling out, they were just gradually pulled apart over time, placed into their respective roles, and now there’s a part of both of them that quietly misses the other but also feels like the version of themselves that once connected with each other is gone. They just don’t understand each other anymore.

And Nat being the one to lay Jackie’s bones to rest? Rejecting Travis’ offer to come with her so that she could have a moment alone with Jackie to pay her respects, release her jealousy, and apologize? Nat being the one to take Jackie’s position of leadership in the group (the queen bee) after she’s gone? Tragic.

They are the perfect enemies to lovers trope (or, in my opinion, friends to enemies to lovers) that unfortunately will never come to fruition.

One word to describe them: Jealousy

Their best scene: Nat apologizes to Jackie's bones

"You're lucky, you know? I think shit is going to get a lot worse out here. But you're already dead so, way to make everyone jealous of you one last time. I'm sorry, for what we did. Who knows, maybe you could be the reason we survive the winter, so thanks. Rest in peace, Jackie."

—

And if you’re interested, the most-written romantic pairings on ao3 at the time of making this post are as follows: Shauna Shipman/Jackie Taylor (1,564 works), Lottie Matthews/Natalie Scatorccio (1,202 works), Van Palmer/Taissa Turner (1,019 works), Laura Lee/Lottie Matthews (396 works), Misty Quigley/Natalie Scatorccio (258 works), Natalie Scatorccio/Jackie Taylor (185 works), Lottie Matthews/Shauna Shipman (182 works), and Travis Martinez/Natalie Scatorccio (120 works).

#I am heartbroken to leave Shaunanat (Shaunat? Shat?) out of this list but they only have 68 works ao3 #I’m sure that number is going to skyrocket after S3 #I tried to be unbiased but i just couldnt help but write a whole book about lottienat #yellowjackets #lottienat #mistynat #jackieshauna #Taivan #Lottielee #Travnat #lottieshauna #lottielee

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sdr2lovemail · 1 year ago

Note

Hi there!

I finally got around to request something for Bill ^⁠_⁠^

Could I get some Bill Cipher x reader headcanons during weirdmageddon? How would it look like being by his side as his s/o? I love this yellow triangle so much-

Have a nice day / night! <3

Being Bill Cipher's partner during Weirdmageddon! (GN Reader)

Notes: I'm surprised in all my time of being in the gravity falls fandom I've never written anything for it. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Unhealthy relationships

It’s all reliant on if we’re talking about canon Bill or a more fanon version where he’s capable of love. So I’ll write both!

Canon Bill would keep you around more as a plaything than a partner. A trophy, if you will. He’s taken over the world, the Pines were out of his hair, and all he needed now was a prize! And that little prize would be you!

He will poke, push, and prod every one of your buttons until you give him a reaction. Getting angry towards him won’t do anything for you. It’ll just bring him to provoke you more.

Bill would give his henchmaniacs free rein to torment you as long as no fatal harm comes to your body.

Any privacy you thought you had is nonexistent. There are eyes everywhere. Literally!

Now, there’s another side I could imagine. It's a side that’s nicer but still nowhere near friendly. If you were a possible disciple of his, wanting to help him start the end of the world, you’d be treated slightly better.

You’d be more like a servant than a trophy. He would give you more freedom in a way. Like sending you to do tasks that he can’t be bothered to do.

“Hey, disciple. Go run to the never ending forest dimension and send Mother Nature a message. She still owes me something.” There wouldn’t even be time for you to respond before he whisks you away with a snap of his fingers.

Now, moving on to a more romantic version of Bill!

Having been betrothed to the strongest being in the universe, you’ll be absolutely spoiled. Anything across the multiverse is yours. Bill can make it happen!

While he doesn’t need to sleep, he’ll set up a room just for you in the Fearamid. Ever seen a triangle-shaped bed? Well, now you have! The room would be decorated in the gaudiest decorations a demon could think of. I hope you like the color gold, you’ll be seeing it in your nightmares. The room would be soundproof as well. The party isn’t stopping just because Bill’s human needs some rest.

Affection with Bill won’t be typical by human standards. Rather than hugs and gentle touches, he’s a lot more aggressive. Punches on the arm, slaps on the back, and heavy-handed head rubs are more his style. But maybe if you beg, he’ll let you kiss one of his surfaces.

Trips to another dimension are always a fun date idea! You’ll be introduced to species and lands beyond your mortal comprehension. See anything you like here, go ahead and take it back to the Fearamid. What you want is yours to take!

Bill likes to go all out and party. He’s throwing the biggest and most chaotic wedding you’ll ever attend. Any guest that doesn’t bring a nice enough gift is either getting thrown into the worst dimension possible or turned to stone.

Good luck taking that ring off your finger, you’re bound to him for all of eternity!

#bill cipher x reader #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls #bill cipher #x reader #headcanons

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sleepingdeath-light · 4 months ago

Text

love language hcs ; the beasts

requested by ; nobody / self indulgent

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; burning spice cookie, mystic flour cookie, shadow milk cookie

outline ; “love language hcs for the beasts”

warning(s) ; potentially shaky characterisation here and there, but otherwise just fluff!

burning spice cookie

fighting / sparring

on days with favourable weather and when you have the energy for it, he loves nothing more than dragging you outside to the courtyard, throwing you a weapon and challenging you to a fight — you’ll never beat him, with him being a beast and all, but he loves watching you get all fired up and determined to win (on rare occasions he’ll even relent and let you win just to keep things interesting)

and he’s also been known to just start play fighting you randomly when the two of you are lounging together in his temple — it’s much less serious and exhausting than actual sparring, but he loves being able to catch you by surprise like that (and he certainly won’t complain about having you in such close proximity to himself when you’re trying your best to pin him down)

quality time

while he does usually default to challenging you to a fight whenever he gets bored and craves your company, given enough time burning spice cookie will start to find enjoyment in other activities that he may have otherwise labelled as ‘boring’ or ‘beneath him’

(especially if those activities happen to be things that you’re passionate about, because he can begrudgingly set aside his own disinterest for your sake if it means getting a chance to see the passion in your eyes… even if he’d never be caught dead thinking something so disgustingly sappy)

words of affirmation

being showered with endless praise was something that he grew accustomed to (and dreadfully bored of) back during his days as the herald of change, but somehow it feels different coming from you — hearing you sing his praises and affirm your affection for him and claim him as your own to others never fails to boost his ego and leave him in a much better mood than before

and while a lot of his affirmations are sandwiched between good-natured shit talking, it’s still more than obvious enough through his words that he adores you — he’s forever pushing you to be the best version of yourself that you can be, not letting you settle for mediocrity, and aggressively affirming to you that he adores you and that you more than deserve your place by his side (and that he’ll beat the snot out of anyone who says otherwise)

physical touch

hand-to-hand training, randomly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, pulling you up and onto his chest when you sleep in his bed with him, (somewhat) gently knocking his head against your own — a lot of his physical affection is rough and aggressive in its nature because gentleness isn’t something that comes naturally to him as the beast of destruction, but over time he does get better about not nearly crushing your bones every time he pulls you in for a hug

and when it comes to you showing him physical affection, he’s constantly encouraging you to be a bit rougher with him — bite his arms and hands, throw yourself at him, climb him like a tree, slap his chest when you’re laughing, go as far as you want because you will not hurt him and he quite enjoys watching you let go of all your inhibitions and just… be yourself without worry

mystic flour cookie

quality time

more often than not this involves the two of you just existing alongside each other (e.g. her meditating while you sleep, the two of you eating together, taking a walk through the gardens in peaceful silence, etc.) but she also enjoys listening to you talk about the things you love and answering any questions you have about the life she lived before you — in fact she finds your curiosity far more endearing than she’d ever admit

