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aaagustd · 2 days ago

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friends & lovers | jww (m)

title: friends & lovers pairing: jeon wonwoo x female reader genre/rating: fluff, smut, best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers; 18+ summary: Sometimes the love you’re searching for has been right beside you all along. Patience is the key…the right moment will present itself eventually. wc: 2.2k warnings: swearing, unprotected sex (reader is on the pill), restraints (wrist pinning), grinding/dry humping, clit stimulation, slight orgasm control, cumshots, crying, begging, soft sex, pet names, nipple play, cum play, aftercare release date: february 9th, 2025; 9:23pm est author’s note: Hello!! This was a bday gift I wrote for @beomcoups a while back. Huge shoutout to @hobeemin for beta reading it for me at the time. I’m currently moving all of my old content here, so if you’ve read this before don’t be alarmed lol. I’m the original author.

“People are staring at us.”

You both giggle as the carousel makes its final round, shyly peeking over your shoulders at the crowd of people watching you. Somehow, Wonwoo managed to get the ride operator to start it up with just you two on.

Both of you hopped from seat to seat like you used to do when you were kids, and your parents had to threaten to take you home if you didn’t remain seated. Although you’re adults now, you’re still fond of the old habit.

“So, let them,” you shrug. “Maybe they’ve got eyes for the cutie on the horse.”

“Can you stop?”

Wonwoo throws his head back when he laughs and clutches his stomach, giving you a glimpse of the smile you haven’t seen in months.

Ever since he and his girlfriend broke things off, he’s been cooped up in his apartment, feeling down and not wanting to be bothered. You’re glad he accepted your offer to go to the fair and take his mind off things. He says he’s fine and looks better than he did five months ago, but you know that something’s still bothering him, and you hope that tonight you can dig deep enough to find it.

“Why would I? This is fun.”

You both step off as the ride stops, feeling high with adrenaline. Suddenly, you feel his fingertips at your sides, and he playfully tickles you, making you shriek and squirm.

“Wonwoo!”

On-lookers coo and clutch their chest, mainly older couples and romantics. Neither of you even notices the admiration they have in their eyes until someone grabs your attention.

“You two are such a beautiful couple. May my husband and I have a picture with you? You just remind us of our younger selves,” a lady in her golden years asks with a genuine smile.

Immediately, you begin to break the news to her, but Wonwoo interferes.

“Oh, ma’am, we’re not—”

“Sure! I’ll take it. I have long arms,” he insists, taking her phone when she hands it to him. Wonwoo throws his arm over your shoulder and holds it high enough to capture all four of you. He takes the picture but doesn’t stop there. “Now one for us.”

After returning the woman’s phone to her and her husband, he pulls his device from his pocket and takes another, but this time he brings you in a bit closer. He wraps his arm around you a little tighter and whispers in your ear as he snaps the picture.

“For new memories,” he says to you.

You release a shaky breath when you disperse, and you can’t do anything but smile and wave as the couple bids their farewells.

You never could explain the butterflies in your stomach whenever Wonwoo would be so close to you in that way. It always seems so intimate, but you wouldn’t dare say it out loud. You know it’s only those buried feelings that are causing you to react this way and nothing you should feed into.

When you’re finally alone, you turn to him and ask, “So, what now? Are you ready to go?”

“A little bit,” he answers.

“Well, don’t let me hold you up. I’m probably just gonna go grab something to eat until my roommate’s done fucking her boyfriend. I had fun, so thanks for coming—”

You pause when Wonwoo shakes his head.

“I said I was ready to leave here,” he informs. “Not leave you.”

“Oh, okay. So umm, where do you wanna go?”

“Aren’t you hungry?” he quizzes. “We can go grab something.”

You open your mouth to speak, but he continues.

“Or…we can meet at my place, and we can order something. You can stay over if you want.”

“Really?”

“Yup. I don’t mind,” he assures.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to rush you—”

Your mouth shuts when he gives you a look, but your smile grows when he turns away and starts walking toward the parking lot.

Both of you get in your vehicles and drive towards his apartment, the tingling sensation still coursing through your veins. You try your best to calm yourself before you get there, but as you get out of your car, your legs are wobbly and shaky, indicating that you are far from okay.

Wonwoo turns to you as his door opens.

“Wanna shower?”

Gratefully, you sigh. “Yes, please.”

After a shower, slices of pizza, and a couple of movies, you and Wonwoo lay awkwardly in his bed. Both of you scroll through your phones, trying to ignore the thick tension in the air. There’s something on his tongue; you can hear it. You want to ask him, but you don’t know how.

Eventually, you start to believe it’s just your nerves. You haven’t hung out like this since before his two-year-long relationship, so you figure you just need some re-adjusting. You wiggle your way towards him so you can familiarize yourself with the feeling of being so close to him.

It isn’t long before his fingers start playing in your hair, making your eyes slightly heavy. You roll over on your back so you can look at him and try to stop yourself from falling asleep so quickly.

His smile greets you and leaves you slightly curious.

“What?” you giggle.

“Nothing, I was just thinking.”

“About?”

He sighs. “I missed you. That’s all.”

When his eyes begin to wander, you follow them once they’ve set on a particular sight. It just happens to be your thighs, and you start tugging down your borrowed shirt upon the discovery.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, more to himself than anything.

You clear your throat. “Wonwoo, I’m glad you’re feeling like yourself again, but I don’t think I can be your rebound. I’m not—”

“What? No, love. It’s definitely not like that. It’s just…Fuck it.” He shifts in his spot so he can speak to you face to face, leaving you no option but to look at him, even though you’ve been avoiding eye contact since you got here. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay, what is it?”

“It’s about the breakup…why it happened,” he explains.

You blink a few times. You never knew the reason behind the split or how it happened; it wasn’t your place to ask. Now that he’s finally telling you, there’s an uneasy feeling growing inside of you.

“We broke up because we liked other people. She wasn’t over her ex, and I…”

“And you?...”

He takes a deep breath as if he’s about to lay it all on the table.

“I had to be honest with myself and admit that I’m really in love with my best friend,” he confesses.

Your eyes widen, lips ready to run a mile a minute, but he speaks before you do.

“I thought about this before, but the timing was just never right. And now…” he sighs. “I don’t know. I just feel like we’re on the same page, but then again, you’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”

“Wonwoo, I—”

“I know. You don’t feel the same.”

The disappointment in his voice gives you all the courage you need to come clean, and you do so before you can change your mind.

“I do feel the same,” you admit. “I’ve loved you since we were teenagers. I just never knew how to tell you.”

He seems a little shocked after hearing this.

“Really?” Wonwoo asks, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.

“Yeah.”

Your best friend just stares at you, not saying anything. You hold his gaze and never break eye contact. Moments go by like this, until eventually, his lips begin to hover over yours. They become more inviting the longer you lay there waiting for something to happen.

However, Wonwoo toughens up and makes the first move on your behalf. His mouth presses against yours delicately, and he lowers his body so that you can run your hands through his hair.

You envelop each other and get lost within the first shared kiss between two best friends who have been denying their love for one another for over a decade. The pit of your stomach goes into a frenzy as the butterflies rise and flutter wildly.

Dizziness clouds your mind as you’re swept away by the feeling. You’re light as a feather, so high that coming down seems impossible.

It doesn’t help that Wonwoo’s lips have become greedier, and his desire is growing by the second. Your legs part to allow him in the space, and he takes the opportunity instantly. Your wrists get pinned above your head while he slowly begins to grind his crotch against yours.

A moan slips out, and he takes the chance to invade your mouth with his thick muscle. Your tongues begin exploring each other’s crevice, and you become drunk off his taste. You can’t get enough of him but the need for oxygen exceeds your lust-driven fantasies.

“I want you,” you say without much thought. Your breathing is labored and rough, but you still try to speak. “I need you.”

“Fuck, same. But…”

“But what?”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “No condoms.”

His voice oozes with need, and his bulge is straining against his shorts. He’s as desperate as you are, but he’s trying to hold back.

“We’re good on this end. It’s okay,” you assure him. “Are you?...”

He nods. “Yes, of course. I haven’t since…”

“Well, can we?” you try again. “Please?”

“Okay, baby.”

Wonwoo lets go of your wrists and pulls down his shorts, letting his dick spring out freely. A small gasp escapes you when his length slaps your thigh. You lift your head to see it and instantly become mesmerized by its girth. You crave it and want it to fill every inch of you just like you’ve always fantasized about in your room alone.

“Like what you see?” He smirks when you nod and starts to run the tip up and down your slit, coating it with your arousal and secretly stimulating your throbbing clit. “Let’s see if you can take it.”

When he slowly enters you, your mind goes completely blank. You arch into him as he bottoms out, and he holds you and places kisses up your neck.

“Wonwoo,” you call, and he smiles against your skin.

“Ready for me?”

“Yes, please. I want to feel you.”

Wonwoo’s movements start strong, and he makes sure to hold you in place while he thrusts into you, preventing you from flying off the bed. You cry his name over and over with each powerful snap of his hips.

He lifts your shirt and exposes your breasts to his greedy mouth, taking his time with each stiffened peak and making your eyes roll back from the multiple sources of pleasure you’re receiving.

The coil inside you tightens until it can no longer stand the pressure, and you blurt out a warning to inform Wonwoo of your orgasm.

“Wonwoo, I’m so close!”

“Me too, baby,” he moans in your ear. You run your nails down his sweaty back to ground yourself because it feels like your soul will leave your body any minute. Wonwoo goes deeper and deeper until you can no longer stand the build-up growing inside of you. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And on his command, your body gives in, and the pleasure takes over you. Tears roll down your cheeks, but Wonwoo kisses you before the salty droplets can reach your trembling lips. Your entire body is set aflame by the heat coursing through you. The intense feeling leaves you a panting mess beneath Wonwoo, and you just lay there as he fucks you through the rest of your orgasm until he finally reaches his release.

“Fuck, where can I?”

“Anywhere you want,” you answer. “I don’t mind.”

He can only nod as he pulls out and paints your stomach with his warm cum. Wonwoo uses the tip to smear his arousal and spell his name on your skin, making you giggle and slap his arm.

“You’re nasty,” you tell him.

“Anywhere you want… I don’t mind,” he mocks but still leans down to kiss you.

You pout when he pulls away and disappears into his bathroom for about a minute. When he returns, you’re grateful to see him with a warm washcloth and a new shirt for you. He cleans you up and helps you change before he turns out the lights and joins you in bed. Neither of you say anything at first, but eventually, he can’t hold his tongue anymore.

“I really am in love with you. I would have never done this had you not asked. You’re more than a rebound—”

“I know that, Wonwoo. We’re good, okay?”

You turn on your side so you can hug him, and he nestles in your embrace.

“So, are we keeping this a secret or…?”

You release a breath before you answer, absentmindedly playing in his brown locks. You think about your answer for a moment, and then you reply.

“As much as I want to keep you all to myself… I’ve waited all my life to call you my boyfriend.”

“So what does that mean?” he asks shyly.

“It means…” You tilt his head so he can look at you. “If anyone asks, I’ll tell them the truth.”

Wonwoo smirks at you and returns to his position buried in your chest. He whispers as he drifts into his slumber.

“That’s my girl.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

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rivalsispunk · 3 days ago

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Inappropriate (Chapter 4 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Series summary: Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), mention of male appendages (IYKYK), mention of female orgasm, pussy pronouns, smut smut SMUTTTT, jealous Declan, all the good stuff

Word count: 11.4k

Chapter summary: Happening across your boss pants down only spells the beginning for you and Declan, but neither of you are expecting a surprise visitor to muddy the waters.

A/N: Thank you all for being SO SO patient with this one. I could've easily released this chapter in two parts but didn't want to disrupt the flow of the story (*ahem* smut). This has had a brief edit in my hastiness to publish so any mistakes... Shhhhhh!

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had an inappropriate thought or two about Declan O’Hara in the time you’ve been friends with Taggie, perhaps more frequently since he’d become your superior, but that had nothing on the unadulterated filth that had infiltrated your brain in the hours since leaving The Priory. You can barely recall fleeing down its staircase or the drive home, what unfolded at the forefront of your mind until a self-induced orgasme lulled you into a deep sleep. Now, you’re permanently marred with the visual of Declan — your best friend’s father, your boss — fucking his hand with your name on his lips. You should feel dirty. You should feel violated. You should feel the way you do when Tony Baddingham’s beady eyes drink you in across the office. Like you need a scalding hot shower and to scrub yourself down to the bone. But you don’t. You feel like somebody’s doused you in gasoline and lit a match, your whole body burnt to flames — and it’s exhilarating.

How many times has he done it?

Was that the first time?

And why do you want to watch him do it again?

“Did ya stay late last night?” Declan asks you the next day while you’re sifting through old newspapers in search for more dirt on Rupert, at your boss’ request. “Went straight up to bed once I got back, so didn’t hear ya leave.”

Liar, you think.

“Not too late. Eleven, maybe,” you respond, eyes glued haphazard clippings across your desk.

“Not that I would’ve heard you anyway,” he continues. “Not with the wailing guitar riffs at full volume on Taggie’s stereo.”

Only then do you flit your gaze up to look at the man on the other side of the office. Acting professional after that murky moment with Declan in the hot tub was one thing, but pretending you don’t know what your boss looks like with his pants dropped and cock in hand is a whole other kettle of fish. Under normal circumstances, you’d be awkward. Uncomfortable. But now it’s as if having his secret affection has allowed you the permission to challenge him.

“Do you have something against Bon Jovi, Declan?”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” he responds, lighting a cigarette. “But when it feels like Jon is in bed with me screaming in my ear while I’m trying to sleep, I’m inclined to think otherwise.”

Let alone when you’re dancing around all but naked to it.

“So, can we count you out of belting Livin�� On A Prayer at Bar Sinister tonight?” you chide, reminding Declan of the invite you’d all received from the Joneses. Smoke plumes from his lips as he rears back from a drag.

“Yep. I’ll not be going anyway. Got too much work to get done.” “You always have too much work to get done,” you tell him. “You have to take a break sometime.”

“That’s what sleeping is for,” he counters, a slight smirk rising from under his moustache.

“Oh, come on, Declan. It’s one night.” You’re staring at him all doe-eyed across the room and your innocence, faux or not, does the heavy lifting of your convincing. “Come to Sinister. It’ll be fun.”

It’ll be fun, you’d said, voice all but a whiney beg that zapped like a rod of lightning straight to his crotch. But Declan’s struggling to find the enjoyment in spending his evening watching a revolving door of men try their luck with you, in that impossibly short merlot-coloured dress that’s befitting of Bar Sinister’s name. First, it was Bas Baddingham; the younger, kinder, though no less leery half-brother of Tony. Declan had noticed the pair of you when he arrived, his attention magnetised to you the moment he walked through the door. Bas had you cooped up in the corner by the floor to ceiling wine racks, his frame bowing over you while you chatted.

Declan wasn’t prepared for the twist in his stomach, nor the prickle of heat that scaled his body until it reached his cheeks while he watched you giggle with Bas, eyes sparkling under his attention. It was almost as if he were a child watching someone play with his favourite toy, unwilling to let anybody else have a turn, even though he was well aware it wasn’t his to keep in the first place. You slung another one of your dazzling smiles Bas’ way, and it was enough to have Declan beelining for the bar to order a wine and a whiskey to keep his envy at bay. After a while, Bas was called away to assist with a kitchen catastrophe. He was quickly replaced with Rupert Campbell-Black, all smiles and slime as craned his neck to whisper in your ear. Whatever words he was imparting on you — undoubtedly dirty — saw you blush, a stunning flush of fuchsia flooding up your neck to your cheeks. This goes on for a while — too long, in Declan’s opinion — and every grin Rupert shoots your way, coupled with you staring up at him all starry-eyed like you’ve been touched by the hand of God, has Declan grinding his teeth to near-dust.

