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kookygranger · 28 days

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Top five, most memorable kisses of all time

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Corroded Coffin move to Chicago and find their people. Eddie finds you behind the counter at Championship Records. He thinks you're cool. You think he's gorgeous. Life outside of Hawkins might just be worth fighting for.

Warnings: swearing, kissing (obvs), fluff, fem!reader, mostly Eddie's POV, our boy has no rizz, alcohol consumption, I don't think anything else, too many high fidelity references?

Word count: 4k

Author's note: This is a one-shot, that has been sitting in my drafts since last Halloween and thanks to a wip game has finally seen the light of day! Find the playlist that inspired the fic below.

Masterlist

One pill makes you larger,

And one pill makes you small

The bell above the door jingles as Eddie steps through the threshold, his shoulders relaxing as the warmth seeps back into him and he scans the racks of records before him. Perking up as he notices the music playing over the speakers, he was still getting used to how much cooler things were in Chicago than back home – and shit, how much cooler people were.

Eddie clocks you sitting on top of the counter with one leg crossed under you, the other swinging down the side as you sticker a stack of vinyl. You mouth along with the music, not even noticing him slip through the aisles as he stops in a random section with a perfect view of you across the small store.

He’d only come in here to kill some time between soundcheck and the gig tonight at a venue down the street. The rest of the band had gone to find some food, but Eddie wanted to check out the record store they passed on the drive in. And boy, was he glad he did.

He mindlessly flicks through the records in front of him, trying to come up with a good conversation starter. It wasn’t that often that he missed Steve Harrington, but he could sure use one of the boy’s famous pep talks right about now. Fuck, what was it about pretty girls that got him so tongue-tied? Probably the pretty part.

But you weren’t just pretty, you were obviously very cool, and he certainly wasn’t used to girls sharing the same interests as him – but he’d met a lot of them since he’d moved to Chicago a couple of months ago.

Just as he’s thinking about what albums he could pick out to impress you, the bell above the door jingles again. A guy around his age walks in, his short hair spiked, nose and ears pierced and tattoos peeking out from a crisp white t-shirt. He walks with confidence to where you sit and makes you jump slightly as he greets you boisterously.

“Shit, you scared me.”

He snickers and starts rummaging through a crate of cassettes by the counter.

“Yeah, you look like you were in the zone. Did you even notice you had a customer?”

You turn your head in Eddie’s direction just as he ducks his down, continuing to flick through the disco section. Wait, shit where’s the metal?

“Shit.” You whisper under your breath and turn your attention back to the other guy, not quite lowering your voice enough so Eddie couldn’t eavesdrop. “No, but in my defence this song is a banger.”

Severin, Severin, speak so slightly

Severin, down on your bended knee

“What the fuck are you listening to anyway?”

“I made a pre-Halloween mix. Music that led to goth before goth was a thing.” You frown as you try to unstick a bright red sticker from the price gun you’d been tapping on the pile of vinyl.

Eddie smiles to himself as he continues to pretend he’s browsing and not tuning into your conversation.

“Are you coming to The Allied tonight? There’s some new band from Indiana or something playing. Apparently, they do a sick cover of Master of Puppets.”

Eddie pauses in his faux perusing for a second as he awaits your reply.

“I wasn’t really planning on it, no.”

The guy huffs, “No? What was your plan, going home to sulk to The Velvet Underground?”

“I don’t sulk–“

“You do when you listen to The Velvet Underground.”

“What do you want me to do? Pogo to Heroin? Anyway, I was gonna work on an article actually.”

“Why don’t you write about this band tonight? Tim says they’re pretty good. He saw them a couple of weeks ago at the Metro.”

“Tim said that about that god-awful noise band that played at De Salle’s. It was the worst four hours of my life. I thought my ears were actually going to bleed.”

“Whatever, you say that like you’re not currently playing the most depressing German synth music that nobody in their right mind would listen to.” He points his hand in the air, drawing your attention to the new song playing from the speakers behind you.

“First of all, this is David Bowie’s Low. And if you knew as much about music as you claim to, you’d know that this was his seminal work in his Berlin era and an ambient soundscape masterpiece. Secondly–“

“I like it.”

Both of your heads shoot up at Eddie’s interruption. He blushes and clears his throat as you catch his eye and the corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry, I just–it’s a good mixtape. I like the theme.” He frowns and shakes his head at himself, he doesn’t know what came over him. Who is this guy that’s bothering you, anyway? You have amazing taste and he’s now sure you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. You gesture in his direction and look back at the guy that’s teasing you.

“The customer is always right, Simon.”

Eddie moves quickly to the B section and finds the album you were talking about before heading over to you.

“Did you find everything you need?” You smile at him sweetly as you hop off the counter and take the record from him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before. Customer service isn’t exactly my strongest skill.”

The guy, Simon, snorts. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the way your face lights up quietly when you realise what album he picked.

“What are your strongest skills?” That was such a weird question Munson, what the hell?

You look up at him a little taken aback, before a small smile creeps up on you.

“Talking about music…or” you shake your head in contemplation, “writing about it actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe it’s not so much a skill, more like an obsession.”

“She’s actually kind of good.” Simon butts in with a shrug and you roll your eyes.

“Such a high compliment cuz.”

You were cousins. He still had a shot.

“You write for magazines?”

“Zines mostly,” you point to a stack of xeroxed pamphlets on the counter, “but I’ve published a few reviews with Spin and The Face.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “That’s pretty cool.”

You breathe out a laugh and take the cash he hands you, collecting his change. “Thanks.”

“Wait, you're Eddie, right?” He turns to Simon, almost forgetting he was there. “Your band’s playing at The Allied tonight? I met your drummer Gareth at a show last week.”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. We’re called Corroded Coffin.”

“Cool name.” You smirk and hand him his record wrapped in paper. Eddie tucks it under his arm, his dimples showing as he smiles back at you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re from Indiana then?” You call back to Simon’s earlier statement, as Eddie doesn’t make a move to immediately leave.

He rubs the back of his neck as he nods, “Yeah. Just moved here a couple of months ago with my band.”

“Welcome to Chicago, Eddie.” You smile and introduce yourself, “Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you…vinyl wise I mean.”

“Thanks,” he scratches the stubble on his jaw before stepping away from the counter. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the show?” He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s a hint of hope in there.

You bite your lip and shrug, “Yeah, maybe you will.”

Eddie nods and takes his queue to leave, the bell jingling again as he steps back out into the cold.

“Yeah, maybe you will.” Simon mocks you in a breathy imitation and you roll your eyes. “So now that you know the singer is cute are you coming?”

“Obviously! You better get me on the door list, or I swear to god I’m telling Aunt Carol about the stash in your underwear drawer.”

***

“Hey, Carlos.” You greet your friend at the door of The Allied, who waves you in without payment. “That Darondo record came in, I put it aside for you.” You call back on your way in, hearing a muffled thanks as the music from inside hits your eardrums.

There’s a decent crowd tonight, and you have to push past a few people to reach the sticky top bar.

“Oh, she showed up! Surprise, surprise.” Simon makes his way over to you, ignoring the calls of indignance as he passes other customers. He slings a rag over his shoulder, which makes you bite your lip, attempting to hold in a laugh, remembering how he’d practised that move in the mirror when he turned twenty-one and landed the second most coveted job of your teenage selves.

You shrug nonchalantly, despite your cousin knowing the exact reason you’re here. “I ended up doing inventory ‘till late. Thought I may as well drop by before catching the L.”

Simon flicks your nose, your retaliating slap missing him as he moves to pour your drink. You thank him with a forced smile when he slides it across the bar, picking it up and turning to find a spot in the crowd.

“No tip?”

You call over your shoulder, “Yeah, take it easy on the cologne.” You smirk, not even having to turn around to know he’s probably sniffing his shirt.

You take your usual spot leaning against the wall, up the back and away from most of the crowd. Your rule was front row or back. None of that squished in the middle, view blocked by the tallest guy you’d ever seen crap. Either it was front and centre, immersed in the moment, or your own space with a view of it all.

You’d never be up front for a band you didn’t know, and tonight was no exception, no matter how large the butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.

You don’t know what it was about Eddie, apart from the obvious fact that he was gorgeous. Maybe it was something in his presence. But when he walked up to the counter earlier with a record you’d just been talking about and a shy smile on his face – you were a goner.

The murmurs of the crowd quieten when the house lights are switched off, a yellow glow on the stage and above the bar now the only sources of light.

There are a few enthusiastic cheers when the band appear from a door behind the stage and a smattering of applause as they take their place. You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the feeling in your chest when Eddie steps up to the mic and adjusts his red Warlock guitar. He smiles and you duck your head, trying not to look too much like the girl who’s just fallen for a lead singer when he addresses the crowd.

“Evening. Hope you brought your earplugs, this one’s new.” The quiet, reservedness of his introduction and the boy you’d met earlier is undone with the first crashing of cymbals and thrash of power chords.

Stage Eddie isn’t what you were expecting, but still somehow makes total sense. He’s more comfortable, more himself up there as he thrashes back and forth, hair whipping wildly. And they’re good. Really good.

Maybe you’d write about them after all.

The band are almost through their set when he spots you. Your back straightens as his eyes lock onto yours. Normally you hate making eye contact with someone on stage, but you can’t seem to look away when his chocolate-brown gaze twinkles over the heads of the rest of the crowd. In between songs, he gives you a wave, and you nod, returning his small smile.

When they finish, you move back to the bar. Waiting for the lingering fans to clear over a rum and coke. You’re only on your second sip when you feel a burning hot presence behind you.

“You made it.”

You turn around, and Eddie leans an arm on the bar beside you, moving in closer as the growing line pushes him forward.

“I did.” You nod, taking another sip of your drink.

He clears his throat, pushing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

“So, uh, what did you think?”

You smile, “I think you’re going to fit in very well here.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it is. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the dark side, Eddie.”

His eyebrows raise, the ghost of a smirk kicking up when you’re interrupted by your cousin.

“Man, that was sick! What can I get ya?”

Eddie thanks Simon, then looks back at you, “What are you having?” He holds up two fingers when you answer, signalling for another round, then starts playing with a beermat while you wait. Your eyes are trained to the glint of silver on his fingers.

“How are you liking Chicago so far?”

Eddie looks back at you and puffs his cheeks up as he exhales. “Honestly?... I didn’t know life could be this good.”

You feel a sharp tingling in your nose as your eyes well up a little for the boy standing in front of you, his cheeks dusted with pink as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Trust me, things are only gonna get better from here.”

“Yeah?” He beams at you then and you inhale deeply as you fight the urge to reach out and wrap your arms around him.

“Yeah.”

***

Eddie had seen you a few times since the gig at The Allied. Dropping into the record store when he could. In small crowds at gigs in the city. You’d greet him with a hug or a squeeze to the arm that never failed to get his heart rate going.

Today, he’d gotten off early from his temporary new gig at the auto shop and he found himself parked outside the record store.

It was overcast, but there was no bite to the air. A balmy wind tousling his hair as he ran across the street to the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, avoiding the fat drops of rain that had begun to fall sporadically.

He spots you through the window when he makes his back to the store, bobbing your head along to whatever’s playing as you fill the racks. The now familiar bell jingles and he smiles when he recognises Joy Division over the speakers. He’d seen you in their shirt on more than one occasion.

He meets you as you're walking back to the counter.

“Oh, hey Eddie.” You smile and do a double take, taking in his greasy coveralls, and suddenly he’s wishing he’d gone home and showered. Even if it was an hour out of his way.

“Hey.” He places a coffee on the counter along with a white paper bag. “Thought you might like a mid-afternoon pick me up. I’ve uh, I’ve seen you with one of those cinnamon things before.”

Your eyes light up as you inspect the inside of the bag. “Oh my god, you’re my hero! Thank you, that’s so sweet.”

He shrugs, taking a step back from the counter, his own black coffee still clutched in his hands.

“So, this is the day job then huh?” You gesture to his outfit.

He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah for now. Until the music starts paying off. If the music starts paying off.”

You nod, taking a bite of your cinnamon scroll and he can’t help but smirk at the way your eyes quickly roll to the back of your head. “It will.”

His free hand goes to his pocket, face hidden slightly by his hair as he tucks into himself at your confident statement.

“Thanks.” He turns around to start perusing the aisles.

“Oh, we will be getting the new Metallica album on the day of release by the way. I’ll put a tape aside for you.”

“Thank you.” He offers you a smile over his shoulder, and you tip your coffee to him.

He takes his time flicking through the rows, a few customers coming and going as he does, although he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Once the store is quiet again, he walks back over to you, selection in hand.

“Lee Hazelwood?” You take the record from him with a look of surprise.

He nods, “Yeah, I liked that song on that pre-goth mixtape you gave me. It’s like the kind of thing my uncle would listen to but…”

“Sinister.”

“Yeah.”

You smile, “It’s cool isn’t it? You know he actually wrote These Boots Are Made For Walkin’. Helped save Nancy Sinatra’s career after the teeny-bopper thing didn’t work out. They made a couple of albums together actually, and you know the first time he retired from the music industry was because the success of The Beatles’ made him depressed.”

He leans his arms on the counter as you talk. “Wow, you really are a wealth of knowledge for this stuff huh?”

You shrug, “What else is there?”

“Apart from books.”

You nod, “Good movies.”

He smiles, “Pizza.”

“Dumplings.”

“DnD”

You frown, “That nerdy board game?”

“No, uh d–dumplings like you said, and uh– dough–doughnuts?”

You scrunch up your face, “Okay,” and giggle at Eddie’s strained smile.

“So uh, what–would you–“ Not screwing this up at all Munson. “Would you maybe wanna do that together sometime? The pizza and dumplings, or probably one or the other I guess, and a movie, good music–“ he blows out a puff of air, scrunching up his face.

“Are you asking if I wanna go see a movie?”

“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, “that and dinner. If you want.”

“I do like both those things.” You smile. “How about Thursday? I finish closing up at six.”

“Yeah. Cool. Thursday sounds good.” The guys and their weekly standing appointment for band practice would not agree.

***

Thursday rolls around faster than Eddie’s prepared for. Predictably, his bandmates all made fun of him for cancelling practice for you. But he just ignored the high-pitched ooohs and went to make sure his lucky Sabbath shirt was washed before he needed it.

He’s wearing it now as he paces outside the movie theatre, twisting his rings, oblivious to you sneaking up behind him until it’s too late.

“Boo!”

“Jesus Christ.” He jumps and twists around, your hands that had reached out to scare him still on his hips, his arms float in the air for a second before landing on your shoulders.

“You’re on edge,” you tease before your face sets a little more seriously. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, just uh, you wanna head in? It starts in like five minutes.”

You nod, your hands leaving his waist as his fall back to his sides. “What are we seeing anyway?” You look up at the black lettering above you, smiling just as Eddie reveals your viewing choice for the night.

“Thought we could see Young Frankenstein. Saw they were doing an old-school horror weekend here in the paper.”

“That sounds great.”

He lets out a breath of relief when you bump his shoulder affectionately, and you begin walking into the theatre side by side.

“Now the real important question Eddie Munson. What are your go-to movie snacks?”

His hand twitches when it accidentally brushes the back of yours.

“Well, popcorn obviously.”

“Obviously.” You nod.

“Sour Patch Kids and you gotta add a packet of Reese’s Pieces in there too.”

“Wait, in there as in–?”

“In the popcorn bucket. All of it. Like a good version of a trail mix.”

You grin, “Very interesting.”

“Just wait till you try it, sweetheart, you’ll never do it any other way.”

You laugh, “Okay, lead the way.”

He bows, gesturing his hand towards the confection stand. “After you m’lady.”

Your giggle, Eddie quickly finds out is his new favourite sound. When it appears again in the movie theatre, he can’t seem to keep his eyes on Gene Wilder, only watching you light up with laughter.

He can’t quite believe how well it’s all going. That is until you’re sharing a large pepperoni, on the bench outside the place you insisted served the best “pies” in all of Chicago, and your confusion stops his heart for a second.

He groans when he takes the first bite of cheesy dough.

“Good right?”

He nods, chewing and swallowing quickly. “My uncle told me pizza wasn’t a first date kind of meal, but we don’t have anything like this back in Hawkins.”

You’re sitting so close that he notices you still right away.

“Wait, this is a date?”

“Oh,” he swears his heart drops to his stomach as he sees the surprise on your face. “Oh well, yeah I thought it was but I guess I–it doesn’t have to be, sorry.”

You reach out to grab his arm when he instinctively moves away, “No! I just didn’t realise you were asking me out, out. You kinda just kept listing food.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “I want it to be a date.”

He bites his lip, looking back at you with eyebrows raised, “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, squeezing the arm still in your hold. “Of course. I would love to…be on a date with you right now.”

He beams, “Well, it’s your lucky night sweetheart.”

***

The date (once it’s established as one), goes so well Eddie finds himself back at your apartment, admiring your wall lined with records while you find the both of you a drink.

His eyebrows marry together when he notices Dusty Springfield next to the Sex Pistols.

“What’s the system here?” You hand him a beer when you reappear by his side. “Not by genre?”

“No. Autobiographical.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How–?”

“Well,” you step forward, reaching out to pick a plastic sleeve as if from memory, “if I want to find the song Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, I have to remember that I bought it for someone in the fall of 1983 but didn’t give it to them…for personal reasons.” You show him the white cover of the album.

“That sounds…”

“Comforting.”

He nods slowly, “Yes.”

“It is.”

God, you’re weird. And cute. And cool. And, shit he was going for it, you said you wanted to be on a date with him. You invited him back to your place. No one’s ever done that before. He should go for it. He’s going for it–

Your lips feel even softer than he imagined, and he can’t help but give himself a mental high-five when you immediately move closer to him, face melting into the hand that cradles your cheek. You taste almost vanilla-y with the combo of rum and coke still sitting on your tongue when his meets yours. He places his beer down on the coffee table, and your lips follow him when he has to dip down slightly before his free hand comes to sit on your waist.

You part for a breath, “Didn’t realise vinyl categorisation would get you so hot.” You tease him, lips plump and eyes slightly glazed over, and he’s never wanted anything more in his life than to keep you looking at him like this.

“Yeah uh, really love that Dewey Decimal system.” He leans close to capture your lips again, but you pull back, leaving him to chase you.

“The Dewey Decimal system is for books.” You shake your head.

Eddie huffs, “I really don’t care.” He finally finds your lips again and he swears they taste even sweeter the second time, despite being tainted by his own.

You guide him back to slowly sit on the couch, bodies falling a little clumsily together before you situate yourself in his lap, legs straddling his. You both stay like that for what could be hours for all Eddie cares, lips clicking in the silence.

“Fuck, I could kiss you all night.” He leans his forehead against yours, heavy breathing synced with your own, as you finally come up for air.

You shake your head, eyes soft and reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie.”

God dammit, is he glad he left Hawkins.

Tagging: @storiesbyrhi (I hope you like the coffee shop across from the record store 😉), @bettyfrommars (I finished it!)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #she writes #Spotify

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blindmagdalena · 5 months

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Guilty Pleasures ( chapter two )

18+ 3.8k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, masturbation, lite humiliation kink, lite somnophilia, breaking & entering, petty theft, sublander flavored. nebulously takes place post s1. part 2/4. AO3 link. | CH I | CH 3 | CH 4

Homelander is the most powerful man in the world, and all he wants is to be yours.

After spending the majority of your evening and the following morning anticipating being fired, walking into work the next day feels like traversing a thinly frozen lake, each step webbing out in precarious cracks.

Clearly you’re not the only one who thinks so: you clock a handful of surprised looks from coworkers who’d attended the meeting and took note of the tension between you and Vought’s golden boy.

Maybe they’d taken bets on whether or not you’d be coming in this morning.

There’s no sign of Homelander on your way in. Not that you were expecting him–yesterday was the first time you actually saw him in person–but you still find yourself on the lookout. It’s hard to say whether you’re anticipating or dreading him. Part of you is still expecting to open your door and find a letter on your desk politely informing you that they’ve determined you aren’t a good “culture fit” for the company, and that your probation has been terminated.

After all, who in their right mind would take your side over Homelander’s?

You push open your office door, and sure enough, there is a letter waiting for you, but not in the way you expected. You stand in the doorway, staring in quiet incomprehension. The envelope, crisp and bright white, is propped up in a bed of rich red roses sitting in a pretty vase upon your desk. You glance behind you before you step inside, closing the door behind you, and approach the desk cautiously. You pluck the paper out of the bouquet, taking a moment to smell the flowers–they smell as good as they look–before you carefully rip open the envelope, tearing the small american flag sticker that sealed it.

Inside, there’s only one word on the folded piece of paper, scrawled in surprisingly elegant handwriting.

Truce?

You can’t help the incredulous little bark of laughter you give at that. It’s not even an apology. It’s a demand that he expects a gratuitous bundle of flowers will help you swallow, like taking medicine with a spoonful of sugar.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say quietly to the letter, setting it down on your desk. You give the roses one last sniff, testing one of the soft petals between your fingers. You wonder if what you said actually got through to him.

Homelander has no real reason to smooth things over with you: you’re no one. He’s posed no risk to himself by coming after you. He could no doubt have you fired by complaining that your marketing tactics don’t align with his brand. It’s hard to imagine Vought denies him much.

Yet he is apparently negotiating peace. It’s not nearly enough, but it is a start.

Or maybe it’s just more than you expected.

You sit, idly tapping the letter against your desk. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t still think him handsome. Homelander wasn’t the first man to ogle your tits while you gave a presentation, but he was certainly the first to fluster you like that when he did. His sly smile had made you want to slap him, but there was a questionable little part of you that thought about kissing it better afterwards.

Taking in a steadying breath, you slip the letter into your desk drawer and adjust the flowers to the side, admiring them a moment before you pull out your laptop.

If Homelander can behave himself enough to let you do your job without public humiliation, you can afford a truce. You don’t need to forgive or condone him to be civil, or even to continue having your own private fantasies. A little guilty pleasure now and again never hurt anyone.

You can’t know that Homelander is observing you throughout this internal conversation, watching through several layers of steel and concrete, his parted lips curving into a slow smile as you accept his offering. You can’t know that you haven’t just acknowledged a truce, but an invitation.

No, you can’t possibly know what’s to come.

Two days later, you diligently change the water that the roses in your office sit in. They’re doing well, the crimson buds having unfurled into a splay of velvety petals. You pinch one between your thumb and forefinger and stroke it absently. Homelander has continued to be a scarcity, but that doesn’t mean you haven’t seen him. Quite the opposite: you spend most of your working hours either looking at or thinking about his face to the point where it’s starting to follow you home each day.

That’s what you tell yourself when you think of him outside of work hours, anyways.

It’s been long enough now that you wonder if the flowers were the end of it. He was simply covering his ass with a half hearted gesture that slightly resembled an apology so that you could both comfortably drop the subject. That was entirely fine by you so long as he actually did improve his behavior.

A familiarly brisk knock at your door catapults your heart up against the cage of your ribs like a spooked hare. It’s the exact same beat, you’re sure of it. You stay quiet, half expecting to be barged in upon, but when nothing happens, you move from your desk and open the door yourself, intentionally blocking it with your body.

Sure enough, Homelander stands tall on the other side. He flashes his signature smile while your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Can I help you?”

“I think I’m the one who can help you,” he says brightly, that spread of teeth downright wolfish. He lifts a handful of papers that have been stapled at the corner, gesturing for you to take it.

Still wary, you take them from him and shift, wedging your foot to keep the door firmly in place while you flip through the pages. Your brows furrow as you recognize chunks of your own presentation. Understanding dawns when you realize that he’s annotated them.

“You read my presentation,” you say, unable to mask your surprise.

“Obviously. It’s my image on the line, right? Got some notes for you, but I have to say: y’mostly nailed it,” he says, reaching out to rest a gloved hand on the doorway.

“Mostly?” You echo, quirking an eyebrow at him as you look up from the pages.

“Yeah, mostly. Again, I have some minor notes,” he says, wiggling his other hand in a vague gesture. “But I figure I owe you praise on a job mostly well done.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Crossing your arms, you abandon your stern foothold on the door in order to shift your weight, your incredulity showing in every inch of your body language. “What you owe me is an apology.”

Homelander’s grin softens into a smile that’s no less challenging. “Looks to me like you’ve already been enjoying my apology,” he says, leaning slightly to gaze past you, to the bundle of roses sitting prettily on your desk.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, but your expression remains impassive. Unimpressed. “That? That isn’t an apology. An apology would include the words I’m sorry.”

He scoffs a dismissive laugh, swaying back to look away, but you persist.

“I’m serious,” you say, luring his ocean blue gaze back to yours. “I want you to say to me ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation. It won’t happen again.’ “

The two of you hold each other’s gaze with all the magnitude of two gunmen in a duel, hands steady over your proverbial pistols.

To your surprise, Homelander does not fire back. He raises a dainty white flag.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved during your presentation,” he says, words slow and measured. You watch his tongue flash over his bottom lip, wetting it attractively. You fight to not let your eyes linger on it. “It won’t happen again.”

You swallow, suddenly finding thought and speech an impossible task. You weren’t prepared for such raw, ready obedience from him, nor the intensity in his gaze that follows it. He reminds you of a charmed snake–docile so long as he is transfixed.

“Good,” you say, the word half a sigh. Homelander’s lips part and he breathes in like he’s caught wind of something particularly delicious smelling. “I accept your apology, and I appreciate that you took the time to do this,” you say, gesturing with the documents in your hand. “I’ll go over them and get back to you.”

He reaches out, bracing his hand on your office door. You half expect him to push it open, but he merely holds it there. “We could go over them together,” he suggests slyly.

