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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Always Ever Only You Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley's notebook reads like poetry to your soul, and some inexplicable part of you feels like it's healing. He takes the time to give you the care and attention you need, and you do the same for him. After a weekend where you let yourself live in a cozy bubble with him, work on Monday jarred you back to reality.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, smut

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

Bradley was home. He'd been craving this comfort since he left, but the uncertainty of how you and he would react when you saw each other had been adding to his anxiety after the mission. He wanted to tell you all about it, but it just didn't seem as important as being near you.

He knew you had dinner ready to reheat, and he wanted to sit with you snuggled up on his lap and share a plate of food. But first he carried you from the laundry room, both of you in your underwear, and into the bedroom with Tramp in hot pursuit. "I think both of you missed me," Bradley whispered, kissing your cheek when he set you down.

"We did," you promised, and he dropped down to the floor to play with the dog for a few minutes. There was no way Tramp would calm down until he'd been given a little bit of attention. And then Bradley could focus on you for the rest of the night. For the rest of the weekend. Forever.

"Roo?" you asked quietly, and Bradley looked up at you as you showed him the notebook. "What is this?"

You must have taken it out of his duffle bag as you were unpacking his dirty clothes for him. When he looked up into your eyes, they looked guarded. You were apprehensive. He hated that he ever made you feel like you couldn't be exactly who you were around him. And while he never meant to share those words with you or anyone else, he found that the idea of you reading them didn't feel wrong to him.

He was on his feet right away. "You can look at it, Sweetheart. It's just some things I wrote down while I was away. Bob kind of got me hooked on keeping a journal."

You skimmed through the pages again before you met his eyes. "The whole notebook is almost filled," you said. "And you wrote my name in here a lot."

Bradley cupped your cheeks in his hands and kissed you softly. "That's because you're on my mind more than anything else." He watched you smile, and then he added, "It's a notebook about you. About us. About how I'm going to be exactly what you need."

He kissed your forehead as you whispered, "Will you let me read it?"

Very gently, he took it from your hand and set it down on the bed. "Yes. But I need to eat dinner first. I'm starving. You know carrier food tastes like cardboard, and I've been dreaming about you sitting on my lap at our table."

When you nodded and took him by the hand, Bradley stuck to you as you led him into the kitchen and over to the refrigerator. He reached down one plate and didn't leave your side as you heated up the food. When you spun in his arms to face him, he could feel the slightly raised goosebumps on your arms; neither of you actually put any additional clothing on when you were in the bedroom.

"You want me to go grab you one of my shirts or something?" he asked, rubbing his big hands along your arms.

"I thought you were going to keep me warm. Are you all talk now?" Your raised eyebrow was playful, but it was time for Bradley to get serious about what was going on here.

"Talk and action, Baby Girl. When you want me to keep you warm, I'll keep you warm. And you can read my notebook. And then we can spend the weekend working on us."

You relaxed into his touch as he soothed your goosebumps away with his hands, and soon you were perched on his lap at the dining room table. One bite of the Marry Me Rooster, and Bradley just knew he was going to gain five pounds this weekend. It was that fucking good. And it felt incredible to have you with him. He even tossed a small piece of chicken to Tramp.

"So Jake and Cat?" he asked, kissing your bare shoulder as you took a bite of dinner. "Sounds like I missed a lot."

"Oh, you did, Roo." Then you filled him in on everything you could think of. He had to laugh at the idea of Hondo at his house, because all Bradley could imagine was the man yelling at him to do push ups in his own living room. When you mentioned Jeremiah, Bradley didn't feel as desperate as maybe he would have a few months ago. It would be nice, but he didn't need it. He needed you.

"And you're feeling good?" he asked, pulling you a little closer as you ate the last bite of food. "You look beautiful."

"Yeah," you replied, snuggling up against his chest and shoulder, tracing his scars and tattoo with your fingers. "I feel good. I told Dr. Genevieve that I want to fix this, not throw it away. There's too much between us that's perfect."

And that was it. Bradley wasn't perfect. Neither were you, but you were much closer than he was. But somehow when the two of you mixed together, it worked beautifully until he had lost sight of making sure you were happy and taken care of.

"Perfect," he agreed softly. "I want to be with you more than I want anything else. I need you at this point. When I realized how much I hurt you after your promotion banquet and before I left on deployment, it felt like I'd never be able to breathe correctly again." He tilted your chin up so you were looking at him as your warm hand grazed his paper airplane tattoo. "You're my wife, and you deserve my respect. And I want to take care of you. And maybe we'll have a kid someday. And maybe not. But the stress isn't what we need, Sweetheart. I'm sorry."

You scrambled around in his lap so your arms were wrapped tight around his neck. Bradley had missed this feeling. And if he was being honest, it was longer ago than the start of his two month deployment that he felt this good. But now you were crying.

"I'm sorry I let myself hurt so much inside before I told someone about it," you sobbed.

He squeezed you tighter until he could feel your heartbeat against his chest. "Don't apologize for that. Please. I know you're strong. I know you want to be strong. I know you were focused on getting pregnant. But we don't need that. Like I said before, I'd be lucky to get to spend the rest of my life with you. Just you. And I'll make sure you know it."

Your voice broke as you cried, and Bradley just kept holding you. He had no idea how much time passed, but eventually your breathing evened out and your heart rate slowed, and he found himself wiping tears from his own eyes. You kissed his ear and whispered, "You're enough for me, too."

And that sounded beautiful to him.

-----------------------------

When you finally climbed off of Bradley's lap, you missed the warmth of his body immediately, and he looked like he felt the same way. He jumped up, and when you reached for the dirty dish, he took your hand in his instead. "I'll clean up if you want to take a bath," he whispered.

You tugged him closer, and he abandoned the table, soft brown eyes on yours. "Come with me?"

"Yes," he responded immediately.

Both of you were already stripped down to your underwear, and you undressed completely as Bradley started to fill the tub. Then he stripped out of his boxer briefs and got two fluffy, yellow towels ready for when you were done. You tested the water with your toes, and then he held your hand as you climbed in. You realized you hadn't taken a single bath while he had been away. You preferred taking them with him.

"I'll be right back," he told you with a quick kiss to your forehead. And you tried to settle back against the tub, but the edge was cold against your shoulders. And the overhead light was too bright. And he was taking too long.

But when he returned with his phone and an opened bottle of the pink champagne you had tucked away in the back of the refrigerator, you immediately felt better. His phone was softly playing a song from the ten hour long playlist he made for you when he was deployed while you were dating, and he propped it up near the towels as he handed you the bottle. Then he turned off the light, leaving only the soft orange glow from the bedroom filtering in through the door.

"Roo," you whispered, and then he was there, easing himself into the water. With a soft grunt, he settled against the tub and pulled you close so your back rested against his chest. "You opened champagne?"

"Yeah. Being home is something to celebrate." His arms snaked around your waist and his voice was deep, chest rumbling when he spoke. And you took a sip of it. And your senses were overwhelmed. There were so many things happening at once that you loved and hadn't let yourself enjoy for such a long time.

His voice, the bubbles on your tongue, a song you loved, the scent of your bubble bath. You felt like you'd deprived yourself for an age. "I love this," you whispered before taking another sip, and then Bradley's mustache was on your neck.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you reached back with the bottle, offering it to him. "Nah, you have some more," he replied. "My hands are full." His arms were wrapped around your middle like he was trying to remember the exact feel of you. His knees were bent, and your body was pressed intimately to his, but all he did was kiss your neck and hold you. He sang along softly to whichever song was playing, eventually accepting the bottle of champagne when you offered it again and taking a sip.

"I hope you don't deploy again for a long time," you whispered when you let him finish off the bottle. "Because I want to do this with you every night. Well, minus the expensive champagne."

Bradley chuckled against the curve of your neck as he adjusted himself in the tub. The slosh of water across your shoulders had you shivering as the water had cooled. "You want expensive champagne every day? I'll buy it by the case."

"I just want you."

"I'm yours." His lips were pressed to your spine. "We'll do this all the time."

A few minutes later, you reluctantly climbed out of the tub as you shivered, and you wrapped yourself up in one of the fluffy towels. Bradley headed back into the bedroom after he brushed his teeth and kissed your cheek. As you brushed yours and removed your contacts, you thought perhaps calling it an early night was just what you needed.

When you joined him in the bedroom, Bradley was dressed in clean underwear, and he had his worn UVA shirt on your pillow waiting for you. You slipped it on and adjusted your glasses as he pulled the covers back for you. And that's when you noticed the notebook on his nightstand.

"You can read what you want to," he said, reaching for it and handing it over. "I'm not trying to hide anything from you. But some of this was hard for me to write. So keep that in mind."

