#as in like. on the paper. with gel pens. with my hands. it was so fucking tedious and annoying i never wanna do that shit again god bless
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umm i dont think that's normal guys
#soup draws stuff#murder drones#md spoilers#murder drones spoilers#hits post now anr then runs away on all fours as fast as possible for ever and ever. bye#uhgmghmmm edit. in case anyione was curious. yeah tbis is traditional. and also i drew the chromatic aberration#as in like. on the paper. with gel pens. with my hands. it was so fucking tedious and annoying i never wanna do that shit again god bless
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anyway. ardbear and bear of light
#we were given plain white paper notebooks and i got a gel pen and it was us three against the world (this seminar on teamwork)#i've never been very comfortable drawing with pens but i like some of the other doodles i did too because they were in pen#so they looked Crispy#drew my coworkers/'hands and shoes a bunch too which everyone enjoyed immensely which was slightly surreal#though not unwelcome just strange haha back in school my doodling was very much like a uh#sky is blue water is wet ghosts is drawing sort of a thing#anyway i did paint for realsies too i just need my ipad for touchups#i draw sometimes#sketch#fanart#i can't draw bravura from memory. fake warrior main.#Ardbert#warrior of light
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practicing my penmanship some more
#eliot posts#yes i used a page from homestuck to copy down as an exercise#sidenote i think i like using pencils more when writing with this style?#the resistance makes it feel easier#perhaps the same effect could be achieved with a ballpoint too#but this gel pen is TOO smooth#at least too smooth for trying to take my time somewhat and write neatly#it's very good for my normal extremely messy style#also the feedback of a thin leaded mechanical pencil stops me from pushing too hard and tiring my wrists#w my normal quick messy style i tend to write VERY lightly#but somehow when i try to take my time i start pushing hard and i hurt my wrists#this page was done with my right hand but i'm trying to improve my left hand too#also i typical write super small and use college ruled paper but#i write that small because i write with my fingers/wrist which is bad for ur wrist#so i'm trying to train myself to write more with my whole arm so this was done on wife ruled and trying to take up more of the lines#FUCK I FORGOT A WHOLE SENTENCE IN THE FIRST PARAGRAPH. HELL.#it's supposed to be the second to last sentence and it's ''A familiar note is produced''
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BFF!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
friends to lovers
★Locations ★My Masterlist
Summary: Eddie calls on you to help him plan his first date, and you wish that you were the one going on it with him.
Author's Note: This isn't quite as polished as I'd like it to be. But, I'm pushing through my last few weeks of college, so I'm working with the few brain cells I've got left lol. I still love how it turned out and the ending is worth all of the self-loathing, I promise.
No use of Y/N, est. friendship, ages aren’t specified but E & R are approx. in their early twenties & it’s an early 90s AU, Reader has never been asked on a date before. Mild angst with happy ending!
Word count: 8.9k
Warnings: Reader dwells on poor self-worth & feels undesirable, acts of eating and multiple mentions of food, includes swearing.
Nestled in the quaint corner of Campbell Ave and 2nd Street, you’re engrossed in a call with a customer, jotting down an order for two bouquets consisting of pink-white lilies and snapdragons. Your eyes follow the effortless glide of your glitter gel pen across the paper, detailing their contact information.
Similarly to Goldilocks, you’ve found a place of employment where the pace is just right. You can handle whatever tasks Joan, the owner, asks of you. Sweeping the wood floors with a stiff-bristled broom, tending to the plants, and arranging flowers adorned with decorative ribbon and crisp paper are all within your grasp.
This place gets steady business, but the concept of a lunch or dinner rush is nonexistent. However, you do face a unique kind of rush occasionally. Now and then, a frantic lover bursts through the doors, bug-eyed, having realized they’ve forgotten a special anniversary or birthday at the very last minute.
As you recite the customer’s order and callback number into the phone’s receiver, their confirmational “uh huhs” cut through the buzz of the line. Suddenly, your attention is diverted by the sight of a van pulling into the parking spot out front, slightly askew. A small smile teases the corners of your mouth as you make a conscious effort to refocus on closing the conversation at hand.
The plastic shell of the phone clacks as you hang up, and you watch Eddie hop out of his van, and round the front of it with an unusual pep in his step—more than you’d see his best days.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Eddie’s voice carries across the room, accompanied by a genuine smile that lights up his face. He strides to the register counter you’re currently manning, wearing a vermillion polo shirt embellished with the neatly embroidered String and Strum shop logo on the breast. His hair is pushed back from his face with a black bandana, resembling a biker-like edge, tied firmly to ensure no stray curls disrupt his work as he repairs guitars and sells instruments for commission.
In seconds flat, he’s already scrunching his nose like a bunny, sensing a sneeze on the horizon. Being in a room packed with fresh plants is nothing short of hell, but he’s willing to endure it for the sake of seeing you. While he can handle flowers in small quantities, the confined space never fails to tickle his system like nobody’s business.
Vision blurring with mild irritation, Eddie blinks hard to disperse it. “Hey, how’s today going?”
You shrug, suppressing a giggle at the wiggle of his nose. “As good as it can, I guess. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
Eddie sets a grease-stained paper bag on the counter that separates you, along with a cup of soda. “Figured you could use a midday pick-me-up.”
“Must be my lucky day because I overslept and didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Well, that and I found a penny on the sidewalk.”
Eddie crosses his arms and tilts his head. “Don’t give luck all the credit. I have instinctual powers, y’know. My Munson senses were tingling and I knew you were in need.”
“My hero,” You exclaim, clasping your hands and swinging them to the side like a swooning princess.
Eddie chuckles with you, watching as you wipe your palms on your apron and eagerly dig into the bag, pulling out a foam to-go box. As you promptly open it and take a bite of your lunch, you can’t help but groan and throw your head back in satisfaction. Your eyes meet his thereafter, causing him to twist his mouth to the side and momentarily look away.
“How much do I owe you?” You ask, your words slightly muffled as you continue to chew.
Minnie, Joan’s cat, gracefully leaps onto the counter to greet Eddie. She perches herself beside the cash register, allowing him to scratch under her chin. “Nothin, consider it a favor,” He says with a wet sniffle, the tingling in his nose unrelenting.
The silence that falls is comfortable for you, but he’s seemingly lost in his thoughts as he continues to pet Minnie. Then, he looks at you with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Speaking of which, I just so happen to know a way that you can return the favor.”
Having taken a sip from your drink and another bite of your food, the inflection of Eddie’s voice causes you to slow your chewing. “And what might that be?”
“Come over later to find out.”
Your shoulders slump, eyes widened with mock defeat. “No! I can’t stand here and wonder all day. I'll die. The suspense will kill me.”
Eddie pouts mockingly, his sweet honey eyes betraying his faux-frown. “Then I'll be sure to have the prettiest floral arrangement for your funeral. Only the best for you.”
Your brows knit together in an authentic pouting. The irony of needing to meet an untimely demise to receive flowers from a guy isn’t lost on you.
He motions toward the untrimmed bundle of carnations on the workbench behind you. “Actually, if you’re not too busy,” Eddie smirks. “Could you string those up for me quick so they’re ready to go for your wake?”
“Ha-ha,” you leer, taking the next bite of your food rather aggressively. “You’re cruel, you know that?”
“I beg to differ since I surprised you with your favorite from Val’s and all,” Eddie retorts, biting the inside of his cheek.
You grumble, “Yeah, and it’s fucking delicious.”
Eddie checks his watch and huffs, “Alright, I’ve gotta get goin’,” he says, rapping his knuckles on the countertop and beginning to walk backward. “See you later tonight,” He points at you before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.
The bulky keyring on Eddie’s jeans jingles loudly as he steps onto the sidewalk. Abruptly, he stops in his tracks. For a moment he’s frozen, and then he braces himself against the nearby lamppost. It hits him like a brick wall and he sneezes mightily.
Heads of nearby passersby turn in his direction, startled by the noise. As he straightens his posture, Eddie remains still, trying to find his center of gravity and regain his composure.
“You good?” You call out, your voice just barely reaching him through the propped-open doors. Taking a casual sip of your drink, you watch as Eddie steadies himself. Still clutching the street lamp with one hand, he manages to stick his other arm out and give a thumbs-up.
True to your word, you arrive at Eddie’s place straight after work. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow through the patio door onto the walls of the living room. The apartment is in its usual state of disarray, expectedly so, since it’s home to three guys who aren’t particularly concerned with tidiness.
Toeing off your shoes, you’re unphased by the subtle smell of dust in the air. What strikes you as odd is how quiet it is. Typically, at least one roommate is home, blasting the TV in the living room or music from their respective bedrooms. But the only sound permeating the silence is the erratic thumping and screech of the water pipes behind the paper-thin walls of the bathroom.
As you snoop around the kitchen, hoping to find a box of saltine crackers or really anything to stop the gurgling in your belly. Having come up empty-handed, you turn your attention to the resilient plant that you challenged Eddie to care for—Keanu Leaves, as he so proudly named it.
Finished with your fruitless search of the kitchen, you make your way into Eddie’s bedroom to settle comfortably into the chair that only you sit in; it’s your spot. While you get cozy, the beans rattle as they perfectly mold to your figure. You knock on the wall beside you, signaling your arrival to Eddie.
You resume the magazine left sitting open on the page you stopped on. You occupy yourself in the article about predicted spring fashion trends as you wait. After a minute or two, the pipes go quiet from the shower being turned off.
Eddie strolls into the room wearing nothing more than a clean pair of boxers. Droplets of water trickle down his toned and tatted chest. Harshly ruffling his curls with a bath towel, he smirks at you. “If it isn’t Little Miss Zombie, back from the dead.”
“Less than alive and in the flesh,” you reply, your annoyance at being made to wait all day still evident. You hold grudges better than anyone he knows, and Eddie is well aware that he’s not immune to being subject to it.
Your tummy rumbles loudly, the discomfort only emphasizing the sharpness of your tone. “When was the last time you got groceries? I didn’t see any preserved brains I could help myself to.”
“I’m definitely due for a restock,” Eddie says as he drapes his wet towel over the back of his desk chair. Then, he grabs the bottle of mousse from his dresser and dispenses a foamy dollop into his palm. “Funny you should ask, though. That’s sorta why you’re here.”
You flip the page of your magazine, not pulling your eyes from the glossy print. “You told me to come over to go grocery shopping?”
Eddie rubs his palms together to spread the product and then runs his fingers through his curls. “Not quite,” he starts, his tone cryptic. “I’ve been tasked with providing a meal, of sorts.”
Finally, you look up at him. Watching him scrunch his damp hair with the remainder of the product that’s making his palms go tacky, you wait for him to elaborate.
Eddie’s eyes flit to the other side of the room, rather than meeting your awaiting gaze. “I have a date.”
You stare blankly at the back of his head, as still as a statue while your blinking intensifies. Dumbfounded, you struggle to survive the bombshell he just dropped on you. It’s as if a nuclear explosion has shattered your eardrums, leaving his continued words to sound muffled through the high-pitched ringing.
A million and one questions swirl in your mind, only adding to the disorienting whirlwind of emotions. Since when is he dating? Why all of a sudden? As you try to piece everything together, you note that he hasn’t had any recent romantic interactions, at least none that you’re aware of.
You always thought he’d confide in you if he was seeing someone, but now you’re not so sure; especially since you’re only finding out about this now. Without a doubt, Eddie has never had trouble attracting attention. But he’s always seemed so content with the ways things are. So why now?
Eddie turns to face you, a splash of desperation in his eyes. “I feel like doing this is the best way to know if she likes me back.”
Your mouth has gone dry, and you try to sound more curious than interrogative, but it doesn’t quite come off that way. “Who is this mystery woman, anyway?” A couple of names come to mind, some of the most beautiful girls in town—none of whom you hold a candle to.
His side of the room falls quiet when he’s hit with your question. Eddie’s eyes drop to the carpet. While it might seem like he’s lost in thought, it’s actually a glaring sign of evasion. You can’t help but feel a little hurt by his reluctance to tell you who it is.
A small smile forms as he leans back against his dresser, as though he can’t keep himself upright during his current daydream. Folding his arms across his pecs and rubbing his jaw, eyes still downcast, Eddie begins to gush about her. “She’s just- god, she’s something else. The way she laughs, it’s like... the sun coming out after a storm.”
“Sounds like quite the catch,” you mutter, trying to keep your tone neutral. You watch closely as blush tints Eddie’s cheeks and his smile threatens to grow. Without saying another word, Eddie walks out and returns to the bathroom.
You’re quick to follow, hopping up from your chair. “Do I know her?”
“Technically, yeah,” Eddie answers. Standing in front of the foggy mirror, he wipes it with the back of his forearm. Then, he starts rummaging through the counter drawer for his pair of shears.
You stand just outside the open door, the lingering humidity from his scorching hot shower kissing your skin as it disperses into the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, you cross your arms like he did moments ago, albeit far more tensely. Technically? It must be one of your ex-friends, then. That would explain why he’s been keeping you in the dark.
It’s your duty to be supportive, but right now, you could hurl. The thick nausea swirling deep in your gut is a storm raging within, overpowering your ability to stay present.
While trimming his bangs over the basin, the shears glint in the hushed light of the wall sconce. Eddie steals a glance in your direction, but his eyes dart back to his reflection too quickly to catch the discomfort etched on your face. “So you’ll help me, right?”
As you watch yourself anxiously wiggling your toes inside your sock, you mumble, “I can't if you won’t tell me who it is.“
“Sure you can, you’re a girl. You know how this stuff works.”
You scoff, your brows shooting up as your head jerks back. You open your mouth to object, but he promptly cuts you off.
“Ah, ah! Slow your roll,” Eddie cautions, pointing the shears in your direction. “I’m not saying you’re all the same, but there’s gotta be some common ground of expectations, right?”
You don’t have the strength to argue, so you reluctantly allow for his generalization. “I guess so.”
“Like yeah, I could just study one of those lady magazines you’re always reading. But then I wouldn’t have a way of knowing what is and isn’t bullshit,” Eddie explains, his tone half-joking. “That’s why I’m going straight to the source, oh, wise one.”
Far too consumed with trying to narrow down who the chick could possibly be, you can’t be bothered to give him a huff of amusement through your nose. “Can I at least have a hint?”
“Nope,” The shears hit the countertop, their metallic resonance echoing against the porcelain. He pivots to face you, hands resting on his hips. “Alright, Sherlock. How about you quit trying to crack the case and help me pick out a tie.”
“A what now?” You squawk, eyes widening in disbelief.
Eddie chuckles softly and rinses the hair trimmings down the drain, then flicks off the bathroom light. “I have to dress for the occasion. This is a big deal for me,” he elaborates as he strides back into his room. “For her and me.”
Once again, you find yourself on his tail, trailing close behind back into his bedroom. You unfold your arms and instead, start to rub the inside of your wrist with your opposite thumb. “Yeah, I get that. Just seems a bit out of character for you.”
Rifling through his closet, Eddie pulls out a hanger with a navy button-up shirt and nonchalantly tosses it onto the end of his bed. “Maybe, but at least she’ll know I’m taking this seriously,” Eddie says while reaching for the high shelf to retrieve a tattered shoebox. Lifting the lid, he presents it to you. “Here’s what we’re working with.”
You step closer, your fingers deftly plucking out the rolled ties one by one, laying them flat beside the slightly wrinkled shirt. Side by side, your shoulders nearly brush. Meticulously comparing the patterns and colors, neither of you seems drawn to any particular one.
“Here, maybe it’s better to do it this way,” Eddie suggests, picking up and beginning to slip into the shirt. His thick fingers falter as he attempts to maneuver each small white button through its corresponding hole. Once halfway dressed—having tastefully paired his plaid boxers with a dress shirt—he smooths out the material from his chest to his belly.
Eddie reaches for the nearest tie and lays it against his shoulder. He faces you expectantly, anticipation evident in his gaze, awaiting your feedback.
Your eyes flit between the tie he’s holding, the array laid out on the bed, and the hopefulness in his round eyes. “These are easily the three ugliest ties I've ever seen. No offense.”
He blows a playful raspberry at your harsh criticism and shakes his head. “None taken, they’re not mine. But Wayne might be a little hurt when I call him next and tell him you said that.”
Shooting him a pointed look, your brows furrow in skepticism. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I just might,” Eddie teases with a smile before turning his attention back to the bed. He tosses the first tie aside and reaches for the mustard paisley one. “What about this one, does it compliment my eyes?” He bats his dark brown lashes.
You clutch your chin in contemplation, carefully assessing the combination of hues. However, the richness of his chocolate irises captures you. You wade in their depths. The hot flash that envelops your body is enough to break the trance he inadvertently put you under. With a disapproving shake of your head, you dismiss this tie as well. “Nope, next.”
Eddie looks at you for a moment longer, even though you’re not doing the same. A faint frown creases his features as he tosses the vetoed tie aside, forming a rejection pile.
You pick up the remaining tie and drape it over his shoulder, admiring the harmonious pairing of the navy in the tie with the shirt, accentuated by its white and black diagonal stripes. While you ponder, Eddie watches your face intently, holding his breath.
You nod, a trace of delighted approval in your expression. “We have a winner.”
“Hell yeah, blue on blue it is,” Eddie exclaims. He wraps the tie around the back of his neck but struggles to recall the proper technique for tying it. Attempting a few different nonsensical loopings, he groans, his determination waning. “Stupid son of a bitch, wouldya just-”
“Don’t hurt yourself. Let me do it," You offer. Not receiving protest, you step closer to him.
Eddie uses one hand to gather his product-enhanced curls into a makeshift ball, allowing you to access the collar of his shirt. He juts out his freshly shaved chin, granting you ample room to work. Standing this closely, you catch the clean scent of shaving cream lingering on his skin.
You begin to effortlessly tie the knot. Without pausing to consider what you’re about to say, the words spill from your lips, “Why’re you asking for my opinion on stuff like this, anyway? You should be doing what you think she’ll like, not me.”
“You always know best,” Eddie’s expression softens to something more vulnerable. “When you’re taking the next step in a relationship, you want everything to be as perfect as it can be, y’know?”
It’s common sense to him. No one understands him like you do, making you the perfect person for navigating this nerve-wracking experience. But for you, it’s perplexing. You’ve never been on a proper, formal date. The idea of one remains an unfulfilled pipe dream. Yet, here you are, agreeing to help Eddie plan his.
Your only frame of reference comes from romance movies and horror stories of dates gone wrong recounted by your girlfriends. Of all the things you could be in the world, you find yourself an unassuming tree. Sturdy and dependable, sure. You serve your purpose. But you don’t captivate onlookers with blooming petals like flowers do. Instead, you take pride in your intricately branched personality, valuing it as your true strength that often goes overlooked.
Even so, it feels as though your traits fail to enchant others regardless; nobody seems willing. You go unnoticed, and you’ve come to terms with that.
Beautiful wildflowers get plucked from the ground and carried away to be cherished. Meanwhile, you simply exist, rooted in no man’s land, devoid of admirers. You may stand tall, but you’re easily overshadowed by what other women have to offer.
Perhaps this is why you like working at the flower shop. It’s somewhat cathartic to witness the delicate petals fall from time to time. It brings you a strange sense of satisfaction to hack away at their stems. The best part, though? While it’s a little twisted, you know that those flowers that dazzle in their pristine state are destined to wilt. They’ll shrivel and brown.
Whilst among your shared group of friends in public, you’ve witnessed Eddie getting nudged by one of the guys to direct his attention to a smoke show walking by. You watched as they bit their knuckles and exaggeratedly gawked. You don’t compare, it’s not even apples to oranges. It’s like… apples to rocks. A delicious, shiny fruit compared to you, mere clunky chunks of earth.
If life were an album, you’re the track that everyone skips within seconds of hearing the intro. Except for those rare moments when someone half-listens by accident and they resonate with you—that’s how you and Eddie became friends. He’d stumbled upon his new favorite song, one worth revisiting. What he sees in you is what everyone else overlooks.
Eddie is the only man on the face of the earth who treats you like you’re worth being around. Only an oddball would prefer to spend time lounging beneath the shade of a crooked tree instead of homing a rose in a crystal vase. That’s one thing you love about your best friend; he doesn’t make you feel like you fade into the background.
All fairytale cliché bullshit included, you want to be sought out in a crowd. You want to light up the room for someone. Much to your dismay, that can happen platonically too, and it has in this case.
If Eddie only knew how much the little moments matter to you—the ones where he makes you feel prioritized and valued. You know you’re not anything close to special or remarkable, but he always made you second guess that thought.
Obviously, you hadn’t meant to fall for him. It was kind of like catching a cold; one day, there was a tickle in the back of your throat that you didn’t usually feel. Unsuspecting, the days went on, and that sensation only worsened. You started to panic a little but ultimately continued to deny your worst thoughts.
Before you knew it, you were bedridden, bitten by the love bug. You didn’t go down without a fight. You thought that you could be strong and deny it access to your heart, but it had already invaded. So, all you could do was wait it out.
You tried to distance yourself, hoping to recover and act like nothing ever changed inside of you. But Eddie didn’t let you get too far away.
It wasn’t love at first sight, rather, a creeping plague. There was no swooning and giggling, no struggling to keep your hands to yourself. The change was undetectable. You were a frog in boiling water, unaware of the gradually rising temperature until it was far too late.
It wasn’t until your chest started to ache every time you said goodbye at the end of spending time together that you realized you were in too deep. You genuinely debated going to the doctor to get the pang checked out, but luckily you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d have wasted a good chunk of money to find out that you’re a lovesick idiot.
Unfortunately, this is an illness you’ve been stuck with since, and you’ve at least learned how to distract yourself from it. But when you fail to do so, your imagination wanders. Naturally, you’ve wondered if pressing a mere kiss to his cheek would burn everything to the ground.
The forbidden territory beckons, tempting you to envision breaking those unspoken agreed-upon rules that forbid things like hand-holding and cuddling. The two of you uphold mutual respect, adhering to the expectations of friendship. Both of you reserve that level of touch for expressions of romantic affection. Actions such as those have no place in a true friendship.
That’s the most confusing part of this for you. How did you manage to catch such strong feelings for him when you’ve not crossed any lines? Sure, he’s a tactile person; maybe that has something to do with it. Eddie makes physical contact with those he trusts, but it’s not like he’s hanging off of you at any given moment. You receive the same treatment as the others in his inner circle: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, and a brief gripping of the forearm to get your attention.
You’re not supposed to want the touches to be more frequent, much less of a different nature. The line has to be drawn somewhere, and it’s been plainly drawn in the sand. You understand and accept that. But why, of all lines in the world, does it have to be this one that you want to cross so badly?
Most of your days aren’t all that miserable. But there are those days that are more difficult than the rest, though it’s not his fault. Last weekend, the two of you were at a mall, and some chick waved at him flirtily. He returned it immediately, though playfully enough that it was almost mocking. He was fucking around and had no intention of entertaining the idea of approaching her. Regardless, it was humbling for you, to say the least.
In that moment, the world reminded you that there’s a reason you walk at his side at a respectable distance, not tucked under his arm. If anything, it’s for the best. There’s a sense of liberation in admiring him without the burden of articulating your feelings. There’s no pressure to meet a girlfriend quota or live up to a higher standard. What Eddie expects of you now is what you’re capable of, and clearly, all that you’re good for. You’re good for filling the void, but apparently not so much anymore.
You’re not lustrous and aching to jump his bones, and you’re certainly not desperate enough to kiss him on a whim by not allowing yourself to overthink it. But perhaps you are just desperate enough that a man simply paying your emotions, interests, and existence of any mind can shackle you to him. That has to be what’s done you in; Eddie gives a shit about you.
In reality, there’s more to it than that. Eddie is selective about who and what he lets in. He doesn’t care for conformity and lack of individuality. The idea of blending in with the majority of society repulses him. You find the flawed aspects of the Munson doctrine fascinating and raw. He’s not perfect and Eddie doesn’t care what others think of him, to a degree.
Not unlike you, he’s complex. Eddie is anti-establishment but still prefers a bit of structure over chaos in his day-to-day life. He’s independent and cynical as hell, but he’s also appreciative of his support systems and isn’t ashamed to rely on them. He’s not much of a rule breaker nor is he rebellious, but he’ll happily stir up a little trouble in good fun if given the opportunity.
Eddie is a hypocrite in some ways and a walking contradiction in others. You love that he’s unapologetic about being that way. He owns it for the most part, and you admire that.
His presence overstays its welcome in your thoughts. You’ve often yearned for him to call you in the dead of night, admitting that he can’t sleep without the sound of your voice. Many times, you’ve fought the urge to do that. He owes you sleep, countless nights of it. It’s a debt that will never be repaid, an outstanding balance.
Despite the attempts at trying to talk yourself out of it, you still can’t bring yourself to stop loving him. Even as he’s actively pursuing someone else, you’re unable to shake this. You could be paralyzed from head to toe, and you’d still feel the love you have for him in your bones.
Once Eddie is officially with someone, he won’t have much time or energy left for you. The anticipation of being thrown aside for something new and far prettier has shattered your heart before any changes have occurred. Yet, any fragment of his presence surpasses total absence. The greed isn’t worth it, and you know you should be grateful for getting any piece of him at all.
The phrase fizzles on the tip of your tongue like a smoldering ember, threatening to sear through the muscle… I’m happy for you.
You should say it, but you can’t. Because if you did, that would be a blatant lie. It’s not even possessiveness that has you so bitter, it’s envy. You wish you were in her place.
“There,” you adjust the knot with a delicate tug, ensuring its tightness before letting the material slip through your fingers. Unable to meet his appreciative gaze, you offer a sad smile and take a half-step backward.
Your sigh, cleverly concealed as a deep breath, escapes as you settle back into your chair with a plop. “So, um,” you begin, picking at your cuticles absentmindedly. “Where are you taking her? Somewhere fancy?”
“Nah,” Eddie meticulously revamps his curls one final time in the mirror, wanting them to fall just right. Then, with great care, he tames his bangs to lay perfectly in place. “She’s gonna come over here. I thought it’d be more intimate. Besides, I can’t exactly swing a reservation right now. I’ve been tight on cash this week.”
Your fingers come to a halt, the stinging sensation apparent. Looking over at him, your eyes meet his in the reflection. “Ya big dummy, you shouldn’t have bought me lunch when that money could’ve gone toward buying her a nice dinner.”
“Don’t start with that shit,” Eddie warns as he digs through his dresser in search of pants to wear. “I’m happy to do that for you,” He adds, pulling a pair of dark jeans from the bottom drawer.
“It really did make my day, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it,” Having donned his pants, he nears his desk where his black grommet belt lies on the floor. Eddie threads his belt through the loops of his jeans, the buckle jingling before he secures it in place. “I felt better knowing you were taken care of.”
It’s only now occurring to you what he’s implied, and you think how absurd it is for him to host a dinner when he’s culinarily challenged. “Wait, since when do you cook?”
“Oh, I don’t. But you do.”
“Hardly,” you scoff, downplaying your abilities. Placing your magazine back in your lap, you flip the page despite not having read it. Unexpectedly, you feel the urge to quell his enthusiasm, to set him up for failure by trying to poke holes in his plan. “I mean, food is one thing, but atmosphere is another. Aren’t the guys going to be here?”
Eddie moves the clutter on his desk around in a quest to find something. “I kicked them out for the night.”
Like a spear plunged into your chest, you swallow hard. Not only is he having a girl over for dinner, but he’s gone out of his way to guarantee privacy because he’s hoping to get lucky too. More than likely right there, on that very bed, feet away from you. The cramped twin-sized mattress, where they’ll inevitably be body to body.
He turns to you after locating what he was searching for, fastening the slightly fancier watch around his wrist; it only supersedes his casio due to it being analog, as opposed to digital. “I’ve been wanting to try that dish you keep raving about. You can teach me how to make it. Two birds, one stone.”
“It’s not difficult, you could handle the recipe,” You shrug away the opportunity to cook with him because the domesticity of it would more than likely kill you.
“I wanna do it together,” his voice softens, genuinely asking as nicely as he’s capable. “Please.”
“Sure, yeah,” you maintain your downcast gaze and slump back in the chair, wishing for a black hole to open and swallow you up. “What if she doesn’t like it, or what if you don’t?”
“If you like it then it has to be good.”