“No,” you say, clearly disarming him. He looks as though he’s forgotten the meaning of the word. “I’m in the middle of another project at the moment.”

The leather of his gloves creaks faintly in your ear as he flexes his grip on the edge of the door. While what you’ve said is true, it’s also serving as a test. Words and flowers are pretty things, but only actions always speak the truth.

“At the moment,” he repeats, gears visibly turning in his eyes. “So… Later?” He extrapolates, displaying an uncharacteristic tentativeness alongside his obvious displeasure at the taste of rejection. You even see a glimmer of hope in the mess of his expression..

He did pass the test. You suppose you can reward him for that.

“Another time,” you say, giving your door an exploratory push. He relents, his hands sliding down the length of it before falling away as he takes a half-step back. “How about tomorrow on my lunch break? 1:00 o'clock sharp.”

He splits into a smile that looks more genuine than any of his you’ve seen before. “Aaalrighty-roo. Sounds gooood to meeeee,” he says, drawing out his vowels more the closer he gets to actually having to leave. At your silent, amused stare, he claps his gloved hands together with a muffled thump! and takes a few more steps backwards. “Yooooou’ll see me… tomorrow.”

Your smile pinches along with your brows. What a strange way to phrase it. “See you then,” you say, watching as his face is eclipsed by your closing door. You wait a beat and then let out a thin thread of breath from your pursed lips, resting your weight on the door.

Looking down at the papers in your hand, you push off from the door and head to your desk, flipping through them.

Such a strange man, you think, carrying the notes to your desk. You set them down next to the vase of roses and try not to think too much about the unconscious smile your lips keep settling into for the rest of the day.

Homelander’s got you hook, line and sinker. He’s certain of it. He lingers on the other side of your door just long enough to watch you through it while you settle, a charmed smile set on your lips. He can already imagine how those lips would feel against his own, how they’d taste. He swallows thickly and looks around before he departs, already plotting his next move.

The two of you have a date tomorrow, and in order to be at the top of his game, he’s going to have to do a little additional research. Knowing your work was a good first step. The next one will be learning about you.

Following you home is the easy part. It ultimately feels chivalrous to do so once he realizes you walk home even at this time of year, when the sun sets long before the work day ends. He drifts above you, cocking his head curiously. No wonder you walk. The streets are packed as tightly as sardine cans, and your apartment garage isn’t much better. The claustrophobia of it all serves as a stark contrast to the openness of Vought tower.

The interior of your apartment provides an even sharper juxtaposition to his penthouse. It’s tidy, but the comparatively low ceilings and minimal floor space still make it look cramped. Somehow, you simultaneously have too much and yet not much at all, the confinement of a downtown apartment making what minimal affects you do own seem crowded together.

That only becomes more apparent once he’s inside, slipped in through your balcony after sleep has taken you. Why would you bother to lock your balcony when you live on the 8th floor? It works out perfectly for him.

In all fairness, your living room feels cozier once he’s standing in the center of it. Your walls are lined with an assortment of art pieces and photographs, and the shelves are well stocked with books and knick-knacks. You have a decent film collection displayed on your media console, and he can’t help but snoop through it, bending at the waist, examining through the rows. He cocks his head.

Odd. You’d think an employee of Vought would have at least a few VCU films. He runs his index finger along the spines, slightly adjusting them flush as he goes. Pursing his lips, he straightens up and looks at the closed cabinets on either side. The left one yields an untidy assortment of electronic odds and ends, cords and the like. Nothing of much interest other than an indication that while you like to keep up appearances, you aren’t quite as together as you’d like people to think.

It’s on the right side, however, he finds what he’s really looking for.

“Bingo,” he whispers, smiling to himself as he scopes out your little hidden collection of Vought hero flicks. Specifically, his films. He’s less interested in the handful of others you own (Queen Maeve: Her Majesty, Black Noir: Insurrection, Lamplighter: The Bright World, etc) and more so in the fact that you have nearly his entire catalog tucked away.

Nearly. You’re missing his eighteen part miniseries, Homelander: Brightest Night.

At least that gives him something to gift you.

Closing the cabinet, he meanders about the rest of your apartment. You have some plants in varying states of decay, with only a few cacti looking to be in decent shape. Either your work keeps you too busy to properly mind them, or you just like the idea of them more than the reality. It tells him that you’re looking–and failing–to fill a void in your life. You want to feel less alone in your home, you want to nurture something. You just haven’t found the right something yet.

Striding into your kitchen, arms folded behind his back, he peers through the cheap wood veneer of your fiberboard cupboards, unveiling an unusually broad assortment of mugs. There doesn’t seem to be any particular theme: holidays, locales, characters, and a menagerie of patterns.

He hums softly, pivoting out of the kitchen and down the hall, his steps preternaturally light. He listens for the beat of your heart as he draws near, tunes it in alongside the shallow cadence of your breath. Deep asleep. Good.

The walls are lined with pictures of you and others. Friends or family, he can’t say, but you look to have an abundance of both. He rarely sees himself in photos that aren’t promotional material. He pauses to straighten a picture frame, and finds himself so viciously jealous of the man sharing the frame with you–his lips pressed to your cheek, your laughing smile so genuine he can nearly hear it–that he almost knocks it to the ground.

Running his tongue along his teeth, he continues on.

Your bedroom door is open. He slips in silently, pausing just through the doorway. Your bed's a queen, too big for just you. You’re sprawled comfortably amidst pillows, limbs splayed in just such a way that he can easily imagine fitting himself in the empty spaces between them. He can smell the lingering burn of the candle you’d lit when you got home. He picks it up off your dresser, reading the label: Cup ‘o Joe.

Eugh. He never cared for coffee, and the artificial sweetness surrounding the note is cloying. Your perfume, on the other hand, he doesn’t mind. He notices the bottle alongside a few other of your things and puts the candle down in favor of that, popping the cap off. The smell hits him before he sprays it: vanilla first, then amber and something more woodsy. It’s less impressive by itself than it had been on you.

Still, it’s yours. You chose it for yourself.

Slipping off one of his gloves, he lightly sprays into the inside of it before he sets the bottle back down, recapping it. It won’t be the same, but he’s driven by the compulsion to spirit away any little pieces of you that he can. Just enough to satiate himself until he can have you properly.

That’s when he sees your blouse from today in a careless heap at the top of your laundry basket next to your dresser. Licking his lips, he tests the feel of the garment between his bare fingers. He’s always been sensitive to fabrics, and while the blend of this one is fairly cheap, it’s been worn and washed enough that it’s soft against his skin. He grabs a handful of it and lifts it to his mouth, brushing it along his lips, under his nose, and he deeply inhales your lingering scent mixing with the fresh pump of perfume.

He bites back a moan, screwing his eyes shut. His cock gives a dull little throb. Fuck, the spell you’ve cast on him makes him ache just for the smell of you, makes him salivate. He swallows it back, letting out a rough little breath as he reluctantly puts the shirt back down. Under it, he spies a little flash of something black and lacy. His stomach clenches, and he’s reaching for it before he can stop himself, fishing the black panties out of the heap and twisting the fabric between his fingers.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He can’t afford to overindulge. He won’t be able to control himself if he does, but he also can’t bring himself to put the little slip of fabric back down. He imagines he can almost taste where your sweet cunt had been pressed to it. Christ, he’s practically drooling. Out of sheer impulse, he yanks down the zipper of his pants with a quiet hiss of metal against metal and hastily pushes your underwear into his cup, biting down hard on his lip. He grinds once against his hand, savoring the feel of the fabric against his cock.

He’ll enjoy them far more than you’ll miss them.

Zipping himself back up, he carefully pulls open your top dresser drawer. He curiously pushes the contents around, mindful not to overly disturb, and his knuckles bump something solid. He shifts one of your bras–another near painful pang of arousal at the reminder of your breasts–aside and finds, to his delight, what any good marketing department would describe as “a large purple massage wand.”

A vibrator. He chews his bottom lip briefly, turning it over in his grip. An exciting find on all fronts. It’s smooth and decently hefty, good quality. You deserve even better. You might be capable of indulging yourself with this, but he could make you scream. You’ll never need a silly little toy again. Not when you have him.

Homelander moves to put it back in the drawer, but–

“Fuck!” He hisses when the button catches on his finger, and suddenly the damn thing is buzzing.

Shut up, shut up, shut up, he chants mentally, jabbing at the buttons in an attempt to silence it, but pressing the same ones only makes the accursed device louder. In a frantic move, he grips the neck and squeezes. There’s a soft crunch beneath the silicone, and as abruptly as it had begun, the buzzing ends. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest. He listens to the silence, to you.

He looks over his shoulder. No movement. Your breaths remain shallow.

Christ.

So much for leaving no trace. He slips the busted toy back amidst your underthings and snatches his glove off of your dresser, tucking it under his arm. He hones his attention on you as he approaches your bed, assuring himself that you really are still asleep. He stands there for a while, admiring the part of your lips and the haphazard splay of your pajamas and where they cling to your body.

No bra.

His bare hand flexes. Being so close is too much of a temptation. He wets his lips with a quick slide of his tongue and bends down. He ghosts his fingers just over your cheek, not quite daring to touch. He can smell the faint remnants of your toothpaste on your breath, your shampoo, and beneath it all, you. It's intoxicating, it's…

Your brows furrow slightly in your sleep and you make a soft noise, interrupting his thoughts. He wonders if you’re dreaming–dreaming of him, perhaps. He’d like to think so. He’d like to think that you’re just as affected by him wanting you as he is, and that’s the real reason you invited him to lunch. He saw it in your eyes when he echoed your words, the thrill that went through you. He could have gone to his knees for you in that moment and had you in giving himself to you.

Desperate for just a taste, he kisses ever so gently between your brows, his own breaths matching the cadence of yours. Divine. You're divine. So effortlessly perfect and so aware of your own power. How could he not want every part of you?

He means to leave it there, to walk away with nothing but the slight salt of your brow on his lips, but the pull is too great. He's greedy, drunk on the smell and the taste of you, on the feel of your panties pressed up against his cock, and he can't stop himself from sampling your lips against his.

It’s the barest hint of touch, and yet the contact lances electricity through him like he’s been struck by a bolt of lightning. Your lips are soft, soft, soft. He knew they would be. Everything about you is so fucking soft. It takes everything in him to pull away, standing back to his full height.

He's aching, yearning so intensely he could rip the covers away and take you just like this, shake you awake, declare himself and have you. Would you scream, or would you have that same look of affronted understanding of him? You see him in a way few are ever brave–or stupid–enough to dare.

Not yet.

He won’t spoil the game. He agreed to play by your terms. As far as you’re concerned, he’ll do precisely that. You’ll be none the wiser in regards to his little reconnaissance mission–anything could have happened to your vibrator–and the two of you can play your little game as if you stand on equal footing.

Sucking in a silent breath, Homelander leaves alone, but not empty handed.

He’ll make very good use of his little trophy tonight.

( chapter three )

#i have no self control ENJOYYYYY #praise me it's shocking i finished this so quickly #although it's not really finished bc i'm stretching it into 3 parts but #couldn't help myself i needed him to be a little weirdo #next chapter is already started tho and shouldn't take long!#ALSO I MADE THIS GIF #i'm so happy lol #my writing #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #homelander #plus size reader

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cameronspecial · 2 months

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A New Kind Of Normal (Part 1)

Pairing: Dad!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Drug Use, Swearing, Arguing, and Name Calling

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: Five years later, Rafe makes an unplanned stop at a diner that reveals a secret that Y/N has been keeping from him.

Masterlist

Y/N wipes the counter with a clean rag, looking up at the clock across the wall. Three more hours until Stella is dropped off from daycare. “If you think rubbing that spot over and over again will make a genie appear and you can wish for her to be here faster, then I’m sorry to say that you are going to be disappointed,” Harvey jokes, following her gaze to the clock. She stops cleaning, “Sorry, I just miss her so much. I think I’m PMSing.” “Sure, we can blame it on your period,” he laughs. Y/N pushes him over in annoyance, escaping to her back office to hopefully make the time go faster.

She smiles at the picture of the grandma on the desk, settling on her chair to order more inventory. Her life plans weren’t exactly to take over the diner, yet it’s not like she was planning on having a baby at twenty either. Y/N was left the diner in her grandma’s will and she took it so that it could stay in the family. There are no regrets in either of those decisions. Sure, she didn’t get her big break in LA or New York, but she would never dream of trading her daughter for anything in the world. Stella Y/L/N is the light of her life, even if she is the spinning image of her dad. Stella is all Y/N’s and that’s all that matters. She may have Rafe’s eyes, but she has Y/N’s sense of humour. Her lips are the same as his, but she loves the same movies as her mom. Her hair colour may match his, but she also has the same bad habit of biting her nails as her mom.

Y/N focuses on the words on her screen when Harvey comes running into her office. “A total hunk just came into the restaurant and I have been ordered by Patty to come get you. She thinks he can be your soulmate. Says to let you take his table,” he informs, pointing behind him with his thumb. Y/N shakes her head, “I’m the owner. I really should be the one telling you to take tables, but I won’t disappoint Patty. I’ll be out in a second.” Harvey nods and heads back out to check on his customers. She finishes up the order she was working on, fixing her shirt before heading out the door.

The sound of a door opening draws Rafe’s attention and his heart stops at the scent of vanilla he hasn’t smelt in five years. Even if it was only one night, he has been haunted by the wearer of that scent for years. His eyes land on her and he can’t believe he gets to see her again. Her smile is still as brilliant. Y/N heads behind the counter to get an apron and his insides collapse in on himself as he watches her smile dim at his sight. He doesn’t know why she would be upset at him. She was the one who left in the morning without a word. Suddenly, the face on his watch needs to be constantly adjusted.

As Y/N exits her office, she has to stop herself from screaming at the man sitting in the booth. She could never forget him; a living reminder of him literally came out of her vagina almost four years ago. Fear creeps into her brain. The only possible reason he could be here after all these years is because of that living reminder. With the resources he has, he would most certainly win custody over Stella and Y/N couldn’t allow that to happen. But maybe he doesn’t know about her. If he did, then wouldn’t it make more sense to bring a lawyer with him? She decides to find out why he is really here first before she goes on the defence as she walks over to take his order.

“What are you doing here?” she grits through bared teeth. He gives her a confused look, “I had a meeting with clients. I thought I would stop to get something to eat before heading back to the Outer Banks.”

Her expression lightens up at his words. “So you aren’t here to see me?” His head moves from side to side, “No. I mean that night was amazing, but I wasn’t expecting to see you here. I’m just hungry.” He notices that her eyes keep glancing towards the clock and the nail of her thumb is being gripped by her teeth. He wonders why she looks so worried all of a sudden.

“Okay, good. I mean cool. What can I get you? A burger? Salad? Pie?”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down, Buttercup. Why are you in such a rush? Aren’t you going to get my drink order first?”

“Right. Of course. What can I get you to drink?”

“A coffee, please.”

Rafe had never seen a woman run away from him so fast before and he has got to say that he is offended. He doesn’t know what he did to garner such a reaction from her, but he vows to make it up to her. His hand goes up to his mouth, so he can check his breath. Smells fine. The mug of coffee is quickly placed in front of him and she practically forces him to give her his food order right at this second.

Y/N hands the order to Patty in the kitchen, “Pat, I need you to focus on this order, please. Get it out first and as fast as you can.” The older woman’s eyebrow shoots up. “That’s a little unusual, but I can do that for you, honey. Can you watch the other food then for me, please?” she asks. Y/N does as asks and makes sure the chicken tenders in the fryer don’t burn. Patty gets Rafe’s food done in a jiffy and Y/N takes it out to him. She stays behind the counter, looking between the clock and Rafe eating every so often. She swears she has never seen someone eat so slowly. He has to be doing this on purpose. He can feel her gaze on him and he has pieced together that something must be coming that she doesn’t want him to see. His curiosity gets the best of him, so he decides to make this lunch last.

The jingle of a bell above the door catches his attention. He turns to see a little girl run into the diner and round the counter to the woman standing behind it. “Mommy,” she screams, jumping into Y/N’s arms. With a clear view of the girl now that she is being carried by her mom, Rafe can now see her in more detail.

The long locks that frame her face are the same muddy blonde colour as his. Her eyes match his ocean-blue ones. And she definitely inherited the shape of his lips. He tries to do the math in his head. He isn’t great at guessing kids’ age. She looks about three, maybe four. So four years plus the ten months of pregnancy, that child is almost certainly his. He feels like his world is falling in on itself. How could he not know that he had a little girl? Did she know she had a daddy? He promised himself if he ever had a kid that they would never feel the same way about him as he does about his dad. But he did one step worse by not even being in his daughter’s life. Anger starts to fill him and he knows he needs to find a way to manage it before he lets it out on the wrong person.

“Stells, what are you doing back so early?” Y/N questions her grinning daughter, moving the hair out of the girl’s face. She nods along to the explanation about daycare ending early today, so Mrs. Winters dropped her off early. Her eyes are focused on Rafe and she watches as he pieces the puzzle together. She observes as he slaps money onto the table, quickly making his exit. “Shit,” the mother whispers. “Can you go to my office, please? Mommy will bring you a snack, baby.” Y/N makes sure Stella is making her way to the office before running after Rafe. Her feet slap against the concrete and she spots him entering his truck. She goes to chase after him, but he drives off in a blink of an eye.

——

He had a daughter. He had a little girl that he could cherish and watch grow that she kept a secret from him. He doesn’t even know their daughter’s name. His anger fills him to the brim and he needs an outlet to get rid of it. The white powder in the small baggies calls to him, so he rushes to his coffee table. He draws the cocaine into lines and brings his nose down to snort the powder. The drugs start to affect him; his judgement starts to be clouded.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket to dial a number, “Barry, I need you to find an address for me.”

——

“So how was daycare, Stella?” Y/N questions her daughter, cutting up a cucumber for a snack. Stella runs up to the counter, “It was good, Mommy. I got a rainbow sticker for being a good girl.” The girl pulls at the front of her shirt to show off the sticker on it. “That’s great, Baby. You must have worked hard today to be a good girl. I’m proud of the effort you put in. Now, why don’t you go get ready for your snack? Mommy is almost done getting everything ready,” she suggests, moving on to get the cheese cut. Stella yells an okay and runs to the bathroom.

The hard knock on the door reverberates around the open floor plan of the small house. This stops Y/N in her tracks and she goes to answer the door. When she sees who it is, she tries to shut the door in his face, but his foot stops her. “How come you didn’t tell me I had a daughter?” he growls, pushing his way into her house. His force causes her to stumble backwards and luckily, she is able to catch herself before she falls on her bum like on the night they first met. She shuts the door, turning toward him, “I was going to tell you. But by the time I found out I was pregnant, I had already learnt the type of person you truly were.”

“The type of person I truly was? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Can you keep your voice down, please? She is just down the hall.”

“What do you mean?” he snarls, approaching her so they are chest to chest. The dark look in his eyes and the towering figure over her should’ve scared her. She can see the abnormal size of his pupils, so she knows he is high. However, she can’t stop thinking about the man that she met. Not about the stories of his anger issues or how he beats people to a pulp. Not about how he not only does cocaine but sells it at parties too. All she can see is the man who lost his button and ranted about how his father is an asshole. Passing the anger of her hiding Stella, she can see the sadness he feels about missing out on her life so far. Yet, the fact that he shows up at her house, high and yelling while Stella is there causes her to feel her own fury as her maternal side starts to show.

She stands straight, taking a few steps forward that makes him walk backwards, “What do I mean? I mean that I found out that you not only do drugs, but you sell them. I found out that you beat people up who aren’t in the same financial circle as you. I found out that you have anger issues that you don’t seem to want to change. Rafe, you weren’t the type of father I wanted for my daughter.” Seeing such a sweet person say all those vile but true things about him sends a pang through his heart.

“You never gave me a chance to change! I would’ve done anything for her if I knew she existed.”

“Really? Because from where I’m standing right now, you are proving me right. Look what you did when you found out about her. You didn’t try to talk to me like an adult. You went out and got high then barged into my house demanding answers.”

“You know what? All of you bitches are the same. You think that you are so much better than everyone because you don’t do drugs or get angry. Well let me tell you something, you are just a poor slut who got pregnant on purpose to have a permanent cash cow. You aren’t better than me. You are just better at hiding it than me.”

The volume she was about to talk at was not one she had ever used before, but she wasn’t about to let him talk about her or her daughter like that. “GET OUT! I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN UNLESS YOU HAVE A LAWYER WITH YOU!” She storms toward the door and throws the door open. Rafe didn’t think someone with such a nice personality could be so loud. It helps bring him back to reality and he realizes what he just did. His shoulders relax with his anger. He looks at her sadly as he follows her pointed finger out of the door.

Y/N shuts it once he is out the door. She runs her fingers through her hair, giving a tug to the end of her roots. The frustrated sigh she lets out is the only sound in the room until a small voice catches her attention. “Mommy, are you okay?” Y/N turns to her teary-eyed daughter and concern floods through her. She rushes to her, bringing her up to rest against her hip. Her forehead rests against the younger girl’s temple, “I’m okay, Stells. Mommy isn’t hurt, just angry. Are you okay, Baby? I know hearing Mommy yell might have been scary. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Stella’s arms circle her mother’s shoulders and she gives her mother a kiss on the cheek as comfort. “I’m okay, Mommy. The scary man is gone now. Who was he?”

Y/N wishes she could pretend like there was no man, but Stella had obviously seen Rafe. There is no denying it. Y/N just has no idea who she wants Rafe to be to her daughter.

Taglist: @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @drewstarkeyswifehoe @kisstaya @magicalyoura @mp-littlebit @loverfu55ii

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saerins · 3 months

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PREV: #003 THE FIRST RIPPLE 𖧧 #004 THIS SPARK, IS IT REAL? 𖧧 NEXT: #005 THE ICE SURRENDERS ꒰ series masterlist ꒱

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — there’s a lot you don’t understand about what’s going on with sae, but he can say the same about you. question is, once you both find out more about each other, will your growing feelings stay the same?

content: itoshi sae x female reader. fluff/angst. profanity, alcohol, reader is fairly straightforward here, pining, jealousy, misunderstandings. word count: 5.8k

༝༚༝༚ slightly shorter chapter this week ^_^ hehe we’re getting closer to the messier/exciting parts so bear with me heh :) mwah ily guys <3

you’re starting to learn that maybe you can’t get your hopes up with itoshi sae.

a week later, you don’t hear anything from him. you both haven’t spoken since that night he took you out. not that you’re entirely too bothered—it’s a first for you, trying to get to know someone as in-demand as sae. (you don’t count eita because you’ve known him since before the fame.)

it doesn’t help that you don’t really have anyone to talk to about this. you promised sae that you wouldn’t spill, and you’re keeping that promise. somehow, it makes you feel a little warm inside; thinking that there is some sort of intimacy you share with sae that only the two of you know.

besides, even if you could talk to eita about it, you don’t want to.

is it too quick for you to think you might fall for him?

falling for someone isn’t really in your life plans yet, especially after your last and only tumultuous relationship, but maybe itoshi sae is different. he sure seems like it.

the next week rolls around, and you still hear nothing from him. which is fine with you; you’ve resigned yourself to thinking what’s yours will be yours and not to force anything… even if you spend most of your idle time wondering if sae is ever going to post anything on his private account. did he really just create it solely because you asked him to?

you can see that he logs in to it, judging by his icon on that little viewer list in your stories. but that’s the extent to which you see him online. he doesn’t reply, or do anything much. considering his normal account is probably mainly run by his team, you guess you shouldn’t expect too much from him.

still, maybe it’s a little pathetic of you to be wearing his cap so frequently. it’s sort of become a staple piece for you, somehow. to be fair, there’s hardly any dress code in place for you to follow and considering the bulk of your workwear is mostly casual, it fits right into your style. although, after sumi pointed out one day that it’s a luxury brand and that it costs more than you would personally ever spend on a cap (even if you had the means to), you try to wear it less often. (though that seems like a waste considering it was given to you.)

“you know, you gave the boss a really good scoop, enough to last for a few months,” sumi points out during lunch, taking a lick of her vanilla ice cream as the both of you sit out on the roof, escaping the cramped office. “so why do you look so stressed?”

honestly, you didn’t even realise you did. you thought you were being normal, but it has been a while since you had a normal crush on someone, and since itoshi sae is certainly not just a normal somebody, maybe you had been acting a little off, always waiting for a text, a call even, something.

“nothing, i just haven’t been able to get a good sleep lately,” you lie, hoping that sumi won’t pry.

she doesn’t.

“hm, it’s friday today,” she hums, pondering. “maybe you should find a few of your friends, get out, let loose, you know?”

later at your desk, the clock almost striking 5pm, you think maybe you should. because as much as you love your chill friday nights alone (mainly because your mom is barely home on the weekends), you don’t think it’ll do you much good if you keep mulling over the same old thing.

but just as you’re about to go pester eita again, he gets to you first, his timing impeccable today.

there’s an aching disappointment in your chest when you realise sae isn’t going to be there. maybe it’s just the glaring difference between the life of a celebrity versus someone normal like you. his schedule must usually be packed to the brim after all.

whatever, you’ll let him come back to you on his own time. for now, all you want to do for the weekend is to spend it having fun with the guys and settling everything you need to on saturday and spend sunday to yourself.

this possible thing between you and sae, whatever it could be, can wait. you’re not in any rush. at least, that’s what your head tells you.

your heart feels something different.

it’s only the second time you’re actually hanging out with eita’s friends, but you’re not regretting it one bit. even on the day of the event they’d been welcoming to you, and tonight is no exception.

they’re all sat around the wooden table on the balcony, a ton of beer cans and liquor bottles littered across the table. you sit on the long end, on the long chair, right beside eita, sides of your bodies always pressed close together that it makes a glint form in oliver’s eyes.

he’s still curious, not out of concern but just because, about you and eita and sae and how everything is going to tie together. it’s not everyday he sees eita being okay with a girl that close to him and not complain that she’s a bother. it’s also not everyday that sae creates a private account. oliver got bored and saw one day that you were the first person he followed.

you must really be something.