He’s too old for you, he thinks. Certainly not good enough. The journalist had already been forced to warn the former Olympian off Taggie. He ought to do the same for you. But who was he kidding? He has no claim over you. You’re not his daughter.

The idea has him downing his whiskey in one gulp.

No, you’re definitely not his daughter.

Filthy hypocritical git.

You felt Declan before you saw him, his gaze like daggers slicing into you as you spoke with Bas, then even more so when while you chatted to Rupert. In all honesty, you had no interest in either men, but you made sure to ramp up the flirty act, particularly with Rupert, because you knew how much Declan disliked him. You weren’t entirely sure why; perhaps you wanted to see whether it bothered him, or how much it bothered him, but you could never get a good enough look at him to gauge where his head was at. You weren’t even talking about yourself, save for Rupert once again trying to coax you into a dinner date. Instead, you’d geared the conversation towards your best friend, whom you knew had a burgeoning crush on her neighbour despite her failed attempts to deny it.

“Are you expecting someone?” Rupert asks partway through gushing over Taggie’s catering at a recent hunt. “Or am I just boring you?”

His question falls on deaf ears, and you scramble to make up for your rudeness. “Sorry, Rupert. What was that?”

“Your eyes have been darting around this bar like you’re watching a tennis match.”

“I’m not—”

“Trust me, you are. It’s not often that a woman can bear to take her eyes off of me,” Rupert peacocks, cheeky grin blooming at his shameless confession. “So, who’s the lucky sod?”

God, he’s nothing if not perceptive, you think, chewing the inside of your cheek. Finally, you clock Declan by the till, his eyes stuck on you while Lizzie Vereker chats animatedly at his side.

“So, are you going to tell me or are you going to make me guess?” Rupert tries again.

Turning your attention back to him, you make a show of laying a hand on the sleeve of his navy sports coat as you lie through your teeth. “It’s nobody. Nobody worth worrying about.”

“Are you trying to burn a hole through him?” Lizzie wonders aloud, cheeks already flushed from her half a glass of wine.

“He’s just… everywhere. It bothers me,” Declan tells her, not taking his eyes off you.

“Bothers you that he’s here, or bothers you that he’s here with her?” She looks at him quizzically before her sight slices to you.

“You know I can’t stand him, Lizzie. Sorry, I know he’s your friend but, God. Always lurking, trying to shag anything with a pulse. Even that might be too restrictive to the lengths he’ll go to.”

“She’s an adult, Declan. A strong-headed one, at that. She can make her own decisions.”

“Well, she’s making the wrong one with him. He's got all the charm of a burst hemorrhoid."

Lizzie swats Declan for his off-colour description. “And what do you suggest the right one to be, then?” She’s staring up at him, lips pursed like she knows something. Like she’s pried his skull open with a crowbar and all of his dirtiest thoughts about you have leaked all over Bar Sinister’s maroon carpet.

“Someone her own age,” Declan decides, as much as it pains him to admit. “Someone that’s not Rupert Campbell-Black.”

“Someone like Patrick?” Lizzie poses, and Declan’s head whips towards her at the mention of his son.

“Patrick? My Patrick?”

“It’s not that crazy an idea. He’s a perfectly lovely boy.”

“He’s also at university, Lizzie.” Far away from you.

“Was at university,” a familiar and all-too-missed voice sounds from behind the journalist, and he just about spills his Pinot Noir as he turns to greet his son.

“Patrick!” Declan pulls him into a hug, clapping a hand against his back. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I had a few days between exams. Thought I’d pay a visit.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Come on, Dad. I’m here to have fun. You should try it sometime,” Patrick jests. There’s that word again. Fun. Despite your earlier promise, so far, Declan’s having anything but. “Hello, Lizzie,” Patrick leans down to drop a kiss to her cheek. “So, what are we talking about over here? Though with you Rutshire lot, I suppose the question should be who are we talking about?” he asks, taking the wine glass from his father’s hand and polishing off what’s left of the heady liquid.

Lizzie steals a quick look at Declan, who feigns disinterest. “We were just talking about that glorious young lady over there,” she tells Patrick, pointing with her wine in your direction. “Rather beautiful, is she not?”

Patrick’s eyes narrow as he spots you across the dim-lit room, still deep in conversation with Rupert. “Isn’t that Taggie’s friend? I remember meeting her at my birthday party. Rupert hasn’t eaten her alive yet?”

“Seems she’s one of the only women in this town that’s immune to his charms,” Lizzie conveys, and Declan wonders if they’re watching the same scene; Rupert laying it on thick and you seemingly lapping it up.

There’s a soft, almost curious tilt to Patrick’s head, lip pursed over as he watches the pair of you. “She might stand a chance after all,” he announces, then he’s away as quickly as he appeared, swerving through the crowd as he makes his way towards you.

Freddie is eight minutes through Meat Loaf’s Bat Out Of Hell and the whole bar is loving it. You can’t recall a time you’ve had this much fun out, your throat is stinging from how loud, how ferociously, you’re singing along with the electronics businessman. Freddie’s off-key and lack of rhythm is long forgotten under the haze of alcohol, and even Declan has slid off his broody perch to join the sing-a-long. Before the unmistakable first riff of the song blasted from the speakers, you’d spent the last half an hour chatting to Patrick, who’d surprised his family for a weekend home from university. You’d met him once before at the O’Hara’s most recent New Year’s Eve party. It’d also doubled as his twenty-first birthday, though you’d barely exchanged more than a hello and goodbye on the night and he was yet to venture back until this evening.

The only son of Declan and Maud, and it isn’t hard to see where the majority of his genes descend from. Hickory curls wisp every which way, nougat eyes flecked with black just like his father’s. While Patrick is far more idealistic than Declan, he’s just as foolhardy and exudes the same charm. He’s funny, too, much easier to joke with than his dad, you find, and though he can’t hear what his son is whispering to you over the roar of the crowd, the way you lean into him and laugh between lyrics grates on Declan. He silently curses Lizzie for setting Patrick’s sights on you. He knows — yes, knows — she was doing him a favour, in some roundabout way, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Especially when he has an unwilling front row seat with you standing between him and Patrick. To compete with Rupert and Bas was one thing, but his own son? Even if the whole thing was complete mental game, it wears on him, reminding him how fucking absurd his affection for you is.

The bar erupts in applause as Freddie wails along with the song’s final chord, his voice landing nowhere near the note Meat Loaf intended. Beside Declan, you cheer for the businessman while Patrick hollers in a way that’s more suited for a football match

“Right then, you randy bunch,” Freddie shouts, his cockney accent impossibly louder under the boom of the microphone. “Which one of yous dares to follow after the King of Karaoke?” The machine, some high-tech gadget flown in from Asia, fades into the next song, and the first couple of lyrics from Don’t Go Breaking My Heart appear on the screen.

“Oh, Daddy loves this song!” Taggie squeals from behind you, hands coming to shake Declan’s shoulders.

“What? No, I don’t,” he scoffs. “Where on earth did you get that idea?” “I’ve heard you singing it in the shower,” she says, shouldering her way between the two of you. “Both Elton and Kiki Dee’s parts.”

Declan playfully swats his daughter. “Oh, shut it, Tag. Can we have no secrets?” Their repartee makes you smile, even more to see Declan without that far-etched scowl he’s often sporting.

“Kiki Dee fan, hey, Dad?” Patrick teases, waggling his eyebrows.

“Not enough to get up there and sing it.”

Nobody else has jumped at the opportunity yet, and Freddie’s still trying to hype up the crowd to find a taker as the instrumental track rolls into the chorus.

“You’ll sing it with him, won’t you?” It takes you a second to realise that Taggie is talking to you. “You were saying on the way here that you wanted to step out of your comfort zone a bit more.”

You shake your head. That’s absolutely not what you were referring to.

“I meant professionally! Not…” you gesture haphazardly to the stage. You hadn’t mentally prepared to get up and perform. It also wasn’t exactly the activity you had in mind when you thought about you and Declan.

“Oh, go on, you two!” Taggie eggs you on, hopping with excitement.

“I’ll give you ten quid,” Patrick wagers, and Declan slices a dark look his way.

“Anyone?” Freddie is still trying, swinging the microphone around by its cable. Then, you feel a hot breath sluice over your cheek. The scent of whiskey emanating from Declan gives away the dangerous amount he’s consumed this evening, which could be why he drops his mouth to your ear.

“I’ll do it if you do it,” he murmurs, the deep timbre of his words racking through you. You rear backwards, nearly headbutting Taggie in the process.

“Are you joking? Two seconds ago you didn’t want to get up there either!”

Declan gives a half-hearted shrug as if to say why not. “It is a duet, after all.” His gaze holds yours and walks a fine line between pleading and defiant. There’s something in it now, a dare lurking beneath the surface, like he’s waiting for you to rise to the challenge. The look hits you sharp, suddenly; a flash of lightning tearing through the dark, and one final daring tilt of Declan’s head pushes your reservations aside.

“Okay, fine.” You snatch his glass from his hand and throw back the rest of the thick amber. A swell of pride burns through his chest, watching you pitch up the courage — even if it’s liquid — to get up on stage. “Freddie!” you shout towards the host. “Start it up again. We’re doing this.”

“Woohoo!” Freddie pumps a fist in the air, winding up the crowd until their cheering and applause hit deafening heights. Between the whiskey and the support of Taggie and Rutshire, you should be amped up enough to get through one measly song. But not even the heat blooming from where Declan’s hand rests on your back as he guides you on stage is enough to distract from the terror gnawing at you.

Despite the small set-up and there only being forty-odd people in the crowd, you might as well have been performing at Wembley. The relentless stage lights make it seem like you’re just metres from the sun and your heart is pumping a frantic, runaway rhythm that just won’t quiet. You blanch, surprised the microphone doesn’t slip from your clammy palm as Freddie passes it to you, the object a heavy weight in your hand. Just below you, Taggie pumps a thumbs up, and Patrick claps supportively. And then there’s Declan, standing beside you, his presence both grounding and electrifying as he leans in, voice low but steady as the intro to Don’t Go Breaking Your Heart starts back up again.

“Just breathe, love,” he tells you. “The worst that happens is we both end up looking like idiots.”

The first four bars pump out of the speakers, and you barely hear Declan apprehensively sing the first line because you’re too focussed on not regurgitating the cacio e pepe you’d consumed at dinner. You’re already a beat off when you murmur through your round of the lyrics, but Declan does a fine job at making up for your lack of stage presence. He’s side-stepping to the beat, putting his hips into it and clicking with his free hand. He’s still rigid in his movements, because he’ll be damned if performing for his peers this way is a regular occurrence, but it’s all he can do to get the attention off you, to calm your nerves without pulling you into a storage cupboard and fucking the anxiety out of you.

By the time the second chorus rolls around, you’ve loosened up enough to follow Declan’s lead, your feet no longer paralysed by fear. You move about the stage, pointing dramatically at Taggie and wiggling your body. The gesture is small, but swinging your hips in a circle has Declan stumbling over his words, his trousers tightening over his crotch.

Ooh-ooh, nobody knows it (nobody knows), the entire bar is singing along now, and Declan’s welcome for the distraction because the song is right. Nobody knows just how far gone he is for you, and this little love song performance isn’t helping anyone. Thankfully, the music begins fading out, signally the end of your time up on stage, and you clamber down the two rickety steps to resounding applause.

“See?” Taggie says when you return to your rightful place out of the spotlight. “It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You ignore your heart leaping at the base of your throat and ignore the urge to steal a glance at Declan, who’s made straight for the bar. Again.

“No, not all bad,” you give in, smiling between your friend and her brother.

You stay for one more drink and a few more songs, finally calling it a night once Charles coaxes half the broadcasting staffers into a Les Misérables sing-a-long. You and the O’Hara’s venture outside, the crisp night air pulling all of the hairs on your arms to their ends. While the four of you wait for a cab, Patrick sloughs off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, an almost silent that’s better slipping into the darkness. Lighting a cigarette, Declan tries — tries — to mind his own business. But his ears prick up at the mention of you and dinner.

“What do you say?” Patrick is asking you, voice competing with the sound of tires on wet bitumen and the chorus resounding from inside Sinister. “Tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up?”

The words hang in the air. Simple. Loaded.

You feel Declan’s gaze like a weight on your shoulders. You should want to go on a date with Patrick, right? You’re supposed to; he’s smart, funny and, more to the point, not nearly two decades your senior. But all you can think about is how Declan’s attention makes your skin flush, how he’s standing right there, probably watching this all unfold. You swallow, pressure mounting as Patrick’s invitation still hangs between you. A few steps away, Declan shifts, just barely, but enough to catch your attention. When you glance back at him, he busies himself with his lighter, like its manufacture is the most fascinating thing in the world.

Would he even notice if you said yes to his son? Would he care at all?

You nod before you can second-guess yourself, your words tripping out like they’re not even yours. “Yeah, sure. Dinner sounds good.” Patrick beams brightly as a taxi pulls up to the curb. Declan’s unreadable as he stubs out his cigarette, while the energy pouring from Taggie is hard to miss.

“I’m so excited!” she whisper-shouts, her hands coming to wrap around your left arm as you approach the cab. “If this works out between you and Patrick, we’ll be sisters!”

Behind you, Declan pales at his daughter’s comment.

You and Patrick. Working out.

You and Taggie. Sisters.

The idea makes him sick.

“Is that thing broken?” Declan stabs a finger at the clock hanging in The Priory’s kitchen. He’s positive something is wrong with it. Every time he looks to the wall, the hands appear unmoving, perpetually stuck at eleven-fifteen.

“It’s working perfectly fine,” Taggie assures her father while kneading a mound of dough that would soon become dinner rolls for tomorrow’s black-tie event at the Baddinghams’. “I think the issue is you keep checking it every five seconds.” Declan shakes his head, boots scraping along the floor as he paces up and down the length of the room. “Daddy, can you stop for a moment? You’re making me motion sick.” “Patrick should’ve been home by now,” he says, ignoring his daughter while his eyes flick to the clock again.

“He’s on a date, for goodness sake,” Taggie says, and the reminder of his whereabouts — your whereabouts — feels like an infected scrape across his heart. “Just leave him be. He’ll be home when he’s home.”

Declan barks out a laugh. “Leave him be! Thanks, Taggie. That’s just grand parenting advice. I’ll try that one with you when you’ve got kids galavanting around God knows where at all hours of the night.”

“I’d hardly call eleven all hours of the night,” she counters, and the comment stops Declan at the head of the kitchen bench. She keeps stretching and folding the dough, almost unphased by her father’s agitation. Declan smiles, just for a second, recognising that Taggie’s become far more outspoken, less inward, since having you around. He’d be proud if the situation wasn’t so infuriating.

“I’m just—” he stares at a crack in the timber benchtop. “It’s just getting late and he has to drive back to school tomorrow.” It was a cheap excuse. Declan knew full well that Patrick would have no issues making the two-hour drive back to campus, even on little sleep. In truth, he could roll in at four AM and he’d not bat an eyelid.

But this isn’t really about Patrick, is it? No, it’s you. You, out there with his son, doing God knows what, God knows where. He could feel the weight of it— the resentment, the jealousy — settling deep in his chest. What if you’d kissed? Worse, what if you’d—No. His fingers tighten around the edge of the bench, knuckles coming up white. His mind deceives him again, and there you are, entwined in your bed sheets with Patrick, your laughter mixing with the sound of something more. The thought burns hot and quick through him, and the longer you’re out with Patrick, the harder it is to shake.

Then there’s the slam of a car door. The whine of hinges at the entrance to The Priory. Declan and Taggie both glance at each other before racing to the foyer to greet Patrick.

“Are you guys waiting up for me or something?” he chides, unravelling himself from his navy scarf.

“No,” Declan is all too quick to answer. Yes.

“So?” Taggie, flour marring her right cheek, is just about levitating with the way she’s bouncing on her feet. “How was it then?”

“Lovely,” Patrick says. “She’s really great. So intelligent.”