Eddie’s seemingly endless compliments cause no sense of flattery. Instead, you’re consumed with persisting nausea as you envision a stunning girl seated across from him while they share laughter and partake in unspeakable activities in this very room.
Abruptly, a wave of heat washes over you, causing the soles of your feet and your palms to grow clammy. The scent of newly sprayed Old Spice floods the room and you’re overwhelmed by it, struggling to draw a breath. “I’ll be right back,” You all but choke on your words, swiftly rising to your feet and hastily leaving. Eddie watches curiously as you do.
In the living room, you push the heavy sliding door aside, stepping out onto the balcony to catch your breath. You inhale as deep as physically possible, and the stirring evening breeze cools the hot tears gathered along your lash line. Cars pass by, and you distract yourself by watching a person leisurely walking their dog. You do everything in your power to divert your thoughts away from him and the impending date.
A few minutes later, Eddie emerges from his room and slides open the door to the balcony, poking his head out to check on you. “Y’ready to go?” The shift in your energy is immediately evident to him, though he can’t quite pinpoint what’s amiss. He figures you’ve had a long day and you’re tired from your shift. Maybe you’re a little hangry, too.
With your arms folded on the balcony rail, you continue to look out into the neighborhood. “Go where?”
“The store, duh. We’ve gotta get ingredients, do we not?” He says to the back of your head.
You nod meekly before turning to face him. “Right. Yeah, I’m ready.”
Eddie flashes a warm smile before sliding the door open wide enough for you to pass through. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand then, hot stuff. We’re losing daylight,” He says, striding toward the front door.
Arguably, you’re not losing daylight fast enough. You wish the sun would fall from the sky. That way, it would always be dark and you could hide in the shadows forever. You follow him inside and slide the closed with a subdued thud.
His car keys drag and jingle while he swipes them off of the counter. Once he reaches the entryway, Eddie drops the keys on the floor beside him as he kneels to put on his sneakers. A few seconds later, you’ve joined him to do the same. Eddie glances at you as he feels the evening breeze that slipped in finally reaching this side of the room. “It’s a little chilly out, wanna borrow a hoodie or something?”
Quickly tying your shoes to avoid prolonged eye contact, you get to your feet, hugging yourself as you do. “No, I’ll be fine.”
Eddie snorts and stands, his shoes now tied as well. “I’m getting you one,” He insists and heads to his room, gesturing for you to follow.
“I said I’ll be fine without one,” You opt not to follow, instead calling out to him to compensate for the distance and his half-open door.
“Shut up, I’m getting you one and you’re gonna wear it ‘cause I said so,” his tone drips with feigned amusement at your stubbornness. “Come in here.”
As you step into the room, Eddie offers you the hoodie, watching as you just stare at it. “Sweetheart, put it on. You’re gonna freeze to death if you don’t. Then, I’ll have no choice but to cancel my super hot date because I’ll be too busy defrosting my ice sculpture of a best friend with a blow drier. You want me to blow you all night? I know you-”
“Okay, okay! I’ll put the damn thing on,” you say, begrudgingly taking it from him. “Happy?”
“Try elated,” Eddie smiles from ear to ear and winks at you, content that you’re allowing him to do what he deems best for you, knowing you’re too stubborn to do so for yourself. He’s got your back, always. Even if it means enduring a bit of attitude in the process. Eddie likes that about you, he always has. With a final glance, he leaves the room, flicking off the light switch.
Left standing in the dark bedroom, you blindly navigate the article of clothing to locate the opening. However, as soon as you go to put it on, it occurs to you that this hoodie is not fresh out of the wash.
The distant floral scent left behind by dryer sheets mingles with his natural aroma, enveloping you as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. He grabbed whatever was at hand, inadvertently submerging you back into the very sensory experience you fled from. The spicy notes from his cologne turn you into a human lava lamp, effectively melting you on the inside.
The mingling of Old Spice, tobacco smoke, his unique essence, and a hint of spring meadow flood your mind. You consider the idea of keeping the hoodie. You could tell him that you forgot to return it, and he’ll forget about it. Eddie can afford to lose one hoodie, he’d survive.
“Let’s go!” He barks, impatience peaking as nerves gnaw at him with each passing minute bringing him closer to the dinner.
Exiting his bedroom, you find Eddie stationed at the front door, propping it open with his foot. Once within his view, you extend your arms and twist your expression to emphasize your annoyed compliance.
“One last thing,” Eddie withdraws his foot, causing the door to slam shut, its latch clanging twice against the wood from the force. He reaches out and pulls the hood up, adjusting it to cover most of your head. “There.”
You stick your tongue out at him, your grin eliciting one from him in return. “Alright, let’s-” He begins, but instead of turning, he fakes you out and grabs both drawstrings. Eddie tugs them, causing the hood to cinch tightly around your face.
“You’re an ass,” You whine.
“Yeah, well,” Eddie turns around to leave this time and holds the front door open for you. “You’re stuck with me.”
With a narrowed glare, you fix the hood and your hair on your way out of the apartment. Eddie is close behind, closing the door and locking it. You take the opportunity to collect yourself and adopt a supportive, cheerful demeanor.
These are gonna be the longest two hours of your life.
You can’t fucking believe it. You’re preparing a meal for another woman, and doing so willingly. You tried to guide him through the prep process, but he grew frustrated. Now, he’s on dish duty, conquering the mountain of dirty dishes piled up on the counter.
She may be getting a delicious and intimate dinner, but at least you get moments like these. But soon enough, she’ll have them too. If everything goes to plan, the memories of these moments will be all you have left of Eddie. As you lose yourself in the sound of his voice, the ramblings about a sale he made at work eventually circle back to the topic of his evening.
As he excitedly goes on, his voice carries a boyish enthusiasm. Unseen by you, Eddie bounces on the balls of his feet while standing at the sink. Ten minutes seem to fly by unnoticed as you both focus on your tasks.
After taking the food out of the oven, his demeanor flips like a switch. “Oh, it’s time for me to leave apparently,” you acknowledge, barely having the chance to take off the oven mitt all the way before he’s practically pushing you out of the apartment. “Be sure to heat it up at 375 degrees,” You suggest as you struggle to put on your shoes fast enough.
“Sure thing,” Eddie confirms, “I’ll let you know how it goes!”
“Looking forward to it,” You lie. Eddie waves you off before closing the front door. Left standing alone in the eerily quiet hallway, you feel foolish.
Finally arriving home, you crawl onto your bed. The weight of reality crashes down upon you, and you physically collapse under the weight of your emotions. The pain in your chest burns up the back of your throat as you sob. This was a harsh wake-up call, but it’s what you needed to finally confront yourself.
It’s better this way. Not having to reject you outright or politely turn you down, Eddie doesn’t have to hurt simply because you are. This is best because Eddie doesn’t have to feel guilty or pity you. Just as you’ve loved him in silence, you can grieve the loss of him in it too.
Ten minutes pass and just as you’re starting to drift asleep from exhaustion, your telephone rings. The ringing in the kitchen pulls you from your room. You drag your feet on the way there, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath before answering the phone.
“Hey, uh,” Eddie sounds panicked, “Can you come back over? I forgot the most important fucking thing and-”
You cut him off, “Relax, I’ll be there in twelve,” Abruptly ending the call without another word, you rub your sore eyes, blow your stuffy nose, and splash your face with warm water. The last thing he needs is for his night to be ruined because he notices how hard you’ve been crying. If your feelings get in the way of him having a good time with the girl he’s head over heels for, then you don’t deserve his friendship.
Entering the building and letting yourself back into his apartment, you’re caught off guard by how different the space looks. He worked his butt off to tidy the living room and make certain that everything is presentable. Besides being notably neater, you also notice the faint smell of air freshener.
The apartment is blanketed in darkness, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles and the light from the table lamp in the living room. Hushed music emanates from the record player in his room. It’s a genre you wouldn’t have expected him to own, because of how slow and romantic it sounds. You wonder whether he bought it specifically for this occasion.
Upon hearing the front door creak open, Eddie halts his pacing in the living room. “Thank god, you’re here.”
You teeter on the heels of your feet, feeling out of place in the carefully arranged setting that isn’t meant for you. “I really shouldn’t be. It’s quarter to seven, she’ll show up any minute now.”
Eddie makes his way over to you, rounding the dinner table and draping his arm along the back of the dining chair farthest from where you stand. “No, no. Don’t worry about that, she’s already here.”
Your eyes flit towards the bathroom, expecting to see a sliver of light escaping from beneath the door, yet the hallway is pitch black. There’s no dolled-up gal standing in his room either. You look back at him with a furrowed brow, confusion etched on your face. “Where, exactly?”
He can’t think of a time he’s ever had to remind himself how to breathe correctly. Eddie holds his hand out to you, his anxiety mounting. With hesitation, you extend your hand and place it in his. He wraps his trembling fingers around yours.
Rarely have you been in this position, and in those instances, it was never an act with deeper meaning. It’s only ever happened in urgent moments, like darting across a bustling street to avoid being separated—a mere safety measure.
Eddie’s attention fixates on your hands, willing them to respond to his touch. Then he notices your puffy, reddened eyes. “What’s the matter?” He asks, instinctively squeezing your joined hands.
“It’s stupid,” You pull away from him, retracting your hand to wipe away the smeared mascara beneath your eyes.
Rather than forcibly turning you to face him, Eddie gracefully moves around to stand in front of you once more. “I bet it’s not,” he says softly, his compassionate expression tinged with concern. He reaches for both of your hands this time, praying you can’t feel his pounding pulse through the contact.
Eddie delicately lifts your hands and peppers velvety kisses across the tops of your knuckles. The warmth of your skin against his lips sends a shiver shooting through his core, goosebumps rising across his body.
You emit a wet giggle from the shock, uncertainty, and embarrassment bubbling within you. “What the hell are you doing?”
He chuckles a little too, his eyes sparkling as they reflect the dancing flames behind you. “What’s it look like? This is all for you,” Eddie presses one more featherlight kiss to your hands before lowering them, but he doesn’t let go, keeping them securely in his own. “It’s our first date.”
You’re the prettiest little package of unusual. From the moment he first heard your song, he couldn’t shake you. Eddie couldn’t get your tune out of his system, but it’s not like he wanted to. Never before had anyone shown him such unconditional care; no one had ever gone out of their way to get to know him like you did. You’re the safest thing he’s ever known, but you’re also the scariest, in the best ways possible.
The thought of confessing how you make him complete, unlike anything he’s ever experienced, is nothing short of terrifying. Yet, the fear of not seizing the opportunity to love you outweighs the fear of rejection. There’s no turning back now.
Your eyes wander to the table, taking in the details: the thoughtfully arranged mismatched plates and silverware, the glasses filled with expensive wine. At the end of the kitchen island sits a teddy bear beside a bouquet. In addition to the flower petals, there are red, white, and pink balloons scattered across the floor.
You turn away before he can see your face contort, biting your lip harshly to suppress the sob rising in your throat. It’s all useless, though. A broken cry escapes your lips.
Eddie’s stomach lurches and pressure builds behind his own eyes. The change he just caused is palpable, the damage has been done. He releases both of your hands and plants his on the sides of his head, stepping away. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m such a fucking idiot. I read this all wrong, I thought-”
“You’re not and you didn’t,” you choke out. “They’re happy tears now.”
His frantic expression mellows out, his arms drop to his sides, and the tension in his body gradually dissipates. “Happy tears?”
You respond with a soft hum and nod, a grin forming as you admire the table setting and gifts once more before looking back at Eddie.
“Oh,” he chirps, wearing a cheek-splitting smile as he brings his palms to your face. He wipes away your fallen tears with his thumbs. Eddie studies your expression intently. “I didn’t mean to make you cry sad ones.”
“It’s not your fault,” You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his fingers calmingly swiping along the apples of your cheeks.
“It is and I’m sorry,” Eddie inches closer, his toes now touching yours. “I wanted it to be a surprise ‘cause I thought spontaneity would make it more memorable.”
You look at him questioningly. “It’s not exactly spontaneous when you had me cook my own dinner.”
“Fair enough. You’ve got me there,” Eddie thought it was a foolproof plan. If you made the food, there was no chance that you’d hate it. “I went about this all wrong, huh? I should scrap the whole thing and start from scratch,” He becomes distracted, his train of thought shifting to how he’s going to clean this up and figure out a different approach.
“Don’t do that. Just ask me,” you grasp his forearm to regain his attention. “Ask me out and maybe I'll say yes.”
“Maybe?” Eddie scoffs airily, unsure if you’re teasing or genuinely undecided. He clears his throat and theatrically composes himself, gesturing with a downward motion of his hand in front of his face. “Okay, uh, would you like to have dinner with me?”
“No.”
Eddie’s mouth falls open.
“I’m fucking with you,” You smile devilishly and wrap your arms around his middle.
Finally, he can hug you the way he’s always wanted. Eddie brings you in close and tight, his arms encircling your head. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” He murmurs into your hair, inhaling deeply to indulge in every aspect of you he can.
“A little,” You laugh. You remain in each other’s embrace for a moment longer before easing apart, though still connected by your pairs of lassoed arms.
Eddie’s laughter melds with yours, the relief in his tone evident. “Now that the cat's outta the bag, I can finally tell you that I absolutely love when you’re a crybaby.”
You pull a comical expression, raising your eyebrows and widening your eyes. “What, why?” You take in the scattering of freckles across his T-zone while he responds.
“Honest to god, it’s mesmerizing to watch you experience things so intensely. It’s fucking beautiful,” With nothing but adoration in his eyes, Eddie strokes your hair, relishing the way it feels against his skin. “Can I call you my crybaby?”
“No, you cannot!” You swat at his chest and attempt to push him away, but he laughs smugly and brings you back in close. Your hands find purchase on his biceps, surrendering to him entirely. Locked in each other’s gaze, time seems to crawl.
Eddie’s hands, having made their way down to caress your hips, settle on the small of your back. “How about just baby?” he nudges the tip of his nose against yours, his voice taking on an almost sultry tone. “You like the way that sounds?”
All you can do is nod dumbly, watching his eyes fall to your lips.
Eddie mumbles, “Me too,” His hands flex where they lay, tugging you slightly so that your bodies are flush and you have no choice but to lean against him. “Would it be okay if I kissed you?” Eddie licks his lips, his eyes finding yours again, the chocolate pools of his irises swirling.
You nod, slide your hands up his shoulders, and wrap them around his neck. The air was stolen from your lungs, rendering your voice a ghost. Eddie leans in and his lips hover over yours, your eyes fluttering closed in time with his. Then, you feel the gentle pressure of his lips against your own.
For a few moments, you’re out of sync, a mere beat behind due to nerves. But after taking a brief breath, you find each other without trouble. When you slot your lip between his, it’s as though there’s a sunrise in his veins; a new dawn spreads through his body. You tug a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck, your lips clicking wetly with one another, chests heaving in unison.
When the two of you finally have to part to breathe, Eddie whispers, “Holy shit.”
“You can say that again,” You exhale, releasing the grip you have on his hair and soothingly scratching the area with your nails.
“I mean I could,” Eddie borderline purrs, tightening his arms around your waist. “But I’d much rather keep kissing you.”
“Hard to argue with that,” you smile against his lips and give him a quick peck, which he happily returns. Then, your mind begins to wander. “You got me flowers?”
He can’t discern if there’s a trace of disdain or disbelief in your tone. Eddie knows that you consider flowers cliché and overrated; after all, you deal with them all day. But just because you see them that way doesn’t mean he does.
Eddie pulls away slightly to get a good look at you, “Yeah, of course I got flowers for my flower. How could I not?”
Truthfully, he’s bummed about not being able to find a bouquet as exceptional as you. You’re unlike anything from this world, resembling something from his cherished sci-fi novels. You’re resilient, showing up any old rose or daisy. You unfurled your petals solely for Eddie and allowed him to see you bloom. Nothing on earth compares to you. So, a regular bouquet would have to do.
You comment with a slightly teasing tone, “I had no idea you’re a hopeless romantic.”
“Too much?” Eddie bites his lower lip, afraid that you’re offended.
“No, not too much,” you remove your one hand from his hair and rest it on his chest, drawing mindless shapes while you avoid eye contact. “Far more than I deserve though,” You’re slightly taken aback when Eddie cups your face without hesitation, forcing you to look at him. Despite his assertiveness, his touch is tender.
“Sweetheart,” Eddie’s eyes carry an intensity you’ve never seen, brimming with affection and sincerity. “You deserve everything good that this world has to offer. I can’t give you that, but I can give you all of me. That much I can promise.”
Reblogs are greatly encouraged and appreciated! ♡
★My Masterlist
tags:@nj01@tlclick73
#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x you#stranger things 4#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson hurt/comfort#eddie munson st4#eddie munson stranger things 4#eddie munson stranger things#eddie stranger things#stranger things eddie#st4 fanfic#eddie munson fandom#eddie munson fanfics#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson one shot#eddie the freak munson#eddie the banished#eddie munson fics
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Yes, Princess
Pairing: Regina George x Reader
Warnings: filthy filthy smut (18+ MDNI), cunnilingus, dom/sub dynamics, use of strap on dildo, gagging with clothing, FemDom!Regina, Sub!Reader, use of pet names, begging, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, both characters are consenting adults! Slight angst at the end.
Reader is short and masc-presenting
Word Count: 5300, Part 1/?
Anonymous Asked: hiiiii are you open to writing like FemDom Regina George x short masc girl/enby, and Regina likes to make them beg to finish. thanks and sorry i don’t know how to write requests lol
Regina brings Reader home to use them for all her needs, promising a reward for being on their best behavior for their Princess.
Explicit content below! Read at your own risk (or pleasure 😉)
You were sitting on a bench outside in the courtyard at school, eating your lunch, when Regina George walked past you and dropped a folded paper note into your lap.
You looked up at the blonde as she kept walking. She turned back over her shoulder and gave you a flirty wink and a wave of her fingers.
You unfolded the note carefully and were met with the woman’s frilly handwriting in pink glitter gel pen ink. The note read: “meet me at my car after school, little one. I have something for you.” You could ascertain her intentions and the thought formed a pit in your stomach and a pool of heat between your legs.
She had done this before; she had given you vague invitations, drove you to her lavish house after school, and led you by the hand up to her bedroom. You had always known exactly what you were agreeing to with Regina, and you always had done so willingly.
Regina had come out as a lesbian in the time since the junior year bus accident, but she still liked to do things her way sometimes. She got off on the secrecy and scandal of it all. She enjoyed the rush of keeping the girls she liked under her heel, even though she had changed for the better as a person.
It wasn’t a secret between the two of you that you wanted more of Regina, but that just wasn’t what she wanted right now. You had to respect that and you appreciated her transparency with you. It was far better to have a piece of Regina than none of her at all, so when the last dismissal bell rang, you gathered up your stuff and walked to Regina’s Jeep in the student lot.
She was waiting for your arrival with a cheeky grin. The blonde was more than a head taller than you in her heeled Doc Martens. You approached her with your school bag draped over one shoulder and she beckoned you closer with a curl of her index finger, then pointed to the ground in front of her feet.
You obeyed unquestioningly, coming to a stop right in front of her. She peered down at you over the top of her sunglasses, her brilliant blue eyes seeing right through you, reading all of your desires as if they were tattooed on your face. She smiled adoringly, “I love how good you are for me, baby.”
“Thank you, Gina.”
She raised an eyebrow, “excuse me?”
You flinched, “I’m sorry, I meant thank you, Princess.”
And so it had already begun. When you were with her, you were hers. And honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Regina grasped her chin in her hand, squeezing either side of your face and then pulled you in for a hard kiss. She kissed you, and then sucked on your bottom lip and grazed her teeth over the soft skin, reminding you of your place.
She then ushered you into the passenger seat of her car before getting in on her side. You weren’t allowed to buckle yourself so you waited for her to reach across your chest and buckle your seatbelt for you. As she did so, she kissed your cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick print on your skin.
She eyed you up and down and said, “you look so handsome today, babyboy. I couldn’t resist bringing you home for me tonight.”
A shiver ran down your spine at her compliment, “oh, thank you so much, Princess.”
She smiled and rubbed her thumb over your inner thigh as she pulled out of the parking spot and began to drive. The way Regina affected you was unreal. Her touch alone was already enough to give you the urge to cross your legs tightly. When you tried to, though, she batted your thigh and made you spread your legs open even wider and let her fingertips drift even further inward, playing with the inside seams of your jeans and tickling you.
She scolded you, “tsk tsk, you know the rules, babyboy.”
You nodded obediently and let her keep touching you teasingly even though it made you squirm. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stifle your sounds.
“Princess, your note said you had something for me?”
“Yes, I do honey. If you can be a good boy and behave yourself tonight, I’ll have a very nice reward for you.”
“Really, Miss? That’s wonderful!” You were genuinely excited, “I promise I’ll be good for you.”
“I bet you will, my baby. And I’ll take good care of you,” she continued to rub her thumb over your inner thigh as she spoke.
She pulled into her driveway and threw her car into park. You watched as Regina got out of the car and came over to your side and kissed you in the same dominating fashion as before while she unbuckled you and then pulled you out of your seat and led you inside the house.
She took you straight up to her bedroom and lightly pushed you inside her room ahead of her then closed the door and locked it. You just stared at her with wide eyes awaiting her instructions like you had been taught to.
She looked you up and down while she contemplated what she wanted from you and then a small smirk formed on her lips. You saw the twinkle in her eye and felt your knees weakening at only her expression.
“I want you to lie on the bed, on your back,” she began, “but I want you to let your head hang off the edge of the bed. Do you understand what I’m asking, babyboy?”
You nodded your head excitedly and crawled onto her bed, positioning yourself as Regina had instructed, “like this, Princess?”
She walked up to you and ran her fingers through your short hair, “yes, exactly like that baby. You’re doing so good.”
You smiled at her praise. You loved pleasing her.
Your head hung backwards off the edge of the bed and you watched Regina as she slowly started to remove her crop top, letting her tits fall out of the fabric.
Your eyes widened and you stared at her in awe as she continued to strip in front of you.
“You like that, baby?”
“Yes, princess, you’re so pretty…”
“I’m your pretty Princess, aren’t I honey?”
You nodded, “mmhmm…”
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her pants and slid them down her legs painfully slowly, letting every inch of her soft thighs be scrutinized by your eyes before the next was revealed. She finally let the pants pool around her ankles and stepped out of them, stepping slightly closer to your face in the process. Her thighs were by your head now and she said, “kiss me, baby.”
You turned your head and pressed your lips to her thigh. She hummed happily and played with your hair again, softly at first, then she grabbed onto a fistful of your hair tightly and held you in place, making you continue to kiss her thighs. She directed your head around to her liking, which you assumed was a preview of what else she had planned for you.
She let you go after a moment and began to praise you again, “good work, babyboy. Now, tell me, what do you think of my panties?”
You looked at the garment in question as she spun around for you a bit. She was wearing a simple, yet stunning, black lace thong. When she turned so that you were looking at her ass, she shook it playfully, using her hand to make it bounce, looking over her shoulder at you. You smiled and answered, “your panties are so beautiful, Princess. I bet they were expensive… your body looks so incredible in them…”
Regina smiled, “what else do you think of my body?”
“You have the most gorgeous body in the world. Every part of you is so stunning. Your thighs, your curves, your hands, your tits… everything, Princess. You are a work of art.”
“Mmm…” she hummed, “that’s right, babyboy.”
Regina ran her own hands over her skin and then through her own hair, moving it all to fall behind her shoulders.
“Do you want to know what we’re going to do, sweetheart?”
“Yes, please, Miss.”
“Such good manners… we’re going to start with me sitting my pretty pussy right on your mouth where you are right now, okay?”
You beamed and nodded eagerly.
“And you’re going to make me cum as many times as I feel is necessary, understood?”
“Absolutely, Princess.”
“Then… maybe, I will give you your present and make you cum as a reward for being a good boy for me, okay?”
You swallowed hard and felt a wave rush through your body and settle between your legs at her words. You nodded your head to answer her.
“Words, babyboy,” Regina commanded.
You cleared your throat, “yes, Princess. I want that.”
“Good boy. Very good,” Regina pinched the elastic sides of the thong between her fingers and slid them down her legs, “are you feeling ready for me, baby?”
“Yes, Princess. I’m ready.”
She stepped out of the panties and let the fabric hang from her index finger, “that’s my good babyboy, how about you take a look at how badly your Princess needs you, huh?” Regina took her panties and dragged them over your lips, letting you feel the wetness of the fabric.
Your eyes rolled back and you instinctively opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out to lick and taste Regina’s panties.
She smirked, “oh yeah? You like that baby? You like knowing how much Princess needs you?”
You nodded, “yes… you taste so good, Princess…”
She leaned over you and gently crumpled the fabric into your mouth, making you moan.
“There’s more where that came from, babyboy… now, you stay still for me so that I can take your clothes off, okay?”
You nodded and Regina leaned further over you, going for your belt first and letting her tits hover above your face. You wanted so badly to lift your head and take one of her nipples into your mouth but you were gagged with her underwear and couldn’t. You groaned but then she unclasped your belt and your groan turned into a moan.
She giggled lovingly at your reactions and undid the fly of your jeans then slid her hands into your pants and grasped your crotch over your boxers. You jerked your hips at the contact and she teasingly rubbed her fingers over your cunt, “mmm you’re already so wet for me, too, aren’t you baby?”
You moaned and nodded.
“Well, I’m sorry baby, but you’re going to have to wait until your Princess has had her fill of you first. Is that understood?”
You attempted to mumble, “yes, Princess” but your voice was stifled by the panty-gag. Luckily, Regina understood your intent well enough and she continued to strip you.
She freed you of your pants and boxers all in one motion, and then pulled your shirt off of you as she trailed her hands back up your body. She somehow managed to pull your shirt off while also scratching her manicured, almond-shaped nails into the skin of your abdomen. You shook and lifted your arms so that she could finish pulling your shirt off all the way and she threw the fabric onto the ground behind her.
She leaned down and pressed lipstick kisses onto your sternum, between the pieces of tape that bound your chest flat. Her touch continued to make you squirm beneath her.
“You’re so sensitive right now, baby. I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight…”
You inhaled a deep breath through your nose and nodded, anxious but also pleased by her words.
Regina placed one last bruising kiss beneath your collarbone, sucking a dark red mark into your skin as if signing her work. Then, she stood up straight once more and adjusted her hair before repositioning herself by your head again.
She looked down at you and met your eyes, “I want to use that perfect little mouth of yours now, okay baby?”
You nodded.
“Good boy,” she pulled her panties out of your mouth and gave you a moment to breathe as she tossed them aside.
Regina grabbed your jaw and kissed your lips and then positioned her legs on either side of your head. You let your head fall back slightly and opened your mouth, waiting for her.
Regina lifted one leg up and planted her foot on the bed next to your cheek and then she slowly lowered herself to your mouth.
You closed your eyes and accepted her happily. You stuck your tongue out flat and dragged it through her center and she hummed in appreciation.
Regina danced her fingertips over your chest and let you be in charge of pleasuring her for a few minutes. She liked that you knew exactly how to get her worked up, cycling through long licks through her lips and then circling her clit slowly, but you knew that she wasn’t going to be satisfied with letting you take the reins for too long. Soon enough, she pressed her palm down on your chest and then started to ride your mouth desperately.
You moaned and worked in tandem with her, keeping your tongue working while she grinded on you and drenched your lips and chin in her arousal.
“Oh my god, fuck baby… yes just like that… let me use you…”
Regina increased her pace and came quickly. She grabbed and squeezed your hand as she gasped through her orgasm and rode it out on you.
You felt her muscles clench and her cum soak your face. You eagerly lapped it all up with your tongue and moaned along with her as she settled down and caught her breath.
When she lifted off of you, she was totally blissed out but she saw how red your face had gotten from hanging upside down so she brought her hand to the back of your head and helped you slowly sit up, “here baby, I’m not done with you yet but you can lie down flat on the bed now, honey… you did so good…”
You smiled, “do you feel good, Princess?”
“I feel incredible, babyboy. Thank you for taking such good care of me, darling.”
You laid down on the bed and Regina joined you but immediately straddled your head once more, “I need you again, baby…”
You nodded, “of course, Princess.”