“where even is sae today?” you hear sendou ask, a hiccup following suit. “i finally come over and he’s not even here.”

he’s sitting on your other side, his profile strangely reminding you of the very guy he’s asking about. maybe it’s the way his hair is a lighter shade of pink, maybe even his sharp jawline. his eyes are different though, more expressive, and universally soft somehow.

you remember how sae’s can look soft, his teal eyes turning gentle whenever you try to approach him. but it wasn’t that way when you first met him, that’s a given.

“i don’t know, said he was too tired,” oliver sighs, stretching in his seat.

“wasn’t he just with bianca yesterday?” yukimiya asks, oblivious to oliver’s glee.

it kind of stings, but you stay quiet, the alcohol slowly seeping into your system. you can feel eita leaning against you a little bit more, and his presence has always been comforting, so you let him.

sendou hums, index finger tapping against his near-empty beer can. “is that still going on? how long has their relationship status been a mystery already?”

karasu snorts, nudging sendou on the elbow. “salty just ‘cause you tried to ask her out and she rejected you?”

as you sit quietly and observe, it seems that sendou was once at an event with her too—apparently, he had asked her for her number and she didn’t even want to give it to him. and then a month later she “met sae and was all over him”, according to karasu.

with the exception of eita, who sits quietly beside you, they start a debate on whether or not sae’s finally starting to see bianca in a different light. or, as sendou points out, “maybe they’ve been a thing all along and just hid it really well from everyone.” it’s not exactly something you want to listen to, even if you are the most curious you’ve ever been about a guy, so you block it out from your ears.

but oliver leans forward, resting his chin on the liquor bottle in front of him, staring straight at you. you’ve never really noticed it but his eyes are really beautiful, the different shades of green and purple making him seem ethereal just like that.

“you’re a girl, y/n, what do you think?” he asks you, a lazy drawl in his tone.

mirroring his actions, you bat your eyelashes at him, looking innocent as ever when you answer him. “i think you guys should stop talking about that her behind her back like that,” you say, earning a raise of oliver’s brows in return. he’s surprised, to say the least, but not in a bad way.

it’s not even that you don’t want to hear about her. you’re wantonly curious, especially since you’re beginning to realise your small hint of emotions towards sae, but something tells you that these guys wouldn’t be too kind with their words if you egg them on.

karasu gives you a nod of approval that you miss before he leans back in the chair, whispering to yukimiya, “at least we all know shidou won’t totally hate y/n.” but it’s too soft for you to hear, and you probably won’t even be able to make sense of it even if you did, not with the gradually increasing level of alcohol in your system.

between intentionally drinking to not be a pathetic mess who keeps thinking about her potential love life and having to drink because you’re usually good at drinking games but not when oliver is around with the way he keeps beating you at everything, you happen not to notice a lot of things.

at one point, oliver has replaced sendou next to you, whispering snarky comments in your ear in between games. he’s not the flirting kind, at least not to you, and he doesn’t push your boundaries physically either—he’s more akin to a friend you’d love to gossip with. that’s why you don’t even think much when he tilts his camera towards you, taking a selfie with both you and eita in it.

just a normal picture of friends hanging out, oliver leaning against your legs, propped up on the chair, your own head leaning into the crook of eita’s neck, all of you evidently tipsy from the dazed look in your eyes.

what neither of you notice is oliver’s smirk as he posts the picture onto his private, betting on his target audience of one to see it.

and now, he’ll just have to wait.

one hour later, the doorbell rings and yukimiya’s eyes glance over to eita, comfortable with an arm around you, and he takes it as his cue to open the door. eita’s probably too reluctant to move and he’ll let whoever it is at the door keep at it for hours before he’ll answer the poor guy.

he’s expecting some random food delivery, maybe from karasu because he’s been whining about wanting some chicken with his beer, or maybe even shidou showing up at the last minute from his other party. but this? the person he’s staring at in the eyes right now, is the last person he expected to see tonight.

“wait, i thought you weren’t coming?” yukimiya asks, but oliver’s already shouting from the balcony.

“hey, sae, what the fuck are you doing here?” he asks from the balcony, taking a swig of his beer.

beside him, you hear sae’s name and your head immediately whips around to look at the door. there he is, looking tired as ever but he’s there, in the flesh, dressed in all black, jacket and sweats, teal eyes finding you from all the way across the house.

sae wordlessly walks past yukimiya, the latter following behind him, still shocked that he’s even present. sure looks like sae always means it when he says he wouldn’t come to gatherings like these.

when he gets to the balcony, earning a cock of oliver’s brow, sae tilts his head, “i was invited, wasn’t i? what’s so surprising about that?”

oliver snickers at sae’s blatant avoidance of the question. deciding he wouldn’t get anything out of him anyway, he shrugs and accepts it. besides, he can already see that sae’s too busy trying to calculate if there’s enough space for him to sit beside you, with the way his eyes are scanning your surroundings. maybe it doesn’t help how eita’s so clingy with you, his arm still around you even when you’ve already straightened up.

both sae and eita are just staring blankly at each other, and everyone is aware of it except for you, because your head’s a little dizzy and you’re still thinking whether sae popping up here is a figment of your imagination.

you’re not that drunk, are you?

you get your answer when a shadow looms over your body, the familiar scent of his cologne wafting into your nose. he smells the same he did that night you kissed him.

“what, this seat taken?” sae asks, and you dumbly look down at the small edge of space beside you.

no, it’s not, but you’re probably going to have to squeeze between him and eita if he sits there, no more legroom. you shift anyway, eita making space (albeit reluctantly), the way sae ends up being so close to you enough to send your mind into overdrive. you’re still wondering why he showed up.

you, and everyone else. not oliver though. he knows why. and it’s not like he wants to intentionally make you cough out your feelings but it looks like the other guys who are oblivious to your feelings are steering in that direction.

“no bianca today?” karasu asks, a mocking tone in his voice.

sae doesn’t show an ounce of emotion, though. “wasn’t with her.”

“why not? scared we’re gonna make you two make out again like last time?” yukimiya asks, finally relaxing back in his seat. he says it jokingly, although you know the sentence at hand probably isn’t a joke.

“wait wait wait, you two made out?” sendou asks, incredulous, mirroring your exact thoughts.

a jealousy creeps up your spine, engulfing your alcohol-riddled distractions. some part of you wants to know what it’d be like to be kissed by him. you purse your lips into a firm line, wondering if you were being an accidental homewrecker by kissing him that night.

“it was just a game,” sae responds, making no moves to drink the beer handed to him.

eita pulls his arms away, moving in favour of getting you a drink. it’s not that he even knows anything that’s going on between you and sae, but he can tell by how you’re stiffening up that you’re probably a little affected. he slides a shot over to you, and you down it with ease.

ignoring the way the other guys keep harping on the topic, sae turns his attention to you, flicking the tip of the cap he gave you, and you shift your gaze to look up at him, the small smirk he gives you when you do making your heart flutter again.

why is it so easy for him to do that to you?

“haven’t sold my cap yet?”

you thank the heavens you’re not too tipsy to be normal. “i’m holding out for higher bids, actually,” you quip, grinning. “you can offer one too if you want it back.”

sae hums, head tilted again as he ponders while staring at you. slowly, he leans down to your ear, whispering so only you can hear him, “how much do i have to bid for you to keep it?”

maybe it’s the liquor, but you feel your cheeks heat up. it can’t be his close proximity. it can’t be the way he’s so close that you can see the beating pulse on his neck. it can’t be the way you think you look more intimate here than you should. definitely can’t be the way all the guys have noticed and are giving each other looks.

why does he even want you to keep it? is this some sort of abstract way that he’s using to tell you that you’re not an accidental homewrecker?

you make a mental reminder to yourself to never get drunk in front of sae. you don’t want to end up blurting out some less-than-decent thoughts of yours.

“what’s wrong? too tipsy now to talk back?” sae asks, and you can only pout at him, not in your usual condition to think of smart comebacks. it makes the corner of his lips tug upwards just a little bit more than usual, his hand coming up to teasingly push the cap down further—in that seemingly affectionate way he does.

and maybe it isn’t such a good idea to agree to continue to play games, not when you got roped into never have i ever and karasu, to the delight of oliver, said he has never fucked anyone at this table. seeing that only you and eita put a finger down, everyone can tell there’s probably a complicated history between you and eita. not that you owe them any explanation, though you kind of do feel the urge to tell sae that it was in the past.

you steal a glance at him beside you, the mild look of surprise befallen on his handsome face. you wonder if he thinks badly of you now. you wonder if he’ll think badly of you when he sees what your life is really like. will he think you’re just going to be a stain on his fancy life that it’ll be better off not knowing you?

or maybe… maybe he has a complicated past too. with bianca.

funnily enough, eita loses after yukimiya says he’s never had sex with more than five girls. the disappointing part is you didn’t really get to know anything interesting about sae.

“hey, you feeling okay? you can stop playing if you wanna,” sae tells you later on, after god knows how many minutes have passed and you’re already onto the next game. you don’t even know why you agreed to play two truths one dare in the first place when you know it’ll just be a shitshow for you.

over the course of x minutes, you’d managed to learn many things, some of which being that karasu and eita had shared a girl in bed, that yukimiya dared to do a body shot on oliver, that sae would consider bianca an important person to him, and that you really can’t make up your mind to go big or go home because oliver had just dared you to spend seven minutes in heaven with anyone of your choosing.

of course, you can safely choose eita and trust him not to do anything if you told him to. but on the flip side, you can choose who you really want. even if you’re not so sure he’d want to anymore.

“you can always choose me,” oliver jokes, lifting the mood. although the smirk on his face makes you question it. “i’ll definitely show you a good time.”

while you’re having an internal dilemma, karasu and sendou are in the background teasing oliver for being fake, saying that he shouldn’t be offering that if he’s already interested in miss manager.

but you snap out of it when the irritated sigh you hear out of sae somehow feels like the world is sending you a sign. in some way. you’re not sure if you’re reaching—is he bothered by oliver’s comments? and why does oliver look so smug all of a sudden?

you’re beginning to regret not being sober, you can’t figure this shit out. but what you do figure out is what you want to do. why think so much about tomorrow when the present is right here?

so you don’t pay it any more thoughts, getting up and dragging sae with you by the shirt, ignoring all the commotion left behind by the guys, save for eita who only stares blankly at you as you drag sae into his own room and lock the door.

“oh shit, sorry dude, didn’t mean to—”

“for the last time, just friends,” otoya snaps, cutting karasu off, although not even sendou believes him. for someone who doesn’t even care to treat people nicely, sendou can at least see that eita treats you a fair bit better than anyone else.

in the room, sae can only watch blankly as you stumble over your feet before finally settling on the edge of otoya’s bed. the envious, green side of him can’t help but wonder how many times you’d been here, in his room, with him. though it’s kind of amusing how you chose to bring sae in here now.

from what sae can tell, you’re probably a little more tipsy than you should be in these types of situation, and a part of him is relieved that you’re not here with anyone else. if you were here with otoya, would you be fooling around by now?

“so, thought you were too tired to show up—what happened?” you ask from where you are on the bed, body swaying slightly, eyes threatening to close.

the moment he takes a seat next to you, you lean close, your head coming to rest on his shoulder, and sae has no doubt that you’d already drank a lot before he came. proximity this close, he can smell the shampoo in your hair, can feel how soft it is.

“i couldn’t sleep, got bored, that’s all.”

your shoulders vibrate slightly as you giggle, pulling away, a suspicious glint in your eyes. “damn, and here i thought you came for me.”

even when you’re intoxicated you still have such a smart mouth. sae shrugs, his gaze turning ever so soft, like every time before when he looks at you. there’s something about you that he can’t quite place, something that makes him act so differently than he usually does, and for once he doesn’t hate it. “did you want me to?”

not taking the bait, you keep up your casual demeanour, even if your eyelids feel heavy and you’re about five seconds away from just passing right out on the bed.

“you know, it’s fine to say you missed me and wanted to see me,” you tell him, grin wide as ever, almost infectious. you’re only surviving on liquid courage right now, the way you unashamedly try to flirt. though, if sae isn’t moving away, does that mean he doesn’t mind?

he looks off to the side, pondering for a while before turning back to you with a straight face, “i missed you, wanted to see you.”

for a moment, you feel like your heart might stop.

“is that what you wanna hear?”

almost instinctively, you grab the stray pillow lying on the bed and fling it at sae, earning an amused laugh from him but you barely realise it, too caught up in the frustration that his words were just strung together to entertain you as opposed to his actual feelings.

crossing your arms, you look away, the exhaustion of the day coupled with the dread of tomorrow nipping away at your consciousness. “don’t patronise me, itoshi sae,” you huff, and you miss the way he looks at you with a smile on his face.

will you remember any of this tomorrow? you’re not drunk, but you’re not exactly thinking straight either.

“were you… very busy this past week?”

your question is voiced so softly, almost like you’re afraid to ask, and sae realises maybe he should’ve at least told you he wouldn’t be able to make it as early as he thought he would.

“yeah, i was.”

technically, he isn’t lying. he was back in japan last saturday, but maybe he had been too wrapped up in his thoughts to do anything else.

“with bianca?”

it’s even softer this time, and for some reason, sae’s almost kind of relieved you’re asking. he just doesn’t know what it is.

“no, not really,” he tells you. it’s complicated, and you don’t even have context; he wouldn’t even know where to begin talking to you about it.

you put your legs up on the bed, hiding your face between your knees, and sae’s left wondering whether alcohol really makes that much of a difference. you seem bold, shy and teasing all at once. his hat is still on your head, your thoughts coming out into the open.

“are you… involved with her?” your voice is muffled, but he hears you loud and clear.

a small smile dawns onto his face, safe from your view. he doesn’t really know the implications of you asking the question, but he likes how you don’t beat around the bush. it’s nice not having to constantly guess what you really mean.

and maybe it’s you rubbing off on him, but he doesn’t answer it straight.

“curious, y/n?”

when you lift your head up to look at him, you see the widest smile he’s ever given you, objectively much smaller and way more subtle than everyone else, but it’s a smile all the same and it makes your heart beat faster in your chest.

“yes,” you answer honestly, because you’re not sure when exactly you’re going to pass out but you have a feeling it’ll be soon and eita’s bed is just so soft.

sae is only mildly stunned by how straightforward you are, so he decides to do you a favour. he doesn’t usually like divulging things like this; topics that bring gossip and are undoubtedly going to come back to him if it gets out. what’s more, you work for a sports magazine so you can totally use this against him, but it isn’t even that you’re intoxicated right now, but more so that he feels he can trust you with it.

slowly, he reaches his hand over, and for once he tips the cap upwards a little so he can see your eyes when he tells you, “stupid, i’m not involved with anyone.” is that clear enough for you? he’s not sure why but he hopes it is.

what does he even want with you?

the moment you hear it, you break out into a wide smile, genuine and actually infectious this time because sae feels the corners of his lips threatening to pull upwards even more. what the heck is this feeling?

“really? i’m so relieved,” you exhale, voice a little airy, looking a little too pretty that sae immediately pulls the cap back downwards. “so,” you move on, adjusting it back in position, daring to move closer to him, face so close to his own that he has nowhere else to look except straight into your eyes. “we have four minutes left. will you grant me whatever i want, itoshi sae?”

you have a habit of calling him by his full name. he makes a mental reminder to get you to change that. not tonight though, he doesn’t want you to forget.

it’s weird how he feels around you; why does he feel so overwhelmed yet want more both at the same time? he swallows the lump in his throat, keeping his composure, “depends, you’re pretty demanding, tell me first and i’ll consider.”

“itoshi sae, i’m not!” you refute, punching him playfully on the arm and he has to hold your arm to stop you from falling off the bed. “i don’t know. the guys outside are probably expecting us to fuck or something.”

there you go, unfiltered and he kind of likes it. his fingers are still around your wrist.

but the answer is crystal clear to him.

“no.”

“huh?” it takes you a while to process. given that the only thoughts in your head as of right now are only: what does sae think of you and eita? and bianca is important to him. “what if it was just a kiss?”

he hums, then shakes his head. “nope.”

“wait, am i not pretty enough for you or something?”

you’re whining and sae finds it cute of all things. you have a tendency to misunderstand, so maybe he needs to adjust how he talks to you. he’ll see. but before he can even say anything else, your head falls into his chest, your regular breathing the only sound that fills the room after. he’s perplexed and amused all at once; how did you manage to fall asleep so quickly?

contrary to your thoughts, sae has always thought you were pretty, ever since the first night he met you. even in your private account where you post yourself in hoodies too big for your body and no makeup, clad in sweats—still pretty.

sae sighs, his fingers stroking your hair now that you’re asleep, and whispering in your ear only when you’re not able to hear him.

“if i do that, i think i’ll end up wanting more.” and you’re drunk and that’s not what he really wants.

but he does give you what you ask for, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

that’ll have to do for now.

“so, nothing happened?” sendou asks, bored, as sae carries you on his back as he comes out of the room.

you’re passed out and drooling on his shoulder and he doesn’t really care about that.

“it’s sae, c’mon, did you expect something?” karasu laughs, all of them coming in from the balcony because in the seven minutes both of you had spent in the room, it managed to start raining. “maybe if it was bianca, y’know, then maybe.”

sae ignores all their passing comments, choosing to walk over to otoya, “hey, she passed out, i’m just gonna take her home.”

as much as sae isn’t particularly fond of otoya, he’s probably your closest friend here and he doesn’t want him to think he’s just going to take advantage of you.

otoya’s green eyes flicker to the clock on the wall before he shakes his head, speaking softly so the others won’t hear. “nah, just put her in the guest bedroom. i’ll send her back in the morning. you can head back first.”

there’s an irritation that builds up inside him, but sae maintains his emotionless expression, remembering that otoya knows you much more than he does. “i could just—”

“she doesn’t want to go home tonight,” otoya cuts in, a warning glare in his eyes. “trust me.”

suddenly, sae remembers the last time he met you, your swollen cheek and the way your eyes were glazed over. and he wants to ask otoya what it’s all about but this is about you, and he really shouldn’t ask someone else.

“fine,” sae concedes. if whatever’s at home makes you miserable, he won’t bring you there. “i’ll put her in there before i go.”

there’s a lot more otoya would like to ask sae, because oliver’s not the only one curious at sae’s seemingly odd behaviour. he wants to know what exactly he thinks about you, but everyone’s still around and it’s not a good time, so he sucks it up and lets it go for tonight.

as sae puts you down on the bed and pulls the blanket over you, he gets a brief flashback of the night he set bianca down in her hotel room. you’re both so similar, and yet not at all.

and when he’s about to turn and go, your fingers reach out to tug at the hem of his jacket sleeve, almost effectively making sae’s heart leap out of his chest. your eyes are still shut, so there’s no chance you’re actually conscious right now. still, your mouth opens.

“stay with me?”

sae stills. do you know it’s him? or do you think he’s otoya? either way, you and bianca really are similar, even when you’re not completely awake. so why… why are his reactions so different?

it’s not like he has anything on tomorrow, so it’s really no imposition.

before he knows it, he’s sitting on the floor, right next to where you sleep on the bed, your fingers enveloped in his palm, his head propped on the mattress, his own exhaustion catching up to him.

it’s been a messy week; trying to gather his thoughts about you every single time he’s free, having to talk to bianca and thinking about that, and then coming back just to see oliver and otoya so close to you that it bothers him a little. finding out about you and otoya takes the cake, though.

how special is otoya to you?

the question lingers unanswered as he drifts to sleep, both of you subconsciously finding comfort in the other’s innocent warmth.

the next morning when you wake up, you’re half shocked half happy to find sae where he is, sleeping there peacefully, the previous night’s exhaustion dissipating from his face.

did he take care of you last night? you can only hope you didn’t puke in front of him. that would be embarrassing.

you’d like to stay, wait for him to wake up and talk to him and make sure you didn’t say or do anything too out of line because your memory’s a little foggy, bits and pieces that you can’t quite piece together or even tell if they’re real or dreams.

but you can’t.

you remember what day it is today and reluctantly get out of bed. though, feeling a little cheeky, you quietly grab a small black marker out of the drawer, suppressing a grin as you scribble on sae’s palms, hoping he won’t wake up from this.

a couple hours later, by the time sae gets up, the bed is cold and still undone. it’s already noon, and somehow the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up is you—are you already home? did otoya send you?

but the question that pops up in the forefront of his mind when he sees otoya lazing around on his couch later on is none of that.

and to be fair, otoya has the very same question in his head.

“do you like her or something? y/n.”

otoya is the one to ask, eyes still glued onto his phone screen, typing something out. sae can’t help but wonder if he’s talking to you.

“what’s it to you?” sae asks. he can hear the snores of the other guys coming from otoya’s room.

otoya shrugs. “just curious. she’s my best friend after all.”

there’s a certain possessiveness in the way he says it that rubs sae the wrong way. still, sae supposes that if otoya’s your best friend, he shouldn’t be too impulsive with his words.

“maybe i like her,” sae says, the tension in the air getting thicker.

“in what way?” otoya still hasn’t looked up from his phone.

“same way you do.”

“i don’t know what you mean.”

otoya scoffs, both of them acting coy with one another. “bianca and y/n, huh? busy guy,” otoya sighs, tossing his phone aside and getting up, walking towards sae, hands in his pocket. both of them are staring the other down, feeling the situation out. “i think i suit y/n better, you can have bianca.”

now it’s sae’s turn to scoff, sharp eyes piercing through otoya’s own. “why don’t we let y/n decide for herself, huh?” he quips, before grabbing his car keys out of his pocket and leaving through the front door.

as he settles down in his car and turns the engine on, it’s only then that he realises the black marks on his palm.

thank you ᡣ𐭩

somehow, just one look at it is enough to ease the tension on his shoulders.

you really can do wonders.

extras !

otoya’s hostility towards sae was intentional.

sae didn’t try to wash your writing off—he let it fade away naturally.

if yn was sober, she would’ve not been as straightforward as he was in the room with sae. but she definitely would’ve flustered sae a lot more with her playful personality.

the whole time, oliver was live recounting the events of the night to miss manager, all of which are left on read.

if bianca had been there, sae would have been a lot more cautious about his actions and probably wouldn’t have acted too close to y/n.

random fact #1: otoya plays bass, used to perform in a band back in university. part of how he got so many girls interested in him but he was always with y/n which made a lot of them unhappy.

random fact #2: sae has never really been jealous before so now that he’s feeling it, he’s a lot more sensitive to it than normal people.

taglist! @yuzurins @saeskiss @raphsimp @lust4rin @mxplesyrvp @chieeeeeee @yumekolovesyukimiya @kunirayuna39 @auranny @sereniteav @gskill @saesgrl @riseena @rikijbol @sagejin @shironagi @veecynii

#bllk x reader #sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x reader #bllk x y/n #sae x y/n #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x you #blue lock x you #itoshi sae #itoshi sae imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #itoshi sae fluff #૪ aeri’s fics !

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melbatron5000 · 1 month

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Murder Board 2.0

Updated 4/30/24

Since I've figure a few things out, I need to re-do my Murder Board. New answers, new questions.

What I think I know:

NEIL GAIMAN IS A LYING LIAR WHO LIES. Except when he's dropping hints or answering straight out. All of his answers to anything anyone asks about GO are suspect at best. (I cannot blame him or anyone else on the cast or crew -- they spent A LOT of time and energy building this very meticulous puzzle game for us -- why would ANY of them give ANY of it away? That would ruin all the fun!)

Most of the discontinuity of Season 2 can be explained by POV switches between characters. See here and here for more. I think the title/location cards are also probably POV Clues, that needs a closer look.

Crowley gave something to Aziraphale in his mouth when they kissed. It's the fly. Now, what else was in the fly besides Gabriel's memory? RECORDS. Incriminating records that are why the Metatron let Beelzebub and Gabriel go, but nailed Aziraphale. The Metatron knows Gabriel has those records, he doesn't know they got passed to Aziraphale.

Saraqael and Crowley and by proxy, Aziraphale are all working together. See here and here for more. That explains A. the tiny miracle blowing up into a 25 Lazarii miracle. It didn't. They had to cover for something else that did. B. Saraqael showing the archangels the book shop in 2019 in the spy hole. C. Crowley's spy turtle neck and where he went during Aziraphale's Job flashback. D. Why Saraqael helps him see the trial in Heaven. (Oh! Muriel's now in on it, too!)

Crowley's memory is fine, it's a red herring. He is dissing Furfur, he is denying knowing Saraqael even after she gives him a reason to recognize her to hide that they are working together. He tells Jim he doesn't remember why they invented gravity, but that whole scene if from Aziraphale's perspective, so the conversation likely didn't actually go just like that.

Shax is on a mission besides Gabriel -- she's looking for whatever Aziraphale and Crowley are hiding. Gabriel is a side-mission.

The hand-washing comment from Crowley in the Resurrectionists minisode -- he tells DaVinci about helicopters in Good Omens the novel. It's just a thing he can do.