Yeah, I know, Declan dares to think.

“Did you kiss her goodnight?” Taggie wants to know, gazing up at her brother like a toddler waiting on a fairytale.

A quiet chuckle rumbles from Patrick as he slings his coat over the staircase bannister. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, my dear,” he muses, thumbing his sister’s chin.

“You know I’m going to find out from her anyway,” Taggie warns him.

“Then you’ll just have to wait until you see her tomorrow, won’t you?”

She rolls her eyes, and Declan’s stomach churns in a similar motion. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell, but Patrick wasn’t usually one to play coy. The only reason for his self-effacement must be because he really likes you. And, as Declan trudges up to bed, throwing a tetchy goodnight over his shoulder to his children, he worries you likely feel the same.

The date was…fine. Patrick was twenty minutes late, but it was quickly made up for with the bouquet of roses, twice the size of his head, that he arrived alongside. After a quick peck to the cheek, he ushered you into the Clubman he’d borrowed from his father for the night. The car reeked of stale smoke and the leathery wood smell of Declan’s cologne. If you allowed yourself, you could almost hear the rasp of his voice and the sharp click of his lighter. Beside you, Patrick chatted away about his literature class at university while he navigated the quiet streets, completely unaware of how his father’s presence seemed to haunt every inch of this car. You bypassed Bar Sinister and town completely, ending up at Le Petit Chêne — The Little Oak — a small, family-owned French bistro fifteen minutes down the road. The food was delicious, the wine even better, but as the night wore on, you couldn’t help but compare Patrick to his father, even though you were well aware it wasn’t fair. Patrick had that same tapered jawline, those dark eyes, but where Declan’s gaze felt like a bolt of electricity, Patrick’s was softer, warmer. The laugh lines at the corners of his eyes were like something familiar, comfortable, like you could just keep moving through the motions and never have to think too hard. But Declan... Declan made you feel every. Single. Glance.

Still, the comfortability and Patrick’s friendliness made it easy to lose track of time as you traded tales from your time at university and compared your favourite novels, arguing over the crux of Of Mice and Men — you find it majorly depressing, while Patrick thinks it signifies hope. You agreed, begrudgingly, to disagree, the squabble wrapping up as your date pulls up outside your flat.

“I had a really nice night,” he confessed when you reached your door.

“Yeah, me, too,” you responded, shrugging off his jacket he’d once again loaned you. “That restaurant was lovely. Thank you again for paying.” “You’re worth it.” Patrick shuffled from one foot to the other, the subtle movement signifying the first time you’d ever seen the eldest O’Hara child anywhere close to nervous. You knew what was coming next, with the way he looked up from your doormat with hopeful eyes, blush pinching at the apples of his cheeks. “Can I kiss you?”

You should want to kiss him, the young, likable man standing in front of you. Going against your better judgement, you said yes and tried to enjoy his soft lips against yours. His touch was gentle, one hand on your waist, the other cupping your cheek, but the spark that should ignite at having a handsome man like Patrick wanting you was missing. It didn’t help that you could still feel the ghost of Declan’s presence, like the heat from his stare was still burning into your skin. No hairs stood on end. No rush of warmth flooded your chest. Nothing like the way you felt when Declan’s gaze lingered on you just a little too long, or when your hands brushed, the way they had that night in the hot tub. The gnawing comparisons followed you into your flat once you and Patrick had said goodnight, and tucked themselves into bed beside you, marking the beginning of a long night of fractured sleep.

The next evening, you find yourself in a sea of black tuxedos and satin gowns, the clink of glasses and low murmurs of conversation filling the ballroom in the Baddingham manor as you celebrate Four Men Went To Mow dominating the winter ratings. Early that morning, Taggie called to hear details from your date with Patrick, revealing that her brother remained mum about the night you’d spent together. You kept it top-line, telling her it was fun and that there was a peck, which was met with squeals from the other end of the phone. Taggie then dished that Patrick had extended his stay in Rutshire and would be attending that night’s festivities, and whatever excitement you held for the party dissipated.

After your date, you’d expected Patrick to return to university, taking whatever fleeting attraction he held for you with him. You found comfort in that, knowing you wouldn’t have to let him down easy and that Taggie would stop prematurely planning your wedding to her brother. Yet, here he is, looking dashing in a three-piece tux and already the life of the party. So, you push any awkwardness aside and focus on the night ahead. Patrick told you he was definitely leaving tomorrow morning—no harm in enjoying his company tonight, right? You can smile, have a bit of fun, try not to think too much about it. The music plays, the conversation flows, and you laugh, genuinely, pretending for a moment that everything is simple. But through it all, you can feel Declan observing the pair of you across the grand hall. No matter the conversations he finds himself amongst, whether it be with board members about his show, or colleagues exchanging gossip about interoffice affairs, a portion of his attention is always attuned to you. He winces every time your laugh rises above the chatter and he’s desperate to know what words his son is crooning to justify such a heavenly sound. There was something in the way you looked at his son — a softness that went beyond polite attention. But who was he kidding? Why wouldn’t you be interested in Patrick? Lizzie was right. Patrick is the right choice, and judging by the smile pinching at your cheeks as you look up at him, a choice you’ve gladly already made.

After two rounds of canapes have made the rounds, Taggie manages to steal a few minutes away from the kitchen to join you and Daysee on the dancefloor for the YMCA, the three of you giggling between the iconic moves as you try to decide which of the Corinium men would be each of the Village People. Despite the low temperature outside, sweat slides down your spine and the hairs framing your face stick to your forehead. “I’m going to get some air!” you shout, gesturing to the doors in case your friends can’t hear you above the music. As the song fades into a Hall and Oates hit, you push through the throng of guests, ignoring the way Tony Baddingham’s eyes rinse over you in your baby blue dress as you pass by him and Freddie Jones in the corridor. When you step outside, the pulse of music and chatter drifts into the cool night, mingling with the quiet conversations and laughter of guests convening among the manicured hedges and flower beds. The air is thick with the scent of damp grass and the faintest trace of woodsmoke pumping from the manor’s chimneys and many roaring fireplaces.

Down the far end of the house, you spot Declan in the shadow of one of the sky-reaching pillars. He’s still, watching the party through the large windows, light from inside flickering softly across his face. It catches the curve of his cheek and the edge of his stubbly jaw in bursts, and battles with the glow of the cigarette he lifts to his lips. Smoke curls up into the night, and only when it shifts does he finally catch sight of you. He doesn’t say a word, just lets the silence stretch between you for a few moments until you ask him, “Are you hiding?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” he says, taking another drag.

“With lungs full of smoke?” you dare.

The cigarette tips towards the sky as Declan smirks. “Watch yourself.” You take the cheeky lilt in his voice as an invitation to join him, your heels echoing off the concrete pavers as you walk. “Are you having fun?” he wants to know when you fall into line beside him.

“Yeah, it’s a great party. I just hope Freddie hasn’t brought that bloody karaoke machine with him,” you say, only half serious.

“I’ll say,” Declan agrees, dark eyes still fixated on the window. Beyond it, Patrick is talking animatedly with a group of six or so guests gathered around him, all of them ogling the young scholar over their drinks like they’re the disciples to his Jesus. As if he’s just relayed the punchline to a joke, his onlookers throw their heads back with laughter, and the man to Patrick’s left claps him on the shoulder, unable to contain himself.

“People are just drawn to him, aren’t they?” Declan wonders out loud. He doesn’t mean it as a test, but he’s curious to see if you open up to him about the night before.

“It’s not hard to see why,” comes your answer, and it’s clear you’re keeping your cards as close to your chest as Patrick.

“He’s a good boy,” Declan forges on, nudging his chin in the direction of his firstborn.

“You told me that boys don’t know what they want.”

“Not my son. He’s known what he wants since he was in the womb."

“And what about you? Do you know what you want?” The question is playful and doesn’t probe in the way you wish you could ask, but it’s enough for Declan to debate answering.

What does he want?

You.

To not want you.

“He likes you a lot, you know," he pivots, as much as the facts pain him.

“Oh, yeah?”

Declan nods. “He was out here not long ago, banging on about your celestial light.” The phrase makes him chuckle while he shakes his cigarette, ash flickering from orange to grey as it drifts to the ground.

“Celestial light?" you scoff, breath turning to fog in the air. "You’re joking. I have about as much celestial light as a flickering lamp post.”

“Don’t do that.” Any amusement in Declan’s voice is gone with those three words.

“Do what?”

“Put yourself down. Make yourself small.”

“I don’t know what you’re—“

“Don’t you?" Declan presses, head quirked. You don't fool me, is what he means. "You don't have to do that with Patrick. Don't have to do that with me."

"And the rest of them? I'm not naive enough to think that I'm more than some young thing expected to keep quiet and look pretty. That's just the way it is. All those men in there," you nod towards the sprawling windows that separate you from the party. "They don't think anything of me. They just see me as —"

“Smart? Witty?” Declan interjects, trying to meet your eye as you toe a stray leaf that's blown onto the concrete. “Beautiful as you may be, you have a hell of a lot more going for you. Believe me.” He’s being earnest, you can hear it in the way his voice dips to barely a whisper. In this way, his words are intentional and just for you.

You abandon the leaf in favour of his face. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Be crazy not to."

"Declan..." You don't know where your sentence is going, or why you step towards him, but you do, the confession — as minor as it is — digging into you like a hook and Declan's eyes, pinned to you, reeling you in.

"So, how was your date then?" The question throws up a wall between you. An unscalable, Patrick-shaped wall. A red flush spreads over your chest and blooms up your neck. You don't want to talk about this. Not really. Not with him.

"Patrick didn't tell you?"

"A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, is what he said." There's a strangled edge to his voice, a frustration, like his son being cryptic was the most inconvenient thing in the world. "Did you —"

"There you are, Declan!" The voice has you skittering you across the pavement away from Declan, your heart tugging like you're still attached to him by that imaginary hook.

"For fuck’s sake," he mutters, snuffing his cigarette out under his dress shoe as Tony Baddingham saunters towards you, sly smile poisoning his lips.

"And here you are," he croons your name. "Never far from Declan, are you?"

"I told ya, Tony. She's my right hand man," your boss says, and you snuff the smile threatening to crack across your face at the thought that Declan’s talking about you, needing you. He’s trying to sound aloof, but he hates watching Tony sniff you out like a wolf stalking its prey — circling, picking up every subtle scent of your discomfort, eyes glowing with that predatory gleam.

"So, it would seem. I must admit, your show has taken quite a spectacular turn in the ratings since this one's come along," Tony continues, coming to stand beside you. His cool hand slides too comfortably around your bare shoulders, his fingers pressing into your skin with an air of ownership. You flinch and try to mask it with a forced smile, but Tony doesn't seem fazed, chuckling as he leans in closer, eyes trailing down the front of your chest. "This dress is something rather spectacular itself. How did you know blue is my favourite colour?"

"Lucky guess," you tell him, stiffening under the weight of his arm. Declan's jaw tightens, and while he's trying to stay composed, tension radiates from him in violent, crashing waves. Your eyes dart about as you shift uncomfortably — something that doesn't go unnoticed by Declan.

He digs into his pocket, retrieving a small, stainless steel case that he holds out to Tony. "Cigarette?"

"Ah, I told the lady of the house that I would try to quit," Tony explains, referring to his wife, Monica. "But I suppose one never killed anybody." It feels like a tonne has been sloughed off you when Lord Baddingam unravels himself from you, moving towards Declan to light up.

"Thank you," you mouth behind Tony's back, and Declan returns a wink that goes straight to your warm centre.

Inside the house, the party erupts in hoots and cheers as La Bamba starts over the speakers, and you catch sight of Daysee beckoning you back to the dancefloor from the other side of the glass. Tony begins rattling off competitor numbers and other industry secrets well above your pay grade, so you take the opportunity to slip back inside for another champagne, another dance.

Before too long, you’re swept into a conversation with Valerie and Lizzie — well, more Valerie, who is probing you for gossip from within the walls of Corinium. She’s a total fiend for a scandal. You’d heard through the grapevine that she’d told Monica Baddingham about her husband’s sordid rendezvous with Cameron Cook, and no doubt Valerie was well across the fact that Lizzie’s own husband was spending a great deal of time pants down in his dressing room with his co-host.

“Well, there’s got to be something,” Valerie whines when you tell her you tend to keep your nose out of other people’s business.

“Oh, leave her be,” Lizzie tells her before turning to you. “How are you, love? More to the point, how’s Patrick? I heard the two of you went on a date last night.”

Jeez, word travels fast around here, you think.

“You and Declan’s son?” Valerie clarifies, tweeting at the revelation. “Handsome boy, him. God, Declan’s genes are strong, aren’t they?”

The mention of Declan has you searching for him through the windows, and you catch him just in time to see him storm away from Tony, disappearing from view until he barges back into the party with a snarl contorting his mouth. Most of the guests are too drunk to notice him stalking through the ballroom, or swipe a glass of whiskey off the tray of a waiter in one brisk snatch he doesn’t even slow down for.

“Oh, God,” Lizzie mutters, turning away from Declan as he shoves past your trio, the sleek material of his jacket scraping across your upper arm.

You call after him to no avail before Lizzie touches your wrist lightly, shaking her head. “Leave him, darling.”

“Why?” you ask, searching her face for some shred of a clue. “Lizzie, what’s happened?”

“You didn’t hear it from me —”

“Oh, don’t start with that,” Valerie squawks, her cockney twang exacerbated by alcohol. “The whole bloody country’s already read about it in the paper this morning.”

“For God’s sake, read what?”

“Declan’s wife — Maud — well, she’s got some big flashy part in some famous play in the city,” Valerie is all too excited to tell you, while Lizzie takes far too much interest in the ice melting at the bottom of her empty glass. “Three month run if it all goes to plan, the article said.”

“At least,” Lizzie finally pipes up, crimson colouring her face immediately after. “Poor Declan.”

Yes, poor Declan.

Taggie and Patrick, who are dancing to a completely different song to the one that’s playing, are none the wiser that their father’s just come barrelling through here like a bull in a china shop. And, given that Taggie’s yet to mention anything about her estranged mother, your bet is that they have no idea about her new role, either. Your heart breaks for your best friend, for all of them, which is why you trail after Declan once Lizzie and Valerie have found another unsuspecting guest to pry information from.

The first few doors you try are no-gos: an office space that looks rather untouched, a sitting room decked out with floral upholstery complete with a couple you’ve never met going at it on a sofa, and an ornate guest bathroom. It’s not until the fifth door that you find Declan looking forlorn in the Baddingham’s library. He’s sprawled out in a dark armchair, tall frame filling it out. Legs spread like he’s waiting for someone to kneel between them.

“Hey,” you say quietly, closing the door softly behind you.

His voice is groggy with liquor when he responds, “Where’s Patrick?”

“Dancing with Taggie, I think. It’s nice seeing them together, I know she’s missed him,” you tell him, adding, “You’ve raised some good kids.”

Declan scoffs. “Dunno how. Workaholic father, absentee mother with a chronic wandering eye.”

Your stomach dips. “I heard about Maud. Are you okay?”

“So, everyone’s talking about it.” He sinks impossibly lower into the chair, its leather whining as he splays his arms out to his sides. The whiskey in his hand splashes over the edge of his glass with the movement. “Am I okay? What’s it look like to you?”

He looks like shit, inky hair disheveled from raking a frantic hand through it, but the frustration already emanating from him stops you from voicing it. The man just found out his wife has no intention of returning home anytime soon. The least you can do is give him some grace.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t pry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Declan snaps. “And I shouldn’t be discussing this with you. It’s…” he ponders on the right word before settling on, “Inappropriate.”

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth. “Because I’m Taggie’s friend?”

He laughs incredulously. “Yeah, because you’re Taggie’s friend. You’re my employee. You’re…” He gestures haphazardly in your direction.

“I’m…?” you prompt, taking a few trepid steps towards him.