Regina got on her knees and hovered over your face, then grabbed your hair in both hands to stabilize herself and started to ride you mercilessly. She used you like this until she tired, climaxing a second and third time just from your mouth. She collapsed back onto the bed and you wrongfully assumed that she was spent, but she merely lied down then instructed you, “fuck me with your fingers now, baby.”
You happily obliged and crawled toward her and began making out with her as you slid your middle finger into her entrance and curled it against her g-spot. She immediately started giving you the feedback you needed by rocking her hips and chasing the thrusts of your finger. You swiftly added your ring finger as well and her walls tightened around you. You continued to press the pads of your fingers into that sensitive spot, and with well-timed pressure from your thumb onto her clit and pushing your tongue into her mouth, she came long and hard.
She threw her head back and shut her eyes tightly, screaming out with intense pleasure as she soaked your fingers. Your lover practically passed out, melting into the bed and letting a joyous smile take over her face.
You kissed her softly all over her lips, cheeks, and neck, then nuzzled into her and wrapped her in your arms to hold her while she recovered. You stayed like that for some time, breathing together and just being soft for each other.
It wasn’t something you usually did, not that it was off limits but just because it wasn’t part of your relationship with Regina. That didn’t make it any less genuine, though, when you cuddled her closely and whispered, “I love you…”
You watched her face as she smiled without opening her eyes and whispered back, “I love you, too, sweetheart…”
You remained in the comfortable quiet for a while longer, tracing nonsense pictures onto her chest with your index finger and rubbing her upper arm lightly.
Regina let out a contented sigh and then opened her eyes and gazed at you before leaning in to kiss you softly.
“You were more than good to me, baby. You deserve your reward…”
“What’s my reward, Princess?”
She smiled, “let me go get it.”
Regina stood up and left the bed, giving you a quick kiss before going over to her walk-in closet and disappearing from view.
“Stay there,” she called out, “just give me a minute.”
You heard her fussing around with something and after a minute or so, she walked out of the closet wearing a black harness that holstered a hot pink strapon dildo.
Your eyes widened at the sight and she smirked. She was holding a bottle of lube and a condom in one hand and gestured toward the phallus with the other, “what do you think, honey?”
You were momentarily at a loss for words but you finally mustered, “I think it looks really pretty…”
“That’s good, baby. Do you think you’d like me using it on you?”
You nodded your head.
“Use your words now, baby,” Regina climbed up onto the bed and settled next to you, setting the accessories down.
“I… yes, I think I will like it. Will you work me up to it with your fingers, first, though?”
“Of course, my baby. Whatever you need.” She cupped your cheek and captured your lips in a loving kiss and then caressed her thumb over your cheek as she pulled back to look at you, “lay on your stomach for me, baby.”
You nodded and did as you were told, flipping over onto your stomach for her.
Regina sat to your side and began to rain kisses down over your back and shoulders, lightly scratching her nails over your skin as well to raise goosebumps. She then leaned in close and whispered into your ear, “I’m going to give you my fingers until you’re close to cumming and then we’ll switch to the strapon if you feel up for it, okay? And if it’s alright with you, I’m going to delay your gratification for as long as I can… I want to give you the best climax you’ve ever had by making you beg me for it… okay, baby?”
Her words made you shudder and whine in the best way. You nodded your head and answered, “yes, Princess. That sounds… incredible…”
“Good boy…” Regina slid her hand down the center of your back and gave your ass a smack before sinking her hand between your thighs. Her fingers touched your pussy and she made a pleased sound when she felt how wet you were, “mmm… you’ve been wanting me so badly, haven’t you baby?”
“Fuck…” you groaned, “yes, Princess…”
“Say it, baby…”
“I want you so bad, Princess… I need you…”
“Very good… you’ve done so well for me today, honey,” Regina gathered up some of your arousal on her fingertips and started to circle your clit with ease and patience. You agonized at knowing immediately just how much she was going to draw this out. You couldn’t help but buck your hips in a desperate attempt to force her to be more intentional with you but she responded right away with a disapproving sound and pressed you down into the bed with a hand on the small of your back, “we’ll have none of that, baby. I need you to be on your best behavior, yes?”
You whined like a pup but nodded anyway and mumbled into the mattress, “yes, Princess…”
“What was that?” Regina stopped her movements.
You groaned and turned your head so that she could hear you better, “I said yes, Princess.”
“That’s better… remember, I can just send you to bed at any time without getting you off, sweetie. You don’t want that, do you?”
You shook your head rapidly, “N-no! No, Princess, please!”
“Then be good and let me do my job,” she responded sternly.
“Yes,” you nodded, “yes, Princess.”
Regina resumed her movements and touched your clit slowly. You forced yourself to stay still in spite of her teasing and made sure not to chase her fingers for what you wanted. She would go at her own pace regardless of what you wanted and you would enjoy every second of it.
You buried your face in the mattress and moaned and whined, letting your sound express your exasperation in ways that your body wasn’t allowed to. Regina finally relented a little bit and started to tease your entrance with the tip of her middle finger. Her pointed nails made the sensation interesting, but Regina was always so careful not to harm you unnecessarily. It made her go slower which made you that much more desperate.
She finally entered you with that middle finger and you were so ready for her that you barely even felt it and she quickly added another to make you moan. She stayed like this for a while, pumping two fingers in and out of you while you laid on your stomach and she leaned forward to praise you through whispers into your ear.
“You’re my perfect baby… you feel so fucking good with my fingers inside you, babyboy… mmm I love making you whine like that… yes, that’s good, honey… you keep letting me fuck you my sweet boy…”
Every word, every thrust, brought you closer and closer to that edge but she kept you hanging there, maintaining this awful and wonderful limbo where your pleasure never subsided but never peaked either.
Your pleading whines only increased and your words started to spill out, “please, Princess… please please…”
“Please, what, baby?”
You groaned and shook your head.
“What? You don’t want to say it?”
She thrust a little harder, curling her fingers. Your hips jerked in response and she forced you back down again so that you couldn’t ride her fingers.
You cried out and pleaded again, “oh fuck! Please… Princess, please…”
“Please? Your manners are so good baby but I don’t know what it is that you want…”
You whimpered and buried your face into the bed again. Her fingers kept tempting you and you knew that she wasn’t going to give you anything more without you begging for it.
“Please… Princess… I need…”
“What do you need?”
“I need your… cock…”
“Ohh,” Regina teased, “you need my cock, do you?” Regina pumped her fingers just slightly deeper into you and continued, “do you need me to stretch your pretty little pussy with my pink cock, baby?”
You rolled your eyes back and moaned, fighting her hold on you to fuck yourself on her fingers out of desperation but she tutted and removed her fingers altogether, damn near killing you.
You turned your head to look at her as much as you could and you watched her spread your wetness that coated her fingers onto the dildo and she met your eyes as she did so, holding eye contact with you while she wet the toy before bringing her fingers to her mouth and sucking off what was left and letting her fingers go with a loud pop of her lips.
“Come over here and suck it, baby… Princess needs your mouth again.”
You nodded and shakily got up onto your hands and knees, then crawled over to where she was sitting back on her calves and you knelt down and grasped the pink toy in your hand. You locked eyes with her as you lowered and then dragged your tongue up the penis from base to tip and then you hovered above it and spit onto the tip. Regina hummed happily and you spread your saliva down the toy with your hand and then took it in your mouth and sucked it a few times.
Regina quickly felt satisfied with your work and grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off, “on your hands and knees now.”
You assumed the desired position as Regina opened the condom wrapper and slid the rubber onto the toy. She then applied a generous amount of lube with her hand and positioned herself behind you.
She held the cock in her hand and tapped it against you a few times. You both giggled and you moaned, craving more. She leaned close to your ear again and whispered, “I’m going to fuck you senseless baby… you’re going to beg me to let you cum, and then you’re going to beg me to stop, you understand?”
You gasped at the sheer eroticism of it but you nodded eagerly and said, “yes, Princess. I understand.”
Regina started to press the tip of the cock into your entrance and you moaned at the feeling of it. She took her time and entered slowly. It wasn’t a large dildo by any means but it was certainly the most you’d ever taken.
Once she was far enough in, Regina grasped your hips with her hands and used her pelvis to push in the rest of the way. The fullness made you see stars momentarily and she stopped to let you adjust. You felt more comfortable after a moment and nodded, then she started to pull out and thrust back in.
Your moans were enough feedback for her to know that you were feeling good. She continued her movements and quickly started fucking you the way she wanted to, deep and slow. You let your head go slack and let her take you to her hearts’ content and you could already feel yourself rapidly approaching your climax. The way your breath hitched and your moans heightened in pitch clued Regina in and to your horror, she backed off and nearly pulled all the way out of you.
You whined at her cruelty and she rubbed her hand on your hip, “you remember what I told you, yes?”
You whimpered an affirmative response.
“I’m not just going to let you cum, am I?”
“N-no… no… you won’t… P-Princess…”
“You’re going to be begging and crying before I give you that, right baby? And you’re going to keep being so good for me and do just that, hm?”
You felt like you were already on the verge of tears and felt so weak for fear of not being able to take what Regina wanted to give you, but you nodded your head, “yes, Princess… I’ll… I’ll be good… so good…”
She gave your hips a hard squeeze and then began to thrust again, agonizingly slowly. You felt her push the tip of the cock as far as she could, and then pull out as much as she could without leaving.
You yearned for her to pick up the pace and fuck you hard. Your clit ached for contact. You’d never needed to cum this desperately ever in your life. The question crossed your mind of whether someone could die from a denied orgasm. You had been needing her to give you this since lunchtime but Regina would not be letting you off easy. Not now, not ever.
She was going to reduce you to a pleading mess, and you were going to do just that. Anything Regina wanted was your joy to provide.
“Princess!” You cried, “please fuck me harder… please… please…”
“Now that’s a good pet… that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Regina held you tightly and immediately began to pound into you with fervor. You cried out with pleasure and lost the ability to hold yourself up with your arms so your chest and head collapsed into the bed and you gripped the bedsheets in your fists, needing to hold onto something.
Regina slid a hand up your back and pressed on you, holding you down in that position, and you both moaned in sync.
“You’re doing so good, baby… are you going to beg your Princess to let you cum?”
You just whined and felt tears stinging the corners of your eyes. Of course you wanted to beg for your orgasm, but you also wanted to hold out just a little longer.
Regina kept fucking you. Her thighs smacked against your ass and she squeezed your waist in one hand. She was making these incredible, throaty sounds that drove you insane. You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed release.
Your tears broke free and you cried out, “please, Princess! Please! I need to cum I need to cum I need-... please oh my god please make me cum!”
“Oh, is that right?”
“Oh fuck… yes! Princess… please please please… I have to cum… you have to let me cum I’ve been so good…”
She started going just a little faster but it still wasn’t enough, “you think you’ve been good enough to cum, baby?”
“Yes Princess… please… please make me cum…”
“What does my babyboy need to finally cum? Hmm?”
“Clit… clit… please… touch…” you sobbed.
Regina chuckled, clearly enjoying your desperation. She reached a hand around your waist and slid underneath you and started to circle your clit with her middle finger while continuing to fuck you with the strap. You gasped and rocked your hips in rhythm with her, which she allowed now.
“Mmm you’re so swollen for me, baby… you’re gonna cum so fast…”
You nodded your head, feeling your climax approaching rapidly. She touched you diligently and fucked you harder and faster than she had been.
“Oh fuck fuck fuck! I’m so close… fuck don’t stop don’t stop!” You gasped.
Regina continued and commanded, “beg me one more time baby.”
“Oh god please Princess… please please make me cum! I need it… please…”
Regina smiled to herself and rubbed your clit forcefully and you came undone screaming. Tears streamed down your cheeks and your body shook as the waves of pleasure sprinted through your nerves.
Regina helped you ride it out, gently slowing her movements to a stop and then softly pulling out and helping you lie down on the bed. She pressed sweet kisses onto the back of your head and shoulders and scratched your back gently. You shivered from the touch and took deep breaths to try to calm down.
Regina got up from the bed and took the harness off. She came back a few moments later with a towel and water bottle for you. She then laid down next to you and kissed your cheek while playing with your hair.
“How do you feel?” She whispered.
“Insane… so good…” you opened your eyes and met hers. She was smiling at you and scratching your scalp nicely.
“I’m so glad, darling.” She leaned forward and kissed your forehead, “you did so good.”
“Thank you…”
She continued to love on you in silence for a bit and you were just letting your mind wander. You were thinking about her and how much you genuinely cared for her.
“Regina?” You breathed.
“Yeah, baby?”
You stared at her blue eyes and brushed some of her hair out of her face. You wanted her in every way possible. You wanted her commitment… graduation was only a month away. You both would be leaving for different colleges in the fall. She had others that she spent intimate time with. And you’ve had this conversation before.
“It’s nothing, nevermind.”
Regina nodded, trusting that you would tell her if it was something important, “just rest now, sweetie. That’s all I need from you.”
#regina george#regina x reader#mean girls#mean girls 2024#regina george fanfic#Regina George smut#18+ content#18+ mdni#femdom!regina#Regina George lesbian#renee rapp#Renee Rapp fanfiction#my fanfiction#my writing#original writing#fanfiction requests
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There was something ‘bout you
summary: bradley bradshaw didn’t fall in love, especially not with uptight girls in his english lit class and especially not the ones being forced into tutoring him. college au
pairing: fratboy!bradley x tutor!reader
word count: 9.2k
warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, mentions of blood, teeny amount of violence, smut (oral and pinv), bradley sucks so bad but he’s cute!! MDNI 18+
Bradley knew girls liked him, loved him even.
He once had a girl leave him a love letter after a night together. It was a sweet touch, the pink paper and the gel pen she’d written it in, he slept with her once more after that but had to cut her off once he caught her snipping a little bit of his hair off in the middle of the night.
Anyways, what Bradley had concluded is that he was an attractive guy. Not too classically like his roommate and best friend Jake with his blonde locks and ken doll looks. But in a boyish charming way with his “big brown puppy dog eyes” or whatever that girl had written in the letter.
So when his Eng Lit professor had told him he was going to be tutored by a girl in his class he was pretty excited to say the least. Truth be told, the only reason he had picked this Eng Lit class was because he knew there would be an abundance of girls in there, sure they were probably a little more intellectually advanced than the girls he would usually go for but maybe that was what he needed. Some girl obsessed with like gothic literature, Jake had assured him they were the freaks he needed to bag.
He’s already started tuning out Professor Clarke’s spiel on getting his grade up and started imagining all the hot girls in his class who could possibly be tutoring him. There was Clara, she was the kind of gothy Jake was on about, he could definitely be into that. Or even Natalie, she was who Bradley usually went for, pretty brunette and what Jake would call in his omniscience; a colossal rack.
“Bradley, are you listening to me?”
Bradley pulled his mind from the depths of analysis of the girls in his class and hummed,
“Yes, Professor.”
“So you know who I’m assigning to tutor you?”
Bradley winces apologetically and watches as Professor Clarke runs a hand down his face.
“Please, Bradley. I’m just asking you to try and put some effort in, she’s only gonna be able to do so much to help you, you need to help yourself.”
Bradley sighs, “who is it?”
When Professor Clarke gives Bradley your name and tells him that you’ll meet him after class tomorrow his first thought is “who the fuck is that?” and his second one is in mourning of being in forced proximity of a hot goth chick or one of the girls who he’s already slept with.
Bradley walks back to his house slightly dejected, if he couldn’t even recognise you from your name there was probably not a huge chance you were going to be the ‘bad boy gets taught in a different way by his tutor’ wet dream he was hoping for. When he finally gets back he finds Jake lounging on the couch with another one of his frat brothers Reuben.
Jake looks up from where him and Reuben are watching this weeks football highlights on the TV to meet Bradley’s moping gaze.
“You good bro?”
Bradley replies with a whine, “Professor Clarke is making some girl tutor me.”
Reuben snorts and shovels another handful of chips into his mouth, “hot.”
Bradley rolls his eyes and flops onto the couch in between his two friends. He says your name to the two boys and begins, “do you know her?”
Jake’s eyebrows furrow in thought for a moment before he smacks Reuben on the back of the head,
“Bro?” He whines.
“It’s the library chick!” Jake exclaims.
Reuben looks confused for a moment before he realises, “oh shit yeah!”
Jake and Reuben looks happy for themselves for a few moments before Bradley interrupts again, “When the fuck have you ever been to the library?”
Jake frowns, “I’ll have you know that I read, the classics are my favourite!”
“What classics?” Reuben scoffs.
Jake smiles, “You know, the classic ones?”
“Where’s Waldo isn’t a classic J,” Bradley smirks.
“Shut the fuck up, okay I was trying to impress this girl in my econ class.” Jake admits, “she’s very well read.”
Bradley mutters something about Jake being pussywhipped before deciding he needed to get back to the problem at hand. You.
“Okay, so library chick. Do I know her?”
Jake racks his mind for a minute, scowling at Reuben’s loud chewing sounds.
“Fuck, yeah okay, do you remember last year? She dropped that massive encyclopaedia on your hand after you whistled when she was bent over sorting out books.”
Bradley cringes in recollection. In his defence he did think he was complimenting you… albeit with not much class or subtlety. You were cute. Maybe a bit nerdy, but you clearly had guts which he appreciated.
“Shit.. yeah.”
Bradley hoped you weren’t one for grudges.
You weren’t for the most part, and when Professor Clarke had told you who you would be tutoring you had decided last years incident could be water under the bridge. You figured he didn’t even remember you, he hadn’t acknowledged your presence in the one class you shared either way.
However, when he came sauntering down from his seat right at the back of the lecture hall and paused in front of you by Professor Clarke’s desk you were already becoming mildly irritated.
Bradley could tell, and he also knew that he was goading it on by making eye contact with your tits before your eyes and then saying,
“Hey, beautiful.”
He watches as you scoff and mutter something that sounds similar to “fucking prick.” It makes him smile.
Professor Clarke sighs loudly and speaks directed towards you, “I trust you’ll be able to help Bradley, Lord knows he needs it.”
Bradley’s smile drops, “Hey! I literally submitted my last assignment in on time!”
Your face drops in shock, is that seriously what he considers a win?
Professor Clarke looks at Bradley and sighs once again, “you sent me a gif of a rat dancing and made the subject of the email “The Great Ratsby”.”
Bradley sputters slightly but clears his throat feeling the weighted stare of Professor Clarke still on him. The older man smiles thinly as you thank him for his time and move towards the door. Bradley is hot on your tail, and he rounds on you once the reach the corridor.
“So…. how are we doing this angel?”
Bradley can’t control how his lips quirk upwards at you apparent distaste for the pet name. He can’t help but wonder what you’d appreciate more; maybe sweetheart or baby or something cute like bunny. He’s snapped out of his thought process by you waving your hand in front of his face.
“Earth to Bradley?” You quip.
He shakes his head a smiles, “Sorry what was that sweetheart?”
He notices how your brows furrowed once again before you start up, “I could book a study room in the library? Wednesday at 6?”
Bradley nods, “Sure, can I get your number?”
You’re taken aback slightly before Bradley clarifies, “So we can text about when to meet?”
“Oh. Right, yeah of course.”
Bradley reaches for his phone in his hoodie pocket and hands it to you, opening it up to his contacts. Before you can type in your number you can’t help but notice the sheer amount of girls in his contacts. All with specific names.
cass (toothy ❌)
natalie (.)(.)
samantha (screamer ✅)
It makes you’re stomach churn in mild horror, which your push down in favour of finally typing in your number. You hand his phone back to him and watch as he chuckles whilst writing your contact name. He doesn’t let you see it before shooting you off a short “hi” text to send his number to your phone.
Bradley stares at you for a moment before whistling, “right… so I’ll see you Wednesday?”
You smile awkwardly back at him, “yeah.”
He readjusts his cap and nods in a goodbye before turning to leave the building. You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as you walk out the exit opposite.
It’s 6:45 on Wednesday when Bradley finally shows up. He’s wearing black joggers and a top that you presume is a few sizes too small with a cap placed backwards on his head.
He felt kind of shitty about being late, he was leaving to get to the library at 10 to 6 when Jake and his other frat brother Mickey called him over whilst they were playing COD, he thought he could squeeze in a game and not be too late. Evidently, he was wrong.
You’re reading a book which he doesn’t recognise when he finds you in the study room and begins to apologise.
“I’m sorry for being late sweetheart-”
“Yeah. Whatever Bradley, let’s just start.” You breathe out, not having the energy to listen to his excuses.
Bradley’s pissed at that. He came in here willing to apologise and you think you can make him feel bad? Not likely.
“There’s no need to get bitchy? I literally said I’m sorry.” Bradley snorts, pulling a chair out opposite you with a loud scrape.
You scoff, “seriously? I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour!”
“Yeah and I said sorry!”
“That’s not the point-”
You catch yourself before you carry on, he wasn’t worth the waste of breath.
“Look it’s fine. Let’s just get started.”
Bradley pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek and leans back.
“Alright.”
The session is as productive as you can make it with your significantly shorter period of time. You find out that Bradley knows little to nothing about any of the texts that you’re studying and enjoys annoying you deeply. You’re not sure whether he hates silence or just loves the sound of his own voice. You figure it’s the latter.
“You’re glasses don’t fit you properly.” He points out after you push them up your nose for the third time in the past minute.
They’re slipping down your nose as you look down to read over some notes Bradley had made.
“Sure they do.”
Bradley shrugs and leans back again. You can feel his heavy gaze on you as you push your glasses back up again. He doesn’t say anything. Just smiles.
You’re cute, for sure. He kind of digs your chunky cardigan library assistant vibe. Maybe if you loosened up a little he’d like you even more. Bradley starts to wonder what you’d be like at one of his frat parties. He doesn’t think he’s seen you anywhere outside of class or the library. Maybe you’d go absolutely buck wild after a few of Reuben’s infamously too strong drinks. He figures you’re probably his friend Bob’s type, you’re both sort of nerdy and cute in a mousy way.
Bradley doesn’t realise he’s been zoned out looking at your face for the past two minutes until he sees a book being dropped down on the desk in front of him. It gives him slight PTSD from the encyclopaedia incident. He picks up the book and looks at you, confused.
“What’s this?”
You laugh with an almost unbelieving look on your face.
“Shakespeare? Romeo and Juliet? We’ve just started going over it in class?”
Bradley picks up the book of various Shakespeare plays and skims through it until he reaches Romeo and Juliet.
“Yeah, my bad, I think I recognise this.”
You cringe inwardly at the amount of work you’re probably going to have to put in to stop Bradley from failing.
“Great.”
Bradley smiles at what he thinks is praise from you and goes back to reading the first scene of the play. You’re blessed with a blissful silence for a moment whilst Bradley reads and you send off a few texts to you roommate Maya about how the tutoring session is going.
maya 😘😘
how is it???????
you
he’s an idiot
i’m pretty sure i saw him read dickens on the reading list and snort and then mumble “dick” under his breath
maya 😘😘
LMFAO
the cute ones are never smart
you
ew
maya 😘😘
shut up you’d hit
you
i find that offensive
Before you can send off another annoyed text to your friend, Bradley speaks up again.
“Do you like, read and shit?”
You stifle a giggle, “what?”
“Like books?”
“Are you seriously asking the girl who works at the library-”
Bradley chuckles, “Okay! I see my mistake, what’s you’re favourite book then?”
You hum whilst staring at him, it was an oddly thoughtful question.
“Probably Wuthering Heights. It’s by Emily Brontë.”
You’re not quite sure why you told him the last part. There was no doubt in your mind that Bradley Bradshaw did not know who the Brontë sisters were.
He cocks his head to the side, “what’s it about?”
You’re not sure whether Bradley genuinely wants to know about you and your interests or if he just doesn’t want to actually study, Bradley is equally confused because he’s asking his question in earnest.
“It’s about this guy called Heathcliff who gets adopted into this family and falls in love with his sister Catherine, he grows up to find out that she’s a married another man and basically becomes obsessed with avenging what could have been his.” You try to explain as simply as possible.
“HIS SISTER?” Bradley exclaims with a laugh.
“It’s not like that-”
“Babe, I didn’t realise you were into that freak shit.”
You can’t control your laugh at the absurdity of his words. Bradley really likes that sound, and the way that your eyes crinkle. It’s weird, he suddenly feels like he wants to be the only person to make you do that.
Once you’ve calmed down you look back up to see Bradley staring at you once again. You quirk an eyebrow up questioningly before looking at the clock behind him.
“Shit, we need to go. I only booked this place till 8.”
“What! I swear I only just got here!”
You snort, “Yeah well if you’d been on time…”
Bradley pouts at you, “Baby, please. I’m sorry.”
It’s half mocking, but the way he’s staring up at you with wide eyes makes your stomach flutter slightly. You shake your head as if to banish the thoughts and begin picking up your books.
“Just be on time next week, please.”
Bradley stands, moving round the table and pats you on the head.
“Of course, sweetheart.”
The gesture makes your frown slightly, but it served as a reminder for how you suppose Bradley truly feels about you. You’re not friends, and he doesn’t like you in any romantic capacity. You’re just the girl forced into tutoring him.
The next few tutoring sessions go somewhat the same. Bradley has a short attention span but tries his best, he’s nice enough to you that you can sometimes forget he’s slept with half the girls in your class.
You’re sat next to him in the study room doing some quick flash card recap questions. He’s fiddling with a thread at the end of your long sleeve shirt, it feels kind of intimate but you don’t want to look into it too hard. It’s been like this over the past few weeks, touches that last too long and his incessant usage of pet names. But, every time you begin to let yourself feel special you’ll catch a glimpse of a girls name flash across his phone screen and your predicament hits you right across the face with a loud crack; shattering the hope you’ve been building.
Bradley moves from playing with the thread on your top sleeve to your fingers, mumbling a correct answer to one of your questions. He keeps finding the need to be close to you, and not even always in a sexual way which shocks him the most. Don’t get him wrong, he’s definitely thought about it a few times in the shower, or in his bed or even when he was fucking Natalie last week and he suddenly thought about how cute you’d look with your glasses sliding down your nose whilst you’re sat on top of him. He had to look away from Natalie for the rest of the time she was there, he felt too guilty.
The morning after when Natalie had left surprisingly early, Jake (who had been noticing the lack of girls flowing in and out of his shared room on Bradley’s part) had an inkling as to why.
“You like her.” Jake declares as he plops himself down in the gaming chair in his room, spinning to face where Bradley is lying on his bed.
“What?”
“The library chick. The one who’s been tutoring you.” Jake expands.
“What do you mean?”
“You like her!”
Bradley huffs, annoyed at Jake’s insistence, “yeah, she’s cool.”
Jake rolls his eyes, “no, you like like her.”
“You’re 12, and no I don’t!” Bradley removes his hands from behind his head and moves to sit up straighter against his headboard.
Jake clicks his tongue, “okay so you wouldn’t mind if I fucked her?”
Bradley cocks his head to the side but doesn’t say anything.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, she’s kind of hot.”
Jake watched as a muscle in Bradley’s jaw ticks. He knows he’s struck gold.
“Maybe we’ll do some roleplay, she can be my sexy teacher and I’ll bend her over the desk.” Jake wraps his knuckles against the desk behind him and chuckles, “sturdy.”
Jake knows he’s almost got Bradley as he watches him clench and unclench his fist.
“I mean that ass, it’s insane really I’ll tell you how it feels afterwards if you-”
“Shut the fuck up! Fuck! Fine okay I fucking like her, what do you want me to say?!”
Bradley’s outburst doesn’t surprise Jake in the slightest. In fact, it puts a smile on his face.
“Nothing. I just wanted to know.”
Bradley rubs a hand down his face, he’s pretty sure he’s never felt like this before. It kind of scares him to be honest.
“You should invite her here on Friday.”
Friday. For the party. Bradley thinks about it for a second, “Bro, not if you’re going to try and fuck her.”
Jake chuckles, “she’s all yours, her roommate is the girl from my econ class so if anything this is selfish of me.”
Bradley smiles, “alright.”
After Bradley answers another question correct you smile at him brightly.
“Looks like somebody’s been hitting the books!” You poke, setting your flash cards down on the table.
Bradley warms at the praise and looks at you for a moment.
“Will you come to my party on Friday?”