What is up with Maggie? Maggie's freaking Jesus 2.0. She's what Shax is looking for, and who Crowley, Aziraphale, and Saraqael are hiding. Also, where is God? God is busy being Maggie, that's where. That's why Crowley says "Oh God" before his speech in the final fifteen. He's bringing up what they're hiding, reminding Aziraphale that someone has to stay and keep an eye on Maggie. That's why he can't go. Now, how the FUCK did Jesus 2.0 wind up owning a record store she inherited from her family NEXT TO AN ANGEL?? (Ah, shit, now I'm doubting this one. But I still think Jesus is there, and Maggie means SOMETHING -- but so does Nina.)

SECRET SONGS??? Why are the songs secret?? I'm losing my mind, what is happening?? I think this is a message that A. Aziraphale and Crowley are okay, and B. We will absolutely be getting part 3 of 1941.

I still think the scenes might be out of order. Is it as simple as watching them in chronological order? Could be.

The Metatron is a naked man.

Aziraphale and Crowley are talking in subtext A LOT. Aziraphale's tells are easier to spot than Crowley's. He raises his eyebrows and does vocal bunny rabbit ears. "Our Gabriel miracle," "The establishment in question," "Certainly on to something," "Haven't yet cracked the case." I haven't picked out Crowley's tells yet.

What still needs answering:

The clocks jumping time still don't make any sense. And why are the extras moving in double-time when we first arrive to Whickber street?

The weird hand in the 1941 photo still doesn't make sense.

Aziraphale's chair position being moved still doesn't make sense.

The extras behaving strangely still doesn't make sense.

Crowley's car being in the wrong spot on the road after Shax threatens him still doesn't make any sense.

I'm not sure that the POV switches explains all the weird sounds -- Aziraphale turns to look at a crashing sound when he returns from Edinburgh, the very loud clock in the final fifteen BUT ALSO when Jim says he will go out to the demons.

I'm not sure that POV switches explain Crowley's sunglasses going from silver to black.

I still don't know why Aziraphale went to Edinburgh, or why he stopped at the graveyard where Gabriel's statue is.

Why does Michael do the "nothing's in the box" thing with the matchbox? It's a petty specific action. Someone pointed out that Michael's nails look chewed and terrible, are we meant to stare at the matchbox while something else goes unnoticed? Well, duh. But what?

We most certainly did not get the whole scene where the Metatron is talking to Aziraphale. What else was said?

What did Crowley do during his ALL-NIGHT JAUNT in Heaven? Did he sneak around and steal something? Did he uncover something? Did they hurt him?

What did Aziraphale do with his briefcase that he took to Edinburgh? We see it in the book shop from his POV, and Edinburgh is seen from Crowley's POV, so they both know it exists. And then it's gone.

Why does Gabriel prophecy with God's voice? IS it God's voice? It's a woman, is it Frances McDormand? It's hard to hear. When he remembers the beginning, I think it's God's voice. When he prophecies, it may be someone else. Frances McDorman has no credit in that episode.

Why the heck did Maggie and Nina go talk to Crowley while the Metatron was talking to Aziraphale? What they had to say wasn't important enough to leave Nina's shop during a rush, and I definitely don't think they derailed Crowley from what he needed to say to Aziraphale, though it might look at first as if they did. So what was that about?

When Shax stops Aziraphale for a ride, he says, "Oh, I really need to get to --" and then is cut off. He really needs to get to where? It's an easy assumption to think he means the book shop, or London. But is that all he means? Or was he on his way somewhere else? And if it was just the book shop, what does he mean he's late? Late for what?

Crowley can tell "something's wrong," and he doesn't just mean the demons. What?

When Crowley leaves Heaven, he tells Saraqael and Muriel to come, too. But in the elevator, Michael and Uriel are there! When the fuck did they show up??

Why does Beelzebub tell Shax to attack the bookstore? Aren't they worried about Gabriel being harmed? And they know Hell is understaffed. Maybe that's why they command it? Because they know Shax won't be able to get the demons?

What about the Masons? It's such a specific thing for the pub owner to bring up, what is the meaning of it? And Maggie has a Mason symbol on her necklace. Did the Masons carve the statue of Gabriel? When did they see him?

The only narration we hear in the entire season is Aziraphale in the Resurrectionist flashback. I believe this is to throw us off the POV character switches all season. But still, why do we only hear him narrate 1 flashback? I think he's reading the diary to himself in the present day. That would explain the end, "And that was the last I was to see of Crowley for some time." He JUST heard the story of the jukebox from Maggie. And Gabriel appearing -- same city that statue is in. Of course he thought of something important from that diary entry! Now, what did he notice?

Is the Book of Life a real threat? We hear two stories about it, that it's real and that its ability to erase beings was something to scare the cherubs with, this is inconclusive. Crowley gets nervous after Beelzebub talks to him, but I think he's pissed that Heaven and Hell have taken an interest in them again, especially since they're trying to hide Maggie!Jesus.

So many promo posters show Aziraphale, Crowley, and Jimbriel together, or symbols of them. Three feathers: two white, one black. Tea cup, cocoa mug, wine glass. The three of them. Not with Beelzebub, not with Muriel, the three of them. And all three of them have been Jesus-coded in some small way. No one else. Those three. What. Why. Are they the sacrifice required to bring about the new world? Why not Beez, then?

Wait. Two Crowleys?? WTF. There are two Crowley puppets in the magic shop. Am I insane? I have no theory here, just some wild speculation that needs a lot more time to simmer. Two actual Crowleys, or two ideas of Crowley? Or something to hurt my head?

An album on the wall in Maggie's shop says "Rat Keith." This seems to me to be an allusion to The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents, by Terry Pratchett. In the book, some men have tied several rats' tails together to create a rat king that keeps the wild rats under control -- except that the rat king has too much power and is doing way more than just that. People die. So who's been given too much power and is now running the show instead of being a puppet? The Metatron, perhaps? Hm . . .

WHAT is going on with that damn white head statue in Aziraphale's book shop? It's centered in more than one shot, as if it's a character. Is it a POV hint? I wonder, if it is, whose POV it represents?

A blog that I didn't reblog pointed out that the record Aziraphale is listening to when Garbriel shows up is neither Shostakovich nor 21 minutes long. That seems important, but I'm not sure how.

What the heck does Furfur mean by "little monkey in the waistcoat?" How does that sound like Crowley?

Why does Mrs. H say "for God's sake" two times in a row? No one says that on this show without a meaning.

I count at least three times that Crowley approaches Aziraphale and Aziraphale looks to his left, but Crowley is not on his left. In fact, Crowley is not on the left a LOT this season.

Shax notices Crowley going to Heaven and makes an epiphany face.

Why is the end credit music for the ball French cafe music? French must be important. And the end credit music for The Hitchhiker is old timey and scratchy, then skips and becomes the same song in a newer, clearer style. Because they repeat the bullet catch trick in the modern day, perhaps?

I thought I heard that Crowley and Aziraphale are in the fly in the opening sequence, but nope. So why are they in a cave?

Why are there multiple elevators and multiple mountains in the opening sequence??? What the hell does that mean??

Repeating themes: (I am just realizing that these aren't just themes, they are all Clues!)

Beverages of all kinds -- tea for Aziraphale, wine or whiskey for Crowley, cocoa for Jim. Oh, and LAUDANUM.

Time -- lots of clocks/mentions of time. Everyone notices the ticking clock during the Final Fifteen, but it's ticking loud when the demons attack the ball, too. Also, why is the first scene of Whickber street shown at high-speed? Is time sped up? Or something else?

Love/partnership/togetherness being stronger than separateness

Memories/forgetting/remembering

Payment -- money comes up in both the Resurrectionists minisode and the Flesh Eating Nazi Zombies minisode, but no one pays for anything in present. There is bartering, but no money. Actually, both times money is brought up, it's Crowley using Aziraphale's money. It's funny, but I feel like there's a point to it.

Rising from the dead -- Job's kids (even though they weren't actually dead), bodies used for science, Nazi zombies, the Second Coming. I think this is all just hinting around Jesus -- sure, hinting around Jesus, who we were expecting to show up in Season 3, but she's already here. The hints indicate that she is already on Earth, not going to show up next season. Ha!

Unreliable narrators. Because we are seeing the whole show from various characters' points of view. Because of that, we can only see what they know, expect, believe, or understand, but also what they want us to see. We need to take the whole second season with a grain of salt.

Death in general -- but 9a., I'm a dirty pagan, why didn't I make this connection sooner, death always leads to REBIRTH, change, something totally new and 9b. there are tarot cards in the magic shop, and even if you're not a dirty pagan, the Death tarot card means transition, something must die before a new thing can be born. Hmmmm.

Morality and what is "good" and what is right

Recognition and identity and hiding one's identity. Ah! Probably at least partly because Maggie someone? is Jesus. How would you recognize them? (Do I still think it's Maggie? Not sure.) She doesn't look like White Jesus, or even a more realistic Middle-Eastern or Black Jesus. She looks like Maggie. Who would know her? I think there's more to this theme, but Maggie as Jesus 2.0 adds up.

Licenses, permits, permissions, rules, proof, evidence, what's allowed. All of the minisodes mention this, and it all gets mentioned again over and over. Because Heaven and Hell do have rules they have to follow. Which drives home my theory that Gabriel stole some very incriminating records from Heaven when he left, Crowley got hold of them and gave them to Aziraphale during the kiss, and now Aziraphale is going to nail them.

Colors. Lots of colors!! Job's kids are dressed in the colors of Nina, Maggie, and Aziraphale's shops. Jesus on the Resurrectionist Pub sign is in blue and orange, blue and orange crop up a lot in extra's clothing, as do yellow and red, Crowley colors. The Ladies of Camelot are in orange and blue. Maggie's shop is orange, Nina's is blue.

Horses. Horse statue, horse wine label, people saying "dark horse." The four horsemen again?

Repeating words and phrases:

Technically

Properly

Isn't it just?

Too late

Funny old world

Not as such

Made for each other

EVERYWHERE

Obviously

Two shakes of a lamb's tail

Dark horse

What are you/am I? As opposed to WHO. Aziraphale asks in the Land of Uz, and Crowley asks Gabriel.

Are you sure? Quite sure.

The Marvelous Mr. Fell is described as marvelous in his mysterosity, Shax says the demons have dangerosity.

Mrs. H in 1941 says "for God's sake" twice in quick succession.

Hints:

Powell and Pressburg films

The Crow Road

Catch 22

The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, Terry Pratchett in general

Jane Austin

Book Good Omens

Season 1 Good Omens

The titles of episodes, minisodes, places, etc. 7a. The Arrival: a book and a movie, though the book seems far more relevant. And lovely. The Clue: a movie. Companion to Owls: a line from a Bible story. I Know Where I'm Going: a movie. The Resurrectionists: two novels, each called The Resurrectionist, singular. Both look unhinged. The Hitchhiker: a Twilight Zone episode. Nazi Zombie Flesheaters: Literally no other reference. ?? Nazi Zombies do appear in a LOT of movies, comics, and video games, usually as a dark joke. The Ball: a video game. Irrelevant? It's a puzzle-based game, so maybe not. Every Day: a song AND a movie. Some themes repeat here: Puzzle games, being re-directed from one's path to find true love, death and being brought back to life in a gruesome and unpleasant way.

Objects that get a close-up/centering:

Starmaker's nebula book

Shostakovich record

Tomatoes

The box

The Bentley

Eccles cakes

The bell

Head statue

The book Jim drops

Jukebox

Gabgriel's statue

Laudanum bottle

Phones in Edinburgh episode

"Very closed" sign

Broken whiskey bottles in 1941

Hourglass in Hell

Furfur's camera

Bullet catch in the magic shop

Instruction booklet for bullet catch gets 3 close ups

Puppets

Dancer's silhouette

Mr. Fell sign

The actual bullet

Angelic beings book

Photo evidence

Shax's shoes

"Surrender the angle" brick

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #aziraphale #good omens meta #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens analysis #good omens fan theory #ineffable mystery #good omens minisodes #good omens 1941 #good omens resurrectionists #good omens Job

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starlight-artbby · 28 days

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Y'all the newest X-Men 97 episode blew me away. Like the animation ate down and it was just so good like I was thoroughly enjoying every second.

I knew that Scott was gonna hold some grudge against the professor and I don't blame him. He left his dream to his team and honestly failed him and damn did this episode remind him that over and over again. Especially Rogue who clearly was fed up with his ass. And I swear I was gonna cry when I saw her wearing Remy's coat and I had a tear nearly fall from my eye when Kurt looked so devastated to tell her again the Remy is dead like ugh I was in so much pain.

Speaking of pain Jubilee and Roberto. How dare they do this to me. I knew from a mile away that Roberto Was gonna go with Magneto (along with Rogue) and I completely understand why. His mother straight up abandon him and handed him to the people who wanted to kill him. Like of course he is gonna be pissed but when Jubilee said you still have me I felt like a part of me died because he walked away and that shit had to hurt.

Now I completely laughed when Magneto said the line about Lilandra. I can't remember exactly what he said but I do recall being gagged and gooped and not him telling Xavier to shut up like if those two don't just go to couples counseling...

Now I won't lie, Morph had me when he pretending to be Sinister so if I were Bastion I most certainly was gonna get caught. May I also express how I thought that Beast was going to get pieced through the chest during that fight sequence like I was on the edge of my toes.

Once again Sinister proved to me why I hate him so much. Having Jean fight her own son?!? Foul and then her contacting Cyclops to tell him that she loves him!!! Like why does X-Men 97 like hurting us? And if Storm or Forge ends up dead, I am most certainly fighting someone.

Now the new looks... Huh... Why did they have to put that cap on my boy Scott. And Jean she ate down with the boots but the gloves and the mask?!?! No mam. I loved Rogues outfit along with Logan's. They could've had morph in something a lot better. Kurt ate as usual and of course Jubilee ate up her look along with Storm. I couldn't tell if beast put on anything different so I can't say much about that but regardless, some of the team needed a better wardrobe.

Now I know some people will probably get mad at Rogue and Roberto for going with Magneto but honestly, Rogue was there on Genosha. It has messed her up so badly and we continue to see the side effects till this very episode. I already explained Roberto so I honestly am not mad at him but I am sad that he couldn't see that Jubilee was there for him just like sadly Rogue couldn't see that the team would be there for her but honestly, their feelings are still valid as fuck and I don't want to hear anyone else say other wise.

Also why did they have to do Wolverine like that!! Huh!!! Like y'all better have his regeneration ability kick in. I also feel so bad cause I know that nobody was expecting murder to occur up there that's for sure.

(also Scott stopping Xavier from forcing Magneto to return power was everything to me cause he did it for Jean and it's time he shows that woman some love.)

Also where is Bishop!?!?!

Now for the things I enjoyed. I loved the new opening. I was so happy to see Storm back in it again. It really made things start off well for the episode. I loved Rogue clocking Xavier and telling him exactly what she needed to say.

My favorite part of the episode though had to be when Jean and Storm had reunited and when they parted ways on the mission. Those two are sisters and I love the show for reminding us of their incredible bond I just lived to see it.

I also enjoyed Scott and Jean giving each other a hug before they parted ways and when Scott gave Nathan that advice I truly loved it. I am hoping that'll stop him from attacking Jean (possibly) if not, Jean will girlboss her way out of there.

I can't wait for the final episode (I hope I get Remy and Logan and anyone else who gets injured back) ♡♡♡♡

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ladykailitha · 1 year

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The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock Part 1

When I reached 1000 followers I put up a poll for what people wanted me to do to celebrate and the top two options (separated by less than one percent) were between doing nothing and just continue to do my regularly scheduled posting and doing a fun little one shot. Which I told people to put their suggestion in the comments. The only one to actually do that was @artiststarme who requested a pining Eddie and an oblivious Steve. I got half of that LOL! I have an actively wooing Eddie and an oblivious Steve. So I hope you like it anyway.

There is no set posting schedule on this one. I will be putting it out when possible as it’s still a WIP.

Summary: After Vecna Max is having trouble convincing Lucas to date her again so she turns to the one member of the party who is dating a jock: Eddie Munson. He breaks down his tips for dating an oblivious jock. Bold = the guide. Italicized = their conversation. Standard = examples Eddie is giving Max for each step.

The Eddie Munson Guide to Dating an Oblivious Jock

Foreword:

Eddie Munson had the best functioning gaydar in all of Hawkins. Perhaps even the surrounding areas. He hadn’t been wrong yet. Mainly because it only used it on actual teenagers and they weren’t as good as hiding it as they thought they were.

So far he had clocked Robin Buckley, Vickie Lawrence, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Tommy Hagen, and few others around their school. But his absolute favorite was Steve Harrington.

Now, some of them were bisexual instead of gay, but the radar worked all the same. Mike, Vickie, and Steve to be precise. Although he was pretty sure Hagen was feeding Harrington a line about it not being gay unless their dicks touch or whatever and passing off his crush on King Steve as just being bros or some shit.

He honestly felt sorry for Carol Perkins because she most certainly was straight and her boyfriend and his best friend were not.

Eddie thought about telling her, but then he remembered she was a bitch and just didn’t.

Now, King Steve was a bitch too. He wasn’t going to deny that. But that was what attracted Eddie to him the first place. His bitchy little remarks, his snide comments, his lip curling sneer.

He was pissed when Nancy tried to stomp it out while they were dating. He didn’t think she succeeded. At least not all the way if the little glances Steve gave him during his famous lunchroom rants were any indication.

And then the world came crashing down around Steve and Eddie got see a whole new side of Harrington that he hadn’t seen before. Steve would still sneer at Eddie’s rants, laugh at Eddie’s attempts to wound him, but there was something else.

He began flinching at loud noises. He went from the top of most of his classes to barely skating by. He started wearing sunglasses all the time. He would turn to his right side when people talked.

That’s when the start of Eddie’s crush happened. This deposed king, was quieter, rougher around the edges, but also the same time gentler, too.

Steve graduated and Eddie did not. It lessened their interactions a great deal, but when Eddie found that Steve was working at the mall in the most ridiculous outfit. It wasn’t even cute, but fuck did it do a number on Eddie’s libido. His attraction turned into full on lust.

And then they ended up saving the world together. And Steve full on saved his life. That’s when Eddie knew he was trouble. That’s when he fell in love with Steve. Head over heels.

That’s when he knew he was going to need a game plan to woo this bastard. This beautiful, sassy, completely oblivious bastard.

Step One: Determine if you are their flavor of partner.

There is nothing worse than assuming a guy might into dating you and then for him not be. Now, everyone Eddie had pegged as gay or bisexual had been correct, but there was always that chance. That first time he was wrong.

And considering that they had become friends after all that, Eddie had be sure.

“I’m just saying that Luke was prettier in the first one,” Eddie defended. He was harassing his favorite Family Video employee, Steve Harrington.

“Come on,” Steve argued back. “That’s not fair. The actor got into a really bad accident between the first and second one. But I would say he looked best in the third one with the teddy bears.”

“They’re called Ewoks,” Eddie moaned. “They aren’t teddy bears.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Besides everyone knows that Han Solo is the hottest guy in the Star Wars trilogy.”

Eddie slammed both hands on the counter making Robin and Steve both jump. “You take that back. This Lando Calrissian slander and I won’t have it!”

Steve laughed.

“Since when did you have an opinion on hot guys anyway?” Robin asked from the candy display in front of the counter, where she was restocking the Reese’s Pieces.

Steve frowned. “Since always?” Eddie and Robin both raised an eyebrow at him. “Me and Carol and Tommy would rate the guys in every movie we saw. Doesn’t everybody do that?”

Robin raised the other eyebrow. “No. I certainly don’t. But I’m gay, so guys just don’t do it for me.”

Steve turned to Eddie. “So what’s your excuse then?”

Eddie grinned. “Because I’m gay and guys do do it for me?”

Steve blinked. “But I like boobies, too. Unless there’s a thing for both?”

Eddie grinned. Gotcha! “Sure there is, beautiful. It’s called being bisexual. Freddie Mercury from Queen and David Bowie are both bisexual.”

Steve frowned. “Is that what Vickie is?” he asked Robin. “Does she like both, too?”

Robin blinked. “Oh. I mean, yeah. I hadn’t thought of that. Yeah, I mean she could like both.”

Steve bumped her with his hip. “There you go. Now ask her out already!”

He laughed and ducked when she threw a packet of Reese’s Pieces at his head.

He bent to pick them up, but they were a little abused and a corner was torn. “Shit.”

Steve held it up so they could see.

Robin grimaced. “Oops!”

“I’ll buy it,” Eddie said. “That way you guys won’t get into trouble.”

Steve smiled wide. “You’d do that?”

“Sure thing, princess,” Eddie said returning the smile. He paid for it and then bid them goodbye.

As he walked out the door he heard Robin say, “I thought he hated Reese’s Pieces.”

Eddie laughed.

Max laughed. “That one’s easy. Being straight has its privileges. I know Lucas is straight, so I have that one in the bag.”

Eddie grinned. “It certainly makes it easier, that’s for sure.”

She laughed even harder.

“Now do you want to hear the rest of these or not?” Eddie growled.

Max waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go on. I’m the one that asked for this.”

Step Two: Find Common Interests

On the surface, you couldn’t find two people more fundamentally opposed than Steve and Eddie. Rich, prep, jock, alt rock, pretty boy. Poor, metalhead, nerd, did I mention metalhead?

In the Venn diagram of life it should be two completely separate circles. But there were overlaps. Their taste in movies for a start. Steve Harrington loves horror movies.

“Hold up,” Max interrupted. “There is no way in hell that Steve can even stand horror movies. Have you met the guy?”

“I am dating him,” Eddie said with a laugh. “I would certainly hope so.”

“He really likes horror movies?” she asked incredulously.

“He thinks they’re great date movies,” Eddie said with a grin. “It’s great for cuddling.”

“Ew, gross!” Max said with a sneer.

“Don’t knock until you try it kid.”

They were all at Steve’s for movie night and they were having a hard time choosing a film that they could all agree on.

“We aren’t watching Gremlins!” Robin protested. “They’re too creepy.”

Jonathan threw his arms in the air. “That’s the point. They’re supposed to be creepy.”

Nancy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like it either. I don’t think I saw more than five minutes of it when Steve took me.”

Steve laughed. “That was rather the point of taking you.”

You could almost hear the record scratch the universe made when every head in that room turned to Steve.

Steve smirked. “What? The point of taking any date to a horror film is to get cuddles when it scares them.”

“Ooh...” Jonathan said. “That makes sense. I never pegged you for a horror guy, but you were always on top of when they came out in theaters.”

“Hey,” Steve said, “I do enjoy them for their own merit. And I always pre-screen them so I know it won’t be too gory or too scary. Because giving the date nightmares is the last thing I want.”

Eddie ran his tongue over his teeth. “You like horror movies? You’ll pardon my skepticism, but like what?”

Steve hummed for a moment and then scratched his cheek. He snapped his fingers. “Damn it, I’m really bad at movie names. Just give me a minute.”

He ran up to his room and brought down about four or five VHS tapes.

“Let’s see,” he said absently. “Evil Dead, Nightmare on Elm Street...The Dead Zone. That one is really good. Went right out and read the book after that one. And Poltergeist.”

Eddie made grabby hands for the tapes and Steve handed them over. Eddie looked them over.

“Got some pretty good taste here, Harrington,” he said after a moment. “But why aren’t they down here with the rest of the tapes?”

Steve blushed. “My mom said I had to keep them in my room so her friends didn’t think she liked that trash.”

Robin’s eyes went wide. “I don’t like horror either, but to call it trash is a bit harsh.”

Steve shrugged. “Not all horror is created equal. Like the one about the dog in the Antarctic killing people? No thanks.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “You’ve seen The Thing?”

“Is that what it’s called?” Eddie nodded. “Yeah. It was too gross even for me.”

Eddie licked his lips. “Did you know it was a remake from the 1951 classic, The Thing from Another Planet?”

Steve’s eyes lit up. “Really? Maybe I’ll like that one better.”

Eddie grinned. “My Uncle Wayne owns it. Why don’t you come over on your next day off, and we can watch together without these heathens.”

Steve laughed as Nancy and Robin squawked indignantly. Jonathan just shook his head.

“Sound like you’ve got a deal, Munson,” he said with a grin.

They ended up watching Pretty in Pink again, because Nancy and Robin strong-armed the boys into agreeing.

“And he still didn’t get you were flirting with him?” Max asked.

“Nope!” Eddie cackled. “But remember we are dealing with oblivious jockus. They aren’t known for picking up on subtle clues.”

Max laughed. “Fair Enough. What’s next?”

My permanent tag list (curated with those that have requested to be on said list and those that have interacted with each of my stories (reblogging and/or commenting on every part): @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @plyerice27 @thedragonsaunt @chaoticlovingdreamer @sapphirecobalt-1 @a-little-unsteddie @i-must-potato @danili666 @artiststarme

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

If I missed anyone let me know and if you want to be put on the tag list for this specific story let me know that as well. Just remember FOR MY TAG LISTS THE HARD AND FAST LIMIT IS 50. I CAN’T DO MORE THAN THAT!

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #1000 followers #ladykailtiha writes

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kaurwreck · 6 months

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I'm rereading bungou stray dogs, and I noticed that when Dazai shoves Atsushi into Sugimoto, Atsushi accesses the tiger just enough to stabilize himself and pin Sugimoto to the ground. And he does so in a specific stance, one knee braced, one hand pinning Sugimoto's hands behind him.

His resolved pout, firm grip, and poised stance are very much unlike how he confronted Tanizaki during his entrance exam or how he reacted to Higuchi when she emptied a clip into Naomi.

But, I did recall another instance where Atsushi similarly pivoted into seemingly confident resolve— when he tried to shoot Akutagawa shortly after Akutagawa arrived on scene. He seemingly dives Akutagawa, only to grab the gun near Akutagawa's feet to shoot him. This is silly; Atsushi's tiger is most adept in close quarters, and Akutagawa has already shown that Rashoumon is a range weapon.