"Okay," you whispered, opening it to the first page which you had skimmed earlier, as he gathered you against his side. And you sat there with him, leaning against the headboard as his warm hand kept you anchored as you read silently.

Baby Girl, when I think about you, I think about the rest of my life spread out in front of me. And it's not exactly like a map, because I don't know where we are going or where we will end up. But I feel safe when I'm with you. Even though so much is unknown.

I never thought I could be enough for someone else. Enough that they would want me around or want to get to know me. I didn't know I could be important enough to be in a long relationship with someone or get married. And it makes me ache whenever your self doubt is something that I caused, because you do the opposite for me. You make me feel like I'm good enough for you. You gave me a fucking purpose. You're the reason I dropped every other bad habit I had in exchange for just the hope that you might look at me.

"Oh, Roo," you gasped, tears rapidly filling your eyes as you dropped the notebook onto his abs and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"You didn't even make it to the end of the first page without crying," he whispered as your tears wet his cheek. "Want me to put it away?"

"No," you said, voice shaking. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever read."

-----------------------

Once Bradley was able to wipe away most of your tears with his thumbs, your eyes were bright and focused on him. "Will you read it to me?" you asked so softly that he probably wouldn't have been able to hear you except that your lips were brushing his. He nodded gently and gathered you against his side again. When he picked up the notebook, he felt himself flushing from embarrassment.

It was so personal. It was one thing when you were reading it to yourself, but hearing himself say the words that he had written? Out loud? He gently cleared his throat and took a deep breath, picking up where you left off. As soon as he spoke, your arm tightened across his chest.

"And then you did look at me. Like I was someone who was worth your time. And you spoke to me like my words could be important to you. And you touched me like you'd be careful with me. And you kissed me like you didn't want it to stop. And then I started to feel different, like maybe I appreciated myself a little bit more.

I wanted to kiss you that first night at the Hard Deck after I bumped your stool. I wanted to do a lot more than that. Sometimes I wonder what you would have done if I had tried it. I couldn't stop thinking about you after that. For days, weeks. Fuck, I still think about that night. I still can't stop thinking about you. If I could just kiss you right now and feel the weight of your hands on my body, then I would be fine. My problems would feel manageable, because I would be with you.

You deserve to have a husband who takes the pressure off of you, not one who adds more. And if you'll just give me one more chance to show that I understand that, I won't waste your time.

You've always been different. You've always been what I wanted whether I deserve you or not."

He stopped at the end of the first page and set the notebook aside. That was enough for one night. He was exhausted, and you were crying again. And he wasn't exactly sure if they were good tears or the worrying kind.

"Baby Girl, are you alright?" he asked, rubbing his hand along your back as you nodded into his neck.

"Yeah," you whispered, sniffing as you tried to speak. "I just never heard you talk about me so.... matter of factly."

Bradley laughed softly. "That's because the notebook was really supposed to be for me."

"I like it too much," you said, rubbing your forehead against his cheek. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he promised as you snuggled in for the night. He pulled the blanket up higher over both of you, and before he actually turned the light out, he picked up the notebook one more time. "Close your eyes. There's one more page I want to read to you right now. But you have to promise you'll go to sleep right afterwards, because I'm already a little embarrassed just thinking about it."

"Okay."

Bradley licked his lips as he located the correct page in the middle of the notebook and scanned it before he started reading very softly.

"My life feels like a dream. Like an actual goddamn dream. The kind I started to have shortly after my mom died. The ones where she was there, and I could feel her touching my hair and holding my hand. I was missing that kind of touch that kept me grounded, because I felt so out of control in my own skin too much of the time.

I didn't think I was starving for attention or affection. The surface kind wasn't hard to come by. I just didn't know there could be more. And then I met my wife, and maybe I always knew she was going to be my wife someday. The way I stuttered and couldn't walk correctly when she looked at me. The way her smile and the curve of her cheek made me think about touching her. The way her voice filled my mind when I was alone. Fuck. I didn't know. I had no idea. I was absolutely starving for this kind of affection."

You were asleep, your breathing even and calm. And Bradley felt like he could sleep now, too. Once the light was turned off, he very carefully took your hand and laced his fingers with yours. "Roo," you murmured in your sleep, wrapping your leg around his a little tighter.

"I love you." He kissed your knuckles and your rings, and then he dozed off, too.

-------------------------

Bradley was beautiful in the morning light. His cheeks were a little rosy from sleep, and his lips were gently parted, face turned toward you. When you stroked his mustache gently with your thumb, a soft smile appeared on his lips. Something had helped heal part of you overnight. Maybe it was the notebook. Or the bath. Or just having him with you after weeks of feeling so uncertain. But you felt lighter. You had slept so soundly.

When you tried to roll away and let him sleep longer, his arm tightened around you like a vice, and you squeaked. "Stay with me," he rasped. That voice went right through you and made your body stand at attention. Your nipples were tight peaks, and you had to squeeze your thighs around his left leg where your bare core was rubbing him like you had no control of yourself.

You whimpered. You couldn't help it. He was looking up at you, his brown eyes wide and suddenly alert. "Sorry," you gasped, your thighs tightening around him again. You ducked your head in embarrassment, but Bradley took your hand in his and kissed your palm before sliding it down his warm body underneath the blanket. He leaned up to kiss your lips as your fingers skimmed along the front of his boxer briefs. He was hard, and now you had no idea why you were apologizing to him. You dipped your hand inside the elastic and whispered, "I want you," as you wrapped your fingers around his heavy erection.

Wordlessly, he rolled you onto your back, keeping his left thigh wedged in place where you were wet now. He kissed your lips gently, tucking his fingers behind your neck and letting them tangle with your necklace chain. "I need you," he swore. "Need."

You nodded your head slowly and arched your back so he could push the soft tee shirt up a little higher. You knew how good it could be with him, and it had been so long since he'd been this tender. He kept that one big hand at the back of your neck while the other roamed your body, and he took the time to touch you everywhere. Sometimes his lips were on yours. Sometimes he was just watching your face as you made soft noises just for him.

When his gaze traveled down your belly, you felt him trace your dainty, single line rooster tattoo with the tip of one finger. He traced it over and over again, the sensation just on the verge of being ticklish. But all he was doing was stoking your desire for him. He leaned down and kissed you just below your belly button. "We belong together," he whispered, worshipping your belly and hips with his mouth. "And I want to hear you say it."

You took a ragged breath as he kissed your thigh and dragged his mustache along your pussy. When you bucked off the bed for him, he grunted and kissed his way up until he was nudging the shirt over your breasts, exposing your taut nipples.

"We belong together, Bradley," you moaned as his lips wrapped around your nipple. His fingertips felt rough on your other breast, but his touch was still tender. And you didn't care that you were rubbing your core along his thigh, nudging his length over and over again. Because he was grunting your name and licking long stripes across your breasts.

When he looked up at you with the warmest eyes, you took his face gently in your hands, and guided him to your lips for a kiss. "Please," you whispered. "Oh, Roo. Please forgive me for the last time we had sex. I should have never treated you or us like an obligation."

His lips mashed against yours with a need that took your breath away. He wasn't an obligation. Your husband was as urgent and crucial as your own heartbeat. He was a necessity. He was something you needed to cherish. "I love you. I love you."

"I'll never stop," he promised as you reached down, bumping his cheek with your nose, and eased the waistband of his underwear down. When you nodded, he didn't hesitate. Bradley guided himself inside you, stretching you and filling you. The slow, intentional roll of his hips left you smiling as you raked your fingers through his hair. This felt the way it used to. And Bradley was smiling, too. Kiss after incredible kiss. And there was no rush. No expectations. Just sweet morning sex with your husband after eight weeks apart.

And he knew what to do, because he knew every inch of your body and every noise you made. He made you cum as you ground up against him, your fingers tight in his hair. "Oh god!" you whined, that gorgeous clenching feeling rocking through your core. His thrusts grew shallow as he tipped his head to hold eye contact with you as he came.

He whispered a ragged, "I love you, Baby Girl," before he tucked his face against your neck while you held him. It was perfect. He gave you exactly what you needed like a wrapped gift you wanted to keep opening.

"Can we... could we just be like this again?" you asked him after a moment.

There was no hesitation to his response. "Yes."

You traced his scars with your fingers and kissed his forehead until you thought maybe he had fallen asleep with his cock still cradled inside your body. But he ran his hand along your arm and whispered, "I'm happy I'm home with you. I'll make your coffee."