Insatiable. Infallible. Interminable. Indomitable. How could he ever settle on just one?

“Insufferable,” Declan eventually mutters, chasing the confession with a slow swig of his drink.

It’s your turn to laugh now. “I’m insufferable? I’m not the one that’s stalked off to sulk and—” You stop, shake your head. “Actually, I’m not going to argue this with you. If you want to sit in here alone instead of spending time with people who actually care about you, people who are actually here, so be it.” After shooting Declan a pointed look, you stalk to the door, but there’s a buzz in your veins that knows you’re not ready to let up just yet, so you turn on your heel to face him again. “And I don’t need you telling me what is and isn’t appropriate. Your moral compass is far too gone for that.” “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Declan wants to know, sitting a little more upright in his seat.

“You’re kidding, right? I heard you, you know. The other night. Saying my name while you were touching yourself.” Declan’s whiskey glass freezes at his lips, black eyes locked on you. “Not very appropriate considering I’m Taggie’s friend. Your employee,” you confess, throwing his reasons for not opening up to you back in his face. Your chest heaves with shallow breaths, like spilling the secret of you watching Declan come undone has stolen every bit of viable air from your burning lungs. You half expect him to deny it, but his face is blank, and his silence is aggravating. Time, what feels like minutes, stretches between the two of you, gazes set on one another while you silently duel across the library.

“Nothing to say, Declan?” you press. “That’s a first.”

Leather ripples through the room as he stands, abandoning his glass on a side table before stalking towards you. He doesn’t stop until you’re toe to toe and your back presses into the cool wood of the door. Whiskey, aftershave and a lick of sweat consumes you as Declan regards you down his nose. “Like I said,” he croaks. “You’re insufferable.”

Your jaw unhinges as you go to bite back at him, to tell him that he’s the one making things unbearable, but then he tuts, jabbing his forefinger into his chest. “You’ve said enough. It’s my turn to speak.

“Hiring you is up there with the worst things I’ve ever done, and believe me, love, I’ve done a lot of shitty things. That night in the hot tub? Ruined me for all I’m worth. I can’t go to sleep without seeing you. Can’t go to work without wondering what it’d be like to bend you over the desk. Can’t bear to watch you bat those fucking eyes of yours at Rupert or Bas or Patrick. Then there’s Maud…” His eyes slip shut as he speaks, a small shake of his head revealing shame eroded in the space between his unruly eyebrows. “Every moment she pulls away from me is a moment that pushes me closer to you, and I hate it,” he confesses. “And seeing you with Patrick is fucking eating me alive, because what kind of man — what kind of married man — wishes the worst on his son over a woman that he has no claim over?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“Jealous,” Declan repeats. He can only laugh. “Did you fuck him?”

You pull back, head softly ricocheting off the wood behind you. “Did I— you can’t be serious, Declan.” “Answer the question. Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

“Of course not!”

“No?” He sounds surprised, and you’re almost offended.

“No!” you spit. The thump of muffled music vibrates through the door, matching your heart trying to break free from your chest.

“Why not?”

“Declan, stop—”

“No, tell me,” he probes, hot breath fanning over your face. “Is it because he’s not smart enough for ya? Not manly enough?” You divert your gaze, blurred vision locking onto some benign object in the distance, because you don’t trust yourself to keep looking at Declan. You can’t tell what his angle is, whether he’s jealous at the attention you’re getting from other men, or annoyed that you’re not interested in his son. Eventually, he cocks his head to meet your sightline, finger coming to your chin to turn you to face him. “Tell me why you didn’t fuck him.”

“Because he’s not you!” It flies out of your mouth before you have the sense to stop it, breath catching in the back of your throat as you await Declan’s next move. The energy caught in the mere inches between you continues to crackle, but the fire burning under him seems to have subsided as his shoulders fall from their tense fixture, his suit jacket sagging with his muscles. He looks down at you with heavy eyelids. He’s tired. So fucking tired. Of pretending he doesn’t miss Maud, that he doesn’t want you. That of both those unspoken truths piled together makes him feel like a right failure as a husband, as a father, as a boss. He was already broken, and your admission was the final crack that made him shatter.

Shaky hands come to cover your mouth, a barrier to keep any more secrets from polluting the fragile silence that hangs heavy between you. Declan shuffles back, just a hairbreadth. He’s got his head viced, one hand through his hair and the other gripping his jaw. “Fucking hell.”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” He’s just barely looking at you, sheepish. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or a denial. The torture draining the colour from his face is making it hard to tell what’s going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“It’s not fair. On either of us.”

“You’re damn right it isn’t fair. None of this is fair.” He’s back at you, crowding you against the door, one large dress shoe pitched between your platform heels. You’re certain that if he took one deep breath, his belt buckle would make impressions on your stomach. You can see the indentations in his lips, the miniscule patch of dry skin at the corner. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? I’ve exercised more restraint in the last month than I’ve ever had to in my life. You’re fucking ruining me.”

The disclosure has thinned his voice to barely a whisper. Heat bubbles low in your stomach, the pull of wanting to close the gap between you warring with the consequence you know wait for you both if you give in. Still, the way he’s staring at you, with wounded eyes like twin black holes, how could you ever stand a chance?

It’s why you let another confession slip, for better or for worse.

“You think I don’t feel it, too?”

Declan reaches to tuck your hair behind your ear, his hand trailing back to caress your cheek. The minute he touches you, your whole body goes lax, completely pliable for him. “So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, and you can practically taste the liquor on his tongue. Black eyes zigzag across your features while his palm moves to cup your jaw, the pad of his thumb meeting the swell of your bottom lip.

“This okay?” You only nod because you don’t have the strength, the gall, to betray Taggie by vocalising how desperately you want her father to keep touching you in ways you’ve only dreamed about.

“Need to hear you say it,” he urges. “Gotta make sure you really want this.”

He has no fucking idea how much you do.

“Please,” is all you manage to muster before an animalistic growl scrapes up the back of his throat and Declan O’Hara is kissing you in a way that’s going to screw you up forever.

You’re folding like the world’s flimsiest house of cards the moment his mouth hits yours, all teeth and tongues, whiskey, tobacco and him. If it weren’t for him scooping an arm around your waist to hold you to him, you’d be in a heap on the floor. Declan’s faint grunts resonate around your tongue as his own explores your mouth with fervent jabs, only breaking the erratic rhythm to suck your lip so sensually it peels a whimper from you. His arm is scorching against the bare skin that sits above the low-cut back of your dress. His hips flex into yours, and you feel the cool metal of his belt through satin. Then you feel it. His hard length, constricted by his suit trousers, pressing to your stomach. Excitement and desire pulse through you, the feeling of his arousal against you intoxicating, knowing you’re the cause.

“Ya feel that, darlin’? Feel what you do to me?” Declan asks, each word heavy with need and muffled into your neck, tongue flickering over the salty skin there. Your hands twist into his curls while he sucks a kiss into your collarbone. It pulls blood to the surface, most likely noticeable, but you don’t care. Not when Declan branding you feels so fucking good. After a few good moments, he pulls back to take you in, his lips puffy from working over your decolletage. His eyes skim over your face, drinking in every detail — the pale lipstick smeared around your mouth, your glassy eyes, the pink flush staining your cheeks.

“God, look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucked out for me already.” Any shame that previously coloured Declan’s features has evaporated, the pity drowning his eyes flushed out by incessant need. He kisses you again, though it’s not so much a kiss as it’s a collision, only slowing down his movements once he’s confident this isn’t one of his fleeting, filthy dreams. It’s been so long since another person has kissed you like this, touched you like this. It’s everything Patrick’s kiss wasn’t, intimate and intentional despite the roaring laughter and music on the other side of the wall.

Declan’s large hand leaves your hip and you immediately miss it as his fingers brush over the cool doorknob. They don’t linger, there’s no hesitation before the click of the lock vibrates through you. You don’t hear it, though. Not over your pulse thrumming in your ears. It’s a purposeful, unspoken decision to shut out everything but the heat building between you, then his hand is back at your waist, pinning you in place against the wood. The other grazes down your body until he reaches the hem of your dress, sliding it up your leg until he has it gathered in a pool of azure at your hip. Your breathing hitches at the feeling of his skin on your hip bone. Under the flood of material, Declan’s fingers find the waistband of your underwear, thumb trilling over the flimsy lace holding your thong together. Your breaths mingle, lips barely grazing while his mind runs ragged with thoughts of what colour the garment is. Black to match that sinful bra you wore to your interview? Red like the pair you were wearing in his dream last night? He hooks a finger under the elastic, pulling the panties away from your body then letting them go so they snap against your skin. You let out a sharp gasp at the sting but he’s already soothing it, one step ahead of what you’re needing.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so fucking long,” he groans. His hand finds its way under the lace material again to glide over the bulb of your arse, kneading the flesh there.

“Declan,” you whine, jutting your hips into his, desperate for friction.

“What’s that, darlin’?” Even with your eyes clamped shut you know he’s smirking, relishing in your neediness. You arch forward again but he’s far stronger than you, his brawniness keeping you in place. “If you want something, all you gotta do is ask.”

“Please,” you sigh, following up with a strangled, “Touch me.”

Declan wastes no time in finding you bundle of nerves, but as soon as he’s there, it’s like time slows to an excruciating speed, his fingers featherlight over the thin material. You’re already soaked. Have been since he started berating you about how much him wanting you was fucking him up. Declan knows it too, groaning as he applies more pressure, your slick seeping around the pad of his finger.

“Christ, you’re wet,” he grunts. “Is all this f’me?” Your head cants incessantly, mind and heart and pussy chanting more, more, more. But it doesn’t come. He just holds his finger to you, steady, waiting, like a finger on the trigger of a gun. The only relief you’re getting is from you squirming under his touch, and even then, it’s just not hitting in the way you know Declan could if he would just. Move.

A chuckle rumbles in his chest and as sexy as it sounds on a regular day, under the circumstances, it almost has you seeing red. “Oh, there she is,” Declan says when you finally look at him. “Needy little thing, aren’t ya?” His eyes are glued to yours, half-lidded with a grin tugging under his moustache. It’s not a challenge. It’s a promise. He has you right where he wants you, and you can feel it in the air, thick with his quiet confidence. Your mouth goes slack when Declan removes his finger from the outside of your underwear, instead using it to push the material aside, granting himself full access to your swollen centre. Then it’s back to square one: unhurried, languid movements as he traces your folds. Up and around, not once sliding over your clit despite your unintelligible splutterings begging him to do so. Declan’s lips fall back over yours with a quiet, charged kiss as his hand comes to cup your mound completely, his tongue seeking purchase against your own. You stay like that for a moment, tongues battling each other, his hand covering your pussy like he already owns it. Every single one of your nerve endings is alight, every inch of your skin acutely aware of his presence as his moustache grazes your top lip, as his middle finger ever so slightly dips between your folds. Then finally, finally, he slides a thick finger into you and you clench around him, the unfiltered pleasure enough to never want to be without the feeling of him inside you again. You both moan, the sound disappearing into your kiss, your hand disappearing into his hair, holding him to you.

The hard peaks of your nipples create little blue buds against your dress, and they rub against Declan’s chest while he drags his finger from your body, in and out, in and out, each movement as deliciously slow as the last.

After a minute, he breaks your kiss, letting his forehead rest against your own. “You’re so tight,” he grits, adding another finger despite his observation. The new addition allows the palm of his hand to jut against your clit, and the friction almost has you levitating. “Oh, you like that, huh?” Declan teases, pushing into you harder, faster. The change in pace has you jerking like a live wire. Totally unhinged, the world feels like it’s spinning off its axis, more dangerously the longer he keeps that unforgiving pace. All this pent up frustration and teasing and longing bucks you closer to the edge, pins and needles edging their way from your toes up your body until—

Knock knock knock.

The door thumps into your back, scaring your orgasm away with it. Declan’s fingers freeze inside you, your clit pulsating against his palm, your eyes locked on one another as you will away the intrusion. The doorknob jostles next and all you can think is thank God Declan locked it when he did.

“‘S occupied!” he growls.

“Dad? Is that you?” Patrick.

The whites of your eyes blow out as you glare at Declan, panicked by the arrival of his son — your date, not twenty-four hours earlier — as you conjugate just mere inches away. Declan lifts his free hand to his lips, pressing a single finger into the supple flesh. Shh.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Patrick asks again, trying the door for a second time.

“Yeah, son. You alright?” Declan responds, and your eyes go impossibly wider at him answering while his fingers are still buried in your pussy. While his steely length presses into the crease between your thigh and crotch.

“Are you alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

Declan’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, leaving a devilish smile in its wake. “Everything’s grand,” he drawls, fingers slipping out of you to stake claim on your clit. The subtle movement yanks a gasp from you, a mix of embarrassment and arousal pumping through you as Declan begins to trace circles there. You’re caught between wanting to disappear and wanting more as Declan keeps talking, Irish accent laden with lust. “Just needed a few minutes to myself. Needed to…” he pauses, licking a stripe up the side of your neck before latching his teeth onto your earlobe for a hair of a second, “Decompress.”

“Mmm,” you moan, too loudly, because Declan claps a hand over your mouth to keep any more desperate sounds slipping from under the door. There’s a moment pause, and you panic, thinking you’ve given the pair of you away, but then Patrick is chattering away again, asking after you.

“Have you seen her? Could’ve sworn she came down this way.”

“Nope,” Declan lies, picking up pace as he strums your clit, like he’s getting off on holding a conversation while trying to take you to the brink of no return. “Haven’t seen her.”

The knot in your stomach mounts again, your whole body buzzing at high frequency. Patrick says something else, a goodbye, you think, but for all you know he could be speaking gibberish, the rush of blood to your ears blocking out anything that’s not Declan.

The slight savour of sweat he’s worked up and how it tangoes with the cigarette smoke still lingering on his suit jacket.

How his mouth hangs slightly open, his tongue resting loosely against his bottom row of teeth, completely dumb for you.

The grunt wrapped in a sigh that pushes out of him when he plows two thickset fingers inside you again, and the matching moan you hum into the palm of his hand, the metal of his wedding ring cool against your upper lip.

“You’re making me crazy,” he says lowly. “Turnin’ me into someone who steals his son’s girl.” Your response comes out distorted, muffled against his skin. Declan’s hand slips from your mouth, finding its way to the nape of your neck and tangling its fingers into the frizzy hair there, the slight tension making your scalp tingle. “You got something to say, darlin’?”

“Not… his… girl,” you pant, words punctuated by Declan pumping his fingers impossibly deeper into your cunt.

“You’re damn right you’re not his girl.”

The subtext is clear. You’re not Patrick’s. You’re his. The feminist in you should balk at the insinuation but who are you kidding? Every stolen glance. Every car ride. Every solo orgasm you’ve yanked from yourself in the dead of night to the thought of him. Everything has led you to this.

Your mascara flakes over the apples of your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, Declan’s fingers expertly twisting and careening until the coil in the pit of your stomach is wound so tight you think you’re going to crack in two.

“Fuck, Declan,” you mewl, gripping his biceps to keep yourself steady. “So close.”

“Look at me, love. Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come.”

You could’ve fallen apart at those words alone, but you do what Declan says, gaze fluttering to his face as the butt of his hand against your clit works in tandem with his fingers until there’s a sharp and sudden snap, breaking you apart in a violent burst.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” your expletives are swaddled by his hand yet again, eyes pricking with tears as you chase your high. Even through the blur, you see Declan grinning down at you with pride, nodding, quietly egging you on.

“That’s it, darlin’. Good. Good girl,” he whispers, thumb at the back of your head stroking tiny circles while his opposite fingers slow down with your breathing. It’s only when you stop convulsing completely that he drops his hand from your face. Your feet scream in pain as you come back to yourself, the weight of digging your heels in to keep you upright making itself known. Meanwhile, Declan slips himself from you, gently rearranging your underwear over your folds and allowing the skirt of your dress to float back down your legs. He shuffles backwards, allowing you space to gather yourself, to ground yourself, breaths still shaky as you step away from the door you’d come to be far too intimate with. You don’t speak, not yet, just watch as Declan peers down at his right hand that’s glistening with your slick, then to his left hand, where his wedding band glints under the library’s chandelier.