But, Atsushi hasn't yet learned to tap into his tiger's strengths, nor does he know how to fight— which means he doesn't know how to evaluate how Akutagawa is fighting either. So, he doesn't clock that Akutagawa is maintaining physical distance, that Rashoumon extends out, that Akutagawa is frail and coughing. Instead, he snatches a weapon, launches himself at a distance from Akutagawa because he's scared to stay too close, and shoots him.

And, despite not knowing how to fight, clearly having little clue as to how to approach Akutagawa— Atsushi has a resolved pout, a firm grip, a poised stance.

Atsushi has never shot a gun before, and each time we've seen him encounter a situation in which he's felt uncertain, he's fallen apart. Even when he's brave (like covering the "bomb" with his own body during his entrance exam), he trembles and screws his eyes tight or stares, frozen. What made him even think to go for the gun, having never shot one, and whose expression is on his face, if not his own?

Like, sure, in the moment before he acted he'd remembered Kunikida telling him he was part of the Agency, and to not besmirch their good name, but that explains why he became brave, not why he went for the gun, or looked so sure doing so— oh, wait!

I do recognize that resolved pout, firm grip, and poised stance, actually. From earlier in the same volume.

And, regarding the Sugimoto pin— Dazai knows that Atsushi will be fine, that he's built to grapple, and that he can regenerate if shot. It made sense to throw Atsushi, a tank, at Sugimoto because even though Atsushi doesn't know how to fight and is a bit of a coward, he can take damage as well as he deals it.

But Atsushi doesn't take the damage— not like he does later, when he learns to fight to his strengths. Instead, he accesses his tiger, not to take the hit or use his speed to escape, but to push Sugimoto into a pin that looks too polished for someone who's never pinned anyone before. But he has seen someone be pinned, and he's been pinned too. Quite recently, even.

Each time, one handedly. And so, when he's thrown into Sugimoto—

His expression isn't his own because he's not protecting himself— he's protecting others, and he can't rely on himself to do that yet. He's too weak, too cowardly, and too uncertain of how to be someone in the context of others yet.

That's where his tiger becomes useless. Atsushi's tiger is raw, single-minded force. Its sole preogative, the sole reason it exists, is to keep Atsushi alive. And it's kept Atsushi alive by barreling him forward, negating what would kill Atsushi so that he can tear forward no matter what comes for him. His tiger is starving, enormous, and seemingly indomitable because it's carved from Atsushi's basest desire to live.

But where the tiger keeps him alive, it doesn't make him brave or steadfast or purposeful. And it's certainly not something that knows how to protect other people. Because a desire to live is not the same as the will to live or a reason to live.

And before Atsushi could articulate a reason, before he could recognize that he could exert will over the tiger, he relied on Kunikida's instead.

Kunikida knows better than most that relying on one's desires (such as his desire for a good and ideal world) can be manipulated and countered. Fyodor attempted to do so during the Cannibalism arc, Jouno during the Hunting Dogs arc. But as Ranpo said, Kunikida is the noblest, strongest member of the Agency. It's evident when instead of choking on the perversion of his own intentions, he continues to act, to save the next person if he couldn't save the last. That's not raw or instinctual. It's discipline, motivation, and will.

This is why he's their heart, their wrangler, their compass, their sincerity, and the template for what they should do when they're overwhelmed by who they are or who they could become. Because good is not who you are, it's what you do.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd kunikida #kunikida doppo #bsd atsushi #sorry this started out as baby cat learning from momma cat and became we ALL could learn from momma cat #but wow do i love kunikida #dazai can tell Atsushi not to wallow in self pity #but kunikida shows him how

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chanstory · 2 months

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Kaiao moments that I like the most (part 1)

1. BLACK STAR

In the chapter "Black Star", it can be seen that because of Aoko, Kaito is not afraid of danger to protect both of their memories, and just to see her smile.

I really like the detail that Kaito immediately went looking for Aoko after successfully protecting the clock tower, even though he had a hard time escaping from Shinichi. Even so, he still found Aoko and once again created a memorable moment when they both grew up. It's still the place where the two met when they were young, it's still that line with the blue rose, all for Aoko.

"Hello, I'm Kuroba Kaito, nice to meet you."

2.SUN HALO

When talking about Kaiao, I cannot mention this extremely romantic chapter. Kaiao's thoughts, actions, and feelings for each other are shown very clearly in this chapter.

First of all,I have to talk about Kaito and his obsession with Aoko :)))) Even though he is afraid of fish, he is still confident that he will take Aoko to the place she likes, including the AQUARIUM (Oh, I will laugh out loud if Aoko is really at the end of the chapter saying she wants to go to the aquarium :))) ) It's true that Kaito fixes motors for KID's missions, but there is one exception where he uses his motor, which is to carry Aoko everywhere she wants to go for free (It's so cute because Kaito always thinks about Aoko almost anytime, anywhere. )

Next, one thing about Kaito that I really like is the way he doesn't hesitate to use his body to protect Aoko, not letting a piece of glass cut into her body or the way he uses his hand to lift her head from colliding with the floor. Even when he laid Aoko down, he lifted Aoko's head very gently and called her sleeping beauty

(From the moment Aoko fell, Kaito did not care about the danger and used his body to shield Aoko, he even used his hand to support her head until he laid her down 🥹)

And finally Aoko, she can RECOGNIZE Kaito through the smell of his sweat and breath. We have to understand a person well enough to be able to do what Aoko does. Like the lyrics of their song

“I am sure i know you more than anyone else ”

Maybe Aoko hasn't realized whether she likes Kaito or not, but from that, Aoko should be proud because this is hard for anyone to do and Kaito would certainly be happy to the end if he knew this. :))))

P/S: I also like the author's metaphor "Aoko's smile is like the sun's halo" as the title of this chapter .

#kaito kuroba #aoko nakamori #magic kaito

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tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016 · 4 months

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Till Death Do Us Part Yandere! Captain Price x Ex Wife! Reader. Chapter Three

Authors Notes- And here I am with Chapter Three. And this is where things get real. As you can gather by now I like to mention any triggering warnings in my Authors Notes. So this chapter will feature stalking, breaking and entering, panty stealing, and so much more. If none of this is your cuppa tea then this is where we part ways but I'll remember our time fondly.

And now onto the third chapter. I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Three.

This was perfect. Price thought, as he sat in his office, a sly smile on his face as he leaned back in his seat. Days had passed since he and and his lieutenant had come up with a perfect plan to get you back. Sure, it wasn't the most ideal plan he had ever come up and if he was being honest? Price had been running out of ideas. Or had been until Simon had asked him how he could help. And it was that moment an idea formed in Price's exhausted mind.

Perhaps there was a way Simon could help him get you back, perhaps the entire 141 could help him. Granted he knew he really shouldn't get his men involved, this was his problem. But still... Price lit a cigar he had no other choice, and as he stared up at the ceiling. But whatever choice did he have? He couldn't live like this, not without you.

But now he had come up with the perfect plan. One that would have you back in his arms where you belonged. And when you were he was never letting you go. His plan? Was to have his men follow you, stalk you where ever you went, make you feel afraid, was it cruel of him to get his men involved like this? To frighten you? Perhaps, but it meant you'd come back to him the it was all worth it.

***

Days passed, and you were slowly but certainly getting used to living the life of a single woman. Sure, it took sometime, and there were some lonely nights and nights where you woke up searching for John. But as time went on you eventually got used to sleeping on your own. Well, not on your own as Zipper had long since taken the place where John used to sleep, purring happily as he did so since he was so used to being kicked out of John's spot and forced to sleep on the floor. Now he didn't have to worry about that.

And listening to him purr beside you certainly helped during those sleepless nights. But sometimes you wished you could be with someone. Fall asleep in someone's arms again, as you had before, you always felt the safest then, asleep in John's arms. You missed that. Huffing a sigh you got up from your bed, glancing at the clock as you did so, noting that it read 8:00 AM the time you normally got up, letting out a yawn you headed to your bathroom intent on getting ready for the morning. Stepping out a half an hour later in nothing but a warn out faded pink towel around yourself as you milled about your room.

And perhaps you should have remembered to close your curtains before you went to bed last night, as you walked through the living room, unaware of hungry eyes watching you. Sure, Price was allowing the rest of the 141 to take the reigns and stalk you, terrify you, but he couldn't help but come out and see you. Price shook his head, he and told you time and time again that to close the blinds, however it seems that no matter how many times he did you still always left the blinds open. Making it easy for people to see you go about your day, and for him to see you in that ratty old towel, still wet from the shower. His cock twitching as he took in the sight of you.

You were beautiful. And he couldn't wait to hold you in his arms again. Leaning back in his seat of his truck he continued to watch you from the street. He then turned his gaze to where he knew Simon and the others were, smirking as he saw Gaz lurking near the porch of your apartment. Soap was milling about in the cafe you liked to frequent whenever you had time, and Simon? Price looked to the dark alley beside your apartment, and while both Gaz and Soap would do their very best to help him get you back it was mostly Simon that would be following you. And sure over the years you had met the rest of the 141. Had liked them all, and you especially liked Simon.

But you had never met Ghost. What would you think when you realized you were being followed by a large man clad in a balaclava you would come running back to him. Eventually. There was one thing Price hoped would happen. Guilt gripped him as he thought of what he had resorted to all just to have you back, but it would be worth it, and when it did he would do everything to make you happy. Wanted him home more often? He would find a way to make it happen, wanted to go on vacation? Sure, he could find time. Kids? Price chewed on his lip as you finally closed the curtain, not that it really mattered now he had seen more than enough. But he recalled you guys having conversation after conversation about the two of you having kids, you had always wanted kids, but- No!

Price shoved these thoughts from his head, as he put the key in the ignition, he wouldn't dwell on that, not until you were truly his again. Then they would think about having kids. Pulling away from the building he returned home, trusting in his men to do their best.

Funny, you thought, as you closed your living room curtain, you could have swore that you saw someone watching your from your window. A feeling you quickly brushed off when the feeling disappeared. You're just being silly. You told yourself as you shook your head and turned away from the window. Watching too many crime shows before bed. You told yourself as you entered your bedroom once more, Zipper at your feet. Meowing continuously, and would not stop until you filled his food bowl, so better get on that before anything else. You had planned to meet with your sister-in-law for lunch around noon, so you had plenty of time before your lunch date. Perhaps you would wear something nice for it.

And then perhaps when it was done you might take a walk around town, you had always wanted to get out more. Sure, you loved being home but sometimes it was nice to get out and about, perhaps you would go to the mall. You had been meaning to get some new shoes and other such things. Nodding to yourself you fed Zipper and got dressed before killing time before your lunch date.

***

Perhaps this would lead to nothing. Perhaps he was wasting his time. Gaz thought, as he leaned against the railing outside your apartment. Sure, he had been a little uncertain about this plan of Price's and Simon's, a little reluctant. But in the end both he and Soap had given in. Anything to get their Captain back. He was tired of walking on egg shells when it came to his Captain. Anger swelled in his chest as he thought about what Price had been through because of you. You hurt him. If it had been him he would have forgotten you and had gotten on with his life. But that was not the case with Price.

"You ready?" Soap's voice cut through Gaz's thoughts.

"I am." Gaz spoke.

And what perfect timing too. As the moment he spoke you stepped out of your apartment. A faint smile on your face, as you walked down the street, Gaz following behind you, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, the hood pulled up, obscuring his face as he kept his eyes glued on you. And while he and the rest of the 141 followed you, Price leaned back in his chair, listening in on all of this.

A cold grin on his face as he lit up another cigar.

***

Hours had passed since you had met your sister-in-law for lunch and had gone to the mall afterwards. Now you would admit you have never intended to spent this much time at the mall. But, well, it has been a while since you've gone to the mall, and, oh they just had so many things you just couldn't help but be there longer than you had intended. Though to your credit you somehow managed to not spend all your money and needless things and getting out had been so fun. And now it was dark out.

Looking up at the night sky you sigh and head for the train station, your arms filled with bags. Unbeknownst to you of the large man clad in black, wearing a balaclava with a skull on the front, dark eyes glued on you as he followed you through the darkened streets to the train station. Taking note of the fact that the station itself was quite empty, not a soul to be seen. And if Ghost had been so inclined he would have grabbed you right here and now and delivered you to Price himself. But orders were orders Price wanted to give you the chance to choose to come back to him, even if that meant scaring you back to him.

Shaking those thoughts from his head he followed you on to the train, standing uncomfortably close to you as you peered out the window, unaware of him, until after what seemed like forever when you turned to face him, and Ghost was unable to keep the smirk from his face as he saw the concern shining in your eyes as you looked up at him. Watching as you took a step back, before offering him a shaky smile and moving to the recently vacated seat, trying to ignore him as he continued to watch you. Did you think he was after you? Did you know you were being followed? Watched? All because your ex-husband needed you back?

No, of course you didn't, how could you? Ghost was silent as he followed you off the train, keeping a safe distance from you as he followed you, not wanting to alert you, but close enough to make you feel concerned. Every time you looked over your shoulder Ghost would melt into the shadows, disappearing from your sight, watching as you would glance around before continuing on. Watching as you finally reached your home, he hoped both Gaz and Johnny would be done in your apartment before you got back. Little did Ghost know was that Price was also there finding himself unable to sit still, unable to stay away from you no matter how hard he tried.

***

So this was where you lived, huh? Price looked around your rather small apartment, before exhaling smoke billowing around him as he did so. Earning a look from Gaz as he stood in your kitchen. Cute. Price sighed as he continued to mill around your home, taking in the little knickknacks and other various things you liked to keep around the house, before moving to your bedroom, and looking around, noting that the bed was neatly made, and a book lay open on the nightstand. Obviously you still kept up your nightly habit of reading every chance you could.

But Price wasn't interested in that. As he looked over his shoulder, seeing that neither Soap or Gaz where watching him before going to your closet, eyes fixing on the hamper, and casting one final glance behind him he snatched up a pair of plain white panties that sat on top the growing pile of dirty laundry.

"All done, Captain." Gaz spoke, as Price quickly pocketed his prize before turning to the Sergeant. A smile on his face as he nodded to him before leaving the bedroom. Leaving behind him the lingering smell of smoke as he did so, casting one final glance around your one bedroom apartment, noting the little changes Soap and Gaz had done to the room, nothing major just certain things moved around, things he knew you would notice, and something he knew you would notice were missing excluding the panties tucked in his pocket that is. And that included your watch and other such things.

Looking to Soap and Gaz he headed for the door. And not a moment too soon either. As the moment the three of them left your apartment did Simon report that you were returning. The three men disappearing into the nearby crowd, just as you stepped into your apartment, and as you did you could already tell that something was off. Placing your many bags on the floor by the door, and looked around your apartment.

Closing the door behind you as you looked around. At first nothing seemed out of place as you moved around your apartment, Zipper meowing at your feet as you did so. Standing in your living room you looked everywhere, hoping to find an answer to why you felt this way. Was it perhaps because of that strange man you saw following you? As you thought that you moved back to your front door, making sure it was locked before continuing on.

It was then it hit you, the all too familiar smell, a smell you both loved and hated then smell of those damned cigars John smoked. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Was not being with John messing with your mind? You would admit you missed him, and there were times when you wished you could go back in time and take it all back, but still you made your choice. And despite that you hoped he was well. Perhaps you should call or text him. See how he's doing, but right now you need to make sure you place is secure.

Looking around you could see that things had been moved, not by a whole lot, but you could tell that things had been moved, had someone been in your apartment? No that was just silly perhaps you have moved them when you had cleaned in here, you tried to tell yourself, but you were not convinced as there was still a thin layer of dust around said objects. Glancing around your apartment once more you moved to your bedroom, when you caught that familiar whiff of smoke once more, had John been here?

No, that was impossible he didn't have keys to your place. Given his profession. A voice whispered in your head as you took stock of what you had in your bedroom. That would have never stopped him if he wanted into your house. Nodding to yourself you reached for your phone and typed a text to John.

"Hey, John it's Y/N I have a question for you."

You stared down at your phone, waiting for a response if he decided to respond, he could be busy with work. However, as you thought that you heard your phone chime.

"What is it?"

Okay. That was far faster than you had thought it would be. Perhaps he wasn't working to day, or he was at his office. You chewed on your lip suddenly feeling a little nervous. This would be the first time the two of you had spoken since the divorce so you were feeling a little uncomfortable, remembering how eerily silent John had been during that whole thing. A sign that John had been mad at you then.

And why shouldn't he be? You divorced him...sorta without warning. Wouldn't you be pissed? You thought to yourself as you struggled with coming up with what you wanted to say. Then decided to bite and bullet and just say it.

"You haven't been in my apartment, have you?"

You bit your lip as you waited. Then your phone chimed again.

"No, why?"

As you read his messages you bit down on your lip, suddenly feeling a tad bit silly about this. You knew that nothing was missing, and when you had arrived home but you just couldn't help but think that something was wrong.

Ever think you're just being paranoid? You asked yourself. Continuing to chew on your lip you looked to your phone once more, before moving to your living room window. And nearly dropped your phone when you caught sight of that very same man from before staring at your from the street, face obscured by a black balaclava and clad in all black, dark eyes looking up at you! Gasping you backed away from the window, and nearly trip over the damned rug as you do so, fuck texting you need to call John!

Dialing his number you are thankful when he answers after the first ring. "John." You choke out after his hello. "Someone is watching me..."

***

He knew it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before you called him for help. A smirk form on his face as he leaned back in his seat, phone to his ear as you listened to tell him about some strange man lurking outside your apartment. Good ol' Simon he knew his lieutenant wouldn't disappoint, sure Soap and Gaz did well too but it was Ghost stalking you, and currently lurking outside your apartment scaring the wits out of his poor little wife.

"John? Are you there?" You spoke.

"I'm here I'll be right over, love." He told you getting up from his seat and grabbing his jacket before going to the door. "Everything is going to be fine, don't you worry."

Muttering a shaky thank you John listened as you hung up the phone, a smirk returning to his face. Things were going according to plan. Just a little more and you would be his once more...

Authors Notes- Okay firstly sorry this took forever to post. Life y'know? And sorry it's not overly interesting but I assure you the next chapter will have all the saucy stuff in it. Stuff I WAS going to cram all in this chapter then call this story done, but there is just too much I want to put in. So this fic is going to be four chapters rather than the usual three. And I'm rambling but I hope you enjoyed it! Have a goodnight!

#Yandere! Captain Price #ex wife reader #Tw stalking #Breaking and entering #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #141 makes a brief appearance

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kakashi-miso · 1 month

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Ash Camellia (ANGST Fanfiction)

Preface

When talking about the Naruto anime, many argue that it is a “fighting anime”, and most of these people are right, because this is part of the genre in which this work consists. However, many began to forget what the series and pages of the manga about the Jinchuriki boy taught us all this time: connections with loved ones are the most important thing we have, and we must value them, protecting them from a possible break. People close to us give us smiles, help us in difficult times, and in general - their presence nurtures the soul. Whenever we worry about someone, we don’t do it with the goal of burdening ourselves or simply suffering. We fear that our valuable connection with this loved one will be severed. When a person quarrels with someone, he is certainly in pain and sad, but at least his now “stranger” is alive, and the fact that he is angry with you may turn out to be temporary. When someone close to us dies, we are lost, because, in our opinion, it was too quickly and unfair, because your strong connection was destroyed against each other's wishes.

In times like these, people around you help you cope with the devastation of a loss. Although you know for sure that the grief of your loss will never let you go, you still smile at those who worry about you, because at such a time you understand: “They care about me.” Both that thing and that one are painful. An example is the case between Naruto and Sasuke: Uzumaki chased the Uchiha for several years in a row, in the hope of maintaining the connection that they had built between themselves. After taking the situation from Sasuke:He was left alone against the will of himself and his parents, and considers it unfair, but finding that there is a chance to release his pain and suffering on the culprit, he decides to take revenge on Itachi for his act. In both cases, the boys' connections were negatively impacted. They both suffered from being afraid or had already lost touch with someone who meant a lot to them.

This fanfic is the fruit of my ideas and ideas. I, like many of you, really enjoy dramatic moments, especially in anime. Finding more and more new ideas and ideas, I presented them, sometimes illustrated them, and in the end, after a certain number of “roll plays”, I realized that all these stories share the same theme: Connection, and supporting each other. "The hole in your heart is something that other people can fill…" - Kakashi Hatake

Prologue

Almost a day. The sun had risen for quite some time: the birds were singing; The foliage of trees and bushes developed in a light breeze. And in the country of hot springs it was quite quiet. So much so that the rustling of trees and the fluttering of birds’ wings could be heard even from the living room, which had 3 futons (a futon is a traditional Japanese bedding in the form of a thick cotton mattress spread out at night for sleeping), two of them were made, and the third was still was still busy.

The calm face of the lying man was illuminated by the rays of the sun setting from the exit into the small garden. A long and heavy sigh sounded in the room, which permeated a whole palette of shades of fatigue and drowsiness. The eyelids of the lying person remained heavy, and it seemed that the body did not want to get up at all, not to mention the fact that the arms and legs ached as if a whole crowd of elephants had trampled on them, no less. The noise of the hinged door on the right. The pair of coal pupils that were directed towards the garden slowly floated to the right, staring at the source of the sound, and did not show the slightest sense of surprise. The silhouette in a robe approached, modest and seemingly fragile, and squatted down next to the futon. From above came the voice of a girl who had already been awake for a long time, because she got up at 8 in the morning, like another guest. Now it was almost 12:00 on the clock.

-How long will you stay here for a long time? Kakashi-sama, are you feeling unwell? – asked a girl with unruly and slightly curly black hair like a raven’s feathers. -Not at all. It's like I've been lying here for a long time. – Kakashi sat down, finally brushing off the blanket, and gave himself a couple more minutes to come to, stroking his face with his hands, and fighting the dizziness that was visible only from the paleness of his skin. A quiet cough broke through the silence, as if he was choking or his throat was dry.

-You’ve been lying here for almost 4 hours, by the way, and it’s already lunch time, but you still haven’t had breakfast. Guy-san is already bored, although he is trying to tell some stories for me. “The woman sitting next to me objected and crossed her arms over her chest, as if condemning the ash-haired man for his inattention and procrastination. -4 hours? Is it true? I didn't even notice, haha! How absent-minded I am,” Hatake laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head, making an embarrassed expression on his face. Afterwards, he quickly changed his emotion to a relaxed and friendly one - Thank you for reminding me, Mirai, I’m on my way. Wait for me in the room with Guy.

-Great. By the way, what will you eat? Otherwise, you will lose even more weight than you are now.” A light smile came across the face of Sarutobi, who now stood up and put her hands on her hips, preparing to carry out the order of the Sixth Hokage, even if he was retired. It was a great honor for her. Moreover, this was an S-rank mission, to which she was assigned by Mr. Seventh Hokage himself. Closing her eyes, languishing in her anticipation, she listened to the incoming answer.

-A? No thanks, Mirai. I am not hungry. But I would be extremely grateful if you ordered me chamomile tea without sugar. And what about being thin – it’s just a matter of age, don’t worry, I’m fine. Now go, I will come to you soon. The girl’s face began to look puzzled, which was revealed by her eyebrows, and an awkward “What?” came out of her mouth. Her ruby eyes stared at the man sitting, but she did not wait long for the request to be repeated, and instead decided to think it over carefully on the way over tea.

Mirai's footsteps were already in the corridor. The gears were humming in her head, and it was all too strange: Loss of weight, pallor, loss of appetite, and what’s more, now he didn’t even really get out of bed. Was he really that lazy? Then where does the loss of appetite come from? With creaking boards under her feet, she approached the modest common dining room, where she was going to ask for chamomile tea. It was already a little noisy there, because the people sitting at the table were talking, which made it difficult for the walking girl to think. Fortunately, Kakashi made sure that the three of them ate separately from everyone else, which was his privilege as a special guest, so that their meals took place only in their special social circle. Chamomile tea, by the way, had many properties, and almost no one knew about some of them. But Mirai knew, who was told about it by her mother. Chamomile tea has sedative and hypnotic properties, and sometimes relieves pain from tension, but in addition, chamomile tea could alleviate the feeling of nausea. Naturally, Hatake might just want to drink this tea, because… He likes him, but given the suspicious details that the girl noticed earlier, this did not at all fit with the “usual desire to drink tea.”

Kakashi was known to everyone for his calmness, so he definitely wouldn’t drink tea to calm down. Then other functions of this tea come to mind, such as reducing the feeling of nausea, and they were already annoying the lady, at the moment, approaching the cook and asking for a cup of chamomile tea without sugar. By the way, the lack of sugar in tea could also indicate a possible stomach upset. Is he lying to her? The blatant lie “Everything is fine” angered the young kunoichi a little. She was determined to find out the truth, because she was assigned to this important mission of “Escort and protect the Sixth Hokage and his friend,” and in Sarutobi’s opinion, she was simply obliged to intervene in order to report on the condition of those being escorted.

Thanking her for the tea with a short bow, her confident step clattered on the boards, surely and quickly, closing the distance between her and the room in which Guy was waiting for her at a tea table and a couple of servings of onigiri. Behind the hinged door one could already hear the ringing voice of a disabled man who was amusing himself with some joke on the part of the ash-haired man who had arrived. Mirai pulled back the hinged door and walked towards the table, meeting the gaze of Kakashi, who gave her a warm smile. Guy exhaled, suppressing his laughter. The girl put the tea on the table, closer to Kakashi, who was sitting opposite the kunoichi.