And two sweet kisses later, he gently withdrew himself and climbed out of bed. You watched him pull his boxer briefs back up, and then he smiled at you before Tramp followed him out of the room. You gave yourself a minute alone in bed. The passages in that notebook made you feel like Bradley had set you down on a pedestal. You felt like a priority again. And he seemed more than willing to listen to you and talk to you about the things that needed to change. Dr. Genevieve was going to be so pleased when you spoke with her again.

When you walked into the kitchen in your tee shirt with Bradley's sticky cum on your thighs, you gasped. "What did you do?"

Your French press was broken on the counter, and Bradley was cleaning up spilled coffee with paper towels. "You weren't supposed to come out here yet," he said, wincing. "I got one good cup out of it before I broke it. Your breakfast is on the table."

You walked into the dining room to find a plate with two pieces of burnt toast and jelly along with one mug of steaming coffee. You laughed and called him in with you. "Just let me make lunch, okay?"

"Yeah," he agreed as you pushed him down onto the chair and climbed onto his lap. You fed him a bite of very crunchy toast as he added, "I ordered you a new French press already. Stainless steel this time. My hands were always a little too big for this one. And I can't even believe I like this fancy shit." He took a sip from the mug. "And sorry this toast is disgusting."

You couldn't stop laughing at how normal this felt. "Like I said, I'll make lunch." He let you finish the rest of the coffee as he traced a little pattern along your bare thigh.

"What are we doing today?" he asked, looking at you with one raised eyebrow.

You just shrugged. "I mean... I didn't really have anything planned, because I was just so anxious for you to get home. But if you want to go out, I'll have to clean all your cum off my legs."

He just shook his head. "Let's stay in all weekend until we have to go to work on Monday morning. And you can just keep my cum anywhere you feel like."

You giggled as you stuffed the last bite of toast into his mouth, and it looked like he was going to cry. Then you just sat in the dining room with him and played with his hair for a while. Having no plans and nothing to do would hopefully give you both the opportunity to talk through some more things, but when you yawned, Bradley scooped you up and carried you back to the bedroom.

"Let's take a nap," he whispered, like it was a secret you should keep from the rest of the world. And you supposed it was as he wrapped you up in his arms. You fell asleep with his hands tucked up inside your shirt and his lips on your neck.

----------------------------

Bradley knew there was still a lot to talk about. Every time you asked him for more details about his deployment, he was hesitant to mention Slayer or Admiral Dean or anything that happened. This reunion weekend was everything he had hoped it could be. A lazy Saturday lunch out on the back patio. Sex in the shower. Cuddling on the couch. And Bradley reading to you from the notebook.

Sometimes you cried, sometimes you held him. Once you gave him a blowjob while he was reading it to you. No, this weekend felt like you and he were getting back to basics, and he didn't want to ruin it with deployment talk. That shit didn't matter now that he was with you again.

"Will you read another page to me?" you asked after lunch on Sunday, leading him back to the bedroom. "And then you can tell me more about your deployment?"

"Anything you want," he promised, pulling you down into bed with him. He found the bookmarked spot and opened up to that page, and as you kissed his cheek, he started to read.

And the words meant something important to you. He could tell. Even though it was hard to do, he kept working his way through the notebook. You already had some favorite passages that he dog-eared for you. He'd read the same thing to you as you fell asleep on Friday night and on Saturday night. And you kept telling him that you loved him.

After he finished reading and set the notebook aside, he kissed the tears away from your cheeks and rolled you onto your back. You bit your lip as you looked up at him and said, "You know how you told me that you'd be okay with just us? Just me and you? If I never get pregnant?"

"Yes," he replied easily. While he knew this topic had been just below the surface, he honestly hadn't given it too much thought all weekend. He felt like he was back in honeymoon mode, just trying to make you smile.

"You meant it?"

"Yes. I'd rather be happy here with you than have anything else any day of the week."

You seemed to accept his answer as you raked your fingers through his hair. "Roo, I... don't think I want to stop trying. But I don't want to have to focus all of my energy on it. I don't want to constantly think about my cycles and my fertility like before."

"I agree," he replied. "I want us to have sex when we want to, just like we've been doing all weekend. Because it's fun, and I love it. And I love you. And if you get pregnant, then we'll figure it out. And if you don't, then we'll still be perfect. Or we can talk to a doctor together at some point. Or not. We don't have to decide that yet. We can be just us, Sweetheart."

"Just us," you reiterated.

"And Tramp."

"Well, obviously," you said, turning to look where he was lounging on his little bed. You were smiling when you looked back at Bradley. "Let me feed you leftovers for dinner."

"Thank you for not making me eat any more toast of my own making," he whispered.

You laughed. "I love you too much for that."

After another shared plate of dinner and dozens of kisses, Bradley coaxed you into the living room to watch a movie. He put on one of your favorites and smirked as you shimmied out of your shorts and underwear before joining him on the couch. "What are you doing?" he rasped, lounging along the length of the couch. He tucked his hands back behind his head and let you untie his gray sweatpants and pull them down to his knees. He had skipped underwear at your insistence, and now he was twitching for you.

You carefully straddled his waist, and Bradley's erection was tapping you eagerly on your ass. "Warming your cock?" you asked so innocently, leaning down to kiss his nose. "Is that okay?"

Bradley groaned and said, "Hell yes." He slowly slipped his cock into your pussy, and he closed his eyes and counted to ten as you wigged around before settling chest to chest with him. You seemed half focused on the movie, preferring to press gentle kisses to his face and neck instead as you held hands. The soft clenching of your pussy around him as you loved on him was almost too much. But he didn't want it to stop. He focused all of his energy and attention on you while the movie played.

"You're making me feel so good, Baby Girl," he crooned, stroking your cheek while you kissed and licked along the scars on the side of his neck. "I love this body," he added, squeezing a nice handful of your ass.

You moaned softly, and he enjoyed the fluttering feeling of your arousal as you told him how much you missed him. You rolled your hips with the occasional soft thrust, and Bradley just remained rock hard and ready for you to take this wherever you wanted to. You were soaking wet and warm and inviting. And when the movie ended you started to fuck him, your eyes closing as you came after a few strokes.

You started shivering in Bradley's arms as you said, "You felt too good. I couldn't go any longer."

He held you in place and thrust up into you. "My only goal is to make you feel good in every way." But then he was panting, and he only lasted a few more strokes too, after spending so long inside you. And your fingers were in his hair and your lips were on his cheek, and he didn't know how he was supposed to help himself when you loved him like this.

When you started to shift, Bradley grabbed your hips. "Don't move, don't move," he begged. "Just let me stay like this. For a minute."

Your cheek came to rest on his chest as you traced his paper airplane tattoo and sighed. And all he wanted to do was skip work all week and keep this going.

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Monday morning was an obnoxious wake up call after the weekend spent with Bradley. You'd taken a few minutes to call your parents so they could talk to Bradley. Then another bath rounded out Sunday night, followed by listening to him read another two pages from his notebook. His words were poetry, and when you told him that, he laughed. But they were the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard in your life, so you thought it was actually a pretty good description of what he had written.

The two of you got dressed in your uniforms in the morning, and Bradley apologized again for the broken French press and placed a Starbucks pickup order for you to grab on your way to work. And then the two of you made out in the living room. You just made out with your husband with no further expectations than simply enjoying his lips on yours and his hands on your butt and the little sound of your nametag tapping his pins.

"We need to leave," he whispered before sucking on your bottom lip. Your fingers had messed up his tidy hair, and you were going to work with puffy lips now.

"I can be a little late," you told him, making him laugh. So he backed you up against the wall and kissed along your neck until you were giggling from the prickle of his mustache.

You eventually made it to work with your fancy coffee and a smile on your face. Bradley hadn't mentioned anything about your cycle all weekend long. You felt a brand new energy humming through your body. Cat laughed when she saw you, and you wanted to ask if she'd talked to Jake. You also wanted to see your friends at lunch, but there was honestly too much to get done. Tomorrow would be another day. Today you'd get as much of your work done as you could and then go home to Bradley.

You worked straight through until almost three o'clock when you were sitting in the lab, finalizing some math before it was submitted. Your computer pinged with an email from your boss's boss's boss. You almost never heard from Admiral Yates directly. You tapped it open and your blood ran cold. This had to be some sort of mistake as you skimmed down to the second paragraph.

I need the audio communication pulled from the special mission on the USS Theodore Roosevelt from April 21st, and I need the coding to be verified on everything before it is submitted. Have it ready by midnight tonight. This is for the court-martial of ADM. BECKETT DEAN and LT. HARRIS "Slayer" HAINES (docket MT47489). This is regarding the incident involving LT. NATASHA "Phoenix" TRACE, LT. ROBERT "Bob" FLOYD, LCDR. BRADLEY "Rooster" BRADSHAW....