(she’s also much more short and stern with anyone who dares to interrupt her time with you regardless of why they sought either of you out — especially if you were interrupted by someone seeking her out for a blessing or gift)

honesty

after the two of you have been together for a while, she’ll start feeling comfortable enough to truly open up to you and show you the sides of herself that are too dark, too ugly, too emotional for her followers or for the wider world to see — she shows you her anger, her sorrow, her frustration, and starts to open up about the positive emotions she’s started to feel for and with you (calmness, contentedness, and love), and that’s how you know she truly trusts you as her partner

attention to detail

though she tends to come across as, well, wholly apathetic and detached as a partner, mystic flour cookie is actually a very attentive girlfriend who has a talent for committing all of the little things about you to memory — your body language, your nervous ticks, the things you like, the textures you can’t stand, etc.

loathe she is to admit to having such feelings, but she pays attention to all of these things because the idea of losing you terrifies her and she doesn’t want to risk forgetting the one person who mattered

patience

while her patience towards others is a facade she puts on to keep up an image, with you it’s nothing but genuine — when she says she could sit and listen to you talk for days at a time and never tire of your voice she’s being completely honest, when she assures you that you can take all the time you need to make a choice she truly means that she’s happy to wait for you, when she allows you to make mistakes and learn for yourself without intervening with her own knowledge and experience it’s because she respects you and wants to give you the chance to grow on your own terms, and for a woman hell bent on returning all life to flour she’s very understanding and respectful of your desire to live out your life as your own person

how… sweet?

shadow milk cookie

words of affirmation

it’s rare for shadow milk cookie to be serious with you, so it’s all too easy to brush off his compliments and praise as another way for him to tease you, said more as a way to placate you or to fluster you than anything else, but if you look beyond his impish grin and carefree demeanour then you’ll see just how genuine he’s being when he calls you handsome/beautiful or tells you that he loves you

and for his part, while he grew accustomed to empty compliments and overused praise during his time as a herald of knowledge in the old days, it still gives him pause and causes his cheeks to visibly flush whenever you genuinely compliment him or shower him in your words of affirmation — it’s cute how shocked he looks, honestly

playfulness

this jester loves nothing more than the sound of your laughter and he’s willing to do just about anything to hear it — even if that means becoming orders of magnitude more playful and theatrical around you than he is when he’s messing with people (more elaborate puppet shows, cheesier jokes, full on stand up routines based on the types of humour you find the most amusing, etc.)

and if you match his energy and are willing to act just as silly with him then that’s all the better — truly a match made in heaven

listening

shadow milk cookie generally will not shut up and has no problems talking over people to get his point across (or if he’s just bored of the conversation and wants to switch topics), but with you he’s content to quiet down and just listen to whatever you have to say even if the subject you’re talking about is something he’s unfamiliar with or otherwise wouldn’t care about

and he’s an active listener too! he asks questions where appropriate, watches you intently and follows you around if you’re a more active speaker, and will be able to recall things that you mentioned well after the fact if you ask him about it — he just… loves you a lot and so that means he loves the things that you love too

physical touch

he’s an extremely physically affectionate person and always seems to be touching you in one way or another when you’re together — when he’s not hanging off of you he’s smothering you with kisses, and when he’s not doing that he’s wrapping you up in his arms and either cuddling you until you fall asleep or tickling you until you have tears in your eyes, but no matter what he’s doing he’s always touching you (and it still never seems to be enough for him)

and, touch starved as he is after spending so long imprisoned, shadow milk cookie loves loves loves when you return the favour and smother him in affection in return — bonus points if you run your hands through his hair when kissing or just holding him because he will melt (and maybe fall asleep depending on how long you do it for)

gift giving

while he may not seem like the type, shadow milk cookie does have a distinctly sentimental side of him that came to be after the two of you got into a relationship and you started to gift him things — trinkets, letters, handmade things and items you found that made you think of him, all of which he has kept safe in his realm where he can display them without fear of any bothersome mortals messing with what’s his

(he rereads the love letters whenever you’re away, oftentimes using an illusion of you to do it so he can hear your voice, though he would never willingly admit to doing this)

#sleepingdeath #gender neutral reader #fluff #fluff hcs #crk fluff #crk x reader #cookie run fluff #cookie run x reader #burning spice cookie fluff #burning spice cookie x reader #mystic flour cookie fluff #mystic flour cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie fluff #shadow milk cookie x reader

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

Text

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 14

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes:

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose. Also Discussion of toxic media/fandom/death threats.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lizzie had expected the double date to be slightly awkward—meeting new people usually was—but she hadn’t anticipated this particular kind of tension.

Lily was too calm.

Too composed.

Too obviously holding something back.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just the way her eyes kept flickering toward Lizzie, how she took a slow sip of her drink every time she looked like she was about to say something, how she kept glancing at Oscar as if to say, Are we just pretending this isn’t happening?

Oscar looked exhausted already.

They hadn’t even ordered yet.

Lando, of course, noticed immediately. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Alright,” he said, glancing between Lily and Oscar. “What’s going on?”

Lily took a deep breath, placed her hands on the table, and said, in the most carefully neutral voice imaginable, “I am not going to be weird about this.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Weird about what?”

Another deep breath.

Then Lily turned to her with a blindingly bright smile and said, “You are my favorite author, and I have read all your books, and I am totally fine about it.”

Lizzie was taken aback, unprepared for this sudden declaration of fandom from someone who had looked like she was about to say something entirely different.

"Um... thank you?" She replied, slightly bewildered.

Oscar groaned, shaking his head. "Lily, we talked about this."

“What?” she shot back. “I just had to say it out loud, or I was going to explode.”

Lando looked amused, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So you're a Lizzie Treshton fangirl, huh?"

Lily groaned. “Do not phrase it like that.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair. “She pre-ordered An Autumn of Fire and Stone six months early and took a day off work to read it.”

“Oscar.” Lily hissed, kicking him under the table.

Lando burst out laughing.

Lizzie, meanwhile, smiled. “That’s honestly really cool.”

Lily turned back to her, clearly trying to play it cool but still looking like she might combust. “I just—your books are so good. And your worldbuilding? Next level. And don’t even get me started on your character work—”

“Lily,” Oscar warned.

Lily exhaled through her nose. “Fine. I’ll stop.”

Lizzie laughed. “You don’t have to stop. I’m happy to talk books.”

Lily lit up. “Oh, thank god.”

Lando turned to Oscar, smirking. “Mate, your girlfriend is in love with my girlfriend.”

Oscar just sighed again. “I know.”

That kicked off the conversation properly.