He nodded gratefully to her for this, and began to drink a hot drink through his mask, which sometimes looked strange from the outside, but it seems that these two were already accustomed to this. His satisfied voice muttered in an even tone:

-Mmm… Thank you very much, this is the best thing this morning -Did you mean to say "this afternoon"? – Mirai corrected him, causing an energetic reaction from Guy

-Ha ha ha! Yes, Kakashi is a real lazy person. Sometimes it’s impossible to get him out of bed, and lately there’s no need to even try - Thick-browed stretched out a wide smile, revealing all 36 of his teeth, which shone no worse than a diamond. “You need to be able to be lazy so that you don’t get bored,” Kakashi muttered in response to Might, drinking tea again. Once again Six made his friend burst into laughter.

The chunin's eyebrows furrowed, full of suspicion. Lazyness? Of course, she has heard a lot about his absent-mindedness, but in the words of Shikamaru: “How tired I am of him… His sudden escapes into the thicket of the forest for walks irritate me a little. But he says that he can no longer sit still… What a hassle! This phrase accurately emphasized that Kakashi was far from being one of those who liked to remain in one position for a long time. She answers the question: -Are you feeling unwell?

-What? Where did you get the idea? – Kakashi raised a puzzled glance at the two rubies in the girl’s eyes and began to wait for an explanation for such a harsh statement. Guy also didn’t understand what happened, but he wasn’t going to interfere.

-Well… Your pale face, too much rest in bed, a slight cough and in the end - Sarutobi's finger went to the chamomile tea - Nausea.

-What? Nausea? I have always been pale, and it is absolutely true that I am lazy. Cough? I don’t know, but I think I just caught a cold, my health is no longer the same. - The ash-haired man’s face took on a more carefree expression, and his eyebrows shot up, as if this was something completely normal for him. -You have already given up your second meal. You have no appetite. Are you sure it's a cold? -Hmmm… I'm telling you: I probably just had a cold. Mirai, I'll handle it, don't worry. – In response, Kakashi received a suspicious look from the kunoichi. There was definitely something wrong with her opinion. This is all very strange. -What about nausea? – The attendant’s eyebrow arched in puzzlement.

-What makes you think I'm sick? I have no appetite due to a cold. -Chamomile tea not only soothes, but also eliminates the feeling of nausea and heaviness in the stomach, and considering that you have already refused two meals, this becomes suspicious.

The glances crossed each other. Mask visibly tensed. His gaze stared at the woman sitting opposite him, and he thought about how to explain all this to him. The silence was diluted by a quiet and modest cough into a fist held to the side. Having regained his calm and stoic face, he turned to his interlocutor: -The other day I wanted to eat fish, but it was not the freshest. Without calculating the capabilities of my body, I did not pay attention to it. Apparently, in my old age, my stomach has become a little more susceptible to spoiled foods.

-I will never in my life believe that you, known as a witty ninja, will not be able to adequately calculate your capabilities. “The girl’s gaze became even rougher, she dug her fingers into the table, and her lips compressed into a crooked thread. In response to such an argument, Kakashi fell silent again, and then again began to stand his ground. -It is impossible to be witty everywhere and always. I'm fine, what are you doing? Yes, sometimes I’m absent-minded, you know… If something happens, I’ll tell you about it. “He tiredly rocked back and pointed his nose toward the ceiling, thinking about something.

-Don’t try to lie to me, I’m responsible for your health! And when will you tell me about this? When will you die?! – Mirai stated, already starting to rest her hands on the table, her hair moving. The bad feeling in the girl’s heart was like a storm, and it became stronger every second. Having passed through his thoughts the scolding for Assuma's insight, which he had bestowed on his daughter, Kakashi drank his tea again, closing his eyes. Curly continued - Your weight has dropped at an unhealthy rate recently, and this cannot be explained by age! Too little time has passed to lose weight like this, and considering that you only had a “little cold”, you shouldn’t have lost so much weight. Are you lying so that I don’t worry about you?! Because of your distrust, I am now three times more worried!

Enough. – The Sixth Hokage answered and put a cup of tea on the table with a serious look that rose to Sarutobi. The girl shuddered at such a serious tone. The ever-carefree and pretty Kakashi, as she had seen him in recent days, showed his strict nature, which she really did not expect. The voice of the retired Hokage continued his monotone speech: – Mirai, listen, since the beginning of our mission you have been experiencing too much stress about any situation. Don't exaggerate. I just had a cold, and I’ve always been thin. Guy won't let me lie about this. Let me remind you that you mistook two old men for murderers when we went to the land of steam, so calm down and just enjoy your vacation. – Hatake turned to his faithful rival, waiting for his confirmation of what was happening.

-Mirai, it's true. For as long as I've known Kakashi, he almost always refused treats or a full meal, and he always had this type of physique. – Said the disabled person, slightly puzzled by what was happening. Despite all his noisiness and brightness, he had no desire to prevent them from resolving the conflict. A wave of guilt, burning every atom of the body, penetrated the girl’s body. She was a little taken aback, because the words about her paranoia were true: she really was constantly on guard, and apparently her constant suspicions went beyond understanding. Her cheeks turned red with shame. The girl sat down and pursed her lips: “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I yelled.” I was too rude, sorry. – The gaze of two scarlet eyes was directed under the table. She sat down and sighed, relieving the tension throughout her body and the boil that arose from the feeling of a blatant lie on the part of the elderly shinobi.

-Everything is fine. Just try not to fill your head with such things. Relax. If anything happens so serious, I will definitely tell you about it. But as you can see, everything is under control. - Said a calm tone of voice, and now Guy relaxed along with his friend, seeing that his argument had been resolved, and he was not angry at all. Might sighed, a little sad that Mirai was living under constant stress due to the extreme importance of this mission.

Of course, Kakashi had to operate with her character traits. In his opinion it was better this way. In any case, perhaps this really was a good decision, and besides, they left the ash-haired man behind with questions about his health. As soon as the conflict was settled, Guy, with particular appetite, began to eat his portion, which was standing there even before the tea was brought. As did Mirai's portion, which she began to reluctantly eat, suppressing feelings of shame and guilt for yelling at the former Hokage.

Author's comment: Phew… Finally. It took me a long time to translate because… You won't get much at once. It was difficult. I'm really looking forward to hearing from you about this! I'm interested in your impressions

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pigeonwit · 10 months

Text

In all honesty, Jack does kind of like the piano music upstairs – perhaps it’s a little invasive, but screw it, it’s kind of nice, especially when he’s caught up in his painting bliss and can allow himself to lean back and drift away on twinkling keys, or when he’s spacing out when he’s cooking and needs a rhythm to sway to, as if it were holding him by the waist as he did so.

(Crutchie had raised a brow when Jack shamefully admitted that to him this over their weekly coffee meet.

“Dude.” He’d said, dry and deadpan and entirely done with Jack’s shit. “You need a date.”

“Wh- fuck you, you need a date!” Jack had spluttered indignantly - and Crutchie’d only grinned and waggled a napkin adorned with not one, but two phone numbers from the hot and terrifying baristas he’d said no more than three words to.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, dear Jack-a-boy, we’re trying to find a way to fuck you, here – try to keep up.”)

Putting Crutchie’s youngest-sibling bullshit aside – as it stands now, Jack is hung over and miserable and not in the mood to be woken up at ass-o-clock in the morning (ten-thirty, a more than reasonable time to play piano on a lazy Sunday, but still, fuck Piano Guy, fuck the world, fuck everything, God, his head kills) and he is going to make it everyone’s business.

“You have neighbours…” Jack groans, nowhere near loud enough for Piano Guy to hear him, as he pounds the handle of a broom against his ceiling. “Stop with the Mozart!”

There’s a pause, one that Jack will feel more guilty about when his brain isn’t pulsing out of his skull – he waits for a second, then two, then ten, and breathes a sigh of relief, about to flop back into his bed and let the bliss of sleep reclaim him-

And then the keys start plinking again, fast and staccato and horribly major-scale and – oh, son of a bitch.

Right. Jack rolls his shoulders back, cricking his neck into place and immediately wincing, but that’s not important – what’s important is that no upstairs-person smartass is going to play Dear Evan Hansen at him while he’s hungover and expect it not to mean war.

He tries everything he could possibly muster in his pathetic, sleep deprived state – which of course means he smacks the ceiling with his broom for a good five minutes, and that gets him nothing but a medley of songs that vaguely mention knocking – from Waving Through a Window to Crash! to that one part of Michael in the Bathroom to an old vaudeville Jack remembers from Medda’s theatre, about five and a half years ago. It’s good, honestly – perfect, exactly how he remembered it, capturing the melody he kept stumbling over and losing in his own head, and sending a pang down to the soft and tender part of his chest where his nostalgia lies – but it is not enough to make Jack not hate him.

(It is enough to make him forget about his headache until halfway through Joan Jett’s Bad Reputation, but Jack decides to put a pin in that for now. He has a neighbour to destroy.)

After that resounding failure, Jack spends the next day blasting music from his own speakers, starting from the nichest heavy metal band he can find on Crutchie’s playlists until he’s belting Before He Cheats at the top of his lungs. Jack’s about to count it as a win – he’s not sure if Piano Guy’s still playing, but he certainly can’t hear him, at least – until his next door neighbour, an adorably sweet volunteer at the local pet shelter, knocks on his door and threatens to feed him to a hoard of chihuahuas. Jack almost would’ve let the whole feud go on that threat alone, if Piano Guy didn’t start playing Anything You Can Do in the smuggest key Jack can fathom the second she left.

So Jack, in his infinitely petty wisdom, follows in his sweet mother’s footsteps and writes a strongly worded note.

dear piano guy,

please christ stop playing your pretty boy music all day or i swear to god i am going to make the most osb obscene sex noises you can possibly imagine until you stop.

love B7

He’s snickering to himself the moment he hears Piano Guy’s door open. He tracks his steps across the ceiling, sneaking into his own bedroom as if Piano Guy would somehow be in Jack’s apartment rather than one floor above. He can hear the scrape of a chair, the slightest plink of a key or two – hesitant, almost, which sparks a soft feeling in Jack’s stomach that he can’t identify – and then a clash of five different notes, as if a whole hand had smashed against the keys by pure mistake. There’s a long, pronounced pause – Jack can hardly contain his snickering – until he hears the pounding notes of Rihanna’s S&M, and realizes two things very quickly.

Thing One: Piano Guy, for all his flaws, somehow possesses a sense of humour – a good one, at that – meaning that Piano Guy is a real, actual, potentially decent person, and isnot just some invisible stuff-shirted maestro Jack’s been insisting on hating for one incident when he was hungover.

Thing Two: listening to someone passionately playing the piano above Jack’s bed immediately after threatening sex noises upon them is giving Jack some terrible, terrible realizations about who he is as a person.

#i really... REALLY dont like this one but i gotta practice my jack voice somehow #dont like it! feels way too... cosmo-esque? but i'm barrelling towards a writing slump and i gotta write something so. we stay silly #anywhore.#newsies #uksies #javid #javey #jack kelly #david jacobs #davey jacobs #pigeon scribbles

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karasukakikomi · 2 years

Text

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Reiji Sakamaki, Female Reader (Reiji as Demon King AU) (Vampire Hunter AU) 𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲/𝗥𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴: nsfw. 18+ only. 𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 4.7k 𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: (If you are not comfortable with these themes please do not read.) Vampire Hunter AU, drugging, use of a knife, degradation, threatening, begging, Master/Slave dynamic, use of “Master”, use of the name “Pet”, vaginal sex, fingering, Dubcon, slight mentions of blood 𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: I had this idea for a vampire hunter AU for a while now and I had a lot of fun writing this one!

Nervously your hands pulled at the sheer fabric of the crimson dress adorning your body. You did not belong here. You thought. Yet no one was any wiser to the human presence. The pheromones you had sprayed yourself with, like a spritz of expensive perfume, had them all fooled. You were sure that He would be fooled as well. The ballroom swirled with waltzing couples. The floor was painted with the swaying of expensive fabrics of ball gowns. The deep red of your gown certainly stood out. But that is exactly what you planned for. Your eyes met a magenta gaze from across the sprawling room.

The Demon King.

Reiji Sakamaki.

You swallowed nervously, hand feeling for the silver blade you brandished at your thigh. It remained concealed by the thickened layers of your gown. You would be needing it tonight. No matter the cost… you would succeed. For your family, you thought. For the Church. You would succeed.

The King will fall tonight.

And just as you had planned, he approached. Like a pawn in a game of chess he was destined to lose.

“What is a lovely lady such as yourself doing without a dance partner?” A deep, velvety voice mused.

You clutched the sides of your gown before gracefully lowering yourself into a curtsey.

“Your majesty, it's a pleasure to meet you,” you responded, the words that dripped from your tongue making you sick.

It was most certainly not a pleasure to meet him. He was hardly a king, much more of a corrupt demon. A corrupt demon who would meet his end tonight. You were sure of it. But for the sake of your plan, you must play the part. To play the part of the perfect lady. Seductive, yet sweetly innocent, to lure the King right into your trap. And when the curtain falls, he will be King no more. Just a memory. A disease rid from poisoned lands.

“Would you care for a dance?” The King asked, holding his gloved hand out to you, kindness painting his sharp features.

You could think of nothing better. He was playing right into your hands. It was almost too easy.

“Yes, your Majesty. I would be honored to,” you answered him sweetly, placing your own hand into his larger one.

He led you into the sea of couples, who danced in unison to the melody of violins. It looked to be reminiscent of a renaissance painting. Every vampire around you, a painting of sheer perfection. The King himself was no exception, his ruby eyes perfectly suiting his pale complexion. The locks of dark purple hair which framed his face painted him as an angel. But you knew much better. You waltzed with The King. Perfectly following the three count beat in unison. All around you, curious eyes followed. Locked onto your graceful movements. It was as if at that moment, this masquerade was dedicated to you. But you knew the grim truth. This was not a dance of shared passion. It was a dance of death. A carefully plotted game.

Reiji gracefully secured you into a dip, arm lacing around your back ever so gently. He pressed his lips against your neck, then upwards. Until his lips interlocked with your own. It looked to be a tender moment between lovers, shared at a moonlit ball. A scene straight from a fairytale.

But you knew better.

And as the clock struck midnight. You reached under the many layers of crimson fabric adorning your body. Your fingers searched for a familiar silver handle.

Nothing.

The dagger at your thigh was no longer there.

Panic filled your now widened eyes. Something sweet slipped into your parted lips. A thin, watery liquid. You tried to pull away. But he kept a hand firmly around your back, forcing the kiss to deepen. You were forced to swallow the strange liquid which seeped into your mouth.

Suddenly the room grew hazy. The dancing of couples surrounding you turned into one swirling mass of color. The moon beaming through the arching of glass windows grew into a single beacon of silver light. The clock chimed once more, and you fell weightlessly into the arms of The King.

-----

Reiji watched your sleeping form sprawled on a king sized bed. He observed the way your chest rose and fell slowly under the intricate lace of your ballgown. Your wrists were bound with a silken material. Delicate yet strong enough to impede your struggling if you so chose to. You were almost beautiful with your wrists bound above your head like that, he thought. Almost.

Growing tired of pointless waiting, a sharp smack echoed throughout the dimly lit bed chamber. Reiji’s gloveless hand made contact with your soft cheek. You jolted awake, gasping for breath.

“I was going to begin once you had awoken, but it seems I lost my patience,” Reiji spoke, bitterness evident in his words.

You quickly began to survey your surroundings. A large, high ceilinged bedroom. Decorated pristinely, most likely for a guest. You noted your wrists bound above you, secured firmly to a gold polished bed frame. You squirmed, testing the silk materials strength. A sharpened silver object under your chin stopped your futile movements. Reiji held the dagger under your chin, leveraging your head until your fearful gaze locked onto his own. The very dagger you had attempted to take his life with was firmly held your head up, its sharpened point threatening to pierce into your throat.

“Would you like to explain to me what this is? By that fearful expression I believe you know very well what I’m holding,” He spoke slowly, his grip on the silvered handle never once wavering.

You wordlessly gazed into his magenta eyes. They were darkened, completely unreadable. You were sure he was seething with anger. Would this be the last day you would live? Whatever fate the King had crafted for you was not going to be a pleasant demise. How would the Church react? When would they find out that their very best was slaughtered by The Demon King himself?

“Not going to answer?” The King inquired. “Very well, I don’t mind slitting your throat open right now. In fact, it would bring me great pleasure.”

The dangerous point pressed into the thin layer of skin protecting your throat. It burned as a bead of crimson liquid painted the silver tip of the blade.

“Wait!” You gasped out in sudden pain.

His movement ceased. The blade now pressing dangerously close into your skin but not leaving another mark.

“So she is ready to speak,” Reiji commented.

“I-it’s a dagger…” You began.

“And what were you planning with such a dainty little dagger, hmmm?” He inquired.

“I-I was planning on killing you…” You choked out with fear.

Uncertainty painted your features. You did not know what he was planning on doing, or how much longer you even had to live.

“Planning to kill me with such a pathetic excuse for a weapon? Did you truly think you could just walk in and I would gladly hand you my life? I suppose I couldn’t expect more from a glorified altar girl.” The King remarked.

“Al-Altar girl? How did you kn-” You began with deepening confusion.

“Do you believe you were the only one to have made an attempt on my life? There have been very many. Just none as foolish as you.” Reiji responded.

“Even if y-you kill me now… The Church will come looking. They will hunt you down. And even if I can’t kill you, they will.” Your voice shook.

Your confidence had long worn off, just like the pheromones sprayed onto your skin. It had tricked the other vampire inhabitants, but you were sure that Reiji had known all along. You had played into his hands. And it could not have been easier for him.

“Then I will gladly welcome them. With the same fate as all of the others.” He stated in response.

“You underestimate them. They will have your head. My death will only be the beginning,” You spat.

“If I underestimate them so greatly… Then why don’t I allow you to show me your skill, hmmm? You are the best hunter they have to offer, are you not?” He taunted before placing the dagger on the velvety duvet.

Suddenly, the bindings around your wrists loosened. You hastily pulled them free from the knotted loops. Your hand grasped at the cold handle of the dagger. Shakily at first, you arose to your feet. The dark material of your gown swayed as you stepped towards the man. He towered over you still. The harsh metal of the hilt shook in your nervous hold.

If you were fast enough… you could run. Out of the door, all the way home. But you were sure that the door was locked. And there was no guarantee that you would ever be able to run fast enough. Decisions bogged your fragile mind. But as a member of the church… as a vampire hunter, you knew that none of your fellow followers ran from their fight. Even the ones who fell before the King. If you would die by him either way, you would rather it be like this. Because at least this way, your death would not be a dishonor.

You padded towards him, now barren feet on the polished hardwood surface of the floors. He stood still. An amused smirk painted on his features. Eyes clearly entertained from behind silver spectacles. Your hand shook, you willed your body to stand taller. You would not show him any more fear. You would not be weak.

“Well… Are you going to continue shaking like a pitiful lamb or are you going to show me why exactly I should be afraid of the Church? Since you wanted to kill me so very badly, now you have your opportunity, Dear.” Reiji mocked.

His very presence caused your stomach to churn. His ego, his air of confidence, everything about him made you utterly sick. You longed to bury your blade deep into his heart. And to watch as the light faded from his eyes.

“What unladylike thoughts you have, Dear. Maybe instead of a hunter, the Church sent me a little sacrifice instead… A pathetic, weak little thing like yourself could never even dream of killing someone like me,” He chuckled, tone still dripping with insult.

Anger flooded every sense in your body. It boiled with a ferocity you had never felt before. It clawed at your nerves, begging you to take action.

You obliged.

Surging forward, you aimed the blade to his heart, fueled by burning hatred.

But instead of the soft squelch of flesh being plunged into, you felt nothing.

A moment of sheer tranquility. Stillness. Before you were thrown backwards with unimaginable force. Such a force you had never felt before. Your back collided with a wall. The dagger, flung from your hands, skidding to an unknown portion of the room.

The breath was sucked from your very lungs. You gasped harshly as your body thudded onto the flooring beneath you. Every muscle burned. Your bones felt fragile, as if they were about to snap at any moment. You coughed in desperation, struggling to bring air to your aching lungs.

Through your haze you could hear a dark chuckle. Mocking in tone, almost inhuman. Reiji strode carelessly past your struggling body on the floor. He walked to one of the arching windows of the room and began to pour himself a strange dark liquid from a pot. One you could only guess was tea. He swirled the dark liquid in the porcelain tea cup before taking a deliberate sip, eyes still locked to your weakened state on the floor. He sat himself atop a plush armchair, one of the few that decorated the sprawling room.

“Crawl,” He demanded, taking another slow sip from his cup.

“W-what?” You choked, still gasping for precious air.

“Crawl. To. Me.” He ordered once more.

Your head blurred with confusion. Why did he want you to do this? It was pointless if he was only going to kill you in the end. But wordlessly you obliged his ridiculous request. You could not bear another impact like the one he had bestowed upon you. On your hands and knees, you crawled. Making your way to his sitting form. Your muscles begging for pause, but you did not listen. Only continuing your slow crawl to where The King sat. You paused at his feet. Taking a kneeling position you raised your head. Hoping to meet satisfied eyes.

But instead a force shoved your head to the ground. It was his shoe. Firmly planted against your skull, now pressed harshly against the cold hardwood floor. You gasped in pain.

“Have you learned any manners? It is incredibly disrespectful to make eye contact so expectantly with those who are higher than you.” Reiji stated matter of factly. “I would’ve thought that manners would be at least one thing a pathetic woman like yourself was capable of. But I suppose not.”

The bottom of his shoe applied further pressure before removing itself from your head entirely. You heard the sound of liquid spilling onto the floor. You searched for its source, spotting a familiar darkened liquid pooling in front of you.

“How careless of me,” Reiji spoke, “Because of your incontinence I spilled some of my precious tea.”

You stared wordlessly at the tea that puddled onto the wooden floor.

“Are you going to stare at it? Or will you begin asking me for forgiveness?” He questioned you.

“F-forgiveness,” you quietly answered him, eyes remaining glued to the floor.

“A very wise decision,” Reiji noted. “Well then, clean it up.”

You glanced around the room, not spotting a rag or any sort of material to wipe the spilled tea with.

“But… There is no rag or anything to wi-” you began.

“Then use your tongue.” He stated.

“M-my tongue?” you asked, voice heavy with shock.

“Yes. Is there a problem with that?” Reiji asked.

“No there isn’t.” you replied complacent.

You lowered your body to the floor, tongue pressing against the floor as you felt the spilled tea against it. It had long been cooled by the floor. It tasted strong, yet slightly sweetened. A bold flavor enhanced by floral notes. It pooled onto your tongue as you lapped at the liquid.

“Perhaps I found another use for that filthy little mouth of yours, Pet.” He spat out the humiliating nickname to you.

You continued to rid the floor of the spillage until no more remained. You raised yourself back to a kneeling position, keeping your head lowered. You had no desire to look him in the eyes if given the choice anyways. You did not wish to see the satisfaction painted on his features from your humiliation.

“Now then. What to do with you.” The King pondered.

“A-are you going to kill me now?” Your voice shook in fear.

“Oh Dear, do you want me to?” He asked amusedly.

“A-Anything is better than being humiliated like this!” you sniffled.

“So you do wish for death then. While I’m at it, why don’t I just destroy your precious little Church as well.” Reiji responded.

“No! Do-don’t do that!” You begged.

“And why not? You wouldn’t be alive to see the Church in flames would you? Or hear the pathetic screams of your little sister, or that bastard you call a father?” He retorted.

“H-How did you know I had a sister,” you asked in confusion.

“You underestimate my knowledge, Pet. Oh how I will have such great fun destroying every last chapel that bears allegiance to those pesky little hunters.” He resounded, deep voice echoing from the walls.

“No! Please! Don’t hurt them!” You cried out.

“Say it again,” He commanded.

“Please… Please don’t kill them, or hurt them. I-I’m sorry for what I did but please don’t do anything to them.” you said tears now escaping your pleading eyes. They rolled down your cheeks.

You could not bear even the thought of your father, sister, or any member of your Church being brutally tortured by this vile demon.

“Your begging is the only good thing to come out of that mouth all night,” Reiji commented.

He was sick. Evil. Twisted. You did not want to face this shame yet you could not put your very family at risk. They meant too much to you. They loved you. You could not subject them to such a dark fate.

“And what would you do to keep them safe, Pet?” He asked you, tearing you away from your desperate thoughts.

“I would do anything!” you pleaded.

“Anything?” He asked.

“Y-yes! Anything and everything!” Tears pooled from your eyes.

“Think about what you are offering me, Pet. Is a few mortal lives truly worth an eternity of suffering?” The King raised yet another question.

“Yes it.. It is. I just don’t want them to get hurt,” you continued to plead.

“Very well.” Reiji said. “On your feet, mortal.”

You obediently rose to your feet, shakily. Your gown, now stained with tea, clung to your scared body.

“Unzip your dress.” He ordered.

“W-what?” you asked hesitantly.

“Do not make me repeat myself.” Rigidity stiffened his deep voice.

You reached to the back of your dress. Fiddling for the cold dainty zipper until your fingers clasped at it. You shakily pulled it down, feeling the dress slide down your body and pool at your feet. Dark crimson on the floor, the color of spilled blood. Yet thankfully the floor remained barren of your blood. The dress on the floor, a reminder of your life, balancing in the hands of a sadistic king.

He continued to stare expectantly. And so you began to remove the undergarments you wore under your gown. With your bra unclasped, garters unclipped, and panties discarded, you now stood before The King. Completely and utterly exposed. You felt the need to cover your nude body from his gaze. But you knew he would not allow such an action. You awaited his next order, shame flooding your emotions.