There were more names, but you couldn't read them. You almost fell out of your seat after you saw your husband's name listed as part of a group involved in some sort of incident. Something bad enough that comms needed to be verified. And then it occurred to you that as many times as you had asked Bradley for details about his deployment, he had given you none. The perfect bubble of the weekend felt like it just popped in your face. You thought you might throw up as you dug your phone out of your pocket.

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I feel like Roo and BG can breathe again! But maybe he should have taken the time to talk about his deployment. Oh, Bradley. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 15

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@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@bradshawsbitch

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

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thealbatrovss · 5 months ago

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take my hand // logan howlett x reader

summary: it’s probably a good thing logan doesn’t involve himself in school projects, you learn

basically: logan destroys school property but gets a date

oneshot-fluff, this is just fluff. suggestive material. flirting, a bunch of that. cringe but I am free! Not proofread I apologize

-probably ooc idk but i haven’t written anything in YEARS so this is a practice one for me. Enjoy!!! More fics to come.

word count: 1k+

masterlist

Persistent knocking on your bedroom door woke you out of an afternoon slumber gone on way too long.

“Shit!” The alarm on the stand read 7:15pm. You fell to the floor, tangled up in your own sheets. The wooden boards beneath connected to your forehead. You winced, peeling your face from the floor. “Fuck!”

You could hear Logan’s muffled voice from the other side of the door. “Are we going or not?”

“Of course!” You shout, shaking numb legs out from the covers. Trying to stand up took a few tries but you eventually got there.

Logan stood with one hand against the wall and one on his hip as the door opened. A stream of smoke trailed from the cigar nestled between his teeth. You wondered what it would be like to kiss him senseless, letting the smoke permeate your clothing, lips, everything. But you were just friends. Well, friends that also found a way to flirt in most situations.

“What the hell was that?” He cocked an eyebrow, leaning to look over your shoulder into your room, noticing the disheveled bed. “Got someone in there or something?”

“Yep” You went along with it. You turned towards your open window, dramatically sighing. “Looks like you just missed them.”

“I'm sure that’s exactly what happened here.” His lips turned upwards. It was hard not to get lost in his gaze.

“Lost inside that head of yours again?” His thumb slid over a small cut on your forehead that quickly healed itself over due to your mutant abilities. He smiled, his hand lingering on your cheek for a little bit longer. Like he was holding on to a moment. “There you are.”

You tried to hide the way he made you feel by straightening out your clothing. “I completely spaced out. Fell asleep going through Hank’s notes. By the way, did you know he wrote poetry?”

“Hank?”

“Yeah. He must have mixed it in with the papers he gave me earlier. It’s very good.”

“Great. Now you'll be serenading me with poems about science and shit all night.” No sarcasm oozed off him, he was dead serious. “As soon as we get to that party, I’m heading straight for the booze.”

Your eyes widened. You were still running late. “Orono is going to kill me.” You both started down the hallway, your pace out matching his for once.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m late too.”

You grinned at the nickname, walking backwards to face him. “You wouldn’t be, I don’t know, avoiding this night because you were supposed to help and didn’t?”

He shook his head. “Look, I didn’t agree to work here just to end up becoming a gardener.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have destroyed the old one in the first place.”

“Hey,” he pointed his cigar at you, “it’s not my fault those government bastards decided to sneak in through the greenhouse. I can’t always choose my battle grounds.”

You looked at where his claws came out. “Those plants never stood a chance against you.”

“Nope.”

The way he said it so casually made you laugh out loud. “They were only asking for an hour of our time. Once a week.”

The greenhouse blossomed with life upon entering the new scenery. He took another drag of the cigar, embers floating through the air. “Well, would you look at that. Seems like they did just fine without me.”

You could feel the smoke on your face. “Wow, such a team player.” Logan laughed at that.

Ororo’s end of the year project with the entire student body was finally finished. A brand new, beautiful garden for mutants to study, take care of, and admire lay before them. Hopefully Logan could keep himself from destroying this one.

“It’s so pretty.” Your fingers lingered on a rosebush nearly blossomed. “Ororo really outdid herself.”

“She always does.” Logan put out his cigar, making sure to avoid the plant life.

Strings of light zigzagged overhead, a soft glow of white and yellow hues going nicely with the greenery. A large water fountain stood in the middle of the encasing plants creating a fork in the road. The pillar in the middle of the fountain had multiple hands reaching out from the center, as if they were beckoning for those below them to take their hand.

Voices came from the very far side of the greenhouse. You could hear your friends' and fellow X Mens laughter all the way from here. It would just be the teachers and staff tonight. The students will get to see the final results tomorrow.

“Fancy stuff.” Logan stopped in front of the large structure. “But doesn’t this seem a bit over the top?”

“I’m pretty sure this was the Professor's idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“I kinda like it. Feels very symbolic.”

He tapped on one of the white marbled hands with the back of his knuckle. “Sounds hollow. How about that symbolism?” But apparently that was a little too hard. One of the fountains arms gave away from the crack Logan made, and splashed into the water below. He stumbled trying to cover up the place where he chipped off the art piece. His feet ended up in the pool of water.

“Do you have some sort of grudge against this place?” You held in your laughter as best as you could.

He groaned, rolling up his sleeves. “Stupid thing.”

You tried to think of anything but him at that moment. But of course that always fell through. Wet skin shimmered against the last fading rays of sunlight. Strains of dark hair stuck to his furrowed forehead as he searched the water below.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that hard to find.” You shook yourself out of those thoughts.

His hazel eyes landed firmly on you. “It’s stuck.”

“What? How?”

“I don’t know, but if I pull it out, I’ll definitely break more than just the arm.”

You sat down at the fountain's edge and dipped your arm in all the way up to the elbow, curious as to how this could of happened. “It’s fucking freezing. Did Bobby have anything to do with this?” Before you could even begin to look a hand dunked your head into the water with a surprising gentleness. You gasped as you came up for air.

Logan held the broken arm up towards you, smirking at his actions. “Got it.” He wiggled it in front of your face for extra effect. “You didn’t need to do all that but I admire the desperation.”

You didn’t let him relish in the moment and splashed waves of water into his face. Beads of liquid clung to his mutton chops, the sweetest smirk clinging to his lips. He licked them, spitting out water. “Deserved.”

He offered the broken statues hand towards you, and you gladly took it. Stumbling a little too close, your chests nearly touching, the only thing separating you both was the broken piece of marble. The quiet laughter quickly faded as you stared back at each other. Your breathing quickened, the marble arm cool against your skin dripping with water. His white tank top was soaked, accentuating his upper body.

“We should try and reattach the arm.” Your voice was just barely above a whisper. “Do you think they’ll notice. Oh god, they’ll noice, won’t they?”

And then Logan gave you the softest smile you’d ever seen. Like there was a secret just between the two of you. He delicately moved pieces of wet hair from your face, as gently as wind blew leaves off the pavement. “And how do you think we do that?” A breeze ruffled your cold frames, but you could only feel a blazing warmth coil within.

The intense yet intimate moment was broken by the sound of Ororo sighing from behind you. “Well, you can start by getting out of the water and giving me that.”

Logan and you shrank from each other, hopping out of the cold water. He held his head high, putting the broken object into her hand. “Sorry about that.”

She put her hands on her hips.

“Again.” He finished. As he stepped back, his shoulders brushed yours. He never once bothered to move. You were more than happy to stand in that awkward yet sweet moment.

Ororo brought the marble hand up to her forehead, shaking her head. “Will you two just date already, this is getting exhausting.” She walked away, murmuring to herself about Logan’s “great” hospitality skills.

The two of you stood there, letting the water drip to the stone beneath. Logan shook his wet hair, trying to light his cigar. “You can ask me out tomorrow.” Is all he said, walking away, leaving a smoke trail towards the mini bar.

All you did was smile so hard you could feel your teeth hurt.

#wolverine x reader #Logan howlett x reader #the wolverine #logan howlett #the x men #ravens masterlist #fluff

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earlgreytea68 · 9 months ago

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hi egt

what fob songs scream hiatus to you?

i need to experience emotional ruin real quick

God, there are so many, like, basically allll of Save Rock and Roll feels like them working through the hiatus together (not least because of how it has a higher percentage of Patrick lyrics than usual, probably because of him coming off his solo work). But the hiatus loomed so large for them as this nuclear blast in their relationship, it seems to bleed all through Pete's words (and hence their songs) for years afterward.

And it actually even starts before the hiatus, with the "What a Catch, Donnie" music video, which is the most hiatus-y thing to ever hiatus, Pete going down with his ship while he sends everyone else away to party without him. IT'S ALL SO SYMBOLIC.