You study his face for a moment, he looks almost nervous.
“I don’t know Brad, it’s not really my scene and I wouldn’t really know anyone,” you smile apologetically at him.
“You know me!” Bradley reasons, pulling your hand into his.
“And you’re gonna spend the whole night sitting with me? You’re funny.”
Bradley thinks about how he’d definitely do that if you asked him to.
“Bring your roommate! Maya is it? I’m pretty sure Jake is in love with her.”
Bradley’s words make you giggle and you consider for a moment, when you look back to Bradley he’s got an adorable pout on his lips,
“Please don’t make me beg, angel.”
Although the idea of Bradley on his knees begging is tempting, you’re not that cruel. You pretend to think for a moment more before answering.
“Fine. But only in the name of Jake and Maya.”
Bradley is pleased with your answer, “Thanks, angel.”
You smile, “whatever.”
You check your phone and find that you’ve spent the last 10 minutes of the session just chatting with Bradley.
“We need to go,” You remind him.
Bradley looks a little crestfallen but stands anyway. He helps you gather your books and puts them into your tote bag for you.
“Thanks.” You mumble as he hands the bag to you.
He scratches the back of his head for a moment before speaking, “Can I, like, walk you back?”
His gesture makes you smile, as well as his sort of nervous demeanour, “Little old me? Bradley Bradshaw wants to walk little old me home?” you tease.
The familiar smirk makes its way back onto Bradley’s face at your prodding. “Shut up, I’m being a gentleman or whatever.”
“Well then, who am I to decline?” You smile at him.
“Dork.” Bradley mutters under his breath as he opens the door for you.
Bradley takes your bag off of your shoulder and places it on his own, once he feels the weight settles down he looks at you shocked,
“You carry this shit around everywhere?”
The confused look in his eye makes you laugh, “yes?”
“This is so heavy? What are you even carrying?”
“Books? My laptop?”
Bradley laughs, “Shit, maybe I need to start coming to these sessions more prepared.”
Bradley pushes open the main door to the library and the cold night air hits you unexpectedly, making you shiver in your long sleeve tee. He looks down at your attire and rolls his eyes.
“Hold this for a sec.” Bradley drops your bag back into your hands and begins to pull his hoodie up over his head.
You go to protest but your mouth falls open awkwardly at the way his t-shirt rides up, exposing his toned lower abdomen and the sprinkling of hair that leads all the way down-
“Angel?”
“Yes! Sorry, what?” You stutter out with a chuckle.
Bradley gestures for you to hand him back the bag and hands out the hoodie with his other hand. You take it and pull it over your head, revelling in the smell of it. It’s partly his cologne and the rest something uniquely him.
“Ready to go?” Bradley asks, looking down at you.
“Sure,” You smile up at him.
Bradley feels his stomach flip, looking down at your frame drowned in his hoodie. Before he can even process what he’s doing Bradley has slipped his hand into yours. You don’t say anything in fear of him retracting it but the smile that sits on your face is blinding.
You walk in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Bradley squeezing your hand every now and then in reassurance. You turn a corner and watch as you apartment complex comes into view. Squeezing his hand you look up at him and speak,
“This is me.”
Bradley pouts a little, “You don’t want me to walk you all the way in?”
You giggle and shake your head, “No don’t worry.”
You reach for the hem of the hoodie and begin to pull it up when Bradley stops you.
“Keep it. Please. It looks better on you.” He almost whispers.
You flush at his words and look at him with furrowed brows, trying to study his expression. Whether he’s being truthful or not. He hands your bag back over to you and nods.
“If you’re sure.” You smile, “I’ll see you Friday?”
Bradley winks, “You better.”
“Night Bradley.”
“Goodnight, angel.” Bradley hums.
He watches your retreating frame until you’re inside of your building before spinning on his heel to walk in the opposite direction back to his house.
Bradley pulls his phone out of his pocket, checking through his messages as he walks. He finds himself deleting almost all of the irrelevant numbers from girls that had been littering his contacts without much thought. Once he’s done he goes to pocket his phone again before it vibrates in his hand.
angel ❤️🩹
thank u <3
Maya has been ready to go for the past half an hour as she sits on your bed and watches as you pick up various dresses and items of clothing before discarding them on the floor.
You’ll admit you probably look ridiculous stood in your underwear with a full face of makeup on and your hair pulled up into a styled ponytail but it was not your priority at this second.
“I have nothing to wear! I’m not going Maya, just go without me!”
Maya sighs and walks towards you’re closet, rifling through the particularly skimpy dresses you had purposely avoided. She pulls out a short blue halter neck dress and shoves it into your hands.
“Go put this on.”
You roll your eyes at her tone, “okay, mom.”
“And don’t ruin the makeup I did!”
You wander into the little bathroom and begin to pull the dress over your head when Maya opens the door with a tiny scrap of fabric in her hands.
“You are not wearing those granny panties,” She looks pointedly down at the cotton panties with flowers that you have on.
You pout, “They’re comfy.”
Maya struts over and places the lacy garment in your hand, “Bradley can thank me later.”
“Shut up!” You exclaim, trying to hide your smile.
“I’ll be in here if you need me,” She giggles,
“Wait! Maya you didn’t give me a bra!” You whine.
She rolls her eyes, “I know.” Before closing the door behind her.
You strip out of your comfy underwear and look down at the baby blue lace and sigh, at least you’d shaved. Pulling the dress over your head whilst trying to maintain Maya’s artistry was hard but not impossible you found, and when you pulled the dress the rest of the way down you realised you didn’t need a bra anyway. You spin a little, looking at yourself in the mirror. You looked good.
There’s a new found confidence in your walk as you make your way back to your bedroom where Maya is sat fiddling with the buckle on a pair of wedges in her lap. When she looks up she hollers at you,
“Damnn! Twirl for me gorgeous!”
You laugh at her antics but indulge her anyway gasping in faux shock when she slaps your butt playfully. She hands over the wedges and your eyes widen slightly at the height.
Maya laughs at your expression, “baby don’t worry I’m sure they’ll be in the air more than they’ll be on the ground anyway.”
“You’re relentless!” You swat at her before bending down to do up the shoes.
You gather your phone and some lipgloss before linking your arms in Maya’s.
“Let’s go?”
“Let’s go.” She confirms.
You check your phone once your a block away from Bradley’s frat house. There’s a few messages from him that you’ve yet to respond to.
brad 🙃
when are u getting here??
i miss u angel
you
almost there :)
You snort at how needy Bradley sounded, there was probably enough girls there to keep him entertained.
It’s not hard to miss Bradley’s house, there are people littered around the front yard drinking and the music could be heard from at least a block away. As you walk up the steps on the front porch you wobble slightly on your wedges and Maya steadies you, she sees the anxious look in your eyes and smiles,
“You look so hot right now babe,”
You roll your eyes but let the nerves sink down as she grips onto your hand tighter.
The house is pretty packed with girls in tiny outfits and an unnerving amount of shirtless dudes. Maya leads you through the crowds to where there’s a group of dudes playing beer pong. As you get closer you recognise Jake and Bradley and a few other guys from their frat.
Jake spots you both first, nudging Bradley. You’re not sure why you’re so nervous when Bradley makes eye contact with you and starts making his way over, much to the disappointment of the frat bro he was playing with. You look to your side to find that Maya has already made her way over to Jake and when you look back Bradley is right in front of you.
He’s still tall enough that you have to look up to make eye contact with him, and his cologne clouds your thoughts. He takes your hand and drags you over to a quieter corner of the room. Bradley’s eyes rake over your form hungrily, you drop your hands in front of your stomach almost on autopilot.
“You look incredible, angel.” Bradley speaks earnestly.
He takes both your hands in his and holds them up so he can stare at you again.
You can feel the heat emanating from your cheeks as you look up at him, “You think?” You ask somewhat coyly.
Bradley nods, tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, making you giggle. He takes one of your hands and spins you around just slightly and whistles lowly,
“Can I take a picture?”
You roll your eyes and spin back around to face him, pushing lightly at his chest, “Shut up.”
He raises both hands in mock defence and shrugs, “worth a shot.”
You move to stand to the side of him, back against the wall and take a moment to look at him. He looks handsome, as always, but you can tell he’s put extra effort in. He’s wearing a thin shirt with two of the middle buttons done up and dark jeans. You’re sure he could have forgone the shirt with how much of his skin is exposed but you can’t complain seeing how tightly it fits around his biceps. His hair is tousled but in a way that looks purposeful and he smells incredible.
Without realising, you’ve inched closer to Bradley and his cologne hits your nose in a pleasant surprise. When you meet his eyes you find that he’s already looking at you.
“You smell good,” you murmur.
Bradley leans down so that you can hear him clearly, “thank you, angel.”
His lips brush against the shell of your ear so delicately that you could almost pretend that you imagined it, but the way a shiver runs down your spine tells you otherwise. Before you get a chance to compose yourself Bradley is imposing on your personal space again and speaking into you ear,
“Do you want me to get you a drink?” He nods towards the kitchen on the far side of the house.
You consider for a moment, then nod.
“Please.”
Maybe it would help calm your nerves.
“I’ll be back in a sec.”
Bradley departs from his space next to you with a wink, his lack of presence already making you frown. Instead of moping, you survey the surrounding area for Maya, hoping to check in with her.
You finally catch sight of her when her hot pink dress catches your eye as she ascends the main staircase with a tall blonde who you can only recognise as Jake. You giggle, swiping open your phone to send her a text.
you
use protection 😘
You can only hope she reads your message.
After a few more moments of scrolling through your phone you look up to realise Bradley still hasn’t made his way back to you. First you consider the fact that this is a party that he is hosting, he could have been sidetracked by any one of his numerous frat brothers or friends.
So, you decide to make your way to the kitchen, just so you could retrieve your drink of course.
What you’re not prepared to see is short brunette girl kissing Bradley, because of course that’s what held him up from getting your drink. It serves as a reminder of the fact that he is not your boyfriend and had no intention of being so, you figure he probably got tired of waiting for you to put out so he moved onto the next girl. You see that someone had lined up a few tequila shots on the counter nearest to you and knock back the few closest, wincing as the liquid warms the back of your throat all the way down to your stomach.
You close your eyes and breathe out, stomach churning from the shots and sight you’ve just seen, you spin on your heel to walk away from the counter but stumble whilst turning around too quickly. You probably would have hit the floor if it wasn’t for a strong grasp, steadying you by the waist.
“Shit, you okay darlin’?” The person who saved you from near embarrassment drawls out.
You steady yourself with hands on his surprisingly hard chest and look up into his blue eyes. He’s handsome, even with his wired frame glasses slipping down his sloped nose. He’s not less attractive than Bradley, just in a more refined way.
“God, I’m sorry, I’m not used to wearing shoes this high yet.” You mumble sheepishly, frustrated that you’ve managed to embarrass yourself in front of another freakishly attractive man.
“I’m Robert or Bob or whatever you want to call me,” Robert smiles down at you, speaking somewhat loudly to combat the thumping bass of whatever song was currently playing.
You give him your name and he smiles brighter if possible, almost as if he’s shocked you’re still talking to him.
“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He charms, watching you giggle.
His words almost make you forget what you had seen in the kitchen, the memory making you frown ever so slightly. Robert mistakes this for annoyance at his words and quickly adds on,
“Sorry, that was stupid and-”
You’re quick to silence his anxieties, “No, I liked it.” You speak in earnest, propelled by liquid courage.
Robert scratches the back of his neck and cocks his head to the side, “Do you want to dance?”
His question makes you smile, because yeah you do want to dance and fuck Bradley Bradshaw.
“Totally.” You beam up at him.
Robert pulls you toward the living room where people are crammed together dancing, sweaty bodies moving on top of each other in some cases almost obscenely.
The music seems to be vibrating off of the walls and the familiar voices of Rihanna and Bryson Tiller fill your ears. Robert seems somewhat apprehensive but the tequila buzzing through you makes you confident as you turn you back to him, grinding your ass back subtly as to test the waters. Robert’s hands move to grip at your waist, aiding you in grinding back onto him. You move one of your arms to rest around his neck and you giggle as you hear him groan quietly into your hair.
Bradley returns to where he’d left you flustered and annoyed carrying two red cups. Natalie had cornered him in the kitchen and tried to kiss him. He was furious, he’d sent her a text a few days ago apologising and letting her know he wasn’t interested in seeing her again. Clearly, that didn’t matter to her. After she had forced herself on him, he shoved her off somewhat awkwardly and told her firmly that he wasn’t interested. Bradley realised she was clearly already plastered and retrieved one of her friends from nearby to look after her.
He felt bad for leaving you on your own for so long but he hoped that if he could explain you wouldn’t be too annoyed.
However, when he gets back he finds that you’re not there. Initially, he worries that you’d left to go home. But after scanning the large living room packed with people, he spots you, grinding back onto his friend Bob.
Bradley’s stomach drops watching how you giggle at something Bob has whispered into your ear, how his hands and wrapped around your waist and how your ass is grinding back onto his crotch.
Without realising, Bradley has began to storm through the clumps of intoxicated people, dropping the drinks on a side table nearby. Fuelled by anger and jealously he pulls at one of Bob’s arms wrapped around your waist.
Bob stumbles back and turns with brows furrowed,
“Bradley? Are you okay-”
Before he can finish his question, Bradley’s fist hits the side of Bob’s nose with a sickening crunch, pushing him to the ground before raising his fist to hit him again.
The people who were previously dancing have made a circle around the commotion, drawing the attention of Bradley’s frat brothers Reuben and Mickey who push to the middle of the circle and grab Bradley before he can cause anymore damage.
“What the fuck man!” Reuben scolds in his ear, pulling him from his anger induced trance.
Bradley stops struggling against Reuben and Mickey’s grip, and instead looks down to see you tearfully wiping at the blood spilling from Bob’s nose in copious amounts.
Your watery eyes are looking up at him with so much anger that he feels bile rising in his throat. He runs a bruised hand through his sweaty hair and sighs. He can hear Mickey trying to get everyone to disperse, clearly not wanting his friend’s dirty laundry being aired out in front of everyone they know. Bradley can’t focus on any of the words being spoken to him, just the utter look of disappointment on your face.
A few hours later almost everyone has left the house. You’re sat on a bench in the backyard knees tucked under you and wedges removed and on the floor. Maya and Jake are sat next to you, they had returned to find an almost empty house save for you and Jake’s frat brothers.
Bradley had stormed out following Reuben and Mickey’s intervention, he couldn’t handle looking at your sad face and being the one who caused it.
“I just don’t know what the fuck he wants from me!” You exclaim to Maya.
Her and Jake had been filled in by you and Jake had the decency to look sheepish. It was his idea to invite you tonight, he knew how Bradley felt about you but it wasn’t necessarily his place to say.
You didn’t know how to feel, you were still upset from seeing him kiss that girl, confused as to why he punched Robert if he clearly wasn’t interested in you. Maybe it was some strange frat bro mentality, he didn’t want you but he also didn’t want anyone else to have you? It was all too confusing for 2am.
Maya’s hand is comforting on your back, rubbing circles and trying to alleviate the stress radiating off of you. Guilt is eating at Jake’s stomach and he’s about to spill everything he knows when he hears the glass patio doors opening from behind him.
He turns back and makes eye contact with Bradley, trying to non verbally say “not the time.” But you’ve noticed his presence before Jake can save him.
“Fuck off, Bradley.”
Bradley winces, he deserves your anger.
“Angel, please. Hear me out?” Bradley pleads.
He looks awkward, scratching at the back of his neck, nervous for your answer.
You look to Maya and she shrugs. She thinks you should hear him out, of course she does.
You sigh, “Fine.”
Jake and Maya exchange words silently and move to leave. Jake pats Bradley on the shoulder, he knows how shitty Bradley feels about how tonight went down and he also knows that he’s just been at Bob’s apartment apologising profusely.
Bradley sits down on the bench next to you, he wants nothing more than to pull you into his lap and tuck his chin on top of your head, but he knows that probably wouldn’t go down too well right now.
“I’m so fucking sorry angel.” Bradley breathes out.
You raise your eyebrows, “I don’t get you Bradley!” you huff out, “You walk me home and call me ‘angel’ and you have no concept of personal space but then I see you kissing some girl in the kitchen whilst you’re supposedly getting me a drink and then as soon as I-”
“I wasn’t kissing anyone!” Bradley cuts in, confused.
“Bradley there was only one person in that house wearing a floral button up and he was kissing a girl in the kitchen when I went to check on you.”
Bradley racks his brain for a moment before he realises what you’re talking about.
“Oh shit. Natalie.” Bradley concludes, mostly to himself.
You roll your eyes, “Great to know you caught her name before you let her shove her tongue down your throat.”
Now you knew her name you recognised her, she was in your Eng Lit class. Natalie was gorgeous to make you feel even worse.
“Angel, I didn’t want to kiss her.” Bradley sighs, “she was wasted and pushed herself on me.”
You look at him sadly, wanting so badly to believe him, “really?”
Bradley shuffles closer towards you, placing his hand over yours resting on the faded wood of the bench.
“I wouldn’t lie, angel.” Bradley promises, squeezing your hand.
“Still doesn’t excuse you acting like a fucking neanderthal and punching Robert, he didn’t deserve that. He’s sweet.” You’re not willing to fully forgive him yet.
Bradley feels anxiety pool in his stomach, at the thought of what he’s going to have to say to you.
“I know and I told him how sorry I was. I just, you make me crazy you know?” Bradley laughs out, “the first time I met you, you dropped an encyclopaedia on my hand. Do you remember that?”
You giggle slightly at the memory, “You deserved it.”
“Yeah well the thing is sweetheart, I deserve a lot of shit. I know I kind of fucking suck, but one thing I really don’t deserve is you.” Bradley smiles nervously.
“You’re so smart, and I’m such an idiot because I thought I could try and pretend that I’m not in love with you.”
Your eyes widen at Bradley’s confession. He looks pale with anxiety, he doesn’t think he can remember a time where he’d ever been nervous when talking to a girl. But this was so much different. Because it’s you.
Bradley can’t help the word vomit that seems to be pouring out of his lips, “You’re so beautiful, but that’s not the reason I love you. I love how smart you are and how you’re funnier than me and all my friends combined. I love the way you make me feel when I’m with you. I know I’ve probably completely fucked this up tonight but I just wanted you to know how I feel.”
The vulnerability in Bradley’s words makes your heart clench, the way his eyes are staring at you so deeply, shining in the moonlight like he’d do anything for you. You can feel the tears pooling in your lash line.
“Oh Bradley.” You give him a watery smile, reaching your free hand up to cup at his jawline.
“I love you too, you dick.”
Bradley laughs, loud. Relief is sweet but not as sweet as how you look, staring at him with wide eyes and pouted lips.
“Can I kiss you?” He whispers.
You nod and surge forward, hands coming to rest around his neck. Bradley pulls you into his lap and connects your lips. He thinks about the cherry chapstick you always carry in your bag and how he can taste it on you now, how soft your lips feel against his. His tongue pushes against your lips tentatively, you grant him access and sigh contentedly at the feeling of him.
One of Bradley’s hands is soft at the back of your head, guiding you against him gently whilst the other is tracing circles against your hips rhythmically. You trace your nails in patterns against the short hair and the back of his head and smile into the kiss as he moans at the feeling.
Bradley goes to deepen the kiss once again but is stopped abruptly by a noise coming from behind him.
“We should check on them, oh-”
You pull back from Bradley sheepishly with a wet saliva caused noise and make eye contact with Maya. Then Jake.
Jake is the first to laugh, “I told you they’d be fine.”
You wake up before Bradley at noon the next day. You’re lying in his bed draped in a large t-shirt of his.
The sun is streaming through his thin curtains and you’ve been swapping your gaze between a shirtless Bradley and something that caught your eye on his bedside table.
Bradley begins to stir with an aggressive yawn and stretch that almost wipes you out. You whack his arm out of your face and lean down kiss his forehead.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.” You giggle.
Bradley groans and smushes his face into your boobs,
“I’m tired.” he mumbles, muffled.
You thread a hand through his curls and speak tentatively,
“I have a question.”
Bradley sits up at that, moving so he can look at you properly.
“When did you get this?” You reach for the book on his bedside table, it’s a copy of Wuthering Heights with an old receipt sticking out at around the half way mark being used in place of a proper bookmark.
Bradley’s cheeks flush slightly, “Like, I don’t know. Maybe a few days after that first session in the library.”
Your cheeks hurt from trying to suppress your smile. You reach forward and kiss him sweetly, handing resting on his toned chest.
When you pull back he chuckles, “I wanted to impress you.”
“That is the sexiest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Bradley cackles at your emission until he realises how deadly serious you’re being.
“Angel.. we need to change that.” He smiles, lifting at the hem of his shirt on your frame.
You hum and connect your lips again, slipping your tongue into his mouth as he begins to pull at the t-shirt.
You separate for a moment to let him pull it off you fully. On reaction your hands reach up to cover yourself but Bradley catches them before you get the chance. He manoeuvres you so that he’s now the one on top and stares down at you hungrily.
“Jesus christ, angel.”
His hands reach for you breasts, squeezing them appreciatively. His thumbs flick over your pebbled nipples, smirking upon seeing how you preen into his touch, back arching up off of the bed.
Bradley moves to kiss down from your lips to you collarbones, paying specific attention to your pulse point, tongue lathing at where he sucked a mark too harshly. He can feel the blood rushing to his cock, straining against his boxers, at the sounds of your little whimpers and moans.
Bradley attaches his lips to one of your nipples, swirling his tongue in circles, revelling at how your breath hitches.
“Fuck, please Brad,” you whimper from underneath him.
He unlatches his lips and rests his head on your stomach.
“What do you need angel? Anything.” He promises.
Your teeth bite into your bottom lip as you consider, “your mouth?”
Bradley smiles at your request and shucks the covers off from his back, he moves down the bed slightly and sits back on his knees. His hands reach forward to grasp at your panties, pulling them down your legs. You lift your hips to aid him and giggle at how he holds them appreciatively once they’re off.
“These are cute.” He admits.
“Thanks, babe.” You giggle, make a mental note to tell Maya.
“But this. This is fucking incredible.”
Bradley lifts your legs over his shoulders, head dipping down to look at your pussy. He blows a cool breath onto your glistening folds and smirks at how your squirm at the feeling.
“Does me reading seriously make you this soaked?” Bradley chuckles.
You buck your hips up and whine, “yes! It’s cute you wanted to impress me.”
Bradley laughs and decides to put and end to your waiting, licking a stripe up your folds. The sound you make is music to his ears. He swirls his tongue around your clit, arms holding your thighs from closing around his head.
He licks at you languidly and moans against your pussy, “you taste amazing.”
Bradley’s words make you whimper, a shiver of arousal running down your spine.
“Keep going, baby please.”
Bradley’s tongue dips into your hole, fucking into you for a moment before coming back up to swirl at your clit. He’s moaning almost as much as you, the vibrations making your hips jerk up against his hold. You reach a hand down to grab at his hair making Bradley whimper. The noise shocks you slightly and makes you gush, pleasing Bradley to no end.
He sucks at your clit, spurred on by your hand grasping at his curls.
“Fuck, I’m close Brad please.” You whimper out.
Bradley flicks at your clit once more then pulls away, tongue poking out to lick at your juices that have accumulated around his chin.
You whine at the loss of contact and the pout on your lips almost makes Bradley cave, before he speaks up again.
“I want to feel you around me angel.”
You shiver at his words and nod, pulling him up by his chin to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and you can tell he knows it too by the way he smiles against your lips.
He pulls back only to reach for a condom from a drawer in his bedside table. He hands it to you to open whilst he pulls off his boxers. Although, you’re sort of hypnotised by how handsome he looks in the sunlight peaking in through his cheap curtains. His skin is tan and he has a few moles dotted around his chest, but most importantly there’s a sprinkling of dark hair that spans from between his pecs all the way down into his happy trail. When you catch sight of his cock your mouth waters slightly and Bradley laughs.
“It’s rude to stare, angel.”
“It’s rude that half the girls on this campus have seen the snake between your legs, Bradley.”
He snorts at you short streak of jealousy and moves to cup your cheeks with his hands.
“You’re the only one for me, angel.”
He sighs against your lips as he feels your small hands wrap around his dick. He looks down and groans loudly at the sight of you slowly stroking him before ripping open the condom he had given to you.
You let go of him so that he can roll the condom down his length, shuffling down so you can lie with your head resting against the pillows. Bradley sits on his knees between your thighs, staring down at you intensely.
“You’re so beautiful, angel.”
He leans down to connect your lips quickly and pulls back only slightly so he can watch your features as he guides his cock towards your entrance, dripping in arousal.
He pushes in slowly, smirking as you whimper quietly. You roll your eyes at his expression and whisper into his ear,
“Fuck me like you mean it, Bradshaw.”
Bradley laughs and hikes your legs up higher around his waist. He plunges into you without warning, revelling in how you squeak in surprise. His thrusts are deep and calculated, hitting at the right spot almost every time.
You moan out gutturally, “shit, right there Brad.”
The way his name rolls off your lips make Bradley grunt in pleasure, speeding up his thrusts if even possible. You feel incredible around him, squeezing at him just right. Bradley continues his ministrations but reaches a hand down to toy at your clit, smirking at how your moans increase in pitch. He makes circles around the bundle of nerves and feels his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the way your walls are pulsing against him.
You reach a hand down over Bradley’s to swirl at your clit, he groans loudly at the sight, head dropping down to stare at where he’s fucking in and out of you. He moans a little pathetically but can’t feel it within himself to be embarrassed when you tighten so deliciously around him.
“I’m really close, angel.” He groans, leaning down to breathe into your neck.
“Me too, baby.” You whine, kissing the top of his head, “please cum for me, Bradley.”
Your words were all Bradley needed to reach his peak. His hips stutter against yours as he spurts into the condom and the feeling combined with your fast swirls against your clit shoots white hot pleasure through you, pushing you over the precipice as well.
Bradley is a panting mess above you, his skin sticking to yours with sweat. He pulls out of you slowly and ties off the condom. When he flops down next to you, you kiss all over his face, squealing when he grabs your face and smushes your lips together. He pulls away from you and stares at you in your sweaty post sex glow and smiles.
You catch his eyes and hum, “you’re so pretty, Bradley.”
His lips quirk as he reaches to stroke his thumb over you cheek.
“I’ve not heard that one before.”
Bradley eventually ventures downstairs to retrieve you a glass of water and makes eye contact with Reuben as he goes to ascend the stairs again.
Reuben flips him the bird without looking, “you’re fucking loud bro.”
Bradley can’t find it in himself to care.
No one is more surprised on Monday morning than Professor Clarke when he sees you walk into his lecture hall with Bradley Bradshaw wrapped around your waist, your usual large tote bag now slung over his shoulder.
He watches in amusement for the hour as you note diligently and raise you hand as usual, however there was now the addition of Bradley. Pointing at your notes when he wanted something explaining or whispering something in your ear after you made a good point that makes you smile.
Professor Clarke finds it sweet, albeit slightly confusing considering the tension that surrounded the two of you when you’d been introduced.
Once your class has finished Bradley helps you pack your things up before putting your bag over his shoulder once again,
“You know I can carry my own bag?” You tease, poking at his bicep.
“Then how will everyone know you have a super strong and handsome boyfriend?” Bradley rolls his eyes playfully.
As you’re descending the stairs you spot someone walking towards you and Bradley from the corner of your eye.
“Natalie, hi.” Bradley speaks awkwardly, placing a comforting hand on your waist.
“Hi Bradley… I just wanted to apologise, I was fucking wasted on Friday and I didn’t realise you have a girlfriend and I should have read your texts properly and I’m really embarrassed to be honest,” she chuckles out awkwardly.
You smile at the girl, sensing her guiltiness. You look to Bradley who has a small smile on his face as well.
“It’s cool,” Bradley speaks truthfully.
She nods and sends you another apologetic smile before making her own exit from the classroom.
Once she’s out of earshot you turn to Bradley,“That was nice of her,”
Bradley nods and threads his hand in yours, leading you down the rest of the stairs. As you walk past Professor Clarke’s desk he calls out your name. He gestures down to where you’re holding hands with Bradley and jests,
“I’ll admit this was the last outcome I was expecting when I asked you to tutor Bradley here.”