“Now… I want you on that bed, hands and knees. Present yourself to me, Pet.” Reiji instructed, his current emotions remained unreadable to you.

You nodded your head and carefully made your way to the bed in which you had awoken on. Climbing onto the soft mattress, the bed frame creaked slightly in protest. You lowered your front, ass now in the air, presented fully to him. You were ashamed. Humiliated. With your face hidden against the soft, velvety sheets you were glad he could not see the burning embarrassment plastered to your face. However, he was most likely more than aware of your shame. He enjoyed it.

You heard the floorboards creak as he walked to the front of the bed. You were thankful for the covers burying your face. You did not want to see his reaction. You knew he was enjoying every second of this sick humiliation.

Without warning, Reiji brought his large hand to your core, cupping it gently.

“N..no!” you whined. You attempted to pull yourself away but he kept his hand firmly against your heat. “P-please not that.”

“Humans are pathetic little creatures.” He said. “They say things with such ease… and then change their minds immediately after. Truly such fickle creatures.”

You felt the weight of another body on your backside. You whimpered.

Was this truly worth their safety? A promise you did not know if he would even fulfill.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of something long, and hard pressing against your clothed cunt. He was getting off on your humiliated state. You heard the movement of material behind you. You did not wish to look, you couldn’t.

“Now remember, Pet. You asked for this,” He spoke, voice now much closer to you. “You begged me for this.”

“N-no! I didn’t ask- I mean I… I didn’t think-” you sobbed, tears soaking the reddish sheets of the bed that your face pressed against.

“No. No you didn’t think, did you?” He mocked. “As much as you do so deserve it, I do not wish to tear you in half, though quite an appealing thought. I shall offer you some assistance. Take it with pride, I do not have to offer such a kindness to someone as pathetic as you.”

You were confused at his words until you felt a single digit being pushed into your cunt. You whined against the sheets, hands twisting in the material dampened from your tears. He slid his lengthy finger in and out of your cunt, pushing further each time. You stifled your whines, not wanting to give this monster the satisfaction of hearing you. He added a second finger. Stretching you slightly around his digits. His thumb pressed against your clit. Circling the bundle of nerves with precision. Still you held your whimpers, you did not want to show him even the slightest ounce of your pleasure. You were disgusted at the fact that you were enjoying this.

He increased his pace, pushing his fingers faster in and out of your slickened folds.

“Don’t stifle your noises. No one can hear you. And even if they could, who do you think would help you, hmm?” Reiji said.

“No-no one,” you choked out.

“Exactly,” He chuckled. “No one would help such a pathetic little Pet. You should be honored that I’ve found another use for you.”

He quickened his actions further. You could feel your orgasm building deep within your core. A tightening feeling, taking over every last rational thought your brain had left to offer.

“Would you like to know what your new purpose is, Pet?” He asked you.

You whined in response, sparks of pleasure shooting from your dampened core. The unbearable sound of squelching filled the space around you.

“Your new purpose is to be my little slave. To serve your new God.” He laughed deeply.

“I-I’m not your slave!” you cried out.

“Then why are you so close then? Such a desperate little whore.” He degraded.

A small moan escaped from your lips. You didn’t want this. You didn’t. But as the pleasure became so unbearable you became unsure. You felt yourself clench down on Reiji’s slender fingers. Your orgasm overtook your shaking body, ripples of pleasure coursed through you. You cried out from the aching pleasure.

His fingers were then replaced by something much larger. Your eyes widened with shock as he began to push his hardened tip against your entrance. You buried your face further into the bedding, stifling a sharp scream from your lungs. He pushed himself further into you. The stretch was unbearable. Even with his preparation you felt as if you were going to split in half around the girth of his cock. Through desperate pleas, Reiji’s actions did not falter. He pushed himself further and further until you were sure that you couldn’t take any more. When his pubic bone pressed against the soft flesh of your ass, you knew that he had fully bottomed out within you.

He began slowly, experimentally thrusting into your tight heat. You cried out, balling your fists into the sheets once more. You felt as if you would never get used to his size. There would never be enough time to adjust to his size. You could only pray that it would be over soon. That this would all end.

You couldn’t help but tense as his thrusts grew in strength. You could feel every inch, every ridge of his cock as he slid himself in and out of your throbbing cunt. His head dragged against your g-spot making you buck your hips back against him. You did not want this to feel as good as it did. But you couldn’t resist as the searing pain from being stretched to your very limit began to turn to sheer ecstasy.

Reiji could just devour you whole, listening to your begging whines and pleads as your cunt swallowed his cock deliciously. He let out his own unashamed grunt at the sight of your little hole stretched around him. He watched as he continued to sink himself in and out of you, over and over again.

“You belong to me, isn’t that right?” Reiji asked, his question punctuated by sharp thrust.

“Y-yes!” You cried out, voice slightly muffled by the sheets.

A strong hand embedded itself within your hair pulling upwards, forcing your head back.

“What was that? I didn’t quite hear that Pet,” He grunted.

“Yes! I belong to you!” You admitted.

You just wanted this torment to be over, but the way he was reaching even the deepest places within you had you savoring every second.

“And what am I to you?” He demanded, increasing his pace.

“You’re my M…Master!” You practically shouted. You could feel yourself growing ever closer by the second. The way his length massaged your cunt at every thrust.

“That’s exactly right my little Pet. Just an obedient little fucktoy for her Master,” He praised. “So here’s what’s going to happen… I’m going to use this pathetic little hole whenever I want… And you are going to allow me to do so.”

The sound of skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room. The lewd sound almost lost as you let out a scream of protest.

“No! You sai-” Your cries were cut off

“Then say goodbye to your family and Church,” Reiji grunted.

You did not want to endure this another time. Just once was enough.

He pressed his upper body against your back, never slowing his movements.

“Those are my terms, Pet. There will be no negotiating. You lost that opportunity the second you decided to use that little dagger on me.” Reiji’s voice whispered against your ear.

Chills were sent down your spine at his words. You knew you had made an irrefutable error by coming here, made worse by your foolish assisnation plan, but you could not endure an eternity of being owned by Reiji. But for the sake of your loved ones you did not have a choice in this. Your well-being was minuscule compared to their lives.

“You will either be my little fucktoy for eternity, or I will slaughter all of them and make you watch. Is that clear?” Reiji’s voice was still a harsh whisper in your ear.

“Y-yes Master!” Your words left your throat as a cry.

You weren’t sure how much longer you could take this. You felt your walls fluttering around his cock. With a desperate plea you felt yourself reach orgasm, your walls tightened around him. Reiji’s thrusts only increased in intensity as he began to reach his own high. Your aching walls milked his cock as he filled your womb with thick ropes of cum. You felt even fuller than before.

Reiji remained panting above you as he withdrew his softening cock from within you. His seed dripped from your abused hole onto the already sullied sheets below. Your shaking body collapsed, unable to hold yourself on your hands and knees and longer. Tears still leaked from your eyes, your vision was blurry and clouded.

“I’m very glad we could come to an agreement, Pet.” Reiji mused.

-----

Those were the last words you heard when you awoke again. Except you were not in that room. Nor were you in Eden.

Instead you lay in your own bed. The sheets pulled snug around your body. You would never mention the price of your family’s lives to them. Nor would this ever be spoken to the Church. They were only relieved that you had returned unscathed. They would remain blissfully unaware of the heavy burden that lay upon your shoulders.

All you knew for certain was the fear that overtook you in the midnight hours. How your blood ran cold before you tried to close your eyes to go to sleep. Because you knew. You knew when you heard your name echoed in a midnight breeze, that The King had summoned you.

@omlsheen

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers smut #dialovers #dialovers smut #diabolik lovers x reader #dialover x reader #diaboy #diaboy x reader #reiji #reiji x reader #sakamaki smut #reiji smut #reiji sakamaki #reiji sakamaki smut #reiji sakamaki x reader #diabolik lovers lemon #x reader #smut #diabolik lovers fandom

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sunderlust · 2 years

Text

this is me trying iii (rooster x reader)

masterlist part 1 | part 2 | part 3 pairing: bradley ‘rooster’ bradshaw x reader synopsis: bradley bradshaw has always been the bane of your existence... and you wouldn't go as far as saying he's the object of all your desires, but he's most certainly become your rock in the storm you're weathering as you try to navigate the murky waters known as your future. poetic ramblings aside, you're determined to make it up to him and take charge of your life for once. if only he'd pick up the damn phone... warnings: 18+ ONLY, detailed description of a panic attack, explicit language, mentions of alcohol consumption, explicit sexual activity (piv, oral f recieving), angst, realizations, talk about therapy, happy ending <3 note: as always, so much love to seasonsbloom and gretagerwigsmuse for beta-ing, supporting, dealing with my insanity. I wouldn't be posting my writing without them, let alone have created this series, so please give them some well deserved love

Your laptop remains closed on the coffee table, taunting you right where you left it after that phone call. It’s been impossible for you to muster up the courage to open it, let alone investigate the unread emails collecting dust in your inbox. You know they most likely carry sage advice and words of affirmation from the colleagues and professors you reached out to last week, but you’re completely overwhelmed with a wave of self-consciousness, almost embarrassed that you contacted them and did grad school research. It feels like your anxiety has shut down all the hope you had for your future.

And the more you look back on that night, the more guilty you feel at the way you handled things with Bradley. It’s not like he explicitly said to you that you were destined for failure - it was more so the presumptuous tone he spoke with and his words lacking the usual energy he had when he was conversing with you. You felt like a burden, like you’d be stuck in this fucking town forever while he jetted off to be successful elsewhere, earning Medals of Honor and shacking up with pretty girls in dive bars. (You try not to think hard about why you’re so concerned with his dating escapades.)

Bradley had texted numerous times after you hung up on him. On that fateful terrible night, you ignored his messages purely out of spite, simply turning your phone off and distracting yourself with whatever film Netflix suggested to you until you drifted off into a dreamless sleep right on the couch. But by morning, the guilt settled in like a heavy fog - and by the time you clocked into work at Java and realized he wasn’t gracing the coffee shop with his presence, you weren’t sure if he wanted to hear from you.

You don’t know why it feels like a breakup. Not when you guys were just friends, just old rivals trying to have a fresh start, just two people with a lot of weight on their shoulders- okay. It might have started becoming a little more than friends to you. And you blame Bradley for being so wonderful, and kind, and thoughtful, and pretty. It’s like you saw a completely different side to him the past week, one you saw glimpses of back in undergrad but were too proud to try and investigate further, get a closer look at the wonderful man underneath. Now you regret not giving him a chance to explain, regret your biting words, regret thinking that he’d reverted back to the Bradley who used to rub his higher exam score in your face at the end of the semester.

Because he was so kind to you - taking you out for drinks and planning quality time with you and getting to know you and taking you on that hike. He fully honored his promise to make a fresh start with you. And you just threw it back in his face.

The guilt swarms you, and you feel more alone than ever now that you’re back at square one, still feeling overwhelmed thinking about your career and your future. You were supposed to be leisurely treading water, but you’re haunted by Bradley’s words swimming around you, taunting you, pulling you under the surface.

Everything comes crashing down on Thursday near the end of your shift. You’ve especially been on edge for the past few days, but something feels especially off right now: the acrid smell of burnt coffee hits your nostrils too sharply, the sound of the coffee bean grinder feels like you’re being knighted with a chainsaw over your head, and you’re hot, it’s so fucking hot in this stupid coffee shop and this stupid city and you can’t seem to cool down, can’t seem to catch your breath, can’t seem to slow down.

The moment the clock hits one, you’re shucking off your apron in a frenzy and just barely missing the hook you usually hang it on, sending a one word farewell to Britt and Todd before dashing out the door and towards your car. With shaking hands, you pull out your keys and blink rapidly, sensing an onslaught of waterworks the moment your ass hits the driver’s seat.

You haven’t had a panic attack in a while. In all honesty, you thought you forgot how to have them - but you realize now it feels like every little thing over the past few years has built up into a towering skyscraper that is not up to your mind’s building codes. And it’s all about to come tumbling down right now.

As predicted, the moment you slam the door shut the tears start to fall, and you start heaving for breath and wonder if you should maybe roll down the windows - if you’re willing to risk having other people hear your biggest fucking meltdown in favor of getting a little fresh air for yourself. Do you even deserve it right now? You’re not sure. All you know now is vibrating nerves and constricting lungs and wet cheeks and for some reason you don’t know if you can remember where you are-

Ground yourself with your five senses, you vaguely recall reading about on the internet - and you try to pull your head out from where it is, try to regulate your breathing enough to remember how this fucking grounding exercise is supposed to go.

5 things you can see. Easy enough - you open your eyes to count off your steering wheel, the silver Honda Civic parked in front of you, the old empty iced coffee in your cup holder, the traffic light at the intersection turning red, the bunny-shaped cloud in the sky.

4 things you can feel - the leather seat under you, the California sun warming up your skin, your nails digging into your palms (unclench, you consciously think), the tears sort of drying on your cheeks.

3 things you can hear. Cars on the street? A dog barking? Your breathing, which is slowing down now.

2 things you can smell. Coffee on your clothes. Your favorite car freshener from Bath and Body Works.

1 thing you can taste - matcha. Caramel and matcha, because you remember thinking about trying to craft the monstrosity and tasting it earlier, and somehow it still lingers. You force out a smile, thinking bitterly about whether you’ll get the chance to tell Bradley about it.

You’re not completely calm - not in the slightest. But you need to get out of here, get some air, and now that you’re physically stable, you finally start your car, roll the windows down, and drive.

At a stoplight, you have an epiphany and pull out your phone to search for directions on how to get to Sunset Cliffs Natural Park - perhaps a hike would do you some good. A small part of you worries about going on your own, but you’re somehow still feeling numb enough to ignore it.

Once you park your car and step out, you feel a cool breeze whip around you, soothing your hot skin and easing some of your worries. Slipping on a pair of sunglasses, you make your way down towards the trail, thankful you wore comfortable shoes to work. Twenty minutes later, you find yourself sitting down on a rock closer to the ocean, and you glance down at how far away the water looks.

And you think back to when there was a moment you weren’t grinding yourself down to the bone, to when you weren’t constantly itching to cross off the next thing off your to-do list, to when you weren’t so occupied with completing a project in hopes that it would secure you a ticket to a supposedly better career position - when you weren’t lost in the constant grind of a job that gave you no work-life balance whatsoever.

The sound of the ocean rushes into your ears, and you look out to try and pinpoint the farthest point a wave starts forming and follow its journey towards land, watch as the foam crashes down on the ocean before retreating back into deeper waters. And you feel like in some sense you’ve been a wave all along, and now you’re just drifting back out into open waters to let the current carry you elsewhere.

For the first time, you don’t wipe away the tears forming. You let them fall down, cascade down your cheeks and drip onto your shirt. The ocean breeze You feel chilly, your ass hurts, and you can’t believe you let yourself believe, for even a second, that there wasn’t more out there for you.

After returning to the guest house, you make a beeline for your computer, ignoring how sweaty the anxiety attack and walk made you and how desperately you wanted to shower the whole drive over here. You’re filled with a sense of determination - a genuine drive to make a plan for yourself, something you haven’t felt in ages.

First things first - you locate an email from Cam dating back to a month ago when you first settled here: therapists in San Diego, cognitive behavioral specialists and group therapy options for anxiety. It’s been on the back burner for long enough, and you resolve to ask Cam for more guidance, more support, more help because you’re realizing now you can’t shoulder the burden yourself.

After this, you turn your attention to the unread emails in response to career advice requests. Gradually, you sift through them and bookmark sites for grad school, creating an excel sheet just like you did back in undergrad when you were shortlisting all the companies you wanted to work at.

It feels cathartic - having a clean inbox and a new sheet of possibilities. But there's one more thing on your docket: you pull out your phone and unlock it, navigating to your chat history with Bradley. Your heart sinks slightly looking at the unanswered apology texts he sent, urging you to talk to him - but you swallow down the guilt and tap the call button, listening to the rings until you get his voicemail. You frown, furrowing your brow. Maybe he’s busy?

You elect to draft him a text message instead, hoping he’ll catch you later tonight. Hey, you type, pausing to ponder your next words. I’m sorry for how I left things and for not replying, just needed some time to think. Can you give me a call sometime?

After hitting send, you feel an urge to launch your phone across the room, but you fight it in hopes that he’ll reply right after, that he just missed your call by accident. But you don’t hear back from him that night. Or the next morning. You sent him another text around noon (Hope everything’s okay. We don’t have to talk, just at least let me know you’re alright) - but by the time evening rolls around, you’re wound tight and ready to explode. None of your messages look like they’ve even been delivered.

Did he fucking block you?

“Hey!” Cam calls out when you trudge into the house for dinner. “What’s up? You look like shit.”

You heave out a sigh and situate yourself on a barstool at the kitchen island, burying your face in your hands. “I feel like shit.”

They look up from where they’re chopping tomatoes and nod slightly in agreement. “Sounds about right. Rough day at work?”

You groan. “No. I sort of... blew up at Bradley earlier this week. I just wanted to call him to apologize but I think he’s blocked me or something.”

“Oh honey, I don’t think... he’d do that,” Cam attempts to reassure, setting a kitchen knife down and leveling you with an unreadable expression.

“Why not? I was a complete bitch to him, just went off on him because of one thing he said and I’d really like to apologize, but he’s making that a little difficult. I don’t even think any of my messages sent to him because none of them will deliver-”

“Bradley left,” Cam interrupts, their face morphing into one of deep sympathy. Your stomach drops, waiting for their next words, assuming the worst. “Nat told me they were going off for some mission. They’ll probably be back next week though-”

And your heart drops into your stomach, forming a pit. And you hear a faint buzzing in your ears - maybe that’s Cam saying your name? - but nothing seems to really register with you except for the fact that Bradley’s gone, and he never said goodbye and he didn’t even tell you and everyone kept saying this mission was life or death. If maybe you’d listened to him earlier when he’d called, maybe you could have instead said something encouraging, something inspiring, something to give him hope, something to make him want to come back for you. Not blown up at him for something you misconstrued as a taunting reminder of your failures.

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get the chance to share your grad school news with him, or apologize, or make him a matcha monstrosity, or hear him call you Buttercup with his mustache cocking upwards in that endearing half smile he always sends you.

What truly strikes a feeling of emptiness in you is the heavy, constant worry that you should be holding onto something - at first you think you’re missing your keys or your phone or your purse, but it dawns upon you later that all you want to feel is the comforting weight of his hand in yours.

You try your best to go about your regular schedule with a hazy mind - coffee shop in the morning, grad research and emails in the afternoon, a small solitude walk down by the beach after dinner with your friends. Over the weekend, you consider numbing the pain of not knowing with a couple (or three, or six) drinks down at the Hard Deck, but Bradley’s absence at the piano would surely be noticed no matter how much liquor you down. And you’re not sure if excessive alcohol and your anxiety are the best match at this moment.

The next Wednesday evening’s shenanigans consist of rosé and Notting Hill playing on the tv while you comb through Reddit and other forums for GRE overviews and timetables. You’re interrupted suddenly by a flurry of knocks at your door. Figuring Cam forgot their house key and didn’t want to bother texting, you heave yourself off the couch to open the door, not at all expecting to see Bradley on the other side of it. You freeze.

“Hi,” he breathes out. He’s wearing his signature blue jeans and a white tank with an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt - the same outfit from when you first met almost a month ago (maybe a different shirt print, they all look the same to you). This time, you take the time to appreciate how fucking good he looks, how he fully manages to take your breath away, how you kind of want to reach out and poke his abs to make sure he’s real-

“Cam told me they told you about... Well, you know. We got in two nights ago. I uh.. Would’ve come earlier, but I think I crashed from all the adrenaline and shit. I think I ended up sleeping for about fourteen hours-”

This sends you into motion. You leave him on your front porch mid-sentence and dash a couple steps back into the guest house to grab a throw pillow from the indoor bench in the foyer (bless Cher for her furnishing skills, sponsored by HGTV).

With your plush weapon in hand, you stomp back over to him, where he looks as confused as ever before you start raining blows onto him with it. “Are - you - fucking - KIDDING - me?!” you grit out, punctuating each word with a hit from the pillow. Bradley’s holding up his hands to shield his body, and if he weren’t so caught off guard he probably would’ve had the bright idea to wrestle the offending object away from you. Maybe he also felt like he deserved it. “You go hop off on a mission without telling me! Without a heads up! And you come HERE,” - three hits in succession - “What the fuck, Bradley!”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry!” Bradley cries out, finally reaching a hand to tear it away from you, holding it behind him just out of your reach. He finally looks up to meet your angry gaze and his confusion softens, melts into compassion and warms you up from the inside out.

Jesus Christ, you’re crying.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, slowly lowering his hand grasping the pillow. “I just... I didn’t want to make you worry. And I thought you were angry with me and I didn’t want to make things worse-”

“Right,” you whisper, closing your eyes and trying your hardest to find your breathing exercises to help regulate your rapidly increasing heart rate.

“I didn’t want to make you feel obligated,” he says quietly. “Believe me, I kept trying to remind myself of that, but as soon as I was up in the air-”

“Oh my god,” you groan and squeezing your eyes shut, remembering the gravity of the situation - life or death mission echoes through your head on repeat and you feel all the anxiety you had shoved down start bubbling up, all your muscles clenching-

“I’m here right now sweetheart,” he reaches out to grasp your hands - which you’d started unconsciously nervously wringing and squeezing together like a kitchen sponge - and he takes a step closer towards you. His right thumb is rubbing gentle circles over your pulse point, and it’s somehow doing a much better job at calming you down than those stupid exercises you got from the internet. You breathe him in - all woodsy and musky mixed with a hint of sunscreen and vanilla. “Is this okay?” he asks with bated breath.

You nod in an answer and at last, you open your eyes, finally agreeing with what your eyes were showing you, finally accepting the reality that he was standing there safe and sound in front of you, yet you’re still unable to find any words; even if you could, you’re not sure you possessed the energy to be able to sound them out.

“Can we go inside? We can sit down for this, maybe get you some water.”

Again, you nod, vocal chords still frozen. Bradley hums soothingly in acknowledgement, takes a soft hold of one of your wrists and leads you back into the house, makes sure to close and lock the door behind you. With his tangible presence and the grip of his fingers, you can feel your mind feel less fuzzy, more alert, more aware of Bradley gently pulling you towards the kitchen.

“Where do you keep your cups?” he asks finally, opening up a cupboard at random and wrinkling his forehead upon seeing an air fryer instead.

“I can make us some tea, I think,” you say, stepping around him to grab a couple kitschy cat mugs from the cupboard next to them. “Think some chamomile might do me some good.” He nods, moving to the side to let you take charge. You flip the electric kettle on and pull out tea bags and honey while the water heats up.

“I got your texts. Didn’t have access to our phones on the ship but uh... I’m sorry to have worried you,” he says sheepishly, leaning against the kitchen island with his hands in his pockets and you hum, not wanting to let on to the fact of how terrified you were (as if he didn’t already know, as if he didn’t see you completely freeze up and almost lose your mind at the actual sight of him).

The kettle clicks, and you reach over to pour the hot water into the mugs to steep the tea. “I just...” you start, and fiddle with the mugs, pushing one with a cartoon cat drinking coffee printed on it towards him along with the bear-shaped bottle. Bradley accepts with a small “thanks,” and then goes on to squeeze an egregious amount of honey into the mug, clinking the metal spoon loudly against the ceramic as he stirred. You raise an eyebrow, then shake off the judgment - a topic for later. (Seriously. That had to be, like, four tablespoons. Is he okay?).

“I wanted to apologize,” you say to him, and his eyes dart up to meet your determined gaze. “I think I - rather unfairly - lost my temper with you. I think that conversation just reminded me that I’m still sort of stuck in this limbo with my career, with my life being completely on hold. And I wrongly assumed that you were trying to let me down easy, that you had your own misgivings about me making my way out of here. I’m sorry.”

Bradley nods slowly with a furrowed brow, bringing his mug up to blow lightly over the surface of his drink before taking a tiny sip. “I think... I replayed our conversation in my head the entire night and I saw where you might have gotten that idea- I mean, first things first, I was just worried about the mission. And getting too close to you and leaving you here if things went south. I just didn’t want my whole shit with Maverick and the mission to get in the way of you finding yourself, because you’re just treading water, right?”

You’re silent for a minute, grasping your mug just a little bit tighter and choosing your next few words carefully. “That was the plan. But I think I’ve had... an epiphany, of sorts...” he nods, encouraging you to continue. “I was thinking about going back to school. I think… I love engineering, but I hated industry. So I thought maybe I could go back for my masters, PhD after, maybe become a professor. Or do research. I thought Caltech or Stanford would be amazing, since I’m starting to like the west coast now. And I’ve already reached out to some colleagues and professors who think it’s a good idea.”

A week ago, it felt silly to even say out loud. But here and now, with Bradley nodding encouragingly and with the hint of a smile on lips, you wonder why you always berate yourself for wanting to be open about your dreams.

“That sounds perfect for you, sweetheart. Are you… are you gonna go for it?”

You take a sip, ignoring the butterflies taking flight at the term of endearment. “I think so. I just... I don't know if I’m good enough for it. Plus, I’m not sure if being back in that environment would be good for me, especially being so much older going in. There’s a lot of shit I have to get through which is why...” you pause, wondering if you’re ready to admit this to him. “I’m looking at therapy. Cam had some suggestions for some San Diego specialists and I made some calls yesterday, but I’m trying to figure out where I might end up long term first.”

He nods slowly, puts his mug down, ponders the news you’ve just broken. At long last, he looks up at you. “I think that’s really great for you. And it means a lot to me that you felt comfortable enough to share that.”