And then to title a song on the first Believers Never Die album "From Now On, We Are Enemies." WHAT THE HELL hahahahaha WHAT A CHOICE, PETE WENTZ. (a downward spiral, just a pirouette and I only what what I can't have -- wanting what you can't have is a total hiatus theme for me that shows up a bunch in Pete's lyrics. I have not done an empirical analysis to see if it's a more prevalent theme after the hiatus or not.)

"The Phoenix" has obvious symbolism for their life as a band, raising their career from the ashes, changing themselves up like a remix, wearing their vintage of misery better than everyone else. Also, I love the imagery it has of peace, the "release the doves, surrender love" bit. Waving the white flag and putting down your weapons (in contrast to put on your war paint). But I've always kind of felt like surrender love is one of Pete's deliberate ambiguities: It could be "surrender your love" but it could also be "surrender, love." And Pete doesn't often use "love" as a term of endearment in his lyrics but he called Patrick "love" on stage not too long ago, so, you know, it seems not too outside the realm of possibility to think that these are really lines about reconciliation. It feels like time is running out, so let's surrender and hold tight.

Then there's "Alone Together": I'm outside the door, invite me in so we can go back and play pretend. The image of playing pretend / make-believe with someone also recurs in Pete's poetry, and it's something else I always read as Patrick-coded. Who did he used to "pretend" with for the sake of the shippers? And, of course, starting at the end of the road to ruin sounds like people who have burned everything down but are finding their way back.

I wrote a whole fic about "Where Did the Party Go" :-)

What is there to say about "Miss Missing You" that hasn't already been said? The infamous "hot whiskey eyes" line that honestly can only be about Pete Wentz lol. The imagery of the person you'd take a bullet for being behind the trigger: they have both at separate points in time proclaimed their readiness to take a bullet for the other. The fact that Pete wrote in a poem once before the hiatus I miss you missing me, and this song is I miss missing you. Like, everyone just die over this song.

To me "The Kids Aren't Alright" is a hiatus song in that it's about surviving the hiatus, coming through it, reversing the curse, it's our time now if you want it to be, in the end, I'd do it all again, I think you're my best friend.

"Fourth of July" is another hiatus song for me, the reference to the burned bridges being the light that leads you home is just so hiatus-y. Also, the torture of small talk with someone you used to love just smacks of the hiatus, of how they stopped talking to each other, of how they knew so little about each other and had to start over. This is more wanting what you can't have, too: my favorite what-if, my best I'll-never-know. I said I'd never miss you. I wish I'd known how much you loved me. It's so much, this song lol

Twin Skeleton's: ouch. This song is so painful. This song scrapes over your skin like sandpaper. This song is so angry and bitter. This song is I need a new partner in crime and you shrug. oh my GOD that line kills me every single time. That one and the way Patrick snarls, I could just die laughing on your spiral of shame. This is an angry song, but the anger is born of a depth of emotion and it ends with Patrick promising hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on over and over, and that's what makes it extra-hiatus to me, like, hold on, it all gets better, I'm coming back, hold on, hold on, hold on...

I find the hiatus infects their songs less and less the farther they get away from it, which is good. It's healing. As we've discussed, they've almost forgotten the whole thing even happened, it's been blurred over by the sands of time.

#fall out boy #fob #peterick

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piffany666 · 1 year ago

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"the Nobel trials" headcanons cos I basically never talk about zsaku va on tumbler?......."the Nobel trials" headcanons cos I basically never talk about zsaku va on tumbler!

(BTW these are gonna be mainly about the listener as apposed to Zaros)

The listener writes ANGRY poetry about...well most things but especially Zaros

If you've read "the cruel prince" you'll know about the whole cardian writing Jude's name a bunch if times in a notebook cos he "can't stop thinking about her?"

Yeah that

Fun fact! Did you know that Alexander Hamilton wrote angry love letters to Lawrence? Saying things along the lines of "How dare you steel my affection without my permission!"

Yeah the listener writes the exact same sorta stuff exept they keep the letters to themselves

As like a coping mechanism for how to get the weight off their chest

It's definitely a "he fell first but they fell harder" situation in my eyes

Somone once said in the comments that the listener knows all about the meanings of flowers as opposed to Zaro's knowledge of them and I'd just like to reiterate that here

The listener has a LOT of unbridled rage that they don't know how to deal with or how to healthily process

Mf gose to BED angry

And as a result they claw at their bed a lot

The bedding, the pillows, the bed side

EVERYTHING

their servants can always tell if they've had a rough night cos they'll be changing the bedding and it'll literally all just be shredded

Which the listener actually dose feel really bad about

The servants that have to change their bedding are the only servants in the entire Palace that have heard them say "im sorry"

None of the other servants belive them tho

All of the servants violently ship the listener and Zaros together

Obviously neither of them know about this but any time the servants see them together its all "Uhh just kiss already!"

Also this is basically cannon (as seen by the way they treat Zaros) but the listener is kinda a violent slut shamer

That's kinda all for now but I'll probably add more on as more episodes come out

#zsakuva #zsakuva zaros #zsakuvatheroyaltrials #the royal trials #sakuverse #sakuva #zsaku listeners

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publishinggoblin · 5 months ago

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youtube

Today is the 3rd anniversary of my sister's death, and her 37th birthday. Diana Marcela Pedersen was truly an amazing, kind, and sweet person. I wish the poems I wrote after her death had been about her and a celebration of her life. I hope someday soon when things feel less the way they do now, I can include a good, kind ode to her life in a collection.

But I have never been a particularly bubbly writer. My collection of poems, Like Warm Plastic, is about surviving the grief process. It's live on Backerkit still until September 27th, so I thought, since the project and her birthday coincided, I would read some of the poems from the collection today. And I cried a bunch, and I'm going to go have that final drink with her again, every time this date comes around.

So please, if you have the time today, do something nice for yourself, or someone else, or tell someone you love that you really do love them dearly. Then if you have more time, take 30 minutes to listen to some poetry about the last three years of my life.

Then if you have, somehow, even more time, and $20, consider pledging for a copy of my new book of poems about the grieving process, and back Like Warm Plastic. https://www.backerkit.com/c/projects/publishing-goblin-llc/like-warm-plastic

#poetry #backerkit #death #anniversary #birthday #loss #grief #poetry collection #like warm plastic #publishing goblin #Youtube

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billycorgansgf · 3 months ago

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FT.Willz Theory PT.2

Made by a Brazilian page (Not mine, I'm only translating).

Original content (PORTUGUESE, BRAZIL):

Read the first part!

A closer look to the symbol

Now ot turned down!

Thanks to nightingveil for the insight on the symbol, I have already spoken to her about it, and she was very kind to me ♥ Great theories and insights.

Frank answered about the about the book but deleted the tweet right after, too obvious right, Frank?

Anyways, if anyone still doesn't believe in the similarities..

“First of all, the way FTWillz writes is incredibly similar to Frank’s, with both the lack of capital letters and the frequent use of dashes in their poems.

There are about 34-35 poems written there, and FTWillz ‘sends’ a message that we could classify as ‘full of hate’ and ‘desperate for someone to find it.’

Nothing new, right? All things that connect us to Frank’s poetry, whose poems are very similar to FTWillz’s new ones.

Other important things could be the notes and tags: in fact, FTWillz doesn’t add tags to his posts and has only two notes, one of which is from the girl who told about this blog.

It seems like Frank didn’t want to be discovered.

I immediately thought that the blog was a sort of ‘refuge,’ where he wanted to write safely without issues.

The obvious question is: why didn’t he make a private blog?

You could say that this blog is absolutely interesting from every angle.

One of the things I noticed was the last poem he wrote, on September 20th, which appears at the top of the first page, where FTWillz mentions a certain Sylvia Plath."

So she mentions that in an interview, Frank compares the ideology of The Black Parade to a poem by Sylvia Plath.

Now go back to the poem i put on top, posted by both F.T.Willz and Frank Iero.

In August 25, it this Tumblr f-t-willz-must-die, a poem was posted with the same phrase as Frank's:

May 23rd, a poem titled "Houston we have a…" was posted.

"You're so cool cool cool"

Kill all your friends, remember that MCR song?

'Cause we are all a bunch of animais that never paid attention in school

So tell me all about your problems

I was killing before killing was cool

You're so cool, you're so cool, so cool!

In these poems, it seems like whoever wrote them was extremely upset/pissed at someone who decided to change their view on being 'cool' and thinks they're very important, described as "arrogantly successful" in the poem.