“Are you—” okay, is what you intend to ask, but Declan cuts you off, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets.

“I should go find Taggie and Patrick. Can’t have them hearing about their mum through some idle party gossip,” he says, voice steady but marred with a tinge of uncertainty, as if he’s trying to make sense of everything. He maneuvers around you awkwardly, all that cockiness from moments ago melted away. He pauses at the door, the heavy silence between you so palpable. His hand rests on the doorknob, but he doesn’t turn it. “This was…” he trails off, eyes searching the room for the right word.

"Yeah," is all you can manage, because you can’t find the words either. For how he just made you feel like every single one of your synapses was on fire. For the way he's treating you now, all cool and distant, like he's casually asking you to grab him a coffee. Declan forces a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. Just once, stiff. With one final glance, he slips out of sight, laughter and clinking glasses and whumping music replacing Declan in the room before the door clicks closed behind him. And almost immediately, you feel irrelevant and unsure of what to do next. At least, you think it best to let a few minutes pass before you leave the library, so you shuffle over to the large mirror hanging above the fireplace to take in your dishevelled form. You look utterly wrecked, all puffy lips and smudged mascara. All at the hands of Declan O’Hara.

Oh, God, you think, doing your best to wipe away the fallout of the last twenty minutes from your face. What have we done?

When you’re satisfied that you don’t look like…well, like your boss just plied an orgasm from you, you trace Declan’s footsteps and step back into the party, hoping to go unnoticed by the sparse guests mingling around you. Just when you think you’ve escaped unscathed, you catch Rupert’s eye at the end of the hallway — sharp, knowing. He tilts his glass of champagne towards you, slight smirk with the quiet gesture. It’s not a greeting, but an acknowledgement, and you wonder if he saw Declan leave the library, too.

If you got this far, thank you for reading!!!! Let me know in the comments what you think, and what you predict might happen next?!

Previous chapters: Chapter 1: The Interview, Chapter 2: Beneath The Surface, Chapter 3: Driving Miss Crazy

#declan o’hara #declan o’hara imagine #declan o’hara smut #declan o’hara x you #rivals smut #declan o’hara x female #best friends dad!declan o’hara #boss!declan o’hara #declan o’hara x assistant!reader #declan o’hara x reader #declan o'hara #rivals imagine #rivals fan fic #rivals fanfiction #declan o'hara fanfiction #sexy jealous declan #filthy filthy irishman #aidan turner

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doodlenoodleboi · 2 days ago

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Senku l. (before & after the stone)

Headcanons, sfw,nsfw, suggestive…

Author’s note: Senku is a fictional character he is canonically 15-16 in the beginning of the series and 17-18 by season 3 not taking account for the manga which he is older. If in the future I make works on characters you deem unfitting for the roll of nsfw fiction or suggestive works of while aged up feel free to block me! Also a reminder that this is a fictional character, made up of lines/pixels. Do not waste your time writing petty hate comments which I will remove and are a waste of your life which you will not get back. I choose to be delusional about fictional characters for my own satisfaction, good day!

Word count: a lot

Before the stone

Sfw

Senku is a bit more less responsible before the stone as he is allowed to act like a kid. He often spends his time in the school lab or at home and can be seen with is small group of friends. (Taiju Oki and Yuzuriha Ogawa.)

Love and romantic relationships are something Senku has found himself uninterested in his teenage years. Dedicating himself to his craft and love for science.

You can take science away from the man but not the science from the man. (You really can’t do either)

Senku has found people conventionally attractive to a specific statistical standard but not to him personally and probably won’t ever given he doesn’t have a common attraction to physical attributes.

Though through statistics he can still find someone who he would be generally attracted to physically. Someone with glasses, makes their interests obvious ex: paint on body all the time, a lab coat or constantly wearing something of their special interest would be people he gravitates towards.

(As someone who is neurodivergent in the worst ways I think half the cast is autistic or a Shokunin if you will a person deeply dedicated to their craft.) So someone as such will attract Senku not romantically of course but they will be bound to cross paths.

There are a multitude of ways you could meet you might never meet but to keep it simple I’m going to give you a multitude of possibilities to have rot in your head.

Being apart of the school’s science club is one way always spending time with him constantly in the science room after school.

Being a dumbass needed tutoring friends with one of his friends but not with Senku directly, or competing for higher grades, a good enemies to lovers. Maybe you’re even apart of the school’s science club making you and Senku acquaintances if anything.

Senku doesn’t back down from competition when it comes to brains but quickly when it comes to fights. Being rivals to Senku is a good asset in the stone world getting you to be one of the first few people to be revived truly testing if you’re book smart (can do it in theory on paper in school) and street smart (do it for real and faster than the time given in school).

Senku was hesitant more than he ever has been getting in a relationship with you. Being shy was simply not an option for him, he thought it was a waste of time often making him coming off as stiff and blunt.

A relationship of romantic interest with Senku will never be said nor be official. He will never say he loves you or that he likes you even give he believes actions speak louder than words. If you give him time you will see through subtle ways that he is attracted to you.

He will ask you about things that don’t matter much: like should I choose this or that color the small things…

He’ll allow you to touch his hair if your one for pda, he won’t reciprocated often at most leaning into the touch out of pure comfort. He won’t push you off understanding that this is a love language (that did take him a while to understand.)

Senku’s love language is quality time and gift giving. This is more often seen in the stone world but it expressed as well before hand even more so if you’re a science nerd along with him.

He’ll be willing to conduct experiments with you along with share materials with you which is a rare thing for him being an only child never having to share much of anything.

I believe that Senku is aroace or at the very least ace. He can still have platonic love and relationships but isn’t fond of romantic ones being in a romantic relationship from his perspective is his treating you like a best friend practically treating you like a mixture between yuzuriha and Kohaku.

Suggestive

Anything remotely romantic would have to be initiated by you and 9/10 you’re going to either get pushed off. Or he just sits there waiting for you to get over with it. Something like the (kohaku kissing Senku scene in season 3)

For your sake he has experimented once or twice before with make out sessions or kissing to get you to do something (like get you to do an experiment with him.) any kind of physical touch from him romantic wise once again if not initiated by you.

He’s a responsible enough person to know better than to have sexual intercourse at his age nor is he interested enough to risk it not that questions about it don’t cross his mind but we’ll explore those much later down the line.

Though he’s more likely to tease you occasionally and lean his arm atop your head if you’re short. Expect this more often if you have curly hair

If you have 4c or curly hair in general he will be near you more often especially if you’re a foreigner. Have issues finding hair products for your hair type in Japan? He got you give him a couple strands of your hair next thing you know he has a whole list of products for your hair and product sample packets surrounding him.

Nsfw

Sorry there is none Senku was not interested in sexual acts before the stone nor very much after.

Though he will ask you a lot of “inappropriate questions” but i promise you he’s just genuinely curious. And he’s not trying to infer anything he promises.

After the stone

As I said Senku’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. This becomes more apparent in the stone world. If you had something you held close best believe he will try his best to make it for you. If you’re an artist he’s make brushes and paint etc…

He’s a bit kinder and softer after the stone. People he has known longer therefore care for more he unconsciously takes them on more missions with him around or in a safe space.

If he knew you before the stone you’re likely to be one of the first people out of stone. Though if not you are an important asset and he sees you for your skills and talents so be grateful for that.

If you’re a creative type expect to be paired with Yuzuriha often. A martial artist or athlete expect Kohaku and Taiju.

What Senku appreciate most is people interested in his work, he loves experimenting and explaining his process even to those a who don’t understand so please entertain him for a while if you expect at friendship let alone a romantic relationship.

People who are aroace can have relationships but they can often be on sided in the romance department. It’s not that they don’t love platonically you they just don’t know how to react to that romantically or don’t want romance.(yall can choose if Senku is aroace or not) As long as you’re ok with that your relationship with Senku will be fine. (I’ll just write him as dense to love for yall though.)

Senku if he does love you will occasionally indulge in your romantic behavior and take this a complent if it was a last resort he wouldn't be against procreating with you. (it took him a lot to admit that so you better take it.)

Romantic relationships are often seen as an inconvenience given he doesn't see the need for them and doesn't think he could would be the best fit for something like that.

He true for the most part but he is able to be in a romantic relationship. It may not be as romantic as a you like but if he has an interest in you he will unconsciously do these things. Don't expect any hand-holding and kissing though.

The only way you could get him to hold your hand is for technical reasons like you not getting lost.

Suggestive

I do agree with the fact that Senku would experiment on his significant other and I think this would be more common before the stone but in small ways.

An unexpected romantic act to see how you respond.

He will use this advantage if gen tells him you like him or something for free labor but we won’t abuse it he’s not that mean.

The only way I could see a “relationship forming” Is Senku using you for labor and “paying you” with physical touch. Kisses, hugs and stuff, he likes you platonically but as time goes on he starts experimenting with you first it’s his far will you go for each type of affection. Then it’s soon how will you react to this or that. He says it’s not you that he loves but the reaction you make like a chemical reaction in your mind. Knowing his autistic ass it might be true but the way he acts makes you unsure.

Or maybe finding a girl smarter than him would rial him up he might see you as arrival at first. You guys could be partners, he swears he doesn’t love you, but the science you create the knowledge you know, that wrinkly brain of yours.

He tends to have a love for things rather than people in a way he loves science and the things people are good at their talents but maybe not themselves, he swears but he does establish relationships with characters like Gen and Chrome as friends so I’m sure he can establish a romantic relationship if we take this route.

Then I could actually get into how Senku would “experiment” with his “friend” this would create an friends with benefits kinda situation but it’s not like Senku sees it like that he just doesn’t have time for labels and probably wouldn’t care about it. Just don’t call him pet names because he doesn’t like it. The relationship would be private so the villagers don’t make a fuss, for as far was that would last with Gen around.

NSFW - ish

Let’s talk about Senku’s experiments

Of course you consented to this but you might know what your getting into 100%

It’s basically just a very handsy check up while he asks you questions you may or may not be able to answer.

Ex: “Are your breast sensitive? There is a high concentration of nerve endings present in that area, making them one of the most sensitive parts of the body. While he’s over here playing with them in every way imaginable. He’s going to continue to do this for every inch of your body and take an analysis writing how painful each part is and or sensitive.

So I’ll let you guys imagine that

Thank you for reading!!

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 3 days ago

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True Vampire

Astarion x Y/N - Drabble - 642 WC

Masterlist

Warnings: fluff, cute little fic

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“If I just had a little blood…” you heard Astarion mumbling to himself.

You stuck your arm out to him as you walked up to his tent. He raised an eyebrow, looking at you with confusion.

“Drink” you said, looking at your wrist once more.

Astarion kept his eyes on you as he sank his fangs in, noting how you didn’t even wince. He drank for a while before finally pulling back.

“Are you alright?” he asked, expecting you to be woozy.

“I’m fine.” you smiled.

“Why does your blood taste like that?” he asked as you turned to walk away.

“Like what?” you asked.

“Honey.” he said. This wasn’t his typical flirting, you could see he was being genuine.

You smiled brightly at him exposing the fangs you had kept from everyone at camp. You had all gotten this far, what's one more vampire?

“You’re a vampire spawn?” he said, sounding completely baffled.

“Please, spawn wish they were as cool as me.” you smiled with a slight bow.

“Not a spawn? How old are you?” his face was rather amusing, covered with confusion and disbelief. It was the first time you had seen him look so shocked.

“Older than you.” you said, enjoying watching his brain stutter at the new information.

“Right… how long have you been a full vampire?” he asked.

“A while.” you said.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are breathtakingly vague?” he quipped at you.

“Breathtaking? Yes. Vague? Only when it suits me.” you smiled.

“I hate you.” he sighed grumpily.

“You hate that I can best you,” you corrected. “But I’ll be merciful just because you’re so cute all confused. I’m 327 years old. I’m not a spawn. I became a full vampire immediately after I was turned.” you answered all his questions. Planting your hands on your hips you waited for more to flow out of him.

“Immediately? How?” he asked, his eyes full of shock.

“Unlike most I know how shitty most vampires are. I pledged allegiance to him before he turned me, then ripped his throat out as soon as he did. I’m no ones to command but my own.” you said. You watched his face fall a little at the end, reminding him of his own enslavement. “And soon,” you interjected, “you will be just as free, and just as full a vampire.” you cautiously reached out to hold his face in your hands. You saw his features relax for the first time in ages, possibly since you started traveling together. He was always thinking about something.

“If… I become a full vampire.” he mumbled.

“When.” you said sternly, “There is no other way. I will ensure it, I promise.”

“You’ve never met a vampire like Cazador, he is ruthless…”

“You’re saying this to the person who ripped out the throat of their maker. We are twice as ruthless as Cazador could ever hope to be.” you smiled at him reassuringly as you thumbed over his cheek bones. His red eyes were big and soft and for a moment, he put his hope in you and your promise. “Plus, you’ll need me afterwards.” you said.

“Excuse me?” he said with disdain but also amusement.

“Who else is going to teach you how to become a bat or how to spider walk?” you asked genuinely, thinking back to how long it took you to learn how to do all that a vampire can do. “That's the thing about being a vampire, Astarion, it takes a really long time to learn how to do all the cool shit.”

“I’m sure I can adapt quite well, thank you.” he said in his typical posh voice, the vulnerable moment dissipating behind his wall that you broke down momentarily.

“Of course darling.” you said with a chuckle, licking up the dribble of blood on your hand.

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Naboo's Note:

Still alive!! Life really beat the shit out of me for a hot minute but I'm trying to get back to it, thanks for sticking with me ya'll. XOXOXOXOX

#writing #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #astarion

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gretagerwigsmuse · 21 hours ago

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“Now, this is more like it!” You gasp, beelining for the wall to look at them. Postcards of sandy beaches, snowy mountains, and everything in between. Pictures of a younger and current Bradley with whom you assumed were his fellow Navy buddies, smiling wide for the camera like he’s having the time of his life. A few more older photos of a woman and a man who looks just like Bradley with a kid who you assumed was Bradley. - this is SO cute! it really fits bradley too because this is something that he can easily move around with him, but still means so much in such a perfect way

She found out he’d been seeing another girl behind her back the whole time, kicked his ass to the curb, tipped Bradley off on the open spot in the complex, and Bradley swooped in to nab the place before the cheating son of a bitch could even blink. - why is this something i would do (i’ve done this to a lesser extent oops)

“And what do you think of me now?” He asks softly, settling his chin in the palm of his hand as he meets your gaze intently. There go your nerves again, swirling in the pit of your stomach like a whirlpool threatening to suck you in. - CHIN IN HIS PALM BIG COW EYES LOOKING BACK AT YOU 🥰

“I like that.” I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t. - AHHHH BRADLEY 🤭 PLS

A broken thermostat meant going downtown for dinner and drinks at some new restaurant “just to try it out”, a leaky sink resulted in him guilting you into a Mission: Impossible marathon. - i like that they use the repairs in her apartment as an excuse to hang out, it’s so perfect

You give yourself a quick once over in your phone camera, smoothing down any flyaway hairs before hitting the answer call button. - so real, so me. but also him facetiming EVEN WHILE DEPLOYED!?!