The tension vanished as they delved into books. Lily's eyes lit up with excitement as she asked Lizzie about her publishing process, her inspiration, even how she chose character names.

Oscar and Lando just watched, occasionally chiming in to ask questions of their own, but mostly just amused and fascinated by the fervor of Lily's book-related interrogation.

Eventually, though, the conversation shifted.

“So, just to clarify,” Lily said, stirring her drink. “You’re a Ferrari fan?”

Lando groaned. “Lily—”

“What?” She smirked. “I just think it’s funny. Lando Norris is dating a Ferrari fan.”

Oscar grinned. “And her dog’s name is Maranello.”

Lily gasped. “Oh, that’s hilarious.”

Lizzie smothered her laughter as Lando groaned in mock agony. “You’re both going to tease me about this forever, aren’t you?”

Lily laughed, sipping her drink. “Oh, absolutely.”

Oscar patted him on the head. “Never gonna forget it, mate.”

Lando shot him a glare but couldn't hold back his own smile for long. "I don't know why I'm friends with either of you."

"Because you would be even more dull without us," Oscar replied

Lily nodded sagely. "And who else would keep your ego in check?"

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

*****

Lando had faced some tough crowds before—angry engineers, Zak Brown after a botched qualifying session, the entirety of Ferrari Twitter—but sitting at Lizzie’s family dinner table, preparing to tell them they were going public at Silverstone, was next level.

Tasha was watching him like a hawk, Aunt Lou was watching her wine with far too much interest, and Lizzie’s dad… well, he just looked unimpressed, but Lando had long since learned that was his default setting.

Lizzie, meanwhile, was completely unbothered. She was still picking at her food, like she hadn’t just convinced Lando that this was the right moment.

“Alright,” Aunt Lou finally said, tipping her glass toward him. “You look like a man about to say something important. Spit it out before Tasha combusts.”

Lando felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He swallowed hard, glancing around the table, unsure where to start.

Tasha looked ready to pounce, her gaze fixed on him with ruthless intensity. Aunt Lou sipped her wine with a smirk, clearly expecting drama. Lizzie’s dad just raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable as always.

Lando cleared his throat. “So… we’re going to Silverstone together.”

Silence.

Lizzie, because she was Lizzie, leaned in with a smirk. “And we’re making it public.”

More silence.

Then Tasha made an actual squeaking noise. “Finally!”

Aunt Lou, however, raised a single eyebrow. “And you’re both sure this is the right call?”

Lando nodded. “Yeah. We’ve talked about it a lot. It just—it feels like the right time.”

Lizzie’s dad exhaled slowly, setting his fork down. “It’s not going to be easy.”

Aunt Lou nodded solemnly. "The press will be all over it."

Tasha looked positively gleeful. "It's going to be a media circus."

“I know,” Lando admitted. “But I also know I love her and don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Lizzie squeezed his hand under the table, and Aunt Lou made a quiet humming noise, swirling her wine like she was debating whether to grill him further.

Tasha, on the other hand, was far more chaotic. “Okay, but the real question is—have you prepared for the internet’s meltdown? F1 Twitter and BookTok are about to go feral. It’s going to be a disaster.”

Lando groaned. “I know. I’ve accepted my fate.”

Lizzie just smirked. “At least we have an advantage.”

Aunt Lou raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Which is?”

Lizzie’s grin widened. “Mara.”

"Oh my God, they're going to have a field day with her," Tasha said, eyes wide. "F1 Twitter and BookTok are going to lose their minds over your dog."

Lando nodded. “She’s the best distraction for the media. Just let Mara loose, and they’ll forget all about me.”

Lizzie’s dad chuckled quietly, the first sign of amusement he’d shown since dinner started. “I can’t argue with that.”

Lando nodded sagely. “She’s the best distraction for the media. Just let Mara loose, and they’ll forget all about me.”

Lizzie’s dad chuckled, “I can’t argue with that.”

Aunt Lou finally cracked a smile. “Well. If nothing else, it’s going to be hilarious.”

Lando could only nod. Because, honestly? It really, really was.

Tasha laughed, raising her glass in a mock toast. "May the press have mercy on your souls."

Aunt Lou clinked her glass against Tasha’s, a smirk on her face. "Here’s hoping they don’t roast you too badly."

Still, there was something else on his mind: Lando had known this conversation was coming.

Lizzie’s dad had been watching him all evening—not in a hostile way, but in the kind of quiet, thoughtful way that told Lando he was being assessed. Tested. And, if he was being honest, it was making him a little nervous.

So when Lizzie disappeared into the kitchen with Tasha and Aunt Lou, leaving him alone at the table, he wasn’t surprised when her dad cleared his throat and said, “Come outside with me for a minute.”

Lando nodded, pushing his chair back. His pulse picked up slightly, but he kept his face neutral as he followed Lizzie’s dad out onto the back patio. The evening air was cool, the garden lit by the soft glow of the porch light. Her dad leaned against the railing, crossing his arms over his chest before turning to look at him properly.

“You’re making this public at Silverstone,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Lando nodded. “Yeah.”

Her dad sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I won’t lie to you, Lando. That worries me.”

Lando swallowed. “Because of the attention?”

“Partly.” Her dad studied him for a long moment. “But mainly because of Lizzie.”

Lando frowned. “I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“I believe you,” her dad said, surprising him. “But it’s not that simple. Lizzie isn’t just any other girlfriend of an F1 driver. She’s—” He hesitated, exhaling. “She’s Lizzie,” he said finally, like that summed up everything.

Lando nodded slowly, understanding what he meant. Lizzie was a high-profile author.

Lizzie, who lived in a world of words and stories, not flashing cameras and invasive headlines. Lizzie, whose epilepsy made that kind of spotlight infinitely more complicated.

“I know,” Lando said. “And we’ve talked about it.”

Her dad nodded slowly, then fixed him with a look. “Have you seen her have a seizure yet?”

Lando froze.

It was a blunt question, and it knocked the air out of Lando’s lungs.

“No,” he admitted, his voice hoarse. “No, I haven’t seen her have a seizure.”

Her dad’s expression remained stoic, but Lando could see the worry in his eyes.

“Then you don’t know what it’s really like.”

Lando clenched his jaw. “I know it’s serious.”

“You think you know.” Her dad’s voice was even, but there was something heavy behind it. “But until you see it—until you watch her go rigid and collapse without warning, until you see her completely vulnerable and unable to do anything—you don’t know. And you don’t know how you’ll react.”

Lando swallowed hard.

The words hit hard, because they were true. Lando hadn’t seen it. He’d only heard Lizzie’s explanation and seen the aftermath—the dazed expression, the exhaustion, the confusion. But he’d never witnessed a seizure firsthand.

He met her dad’s gaze, his resolve strengthening. “I’m not going to run when it’s bad.”

Her dad sighed. “Her mother left because she couldn’t handle it,” he said quietly. “She loved Lizzie, but love wasn’t enough. The reality was too much for her.” He glanced at Lando, his expression unreadable. “I need to know that won’t happen with you.”

Lando took a deep breath. The weight of the conversation was settling on his shoulders. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her dad watched him carefully. "You say that now, but—"

"No," Lando cut him off. "I'm in this. For the long haul."