Wait for part three! xo 💕

#mcr #mychemicalromance #gerardway #frankiero #my chemical romance #frank iero #frerard #mcrx #gerard way #frerardisreal #frerardtheory #grank #ftwillztheory #ftwwillz

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wannabelilybriscoe · 12 days ago

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author interview

Thanks for the tag @leavesthatarebrown! Work's been a right bitch today so I'm going to use this as an excuse to take a break and pretend I'm on Hot Ones with you oop careful around the eyes, darling. :)

total works: Only 2 eep

total word count: 275,728 (apparently I can't write short form except when it's poetry)

your top 5 stories by kudos/likes? I fear my stats are not impressive or exciting because I only have two stories. I feel like the new kid around here.

A Song for the End of the World

The Road to Love is Covered in Ice and Slush

do you respond to comments? Yeah, embarrassingly quickly, too. Comments make me so excited and I usually read them several times, then read them again later.

what's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? Angstiest of the two is the zombie one, of course. As for the ending? Well...I stand by the Happy Ending tag, despite the fear I have apparently instilled in readers. :)

what's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? The Road to Love has a very happy sappy ending.

do you write crossovers? Nah. Although I have been threatening (myself) to write a Marauders band AU where they guest on Sesame Street. It would be as stupid as you expect it to be.

have you ever received hate on a fic? No, everyone has been exceedingly lovely!

do you write smut? No, I'm too embarrassed! I’ve only done fade to black. Respect to all you freaks who just go whole-hog, truly. Although! I did just write my most explicit scene to date for an upcoming chapter of ASFTEOTW but it's draped in flowery similes and symbolism. Me, peeking through my fingers at my doc: ahhh tasteful nudity.

have you ever had a fic stolen? Not to my knowledge. I think my fics are too indie for that.

have you ever had a fic translated? Nope!

have you ever co-written a fic before? When I was ohh I think 15? My bff and I co-wrote a Naruto crackfic and I'm not sure if it's still out there but in my mind, it's gone to the winds of time. Now let's never speak of this again.

what's a wip that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? I started a story where Remus and Sirius are both doing the solo parenting thing and they meet in a parenting subreddit. It was supposed to be a heartfelt comedy but then it started to hit too close to home as someone who drove herself crazy on parenting reddit for a while there. :)

I also have like half of a very stupid one-shot called "Cormac McLaggen Saves the Day" written and well maybe I'll finish it one day and maybe I won't. That one would be for the Dramione fans.

what are your writing strengths? *checks notes* Reviewers have called my writing vivid, which I think is pretty neat! I've also been told I write suspense well. And I like to think that I'm good at characterization. I've had quite a few people tell me they like how I write Remus and Sirius. That makes me really happy because what I care most about when reading is how well I can connect with the characters. Feels good to know that people are connecting with the characters as I'm writing them.

what are your writing weaknesses? There are probably some weaknesses I'm blind to, but I can definitely say my impatience. I'm like a child when I finish a draft lol I just want to publish it and go looky looky at what I've done! But then I find a bunch of stuff I want to edit after. So, if you're someone who reads a new chapter as soon as it's published, my apologies, you're getting the raw thing. I wish I could be better about sitting on my writing for longer. But also, it's my fun writing so I'm choosing to not feel too guilty about it.

what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? The only other language I'm fluent in is French, so I only feel confident writing full sentences in that. Otherwise, I only sprinkle in the odd word in another language. Wouldn't feel comfortable doing more unless someone who spoke that language could help me.

what's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? I wouldn't mind writing something Dramione sometime but I think it would be harder for me to get inside their heads, for some reason.

what's your favourite fic you've written? How do I pick between my two children? I like them both for very different reasons. I've poured so much thought and research and love into ASFTEOTW. It's definitely more ambitious than The Road to Love. But The Road to Love just kinda flew out of me effortlessly, and it was so fun and comforting to write. Ahh they're too different, I can't pick!

I don't know who hasn't done this yet...seems like most of my moots have? Please take this as an open tag!

#tag game #author interview #lb blabs #marauders fanfiction #wolfstar fanfiction #a song for the end of the world #the road to love is covered in ice and slush

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 13 days ago

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i’ve always really loved and appreciated how you write about and engage with art. i’m sort of disquieted with the way the conversation around art is going ? and i was wondering if you had any writing or work that was formative or generative for you on like art criticism and such. i realize this might be a stupid thing to ask! i find your work really delicious and invigorating

you are way too kind, thank you! i've been thinking about this for a minute, but i'm not sure what to say because nothing sticks out as formative for me. there was no one writer or work that made me want to do it. i know i read a lot of the writers at The Dissolve and Tiny Mix Tapes (RIP to two legends, you are missed), and Ignatiy Vishnevetsky's writing was something I always kept up with. idk how accurate this is or if I've just created a narrative in my brain that feels right, but I think the main person that made me want to write more in-depth than just reviews was Austin Walker. I loved Giant Bomb back when it was Giant Bomb and not A Bunch of Random People, and when he came on board it was huge for me, just an incredibly smart and funny man who could make really abstract high-level concepts feel vital and immediate. When he moved to Waypoint I followed, and I think they did great work (again, RIP). And then obviously Mark Fisher, idk who writing cultural criticism today isn't influenced by him.

To be honest though, most of what influences me as a writer is either specific fiction I love or philosophy I've read (it is very easy to trace what philosophy books I was currently reading if you go through a lot of my writing on Dim the House Lights lol). In that realm, I am a James Joyce simp, with Samuel Delany not far behind, and Roberto Bolaño in the mix too (unoriginal I know, but they're all just so incredible). Laura Kasischke's poetry has also had a really active impact on how I write, and when I read back especially some of the later stuff I wrote before I stopped I see so many phrases where I clearly aped her specific rhythm. For philosophy, a lot of the pessimists were huge for me (Schopenhauer and Camus most), as well as post-modernists like Derrida (one of the few philosophers who actually has an interesting literary style beyond his ideas) and, of course, Wittgenstein (late period), who is probably the best to ever do it. I'm generally a continental philosophy girl, none of that analytic tedium using their lack of confidence as an excuse to aim low (if I can be dismissive [and I can, it's my post]).

I don't know how helpful any of that is, but you have it now.

Speaking of Austin Walker btw, if you're looking for stuff that's still active, the podcast Austin does with Cameron Kunzelman and Michael Lutz, Shelved by Genre, is a consistent must-listen for me, and two of the other podcasts Cameron and Michael do (Just King Things and Game Studies Study Buddies) are really good as well.

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somethingvicked · 9 months ago

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True love of mine part 5

An Eddie Munson story

Stranger Things AU (no Upside-Down)

warnings: Female reader, slight angst, fluff, flexible time-line

Chapter 4

Now

Y/N

It had been a week since you sent the letter to Eddie. A week since you had sat down and talked to Brent, telling him that your relationship was over and that you couldn’t marry him.

Your ringfinger felt strange and empty after you had taken off the engagement ring, even though you knew it was for the best and that it had felt strange having it on too.

Instead you had looked around in that special box of yours and located another memory you’d saved from your time with Eddie. A ring he had won you at a fair once, shaped like a cat – for his nickname for you; kitten.

You were looking down at the ring when Brent rushed into the living room from your… well, what used to be his and your bedroom, holding something in his hands. Your eyes widened when you realized what it was. Your box with the notebooks, the flower made of steel wire, the notes. It would have held the ring too if you hadn’t put it on so recently.

Brent was breathing heavily. "I found these when I was packing up my stuff and I shuffled through them."

"What?! You had no right to do that…!"

"Shut up," he barked. "It's all... they were all for Eddie? The poems you wrote and the poetry book you published? Love notes for no one? You said it was a bunch of love poems for different guys you were in love with in high school that you had saved? But in here it says they are all for and about Eddie. And not only that, some of them were written just two years ago. I remember - because that's when you downloaded that writing app on your phone and stopped writing them down by hand... are you saying that you were with me... but you wrote all this for this Eddie guy?!"

His eyes widened. "Wait… is that why your pseudonym was E. Fairfax? You said it was from your first fictional crush, Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre – his first and middle name, because Rochester would be to obvious. But the 'E'... is that for 'Eddie'?!"

You didn't even have the energy to reply. Why deny it? You had done that and yes, perhaps that made you a bad person. But that's why you finally had sat down with Brent and given him the ring back and said that it was best if you went your separate ways.

"Yes, I did that,” you admitted with a sigh. “And I'm sorry. It's not like I didn't love you at all, Brent, I did. I just... I don't love you like you love me. I thought I would, if I gave it time. But somehow… no, I have never stopped loving Eddie. Writing those poems was a way for me to get all those words I couldn’t say out. But I realized that it wasn’t fair to you. You are a wonderful guy, you don’t deserve to have a wife that writes love poems to a former lover, that’s why I decided to grow up and set you free. So you find someone that can love you, the way you deserve."