You can feel Bradley’s smirk from next to you and roll your eyes, “He’s not so bad.”
a/n: HERE SHE IS LADIES AND GENTS!!!!! fratboy!brad and his angel 😭😭😭
my apologies for how sucky he gets BUT HE MAKES UP FOR IT PROMISE
also apologies for making him deck bob LMFAO
as always i love to hear feedback so pls comment, reblog or send me an ask and tell me what you think!
thank u for reading!!!
- honey <333
#top gun#top gun maverick#top gun fanfiction#top gun movie#top gun rooster#rooster#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw smut#bradley bradshaw x reader smut#bradley bradshaw x you smut#rooster x reader#rooster x reader smut#rooster x you smut#rooster x you#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x you#bradley bradshaw au#top gun smut#college au#fratboy au#fratboy!bradley#miles teller#robert floyd x reader#bob floyd x reader#fratboy!bradley x tutor!reader#top gun au
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what do the blue lock boys do for you on valentine’s day?（╹◡╹）♡
Shidou, Rin, Sae, Kaiser x reader (seperate)
→ part 1 ⭢ part 2 ⭢ part 3 on the way!
gn! reader, google translated German for Kaiser’s part
don’t forget to suggest me things if you have any ideas! happy early valentine’s day (๑>◡<๑)
Shidou Ryusei
he gets you a TON of sweets (which he eats half of)
Sae once told him that love letters were a common thing for valentine’s day, so he tried to make you one.
it was a piece of paper, which was poorly folded and drowned pink glitter glue. he used scented gel pens to write a few “i love you’s” and smiley faces… it’s the thought that counts?
wrapped a ribbon around his neck and called himself your valentine’s gift.
decided it would be fun to wear your lipstick and kiss your cheeks - staining your skin with kiss marks
for lunch, he brought you to the park where you both played around, and afterwards sat down somewhere on the playground and munched on sweets (of your choice!)
the two of you watched those romance dramas together in the evening and fell asleep on an episode you weren’t paying attention to
“come on sweets, it’ll be fun!” Shidou whined, clinging onto your arm like a monkey, smushing his cheek against your shoulder as he pouted. why wouldn’t you let him do your makeup? “im great at makeup! you know that! i’ll do a special valentine’s day theme〜”
“Shidou- no!” you groaned, attempting to pry the taller man off of your arm. “you will not do my makeup, and that’s final!”
“fine…” Shidou sighed dramatically, letting go of you and falling to the floor in a pathetic manner. “guess you just hate me… and you’d even do this on valentine’s day?”
you huffed. he could be such a pain sometimes…
“alright, you can do my-“ your voice was cut off by Shidou’s big hand on your lips, a grin on his face.
“no need to talk more, bae - let’s get started…” he’d chuckle, almost evilly, before pulling out your makeup bag from the pocket of his sweatpants.
“how did you—?” you were cut off once again by his hand, and that stupid smile on his face.
“ah-ah,” he’d wiggle his pointer finger, before poking your cheek.
“let me do my magic!”
by the end of that hour, your face was decorated with sparkly stickers and hearts drawn in pink lipstick. your eyeshadow was almost terrifying, with the way it was so bright - brighter than Shidou’s eyes.
“perfect.” he’d giggle, hand on his mouth as he tried to hold back from full on cackling in your face.
surprisingly, Shidou isn’t bad at makeup - he just wanted to be a little silly for you on valentine’s day!
he posted a photo of you and your makeup, along with cute photos of the two of you throughout the day - like one of the heart engraved onto a bench with your initials, or maybe the photo of you sleeping peacefully with a bow stuck to your forehead - totally not Shidou’s doing!
he also baked with you - but it didn’t turn out great so you both decided to order takeout instead.
takeout wasn’t the most romantic meal, but it sure best whatever you both made…
Itoshi Rin
poor baby didn’t know what to do at first.
he spent a couple weeks planning and brainstorming ideas in his free time - even considering asking Isagi for advice.
instead of turning to that lukewarm freak, he chose to go with what he thought you’d like the most.
he bought you a sweet and simple bouquet, assorted with flowers of your favorite colours and type.
he wrote you a card, and got a plus he’d toy with it too.
he placed everything next to you in the morning, since he wakes up considerably earlier than you do.
when you woke up, you were pleasantly surprised with everything. thanks Rin!
when he got back home, he made the two of you some lunch.
he didn’t want to admit it, but he had been waiting to use the cute little heart plates you had bought especially for valentine’s day.
“this bowl is so cute!” you’d smile, admiring the pretty white plate decorated with pink and red hearts. “is this the one i got you valentine’s day?”
he simply nodded, placing down his plate - and sitting on the chair opposite you.
posted a photo of the two of you holding hands, along with a pretty sunset you both witnessed on your evening walk.
he definitely wasn’t too embarrassed to include the photo he took of your plates! he just wanted to be the only ones to see them
yes, he took you out on a walk in the evening - and when he noticed you shivering, he was quick to wrap his scarf around you and drape his jacket over your shoulders - not realising he just exposed himself and the pink shirt you had gotten him.
his face turned the same colour as his shirt! cute!
“Rin, why is your face so pink? are you getting cold?” you ask him, worried gaze focused on the way his cheeks were pink. “do you want your jacket back—?”
Rin quickly cut you off with a small peck, cheeks blushing even more after the small gesture.
“i was just… blushing.” he mumbles, looking away from you as a teasing smile made its way onto your face.
“aww, you were blushing〜”
Itoshi Sae
bought you a bouquet of purple roses.
purple roses mean love at first sight. <3
he also got you a matching set of earrings, a necklace, bracelet, and an anklet.
along with jewellery, he got you a piece of fancy clothing that he saw you eyeing. (example: dress, suit, button up, tie, skirt, and more! your decision)
got you a pack of cupcakes as a desert for lunch (or any yummy food if your choice)
he spent most of the day taking photos of you and admiring how beautiful you were - even with morning hair, even if you were still in your cheesy pyjamas matching that Sae got you, even if you had your face stuffed with sweets - you were beautiful and Sae wanted to capture that moment. (this is a regular occurrence, but was feeling it a bit more today!)
either takes you to a beautiful and expensive restaurant, or hosts one at home with candles lit nicely.
this valentine’s day, he chose to eat out with you - and brought you to one of the newest and most expensive restaurants in town.
“wow, Sae! this is really nice!” you smiled, placing your fork down next to your plate before looking up at Sae, who was sat opposite you.
“you deserve 10 times more.” he’d respond simply, shrugging off your words with a slight blush on his cheeks.
he watched the way your smile grew. cute.
could it be the perfect time?
“y/n.” Sae said, almost quietly - before pushing his chair back and standing up.
his slim fingers reached into the pocket of his nice dress pants - and you couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat quicken. what was he about to do?
“i have loved you since the first day i met you.” he started, hand wrapping around a small velvet box, before pulling it out of his pocket - he wasted no time on getting down on one knee, eyes looking up at the way you stared back down at him. “do you think that… you could make me even happier, and marry me?” he asks with a small smile on his face.
im sorry, but i definitely feel like he’s the type to propose on valentine’s day!
on the drive home, you had to remind him to her his eyes on the road because he kept admiring the pretty ring on your finger!
bought you another pair of cheesy pyjamas - this time, they were pink cat onesies.
he took so many photos of you and your cute little smile!
he posted a photo of your hand with the ring, being held by his
it took him a good 15 minutes to decide what photo to choose for the ring photo
along with the ring photo, he posted a picture of the two of you in your onesies, a photo of his hand on your thigh as you were both in his car - along with some others of the two of you having fun
Sae was stood in the jewellery shop, looking down at each glimmering ring in the display case.
his cheeks blushed as he imagined each one of them on your pretty hands, how could he ever choose?!
he just could not wait to hold your hand, and look down at the ring.
“um, Sir?” the accountant could ask, waving a hand in front of Sae’s face - who was currently spacing out and fantasising about holding your hand.
oh, guess he got caught up thinking about you.
just then, his eyes caught the most beautiful ring. he could practically see the happy face you’d make when he presents it to you!
he wasted no time pointing to the ring, neutral gaze looking back at the woman.
“i want that one.” he says flatly.
no woman other than you deserves to even look at him. how dare that saleslady even talk to him?
(this wasn’t on valentine’s day, but he practically danced out of the shop when he finally bought the ring)
Micheal Kaiser
how bold of you to assume he’d get you something?
jokes!
he bought you a bouquet of blue roses (a little cliche, but you it’s his thing!)
like Sae, he bought you a lot of pretty jewellery.
got you the prettiest piece of clothing, one that would match an outfit he bought for himself.
he absolutely insisted that it was a coincidence.
for lunch, he brought you to a diner he knew you liked - but when you asked, oh you liked this place? he never knew!
made sure to show you off more than usual the whole day, saying things like “they’re the only person worthy of my love” and other egoistical love confessions, if you get what i mean
for dinner, the two of you dressed up in your matching outfits
he practically begged you to be able to do your hair. (he’ll never ever admit it though, not with his ego)
when you were both finally dressed, you went to a party that his team was hosting.
when the two of you got home, he basically fell asleep on you!
“i’m not falling asleep.” he’d huff, unconsciously nuzzling further into your stomach as her hugged your waist. he just … wanted attention.
“sure,” you’d tease, fingers threading through his hair gently. “is that why you’re cuddled up to me right now?”
“ruhig sein,” he’d huff. “or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
ruhig sein = “be quiet” / “pipe down”
you simply giggle at his words, patting his head gently.
“i’m sorry.” you’d pout playfully, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Kaiser had always loved being babied by you.
it was somehow… comforting?
posted a mirror selfie of the two of you, and maybe, just maybe, a photo of your cute smiling face - if i felt like it!
The next morning, Kaiser woke up to his phone buzzing constantly - and you clinging onto his side. he couldn’t help but bask in the glory of being so famous. he had a pretty person next to him in bed and his post has most likely gone viral once again.
he reached over to the side table and picked his phone up, u locking it quickly to read the comments left on his newest post - which was of the two of you yesterday.
“best couple!” “they’re made for each other.” “y/n looks so pretty!” “they’re matching!?”
was very excited to have so many compliments.
he realised that he gets a lot more when he posts photos of you
#bllk shidou#bllk x reader#bllk x you#blue lock#shidou x reader#shidou ryusei#itoshi sae x you#sae x y/n#sae itoshi x reader#sae x you#itoshi sae#sae itoshi#sae x reader#itoshi rin x you#rin itoshi x reader#itoshi rin#michael kaiser#kaiser x you#kaiser x reader#bllk kaiser#blue lock kaiser#valentines day#valentines#bllk x y/n
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Can I request poly! Judgement Day with a s/o who's a stationary enthusiastic? Never leave me alone in the stationary section at the drugstore because I will buy the entire world
thanks for the request!
stationary sweetheart // poly!judgment day x fem!reader
Readers POV
My eyes widened as I spotted the stationary section. All the bright colors, the pretty gels and inks, the various patterns printed onto sticky notes, the different textures of paper, the abundance of notebooks and notepads. All of it drew me in and I couldn't stop myself when my feet started moving closer and closer.
I slowly walked down the aisle, stopping multiple times to admire something. Coming to a halt, I looked around and realized that my four partners were no where to be seen. Furrowing my brows for a second, I shrugged and carried on browsing.
I gasped when I saw it. The prettiest pen I had ever laid my eyes on. The stick of the pen was wrapped in purple ribbon and purple feathers sprouted from the top. I carefully grabbed the pen and observed it in my grasp. Removing the cap, I scribbled lightly on a piece of sampling paper and immediately grinned. The ink was a beautiful purple gel.
Meanwhile, the other four members of the Judgment Day had been on one mission: get cough medicine. That was until they noticed their fifth member and beloved girlfriend was no longer following behind them. Rhea immediately started to panic, thinking of the worst. The four of them made quick work of spreading out through the store to search.
Back in the stationary section, I happily smirked as my eyes landed on the marker display. These were some of my favorites as my partners would usually let me color on their tattoos to waste time, so I'm always on the look out for new colors. I spotted a packet of pastel markers and another packet that had an 'under the sea' color palette. Holding both packets in my arms along with my purple pen, the various shades and patterns of sticky notes caught my eye. Wandering over to them, I inspected all the different prints and picked up a few packs. I knew we needed some more at the house, so my partners should understand.
A dark blur crossed the aisle opening in front of me before stopping and quickly backing up. "Sweetheart, we've been looking all over for you!" It was Dom. He walked over to me and chuckled at the sight of my arms filled with stationary goodies.
"Sorry, Dom Dom. I couldn't help myself! But, look!" I held out the pretty purple pen and moved it around so the feathers would tickle him.
"That's a real nice pen, chica, but you had Mami worried sick." Dom lectured, but gently smiled at me before I could defend myself. "Let me tell her I found you real quick." He pulled out his phone and sent her a text.
Before either of us had time to leave the aisle, Mami came barreling around the corner and swiftly walked over to us. "Baby, you can't just walk away from us like that! We had no idea where you went!" She said in an exasperated manner, her brows furrowed.
"Mami, I'm sorry, but I just wanted to look at all the pretty stuff... Plus, we're out of sticky notes at home." I held up one of the multiple packs of sticky notes in my arms and watched with a small smile as her resolve faded.
She sighed and shook her head before grabbing all of the items from my arms and putting them in her basket. "Well, thanks for getting the sticky notes, babe. Just let one of us know when you want to go down a specific aisle next time. You scared the hell out of me... thought something happened to you." She held out her hand for me to grab, which I did before proceeding to kiss her cheek. Rhea smirked down at me, then switched her attention to the two men jogging into the aisle. Damian and Finn were out of breath as they looked at me with pointed gazes.
"Don't worry, guys. Rhea and I already gave her the lecture." Dom chimed in, picking up a pack of Halloween stickers behind him and holding it up for me to see. "You want more stickers, too, baby?"
I gasped, "Yes!", snatching the stickers and throwing them in the basket.
"Lass, what do you need that many sticky notes for?" Finn eyed the contents of the basket and looked to me. I pulled the three packs out and held them up to him.
"This one's for whatever anyone wants, this one's for dates on the calendar, and this one's for me to leave little notes around the house for you all." I shyly smiled and gently put them back in the basket.
"You're too sweet, babygirl." Damian pulled me into him and kissed the top of my head. "I better get the most lovey-dovey shit in those little notes." He said with raised eyebrows.
"Of course! The most lovey-dovey shit for all of you." I giggled and Damian attacked the side of my head with soft kisses.
He nuzzled my face into his chest. "Our sweet little angel. But, don't ever scare us like that again." His voice became stern.
"I won't, promise." They all gave me a quick kiss before we checked out and headed home to make good use of my new stationary goodies.
#wwe#rhea ripley#the judgement day#dominik mysterio#finn balor#damian priest#wwe superstars#fanfiction#rhea ripley x reader#dominik mysterio x reader#finn balor x reader#damian priest x reader#the judgment day x reader#poly!judgment day#monday night raw#friday night smackdown#wwe x reader#judgment day fluff
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hi lovely ! 💗
first of all ur writing has me giggling at my screen n shit midday it’s so cutesie ily
second of all i was wondering if you would ever write jason hcs w a daughter of aphrodite reader? (like obv we got him and piper in the books but i’m talking girl mathing, lip gloss wearing, passenger princessing, puts the ‘lover’ in lovergirling type daughter of aphrodite)
all this to say that i love everything u put out sm and if this request doesn’t inspire u no pressure to do it !!
⋆⭒˚.⋆ jason grace x daughter of aphrodite! reader hcs
content: jason grace x daughter of aphrodite! reader
warning: sexual references near the bottom and probs some cursing
author's note: as much as i love piper and i understand why you wouldn't make her the stereotypical daughter of aphrodite and i have no problems with that, we were robbed. at least we had selena but still bro give me a lover girl who is forced out of being softed bc truama. can i have that??? is that too much to ask for??? just a girl who lost all her girlhood the moment the person she loved died?? bc the one thing she was supposed to stand for still didn't stop death?? if she loved and still lost, what is the point of loving at all?? give me this complex character pls and thx
ALSO if you are the same anon i think you are, please love me bc you clearly have a bigger brain than me and youre so sweet like girl honey bunny you have so many good ideas and you keep trusting me to make them happen??? like thank you???
soft boy meets soft girl and they fall in love?????
ummmm yes pls!!
when i tell you these two are literally the definition of soft
look it up if you doubt me
there's literally a picture of them together in the websters dictionary under soft pls
trust me bro i was the printer that printed that page
anyways, when i tell you cute meet cute, i mean it
like, you left jason love letters taped to his cabin door, pretending to be a secret admirer
jason was a blushing flustered mess every time he found one
and then, one evening, he was spending it inside his cabin reading when he heard footsteps approach the door.
it piqued his interest causing him to walk towards the door and wait for a moment.
then a slip of paper slid under the door of his cabin, the now familiar pink glitter gel pen handwriting being a welcome sight
without a second to lose, he whipped the door open to reveal you, crouching down near the door of his cabin
it took you a second to register what happened before you swallowed thickly, raising your hand slightly and waving it
"...hi."
"i think you dropped this," jason replied, coughing away his nerves as he held up the paper, the pink pen glittering in the sunlight
"oh...uh, no, i...i did that on purpose, yeah," you mutter back, hanging your head and beginning to chip at your pink nail polish
"oh."
"yeah."
cue the very awkward silence for a few moments while you two looked at everything but each other.
"do you wann-" jason started only for you to speak up at the same time
"it's alright if you don't-"
now nervous giggles before you motioned for jason to go first, the boy blushing at the sweet smile you gave him.
"you wanna, i dunno, hang out some times?? with me, of course...unless you don't want-"
"jason, i've been sliding notes into your cabin for weeks. yes, i'd very much like to hang out."
"cool. very cool."
DONT WORRY HE GETS LESS AWKWARD WITH TIME I PROMISE
he always carries lip gloss in his jeans from the second you start dating
he quickly figured out your favorite and bought a few to keep on deck after you forgot to put it on one day and were pouty for the rest of the day
he was determined to never have you feel bad again and if lip gloss was the solution, so be it
also, hate hate hates that you do 'girl math'
makes no sense to him and he loves you, but cannot stand it
"no, no, jase baby, if i return the shirt, then the jeans are basically free because i'm returning the shirt, which is money that would have been gone anyways so it doesn't even matter."
"love of my life, the jeans are three times the price of the shirt."
"yeah, but i didn't get coffee the other day, so that's another five off and-"
it doesn't even matter tho bc he pays for everything so like??? why you worrying your pretty little mind about it??? you can't even remember the last time you paid for something
jason bought those jeans for you, if anyone was curious, so you didn't even have to return the shirt. which then gave you liberties to buy another shirt, since you already had the money put aside for the jeans-
i could talk circles around myself all day
i could convince myself to buy a fucking island if i girl math hard enough fr
it is a dangerous thing
also, do not think for one second those love letters stopped when you guys started dating
jason figured they would until one evening he came back from hanging out with leo in bunker nine, finding a letter gently laid on his pillow
he kept all of them in an old nike shoe box, showing your son and daughter once they were old enough to appreciate them always saying,
"this is what love is supposed to look like. if someone doesn't treat you like this, you leave them, ya hear me?"
soft boy and soft girl raise soft children, making them a soft family
OH OH OH THE MOST IMPORTANT HC THAT I NEARLY FORGOT
bows
bro
fucking bows
(if you can't tell from my blog, i am an avid bow enthusiast and not to be that person, but i was putting them in my hair BEFORE they blew up on tiktok, just saying.)
i just know for a fact jason loves when you put them in your hair, liking the feeling of the ribbon when he twirls your ponytail
and he def makes you put them on for sexy time, hair tugging more fun with a little pink bow for some contrast
love love loves when you use the baby blue ribbon that you say always reminds you of his eyes
gets him all blushy and shit
also, you def asked if you could put a ribbon around his dick once and he def said no
jk he can't say no to you
bro looked kawaii as fuck
but you were all giggles and laughs
and he got a rewards out of it, if you know what i mean
chocolates, duh
GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER-
like those sex chocolates with the hormones in them or whatever-
tell me im funny or die
#postcards from covey ౨ৎ#all my love ౨ৎ#pjo#pjo fandom#heroes of olympus x reader#hoo#percy jackon and the olympians#jason grace#jason grace x reader
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boynextdoor having a crush on you
pairing: boynextdoor (ot6) x gn!reader genre: fluff, headcannon
JAEHYUN
the type to go over every interaction with you he had that day while lying in bed trying to sleep
he's so down bad he's probably one of those people who tune everything out the moment you're in the vicinity
has a lovesick smile on his face every time he looks at you!! he's so whipped
probably wouldn't confess that quick, preferring to just pine after you in case you don't like him back (how is that possible honestly)
"And that's how you solve the question," you say, circling the answer on Jaehyun's paper with a blue gel pen, and Jaehyun realises that he completely missed your explanation having gotten lost in the cadence of your voice. He nods his head to act like he understood, but you see right through him.
"Jaehyun, you've got to pay attention if you want to pass the test!" you chastise him, tapping his head lightly with your pen. Jaehyun wishes that were your hand instead.
"I'm sorry! It's just..." he tries to explain, voice lowering, "you're way too distracting..."
"What did you say? I know this is a library, but you don't have to be that soft," you giggle, having not heard him, to Jaehyun's relief.
"Nothing! Um, I guess I'm just tired..?" Jaehyun tries to evade the topic, hoping you wouldn't notice that he lied, with your sharp senses and all.
"Huh," you purse your lips together, "let's call it a day, then."
Jaehyun's eyes widen in confusion. "But it's barely been thirty minutes, and we're not supposed to end until, like, two hours later."
You break into a smile, and Jaehyun tries his hardest not to scream his love for you and turn the entire library against him. "My favourite tutee is tired. How's he going to absorb more information for the next two hours? That'd be pure torture, and I can't have that. Let's go get some ice cream instead! There's a new ice cream parlor that just opened a few blocks away from campus."
You continue rambling, but Jaehyun had already stopped listening after you referred to him as your "favourite tutee".
"I'm... your favourite tutee?" he squeaks, face turning red at his voice crack. You pause your rambling, eyes wide as if you just realised what you said.
"Yeah," you speak up after a while, "you're also, like, my only tutee, so-"
"Let's get going! The ice cream's probably going to melt the longer we take to get there," Jaehyun cuts you off and stands up. You raise your eyebrows at him, unmoving.
Jaehyun smiles. "Come on, don't keep your favourite tutee waiting, yeah?"
You blush furiously, kicking his shin lightly. "You're never gonna let me live this down, are you?" Jaehyun simply shrugs, smile getting impossibly wide.
"Just so you know," he crouches down so he's at your eye level, "you're my favourite tutor, too."
SUNGHO
lovesick af
would probably say yes to anything you say (even if it isn’t a yes or no question bc his mind just blanks out every time he stands in front of you)
would probably try to impress you and would probably also end up making a fool of himself 50% of the time (but it’s okay bc you think it’s cute)
says the flirtiest shit without batting an eye sometimes too
“Hi,” Sungho looks up from his books to see you standing by the empty seat beside him, and he freezes immediately. “is… this seat empty?”
Sungho manages a meek nod, deciding against opening his mouth lest he loses it and declares his love for you in front of the whole lecture hall.
Speaking of the lecture hall, Sungho looks around at all the empty seats around him in confusion. The lecture hall has enough space for the students of his Mechanical Engineering 101 class to sit comfortably by themselves, but you chose to sit beside him. Sungho tries not to smile at that revelation.
You seem to have picked up on what Sungho’s thinking about, and you smile sheepishly. “Um, I recently transferred to this class and I didn’t want to sit alone.”
“It’s okay, I don’t mind!” Sungho dismisses your worries with a wave. “Any friend of Sanghyeok’s is a friend of mine.”
“You know me?” you perk up at the mention of your mutual friend, surprised.
Sungho feels heat creeping up his cheeks. “Y-yeah! I’ve noticed you hanging out with him around campus.”
You beam at him, and Sungho’s breath hitches. “I’ve noticed you, too! You’re always with Jaehyun, right? We should probably all get lunch together sometime.”
Sungho’s brain malfunctions at the flurry of information presented to him. You’ve noticed him, and you just asked him out (alongside Jaehyun, but Sungho pushes that fact aside). Sungho thinks he must be dreaming.
“Sungho?” you call, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sungho realises this is the first time you’ve ever called him by his name, and he yearns for the next time he’ll hear it again.
“Did you not want to hang out with us? You can always say no,” you chuckle awkwardly, feeling small under his intense gaze on you.
Sungho is quickly to wave his hands in a way that signals ‘no’. “Oh, no, I’d love to hang out with you!”
“Though it’d be better if it were just the two of us instead.”
RIWOO
he’s so shy
admires you from afar with the most lovesick smile on his face
probably wouldn’t initiate interactions with you, he’s too shy for that
is so caring
pays attention to you to make up for the silence
“When are you going to confess?” Sungho nudges Riwoo after he sighs for what seems like the tenth time since they started eating at the cafeteria.
“Confess? To who?” Riwoo’s eyes widen, blatantly denying the allegation.
“Come on, Sanghyeok,” Jaehyun narrows his eyes at his friend, “your eyes have never left them the moment we walked into the cafeteria. You literally cannot be any more obvious.”
Riwoo purses his lips together and sighs. “I can’t confess to them out of the blue, man, what if they don’t like me?”
“Who doesn’t like you?” Riwoo’s blood runs cold at the familiar voice, and he turns around to meet eyes with you.
“Our beloved Sanghyeok here has a huge crush on someone,” Jaehyun says nonchalantly as you move to sit down beside Riwoo.
“Really? Do I know them?” you ask as blood rushes to Riwoo’s ears. He’s so flustered he misses the disappointed edge to your voice.
“Uh, you could say that,” Riwoo manages to choke out, “anyway, why are you here? Don’t you have Introduction to Law right now?”
Sungho and Jaehyun raise their eyebrows at Riwoo’s blatant attempt at changing the topic, and if you noticed, you don’t call him out for it.
“Damn, Hyeok, it’s like you’re the one with my schedule. Do you have a crush on me or something?” you tease, “Anyway, I dropped that class a few days ago. In fact, Jeonghan encouraged me to, for some reason.”
“Jeonghan? The professor?” Riwoo straightens at the mention of your professor’s name. He’s well-known as the “most eligible bachelor” on campus despite being a professor, and Riwoo can’t help but feel jealousy crawling through his skin.
“Yeah, he’s so cynical about that course, it’s a wonder how he’s still teaching it,” you chuckle before noticing Riwoo’s reaction.
“Don’t worry, Hyeok, you’re still the only man in my heart.”
Riwoo’s ears flush the darkest shade of red.
TAESAN
he’s a romantic for sure
has multiple playlists dedicated to you for different scenarios (when you walk down the hall, how he feels when he talks to you etc.)
pays attention to your interests (esp your favourite songs) and would check out your favourite artists or albums so he could have something to talk to you about
would probably subtly drop hints about his crush on you through song recommendations bc he’s cheesy like that
“Hey, y/n,” Taesan greets as he slides into the seat next to you, getting his lesson materials out before the class begins. “how was the song I recommended to you a while ago?”
“‘Harvey’ by Her’s? I thought it was really cute! Can you imagine being Harvey, and having someone waiting for you like that?” you launch into a ramble about the song, and Taesan finds himself smiling at how animated you are.
“Well, I don’t think you have to imagine, you probably have dozens of people feeling like that for you,” like me, Taesan almost says, but stops himself before he does.
You smile shyly at his words. “Thanks, Dongmin, but I don’t think that’s the case. I’m not very likeable.”
You sound so sad about it Taesan’s heart aches.
“y/n,” Taesan’s voice lowers with concern, “why would you say that? You’re amazing, okay? Anyone would be happy to have you.”
“Really? Even you?” you tease a little to lighten the mood, and Taesan’s cheek flush red at the sudden turn of events.
“U-uh—”
“Relax, Dongmin! I was only joking,” you giggle, lightly tapping his arm before shifting your focus to your undone homework in front of you. Dongmin chastises himself for chickening out as he looks at your focused face.
“Well, since you liked ‘Harvey’, I have another song recommendation for you,” Taesan pipes up after a while.