Pretty. Bradley thinks you’re pretty. - this was SO CUTE AHHH

First he calls you pretty, now he’s calling you sweetheart. He’s getting bolder. You aren’t sure if that means he feels the same way about you, or if it’s just his personality. - girl bffr (i would think the same thing tho so i can’t really talk hehe)

“Five bucks it’s his girl from back home,” Payback chimes in, smirking knowingly. - HIS GIRL 🤭

You aren’t sure if you should hug him but you do anyway, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in his achingly familiar cologne. - i LOVE a hug like this

“Yeah. Thought maybe it’d be fun if I send you one of these every time I’m deployed and you could start your own wall. That way whenever I’m gone and you miss me, it’ll—I dunno…remind you I’m coming home?” He finishes awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. - STOP IT! this is so cute wow! also i really like how you incorporate bradley’s mannerisms like rubbing the back of his neck, scratching his cheek

“As much as I want to—y’know, and I do, can we just…have a quiet night? I wanna take things slow, make sure everything is perfect.” - he says with lip gloss on his cheeks!! ugh i’m swooning! this ending was very them and i think it’s perfect

sent and delivered

pairing: bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader

summary: after your scheduled coffee date with bradley, your friendship progresses into something more over time. (7k)

part 2 to return to sender

warnings: swearing, some use of Y/N

a/n: hello again my tgm family!! went a little overboard with this, but thank you to my sweet @familyvideostevie, who came up with this beautiful friends to lovers plotline for a part 2 literal ages ago, and the lovely @starryeyedstories for putting me in my rooster feels again <3

You shouldn’t be so nervous for coffee with Bradley as you are right now. You’ve already changed your outfit at least twice, sifted through your pantry for a suitable accompaniment to coffee so many times you’ve lost count, and as the clock ticks its way to noon, genuinely debated on making an excuse to bail.

A few careful deep breaths clears your mind a little, reminds you that no, you aren’t going to bail on Bradley. You’re going to see this thing through if it’s the last thing you ever do, fight or flight response be damned.

You’re a jumble of nerves as you finally make your way over to his apartment, just like the first time you met him.

Only this time it isn’t because you were afraid he was an asshole (you know now that he was the in fact opposite), but because your crush on him has grown tenfold just overnight.

See, you’d spent a good chunk of the time you were meant to be asleep last night on the phone chatting with him about anything and everything, never a lull in the conversation until the sun started to peek through the curtains and the birds began their daily morning song.

He’d sounded sad when you announced you had to grab a few hours of shut eye, but murmured a soft see you later that had your heart thudding a little faster in your chest.

Maybe you even buried your face in a pillow and squealed a little the moment you hung up, but he doesn’t need to know that.

You knock on his door firmly, shifting the package of Oreos from hand to hand nervously as you wait.

The door swings open to reveal a smiling Bradley, and suddenly all your worries seem to fade away.

He’s wearing jeans and a well-fitting Hawaiian shirt this time, which would’ve looked tacky as hell on anyone else, but Bradley found a way to pull it off. He still looks way too damn good for someone who’d been up the whole night.

“Hey!” He exclaims, beckoning you inside with a smile. You mirror his smile, but before you can return his greeting, he brings you into a hug. He smells of fresh laundry and sea breeze and something heady that you can’t quite put your finger on but like nonetheless. “Long time no talk.”

You let out a huff of amusement. “Right, because seven hours is just such a long time.”

“Sure felt like forever,” He replies, reaching around you to shut the door. His arm grazes against the small of your back as he does, a fleeting touch that still manages to make you shiver. Maybe Bradley notices, because he lets his hand linger for another second, expression shifting into something softer as he eases the cookies out of your hands. “This for me?”

“Uh, yeah! I hope you like Oreos, ‘cause it’s really all I had,” You say sheepishly, folding your arms around yourself in an awkward attempt to seem normal.

“I love Oreos. Thank you.” He bobs his head quickly. “Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourself at home.”

Bradley’s apartment has the same layout as yours, but other than that it looks like a completely different place.

While you’d decorated your space with all sorts of odds and ends, posters and paintings and a plethora of knick knacks adorning your shelves, Bradley’s is…kind of empty, save for a few sports posters and some workout gear scattered in the hallway leading to the bedroom. A piano sits over by the window that gives the place some character, but other than that it doesn’t really look like this is anyone’s home.

It’s as if he feels you taking in your surroundings, because he chuckles awkwardly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “It’s plain, I know. Definitely won’t be winning any awards for interior design.”

“Oh, I dunno, the minimalistic look is really in these days,” You hum, shrugging nonchalantly.

“You’re too nice to me. I’m not here a lot of the time, so I haven’t really done the whole ‘making it feel like home’ thing yet. I’ll get to it though.” He admits, kicking aside a lone pair of shorts. “Anyways, uh—forget this, why don’t we keep moving on into the kitchen?”

The kitchen is much more interesting than the rest of the apartment, mainly the wall of postcards and photos next to the fridge that catch your eye immediately.

You feel Bradley’s presence come up behind you, hear him inhale a sharp breath. “Those are my parents.”

“You look just like your dad.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says.”

“And your mom is beautiful.”

“She was.” You know better than to pry any further than that. One day, maybe, but not any time soon. He sniffs once, then clears his throat. “You, um, you want some coffee?”

You leave the wall to come settle on one of the barstools across the counter from him, propping your chin up in your hand as he pulls open a cabinet. “Ah, the infamous coffee maker! Damn that thing is huge.”

“Don’t come for me, but I’ve still only figured out how to make one thing,” He warns, pointing at you with a mug. “Hope you like black coffee, ‘cuz that’s all you’re getting.”

“Black coffee is perfect.”

“I have milk if you take yours with some. Only almond milk though. Supposed to be better for the bones, according to Hangman.” Bradley nods his head towards the fridge. “S’in there if you need it, help yourself.”

“First the machine, now the milk—this Hangman must be a trustworthy guy if you take all your coffee tips from him.”

Bradley laughs, a loud belly laugh that sends a tumbling feeling through your chest. “Dude’s a total knucklehead, but he means well. I think you’d like him.”

“What’s that thing they say about a person’s friends being a reflection of themselves?” You muse teasingly, tilting your head.

“I know you didn’t just call me a knucklehead!”

“Your words, not mine.” You lift one shoulder, letting it drop with a look of feigned innocence.

“Funny.”

As always, conversation with Bradley is never dull. Even though you’d talked for hours on end the night before, there is no shortage of stories to be told, life stories shared over coffee and Oreos like you’ve known each other forever.

Somehow you wind up here, talking about how you both ended up in the same apartment complex. You’d found this place on your own and were immediately sold on it. It was affordable, not too small but not too big, and quiet enough for you. Seemed like a perfect deal had fallen right into your lap.

Bradley, on the other hand, had found it a completely different way. His friend Nat had been going out with a total douchebag of a guy who just so happened to be looking for a place at the same time Bradley had been, sharing his apartment hunt findings with her.

“You did not!” You gasp, covering your mouth with your palm in shock.

“I did!” Bradley laughs, nodding enthusiastically. “Never liked the guy anyways. And what was he gonna do, confront me about it? Dude was a total coward, he wasn’t gonna come accuse me of jack shit!”

“You’re smart, Bradshaw, I’ll give you that.”

“Apparently not smart enough to know that my mail was being sent to the wrong apartment for months. Again, I’m really sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t a big deal, I keep telling you that,” You insist, shaking your head. “I didn’t mind, really.”

“How come you didn’t tell me earlier?”

“Honestly? I thought you were kinda scary,” You admit sheepishly, ducking your head in embarrassment.

It feels silly even admitting it, knowing now who Bradley actually is doesn’t fit your perception of him by a long shot. But at the same time, admitting it feels somewhat freeing, like you’re letting go of someone you never knew to make way for someone you’d really love to get to know more.

Bradley’s eyes widens, mouth falling open just the slightest bit in shock. “Scary? Me?”

“Yes, you! I dunno if you’ve seen yourself from another person’s eyes, but you look intimidating! You’ve got that whole big tough guy look going on, and I’m not great with confrontation.”

You inhale a deep breath, letting it come back out as a sort of breathy chuckle. “I think you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Anything I could do to sway the odds in my favor?”

Your mouth is suddenly drier than a desert despite all the liquid you’ve been downing, palms clammy against the ceramic of the mug clutched in your grasp.

You aren’t ready to answer that question, even though you already have an inkling of the things he could do. So you do the only thing you could think of to get yourself out of this situation. You change the subject.

“I…um—I really loved the chandelier when I took a walk through of the place,” You blurt, jerking your chin over at the sleek fixture above the dining area to draw Bradley’s attention to it. “Really brings the whole place together. Or, it would if mine would stop flickering all the damn time.”

His face falls just the tiniest bit at the sudden change of subject, but his features twist in curiosity within a split second. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, yours doesn’t?”

“No, mine’s been fine since I moved in. Have you tried taking a look at it, see what’s wrong?”

You offer him a sheepish smile, bashful now. “This is really embarrassing, but I’m—I’m kind of scared that it’s gonna fall on me if I mess with it. Y’know, revenge of the light fixtures and all that?” Bradley’s mouth lifts at the edges, and you could tell he’s fighting another smile. “Don’t laugh at me! It’s a legitimate concern!”

“Not laughing!” He clears his throat, giving his head a little shake to keep his composure. But even then, there’s no mistaking the amusement in his eyes. “Chandeliers are very scary.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have said anything,” You groan, hanging your head. Bradley’s soft chuckle brings a flaming warmth to your cheeks.

“I could…take a look at it, if you want?”

Your head whips up to stare at him. “Right now?”

“Today, yeah. If you’re free after this, I mean.” He shrugs, giving the spoon in his cup a few stirs.

“For real?”

“I have tools. I’ll take a look, see if it’s an easy fix and if not, we can call maintenance.”

“You’re walking a slippery slope, Bradley Bradshaw. If you can get the chandelier working again there’s no guarantee I won’t be calling you for every other household problem in the future.”

“No complaints here.”

After you’ve both finished your coffee, Bradley grabs his toolbox from under the stairs, and now you’re both standing in the entryway of your own apartment. You feel him taking in your space the same way you did his, your cheeks flaming hot at the clutter of things all around.

“It’s usually a lot tidier than this, I swear. I’ve just had a lot of deadlines at work and I haven’t gotten the chance to put everything back in its place.”

Bradley just smiles, giving a noncommittal shrug. “S’no big deal. I like it.” Everything he got from spending more time with you, he could see it reflected in your space. And as cliche as it sounded, he felt more at home here than he did in his own apartment.

He sets his toolbox down, grabbing a set of pliers and hopping up on the table with ease to poke around the chandelier for a while before fiddling with something.

He climbs back down, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans and tossing the tool back into the box, planting his hands on his hips. “Looks like one of the wires was just a little loose. The bad connection caused it to flicker, but I tightened it a bit so it should be fine now. Maybe try it and see?”

You hurry over to the light switch, flicking it on hopefully. Normally it would start to flicker immediately, but when ten seconds go by and the light shines bright, you beam. “So you’re an electrician too, huh?”

“Hardly. One of my buddies is though. Sometimes he needs an extra set of hands so I tag along with him, see what I can learn.”

“Well either way, you’re a godsend!”

“Just glad I could help.”

“Let me cook you dinner! I have—” You exclaim, shuffling over to the fridge and pulling it open only to be met with nearly bare shelves, save for a few containers of old fruit and condiments. “—nothing. I have nothing, because I was supposed to go to the store yesterday. Well, this is embarrassing!”

Bradley had followed you to the kitchen, sliding onto one of the barstools coolly. “No, this is all very reassuring, ‘cause I’ve been meaning to go shopping too but I keep putting it off. Glad to see I’m not the only one with poor weekly grocery trip skills.”

“I’m sure that was meant to be reassuring, but it really just makes us both sound sad,” You groan, slumping over onto your own stool.

“Your words, not mine,” Bradley chuckles, echoing your earlier words with a cheery smile.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Okay, I can fix this!” You exclaim, holding up a finger as you open UberEats on your phone. “We could do Thai, burgers, pizza—”

“You don’t have to buy me dinner, really, I’m just happy I could help.”

“You can say no all you want, Bradley, it doesn’t really matter to me. You’re staying for dinner, and we can either compromise and get something we both want, or I’ll order something you hate,” You insist, trying to sound as firm as you could.

“You don’t give up easily, do you?”

You grin at him, eyes alight with mischief. “No, I don’t.”

“I like that.” I like you, he wants to say. He doesn’t.

“What’ll it be then?”

“I wouldn’t say no to some pizza. Got a six pack back in my fridge I could bring over too, if you want.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Of beer, that is,” He adds. “No relation to my giant package.”

“Oh, you asshole! You swore you’d never bring that up again!” You huff, leaning over to swat at him. Bradley dodges you easily, an easy smile playing at his lips.

“Okay, okay! I won’t say anything else about it, I promise.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah I’m totally lying.”

-------

And so it began, a saga of texting Bradley to see if the things in his apartment were as defective as yours, him coming over to help fix various things, and you scrambling to show your utmost appreciation for his help.

A broken thermostat meant going downtown for dinner and drinks at some new restaurant “just to try it out”, a leaky sink resulted in him guilting you into a Mission: Impossible marathon (and a whole lot of insisting the main character looked exactly like one of his Navy higher ups).

That soon turned into you and Bradley spending more and more time at each other’s places, doing fuck all but enjoying each other’s friendship. And over time, that friendship grew a bit more-than-friends-like—he’d always flirt with you, you’d flirt right back—but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it.

Lingering glances, brushing hands that lasted a little too long to be innocent, inside jokes only the two of you were privy to. You’re almost positive he feels the same way about you as you do him, but every time you want to act on it, you chicken out. You've never been one for putting yourself out there, and that hasn’t changed.

You’re about to turn in for the night today, going to close the window in your bedroom only to realize that the lock on the frame isn’t sliding into place the way it usually did.

After jiggling it a few times to see if it would prove a quick fix and finding that it most certainly doesn’t fix a thing, you reach for your phone, instinctively sending off a quick message to Bradley without even really having to think about it.

y/n: quick question! what should i do if my window won’t lock?

Not five minutes after you hit send, your phone buzzes, Bradley’s name flashing across the screen for a video call.

It’s odd, because usually when you text about something in your apartment not working the way it's supposed to, he just shoots back a message saying he’ll be right over. It’s nighttime, so you were honestly kind of looking forward to seeing him in his grey sweats and bicep hugging black tee combo.

You give yourself a quick once over in your phone camera, smoothing down any flyaway hairs before hitting the answer call button. There’s a few beats of nothing as the call connects, but he’s on your screen soon enough, somewhere you don’t recognize and half-shrouded in the dark like he’s under something.

“Something’s wrong with your window?” He asks, brow creased in concern.

“Hi to you too, Bradley.”

“Sorry, hi. But your window, is the lock broken?”

“I think so? Usually when I go to turn the plastic lock thingy it clicks into place, but I tried it like four times and it’s not clicking, so…” You trail off, pouting. “D’you—I mean, are you busy right now? Would you mind popping over to take a look?”

“Shit, I’m sorry, I’m actually not home right now. Won’t be for another few weeks.” Bradley frowns, scratching at his cheek. “I’m overseas.”

“Oh my god, Bradley! I’m so sorry, I didn’t know!”

“No, you’re good! If I was home, I’d be over in a heartbeat, but uh, unfortunately,” He sighs, gesturing vaguely at his surroundings. “Here, flip the camera. Lemme see if I can see what’s wrong from here.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, gnawing on your lip. It seems wrong, still having Bradley be your on-call maintenance guy even when he’s somewhere probably a thousand miles away. But he nods enthusiastically so you oblige, flipping the camera so it’s facing the seemingly broken lock.

You watch him blink a few times and squint at the fuzzy video screen for a little bit before sighing again.

“Sorry, Y/N. I can’t see shit from here.”

“Yeah no, it’s fine.” You shrug, flipping the camera back to face you. You prop your phone up on your windowsill, settling into a more comfortable position to chat with him. “Where overseas are you?”

“Afraid that’s classified, ma’am.” He bows his head in apology, but there was a teasing smile on his face. “See, I could tell you. But then I’d have to kill you.”

You let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, really?”

“Unfortunately. And you’re too pretty to meet that end, so I’m gonna have to keep my whereabouts a secret to save us both the hassle.”