Brent's face softened a little. He was still angry, but he did care about you, that’s what made him such a great guy. Many times you had cursed yourself and your stupid heart for not loving him like you wanted to. "Well, what about you? Will you waste your life for your high school sweetheart that just took off and left? How is that fair to you?"

"I need to be true to my heart," you said, “and you’re right, it’s not fair at all. Sadly I can’t help how I feel. Like I said, the poems were a way for me to talk about it without talking about it. But now… I might need to do something else. Maybe I need therapy, I don’t know. However, it’s not your problem any more, Brent. I appreciate you caring, I do, but this is something I need to handle myself.”

You didn’t want to tell him that you had already started at that. The letter. It might not lead to anything but at least it was a more serious try than just writing poems Eddie would never read.

There was something more about the poems you had published and the pseudonym you used. Yes, it was for Mr. Rochester but… it was also for Eddie. For the little secret he had told you – that his middle name was Francis. And that both of your first loves first initials was E.F. even if they had different surnames.

Your two E.F’s.

You sighed again, rubbing your thumb over the cat ring for comfort, then Brent stroked your cheek before taking the last of his things and leaving, the door closing with a click behind him.

Eddie

Eddie had read Y/N’s letter more times than he he could count over the last two days. The things she told him…

She still loved him, couldn’t get over him, compared every boyfriend she had with him. She had even gotten engaged recently but decided to end it because she realized that she wished she was marrying him, not her fiancée.

Y/N clearly didn’t think he felt the same but she had remarked about him still having the matching tattoo.

Was there a small hope there that he sensed?

She made it clear that she didn’t expect them to start over, she only wished for an explanation. Why he had upped and left so suddenly, why he hadn’t given her some sort of closure.

You didn’t even break up with me in that note – which would have been shitty on its own but at least then I would have known, she had written, now it seemed like you didn’t even think about me at all. Like you were already past everything that had to do with us.

How could he tell her that everything that she had written, every feeling she had described – was like he had written it himself?

When Eddie read that she was engaged it felt like someone had taken the small piece of heart he had that were still intact and crumbled it into nothing but drops of blood. When she added that she had to break it, the relief that filled him made him feel like the relief itself was helium and he was about to fly to the heavens.

What she asked of him, though… how could he tell her the real reason he had bailed back then?

How ashamed he was, how much he still hated himself for it. Would she hate him too?

No, Eddie couldn’t tell her. And he didn’t deserve another chance with her. Not just because of what had happened to make him flee, but because of how much he had hurt her by doing so. He had thought it was for the best back then but… clearly he had fucked up more than one life back then – not even counting his own.

But he did owe to tell her that he didn’t live the happy life she imagined. That she was still the first and last thing on his mind every day.

She hadn’t left a return address but one good thing about being famous like he was, was that pretty much everyone knew everything he did. Y/N would find out, one way or another.

He sat down to write a song. The most important song in his life – except that other one.

Eddie thought back and wondered which moment he would start with. Then a sad smile spread over his face and he started.

When you travelin’ down to the Hawk’s country fair…

Then

Hawkins, 1981.

Eddie

It was the day before Halloween and a fair had come to Hawkins, complete with a Ferris wheel, roller coaster, haunted house and of course all the arcades and games.

Y/N and Eddie were walking arm in arm around on the field where they had set up, both high in spirits and drunk on the beer they had stolen from Wayne before coming here. Eddie loved to hear Y/N’s laughter and see her so excited, even though it was just a small little fair.

Although she wasn’t too happy with the clowns, saying that they should have been forbidden since John Wayne Gacy had been outed.

She insisted that they rode the roller coaster, even though she screamed like a stuck pig, making Eddie laugh so hard he almost choked from loss of breath.

Then Y/N pulled him with her to the Haunted house and when they rode through the dark tunnels, lit up by poison green light and filled with smoke, it was Eddie’s turn to make noise – he yelped when the vision of a ghost came up around a curve, a transparent woman with her head cut off, even though he knew it was just projected in the same way they showed something on the overhead machine in school.

Y/N laughed at his reaction but despite her amusement she pulled Eddie’s face in against her chest, patting his hair for comfort. “Don’t worry, hotshot – I’ll protect you,” she purred, making his nickname for her even more fitting.

He was suddenly hyper aware that his face was pressed in against Y/N’s boobs and that… they were softer than any pillow he had ever laid on. And that his cock had become hard as stone, pressing against the fly of his jeans.

Quickly he pulled back with a choked out laugh, thinking very intensely on the dissection they had made yesterday in biology to make the embarrassing erection go down.

When the two of them came out they went to buy some cotton candy and French fries before Eddie said that he absolutely had to try and win her something at the arcade games.

Y/N insisted that he didn’t need to, but he wanted to. Wanted to give her some little trinket that was just from him.

Y/N had given him his bandana after all, the one he now always kept in his back pocket as a token, like in the medieval times.

When he came upon one of the machines and saw the little cat shaped ring it was like a sign from above.

Concentrating hard, using every dexterous skill he had learned as a guitar player he steered the claw with precision before pressing the button. And he won! He won the ring for her!

“Here,” he told Y/N, holding it out. “Kitten for my kitten.”

“Oh, Eddie!” she had said, eyes misted over as she wrapped her arms around him, once again making him feel that soft bosom pressing against him beneath her denim jacket.

He didn’t have time to ponder much over it though, because Y/N’s eyes lit up and she took his hand and ran toward the Ferris wheel.

“We have to ride the Ferris wheel,” she insisted and as usual, he couldn’t deny her anything. He would have promised her the Mona Lisa if she had begged for it, no matter the impossibility of getting it.

As they got seated and the guard had placed the bar over them it started and it slowly moved upwards.

“Do you know there’s a legend about the Ferris wheel,” Y/N suddenly said, her cheeks pink.

“Yeah? What’s that?” Eddie wondered.

“That if you kiss when the wheel’s at the top you will live happily ever after,” Y/N explained, her eyes wide, the lights reflecting in them.

“Really?” Eddie said. “Wow. You believe that?”

She shrugged your shoulders. “I don’t know. It’s a sweet superstition though, unlike many others.”

He had to give her that one.

When the wheel was at the top Eddie turned toward Y/N at the exact same time as she turned toward him, and the next second their lips met, their arms wrapped around each other, even with the bar holding them in place.

Happily ever after, Eddie thought as he tasted the sweet cotton candy on Y/N’s lips and smelled the intoxicating scent of her perfume, while burying his hands in her hair.

taglist: @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @mewchiili @melodymunson @ches-86 @jenniquinn @eddiemunsonfuxks @stolen-in-moonlight @alastorssimp @pandemoniusstuff

(let me know if you want to be on the taglist!)

please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful but reblogs expand my reading circle.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #older!eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #joseph quinn #true love of mine #v's writing

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earlyeveningskylight · 1 month ago

Text

fragments of myself

I was always an avid reader, as far back as I can remember. I was the kid in 5th grade that would always ask my parents for a bunch of books from the collections in the Scholastic Magazine our school would give us to take home. I would always be the kid with a stack of books on my desk when our orders finally came, and I remember some of my classmates commenting about how many books I had, or looking shocked. I remember feeling a sense of embarrassment at their stares that day.

Middle school and high school were my peak reading years. Rick Riordan's books became a source of comfort and inspiration for me. So much so that I became inspired to start writing my own stories. I was in my 8th grade keyboarding class when I made this decision.

Throughout my high school career, I spent a lot of time reading - in my Pre-Ap and Ap English classes, and in my own personal time. Although high school English slowly killed my love for reading, my imagination was active with character ideas, stories, and creating fictional worlds. By the time I graduated high school, I had actually written a full novel (Yes, novel. As in over 200 pages on Microsoft Word - 2 columns each page).

I struggled with writing by the time I entered college. I had too many responsibilities and priorities. And by the time I had graduated high school and finished my novel, I was burnt out from and lost my love for reading. I spent some of my early young adult years brainstorming and imagining a new story, and I spent some of college working through details. I took 2 creative writing classes that helped me to cultivate my writing - one in which I wrote a novella that goes alongside my unfinished story.

It would be over 4 years before I finally rose out of my book slump. But since graduate school, I haven't had much time for even reading, let alone writing.

I still remember those stories, though. Since I've been sharing my poetry on this account, I wonder if I should share my fiction writing here (keep in mind, these writings are from me between the ages of 15 to 22 overall. I'm now 27, well into now late adulthood and having matured significantly).