There was a long pause. The cicadas were buzzing in the background, and the air was thick with the sound of summer insects.

And then, finally, her dad nodded. "Alright, then."

Her dad studied him, searching for something in his face. Then, finally, he nodded.

Lando took a deep breath, steadying himself. “What do I do?” he asked. “If—when—she has a seizure.”

Her dad seemed to measure him again before nodding, like he’d been waiting for that question. “First thing? Don’t panic.”

Lando almost laughed. Right. Like that would be easy.

Her dad must have seen it on his face because he gave him a look. “I mean it. You panicking won’t help her.”

Lando forced himself to focus. “Okay. What else?”

“Stay calm,” her dad said. “Make sure her head is protected. Don’t try to control her body.”

Lando nodded, committing each word to memory.

Her dad kept going. “And don’t, under any circumstances, try to put anything in her mouth. That’s a common myth, and it’s also dangerous.”

“Time it,” her dad continued. “If it lasts more than five minutes, call an ambulance. But usually, she comes out of it on her own. Just stay with her. Keep her safe.”

Lando exhaled slowly. “And after?”

“She’ll be confused. Disoriented. Sometimes she won’t know where she is or what just happened. And she’ll be exhausted.”

Lando’s chest tightened at the thought. Lizzie—his Lizzie, who was always sharp, always quick with a joke or a teasing remark—lost, confused, vulnerable.

“She might be—” her dad hesitated, his jaw tightening. “She might be upset. Or scared. She hates it. Hates losing control. Hates feeling weak.”

Lando swallowed hard, the thought of that almost worse than the physical aspect.

“The best thing you can do is just be there. Reassure her. Keep her grounded.”

He paused. “And she’ll need time. Don’t push her to get up too soon. Let her rest.”

Lando nodded, absorbing every word.

Her dad sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know this is a lot. But this is what it means to love her, Lando. You have to be ready for this. All of it.”

Lando met his eyes, determination settling deep in his chest. “I am.”

Her dad held his gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Because she deserves someone who won’t run when things get hard.”

“I’m not running,” Lando said, voice steady.

Her dad studied him, then—almost reluctantly—gave him a small, approving nod. “Alright,” he said. “Then let’s go back inside before they start thinking I’m scaring you off.”

Lando let out a breath and followed him in. He wasn’t scared.

He just knew—now more than ever—how important it was that he got this right

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moonxknightx · 8 months ago

Text

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : FALLING FOR THE SPOTLIGHT (PT.1) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff!!!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: RPF

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You interview for a personal assistant position with Hugh Jackman over Zoom. Despite initial nerves, Hugh’s charm and playful teasing create a connection, making the conversation feel both professional and surprisingly personal. By the end, you sense a special chemistry and eagerly await his decision.

Next Part

YOU SAT AT THE SMALL DINING TABLE IN YOUR APARTMENT, tapping your fingers against the edge of your laptop as the screen glowed faintly. Across the room, Zoë, your best friend and roommate, was lounging on the couch, casually flipping through her phone. She glanced up at you, smirking as she noticed your nervous energy.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice teasing but affectionate.

You shot her a nervous smile. "Barely. I mean, it's Hugh Jackman... Hugh freaking Jackman. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Zoë laughed, sitting up and tossing her phone aside. "Oh, you’re going to do great. You’ve got this. You just graduated with a degree in media, you know your stuff. And besides, he’s going to love you."

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, staring at the blank screen, your mind still whirling. "You didn’t have a massive celebrity crush on him for, like, half your life."

Zoë grinned knowingly. "True, but that’s exactly why you'll nail it. You’ve been preparing for this moment without even realizing it."

You gave her a mock glare, but deep down, you appreciated her confidence in you. It was a dream scenario—working as Hugh Jackman’s personal assistant. When you saw the job posting online, you didn’t even hesitate to apply, though you never imagined you’d get an interview, let alone one scheduled so quickly. And now, here you were, waiting for a Zoom call with the man himself. The idea of seeing Hugh in real-time, talking to him, hearing his voice directed at you, was enough to send your heart racing.

The laptop chimed suddenly, breaking your thoughts. The screen lit up with an incoming Zoom call.

Zoë jumped up, wide-eyed. "That’s him, isn’t it?"

You nodded, trying to steady your breathing. "It’s happening. Oh God, it’s happening."

She scurried over to stand behind you, giving your shoulders a quick squeeze. "Good luck! You’ve got this."

You took a deep breath, clicked to accept the call, and the screen shifted to show none other than Hugh Jackman. His face appeared, smiling warmly into the camera as he adjusted the angle. He looked even more handsome than you’d imagined—salt-and-pepper hair, sharp features, and that trademark grin that could melt a million hearts. The casual blue T-shirt he wore only added to his approachable charm.

“G'day!” His voice was warm, rich, and effortlessly charming. “Can you hear me okay?”

You smiled nervously and nodded. “Yes! I can hear you perfectly. Hi, Mr. Jackman. I mean, Hugh. Sorry. Hi.”

Hugh laughed softly, and the sound of it eased some of your nerves. “No worries at all. And please, just call me Hugh. ‘Mr. Jackman’ makes me feel old.”

You giggled despite yourself, the tension in your shoulders loosening slightly. “Okay, Hugh it is.”

His eyes twinkled with amusement. “So, how are you today? I know interviews can be a bit nerve-wracking.”

"Just a little," you admitted with a sheepish smile. "But I’m excited, too. It's a really amazing opportunity, and I’m just happy to be here."

"That’s the spirit," Hugh replied, leaning forward slightly. "Listen, I’m not one for formal interviews. I’d rather just have a chat, get to know you, and see how we vibe. I hope that’s alright?"

“That sounds perfect,” you said, your heart pounding a little less now. The casual nature of the conversation was starting to help you feel more at ease.

“So,” Hugh began, tilting his head, “you just finished university, right? Tell me a bit about that. What did you study?”

“Yeah, I graduated not too long ago,” you replied, feeling more confident. “I studied media, so I’ve done a bit of everything—social media management, content creation, production... I’ve always loved the idea of working behind the scenes. I guess I’m just looking for a job where I can put all that to use.”

Hugh nodded thoughtfully. "Media, huh? That’s perfect. I need someone who knows their way around that stuff. I’m hopeless with social media." He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "If it weren’t for my team, I’d probably still be figuring out how to send tweets."

You laughed, feeling the connection start to form. “Well, you’ve got a pretty solid Instagram game going on. But I can definitely help with anything tech-related.”

"Ah, well, that’s good to hear," Hugh said, leaning back in his chair. "And what about your interests outside of media? Any hobbies or passions I should know about?"

“Well,” you began, hesitating for a second. “I love movies—obviously. And I’m really into fitness, too, though I’m not quite at your level.”

Hugh raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Fitness, eh? Are you trying to take my job? Next thing I know, you’ll be Wolverine."

You blushed, laughing nervously. "I don’t think I could pull off the claws."

"Ah, you never know!" Hugh said, winking. "But seriously, fitness is a great passion to have. Keeps you grounded. Maybe we could train together sometime—I’m always looking for a new gym buddy."

Your heart skipped a beat at the casual offer, the idea of working out with Hugh Jackman suddenly flooding your mind. Was he joking, or…?