Pretty. Bradley thinks you’re pretty.

You have to fight the smile threatening to break your composure. “How gracious of you.”

“Isn’t it? I surprise myself sometimes,” He sighs good-naturedly, looking all too pleased with himself. “But seriously, talk to the super about your window, have them get the maintenance guy to take a look. Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep til it gets fixed.”

“Aw, you worried about me, Bradley?” You tease, pouting playfully at him.

He rolls his eyes. “You know I am.”

“I’ll call the super tomorrow.”

“Not today?”

“I’ll let you know if someone breaks in through my third floor window.”

“Hey, you never know! People are stealthy,” Bradley protests, shifting to a sitting position and subsequently hitting his head on the bunk above him. He lets out a hiss of pain, rubbing the top of his head with a grimace.

“Some people are, but you’re definitely not,” You snicker, to which Bradley gives you another eye roll. “Are you about to go to bed?”

“I was gonna, but I’d much rather talk to you.”

That nearly makes you swoon. God, Bradley is good with his words. Damn him.

“Go to sleep, I’ll let you know when it’s fixed. Wouldn’t want you worrying your pretty little head about me all night.”

“Pretty little head,” He echos, tilting said pretty little head to the side.

“It’s, uh, it’s just a figure of speech,” You insist, feeling your cheeks grow embarrassingly warm. Funny how they always do that whenever you’re talking to him. Or thinking about him. Or thinking about talking to him.

Bradley just smiles again. “Sure is.”

“Goodnight, Bradley.”

“Night, sweetheart. I’m expecting that text to be there when I wake up.” He hangs up before you can register the nickname, but you can’t stop the giddy grin breaking across your face when you do.

First he calls you pretty, now he’s calling you sweetheart. He’s getting bolder. You aren’t sure if that means he feels the same way about you, or if it’s just his personality. Even after you’d known him for almost six months, you still can’t tell.

-------

Bradley rouses from his sleep at five on the dot, throwing himself into his Navy enforced routine until lunchtime, when he could finally sit down and check his phone. Upon powering it back on and glancing at the homescreen, he sees that he has two notifications from you. One of them is a selfie of you beaming next to your newly fixed latched window, sending him a thumbs up.

Shit, you’re so pretty. It makes his heart ache to be away from home this time, not able to help you when you need it.

The other is a text to accompany the photo.

y/n: window is fixed. hope you sleep well tonight knowing no stealthy people are gonna break in :)

He snorts softly, a smile overtaking his face as he taps out a reply.

bradley: i won’t worry my pretty little head about it anymore.

y/n: you better not be texting me from the jet!!

bradley: and so what if i was? i’d call it multitasking.

y/n: i’d call it damn stupid, lieutenant. can’t have my handyman ditching me, so come home in one piece, k?

“Now who in the world could you be texting that’s got you cheesin’ like a big ol’ idiot right now?” Hangman’s voice drawls from across the table, drawing Bradley’s attention away from his phone and to the rest of the squad, who all look at him with the same expectant expressions.

“Five bucks it’s his girl from back home,” Payback chimes in, smirking knowingly.

“I’ll take that action, please and thank you,” Fanboy replies, smacking his hand into Payback’s for a shake to seal the deal.

“She’s not my—have you guys been creeping on my texts?”

“Well, not creeping per se,” Phoenix reasons, holding her hands up in defense. “I was only trying to send myself that picture of Bob sleeping with that marker mustache when she texted.”

Bob makes an incredulous noise, head whipping towards his front seater. “You guys said there were no pictures!”

“Nothing, nevermind,” She hums, waving him off. “Back to the subject at hand. Y/N. Rooster’s girl.”

“How d’you know her—hold on, how the fuck did you get into my phone?”

“Your password is your birthday, dumbass. You should really change it, by the way. Cybersecurity is no joke.”

“Whatever. She’s not my girl, by the way. If any of you cared to know. We’re just…friends.”

“See that hesitation between just and friends? Bradshaw’s a liar!” Hangman whoops, drumming his fingers on the table. “He wants to be her boyfriend!” That last word comes out a teasing singsong, making Bradley roll his eyes. He’s right, of course, but he doesn’t need everyone knowing that.

“Real mature, Hangman. Real mature.”

“Can’t argue with the truth, Rooster.”

-------

You soon discover that life is pretty boring without Bradley around. There’s nobody to bother when you get bored, nobody to make dumb jokes while you watch a movie, nobody to force you to go out even though you don’t want to. Bradley was always the one to do all those things with you, and he isn’t here. Sure, you’re still able to text and talk, but it isn’t the same. You miss him.

So when your doorbell rings and you aren’t expecting anyone, your mind immediately goes to Bradley. You quickly give yourself a once over in the mirror in the foyer, making sure you look at least halfway presentable before pulling open the door excitedly.

Bradley’s already beaming when your eyes land on him, but his smile gets even wider as he takes you in. He looks the same as the last time you saw him, although definitely better than he did on a grainy video screen. He’s a little tanner than you remember, shoulders a smidge broader, but still the same Bradley you’d grown some big feelings for.

“Remember me?” He jokes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

You give him a once over with a tilted head, frowning. “Sorry, no. I think you might have the wrong apartment.”

“Oh, she’s funny now!”

“Okay, ouch. I’ve always been funny, Bradshaw,” You huff, but the smile stretching your lips tells him you’re anything but annoyed. “Welcome home.”

You aren’t sure if you should hug him but you do anyway, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in his achingly familiar cologne. Bradley settles into your embrace almost like he’s melting, letting his nose drop into the dip of your neck as he hugs you back a little too tightly. Not that you’re complaining about it.

“Glad to be back. Missed you.” He straightens up as soon as those last two words leave his mouth, backing away almost jerkily with a hand flying to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

“I missed you too, Bradley.”

The edges of his mouth quirk up into the beginnings of a smile. “So me and my buddies were gonna head to our usual spot for drinks tonight, kinda like a being back stateside, welcome home type thing. I’d really like it if you came with me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t.” You shake your head profusely, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. Bradley’s head cocks in confusion. “It’s your time with your friends, I don’t want to impose.”

“You won’t be. I want you there, I want you to meet them all,” He insists, looking entirely sincere.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Come with me, please.”

You gnaw a little on your lip in contemplation, only managing to hold out a few seconds under his intense gaze before giving a small defeated sigh. “Okay. I’ll join you.”

“Great!” He beams, looking rather pleased. “Now tell me everything that happened while I was gone. And spare no detail either, I need to catch up on the complex gossip. Did that kid Andrew ever stop banging on his drums until three in the morning? Does that family across the parking lot still go on walks with their wailing baby or has that sucker settled down yet? I need to know.”

After bringing Bradley up to speed on everything, it’s time to meet his friends.

Rowdy isn’t sufficient enough to describe the Hard Deck. A Navy joint through and through, the whole place is decked out floor to ceiling with model jets and patches and other various related memorabilia.

The group Bradley leads you towards seems to be the loudest of them all, scattered out around a pool table in the back corner chatting amongst each other and looking happy to be home.

The first person to notice Bradley’s arrival is a dark haired woman with a pool cue in her hand, which she swings his way upon sight of him coming up next to her, nearly taking off his head had he not stepped back a little. “Bradshaw! Tell Bagman he’s insane if he thinks he can chug a beer in under five seconds, tell him that!”

“No, you tell Phoenix that I can do whatever I—well, hello there,” The blond man—Bagman, you assume—stops mid sentence when he lays eyes on you, dropping the offended look and aiming a pearly white smile your way. “And who might you be?”

“Not gonna happen, Hangman,” Bradley warns. He looks entirely serious about it too.

“Oh, so you’re the Hangman this guy always talks about,” You lilt, ignoring the gentle shove Bradley gives you in return.

“Aw, Roo, you talk about me?” Hangman drawls, grinning wildly. “Way to make a man blush!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t flatter yourself.” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully, giving his head a shake before introducing you to his friends. Each of them has a unique callsign that seems to fit them perfectly. Your favorite name is Coyote because of how cool it is, but you’d never let Bradley know that.

The woman Hangman had been bickering with, Phoenix, inhales a sharp breath, her eyes bouncing between you and Bradley with barely contained glee. “Oh my god, you’re Rooster’s girl! He’s been—”

Bradley clamps a hand on Phoenix’s shoulder before she can continue, cutting her short. “Alright!” He blurts, giving her a quick few pats. He angles his head towards you, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry about her, she’s drunk. Doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Move the hand or you’ll lose it, Bradshaw,” She says slowly, pinning him to the spot with a death stare. Bradley retracts his hand instantly, looking intimidated as he does so and Phoenix aims a grin your way. “He’s well trained, I promise. I think maybe you’ve had something to do with that?”

“I dunno about training, but I’ve taught him a few tricks.”

“What am I, a dog?” Bradley splutters, looking from your grin to Phoenix’s and huffing out a sigh when you both nod. “I feel attacked! This is so unfair.”

“I like you. We need to get you a drink,” Phoenix says very as-a-matter-of-factly, holding up her empty glass towards you as proof. “Any preference?”

“Surprise me?”

“Copy that.”

You watch her retreat over to the bar, casting a quick glance at your surroundings to make sure nobody is paying attention before leaning in towards Bradley, who mirrors your actions almost instantaneously.

“Rooster’s girl?” You chuckle, raising an amused brow. You’d never admit it out loud, but you like the nickname. It meant that he told his friends about you. Maybe not in the way you’d wanted them to learn about your existence, because he’d probably told them you’re just friends, but nice nonetheless.

Bradley goes positively pink in the face. “It’s, uh—s’nothing, my friends just like to mess around.”

“Okay.” You shrug trying to play it cool while simultaneously fighting the urge to squeal like a damn schoolgirl on the inside. You ought to earn some sort of medal for your performance.

You soon fall into easy conversation with Phoenix and her backseater Bob when she returns with drinks. It isn’t until Bradley finally leaves your side to go play a round of pool with some of the other guys that she props her chin up in her hand, smiling knowingly at you.

“So…you and Rooster?”

“What about us?”

“Are you guys…y’know,” She gestures vaguely in the air, tilting her head over at Bradley. “A thing?”

“Oh my god,” Bob mutters, so soft you barely even hear it. He looks mortified at his partner’s very not subtle insinuation. “Nat, you can’t just ask her that.”

“Oh no, it’s okay! We, uh—Bradley and I are just friends.”

Phoenix doesn’t look like she believes you one bit, but she just nods reassuringly. “Well, just friends or not, you’re good for him.” Then she moves onto a new topic like it’s nothing, but her words echoed in your mind.

You cast a glance over at Bradley a little ways away, where he’s chatting idly with another one of his buddies.

You’re good for him.

If anything, Bradley is good for you. He pushes you out of your comfort zone, he helps you come out of your shell. He’s the reason you’ve grown into a new person, one that the old you would never have even dreamed of becoming.

Maybe your attention lingers a little too long, because he tears his eyes away from his conversation partner to meet your gaze, lips curling up into a grin as he nods at you in acknowledgement. Even from across the bar, you can see the soft twinkle in his eyes, the fondness and warmth in his smile causing your heart to swell in your chest.

By the time you and Bradley decide to call it a night and head home, you already have an indefinite invitation to any and every squad function in the future (whether or not Bradley was present, Phoenix had added with a wink).

“So…what did you think of ‘em?”

“I like your friends. They’re nice,” You say earnestly. You mean it.

“Good. I’m glad. They really like you too, Phoenix and Bob especially,” He says casually, flicking on his blinker to turn left. You let out a pleased chuckle at that.

The two of you chat like normal the rest of the way home once you both settle back into your usual back and forth, exchanging more stories from your respective lives until Bradley pulls into his assigned parking space.

“Before I forget, I brought you back something.”

“Oh?” You raise a curious eyebrow.

He reaches over to your side of the car, fumbling around in the glove compartment for a few seconds until he procures what he’s searching for—a small postcard with a photo of a very picturesque beach. The corners are a bit bent from being shoved in there, but Bradley straightens them out as best he can before holding it out to you.

Turning it around in your hands, you spot a note in his familiar chicken scratch on the other side, much tinier than you remember but only because it details how much he hated sharing a tiny bunk with Hangman, who was an avid sleep talker when he wasn’t snoring as loud as humanly possible throughout the entire night.

One thing stands out to you though, the last sentence before he’d signed his name with a rather crooked looking smiley face—I miss you.

“This town was near where we were stationed. I was gonna mail the card, but I wanted this first one to be special.”

“Special?” You echo, tilting your head.

You try your hardest to fight the smile threatening to overtake your face as you study the card intently. It’s very sweet of him, you think, that he wants to share this tradition of his with you.

“Thank you, Bradley,” You say softly. “I love it.”

"I was hoping you would. I'm glad you do."

When he walks you right up to your door, he looks nervous, which isn't like him. You're about to ask him if he's feeling okay, but then he speaks.

“Hey, look, I—um, I’ve had a really good time these past few months, being your friend."

You frown a little. “Uh oh. Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?”

“No! I mean, yes, but also—shit, okay, lemme start over.” Bradley shakes his head as if to clear his mind, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve really enjoyed being your friend, but I don’t wanna be friends anymore.”

Oh.

Your heart may as well have fallen out of your ass at his words. Bradley didn’t want to be friends with you anymore?

You must not have as good of a poker face as you mean to, because he quickly backtracks, eyes wide.

“Fuck, no that’s not what I meant, I—jesus, I meant to say that I don’t want to be just friends anymore,” He blurts, letting his hands drop to his sides. “I really missed you while I was gone. More than I should’ve. And at first I just thought it was because we’re such good friends and because of how much time we’ve spent together lately and that’s why I felt like there was this chunk of me that was missing, but I realized it was more than that. I like you. A lot. So I don’t just want to be your friend anymore, I want to be…more.”

Oh.

Bradley likes you. And you like him right back.

So, you do the only thing you can think of that will show him your feelings towards him.

You lean forward, closing the gap between the two of you and kissing him right here and now.

His palms smooth themselves down your back, fingers splayed across the expanse of it as he kisses you like his life depends on it. His mustache is scratchy, but you don’t mind one bit, not with the way he’s holding you against him, like you’re puzzle pieces slotting perfectly together at last.

You pull away first with a hand against his chest, only slightly, just enough to look him in the eye when you tell him, “I like you a lot too, Bradley.”

“Best news I’ve heard in a while,” Bradley sighs, tipping his head back with a sigh of relief. Then his brows furrow, eyes focusing above your heads. “Your light is out,” He says bluntly, squinting at the darkened bulb. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” You chuckle. “I would’ve changed it, but the damn thing is rusted over, and my handyman has been out of town for a bit.”

Bradley snorts, rolling his eyes playfully. “Hilarious. You got a spare lightbulb? I could change it right now.”

“You could.” Now you’re feeling bold and you run with it, walking your fingers up his chest until they link around the back of his neck. “Or…you could change it tomorrow, after breakfast?”

His brows fly high at that, tongue darting out to wet his lips nervously. “Tomorrow. Like, as in, you want me to stay the night here, and stay for breakfast in the morning?”

“Well, yes. We’ve got some more catching up to do, don’t you think?” You ask innocently, though your insinuation isn’t quite so. Bradley’s inhale hitches in his chest at the silent message and he nods quickly, antsy now as you go to unlock the door.

He’s on you the moment you get the door open, lips glued to yours even as you stumble across the threshold and into the foyer.

“Wait, wait—” Bradley pants, pulling away only slightly. He’s got a hand skimming over bare skin under the hem of your top, mouth shiny with your lipgloss, and he’s telling you to wait. You raise an impatient brow. “As much as I want to—y’know, and I do, can we just…have a quiet night? I wanna take things slow, make sure everything is perfect.”

“Okay,” You say, straightening out the collar of his shirt. You can get behind taking things slow. It takes some of the pressure off you to adjust to this big change. “Wanna find a movie to watch?”