“Really? What’s the song?” you reply enthusiastically, and Taesan’s heart skips a beat at your interest.
“‘The Most Beautiful Thing’ by Bruno Major.”
Maybe one day he’ll be confident enough to confess to you directly instead of through his song recommendations.
LEEHAN
he'd probably be friends with you first
would pine after you for a while, afraid to confess and potentially ruin what you both have
occasionally flirts with you like it's free real estate and flusters the hell out of you, but makes no move to confess or anything after (to your frustration, because what are you guys??)
he's gives me such "what are we" vibes ngl
100% would get caught staring at you all the time
"Hey, there's something on your hair." Leehan gently grabs you arm and stops mid-walk. You hold in a breath as Leehan reaches over to brush away whatever was on your hair with his delicate fingers.
Leehan takes one look at your reaction and chuckles. "Don't forget to breathe, y/n. It's gone now."
Your face turns red at getting caught staring at Leehan. Grumbling a small "thanks", you turn around and continue walking towards the cafeteria in hopes that he wouldn't be able to see the blood rushing to your face. Leehan watches your back for a while, breaking out into a soft smile at how cute you were being.
"Hey, wait for me!" Leehan calls, jogging to catch up to you. "Anyway, Dongmin called me earlier to ask for our orders, so I helped you get a Miso Ramen with two eggs, no beansprouts."
Leehan waits to see your reaction, and just like he expected, your face morphs into one of pure surprise. "Woah, how do you know what my go-to order is?"
"Of course I do, I'm not so self-absorbed, okay?" Leehan teases, nudging you.
"Besides, it's a habit of mine to remember things about people I like."
WOONHAK
he’s a huge mess in front of you
can’t even string a proper sentence in front of you bc his mind just goes blank everytime you’re in close proximity
the boys tease him for it all the time (sometimes in front of you)
would probably need the boys to set something up for him to finally confess to you
“God, Woonhak, you’re staring again. Just go talk to them already!” Sungho sighs, nudging his friend a little. Woonhak is unresponsive, too engrossed with his ogling at you to even notice anything but you.
You, in all your glory, standing by the lockers and giggling to your friends with that sweet, sweet laugh of your he would do anything to hear, with that beautiful smile of yours he would do everything to have directed at him.
You, who is standing in front of him now and looking as amazing as ever. Wait, what?
“Woonhak, hi!” you wave a little, beaming up at him. Woonhak thinks he might just die on the spot.
His mind is reeling from the absolute shock at you coming up to initiate a conversation such that he literally just stares blankly at you without responding to your greeting like an idiot, his friends giggling to themselves at the sight.
“Are you okay…?” you wave your hand in front of him, confused at his sudden silence. Woonhak snaps out of his stupor with a jolt. “H-hey! The sun’s out, yeah? Beautiful day today, just like you— I’m sorry, I meant just like your hair! Yeah, I really like your hair.”
Woonhak mentally chastises himself, because what the hell was that, but then you burst out laughing and he feels his whole world stop, and suddenly your laugh is the only thing he hears.
“S-sorry for laughing,” you manage to choke out in between your bouts of laughter, “that was just so cute!”
“Oh, right! Anyway, I wanted to ask if we were still on for after school? You’re supposed to tutor me with math,” you exclaim, and Woonhak furrows his brows together. You guys were supposed to meet today? When did that happen?
Glancing away for a moment, he sees Jaehyun and Sungho nodding their heads aggressively right behind you. “U-uh, yeah, we are!”
“Cool! See you at the library, then!” you beam at him before turning on your heels to rejoin your friends.
“What did you guys do?” Woonhak whines, his legs feeling like jelly after his very, very embarrassing interaction with you.
“Well, we did our best friend duties and asked them out for you. You owe us, yeah? Don’t forget to credit us when you guys get together,” Jaehyun gives Woonhak a rather loud smack on the back, and you glance in their direction to see what the commotion is about.
Locking eyes with Woonhak, you let out a soft smile and a wave, and Woonhak almost squeals. Shyly, he slowly lifts his hand and waves back, his friends watching with shit-eating grins.
He is so down bad for you, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
a/n: ok i may have went too hard on this HELP but ig i’m making up for the lack of bnd content these days hehehe i hope y’all like it!
taglist (send an ask to be added!): @slytherinshua
masterlist
#ICY WRITES#boynextdoor#boynextdoor fluff#boynextdoor imagines#boynextdoor scenarios#boynextdoor x reader#leehan#leehan fluff#woonhak imagines#leehan x reader#leehan imagines#bnd x reader#bnd fluff#bnd imagines#woonhak x reader#woonhak fluff#sungho x reader#sungho fluff#sungho imagines#jaehyun x reader#jaehyun fluff#jaehyun imagines#riwoo x reader#riwoo imagines#riwoo fluff#taesan x reader#taesan imagines#taesan fluff#sanghyeok x reader#sanghyeok fluff
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daughters of the evening
⭒⭒⭒⭒
in which luke’s descent from good may be found.
pairing: luke castellan x (fem) reader
a/n: hey guys!! first fic in a while and i know, i know, pjo book readers are disappointed in me… but i’m just a girl! i’m literally just a girl! please enjoy my brain baby i love her :) i love writing quests so much, so this was really nice to write for my first fic back on tumblr. i hope you guys enjoy! if anybody wants to be added to my pjo taglist, let me know!
warnings: canon typical violence, book spoilers, blood/injury description, rusty writing
words: 5.8K
⭒⭒⭒⭒
(y/n) couldn’t remember when the change in Luke became permanent.
She could remember the hints of something at the corners of his eyes, something that bit at the happiness that filled them, eating away at it like rot on wood. She could remember the slow decline in his respect for his father, respect that had barely been there for years, though was now bridging on outright disrespect.
She could remember the crux of it all, the very moment in which all of the little things began to coalesce into something ugly. A flash of claws, the deep scarlet of mortal blood followed by shimmering gold ichor. The horrible sound of screaming. Gleaming fruits of gold. Gorgeous, blooming green trees towering above them that concealed the violence below.
It was after the quest that Luke, her Luke, was never the same.
⭒⭒
“I don’t remember San Francisco looking like this.”
Luke’s lips curled into a smile. “You’ve never been to San Francisco.”
(y/n) rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen it in movies through which I have lived vicariously. It’s in one of the Indiana Jones’s, right? Looks different.”
“Those movies are from the eighties,” Luke said. “So, yeah, it’s going to look different.”
Charles Beckendorf, their questmate, heaved a sigh. “Do you guys ever stop?”
“Stop what?” (y/n) asked.
“Being annoying? Flirting? Whatever you want to call it.”
Her face felt awfully hot and she found herself unable to even look in Luke’s general direction. It was a comment that had been made many times in the past, one she was sure Luke was sick to death of, but she found herself yearning for comments like it. They meant that maybe she wasn’t dreaming up something between them.
Either way, she didn’t acknowledge it, rather stuffing her hand into her unzipped backpack and scrounging around until finally she found what she wanted. With a dramatic flair, she revealed three paper maps, each embellished with their names written in colourful pen at the top.
A moment of silence, then Luke said, “Why do we need a map each? Can’t we just share? And where did you even get those?”
“I got them back in Salt Lake City, before we happened upon that massive crab, you remember the one? All blue and slimy.” She pressed the maps into their hands. “There are multiple because knowing you both, you’ll lose them and I’m not buying any more. But, look! They’re colour-coded. Green for me because, duh, Demeter. Orange for Beckendorf, red for you. We can at least make this quest for some stupid apples interesting.”
Beckendorf raised a brow, giving her a strange look. “With glittery gel pen?”
“Glittery gel pen makes everything better,” she insisted. “I’m glad you acknowledge that. Now, come on. With all this talking you two have been doing, we don’t have much time to spare. You’re like a pair of gossiping grannies.”
The two shared a look over her head, one they thought she didn’t see, but it only made her hold back a laugh. They were a relatively upbeat group as it was, but she prided herself on keeping the mood light, especially when danger was looming. With the might of glittery gel pens, a travel-size game of Monopoly, and a cheesy puns book they had picked up off the side of the road, they would be unstoppable should their enemies need a good laugh.
It wasn’t that they weren’t capable of what was ahead of them that she felt the need to joke around, it was just her regular nerves. The three of them were experienced and powerful demigods, skilled fighters and strategists, the best of the best. Luke had his immense skill with a sword and the mind of a trickster; Beckendorf had the brains and strength of a blacksmith, and could sense a trap a mile away and disarm it in moments; (y/n) herself was a powerful daughter of Demeter and, though not to the standard of Luke, was also skilled with a sword.
They hadn’t faced much trouble before. They were a tried-and-tested trio, having been on multiple quests together in the past and finding themselves working well together.
This time, it seemed like a match made by the Fates. A quest ordained by Hermes, Luke’s father, to retrieve the Apples of Immortality from the Garden of the Hesperides - gardens and plants being the domain of Demeter and, by extension, (y/n). And, no doubt, there would be many traps or the need for a strong mind, hence Beckendorf. He was a year or two younger than she and Luke, but had proved himself upon countless occasions. She trusted him with her life.
Almost a week now they’d been on this quest, and still she felt like a giddy child. Almost seventeen and, at her big age, she was holding back smiles and giggles befitting of a schoolgirl with a crush. Part of it was gratefulness that a demigod such as Luke had chosen her to join him on this quest, even after being friends for years and having gone on numerous quests together already. Part of it was simply that she was madly in love with the boy.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, then, watching the way the afternoon sun gleamed on his face, setting his dark eyes alight with flame. There was a curious smile on his lips, one that concealed mischief and intelligence; one she had loved for as long as she could remember. His hair was messy after days of travelling and not bothering to fuss with it - she dreaded to think of what her own looked like, the only mirror she had being her sword - but there was something so extremely endearing about it. Wild curls that gave his lightly-freckled face even more life.
Their maps didn’t help their hunt for the Garden an awful lot. For what had to have been at least two hours, they stumbled around the city, turning this way and that, earning odd looks from strangers.
“For being the son of the god of travellers,” (y/n) said, “you are horrendous at reading a map.”
Luke gave her a nudge with his elbow as he scanned the map. He was grinning. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. “Maps make sense enough, but I think these ones are out of date.”
“Maps don’t go out of date, stupid.”
Beckendorf was holding back a smile. “I think he’s right. I think our maps are too old.”
(y/n) glowered at them, plucking their maps from their hands. Fine. They didn’t deserve to hold maps graced with her glittery gel pens anyways.
“Well,” she said. “Unless either of you have any ideas, we’re going to be stuck wandering for hours. Come on, Luke. Use your magicky journey powers. They got us this far.”
His eyes shone, and her knees felt a little weak. She loved it when he looked at her like that, when she had said something funny. It was as though the heavens themselves had descended and flooded his face with light and beauty. She couldn’t look away.
“It’s a big garden,” he retorted. “Find the big garden, daughter of the mighty Demeter!”
She knew he meant it as a joke - the sarcasm was practically dripping from his voice - but there was something in his tone that she couldn’t identify. Something deeper than a simple sarcastic comment. This had been a pity quest, of sorts, she knew. Luke had been getting restless and his father had wanted to satiate him, but it wasn’t enough. He was displeased with the gods, to say the least.
But he kept a good lock on his expressions, on his words. She wouldn’t have suspected a thing had she not known him as well as she knew the feeling of grass beneath her feet.
Eventually, combining their powers and the single brain cell that seemed to be taken by Beckendorf, they found their way to the Mount Tamalpais State Park, which was not open to visitors now that the sun was setting.
They stared up at the distant mountain, the sloping greenland and towering trees that led towards it, and heaved a synonymous groan. Quests could never be even slightly easy, it seemed. Why would the gods let them head to a random park in the city when they could have them trespassing in a state park at night, lives in the hands of the monsters and animals alike that roamed the woods? The gods would rather have them arrested than have something be easy.
“You’re kidding, right?” Beckendorf said. “We don’t have to walk all that way?”
(y/n) frowned. She wished more than anything that they could just turn around and leave, a feeling she did not often get on quests. But something didn’t feel right. There was a twist in her gut, a deep intuition that told her something was going to go wrong.
But her gut was also pulling her towards the mountain. There was a power there, unlike any she had felt before, and she wanted to know what it was.
“We’ll be fine,” she insisted, though she didn’t feel entirely sure herself.
She was the first to make the step towards their darkening fates. If she had known the outcome, she would have turned and fled immediately.
The three of them trudged up the path, flicking on torches when the sky grew darker and the ground in front of them too hard to see. It gave them an eerie glow, entirely unlike the warm glow of their weapons. All of their features were in stark contrast to the dark surroundings; Luke’s cheekbones, Beckendorf’s eyes, her brownbone. It was disconcerting, and it felt all too much like they were the lead characters in a ghost story.
She was considering turning back about halfway there. The tug in her gut was becoming stronger, almost unbearable, and her head was pounding, filled with the worry of the possible incidents that had not happened yet.
The only thing that kept her going was Luke’s pinky finger wrapped around hers.
Maybe he felt her nerves, so acute that she feared her sinews and tendons and bones could snap at any moment. But Luke knew her. He had known her since they were barely teenagers. He knew her better than she knew herself: every habit she had; every face she made; every hint of a feeling before she knew it was coming. He had some deep understanding of her, one that would have made her feel vulnerable in any other situation with any other person. Luke was not any other person.
His pinky was wrapped around hers tightly, warmer than the rest of her body put together. It curled around hers just so, acknowledging her worry. His jacket sleeve brushed hers.
It wasn’t until they reached the Garden at the foot of the mountain that his hand wrapped around hers fully, encasing it entirely in warmth and comfort. His palms were calloused, fingers ribbed with light scars, but she could not imagine it any other way.
The Garden of the Hesperides was easily the most beautiful place she had ever seen and was likely the most beautiful place she would ever see. Stars hung above them in the night sky, glittering so brightly it was as though they could reach out and touch them with their outstretched fingers. Lush green grass coated the ground beneath their feet and beyond, speckled with flowers so bright they almost glowed in the dark. It was bristling with life, so full of it that (y/n) could feel it all deep in her bones.
But the source of the power lay further afield.
A tree, much taller than the rest, stood at the centre of the garden, boasting more golden apples than (y/n) could count. Its branches swayed in the faint breeze in mesmerising swoops, and the scent of fresh fruit laced with something that could only be described as addictive brushed over them. A faint mist swirled around the trunk of the tree, glittering slightly in the moonlight.
“Holy Hephaestus,” Beckendorf murmured, slack-jawed.
“That’s one big tree,” Luke said.
“You certainly have a way with words,” (y/n) said.
His hand only squeezed hers in response. She could feel his heartbeat in his wrist. How was it so steady?
There was a shift in the wind, then, and a soft bite came into the air. Goosebumps prickled the skin of their arms, raising the hair there. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she swore she could hear the faintest lull of singing voices and could feel the weight of some large presence in the air. Nothing could be seen but the beautiful garden and the decadent tree in the centre.
“Luke Castellan,” said a soft voice. Luke visibly tensed, eyes narrowing at the usage of his surname. “(y/n) (l/n). Charles Beckendorf. We have been expecting you in our Garden for quite some time now.”
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. But, finally, after a few moments, the speaker emerged from the fine mist.
She didn’t look like much, appearing to be barely older than (y/n), but there was something about her surrounding aura that suggested she was much, much older. Dark, inky hair tumbled over narrow tawny shoulders, framing even darker eyes that shone with unknown magic. The woman seemed to blink slowly, as if bored or tired, and it looked as though she were merely floating over the ground rather than walking. It was hard to tell. Her Greek chiton covered her feet.
“We are the Hesperides,” she said, voice ever gentle, as four more women appeared, each almost identical in appearance. “Daughters of the Evening. Nymphs of the Sunset. Protectors of this Garden. What is your business here?”
There was a cockiness to Luke’s smile then, one that had (y/n) on edge. “If you’ve been expecting us, then surely you know our business.”
The lead Hesperide drew nearer, stopping a few feet away from their trio. Her sisters gathered at her sides, dark eyes sparkling with stars and cold curiosity and something overtly bitter. The demigods were clearly unwelcome here, but they intended to make a game of their quest.
(y/n)’s hand squeezed Luke’s in warning. He spared her a glance, her heart drawing still when his warm eyes met hers. His chin dipped slightly in a nod, and he gave her hand a squeeze before turning his attention back to the Hesperides.
“We’ve been sent here on a quest by my father Hermes,” Luke announced. His voice held more confidence than she felt. “We’re here to retrieve a golden apple.”
It was strange watching the Hesperides’ heads tilt in unison as if they were each an extension of the other. Voices lulled around them, soft and gentle, and the worry seeped from her very bones. Her hand fell from Luke’s. Something felt strangely at ease in her stomach despite their circumstances.
“You may try,” said the lead Hesperide. Her skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight. “Our dearest Ladon protects this tree with his life. He does not sleep. Every second of every day, he guards our gift from Gaea, the goddess Hera’s wedding gift. Do not think it will be easy to pass him.”
The Hesperides seemed to fade into the mist, then, their bodies becoming light and transparent as they slowly backed away until nothing was left but the faint singing swirling around them. The voices gave (y/n) a strange feeling, as though pulling her towards the tree.
“Who’s Ladon?” Beckendorf asked.
The three of them stood for a moment, watching the swirling mist.
“A dragon,” (y/n) said. “A big dragon.”
She could feel his presence, she realised. The heavy weight that had settled over them upon entering the Garden, it couldn’t be anything else. Even still, she could feel him through the ground, like an impending sense of death and doom. She’d had similar feelings before, an innate knowledge that the strawberry fields were close to wilting one year. Campers had called her crazy, but she knew. The earth knew.
And it knew now. She was horribly aware of the heaviness in her gut that surrounded the bright power of the apple tree. It could be nothing but Ladon.
“Any ideas, Luke?” she asked. “You’re our idea guy.”
He scoffed. “Since when? You’ve been dragging us around by our ears this entire quest.”
But he could see the nerves that she felt. He knew how strange this was for her, to feel so deeply worried about a quest. He knew something was wrong.
“I’ll get the apple,” he said, and his shoulders rose with confidence. His hand, the one that had held (y/n)’s moments ago, twitched just so. “I’m the fastest out of the three of us. You two, keep our friend distracted.”
There was a deep grumble at that moment, as if Ladon were making himself known. It shook the ground and the boughs of the tree trembled. Sweet-smelling apples tumbled into the mist.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to get the apples?” (y/n) asked. “You brought along a daughter of Demeter for a reason.”
He smiled softly at her. “That’s not the reason I brought you along.”
And, before either she or Beckendorf could protest his stupidity or question his statement, Luke’s glowing sword materialised in his hand and he was running into the mist.
The mist spread apart as his feet made contact, and (y/n)’s heart dropped. Beckendorf, one of the bravest demigods she had ever met despite his age, had a tremor in his hands as he pulled free his sword.
Within the mist was the largest monster (y/n) had ever seen. It was wrapped around the tree in a serpentine-like way, scales glimmering in the moonlight like molten copper and bronze. Massive claws sunk into the dirt surrounding the tree, at least the length of her forearm and as wide as Beckendorf’s. Every breath it released shook the branches of the tree as though caught in a gale.
The most horrifying part: the dragon had a hundred heads.
She had read about Ladon, had familiarised herself with the myths surrounding the Hesperides. Days before the quest, she and Luke had sat down at the canoe lake, poring over old history books that told the tale of Heracles and his Twelve Labours, one of which was the very quest they were being made to repeat. Luke had made a joke of it back then, unhappy with the quest he had been given and disbelieving that what they faced would be much of a threat.
But Ladon was no joke. It was an entirely different thing seeing drawings of the dragon and seeing him in real life. His hundred heads slithered through the air like snakes on the water, luminous yellow eyes watching the demigods with piqued interest.
Even Luke faltered.
A deep breath came from all two hundred of the dragon’s nostrils, washing over them in a hot, acidic wave. The smell alone was horrendous, like an old, decrepit sewer filled with rotting rats, and it had the hairs on her arms standing and her eyes burning.
She was worried that she may never be able to move again, frozen in place by the sheer might of Ladon, but when Luke turned to look at her, blood flooded into her veins again. He was counting on her. She wouldn’t let him down.
Ladon expected a frontal assault. He was waiting for Luke to attack, watching like a predator on prey, but he did not expect the very tree he protected to act against him.
With a heave of energy, (y/n) stretched out her arm and watched as the tree’s trunk began to swell as if filling with liquid. Ladon’s serpentine body writhed around it, twisting as he moved to accommodate the growing tree. The branches above him shook, dipping towards the ground slowly. Too slowly.
The dragon seemed to realise what, or who, was causing the change, and snarled ferociously. It was at that moment that Beckendorf grabbed a ball of Celestial bronze from his belt and, with a strong arm and remarkably good aim, threw it at the beast.
An explosion of green ignited before them as the ball slammed into Ladon’s thick hide. The dragon roared, whether in pain or fury, and set its bright gaze on (y/n) and Beckendorf.
Fear coursed through her body. She could hardly breathe. The branches wavered, pausing the pursuit to the ground. Beckendorf launched another one of his Celestial bronze bombs.
A pity quest, that’s what this had been. But, maybe, it was more than that. Maybe this was Hermes’ punishment for Luke wanting more from his life. Maybe this was (y/n)’s consequence for falling so irrevocably in love with Luke - for feeling the way she did, she would have to follow him to impossible circumstances.
But none of them deserved it.
It was at that moment that Luke took his leap.
With speed befitting a child of Hermes, he leapt onto Ladon’s mighty body, feet finding purchase on his rough scales, and launched himself upwards towards the descending branches.
For a moment, there was hope. Even Heracles had not retrieved the apples by facing Ladon, but maybe Luke would. Perhaps Luke would succeed where Heracles had not. Pride swelled in her heart, coated her tongue like warm honey, and she almost smiled.
Copper-coloured claws flashed in the moonlight. A chorus of soft, harmonising voices swirled around them like mist.
Mistake, they sang. The boy has made a mistake.
There was a cry of pain so guttural that (y/n) felt it in her soul. Her feet were moving before she could truly comprehend what was happening. The grass tried to reach for her ankles, tried to stop her in her mission, but nothing could. Had a god stood before her, she would have found her way past them. Nothing could stop her, not even this dragon that caused such fear in her bones.
She reached Luke as Ladon wound around the tree tightly, snarling protectively. Something in the beast’s demeanour hinted at pain beneath the danger, and when she saw the gold blood pooling just a few feet away, she knew why.
A claw, one of Ladon’s, severed from the knuckle down lay strewn in the grass. The dragon hissed as Beckendorf snatched it up, hefting his sword as (y/n) pulled Luke away.
He was bleeding badly. A deep gash ran from the tip of his brow down to the corner of his mouth, somehow missing his eye but cutting just above and below. His skin was already becoming dangerously pale. Her hands were covered in blood. His blood. She was going to be sick.
“Hey,” she murmured, gently laying his head on her lap. Her hands trembled as she reached into her bag. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”
Luke shuddered, eyes half-lidded and struggling to find something to focus on. “Are you -?”
“I’m fine,” she said. After a terrible moment, one that took far too long, she pulled free a small vial of nectar, wrapped tightly in old face-cloths to keep it from smashing in her bag. Her hands couldn’t stop shaking as she tried to unwrap it.
Beckendorf knelt beside her, claw at his side, and took the vial from her hands. She didn’t know how his hands could be so steady. She could hardly breathe. Not with Luke so injured, not with Ladon eyeing them hungrily.
He handed the vial back, and she propped Luke’s head up slightly. With a hiss of pain, she managed to open his mouth just enough to pour the small amount of nectar in. He swallowed with a struggle.
There was no telling how long it would take the nectar to work, but they couldn’t stay there under the watchful glare of Ladon, who looked ready to attack again. (y/n) took a trembling breath.
“Beckendorf,” she said, “are you able to carry him? At least until we can get out of this place. I can try - I can clean the wound when we’re safe.”
He nodded and hoisted Luke up into his arms, careful not to jostle his head too much.
She didn’t realise she had been crying until they stopped.
Beckendorf set Luke down on a soft patch of grass beyond the Garden, and (y/n) tucked her jacket underneath his head. The nectar seemed to be working, albeit slowly. Some colour was returning to his skin, but it was hard to see under all of the blood.
“You’re okay,” she murmured again, but she wasn’t sure who she was telling. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands.
She grabbed one of the face-cloths the vial of nectar had been wrapped in, soaking it in water from her water bottle, and slowly brought it to Luke’s face.
His eyes seemed to have some ability to focus now, watching her beneath a glaze of pain. It tore her soul in half to see him in pain, wincing as she gently dabbed the blood from his cheek. Her fingers were stained. His cheek was, too.
“I’m going to keep watch,” said Beckendorf. “Those Hesperides gave me a bad feeling.”
(y/n) nodded, watching for a moment as he trudged a few feet away, just out of earshot, but her focus soon returned to Luke. She tried not to think too much about how his hand was gripping her knee as she cleaned the rest of the blood.
“Is the nectar working?” she asked when she saw his eyes drooping. “What does it taste like?”
His gaze found hers, warm and cloudy. A pained smile fought its way onto his lips despite the slowly-healing scar on his cheek. She could see the skin trying to sew itself back together with the aid of the nectar.
“That smoothie you made a few months back with the - with the camp’s strawberries,” he uttered. “And whatever those green leaves were.”
She found herself smiling despite the red coating her hands. “Mint. And it was that good, huh? Last I checked, nectar for you tasted like that weird concoction of Coke and Sprite you liked so much.”
For a moment, his eyes grew distant before refocusing on her face. They flickered over her features as if seeing them for the first time. His hand felt awfully warm on her knee.
“Anything you make is better,” he said.
“Is that so?” She brushed his hair back from his face softly, cleaning the last bits of blood.
His skin was still stitching itself back together, but the nectar seemed to have stopped the bleeding. Second by second, blood flooded back into his face, giving him the colour that seemed to have been leached from his skin.
He nodded, his smile seeming as though it pained him less. His hand slipped from her knee, coming up to wrap itself around hers. The cloth fell from her fingers and onto the grass. Her fingers were still wet, though in the dim light she couldn’t tell if it was from water or lingering blood. She didn’t have the stomach to find out.
“You said you didn’t bring me on this quest because of my mother,” she said cautiously. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “So why did you?”
A soft squeeze of her hand. “This wasn’t a quest I wanted to do without you,” he said. “I like having you by my side. You give me strength.”
She was sure he could feel her pulse beating rapidly in her fingers, but he didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. It was entirely likely that he was able to read her mind, he knew her so well. And she was okay with that.
“You’re stupid, you know,” she said, but her voice wavered.
“Stupidly brave?” he suggested. “Stupidly handsome? Stupidly charming?”
“I’m supposed to be supporting you right now,” she grumbled. “Not the other way around.”
His cocky grin was back and her heart fluttered. “Which one is it?”
“Which what?”
“Stupidly brave, handsome, or charming?”
All three, she thought. All three and so much more.
“Stupidly stupid,” she decided.
Her thumb grazed his cheekbone, the one without the scar, and a shiver ran through his body. His hand tightened on hers and his smile softened into something more personal. It was the kind of smile she would have leapt into Tartarus to ensure its permanence on his lips. Soft and kind and reserved just for her. If she'd been standing, her knees would have buckled.
“You give me strength, too,” she murmured.
A sliver of hair slipped in front of her eyes, and moments later, Luke’s free hand was there, gently brushing it away. His eyes sparkled. They seemed clearer now, less agonised.
The events of the last hour - gods, it had felt like much longer - came crashing back onto her at his touch, asphyxiating and terrifying. Overwhelming guilt filled her veins and arteries with terrible speed, sapping all the strength from her bones. Her fingers trembled once more.
“I’m sorry,” she said. Her throat felt suddenly raw. “If I’d done a better job distracting Ladon, maybe you wouldn’t be hurt.”
Luke’s eyes were dark for a moment, swirling with something she couldn’t identify, but they softened seconds later. His hand rested on her cheek, warm and comforting, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at his eyes now.
“This is not your fault,” he said, and his voice was remarkably strong. “This is the gods’ fault. It’s my father’s fault. But it is not your fault.”
She tried to believe him, truly she did, but looking at the fresh scar on his face, even having been almost entirely healed with nectar, had her heart heavy in her chest.