"That sounds fun," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "But you might have to go easy on me."

"No promises," Hugh teased, his smile never faltering. Then he leaned in slightly, his tone a little more serious. “But really, you seem like you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I like that. You’re young, but from what I’ve seen on your resume, you’re definitely not lacking in experience. How do you feel about working in such a high-pressure environment?”

You thought about it for a moment. "Honestly, I think I’d thrive in it. I’m used to juggling a lot at once, and I’ve always worked well under pressure. I guess I’m just ready for a challenge."

Hugh nodded approvingly. "Good answer. I like someone who’s not afraid of a little chaos." He paused, then added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “And you seem awfully young to be my assistant. You sure you’re not still in high school?”

You blushed furiously and laughed, shaking your head. “Definitely not. I promise, I’m a fully certified adult.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to trust you on that,” Hugh replied, his tone playful. "You might just surprise me."

For a brief second, there was a comfortable silence. You could feel the warmth radiating from Hugh, and you found yourself smiling more freely now, your initial nerves melting away. The conversation felt easy, almost natural, like you’d known him for longer than just a few minutes.

Hugh broke the silence with a chuckle. "You know, I have to say, I think you’re going to fit in really well here."

You blinked, caught off guard. "You think so?"

"I do," Hugh said, his expression softening. "I’ve interviewed a lot of people, but you... there’s something about you. You’ve got a good energy. I like that."

You felt your cheeks heat up again, but this time, it was less about nerves and more about the undeniable connection you felt growing between the two of you. Hugh Jackman, your long-time celebrity crush, was complimenting you—on more than just your qualifications.

"I... wow, thank you," you said, a little flustered but genuinely touched. "That means a lot coming from you."

Hugh smiled, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed air. “Well, I’ll make sure to let you know in a few days, but between you and me, I think you’ve got a pretty good shot at this.”

You grinned, trying to hold back the excitement bubbling up inside you. "I’ll be waiting by my phone."

“I’m sure you will,” Hugh replied, his voice laced with warmth. He glanced at the clock on his screen and sighed. "I’ve got another meeting to run to, but it was really great chatting with you. I’ll be in touch soon, okay?"

“Sounds good,” you said, your heart still racing. “Thanks again, Hugh. I really appreciate it.”

Hugh gave you one last smile, his eyes twinkling. “No worries at all. Have a great day, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

The screen faded to black as the call ended, and you sat there for a moment, staring at your laptop. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks still flushed with the warmth of the conversation. You couldn’t help but smile, replaying every word in your head.

Zoë appeared behind you, her eyes wide with excitement. "So...?"

You turned to her, grinning. "I think it went really well."

Zoë's eyes lit up with excitement, and she grabbed your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "Oh my God! Spill! What did he say? How was he? Was he as charming as he seems?"

You laughed, pushing her hands away gently. "He was even better. Like, ridiculously charming. He made a joke about me being too young to be his assistant and then—" You paused, recalling the moment he’d complimented your energy, your stomach fluttering. "—and he said he thinks I’d fit in well."

Zoë gasped dramatically, bouncing in place. "That’s basically a ‘you got the job’ in celebrity-speak! Oh my God, this is huge!" She practically danced across the room, grabbing her phone and immediately typing furiously.

“What are you doing?” you asked, still in a daze.

“Texting the girls! I have to tell them you just interviewed with Hugh Jackman, and it sounds like you nailed it.”

You chuckled, though a part of you was still processing the entire experience. Had that really just happened? Talking to Hugh had felt so natural—like you’d known him longer than the fifteen minutes the interview lasted. He was warm and playful, but also professional when it counted, and you couldn’t help but replay the way he’d teased you about your age. Was that flirting, or was it just his way of putting people at ease?

Zoë interrupted your thoughts, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, but tell me—how did you not, like, melt into a puddle of goo? I mean, he was on your screen, in real-time, flirting with you.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I don’t know! I was nervous at first, but he’s so easy to talk to. It didn’t feel like an interview at all—it felt more like… I don’t know, like we were just chatting.”

Zoë waggled her eyebrows at you. “Uh-huh, chatting with Hugh Jackman, no big deal.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the counter, smirking. “And what’s this about working out together? Are you going to become his gym buddy now?”

You blushed, laughing as you recalled his casual invitation to train together. “I’m pretty sure he was joking. But who knows? If I get the job, maybe I’ll just casually bump into him at the gym.”

Zoë raised an eyebrow. “Girl, if you get this job, you’re about to be around him 24/7. You better prepare for that heart of yours. Crush or not, you’re gonna be spending some serious time with him.”

The thought sent a flutter of excitement through you. It was true—if you got the job, you’d be Hugh’s personal assistant, meaning you’d be with him constantly, organizing his schedule, helping with events, traveling with him... And you’d be doing all of that with a man you’d secretly crushed on for years. The idea of it was both exhilarating and terrifying.

“I know,” you said softly, biting your lip. “It’s kind of crazy to think about. But I also can’t let myself get too ahead of things. It’s still just an interview for now.”

Zoë rolled her eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Please, that man was smitten. You’re going to get it, I can feel it.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the table. Your heart leaped as you saw an unknown number pop up on the screen.

You stared at it for a second before Zoë nudged you. “Don’t just stare at it! Answer it! What if it’s him?”

You fumbled with the phone, quickly hitting the button to accept the call. “Hello?”

A familiar deep voice on the other end made your heart race again. “Hey, it’s Hugh.”

You almost dropped the phone. Hugh is calling me? Already? You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “Hi! I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

Hugh laughed lightly, the sound sending another flutter through your stomach. “Yeah, I know. But I’ve been thinking about our chat, and I wanted to catch you before the weekend. I’d love for you to come in on Monday for an in-person meeting. I want to show you the ropes and see how you feel about everything in person.”

You blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. “You mean… like a second interview?”

“Sort of,” Hugh said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “But mostly, I just want to make sure you’re comfortable with the role before we make it official.”

You tried to suppress the squeal threatening to escape your throat. “That sounds amazing! I’d love to.”

“Great,” Hugh said, his tone warm. “I’ll have my assistant email you the details—where to meet, what time, all that jazz. We’ll keep it casual, don’t worry.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were surprised Hugh couldn’t hear it through the phone. “Thank you so much, Hugh. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem at all,” he replied smoothly. “Looking forward to seeing you again.”

The call ended, and you stood there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at the screen in disbelief.

Zoë practically pounced on you. “What? What did he say?!”

You turned to her, eyes wide with excitement. “He wants me to come in on Monday. For a follow-up meeting, but it sounded more like... like he’s already offering me the job.”

Zoë screamed, grabbing you and spinning you in a circle. “I knew it! I told you! You’re going to be Hugh Jackman’s assistant!”

You couldn’t help but laugh as she danced around the room, but deep down, you felt a wave of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation. This was it—the start of something big. You were one step closer to working for Hugh Jackman, to being a part of his world.

And maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that this job could lead to something even more than you’d ever imagined.