He perks up at that, grinning widely. “Hell yeah! There was some action comedy I wanted to see before I got deployed and I’m pretty sure it’s out on streaming now. Mind if we watch it?”

You won’t tell him just yet since things between you are the newest they’ll ever be, but you’d gladly watch anything with him. Instead, you just nod. “Go for it. Mind if I go change into some comfier clothes really quick?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be here.”

Bradley’s queued up the movie on the TV already by the time you return, setting his phone aside when he hears you come back in.

You’re not quite sure where you should sit, but then he extends a hand out towards you, beckoning you into the cozy space under his arm, and all your questions are answered. It feels like you fit right in when you nestle against him, head falling against his shoulder like its second nature to do so.

“All good?” He asks, giving you a little squeeze and a fond smile.

“Never better.”

There’s no mistaking the happy gleam in his eyes, and you’re sure you have something of the same too.

You think the whole mail mix up situation from a few months ago had been the best mistake to ever happen to you, because it led you to Bradley, who—and you might be a little forward with this thought—might just become one of the best things in your life.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new writing :)

#bradley fic #i loved part one too so this was such a nice surprise

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chil-aglia · 2 days ago

Text

𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Check-up

Didn’t have time to make art for this chapter. So, you get this instead.

Be sure to read the tags on my Ao3 so you guys know what you’re getting yourselves into.

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3 days…it had been 3 days since Giovanni suddenly vanished off the grid. It caused a panic for the others, his brothers have been searching high and low, non-stop.

But they found nothing. Raphael had called in for backup, asking—begging, his human friends to help search for Giovanni. Mikey done the same thing but with Draxum.

It was all too hard to handle, but they couldn’t give up. Not when they had just started getting Giovanni to open up, let him have fun and be…normal. Donnie frantically typed away on his computer, scanning for surveillance footage, and clues for his older brother. He slams his fist in the keyboard, groaning in frustration as he glares at the screen.

A large red ‘X’ seen. No sign of Giovanni.

”Fuck…! Why can’t I find him?!” He hissed at himself, gripping his hands over his head. He was pissed off at himself. Why didn’t he install the tracker into Giovanni when he had so many chances?!

If he had, he would’ve been able to locate his missing brother in a heartbeat. Leo had walked in, hearing the commotion as he narrowed his eyes.

”Donnie you’re going to hurt your hand if you slam it again.”

”I don’t care. Gio is missing a-and I can’t do anything to find him!”

Leo frowns at his twin. He knew Donnie was eating himself up on the inside, staying up late and scanning every camera in the city. It had everyone worry, but they understood.

Leo took a moment to calm himself down, he was trying so hard to not just break down. He was the leader now. So he had to act like it.

”Donnie…we need to narrow down the possibilities of what happened to Gio.”

Leo took note that Raph, and Mikey entered the room as well, along with an exhausted Splinter. “Narrow down the possibilities…okay, we can do that.” Donnie mumbles in agreement as he looks to the others.

”Gio wouldn’t just leave out of the blue. He’s not like that.” Raph declares, the youngest turtle nodding in utter agreement. “Yeah! A-and even if he did, he seems like the type to at least leave a letter for us, right?” Mikey tilts his head, frowning at the thought of Giovanni leaving the family.

Splinter hums and shakes his head, “Perhaps…he was kidnapped?” He suggests, the comment having the boys freeze upon realisation as they all share a concern look.

”Kidnapped…but who would want to kidnap him? All the villains we know wouldn’t have the courage to do that just because they hate us.” Donnie analysed but Leo was quick to correct him, glaring ahead.

”Actually…there’s one person we know who is known for kidnapping.”

At first it was quiet, until Splinter softly gasps and narrowed his own eyes.

”Big Mama.”

-----

Splinter stayed back home, in case the others like April or even Draxum called for any updated news. The four brothers however decided to pay a visit to a certain spider lady.

They run through the hotel corridors before reaching Big Mama’s office, Raph forcing the door open as they all stumble in, weapons ready for a fight.

”All right Big Mama, where is he?!”

Big Mama spins around on her chair, she was in her human form as she smiles politely. “Turtlyboos. My, you sure know how to make an entrance.” She giggles before tilting her head and resting her elbows upon her desk in front of her.

”Now, remind me why you decided to break into my splendid hotel?”

Leo growls, stepping forward with his katanas raised and pointed at her. “Our brother. He’s been kidnapped and we believe you have something to do with it.” He huffs but Big Mama only widens her eyes before taking and waving her finger at them.

”I’m afraid your wrong blue one. I don’t have Giovanni.”

Donnie tenses and glared at the yokai, “We never mentioned his name. This proves that you know him!” He announces, but he steps back when Big Mama stood up from her chair and made her way over to them slightly.

”I only know of him because you boys have been taking him around the city, fighting crime and whatnot. It’s adorable really.”

She sighs and leans back against her desk, her hand tapping against the wood. “He also came by a few months ago. I introduced myself to him and even told him that he and his brothers are welcomed here any time.” She added with amusement, especially when she saw the puzzled expressions on their faces.

Giovanni had actually met Big Mama? When? How? Why?

Leo had many questions, but he shook his head. There were more important things at hand. “So, he’s not here? At all? You know nothing about his disappearance?” Leo inquired again, voice firm but also laced with panic.

Big Mama nodded. “I’m afraid I haven’t got a clue about this. I feel such sympathy for him. From what I remember, he was pretty skittish. If he was indeed kidnapped…well, I can only wonder what he’s feeling and going through.”

Her words were enough to make the boys quiet, tension thick in the air as they all turn around and leave the room.

None of them had said a word to each other. But even without mind melding there was one thing that they were all thinking.

Where the hell is their brother?

-----

It was quiet, the sound of ragged breaths being inhaled and exhaled was heard. The white tiled room was cold and bright. Too bright.

The only time Giovanni managed to make the room dark was when he lowered his head into his shell. He felt safe there, a sense of privacy. The lights in the room never turned off. He wondered if that was a way to make whoever were in these cells go crazy. Unable to tell if it was day or night.

Giovanni already didn’t know how long he’s been in the E.P.F. base for. Given he was knocked out upon arriving and then knocked out again for hours when he was in that operation room.

It confused him, but he tried his best to not show a hint of weakness. He thinks he was doing well in that department. But then again, that could just be his mind messing with him.

Giovanni was curled up to a corner of the room, refusing to get comfortable on the thin mattress that they gave him. It was a poor excuse of a bed.

Giovanni didn’t have company from when he awoke from his dazed nap. The only time there was a hint of anyone watching him was when the door of his cell opened and a yokai would walk in slightly and push over a tray of food and water for him. They would then leave him be.

Giovanni didn’t dare try and eat the food they gave to him. He would take the water, giving a few cautious sips before gulping it down his throat. The tray would then get taken away a few hours later, leaving him back to be alone with his thoughts.

He gave a grumble as he leans his face against his propped-up knee, wincing when he felt a short wave of pain inside his mouth. He licked his tongue over his teeth, before stopping at the tooth he was missing. It was starting to grow back, but the process of it was a bit of a pain that he had to put up with. His neck was sore as he gently rubs his hand along the side, pausing when he felt phantom discomfort from the memory of being injected with a needle.

He gave a little whimper and lowers his head slightly into the comfort of his carapace.

He wanted to go home. Surely his friends and family were already looking for him.

He closed his eyes, trying to rest but he didn’t get a chance to relax when the cell door opened, making him flinch at the sound as he perks up in alert.

”I apologise for the long wait.”

It was a new voice, and Giovanni lightly glares at the figure of a man walking in. “It’s been quite a while S129. I’m glad that you’ve returned to us.” The man was alone, with a monotone voice that had Giovanni shuddering.

The man steps closer inside the cell before stopping and staring. Giovanni took in the man’s appearance briefly before he froze, eyes wide like saucers and mouth hung open slightly into bewilderment.

The man was tall and healthily thin. He wore a black suit and black tie. His raven coloured hair that was once quite short from memory had grown out a bit longer, slicked back.

Pale skin and completing the look he donned dark sunglasses that reflected the frightened state of Giovanni.

He remembered who this man was. How could he ever forget?

John Bishop came back into his life again. After all these years.

”I hope you haven’t forgotten me. I worked closely with you from your time with us as a child.” John comments, hands still at his side as he took in the appearance of Giovanni.

John remembered when Giovanni was only a child. He was much smaller in comparison now.

But now Giovanni was grown. Still looking the same but he was obviously different. Older and muscles all toned out in the right places. From the looks of it he was being taken care of, healthy.

John opens his mouth to say something, but Giovanni beat him to it. “I-I remember you…Mr. Bishop.” He rasps out, head hung low, avoiding meeting his gaze, even if they were hidden behind those dark glasses.

John hums in acknowledgement, a tiny grin plastered on his lips for a moment. “Good. I was worried about that. It has been too long after all.” He noted, but Giovanni didn’t respond, his body shaking.

”You’ve grown.”

”Y…yeah. I have.”

John walks over, ignoring how the mutant before him tensed. Giovanni sharply gasps when John cupped under his chin and forced the turtle to look up at him. His pupils small and wild but he didn’t move away.

”According to my math, you must be at least a young adult. 18? 19?” He concluded, but he wasn’t expecting a correction or answer from Giovanni, letting him go as the yellow-bellied slider exhaled out a breath he was holding in.

Soon the sounds of heels clicking grabbed his attention. Madeline walks in with a soft and welcoming smile. “Hello, I see you’ve become re-acquainted with your other primary carer for your time here.” She informs, side eyeing John who crossed his arms, not bothering to even look at her in acknowledgment.

But Madeline didn’t seem to care as she focuses on Giovanni. “You’re in need for a check-up today.” She states, which had Giovanni shake his head in response. “N-no…no more needles.” He begs but Madeline only softly chuckles and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

”There will be no needles. It’s a simple check-up to make sure you’re all healthy. Right, Mr. Bishop?”

Both Giovanni and Madeline look back over to the agent who nods firmly. “Correct.”

Giovanni remains hesitant but he then thought that if he was going to somehow leave the facility, he would have to know where he was going. With a little nod of reluctance agreement, John Bishop strides toward him and took out handcuffs from his pockets.

He clamps them down over Giovanni’s wrist before walking away to the open door. Madeline stays beside Giovanni, leading the mutant out the cell and into the corridors once more.

The black panther yokai was present once more, gripping firmly onto the mutant to stop him from doing anything stupid. John led the way, Madeline standing behind Giovanni who was in the middle being dragged.

Giovanni darts his eyes around at each passing door, taking in every detail he could. The signs, the left and right turns. The number of cells nearby.

He gazed over to an open door, almost leaping out in joy when he spotted his gear and weapon being displayed on a wall. It was a storage room from the looks of it.

He was tugged forward, losing his concentration as he glanced up at the panther who could only growl lowly at him, making Giovanni somewhat cower under the intense gaze as he looks ahead.

They come to a set of two doors, John pushing them open. Giovanni was expecting to be greeted to another operation room like last time. But to his confusion, the room he stepped into looked more like an actual med bay.

Madeline walks past him and comfortably gestured to him to sit on the bed. Giovanni stood on the spot, not wanting to really listen to the people who kidnapped him.

He nervously casts a glance to John who stood in the corner, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed as he silently and eerily surveyed the mutant.

”No need to be afraid.” Madeline softly cooed, giving her best comforting look which finally had Giovanni to take control of his legs as he anxiously made his way over and sat on the bed, his legs dangling over as he fiddled with his hands.

He watched with cautious anticipation as Madeline hums a soft tune, walking around and gathering tools for this check-up.

He was relieved that he didn’t see any needles. As they had promised him.

Madeline appears in his line of vision, holding a stick that you would see at the doctors for when they check your mouth.

”Open wide for me sweetheart.”

Giovanni gulps, but he hesitantly listens and opens his mouth, sticking out his tongue as he flinched when the wooden stick made contact with his stretched-out tongue. Madeline took out a small flashlight from her pocket and shined it inside the mouth. Giovanni was naturally nervous; shoulders tense and shaking as Madeline soothed him.

”It’s all right. You’re doing so good.” She praises before moving away and throwing the stick in the bin. “It’s only been 3 days, and your tooth is already regenerating. Fascinating.” She announced, looking rather surprised and pleased with the outcome.

Giovanni didn’t say anything, closing his mouth and keeping a watchful eye on Dr. Brookes. She returns back with a blood pressure monitor, gently wrapping the blood pressure cuff around Giovanni’s arm as the cuff started to compress.

”Blood pressure is high. But I assume that’s because you’re still anxious.” She noted, gazing back at Giovanni who lowered his head to avoid eye contact.

She takes the compression blood pressure machine off his arm, placing it back into its spot on a desk. “Open your mouth once more for me.” She advises, holding a temperature thermometer. Giovanni listens as he felt the thermometer placed in his mouth.

He waits a few seconds before the thermometer was plucked out. Madeline himself and nods to herself. “Temperature normal for a turtle.” She spoke out loud, listing off everything she was doing.

This went on for a bit, doing the all the ‘necessary’ things that one would do in a simple check-up. No needles were present, which only had Giovanni relax a bit.

”Almost done. I’m going to feel around your body to make sure all the bones are intact.”

Giovanni flinched when she got close to him, moving slightly back for distance. Madeline hums and gently settled her palm against his cheek, rubbing her thumb in circles to ease the skittish mutant.

”Relax Giovanni. It won’t hurt a bit. Perhaps some discomfort, but it’s all necessary.” She explains, waiting for Giovanni to relax at her touch.

When his muscles weren’t as tense as earlier, she began to feel his arms. Taking her time with him. Moving her fingers up and down and around his toned body.

She did the same on the other arm. She traced her hands up along his plastron, making Giovanni shiver as she placed two fingers alongside his neck and his jawline. ”Tense here. I see you’ve gotten into a few fights before being brought here.” She noted, but Giovanni didn’t question as to how she knew that.

Her hands leave his neck before touching his thighs, making Giovanni yelp when she gripped his skin slightly. Shaking at her touch as he closed his eyes tightly when she began venturing her curious hands around his legs and lower body.

She was getting a bit too touchy for his taste, but he didn’t want to show weakness. Not in front of his captors. She eventually left his legs and moved around to go behind him, leaning him forward as she traced along his shell.

But that didn’t take much time as she hums and walks to a desk, jotting down her observations on a piece of paper that was attached to a clipboard.

”All done. See? A simple check-up. We’ll be monitoring you and—“

She began to explain but stopped when she heard a quiet sob. She turns around and saw Giovanni shaking, curling up slightly as tears rolled out his eyes.

Madeline approached him and rubbed at his shoulder soothingly. “Oh dear, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” She inquired, as she glances up at John who made no move to comfort the turtle.

“Home…I-I wanna go home. Please…” Giovanni begs, he didn’t want to be here anymore. He never did. He tried to stay strong, but it was very overwhelming for him to take in.

He didn’t even hear or see John move from his spot until he felt a firm hand grasp his other shoulder. Followed by John’s voice whispering in his ear.

“You are home, with the E.P.F. Or did you forget S129?”

Giovanni stared down in silence, his body felt limp and heavy. This was his home?

How though…? This place didn’t have his brothers or father, no friends around to come and visit him.

But he was raised here from his time as a baby. Was this place technically a home to him?

“Take him back to the cell.” John gives the order to the panther yokai who had been standing near the door. They pull Giovanni off the bed and forced him to stand. Dragging him out the room.

Giovanni didn’t fight back. Lost in his own thoughts.

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What's this? Such a quick update already!

I APOLOGISE FOR ANY GRAMMAR MISTAKES THAT WERE MADE, I TYPE PRETTY FAST AND OFTEN DON’T SEE THEM UNTIL I ACTUALLY PUBLISH THE CHAPTER. THEN I’D TRY AND FIX ANY MISTAKES WHEN I SEE ONE.

quotev - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

Ao3 - 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮 |ROTTMNT| (Male OC)

First chapter here

Next chapter here

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