He knew this. Gods, he knew her every thought. His hand slipped from hers, cupping her other cheek and tilting her head so that she would look at him properly. There was a flush to his cheeks now - good, it meant he was getting better.
“My father did this,” he insisted. “You hear me? This was not you. And, gods, believe me when I say that I’m glad it was me that went for the apples and not you. I couldn’t live with myself if you got injured.”
But you did, she wanted to say - no, scream. How do I live with that?
“I’m okay,” he said softly, cautiously, as if talking to a child who had just woken from a nightmare. “I’m okay.”
His hand fell from her face, taking hers in its grip once more, and placed her fingers on the newly formed scar.
She jerked back, terrified that the sensation would cause him more pain, but he just gave her that smile again, the one that made her knees feel like jelly, and pressed her fingers to it once more. Already, the skin was raised and slightly twisted, accommodating for the injury. She could faintly feel his pulse beneath his skin, slow and infuriatingly steady.
“It doesn't hurt,” he promised. His voice was so reassuring that she could feel it in her bones, and she was half-convinced he was secretly a child of Aphrodite, blessed with charmspeak. “I’m okay because of you.”
Her throat was achy. “And Beckendorf.”
He gave a small laugh. “And Beckendorf. But mainly you. You’ve given me strength.”
It was then that the world itself seemed to stop. He was leaning upwards, bringing her face close to his, and his lips brushed hers so softly that she feared she may have been dreaming the entire encounter.
She could taste the faint remnants of metallic blood, though it was easily brushed aside. Luke’s lips were slightly wind-chapped but she found herself uncaring when they slotted perfectly against hers.
This kiss was something she had been waiting years for, and it was better than she could have ever dreamed. The feeling of his hands on her, his lips against hers, it was something that could not be replicated in a dream, like flying for the first time and feeling the clouds beneath your fingers.
It was addictive, more so than the stupid apples that had caused Luke such pain, and she found herself wanting more. It was an effort to pull away from him, but eventually, she did. Beckendorf was only a few feet away and she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. It would make for an awkward journey home.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that,” Luke murmured.
Finally, there was a smile tugging on her lips again. “You’ve no idea how long I’ve been waiting.”
It took another hour or so before Luke was well enough to get moving. The dark trails gave all of them a bad feeling, and (y/n) wasn’t able to shake the almost hypnotic choral voices of the Hesperides until they were out of the State Park. Luke was shaky on his feet for a little while but his strength was returning.
And with it came anger.
Not anger at (y/n) or Beckendorf, no. He still smiled at them as usual, fingers entwined with (y/n)’s so tightly it was as though he was afraid she would slip away. Jokes still slipped past his lips despite the events of the evening.
But he was filled with fiery rage. It was hidden, but (y/n) could read him like a book. She had seen the inklings of it throughout the previous days of their quest, had seen it more clearly while she was cleaning the blood from his face - this anger, though, was pure. Harder to mask.
He had already been furious with his quest, a detail he had tried to keep hidden from her. He hated the idea of repeating history and the fact that this quest was simply made to satiate him, to prevent him from growing restless at camp and questioning the authority of the gods.
This was a breaking point.
It became clearer the more time passed. As the days and weeks went by, he would hold her hand like a lifeline and kiss her so softly it felt as though she was dreaming, but the anger never left. It ate away at him, dimming his smiles and reducing any respect he had left for the gods until there was nothing left but a shadow of what had once been there.
The scar never faded. It became a reminder of what he believed to be the gods’ failure. His failure.
He was still her Luke. The Luke she had known and loved since she was thirteen. She was just terrified of what he might become.
#givemea-dam-break#luke castellan x reader#pjo luke x reader#pjo luke castellan x reader#pjo x reader#percy jackson and the olympians x reader#luke castellan#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo#x reader#fanfiction#luke castellan fanfiction#pjo fanfiction
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I LOVE YOU (NOT IN A CLICHÉ WAY)
akaashi x gn!reader | a love letter from him to you! i forgot i wrote this for myself as a supposed birthday surprise so. i guess that worked out for me
the thing about clichés is that at some point, you stop feeling anything at the sight of them.
yearning, infatuation, love so tender and whole that it wrapped around someone completely and sunk deep, deep, deep into their skin and bones, into their veins where they felt it was the same as the oxygen already flowing through—i need you like i need air to breathe.
the same idea repeated over and over until the point of akaashi’s current existence—where he sits, favourite blue gel pen in hand, with at least seven crumpled pieces of paper in the bin next to his desk and the light of his lamp more of a headache than anything—until it no longer feels like enough for whatever he feels for you.
he curses every film and novel for making oxygen too little, too mundane of a comparison for how fundamental you are to his existence.
five hours. five hours he’s been sitting here, reading poetry and writing drafts and bullet points of what he wanted to say, utterly failing at writing a single coherent paragraph. but he couldn’t afford to fail, not this time. this birthday was more important than any other before—it was the first of your birthdays together as a couple.
definitely not the first together, period. keiji thinks if he didn’t meet you when he was thirteen, he’d have turned out to be someone completely different.
and after so many years, everything about you came naturally to him. it was to the point that other friends and acquaintances had come up to him before with questions about gifts for you. you already had a mug with that design, you weren’t a fan of the shirt’s texture, and you could be picky about art of that character, but he could send some of your favourite artists for reference. the person who knew you best, second to no one but you, was akaashi keiji.
he has been since you were fifteen years old.
so the fact that he’s sat here for hours, failing, is a blemish on his record.
he refuses to call it a phenomenon because that word makes it seem so grand, when in reality his situation makes him so incredibly frustrated it was more of a curse. it was an ugly, annoying, unbelievable stain on his identity and soul because for fuck’s sake, shouldn’t it be easier now as your boyfriend?
not only does he know your different laughs and the way your lips wobble while you try to hide it, now he knows how it feels when you try to stifle the noise in the crook of his neck, a smile pressed against his skin. he knows the feeling of your fingers intertwined between his while walking through the farmer’s market, and raking through his hair after he’s showered while it’s soft and fluffy the way you adore. he knows the taste of your favourite lip balm against his lips, what it sounds like when you hum or giggle as you’re pressed against his body and your arms are wrapped around his neck. he could pick you out in a line up of people blindfolded if asked, just by the way you hugged him.
it should be easier for him than anyone else, because you weren’t just his oxygen—you were part of him.
but even that was another cliché.
keiji lets his head hit the desk, hands coming up to pull at the roots of his hair while a loud groan escapes his lips.
“should i learn how to bake?” he mutters to himself before grimacing. “watch me bake a cake and give the love of my life food poisoning. incredible plan. what the hell is in a cake? what would i even put on it? awful cursive lettering?”
no one talked about the pressure that came with the first birthday in a relationship. why is this not a more pressing specific situation for newly dating people? why did no one tell him he’d feel like a heavy rock rested on his chest at the thought of disappointing you not only as a friend but as a boyfriend. he thinks he could die.
he can’t, won’t, die, but you’ll get home from your friend’s place in only a couple of hours and he’s running out of time (not really. he’s doing this a week early, but he set a schedule for himself and it’s the principle of the thing.)
“fuck it,” he murmurs. “whatever, whatever. let what happens happen, and if it’s bad i’ll just…internally die.”
resolute, keiji puts his pen to the page and starts writing before the ink can bleed.
hi.
i’ve written drafts of this too many times already. maybe i shouldn’t tell you that so it seems like i’m a natural romantic, but it probably doesn’t surprise you that i’ve crumpled up a lot of paper in the last couple of hours because i tried avoiding being too cliché. but if i’m being honest i love you so much it feels like a cliché in and of itself. so i guess i’ll just lean into it and write whatever comes to mind.
i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you.
i love waking up to you every morning. i love cooking breakfast with you. i love wearing the “kiss the chef” apron kuroo gave us so i have an excuse to ask for a kiss on the cheek, even though i know you’d kiss me without it.
i love listening to you talk about your day and seeing the photos you took with friends. i love when you send me pictures while you’re out and ask what i think about your outfit. sorry i’m bad at knowing what to say, i’m really not lying when i say i think you always look nice. i know that isn’t super helpful when you’re being indecisive, but i hope i’ve gotten better over the years? i feel like i have but if you want to disagree i guess i’ll accept since it’s your birthday.
i love when you ask if i want to go out somewhere with you. i love sending you places and things i think you’ll enjoy. i love seeing how excited you get and i love surprising you with them a few weeks later. i love seeing our gifts for each other and souvenirs around the apartment every day i come home.
i love taking care of you, even when you think i shouldn’t, when you think you’re a burden for me. i’ll do the chores when you’re tired. i’ll get in the bath with you and wash and dry you, no matter how long it takes. i’ll dress you if you ask me to, let you steal my bracelets and slippers when you want them. i’ll make sure the bed is cold but the blanket is warm so you can cuddle beside me. i love being the person you come home to, and i hope i make it worthwhile every time.
you’ve always been there to remind me you love me, even when i think you shouldn’t, that it’s impossible that you do. so i hope you know i feel the same way about you, that i’ll love you despite what your head might say, and even if the world would end because of it.
i love being with you. even after a decade together, i only love you more and more.
and i do need you like oxygen. i need you like plants need the sun. you’re my favourite person, you’re my safe place, you’re my home. you’re my better half and your own person that just happens to fit with me. you’re my soulmate and also someone i was just lucky enough to meet. you fit every possible cliché and trope i can think of. every single one is true, which makes me think maybe you’re the kind of person old poets and writers were inspired by. they’re not around though, so i hope i can be enough.
happy birthday :) i’d say i hope we only get to spend more together, but at this point you couldn’t get rid of me even if you tried. (please don’t try though i’ll cry.) so instead, i hope every birthday is as warm and bright as you. i hope you remember i’m here with you, and always will be. every midnight you get a little older, all the way until the end. as cliché as all of this might sound, i love you forever,
keiji writes your name especially careful, making sure it sits perfectly on the line and each pen stroke is clean. then he draws a little heart beside you before signing off with his own name, and letting out a deep breath. his fingers tremble a little when he finally puts the pen down.
there’s blue ink on his hand, and he thinks there might be some on his temple from forgetting to unclick his pen. but it’s a problem for nightly routine keiji to wash off, not him now.
the letter would sit in a gift bag for another week, but then it would be in your hands. it wasn’t proofread—he could have spelt his own name wrong at the end and no one would know until then. but he can’t bring himself to reread it this time. maybe because he’s tired or doesn’t want to feel cheesy, maybe so it feels more romantic, more raw. maybe because at the end of the day, whether you loved the letter so much you framed it on your bedroom wall, or you accidentally spilled water and rendered every word illegible, he’d have you anyway. and you’d have him.
and he’d just write another one, once again filled with clichés and an embarrassing amount of i love you’s, as long as you’d let him.
pleak pretend this letter really is for u. it's half of this post come onnn it's for u now. happy birthday! i love u i love u i love u i love u (4 so it isn't a cliche) mwah
#haikyuu x reader#akaashi x reader#haikyuu fluff#akaashi fluff#haikyuu x gn!reader#i really did forget i had this. i wrote it like. 2 months ago#i was supposed to post it then too but i thought it was too boring and cheesy which is kind of ironic isnt it.#happy birthday from me/akaashi 2 u. read this on ur birthday. pleak
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The Grey Zone 3
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)
Character: Lloyd Hansen
Note: I'm tired of being sick
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)
You prefer the opening shift. Finishing early gives you extra motivation to make use of the rest of the day. Yet that morning is slogging by like wet sand. You still have an hour left before you’re free and even then, you have hours of studying to catch up on.
You enjoy your work, short of the occasional unpleasant customer. The shop is slow despite its location in the mall, but that’s expected with its niche catalogue. The New Age collection often attracts curious eyes but few purchases. The candles and jewelry sell most often, more marketable to those in the market for a gift or ‘just looking’.
You lean on the counter, doodling with a pen on a strip of receipt paper. Little stars and a crescent moon. The mall is starting to get busier as lunchtime approaches. You twirl the pen and look up, only realising then that you have a customer.
You drop the pen and quickly flit around the counter. It’s a good thing the manager is only in on evening shift. You approach the man perusing the bucket of discount crystals and slow as you recognise the back of his slicked hair. Really?
“Mr. Hansen?” You sputter in surprise.
He turns and smiles at you, a stone in his hand, “hey, little lamb,” he greets coolly, “fancy meeting you here.” You squint as he laughs at your cynical stare, “sarcasm,” he scoffs.
“Oh, uh,” you go to cross your arms but resists, instead hooking your thumbs into the chains attached to your black cargo pants, “are you looking for something?”
“Besides you,” he winks as he drops the stone back in the bucket, “they don’t have the hair gel I like at Carmine’s. Apparently they don’t manufacture that scent anymore. So I was wandering around and I just stumbled in.”
You nod and watch him reach into the bucket and pull out a small shard of lapus lazuli, “you got any Carnelian?”
“Carnelian?” You furrow your brow, “uh, I don’t know. Probably not in there…”
You turn and stride over to the shelf of labeled stones; those ones with a better natural shape or cut. You search the tags and find a small canister of orangish red stones, smooth and ovular; some opaque and few with patches of translucence.
Lloyd stops beside you, close. Too close. He tends to do that. He crowds you in without realising it. You hold out the container.
“You like crystals?” You ask with an edge of doubt; you didn’t expect he would be into that sort of thing.
“Eh, I’m intrigued,” he takes the canister and examines it, “you know, after you showed me your cards, I was reading around. It’s kinda neat, this stuff. You know, I don’t really buy into the mystic shit but it’s fun.”
“Ah,” you nod. Most people have that opinion. It doesn’t bother you. You’re more pragmatic than dreamy. You accept that you have no control over the world, but you don’t believe there’s any force around that does.
“You got cards here?” He shakes the crystals as he lifts his chin.
“Uh, yeah, just over there,” you point to the other wall.
You back away and go back to the counter. You just need some space. In such a small shop, it’s easy to feel suffocated. He goes to the shelf of tarot cards and you languish in the silence of his perusal.
“There a difference between these things?” He asks.
“No, not really. Just the look.”
“Ah,” he accepts and spins on his heel. He approaches the other side of the counter and places down his purchases. The crystals and a deck of cards with a Roman mythology aesthetic. “Just these.”
You ring him through and he plays with the necklaces on the small rack next to the till. He tilts his head as he examines a piece of amethyst attached to black cord. He lets it dangle and reaches into his back pocket. He presents his card and you pass over the machine.
“When are you done?” He asks.
“Um, in an hour,” you answer.
“Hmm,” he nods as the machine accepts the transaction, “got the whole day ahead of you.”
“Kinda,” you wait for the printer, “want a receipt?”
He shakes his head, smiling at you. You take out a small black bag and put his things inside, sliding it over to him. As he takes it, his hands brush yours.
“Don’t work too hard,” he says.
“Er, sure, thanks,” you eke out awkwardly, “have a good day.”
“Going well so far,” he smirks before he turns away and struts to the door.
He looks back and you raise your brows at him, perturbed. He finally leaves and you let out a breath. You wonder if he knew you worked there or if it’s as deliberate as it seems.
You take out your phone and lean on the counter as you key in Carnelian. You don’t know much about the stone and you can’t remember anyone ever asking about it. You nearly choke as you read the description; ‘Carnelian is great for increasing sexual energy…’
Is he trying to embarrass you? Your mind lists to a couple nights before when he sat on your bed. It all seems a bit much, a bit too calculated. You just can’t find the punchline to go with the set up.
🖤
Meghan shows up to take over for the afternoon. You leave her, intent on your mission. You’ll get your matcha to go and head to the library for your study session. Studying at the cafe had proven too distracting last time.
You get in line, flicking through your phone as you shift with the bodies ahead of you. You hear a rabble behind you as a large group enters, clustering at the end of the queue. You tuck your phone away as you recognise a voice and keep your chin down. You shrink down, hoping to go unnoticed in the busy cafe.
“Oh, look who’s back again,” Shania guffaws, “it’s the dead girl.”
You don’t look back. You have as much right to be here as them. You don’t know why she’s so pressed. There are other coffee shops and no reason for her to associate with you. High school is over. This isn’t the cafeteria, there is no cool table.
“Hey, Morticia,” Kaliana comes up on your left-side, “thanks for saving us a spot.”
They try to push in ahead of you but you step up, blocking them. You keep your head straight as Shania jostles you from the other side. At least this time you don't have anything for them to dump on you.
“Don’t be uncool, face paint,” Shania snarls, “know your place.”
“Go away,” you mutter to your boots.
“I can’t hear you over all that metal,” she reaches out and tugs on your nose ring. “Speak up, little girl.”
“I don’t know how you breathe around that snot catcher,” Kaliana chortles.
You shake your head and cross your arms. You step back and wave to the space in front of you, “fine. Go ahead.”
They girls laugh. They sound like hyenas. As they go to step in front of you, Shania cries out and liquid splashes over her shoulders, dripping down the front of her baby pink crop top. She puts her hands up and turns to face the culprit.
“You loser–” She yipes.
“Didn’t see ya,” Mr. Hansen’s voice brings your eyes up, “watch where you’re walking.”
“What? Me? You–”
“Look, I don’t need some knock off barbie shrieking at me so zip it,” he spits.
“Excuse you! You can’t talk to me like that.”
“I can and I am,” he snickers.
“Ew, you creep, get out of here,” Kaliana steps up next to Shania, “No one wants to hear from you or your dirty porn stache–”
“I didn’t ask, pancakes.”
“Pancakes?” She sniffs.
“Flip, flap,” he motions to his chest with a mean smirk, “if you’re gonna go out in a shirt like that, you could at least put a few socks in your bra.”
“Ugh, you perv–”
“Trust me, you’re the last thing that makes my dick hard,” he curls his lip.
“Whatever,” Shania blusters as she pulls the wet fabric away from her chest, “Kal, let’s go.”
The girls stomp off and you stare after them. Hansen puts down the empty cup and chortles. He turns to stand parallel to you, “well, I don’t know who’s drink that was but I hope they don’t mind.”
“What?”
“Oops,” he shrugs, “so what are we drinking, babe? Hmm. You seem like you got a sweet tooth. White mocha? Caramel?”
“Uh, no–”
“Wait, wait, dark chocolate, that seems more your speed.” You shoot him a look and he meets your eyes. He smiles and tilts his head, “kidding.”
“I can get my own drink,” you insist.
“I’m sure you can, but I want to get it for you.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He repeats.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You’re not answering me,” you sigh and move up to the counter.
“I don’t know, you make me wanna do nice things,” he says and faces the barista, “black coffee and whatever she wants.”
You hesitate but take your cue. You order your matcha latte and he taps his card. You clamp your lips together. Does he think you’re pathetic? That you need him to pay for a tea?
You go to wait by the order window and sway impatiently. You grip the strap of your bag and stare out into the mall. Hansen leans into you, brushing his arm against you.
“So, couple of bitches, huh?” He says.
“What?” You whip around to face him.
“Those girls.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. We went to school together…”
“Figured,” he shakes his head, “they’re only jealous. Girls like that, they don’t know how to feel anything else. Always a competition.”
“Hm, I guess.”
“Not like you.”
You glance at him then to the counter. You just want to get your tea and leave. You tap your fingers on the strap of your bag.
“So, the lake house,” he changes the subject, “what do you think?”
“Uh, dunno,” you watch the barista at the steaming espresso machine, “dad didn’t say anything.”
“I’m not asking about dad. You ever been to the lake?”
“Which lake?”
He chuckles, “now who’s not answering who?”
You shrug and cross your arm over your chest, rubbing your shoulder. Your order is up. Before you can move, Hansen puts his hand on your lower back, ushering you with him to grab his cup as you claim your own.
You pull away from him as you leave the shop. He keeps pace with you as you try to figure out a way to nicely get rid of him. You didn’t expect to run into him twice. How reappearance convinces you it’s less than coincidental, but would he really wait around the mall just to bother you?
“I should go study…” you say at last.
“Study. Boring,” he comments.
“Maybe but… I have to.”
“Oh, do you always do the right thing?” He prompts.
You don’t know how to answer. You turn the hot cup in your hand as you walk along the mall corridor.
“No, I don’t know, I…”
“A good girl like you, always doing what you should but never what you want to do,” he says, “did you ever even ask yourself what you want?”
“I.. I don’t know what you mean.”
“You want to what? Study boring books? Get a boring degree? Get a boring job?” He continues, “all so one day you can live in a boring house with a boring husband? And have boring kids?”
“I– I never… I’m just going to school.”
“Because? Because you never thought of doing anything else. Of anything fun. I’m fun, sweetheart.”
You blow across the lid of your tea and taste it. It’s good but you find it hard to enjoy. Not with him there. Not with your mind racing.
“I like being boring,” you say at last.
He snorts, “sure you do. You're whole look screams boring. Well, let me know when you’re really bored, sweetheart. I’ll give you everything you never knew you wanted.”
You peek over at him. His eyes are on you, his cheek dimples. He raises his cup in a toasting gesture and turns on his heel.
“I’ll be waiting,” he tosses over his shoulder.
You stop and watch his smooth gait. His confidence is almost intimidating. It’s as if he knows things you don’t. You turn away and continue towards the south entrance. Boring is just fine, boring is safe.
🖤
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Your father’s voice carries through the wall.
“Ah, don’t you get fucking rude with me,” your mother slurs back, “fuck you, Ray. Fuck you!”
It’s not unusual. You’ve heard the same argument over and over. It doesn’t matter what starts it, it’s always the same. They yell until they’re hoarse, they slam doors, and in the morning, they act like nothing happened at all.
You put your earbuds in and turn up your music. You know how to tune them out. If you’re good at anything, it’s at shutting out the world around you.
You lay down and close your eyes, holding your phone against your stomach as you mouth the lyrics. You just want to fall asleep but the anxiety of knowing they’re fighting keeps you awake. You just need to wait it out.
Your phone buzzes but you ignore it. It’s probably just an email or another notification trying to make you spend money. You focus on the layers of the music; the strings, the percussion, the vocals. Your phone goes off again.
You raise it and open your eyes, the screen fuzzy as your eyes adjust to the darkness. You tap the speech bubble that signifies a new message. The number is private.
‘Getting packed?’ The message reads. You have no idea what it means. You send back, ‘wrong number’. Three dots pop up immediately.
‘No it’s not.’ The answer comes swiftly. You return a question mark and nothing else.
‘You’re going to need a good jacket for the lake house.’
You rub your forehead and sit up. You key in, ‘Mr. Hansen?’
‘The one and only.’ He confirms. How did he get your number? ‘If you don’t have one, we can take a shopping trip.’
You don’t get it. What does he want from you? You know the way he is, you’ve heard the way he talks about other people, you hear the stuff he says to your dad. Their friendship at most is acrimonious. Is this a ploy against your father?
‘I have a jacket. I’m sleeping. Good night.’
You lay down and turn onto your side, keeping the ear bud from slipping out as you put your phone beside your pillow. It lights up with a new message. You close your eyes. You lay in the storm of your nerves. You have to check. You reach for your phone and read the screen.
‘No you’re not’.
You don’t understand. How would he know? He’s bluffing. You won’t entertain his little games, he’s just messing with you. Just like everyone else.
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#fic#dark fic#dark!fic#the grey zone#the gray man#series#au
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(Fine, I’ll do it my damn self: part 1 of my silly lil mlm stories <3)
Gay Awakening (Chapter One) — smitten! mattheo riddle x male! reader
TWs: tobacco & alcohol use, internalized homophobia, homophobic slurs (once)
hella ooc mattheo. congrats, ur his gay awakening, and he’s an absolutely smitten lil gay mess for you but yk he’s trying
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“Hey, dude. Who’s that?” Theodore asked, bumping Mattheo’s arm to get his attention, then pointing his fork in your direction. You were sitting at the very end of the table’s bench, wearing an oversized black muggle hoodie with your green tie loose and haphazardly slung around your neck. You were animatedly talking with, out of all people, a Hufflepuff. The Hufflepuff girl sitting at the Slytherin table either seemed to be completely unaware of the looks she was receiving, or she was steadfastly ignoring them. Your laugh cut through the room, the Hufflepuff cracking up with you.
“American transfer students,” Malfoy sneered. “They clearly don’t know the rules yet.”
“Oh, shut up, Draco,” Pansy rolled her eyes, resting her chin on her hand and looking at the Hufflepuff for a moment too long.
Draco scoffed, clearly offended. “Whatever. They’re probably faggots anyway.”
Pansy whirled around with a furious expression. Mattheo himself flinched slightly at the slur, which caused Blaise to look at him questioningly. Once Theo had waved Blaise’s unspoken question off, Zabini shrugged, leaning over and muttering in his ear, “Ten galleons says she brings up Potter.”
“-and everyone knows that you have a crush on Harry Motherfucking Potter, so maybe you should take your bigotry and shove it right up your-”
“Pansy?” you questioned, awkwardly standing across from her. “Here, ‘m supposed t’ give this to you.”
You leaned across the table to drop a folded up note in front of her, allowing Mattheo to catch a faint whiff of your cologne. You looked back down at the floor shyly, hurrying back to your spot at the end of the table.
“He’s hot,” Enzo shrugged, taking a bite of his toast. “I call dibs.”
“You can’t call dibs on the guy who just asked Pansy out, dipshit.”
“Actually, it’s a note from the ‘puff,” Pansy interjected, twisting her wrist around to show off the neat cursive written in a purple glitter gel pen. “She wants to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend, dipshit.”
“Yeah, dipshit,” Mattheo teased Nott. “Plus, I think Malfoy already called dibs on him, so tough luck.”
Theodore blew a raspberry at him, only a slight distraction from where Mattheo’s comment had fueled another Pansy-rant and left Draco sinking low in his seat as if he wanted to disappear.
~~~
“Alright, Zabini, you’re up. What classic novel is a satirical adaptation of R. M. Ballantyne’s The Coral Island?”
“Why the fuck would I know that, Berkshire?”
“Blaise forfeits! Sudden death round is down to just us, Riddle,” Nott crowed excitedly, watching as the score quill of the charmed muggle trivia game scratched Blaise’s name off of the paper score sheet, drawing a condescending frowny face next to it.
Enzo laughed, flipping over the little hourglass timer. “If anyone can answer in the next thirty seconds, they automatically win the game.”
“No idea,” Mattheo shrugged. Theodore spun his rings around on his fingers before shrugging too.
“The Lord of the Flies,” your quiet voice pipes up. The game players all look over in your direction from where you’ve just entered the common room—coming back from the library, it looks like, if the stack of books in your hands explains anything.
“What?” Draco asks, raising an eyebrow and sneering.
“The Lord of the Flies,” you repeat. “William Golding. Fantastic book.”
Malfoy huffed. “And who are you, exactly?”
“Y/N L/N,” you introduced yourself, nodding slightly in their direction before wordlessly disappearing up the dorm room stairs.
Mattheo stared after you alongside his friends, none of them immediately noticing the charmed quill writing your name down on the score card as the winner.
~~~
“C’n I bum a smoke?” your sleepy voice called softly from behind Mattheo. He turned around from his spot on the otherwise unoccupied balcony to see you rubbing your eyes, a fuzzy green blanket draped around your shoulders. He cleared his throat and nodded, fishing a fresh cigarette out of the pack and holding it out to you. His heart rate stuttered for a moment when your fingers brushed against his.
“Thanks,” you muttered, using a wandless incantation to light it. Mattheo leaned back against the railing, taking a drag from his half-finished cigarette and blowing the smoke out thoughtfully.
“Why’re you up? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
Maybe it was his well-meaning-but-patronizing phrasing or the confidence-imbued late night cigarette, but you clicked your tongue once and said in a short, clipped tone, “Oh, shut the fuck up, you hypocrite.”
Mattheo barked out a surprised laugh, choking on his lungful of smoke and falling into a coughing fit.
“Language, L/N,” he teased.
“English, Riddle,” you snickered back.
He grinned at you, blushing a nice pink color as you both smoked in a comfortable silence for a moment.
“My roommate brought some girl back from the party he went to,” you say after a while. “Didn’t want to deal with all that.”
“Ah,” Mattheo nodded slowly. “Boys seem to lose all of their brain cells as soon as they come within a ten-foot radius of a hot girl.”