🏷️: @oatmilkriver @khxna @hughverine @junnniiieee07 @stark-ironman @Marcswife21 @boomveronika @kellyxo1 @shiawaseorii @shybluebirdninja @mutilatedcupid @corvusmorte @iluvfanficsstuff @stickyunknownsubstance @miha080 @acescutejeans-1247 @ladydimitrescutlou @iwannadie07 @whimsiwitchy @bitchydragonparadisee

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know!!

I am so hyped for this small series!!! Hugh needs more content on here. I absolutely love reading all of your thoughts on the chapters, so feel free to leave a comment!! And at last, Enjoy!!

I’m also thinking of writing some oneshots taking place in the same AU after i finish the series. You can read them as standalones or see it as extra content for this project!!

#hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman #hugh jackman imagines #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine #logan howlett #hugh jackman fluff

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pizzapottah · 6 days ago

Text

I’m gonna pack my things (and leave you behind)

summary: You’re five years old when Darth Vader kills your mom. Or — so you think — your parents.

pairing: han solo x skywalker!reader (eventually), platonic skywalker family x reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings: so many feelings, reader's anakin and padme's daighter, also she's a itty bitty haunted by the force, anakin and padme die but it’s not really explored much (yet), mentions of childbirth, nightmares, mentions of anakin’s demise on mustafar, one swear word i think

author's note: I know y'all want an update on the heir and the wolf and that the star wars fandom is as dead as pope francis but PLEASE HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE 🙏🙏🙏 this is for the 2 people that said they would read it lmao

divider from @saradika

You’re four years old when your mum comes back to your apartment on Coruscant with the happy news.

She nears your room, where you're trying to screw back together a toy lightsaber that you somehow managed to dissect — tongue sticking out of your mouth, a concentrated pout prominent on your face. You’re really your father’s daughter, she ponders sometimes, thinking back to that blonde boy on the sand planet that managed to build a whole robot with scraps. The nurse droid, RO-N4, is dutifully watching your work, assuring that you don’t hurt yourself in the process and hinting at the pieces that should go back together; she raises her head when she sees that Padmé has returned.

You jump up when you notice her, running to give her a big hug, almost making her lose her balance; but she’s used to it, and wastes no time in hoisting you on her hip. The robot stands up, ready to gently reprimand you, but your mother gingerly shoos her away with a smile. “Why don’t you go out with Threepio on a walk? I’ll stay here with her. We have something to discuss.” she winks at you, “Some serious girl talk to do, am I right?”

You giggle — that childish, innocent laugh that makes hours of relentless debates in the Senate worth going through — rubbing your cheek against hers. “Yeah! I have shoooo many things to tell you, mama!”

The robots follow the senator’s suggestion, stumbling their way out of the door, and you soon go back to the area dedicated to your toys to show her your hard work. “Look, mama!” you’re basically jumping up and down in joy, holding up the pieces of the once toy lightsaber. “This is the cyber crystal–”

“Kyber crystal, sweetie.”

“Ky-ber crystal. And then this is the one part of the handle with the switch–”

You could go on and ramble for hours, she thinks. She’d happily listen to all and any of your thoughts and wonders and never get tired from it. Soon enough, Padmé’s lying down on the soft sponge puzzle pieces of the playmat that serve to prevent any possible injury from falling over. We’ll need to change those soon, she thinks absentmindedly, she’s already grown out of the always-falling-over phase.

She isn’t sure of how much time passes; at some point your ramblings slow and you scoot closer to her, sniggling in her lap. “Mama,” you mumble, yawning. “‘m so happy that you’re here. I missed you a lot today.”

Her heart breaks. A hand carding through your locks, she smiles sadly, “I know, sweetie, I’m sorry that mama has to work so much. But I promise it’s just so that once you grow up you will be able to live in a peaceful Galaxy, without ever worrying about learning how to fight like your papa.”

You perk up. “But I wanna be like papa when I grow up.”

She shakes her head, feigning her best scandalized expression. “How dare you? What am I, chopped liver?” she takes you in her arms and blows raspberries in your cheeks, making you squeal and thrash around. “Nooo! Don’t, mama, it’s ticklish!”

“What about being a senator, mh?” she offers, not unkindly. “We can fight too, you know.” She puts on her best imitation of Palpatine and presses a matter of utmost importance, “Senator Skywalker, what do you think we should have for dinner as of today?”

Your chuckle makes your little chest rumble against her belly. Your surname is not Skywalker — it is Amidala, often Naberrie when on Naboo, but never have your parents referred to you as that; they mostly leave it out when asked, avoiding the question but never stating either the truth or the cover-up. There’s still hope to change the Order, Anakin always says, that one day she can wear my surname without it causing a scandal. And Padmé believes him: and she believes that when the time comes, you’ll be rightly known as Senator Skywalker.

Suddenly, you go quiet. “I want papa,” you whisper it like it’s forbidden — it kind of is, but you shouldn’t know that. Padmé’s heart breaks a little again. Anakin was sent out on a mission two weeks ago and hasn’t even been able to keep in touch ever since, making you miss him terribly.

She laughs as softly as she can — she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. “No can do, sweetie. Papa isn’t due to be home in at least another three days, but I’m sure that once he’s here he’ll be elated to spend some time with you. Besides, you can’t eat papa for dinner.” she rests her cheek on her hand, patting the free space next to her. “Until he comes back, it’s just you and me. What would you like to do tomorrow? I have no Senate meetings.”

You scoot closer, lying down on the spot she just patted, curling against her chest, “Can we see Ahsoka, then?”

She chuckles a little quieter now. Her and Anakin still don't know how to explain to you that she left the Order a while ago and has no intention on returning to Coruscant any time soon. “Ahsoka’s away like papa, honey. But I’m sure that once she comes back, she’ll be just as happy as he will to spend time with you.”

She smooths your hair back, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, pressing her hand up and down your back. She wonders how good of a sister you’ll be; and even if she knows you’ll be wonderful with the new baby, she still can’t bring herself to say it out loud. “How about I make some shaak meat and then get you prepared for a good bubble bath?”

You look up at her, pouting, “But I’m big now! Do I really have to bathe?”

Padmé bursts out laughing. “You’ll have to clean yourself your whole life, sweetheart, to hopefully not smell like a bantha.”

You huff, glaring at her. “Papa barely even showers.”

“Papa stinks. He was raised on a planet with barely any water and still considers showers optional. Do you ever hear me tell him how I love his perfume? No, that’s because he doesn’t use any. You hear me sending him to sleep on the couch because he smells terribly, though.”

You end up eating your dinner — vegetables included — without a fuss and going to take your bath like a champ. Somewhere along that timespan both the nurse droid and C-3PO came back home to be of help in cleaning the kitchen as Padmé prepares you for bed, lying down next to you and reading to you one of the stories in the hologram that Anakin bought on one of his last missions.

MId-story, she notices you get eerily silent. She carefully turns her head, trying to understand if you’re already sleeping, only to find you more awake than her, eyes open wide. “Is… is everything alright, sweetie?” she asks, a bit bewildered– just a moment ago, you looked like you were about to fall asleep, and now you look like you’re ready to fight everything that could be thrown at you.

“Mama,” you whisper it like it’s a secret, “I just remembered. How are they?”

She blinks, confused. “Who?”