It's not good writing. And a little cringey. But that's what made it beautiful.

#writing #my writing #original writing #original #writers #writers block #writer #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #writeblr #fiction #fiction writing #stories #original stories

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rudnitskaia · 10 months ago

Note

Im desperately withholding the urge to ask like 13 questions for romauncebut ive narrowed it down to 3, 6, 18 and 19

Hey-hey, Edd! ✨

Thank you for your wonderful ask again! I'm very grateful for the inspiration and the opportunity you gave me to reveal more of the RoMaunce story. 💖

I decided to write and post the ficlets for the remaining part of your ask all at once. I remember you wanted a drawing for № 18, and I will certainly do it in the end of May / beginning of June (only from Rocky's perspective and containing that bonus part of the question), but now I want to cover it at least with a short story. :3

So, here they are, the ficlets for questions № 3, № 6 and № 18 from that list in the chronological (for the characters) order.

№ 18 - Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

A Real Unicorn

“Oh, Rocky, what a—” Ivy stopped short when she noticed that the pieces of paper she had picked up from the floor beneath the table where Calvin and Rocky had been sitting just a moment ago weren't trash, but… notes.

A pile of small, tightly crumpled notebook sheets, all neatly handwritten in pencil. It was unlikely that anyone had ever given Rocky an assignment on paper, and Calvin also had no reason to write so often to the cousin whom he saw every day. Maybe Rocky wrote down poetry that way? Though it would have been a bit of a stretch to assume that he was that meticulous. Ivy stroked the sheets with her fingers. Were they really valuable, since Rocky kept them with him, or did he just put them in his pocket and then forget to throw them away? It wasn't that important, actually. It was better to just return the loss… but curiosity eventually got the better of Ivy.

Forgetting about the plates and cups, she began to read the lines, puzzled to find a strange list of orders from the cafeteria. Pizzas, pastas, salads, coffee… no, Ivy didn't see anything surprising in the fact that Rocky might have dined somewhere else besides Little Daisy, but why did he keep the notes that the waitresses usually made for the kitchen?

She wondered about that until she accidentally turned over one of the sheets.

What she saw was hard to comprehend. With each new word, Ivy's gaze grew more excited. Her heart beat more frequently. Her eyebrows arched in surprise.

She didn't stop until she had read them all, from beginning to end, but even then she couldn't believe it. Ivy sat back in the chair and stared at the wall.

What was more likely? That Rocky had completely lost his mind and over and over again was writing himself tender endearments and, for some reason, wishes of bon appétit, in the same thin handwriting that listed the orders on the back side of the sheets, or that he had a… no, it couldn't be. It seemed ridiculous to even try to imagine.

After all, if somewhere in the world there existed a woman who willingly writes such words to Rocky Rickaby, then somewhere in St. Louis might as well live a real unicorn.

№ 3 - Most common argument?

The Chains That Are Too Short

“Someday I'll steal you away for more than a couple hours, and then we'll get really entertained,” Rocky chuckled, helping Mau roll up the blanket. Another night under the stars in St. Louis was coming to an end.

“Really? Are you planning something for a whole three hours?” quipped Maura at him.

“I was rather hoping for something between fifty years and forever,” Rocky shrugged, picking up his violin case. “And then it is as it goes. You know, all that happily ever after, but… livelier. With a bit of sparks here and there.”

“Hmm. So, you’re going to take me, like a princess, away on a white horse to your sugar castle in the kingdom beyond the clouds, and we'll live in love and harmony, become exemplary neighbors, start paying our taxes, have a bunch of obnoxious kids and die the same day.”

“Why not?” Rocky seemed not to notice her sarcasm. “Yes, the script is old-fashioned, but it's proven by both time and folklore. It's almost a guide to action, if you know how to apply folk wisdom properly. And if we dig deeper into the poetry of feudal Europe, we can probably find a couple or three good tips even about paying taxes.”

“Maybe so, but unfortunately, happy fairytales are now left only as an exception and only on the stages of theaters. And you and I don't have enough for a single ticket even together,” Mau started to walk toward the fire escape, but Rocky caught up with her and took her by the arm. Her words, or rather what was clearly between the lines, made his heart feel totally uneasy.

“Mau… I can get some money. I…”

“It's not about money, Roark,” she sighed. “Or rather, it's not just about them. You know it well already…” she took only a step before Rocky stopped her again.

“Come with me,” he blurted out anxiously.

“Where to?”

“In general! Now! We could live together…”

“You sleep in a car. Which isn't even yours.”

“If I rearrange a few things, we both could fit in there. And I could give the cactus to Freckle…”

“Roark…”

“And… and! And I could also ask Miss M. about a job for you. Sooner or later things will get better at Lackadaisy, and… what if we could rent a room together?”

“That's the very problem. I can't be seen anywhere in criminal circles. My father and I are being chased, and rumors will definitely spread if I show up in the underground, and then… then my father and I will have to run away again, and if anyone finds out that you and I are together… Dio mio, don't you realize they'll kill you?”

Rocky quietly groaned and started pacing back and forth. He was almost shaking from nerves. Mau, meanwhile, continued, oblivious to the need to speak in a low voice:

“These thugs are not going to stop at anything to get us. It's bad enough that you're at odds with the locals, so I pray every night that you'll at least stay alive after your ventures, and I don't want to bring the New York Mafia down on you too! This is madness, Roark! I told you many times, I can't be seen with you while you're in the bootlegging business. Maybe we could rent a shabby little room somewhere if you were just a musician, but you ain't, and you ain't going to be!”

In despair, Rocky flailed his arms.

“But I can't! I can't leave Miss M.! I can't—”

“I know,” Mau interrupted him. “And I'm not asking you to. But you can't tease me with a bright future either… It's too much even for me. We're alive, and we have each other, here and now, and that's more than I could ever hope for. Please, just be with me while it's possible…”

Rocky still couldn't calm down. He was breathing erratically, heavily… when Mau stepped closer to him and gently embraced him, he pulled her against him so tightly that she involuntarily sighed. He was sickened by how right she was. His entire being was rebelling against that rightness, wanting to burn that truth to the ground and recreate his own, happy truth from the ashes, whatever risks it took. The seconds lingered… Rocky didn't unclench his hands. Anything to keep Mau in his arms now… anything to avoid going back into the night alone.

But the chains bound to them were too short to allow them to reach the morning.

Interesting fact: The question № 3 was the hardest for me to explore, because for me Rocky and Mau are not the couple that has many constant, repetitive topics to argue about. At first I thought to write about Rocky ignoring his health issues, because that definitely would've got Maura's nerves, but that topic becomes a 'constant argument' only in the distant future from the Lackadaisy current timeline. But finally, I found the topic that is definitely difficult for them both and may cause repetitive uneasy discussions. I hope it covered the question.

№ 6 - What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

The Serenity in You

The Epigraph: When stars drown in the night and the storm fills your mind, it's important to find the safe haven to hide…

The summer heat in the car was becoming unbearable. Rocky felt as if he was drowning in the dense air, almost as much as in his own thoughts. Whenever he was able to doze off, fears and memories began to flood his mind, to crash over him in suffocating waves. Carefully, so as not to wake her, Rocky found Maura's hand, gently intertwining their fingers together. Even back then, when he hadn't had the courage to tell her about his feelings, she had taken his hand in hers so often that it had become almost a sacred act for Rocky. She didn't even seem to realize how every time they were sitting or standing in front of each other she began to stroke the back of his hand… and how much peace, serenity even, that gentle touch brought him.

Suddenly he heard a whisper:

“What are you thinking about?”

Rocky slightly shivered from tension. What he was thinking about… he wished he didn't know himself. Keeping his eyes shut, he mumbled:

“Ah, it's nothing. You know, there's a pesky streetlight out there, and its reflection in the window keeps me awake…”

Mau was silent for a while, and only turned slightly on her side, resting her head on his chest.

“I love hearing your voice, Roark. Falling asleep listening to the tune you hum and the sound of your heartbeat. It's soothing… almost like the sound of the rain outside the window, only… much warmer. Dearer. But when your heart beats like this… like how it beats now… I want to know what makes it so heavy.”

Once again, the nightmares that had haunted him became clearer in his mind. He hesitated; he was uncomfortable with these ugly thoughts himself, and the last thing he wanted to do was to make Mau sink into them, too. But when she gently, yet confidently squeezed his hand in hers again, his doubts receded. She was here, right next to him. And as long as she touched his fingers with hers, they would not drown in this boundless sea. So finally, gently leaning his cheek against the top of Maura's head, Rocky began to speak.

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