You look down bashfully into your mug, trying to lose yourself in the steam trails rising up from the water. “You’re the first person I wanted to tell,” you admit and immediately cringe at how lame it must sound, how clingy you must seem for wanting to divulge all your future plans to him.

“That means the world to me,” he says softly, and you look up to see his serious, thoughtful expression. “I uh… I think that’s something I’m looking into now too. Therapy. I mean. I did some grief counseling when my mom passed away - wasn’t too big a fan of group sessions, never really liked talking in front of so many people about my crap. But the individual talks helped, just never really stuck with it when things got busy. And I figured I was okay until... this assignment, I guess. All the shit with Maverick - which, we’re okay now. But I think I have some doors I want to close. So... same boat, huh?”

You hum in acknowledgement, taking a few steps forward to lean against the countertop across from him.

“You don’t have to go into the details,” you say softly, swirling the tiny amount of tea remaining in your mug. “But... are you okay right now? After getting back?”

Bradley shrugs his shoulders. “Still feels like a dream. Sometimes I close my eyes and I find myself in the backseat of that F-14 trying to figure out the radio - but, again, I’ll be unpacking that in a more professional setting soon,” he sends you a crooked smile. “But ah... I feel terrible about not telling you-”

“Oh, that’s fine! I understand-” you interrupt, putting your mug down and waving him off, but he cuts you off again with further rambling, waving his arms around as he speaks.

“No, really, I do! I should’ve told you, and the moment we were on the home stretch and flying back I was thinking about what the hell I was going to say to you - oh, and I didn’t even mention that then morning of Jake said he patched things up with his girl and I was fucking pissed that Jake of all people managed to say goodbye but I was too much of a coward to do the same - and I’m just so sorry, sweetheart-”

You surge forward to cut him off, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a bruising, crushing kiss. Because fuck it if you’re not going to show him how much you don’t care that he didn’t say goodbye, that he didn’t even send a text because he’s here right now and it feels like everything’s all right.

Bradley kisses back with fervor, reaching around to press his hands on your lower back and pulling you into him, and you can’t get closer, can’t get enough of him, almost want to have your hands handcuffed around his neck so that you never have to let go. His lips are chapped but warm and they leave yours tingling with every brush together and he smells so fucking good, just as you remember from your hiking day and he tastes so fucking sweet because of all the honey he poured into his tea before (you really have to check with him later to see what kind of sweet tooth you’re signing up for).

Your hands travel upwards to tangle into his hair, tugging slightly and making him gasp into your mouth. He pulls away slightly to rest his forehead against yours - “Fuck,” he groans out your name - your real name - and you think you might explode because your name has never sounded so beautiful rolling off someone else’s tongue, and because the last time he said it he was breaking your heart and now here he is, holding you together, supporting your whole body now that you’ve gone completely weak kneed.

It’s certainly been a long time since you’d been kissed this fucking good, so you linger in the moment just a little bit longer, breathe in his cologne one last time. With your lips still tingling and your hands still tangled in his hair, you open your eyes to see his blissed out expression. His eyes are still shut, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and he’s still fully holding you up - if he lets go, you’re sure to collapse in on yourself.

“Sorry,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful at having attacked him like that, but Bradley squeezes you tightly and presses his forehead into you.

“Don’t be, I’ve been... I’ve thought about that for a long time,” he smiles, and you huff out a laugh.

“Sure.”

“No, seriously! Even in college I was thinking about it-”

“What?” you interrupt, pulling away to look at him, aghast. “In college? You had a thing for me then?”

Bradley’s eyebrows raise so high you’re surprised they don’t shoot off his face. “Y-you’re kidding, right? I told you I was trying to impress you back then-”

“What, that’s supposed to mean you were into me?”

“Yeah!” he defends, pulling away further to look you straight in the eye. “I was totally into you! Why do you think I asked you to Formal?”

“To be an ass!” you tell him like it’s the most obvious answer in the world - and it is, because all you remember about that day was him coming up to you with a bouquet of buttercups and delivering what sounded like the most rehearsed speech you’d ever heard. It wasn’t like he’d ever indicated any interest in you before, so why would he even bother asking you?

Bradley looks annoyed now, if his mustache is any indication. “Buttercup, I... I don’t know what else I can say but Jesus Christ - I was into you. You just had so much integrity and dedication and you were so smart and so fucking pretty. I didn’t know how to talk to you then, and even after fifteen years, when I saw you in the bar and at the coffee shop I still managed to make a fool out of myself in front of the brightest fucking girl I’ve ever known-”

You cut him off again, unable to handle being apart from him and not being able to feel him and breathe him in and it’s cliche and way too fast but you’re so fucking sick of being stuck in your head all the time and second guessing every move you make. For once, you just want to be a girl standing in front of a boy and kissing the ever loving bejesus out of him because that’s all your mind is telling you.

Again, Bradley matches your intensity, pressing his mouth to you and this time lightly tracing your bottom lip with his tongue - the contrast between his soft mouth and the sharp bristles of his mustache and the feeling of his hot skin against yours makes wetness pool into your underwear, sends tingles throughout your body. You don’t think you’ve felt this crazy, this horny for a guy in fucking years.

Bradley’s gripping your hips tightly, and suddenly he’s steering you backwards towards the kitchen island, and when your back hits the edge of the countertop you ignore the pain and reach a hand back to steady yourself on the smooth surface, trying to maneuver hopping up on the granite without letting your slips disconnect from Bradley’s. You think you might explode if you ever stop kissing Bradley.

He pulls away slightly (kaboom, you mourn sadly), a smirk playing across his features. “May I?” he asks, sliding his hands down to the back of your legs, right below where your thighs meet the curve of your ass, and you nod quickly.

You’re surprised at how empty your head is, how easy it is for you to go with the flow and let Bradley give you the makeout session of your life. But you’re even more surprised at how easily he’s able to lift you onto the countertop, then subsequently situate himself between your knees, grab your face in his hands, and pull you in for another kiss.

Holy fucking shit if you don’t get this man’s clothes off him right now you’re going to explode. Again.

So you mindlessly let your hands trail to the collar of his Hawaiian shirt, gently nudging it off his shoulders, now letting your lips trail kisses down his jawline to his neck. Bradley starts to remove the button-down, then pauses. You freeze.

“You sure about this, honey?” he asks you, and you look up at him with a terrified expression, wondering if you’ve gone too far, hoping you can try to dig yourself out of this- but it’s like Bradley can see the fear strike in your eyes and he quickly backtracks. “I mean, do you want to do this?

“I don’t... I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more,” you confess in a whisper, nervously toying with the fabric of his shirt before pulling your fingers away. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking-”

Bradley shakes his head, placing a hand on your chin and tilting it upwards. “Let me rephrase: do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, and it’s so brazen and open and you’ve never heard someone ask you this openly for your consent, haven’t felt this comfortable with someone in so long, and without another thought you start nodding your head. “Use your words, sweetheart. Can I? I mean - do you?”

You gulp, closing your eyes and nodding again. “Yeah,” you breathe out, and the smile on Bradley’s face makes everything go away, makes your anxieties disappear. Suddenly he’s shedding his button-down and draping it over the barstool next to you, then shucking off his white undershirt and holy fucking shit he’s jacked, he’s tanned and muscled and you remember seeing this before, but the close up view is so much better than the memory from volleyball that you’ve replayed in your mind over and over -

“All good, Buttercup?” he’s smirking, leaning in to peck your lips and you roll your eyes and move to take off your old UVA t-shirt.

“If you call me Buttercup, I’m calling you Rooster,” you threaten between kisses, now fighting to take off your bra.

He laughs. “Sweetheart, I won’t complain if you call me Rooster in bed,” he reaches both hands around to bat your hands away and gently unhooks the stuck clasp. His hands, as warm as his gaze, slowly move down your body to return to your waist as you slide the straps off. Bradley’s eyes darken at your chest, his fingers dig into your skin. “Goddamn, Buttercup.”

“Shut up,” you say bashfully, glancing down at his beautifully sculpted chest, the deep lines of his abs, and the silver chain carrying his dog tags glinting in the kitchen light. You feel the nervousness settle in, feel incredibly shy being this exposed in front of him, being this naked in front of another person after a long time.

“It’s, uh...” you start, folding your arms over your chest. Your eyes dart around; you don’t want to look at him, don’t want him to see the scared glint in your eye, don’t want him to sense the nervousness boiling inside of you. You’re all up in your head again, thinking so much and suddenly he brings you back down again, just as easily as he always has.

“Hey,” he taps your hip with one finger and that grounds you a tad. Bradley’s voice is gravity, pulling you down from where your anxiety sent you, unpinching your tensed nerves one by one. “Tell me, honey.”

“I just... haven’t done this in a while,” you confess and you can barely hear yourself say it, the shame and anxiety buzzing loudly in your ears and drowning out everything. But Bradley doesn’t react with disgust or discomfort like your brain is preemptively warning you he will - instead, he looks up to meet your gaze with a soft, yet determined look.

He reaches up to softly brush your cheek, and you close your eyes to lean into his touch. “Sweetheart,” he tells you. “We don’t have to go any further. But let me take care of you. Get you out of your head for a bit,” his words shake you to your core and you feel another gush of wetness at the realization that he is wholly and entirely here for you.

You nod again, turning your head to press a soft kiss to his palm, and Bradley smiles at your gesture. “I want you to fuck me,” you admit, and you swear you see his eyes darken, pupils enlarging as he lets out a low groan.

“As you wish, Buttercup,” he replies and it sounds familiar, it sounds like straight from William Goldman’s novel and the Cary Elwes film and you resolve to ask him if that’s why he calls you that. “I think I’d much rather fuck you into your mattress, though,” he murmurs lowly, and you clench down on nothing, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

“Oh,” you hear yourself say, like you’re across the room - but you’re not. You’re with Bradley, and now he’s gently helping you hop off the island and kissing you fervently, letting you pull him towards your bedroom.

“Shorts,” he orders softly into your mouth and your brain short-circuits, wondering why the hell he’s bringing up the most useless numerical data type in programming until you realize he’s talking about your bottoms, about taking them off and exposing yourself further in front of him.

“O-okay,” you whisper and pull away slowly, hooking your fingers into the sides of your athletic shorts and pulling them down to pool on the floor, and then your step out of them wondering if there was a sexier way you could’ve gone about that. But Bradley’s eyes are locked onto your face and he’s smiling like he’s got everything he could ever want right in front of him and he’s steering you backwards to your bed. He then gently nudges you down to lay down on the mattress, following suit and kneeling down on the bed and hovering over you as he presses hard kisses down the side of your neck. Another hand reaches up to knead your breast, fingers pinching and rolling your nipple and you exhale shakily.

And your brain short circuits again when you feel his hardness pressing up against your cunt; the sizable bulge in his pants make you let out an involuntary moan. Bradley’s teeth come down on your neck and you can feel his mustache pressing against your neck as he smiles.

“Sweetheart, let me eat you out?” he asks. You freeze, thinking about whether you had ever been with a man who offered to eat you out before anything else, who wanted to make you cum first instead of jumping into jackrabbiting for a miserable five minutes and passing out right after. Bradley’s not like them. Not in the slightest. “Y-yeah. You can.”

He hums, hooks his index fingers into your underwear and attempts to slide them off after you lift your hips in an effort to help. “I mean, you really don’t have to, Bradley,” you say, feeling embarrassed once the cold air hits your core and you’re made aware of how your slick must look smeared across your folds and leaking down your thighs.

But in true Bradley fashion, he just raises an eyebrow and shakes his head, then trails a series of kisses down your stomach and presses his hands into your thighs. “I’d never turn down the chance to make you feel good. Relax, pretty girl,” he replies. And as you lock eyes with him between your legs, he hesitates for a moment - waits for a sign that you’re okay with this, that you want him to consume you.

Finally, you nod, and Bradley wastes no time diving in. He leans forward - the warmth of his breath on your wetness makes you shiver, and the laugh he huffs out sends another jolt up your spine. Impatiently, you raise your head to look at him and see what the hell’s got him so distracted, but suddenly he’s pressing his broad tongue against your folds and tracing a long line up towards your bundle of nerves and your head slams down against the mattress, a squeak leaving your lips. His mustache rubs hard against your skin, but the prickles feel so damn good and a part of you wonders what it’ll look like when he comes up with his facial hair soaked in your release.

“Taste so good, Buttercup,” he says and instinctively, your legs start to close in on his head but Bradley repositions his hands to the inside of your thighs. He pushes them further apart and keeps them separated long enough for him to lick another strip up your cunt and begin kitten licking your clit eagerly, excitedly, desperately. He alternates between flattening out his tongue and fashioning it into a point, and each motion sends a new wave of pleasure throughout your body, setting fire to your nerves and making you clench down on nothing.

Then, as if he can sense the emptiness, he removes his hand from its position on your left thigh. You realize just where he plans to settle it when you feel his palm on your stomach, thumb joining his tongue near your clit, and he starts circling it slightly while he shifts his tongue to move down to your opening. He’s slurping, it’s messy and loud and the brush of his mustache is adding an extra layer of pleasure. You're almost embarrassed at how wet this has made you but it doesn't matter because Bradley is diving in, pressing his tongue into you and coordinating the movements with his fingers.

“Bradley, fuck, it’s too much,” you tell him and he shakes his head, the movement making you clench.

“You can take it,” he replies, and you believe him as he continues his ministrations, continues fucking you with his tongue. “You sound so fucking pretty, honey,” he adds, and you suddenly realize that in addition to the slick sounds echoing out through the room, you’re whimpering, moaning, cursing out Bradley’s name and trying to make sense of what the hell is going on, how you're able to feel this much pleasure, how a man is this willing to make you lose your mind like this. And Bradley’s shaking his head, letting his tongue hit spots inside of you that you never knew existed and your back is arching off the bed, head pressing so hard into the mattress it hurts.

“Sweetheart, this feel good?” you vaguely hear him say, vaguely feel the vibrations of his words shake your core.

“Mmhmm,” you manage out, punctuating it with a gasp as he moves his fingers down to prod at your entrance slowly and slide through your folds easily. And it suddenly becomes too much, too good, too wonderful and you know it’s entirely because you haven’t been with someone (besides your vibrator) that’s this attuned to all your spots. With a cry, you feel the white-hot tell-tale sign of your high coming and you arch your back again, moving your hand down to grab Bradley’s head and push it into your core, almost grinding your cunt against his mouth and nose and fingers. He doesn’t cease his motions, doesn’t stop, just moans again into you and lets you ride out the wave. He reaches out his other hand to grasp your free hand where it’s fisting the bed sheets and squeezing comfortingly.

And suddenly, it’s quiet. You’re catching your breath. You’re holding his hand and he’s removed his face from your pussy, looking up at you carefully, gauging your response.

And once the nervous thoughts start rolling in your head, you banish the anxious ones and focus on telling him exactly what you want him to do. “Pants off, Bradshaw. I need you inside me,”

Bradley laughs, eye crinkles making their signature guest appearance and making you feel giddy. “Yes ma’am,” he chuckles and he stands up, then starts undoing his belt buckle and removing his pants and boxes in one fell swoop. He steps out of them just as you did with your shorts (huh, maybe you can look sexy doing it that way).

When you catch sight of his cock, your eyes widen, and you’re not sure if you’ll even be able to handle it. But he just smirks at your expression, takes note of your eyes on his cock, and settles down at your headboard to wait patiently for you to join him.

“Take your time, Buttercup,” he says, eyes full of mischief. “Or I’ll take care of it myself.”

You level a glare at him, finally mustering up the energy to sit up and crawl over to him. "I, uh... I have an IUD. And I'm clean. But I should have condoms in-," you start but Bradley cuts you off.

"Nah, I mean... I'm clean. Tested last month. I'm okay without if you are?" he asks and you nod, kissing him passionately and letting his tongue slip into your mouth as you position yourself over him.

You settle a knee on either side of his thighs and take his cock in your hand, pumping it briefly. A honey-like moan sounds out from Bradley and it’s all the encouragement you need before you align his cock with your entrance and slowly sink down on it. The two of you moan in unison - and the stretch isn’t painful, but there’s no way you can take it all at once without something hurting, so you take your time, lowering down slowly inch by inch until you’re fully seated on top of him, feeling full and warm all over.

Bradley has his eyes locked on you, eyes lidded as he tries to control his breathing. You look up at him, sending him a sly smile before reaching up to grab his shoulders and rooting your knees into the mattress before rising up slightly and sitting back down on him. The friction is mind-blowing, but the sound that Bradley makes is even more incredible.

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, moving his grip to your hips and squeezing tightly. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes as you start to bounce up and down on him, reveling in the feeling.

“Your cock feels so good,” you tell him, swinging your hair out of your face and increasing your pace just a little bit, angling your hips more so that his tip brushes just right against your most sensitive spots.

“It’s yours, sweetheart,” he groans, firmly grasping the soft skin on your hips and reaching his thumb to stroke your clit in circles. The contrast between his bruising grip on you with one hand and the gentle touch of his thumb sets every cell in your body on fire. “You’re s-such a fucking tea... tease,” Bradley gasps as you bounce on his lap, rising off his cock slowly and slamming your cunt back down on him with a swirl of your hips.

“Bradley, if you can’t handle it,” you lean down to murmur in his ear, adding a counterclockwise swirl for good measure. “Maybe you should take charge.”

“Yeah?” he asks, gaze trained on you, hands moving up to the bottom of your ribcage. He’s got a mischievous glint in his eye mixed with pure awe - like you’re a goddess claiming her throne.

You nod into him. “Yeah. Might be for the best, my legs are starting to- Oh!” Bradley quickly pulls you into his chest, rolling over and twisting so that you’re on your back and he’s on his knees between your legs, cock still buried deep inside you. He first hikes your legs up so that they wrap higher around his waist, then he snakes his left hand underneath your back to grip you tightly. He leans down to deliver a bruising kiss, pumping his cock in and out of you languidly. He’s all around you and inside of you and the only thing keeping you from overheating, from completely combusting

“Such a pretty girl,” he grunts out against your lips, hips undulating slightly faster - forget treading water, you’re just riding the fucking waves as they come - “My girl, my pretty little- Jesus Christ.”

You let out a long, breathy moan as Rooster tightens his grip on you and starts mercilessly pounding into you. The slap of your skin together echoes throughout the room - and you can feel just how wet and sticky and warm it is down where he’s driving his cock into your soaking cunt and it’s too good, too fucking good it’s all him and you and he’s suddenly burying his face into your neck, his mustache prickling your damp skin and sending tingles throughout your body, making you clench down on him-

“Fuck,” he grunts out, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is this good for you sweetheart?”

If you could, you’d roll your eyes. Is this good? he asks like he’s not fucking you so hard you’ve forgotten your own name. “Oh, I think it’s okay,” you manage to sarcastically bite out,

“Such a brat,” he huffs out, slowing down his thrusts slightly to give you a look. His mustache even manages to look unimpressed, and you lazily smile back, taking in all the pleasure until he pulls your nipple teasingly.

“What, you gonna punish me? Teach me a lesson?” you manage to choke out half-jokingly, and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside of you as his eyes painfully scrunch closed.

“Fuck,” he grunts out. “No. Next time. If you want.” And you’re lost in the meaning behind that, in the possibility of more, the idea of being this entwined with him for the rest of your life until suddenly, Bradley leans back and unwraps your legs from around him. Breathing laboriously as he tries to keep the same pace, he hooks both over his shoulders and presses in, folding you nearly in half in the process. He balances his weight onto one hand that’s fisting the sheets next to your hips and sneaks the other hand down to circle your bundle of nerves.

“Ohmigod,” you whimper, his cock now grazing your g-spot on every thrust, the touch of his hand on your clit setting you aflame. The sound of skin on skin reverberates through your ears and it’s so fucking hot and you don’t remember your own name-

“I’ve got you, honey,” he reassures, not slowing down his thrust or the circles on your clit. “Just let go.”

“I-I’m yours,” you babble, gripping his back tightly, almost digging your nails in. You feel so full and you can’t get enough of him, can’t imagine being without him, can’t imagine letting go because this is the most whole you’ve ever felt in a long time - “I’m yours, Bradley. Fuck.”

With one last brush of his finger on your clit, one last push inside of you, you peak and cry out his name again. It’s instantaneous, the wave of pleasure that washes over you as you cum and you don’t remember a time when you or anyone else was able to make you feel this level of toe curling, eye rolling, body tingling sensation of a full-blown orgasm. The only thing grounding you now is the weight of Bradley’s body on you, his dick inside of you, the sudden warm, familiar feeling of his hand in yours as you gasp out his name over and over again.

“Fuck, you’re everything,” you breathe out, and Bradley groans loudly into your ear.

"Where do you want me to cum?" he chokes out and you move your hand from his shoulders down to the trough of his lower back, clutching him tightly.

"Inside. Please, give it to me Bradley," you beg and with another moan of your name, he climaxes, burying his face into your neck and pushing deep inside you. You feel him come undone, his warmth shooting into you in hot spurts, heating you up even more than you thought you could feel. He shifts his hips in and out as he rides out his orgasm, pressing small kisses to your neck the whole time. You smile lazily at the feeling of his mustache hairs brushing the underside of your jaw, remembering how it felt between your legs.

As you catch your breath, all the events just overwhelm you, making goosebumps appear on your arms, making you feel cold. “Can you...” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed to ask the question, but Bradley’s been pretty well attuned to your nervousness tonight and he nuzzles you gently to continue. “Can you just... kiss me?” you ask and it feels juvenile, almost lame to ask, but Bradley already placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head upwards to press a slow, loving kiss to your lips that warms you up all over again, brings you more comfort than you could’ve asked for.

And later, after he’s taken the liberty of gently cleaning you up with a warm washcloth from your bathroom and you pulled on fresh pair of underwear you’d managed to grab on wobbly legs (Bradley seemed all too pleased to watch you stumble around your bedroom like Bambi) - you’re tangled up together underneath your sheets with him laying on his back, arms around you and your head resting on his chest.

And the subtle beat of his heart is the most grounding sound, a metronome you wouldn’t mind falling asleep to every night.

A thought strikes you, something he said earlier in the night coming back to you. “Hey, you said something about Jake and his girl before?”

“Oh,” he taps out a pattern on your bare back. “They patched things up.” You think back to when you last saw them - remembering a heated conversation at the Hard Deck ending with her looking absolutely broken, him looking barely unsettled.

“Didn’t he break it off with her at the bar two weeks ago?”

“She dumped him,” he corrects with a half smile. “And he kept telling us it was nothing, but then they were friends and then they weren’t and it’s a whole mess - they got it all worked out the night before we left. And I realized when we got back that it would’ve been really embarrassing if Jake, of all the jackass pilots I know, was able to patch things up with his girl but I couldn’t with mine.”

You nod slowly, tracing patterns on his chest thoughtfully. “I’m your girl?” you ask softly with a smile, and Bradley looks down at you hesitantly.

“Do you want to be?” he asks in earnest, and you think about it for a moment.

“Is this what you call patching up?” you gesture towards your naked bodies twisted in the bedsheets and he shrugs. And you’re joking, really - but it’s not like everything between the two of you gets resolved with mind blowing sex and real orgasms.

He snorts. “You’re not mad at me anymore, right?” he states matter-of-factly and you roll your eyes, resting your head back on his shoulder. “No,” he continues. “I know you’ve got a lot to deal with - grad school and GREs, and therapy. And I’m not sure where I’m headed next, but... I’ve put in a request to stay on North Island for some time. So I can be here. If you stay on the west coast.”

You feel the hope in your chest bubble up again, feel so incredibly touched that he decided to make that career choice (didn’t he say he might get moved to Panama? Myanmar? Manama - that sounds right). But what really does your heart in are his next words - “You can stay here and be a barista for the rest of your life sweetheart - I mean, if you did, I’d love if you could use some kinda employee discount for me, shit’s getting expensive. Or you can study for your GREs and go to grad school wherever you want or go back to working in industry - or honestly, if you wanted to go up to LA and start taking mime classes, I don’t fucking know - I’m here for the long haul. You’re the most hard-working person I know. And I’m behind you whatever you choose to do. So like... I’d love it if you’d take a chance on me, Buttercup.”

You feel tears rolling down your cheeks now, and you move to straddle Bradley and bury your face into his neck. His arms wrap around your back and he holds you as you clutch his chest. It’s overwhelming how glorious this man is. “I don’t fucking deserve you,” you choke out, not sure if he can make sense of your garbled words but you feel him shake his head in response. “Really. I’m sorry I kept holding a grudge and didn’t see it before but if you’re willing-”

“I’m willing,” he says, rubbing your back and pressing a firm kiss to your temple.

“Shut up,” you smack his chest lightly. “If you’re willing, I’d like to see where this can go. And make it up to you.”

“... So you mean you’ll be my girl?” he asks, and you choke out a laugh through a watery smile, looking up to see the most giddy smile on his face. It warms you up for a third time tonight, makes it feel like the sun has burst through your window and is bathing the two of you in its light.

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling all the way. “Yeah. I’m your girl, Bradshaw.”

simultaneously so happy and sad this series is (mostly) over! I'm working on a lil snippet of bradley's pov in which we hear about what he lamented to phoenix after their first fight at the coffee shop.... and in jordan's wonderful words, it'll really highlight the 'this is me trying - nothing new' ennui of this series! thanks to everyone who commented and reblogged!

For anyone who missed it, Jake’s girl is Mojito from Bad Habit by seasonsbloom - they’re all in the SCU (Soy (Sol + May) Cinematic Universe). This quite possibly the greatest crossover since That’s So Suite Life of Hannah Montana (eat shit, marvel) (i’m half kidding i love u bucky barnes)

#rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #topgun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #mine

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