“The twins,” you say, “Luke and Leia.” you pat her belly as if to state the obvious.

She looks at you, horrified — she found out she was pregnant today, and no droid or doctor mentioned twins. “I– sweetheart, what?”

You lean your head, confused. “I saw them yesterday in a dream. They asked me about you.”

Her heart almost stops. She laughs nervously, looking at you with wide eyes, expecting you to say something about the weird and absolutely not real dream that you had, but instead you just stare at her, completely serious. “What… what do you mean?”

You frown. “If you don’t know, then I can’t help you. Nighty night.” you tuck yourself under the covers and curl above her chest once again, sighing happily.

Padmé’s heart feels heavy. It’s happening again– you murmur something about having had a dream, say something even more alarming, then completely ignore what you just said and act like nothing happened. It’s getting worrying — Padmé managed to get you out of the Jedi program last year just because of her status as senator, but she is sure that this year, she won’t be as lucky. The quantity of midi-chlorians in your blood can’t be hid, unfortunately, and in probably less than a year she will be forced to give you up to the Temple.

Anakin’s sure you will make a great Jedi, but your mother’s worried — and how can she not be? Her husband’s more away than he is at home, and with the war going on, it’s already a miracle he manages to visit Coruscant. The fact that you seem to possess your father’s horrifying ability to dream about possible futures doesn’t ease her worries.

“I’m just worried about her–”

“But why? She’s young, she’ll be trained–”

“She will, but I don’t want her to be haunted by the thoughts of possible futures and whatnot.”

It’s late. You’ve already gone to bed, shushed by Anakin’s stories and anecdotes from his latest mission, and even if this should be a carefree and happy moment because her husband has managed to come back home unscathed again– your mother just can’t get something out of her head.

Anakin huffs and puts his hands on his waist, looking at Padmé like she’s crazy — there it is, where you got your attitude from. “I can always call one of the Temple guards and tell them that there’s a Force-sensitive kid here. They can train her until I can take her as Padawan; it’ll take, what? Six, seven years? Hopefully I’ll be done with the war by that time and will be able to focus on her as my padawan.”

His wife crosses her arms, glaring at him, “I don’t want her as your padawan,” she grits out, “I want her safe, here, where we can have a decent relationship and she won’t be stripped away from my arms.”

He leans his head and raises an eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I can’t make her dreams go away. I don’t even know how to make my nightmares go. But at the Temple, they can teach her how to control them, how to use them for her own good– for the Order’s and the Republic’s own good–”

“You say that just because you wouldn’t have any problems in seeing her,” she sniffs, “you’ll be a welcome, familiar presence in the Temple — but it is known that they don’t let anyone outside of the Jedi enter.”

His shoulders drop, and he starts shaking his head. “Padmé…”

“Don’t. Don’t tell me that we have to give her up to the Temple, because I don’t want to and I won’t–”

“But we’ll have to, Padmé, they’ll teach her everything she’ll ever need and–”

She bursts out crying. It might be the pregnancy, or the fact that she still hasn’t told him about it and it’s eating her alive, but she’s much more emotional than usual. “I don’t want them to take her away from me!”

Anakin’s eyes soften, his posture breaks, “Oh, dear,” he mutters, pulling her in his arms and letting her cry out in his chest. “It’ll be alright,” he murmurs, lips pressed to her head, “we’ll find a solution for everything.” He still doesn’t know when or how, but he’ll try with everything he has to solve this situation to the best of his ability.

He had honestly thought Padmé was exaggerating when she said that you were having visions, probably thinking it was just baby babbling or something, but he is proven wrong that same night, when he is abruptly woken up by the sound of the door of their bedroom opening.

“Papa?” you call out from the doorstep, voice sleepy.

He manages to get himself out of bed — when he’s home, night duty is always on him, as Padmé already deals with it enough while he’s away — and, yawning, he walks off to you and kneels down to your level, sending a glance to your bantha plushie safely tucked under your elbow. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Blank stare on your part, you look at him like a war veteran would. “You were being burned, papa.”

He blinks and counts to five before accepting that it’s way too late in the night — or early in the morning, he has no idea — to deal with this type of shit. “Okay, listen– how about we go catch some fresh air outside, hm?”

You let him pick you up without any protests, curling up in his arms as you whimper quietly. He drags his feet along the pavement of the apartment, sliding open the door to the terrace that overlooks the whole city; it’s like it never sleeps, always someone going around and about with their speeders, lights often left on in the apartments below. The night air sends a chill down his spine and he instinctively holds you tighter in hopes to shield you from the cold.

“Mum told me about these dreams you’ve been having,” he starts slowly.

You hum, pressing closer to him, the plushie squashed between you two. Your eyes look tired, almost older than you actually are, and his heart squeezes at the sight. “Papa, do you know Darth Vader?”

His heart skips a beat. He knows no Vader, surely not a Sith named like that, but the fact that you dreamed about it almost makes his knees buckle. He mentally promises himself to make some digging in the archives and reports for any Vaders that might be hiding out there. “I don’t, sweetheart. Do you?”

Your brows furrow, your little hand patting the skin above his heart. “I don’t think I do.”

He presses his lips into a thin line. “Well, what does he do in your dreams?”

Your frown deepens. “I never see him. But Obi-Wan’s afraid of him– or, or angry at him, I’m not sure. Maybe both.”

His frown mirrors yours. You’ve never met Obi-Wan aside from a time or two when he was assigned as bodyguard to your mother, but that was years ago; you shouldn’t be able to remember him. “How do you know who Obi-Wan is, sweetheart?”

You stare at him like he’s stupid. “Isn’t he a friend?”

“I mean, I guess he is, but you’ve never actually met him, have you?”

“Then I think I will.” you cuddle back on his shoulder like nothing happened.

Yeah, we gotta send this one to the Temple, he bitterly thinks. The thought of your mother alone in this apartment after years of having you around makes him sad, but there’s no one else apart from the masters there that could help you — he would try to, if the war wasn’t stripping him of all of his free time.

Anakin has no time to properly train you. As of now, he could manage to give you chopped notions and barely any principles; in the Temple, all the Jedi solely focus on the younglings’ training, a luxury he can’t afford right now.

She’s still so young, Padmé’s voice rings in his head, I don’t want her to forget about me.

Six years old might be already too old for a youngling, Anakin ponders, but five years old would be perfect. They still accept kids that age.

Another birthday for Padmé, he decides, another birthday and then off to the Temple she goes.

Except, he doesn’t know there’s no time for another birthday. Not for Padmé, anyways. Nor for him, too, some could argue.

“Papa,” you mumble, “could you sing me that lullaby?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Aren’t you getting a little too old for that?” He teases, with no actual intent in ever stopping to sing Ghost Star to you. You could be forty and him on his deathbed and, if you asked, he’d still sing it for you. “Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me…”

You do end up properly meeting Obi-Wan. That is, unfortunately, after — for what you know — both your parents die.

The air in the spacecraft is eerily still, as even C-3PO is stunned to silence. The tears on your cheeks have long since dried, and you keep fidgeting with a small, faintly glowing cube in your hands — the only thing you managed to take with you when your mother loaded you into the spaceship directed to Mustafar. She’s — was, was, was — able to open it, but you still have no idea how to do it; your father promised he would have taught you to, but… well. He now never will.

The cries from the med bay stopped a while ago. And while you’re still so young, you know that the silence means nothing good. You might not be a master of the Force, or know enough about it to understand fully what it means, but you’ve felt it — your mother’s presence slipping away in favor of two smaller ones.

Finally, after a time that seems never-ending, Obi-Wan emerges from the door connecting the hallway with the infirmary, his expression full of sorrow. He looks surprised by your calmness, almost as if he had expected you to have gone crazy by now. “Hi,” he breathes lowly, tired and remorseful. How do you tell a kid her mother’s dead when just a few hours ago you had to break the same type of news about her father?

After he understands that you’re not going to reply, he gets closer and kneels in front of you, taking note of the cube you’re holding in your hands — a holocron. Does she know how to open it, yet? “Hey, kid,” he tries as softly as he can, “I…”

“Mama’s gone, isn’t she?” You interrupt him. Obi-Wan almost stumbles; the look in your eyes is scaringly similar to the one Anakin had sometimes, strangely old for your age. “I felt her slipping away like papa did.”

His lips are pressed into a thin line as he puts a hand on your shoulder. “I’m really sorry,” he says it even though he knows it won’t change anything. “We tried everything, but even the medical droid had no idea what to do.”

“Oh,” C-3PO mumbles as R2-D2 beeps sadly. “This– this is horrendous news.”

You nod absentmindedly, like you’d seen it coming. “Are Luke and Leia okay?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Who?”

“The twins. Are they okay?”

As even Padmé looked surprised by the fact she was having twins, he wonders how in the world you knew and gave them names. Your mother left no names behind, and he had thought about just naming them after your parents, but if you already had names picked out… then it’s not his place to name your siblings, is it?

“They are.” C-3PO sighs in relief as R2-D2 lets out a happier beep. “Would you like to see them?”

You nod timidly, almost stumbling as you stand up from the chair you sat in and taking Obi-Wan’s hand when he offers it to you. You’re still gripping on the holocron like a lifeline, its dim glow faltering every now and then. “Do you know what that is?” He asks, pointing at it as the door to the infirmary opens.

You glance at it, unsure. “Dunno. Mama always played the hologram inside when I missed papa, but I tried opening it and it didn’t work.”

If Padmé managed to open it, then Anakin must’ve programmed the holocron so that the Force frequency needed to open it was small enough that she could play it; even if you were a prodigy like your father, though, it would be impossible for you to open it without directions or a minimal training.

The nurse-droid your mother brought with her is feeding some milk to one of the twins when you enter — Obi-Wan guesses she might have had it with her the whole time, because he doesn’t remember this ship having such a thing as baby formula in its stocks.

RO-N4 places the infant back in the cot with the other twin as soon as they burp, and since you’re still too short to properly look at them Obi-Wan has to take you in his arms for you to have a good peek.

“This is Leia,” he murmurs softly, pointing at the baby with small tufts of brown hair. “She was born first.” He then points to the smaller, uglier and balder twin, “And this is Luke; he was born right after.”

You coo, pushing your index finger against Luke’s cheek. “They’re so ugly,” you state, not exactly with the intent of insulting them– just saying what’s in your mind.

Obi-Wan chuckles fondly. “Well, I’m sure you were at least as ugly as them when you were this little. Pretty much everyone is.”

You turn to him, holocron still in hand, hesitantly nudging it to him. “Mister Obi,” you say, calling him with the nickname that later on will stick to him for pretty much your entire time spent with him, “do you know how to play this?”

He nods, taking the holocron in his hand and changing his hold on you so that he can use his other hand while still keeping you upright, “This is a holocron. It’s used by Force users to store information and files, and it opens if infused with the Force. Let’s see…”

He concentrates on the cube, focusing a small amount of Force within it, then delicately twists the corners as it starts to glow steadier. Just as he expected — the smallest amount of Force that even Padmé could’ve been able to conjure up. The holocron starts to float, projecting a hologram in the dim-lit room.

It starts with Anakin, clearly just knighted as a proper Jedi: he’s still a bit scrawny, his hair’s yet to grow after the braid and the small ponytail for padawans had been cut. He looks a bit embarrassed to be in front of the camera as a small baby’s cries echo in the recording. “Do I really have to do this?” He mutters.

A laugh comes from the side, and the baby’s cries get louder — maybe closer to the camera. “Of course you do!” It’s Padmé’s voice, amused but clearly tired, stabbing directly into Obi-Wan's heart. That poor, poor girl… “It’s the only way she’ll stop crying, and since you’re mostly off-world, she’s mostly crying. This will solve a lot of my problems — even the droids are starting to go mad.”

A pair of arms and a swoosh of a dress appear to the side, and suddenly a crying infant is trusted into Anakin’s hands. It’s you, his master realises, crying as if the world’s about to end, face all red and pudgy, definitely a bit less ugly than your siblings. Your father’s eyes soften in a way that makes Obi-Wan’s heart ultimately crumble.

“Hey,” he murmurs, cooing and humming as he presses kisses all over your cheeks. He winces as your face contorts even more, “Now, c’mon, don’t look at me like that,”

“Please, Master, just sing the song!” It’s C-3PO’s voice in the distance, full of despair and anguish. “Another sob and the metal holding me together might just turn to rust!” R2-D2’s beeping seems to be of the same idea as him.

Anakin huffs, glaring down at you with no real hostility. “You’re one hell of a spoiled baby, you know that?”

Your cries continue nonetheless. He glares at the camera. “Padmé, I love you, but if anyone else ever sees this, I’m divorcing you,”

“You would never,” your mother’s knowing voice is a mere rumble in the distance as Anakin settles to hold you tight to his chest, pressing a kiss to your forehead before starting to sing.

“Ghost star, wonder where you are; Ghost star, are you very far? All night long, I will sing your song, if you watch over me. Ghost star, hiding in the night, all your friends are all so bright… when the sky is clear, I can sense you near, looking down on me. Ghost star, silent in the sky, now I start to wonder why. Show me your light; I've waited all night. Ghost star, won't you sing with me?”

He sings the lullaby multiple times until you’re completely knocked out, dismissing Padmé when she offers to take you back to your room, preferring to keep you close for another while. His stare as he looks at you is so tender that Obi-Wan can’t believe he just had to leave him to die.

Soon enough the recording restarts, the same banter and song again, but he lets it play. Every word is a guilt trip, every laugh a stab in his chest, and the image of Anakin with a baby happily sleeping against his chest might just be the end of him.

By the time he finally shuts the holocron off both you and the twins are passed out; he tries to convince himself that the hole in his chest isn’t gnawing away at the last bit standing of his sanity. He looks at you, carding a hand through your hair, of the same tenderness as your father but with the same curl of your mother's, and decides here and there to never tell you about what really happened on Mustafar. Not that he really had the intention to do, as of now, but… you don’t deserve to know about Vader. Obi-Wan won’t let you live with the knowledge that your father killed both himself and your mother, no.

And so, the lie about Darth Vader killing both Senator Amidala and her loyal guard, Anakin Skywalker, who lost his life fighting for hers, is born.

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