You snort. “Not all of us.”
“Yeah?” he questioned, in a way he hoped came off as nonchalant, even though he was internally freaking out. “No lucky lady piquing your interest?”
“This may shock you, but believe it or not, I’m not actually into girls at all,” you snort again, dropping the cigarette butt and grinding it into the ground with the toe of your sneaker.
“Really?” he asked in a high voice before loudly clearing his throat. “I mean- really? That’s cool. Uh, m-me too.”
“Yeah?” you glanced up at him curiously. “Huh. I wouldn’t’a guessed.”
“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” Mattheo blurts out, immediately snapping his mouth shut and clearly mentally facepalming.
“Sure,” you shrug.
“Huh?”
“I said sure.”
The poor boy was frozen in place, gaping at you. Taking pity on him, you make the first move—tugging his tie to pull him down to your level.
His hand finds the back of your neck, kissing you softly, much more gently than you would’ve expected.
When you break apart, he looks like he’s just been enlightened. Like, he might actually shout eureka! and run off.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I’ve never kissed a guy before- holy shit!” he laughs freely, cupping your face to kiss you again.
“So what now, Archimedes?” At his confused expression you elaborate, “Muggle reference, sorry.”
He nods slowly, his fingers automatically winding their way into the hair at the nape of your neck. “Well… you could sleep with me tonight,” he offered after a moment. “Y’know, so you don’t have to deal with your roommate.”
“Oh, um, I’m not really that type of boy, Theo…” you trailed off.
“Oh!” his eyes widened in panic. “I didn’t mean to imply- I mean, not that I wouldn’t love- I meant we could just literally sleep in the same bed!”
You giggled, a bit relieved. “I’d like that.”
He took a deep breath, smiling hesitantly at you. “No funny business, promise. All at your discretion.”
He held out his hand to you, and you took it immediately, leaning into his side.
“So about that fight between Malfoy and Pansy…”
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Chapter Two
#harry potter#hp x male reader#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x male reader#mattheoxreader#x male reader#pansy parkinson is sapphic goddamnit#draco malfoy’s a douchebag#theodore nott is also here ig#hp#they’re my silly little guys#my friend was like “hey who would be mattheo’s gay awakening?”#and as a joke i said “me”#but tada!
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and at every table, i’ll save you a seat - part i
“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” or you invite Bradley to a wedding but your big fat crush on him won’t let you actually. . .invite him.
“and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” - tunes of the gossipy Hard Deck patrons and liking someone so much you feel like you can’t breathe
A/N: hey guys!!! so in the midst of writing this, i realized how long it actually is and how many dividers i had on my google doc? anyway, i thought it would probably work out so much better if it was released in parts rather than just one, big, fat, HUGEEEE piece that would probs crash on mobile. listen along to the playlist (that will be updated with each writing update) and relish in overly flirtatious bradley with me! which btw, he’s the lover album personified with a dash of red and a hint of fearless!
“I’m not asking him.”
Phoenix rolls her eyes before she takes a sip from her Ultra. The thought of it tasting revolting because of its lukewarmness crosses her mind despite her head pounding unceremoniously. She almost speaks up to answer you, but closes her mouth.
She softly places the bottle back down on the counter instead.
She can’t quite tell if the pain in her temples is from the sound of excited chatter all around her, the sound of Mickey, Javy, and Bob shittily singing Go Your Own Way on the karaoke machine in the corner, or the sound of your blue glitter gel pen scratching away at the scrap paper you have by the register; frantically carrying decimals for tip calculation and pathetically adding and subtracting since Penny’s “older than dirt” cash register bit the dust an hour prior.
She almost concludes that the pounding ache working its way to the forefront of her brain is because of your absolute and utter refusal to do the simple and the obvious. But wait.
I haven’t eaten at all today. Yeah, that’s it.
A deep breath fills her lungs before she exhales. Her elbows find themselves on the lip of the bar top and her forearms come up to rest her head on her hands. She notices that the scribbling stops from what she assumes is you looking at her.
An uncomfortable beat passes which is unusual for you two. There’s always some sly remark made or interminable giggling filling the gaps of silence.
You pop your hip on the corner of the table. Your magenta tank top was far too bright of a pink to be welcome in the warm-hued bar. Your bracelet screams “graduation gift” and you can feel the oil on your face contorting your makeup as your time in the muggy air passes.
Out of place is always in your thoughts but doesn’t become an insecurity until you’re left alone with them. The absence of Phoenix’s voice makes this fact more obvious to you.
“You good? Not gonna hurl all over the place?” you cautiously ask, “Because it’s fine if you gotta puke, but I’ll murder you if you make me clean it up.”
Natasha lets out something short of a laugh but too informal to be considered a huff. “I’m fine,” she says, leaning her head into her hand and adjusting herself in her seat.
You nod, returning to your scribbling when the man sitting next to her hands his card to you. “You know, if you write any harder, you might permanently etch,” she pauses, leaning over to get a peek at what you had just written, “ten dollars and eighty-three cents into the counter.”
“Maybe it’ll convince Penny that a new cash register is a need and not a luxury.”
Natasha scoffs. “Could say the same about your plus one, but hey, if you don’t want my advice, then certainly don’t take it.”
You hand the gentleman back his card with a smile and a small “thank you” before returning your attention back to Natasha. She digs her teeth subtly into the plush of her bottom lip.
“I already told you. I’m not asking him.”
She groans, pushing herself to stand up from her seat. Even dressed in civilian clothes, she looks like she belongs. Her aura demands respect; even in a lacy wine-colored top that Hangman had tried to tease her about earlier when the brood of rowdy pilots had first arrived.
“Well, you said no to Jake.”
“You say it like he would be willing to say yes.”
“You said no to Rueben.”
“He’s in a situationship with that girl from my spin class. Going with me to a wedding and her seeing the pics on Instagram would just make shit weird,” you start scrubbing at the permanent water stain near the beer taps anxiously, “Especially when I set them up.”
Natasha rolls her eyes again. She swears that by the end of the night, she’ll know exactly what the inside of her eyelids look like.
“Whatever,” she huffs, “You said no to Javy and Bob.”
“Javy would rub the fact that I asked in Jake’s face and they’ll start a pissing contest on how to woo me…and Bob,” you look around to make sure no one who knows you all is within earshot, “He’s sweet. Like, sooo sweet.”
Natasha tries not to crack a smile before you get your words out, but she certainly knows where the tail end of your sentence is going. “But it’s definitely not believable that we would be together and my aunt is one hell of an FBI agent and I’m sure he’d crack and rat us out and I’d have to sit there and eat my weight in tiramisu to drown my embarrassment.”
Business is painfully slow for a Thursday evening despite the upcoming weekend. Your eyes dart around the room to look for anyone to come and rescue you from this conversation (and even volunteer to be your date to your bitchy cousin’s wedding next weekend without you asking, but you know to only hope for one miracle at a time). And when your eyes turn up empty for an ample opportunity, your shoulders droop while Natasha snickers at you.
“Cut your losses and just ask him. I know he won’t say no,” she says, coy smirk at home on her face.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“What is so wrong with him that you don’t wanna do it? Huh?”
You ponder on her statement before shaking your head. You’d rather be shot in the foot with a nail gun eight times than expose your silly little schoolgirl crush in the middle of the Hard Deck in front of his best friend turned your best friend since moving to the area five months ago.
“Why not Neil or Brigham? Or hell, even Mickey? I know he’s like, engaged, but Mariella is so freakin’ sweet and I know she’d understand so like-”
“Mmm-mmm. No, no, and hell no.” Your frown plasters itself on your lips faster than you can comprehend at her words. “Rooster or bust.”
Your spine straightens as you begin to engage in protest before you’re cut off by the man himself.
“Rooster or bust, what?” he asks, lips coming out to lick the dryness of the San Diego sun away. Your knees start to buckle and you can hear Natasha stifle a laugh as you try to conceal your lack of balance.
He stands in front of you, hand on his hips and sunglasses tucked on the tight, white tank top underneath his button-down shirt. Today’s print was red with cream-colored hibiscus flowers and you wonder how he could pull them off so well. If it were anyone else, you would have had to try your hardest to keep it together with Natasha in front of you; the jokes about touristy dads and low-budget porn actors in the works.
You realize he’s waiting for an answer as you see Natasha getting called away to sing karaoke with Javy and the gang out of the corner of your eye.
Great. Just fucking great.
“Taking bets on who the best pilot is or?” Bradley speaks, trying to get to the bottom of the small fragment of the conversation he had walked into.
“I-,” you stammer.
Fuck. Can someone just come to the bar and order so I can avoid this?
“You?” he looks at you through his eyebrows comically. Everything he does makes you nervous.
“I-,” the lines in his forehead raise with the infliction of your voice, “I need a favor. Like a big one.”
“Okay,” he laughs, “How big are we talking?”
“Umm-”
“Like ‘giving you my other kidney’ big or letting you borrow my car big?” he interrupts.
“Well-”
“Or do you need me to house sit? Dogsit? Babysit?”
You inhale as you place your hands on the countertop. Your eyes find his honeyed-colored ones and you almost drown in them before your pride kicks in.
I cannot embarrass myself in front of him.
“I need you to come to a wedding,” you speak gently. You can see the wheels turning in his head without him having to say anything. Bradley’s face always gave his thoughts away.
“If you don’t have plans, of course.”
The realization of what you had just said starts to kick you upside the head the longer you look at him. He doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t move at all. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked yet.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
“And if you’re comfortable! Obviously!” you start to ramble before you can convince yourself to shut the hell up, “It’s next Saturday in Long Beach near the seaside. You don’t have to say yes or anything but I just thought I’d ask because I had a plus one when I had a boyfriend eight months ago and now-”
“I’ll go.”
“-we’re not together anymore and my bitchy cousin is the one getting married who, by the way, makes everything a competition but that’s beside the point. But I know my mom is gonna be pissed if I don’t bring someone because my aunt is her sister and she’ll bitch about how they wasted money and how my mom is running out of time to become a grandma because I’m not married yet and that’s totally not true because I’m not even thirty so my biological clock hasn’t even started ticking yet but -”
“Hey!” he raises his voice slightly, amusement hidden in his tone, “I said I’d go with ya, kid.” He steps forward to put his hands on your bare shoulders. You try not to melt into his touch.
“S’all good. I love weddings and the beach. Promise it’s not a hassle.”
You’re dumbfounded by his response and how collected he is about your word vomit, not to mention being invited to a wedding where he’ll meet not only your parents, but your entire extended family in a little over a week. You know for certain you wouldn’t have handled the situation as calmly as he had.
“You - you’ll…go?” The sound of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Jake absolutely murdering the high notes in the back of the bar is the only thing keeping you from spiraling into another dimension.
“Well, I’m not a liar,” he sits down on the seat Phoenix was previously occupying, “I don’t just say things I don’t mean.”
Your head nods solemnly in silent understanding, your hands grabbing a glass to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion at you knowing what his usual drink is, but throws away the thought to comment on it before it can even develop all the way. The subtle pang in his chest of you taking that much notice of him makes itself known. He would be lying if he was to say he didn’t hold a brightly lit candle for you.
You’re a regular, Bradshaw. Get your head out of your ass.
“To be honest,” you start, placing the chilled glass in front of him, “that sounds a lot like something a liar would say.”
He gives you a soft smile as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet. “Well good thing that I’m not one then, right?”
Your heart flutters in nervousness and with about as much grace as a stampede of elephants. You’re positive that Bradley can see the outline of it beating out of your chest.
“No, no, no. Your drink is on the house.”
He shakes his head, forcing the twenty dollar bill that lays in between his fingers next to the scrap paper you have laying near the register. “No, I insist.”
“No, I insist. It’s on me, Bradley.”
He cracks a soft smile as he forces the money into your hand. His fingers wrap yours around the beat-up bill that has definitely seen better days. “That just won’t do ma’am.”
“I”m awaiting Bar results, not living in a shoebox on I-405. I assure you that two dollars and sixty cents won’t break the bank.”
The loud scrapping of a bar stool against the hardwood floor (which will probably leave a noticeable scratch in the hardwood flooring that Penny will pretend not be upset about) interrupts the cocoon of the world that existed with just you and him. Just you and Bradley…and Jake Seresin’s loud ass mouth yelling, “Bradshaw! What the hell, man? Get your ass over here and sing some Journey with me!” across the bar.
He shakes his head in disbelief and if you didn’t know any better (didn’t feed into your delusions, is more like it) you would almost think that he was…disappointed? That he didn’t want to leave you and that he was almost as desperate as you to give each other attention; eyes fully and ears solely attuned to the other.
Hoots and hollers and the sound of his call sign being screamed from his rowdy group of friends make the delusion hard to manage, and the reality finally kicks in that he’s not here for you. He’s here for them.
You wish you weren’t so good at hurting your own feelings sometimes.
“Your spotlight awaits you,” you sigh, trying not to show how dejected you felt to him.
A beat of silence passes before he slides his palms on the front of his jeans.
“Here.” He snatches your blue glitter gel pen off the table, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he begins to write. “Text me the details?”
He offers a slight smile that makes your words catch in your throat; the butterflies dinging around in your stomach begging you to reach out and touch him. To lean forward. To say something. To do something. Anything.
But before you can he’s zipped across the bar and the sound of Call Me by Blondie inflates the room. You look down at the cerulean ink with specks of shimmer in it.
xxx-xxx-xxxx
Call me, kid!
Bradley B
You’re definitely not gonna call him anytime soon…
“Sweetheart, I love you, but if you dry those glasses one more time I think I’ll have a brain aneurysm.”
Penny snatches the dish towel from your hands as your mouth gapes in silent protest. She throws it lazily on the countertop and snags the crate of beer glasses that you were going to town on away from you. The clinging sound of the dishes makes your head droop with disappointment.
“I wasn’t done yet! They still feel slippery! ”you complain and she just teasingly shakes her head.
“So?”
She winks at you and you have to find it in your heart not to be a little annoyed at her for cutting your task off mid-attempt.
Perfectionism fuels your life and she knows this. She knows that you’re using the glasses to stress clean. She knows that your cousin’s wedding weekend starts on Friday and you’re fighting the urge to tear your hair out. She also knows that you have Bradley’s phone number on a slip of paper that’s burning a hole through your nightstand because you still haven’t called him.
“So?” you ask, lightly mimicking Penny’s statement, “Someone’s gonna drop the glass because they’ve never learned how to hold it the right way and then there’s gonna be glass shards everywhere and they’ll get hurt and-”
“You are such a worry wart, my dear. Reeelaaax,” she interrupts, placing her warm, nimble fingers on your shoulders.
The subtle sunburn you had gotten this past weekend is slowly starting to calm down, but the initial sting still startles you. She can see the small happenings of a frown starting to form on your lips and she decides to frown along with you. She spins you to face her and holds your forearms in her hands, offering them a gentle squeeze of encouragement.
It’s not a secret that Penny Benjamin takes pride in knowing her staff well and loving them even better. In the five months she’s gotten to know you, she’s taken you in as one of her own without making her love for you about her. That was kind of her thing; knowing all without having to be told and giving so selflessly without having to ask if you were in need.
Penny just got it, and it’s hard to find people like that nowadays; people who love you genuinely and truly expecting nothing in return.
The thought of her warmness makes you sniffle, and you’re sure that if the jukebox wasn’t turned on and playing some Beach Boys tune, the tears would’ve made their way down your face at a speed that Formula One drivers would envy.
“I know what it feels like to have your every movement judged and not being able to say anything to defend yourself,” she starts, “But you’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so important. And you’re nothing less than amazing, so don’t let anyone treat you like you aren’t.”
You can’t muster up the words to keep the conversation alive. You’re sure that all that would come out of your mouth is a blubbering mess you don’t feel like trying to force out in between choked sobs. Besides, the car doors closing in the parking lot alert you both to the Wednesday night crowd making their way in.
You settle for a small “thank you” before she cracks another smile at you; lips quirked up in amusement. She saunters off to the back to grab the bucket of prepped lime wedges.
“You never have to thank me for the words you deserve, sweetheart. Those are on the house.”
You snort before wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Only she could manage to subdue the mini meltdown brewing in the depths of your chest. But Penny was just like that.
Always calm, cool, and collected.
The night moves slowly in a frame-by-frame manner (one that emulates the night you asked Bradley to be your date, but you shake the thought whenever it tries to enter your head because you think you may actually puke). It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for a Wednesday night.
Mickey and Mariella pop in for mango margaritas after their weekly date night. Mickey gives you a small “hello” before flashing you a knowing smirk. You try to ignore Mariella swatting at his chest, but the imagery eats you up inside. You know that he knows and that she knows, and not taking the steps to actually ask Bradley to a wedding you invited him to makes you feel guilty.
He picks up on your guilt when his eyes catch you twisting your ring around your pointer finger. His eyes soften and he almost considers apologizing to you before he thinks about it. Bringing more attention to it would embarrass you more, he figures. The apology sitting on his tongue is swallowed down with a sip of his drink and Mariella’s kick to his shin.
“Well, we’re about to head out. We’ll see you Friday?” Mickey declares as Mariella narrows her dark eyes at him.
Your heart stops and your fingers feel numb.
Fuck. He wants to bring up Bradley. What do I say? Fuck. Shit. Wait. How does he even know? Has Bradley brought me up? Fuck, wait. He wouldn’t do that. Why would he even be talking about me? He probably told them that I’m obsessed with him and he was cornered and couldn’t say no and-
“Uh? Are you good?” Mickey looks at you with soft eyes and waves his hand in front of your face.
Mariella slaps it down from in front of you. “Don’t do that. She’s not a fucking dog, Mick.”
He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh. I know that. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t having a seizure or anything like that.”
“A seizure?”
“They’re called absence seizures. Went down a whole YouTube rabbit hole about them a couple of nights ago.”
You chuckle at their antics and can’t wait for the day they finally have their wedding. At least when the time comes you know you won’t have to forge a story about having a boyfriend. And it’ll be a wedding filled with people you actually like; ones that don’t make you order water out of feeling insecure about how many calories you’re consuming or ones that gossip about the shade of blush you wore making you look too “flushed” behind your back.
“I go down rabbit holes all the time,” you chide, “I watched this documentary about the Pentagon Papers and the atomic bomb from World War II the other day, and now I’m confident I could get my Ph.D. in like, Historical American Screw-Ups.”
Mickey and Mariella let out chortles at your statement before starting to head toward the exit.
“Well, we’ll see you later then. Tell us about that wedding on Monday?”
Your mouth hangs open as they stride out the front doors of Hard Deck. The shock of what just happened makes your heart beat erratically.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He told.
Mike Metcalf sits at the corner of the bar top on his regular stool with his sweating glass housing a whiskey neat. He sends you a teasing smirk as you move near him to wipe the countertop down.
“Still haven’t texted him?” he asks.
The shock continues to run through your body. You have to place your hands on the edge of the table to keep yourself from stumbling over.
Why does everyone in this bar know what’s going on?
Admiral Metcalf was friendly with you - one of those regulars who offer you engaging conversation, tidbits of grandfatherly affection, and generous tips.
You would tell him not to tip you so much for a single drink, but he would always insist; quoting something along the lines of you reminding him of his granddaughter and that you treated everyone with such kindness and respect that you deserved it back tenfold.
You take a deep breath, arms pushing you up slowly to stand upright. “I’m scared to ask how you know.”
He chuckles, a real belly laugh, and you struggle to find out why you can’t piece together a logical explanation for how he would know.
“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” He shrugs before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thought it sounded like you. I meant to ask about it the other night, but once you turn eighty you forget things at the drop of a hat.”
“Smart and sweet?” you want to ask, but you know that it would confirm rather than get you the answers that you want. You shake your head to dislodge the thought before furrowing your eyebrows.
“. . . Baby Goose?”
The older man plays with the paper coaster underneath his drink. A soft smile blooms on his lips. “We’re talking about Bradley Bradshaw. Correct?”
You start to drum your fingers against the lip of the bar top. The thought of lying briefly crosses your mind until the sound of James Brown’s shriek at the beginning of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” startles you.
“Uhh, hello? You still there, kiddo?”
I have got to get better at answering quicker.
You straighten your spine and pop your hand on your hip. “Wouldn’t the correct terminology be ‘gosling’?”
He raises his brows, “Rooster. Baby Goose. Bradshaw. Gosling,” he rattles off, counting the phrases on his fingers, “Does any of this ring a bell?”
You chew on your lip. The toe of your sneaker slides underneath the sole of your other one. The fidgeting tells Admiral Metcalf all he needs to know.
“Maybe,” you say under your breath.
“Maybe?” he questions. He leans forward to investigate your expression with his eyes.
Another sigh exits your lips. “Okay, well, maybe a little.”
You sound defeated, he thinks. He decides to investigate even though he can hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him not to. If he turns his head just a little bit to the right, his hearing aid catches the sound of the jukebox. He can’t focus on you talking and his wife’s voice if he also hears the jukebox.
Sorry, Carrie.
His chair swivels a little bit and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s certainly more than a little, kiddo. Especially if you asked him to a wedding.”
You scoff, annoyance painting the inside of your brain. Nosiness is one thing you absolutely cannot stand, and it’s the reason why you insisted on not moving back in with your mom after law school. Working yourself to the bone to study for the Bar during the day while mixing drinks and popping caps off of beer bottles at night seemed worlds better than having your privacy invaded constantly. Tired or private. From where you stand currently, it’s safe to say you picked the latter.
Or so you thought.
“So is this just a thing?” You can feel your heart rate speed up as you start to become defensive. “Like, a trend where all you Hard Deck patrons like to gossip and spread rumors?”
“It’s not a rumor if it’s true.”
You almost roll your eyes but the politeness you were raised with paired with your people-pleasing won’t let you.
“Yeah, but it’s technically gossip if you didn’t hear it from me,” you state directly, “How do you even talk to all these people on the base? Aren’t you retired?”
Admiral Metcalf chuckles. “I may be in bed by 8 every night but it doesn’t mean I’m not social, my dear.”
“Okay, but why would your connections be talking to you about Gosling?” You lean on your forearms and glance at the cash register to make sure someone isn’t waiting to be served. Your eyes glance back to the older gentleman sat in front of you. “Aren’t you guys like. . .fifteen generations removed from each other?”
He gently pats your arm with his calloused palm. “You’re a funny girl.”
“You’re dodging my question,” you frown, sitting up straight and grabbing him his usual glass of water he drinks before he decides to go home.
He mouths a quick “thank you” before taking a sip. “Did it ever occur to you that I was a pilot?”
The wheels in your brain start turning to decipher why he would say that and how it would mean that he and Bradley know each other.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“And a Top Gun instructor.”
“Okay. . .?” You’re starting to get the hint now, but it still just seems like a lot of abstract events put together.
“I taught Maverick and Goose.”
Penny’s “boyfriend, not-boyfriend” who comes in to pick her up or hang out on days when the crowd is as dead as a cemetery. Maverick.
But who’s -
“Goose?” you ask, finishing your question out loud.
“Bradley’s father.”
And shit. Oh shit. Fucking shit!
“I- You- Wait-” you stammer. He simply sips on his water, amusement painted on his features at the signs of your internal panic.
“So that’s how I know. I keep in touch with Maverick and he just happened to mention the absolute mess Rooster’s been the past couple days about this wedding,” he declares, “Which, by the way, is kind of rude to invite someone and then not go into detail about it. Don’t you think?”
Your mouth opens and closes in shock, the magnitude of your recent revelation being endorsed by the silence coming from you.
Your brain can’t even begin to wrap around all the degrees of separation and acquaintances and friendships Bradley has from the bombshell of information that was just dropped on you. This place is just littered with people who probably knew him before he was Rooster; all puppy fat and awkward haircuts. You bet there’s probably a series of his prom and high school graduation photos that circulated from eye to eye.
But this also means that if you go through with it, that if you actually bring him with you to Long Beach this weekend, you’ll become part of that essence of knowing - everyone knowing what Bradley told them and your entire weekend spent with him being a topic of discussion.
You try to get over the dehumanizing feeling that will come with being called “Hard Deck Girl” after this weekend when he inevitably tells Maverick about his weekend who will then tell Iceman who will probably tell Admiral Metcalf. You can’t bear to think about all the snickers and teasing that will come from Bradley’s group of friends.
Hangman loves to tease you already. You don’t think you’ll survive more “pigtail pulling” if word gets out about Bradley having to hold your hand and awkwardly slow dance with you on Saturday.
Admiral Metcalf lets out an impressive-sounding whistle that catches your attention and brings you back to Earth.
“That’s one gorgeous Bronco,” he comments, head turned to look outside the windows of the bar. “Used to have one just like it years ago.”
Your eyes follow his gaze to see the cobalt blue vehicle parked in one of the empty spaces of the parking lot. The headlights fade as the owner steps out of the vehicle and -
Fuck!
He has a soft bounce in his strut. His Raybans are tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt. The light-wash denim of his jeans hugs his legs just the right way. His slightly rosy cheeks and tanned forearms bulging from his shirt make him unmistakable.
Bradley Bradshaw is about to walk into the bar. On a Wednesday night. While the crowd is drier than the Mojave.
And there’s nowhere for you to run.
He has a slightly faster pace set to his walk than he usually does. . . Not like you spend your time watching him walk (even though you do, and you’d rather roll over and die than admit that to anyone).
“Good luck getting him back on that perch,” Admiral Metcalf speaks up. He opens his worn leather wallet and fishes out a fifty-dollar bill. “He won’t fly back up there once he gets off.”
You follow him to the cash register to ring him up. The drawer is opened and the bills counted for his change before he stops you.
“Keep it. Part of your tip,” he says, “Least I can do for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.”
You begin to thank him before the saloon-style doors open and Bradley stands dead in the center, hands on his hips and eyes grazing the surroundings.
“Good luck, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it,” Admiral Metcalf says before turning on his heel. He claps Bradley on the shoulder as a brief greeting and continues his stride outside to the parking lot.
Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp.
And you’re. . . starting to sweat?
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you.
“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt.
His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face.
Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind.
Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.
“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?”
His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded.
Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage.
Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing me.
“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe.
Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides.
“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase.
“Let me come with you,” he says.
Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.”
“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back.
You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life.
“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you.
And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted.
But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to.
He’s already a little annoyed with me, you think. He doesn’t want to hear me ramble on top of that.
Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on.
The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating.
The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way.
Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again.
In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal.
No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated you terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.
The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing.
Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say.
And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum.
“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.”
You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with.
“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement.
Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest.
His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before.
“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?”
A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.”
He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy.
Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top.
Goddamn nerves.
He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?”
You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .”
“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery.
“Little Rascals -esque.”
Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.”
“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?”
“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.”
You shake your head before he finishes his sentence.
“I’m a terrible dancer.”
“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold.
“You really wanna go still?”
“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?”
Penny waltzes back in before you can answer. Her eyes hold a mischievous glint as they look at the interaction going on between you and Bradley. She sends you a soft wink before she joins you behind the bar.
“Bradley!” she greets with a grin, coming to come rest next to you and in front of his seat.
“Hey, Pen. Mav taking you out on the bike today?”
She subtly bumps your hip with hers. She’s about to stir up some trouble.
“No, no,” she sighs, “I have to close up here tonight so we’re going this weekend.”
Bradley nods as you stand frozen next to her.
“Speaking of weekends,” she chirps, “What are your plans, Bradley?”
I love Penny. I love Penny. I love Penny. If I say it enough, I won’t wanna kill her.
“Oh, the kid and I were planning on going to her cousin’s wedding in Long Beach. We were actually just talking about it,” he answers as Penny lets out a dramatic sigh.
“Oh thank God. The suspense of if she was actually gonna talk to you about it was killing us.”
“Us?” you ask, voice filled with irritation and concern.
“Me, Pete, Tom, Mike,” Penny lists, “Jake and Rueben started a money pool. Guess Hangman’s a hundred and twenty dollars richer now.”
You groan and pinch your nose between your fingers as Penny takes your shoulders into her palms and rubs them. She picks up a crate of shot glasses before turning to leave.
“Bradley?” she calls, and his ears perk up.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Stay out of my kitchen,” her eyes narrow playfully, “That’s a health code violation.”
He holds his hands up with a grin. “You got it.”
“You kids have fun this weekend. Gonna have to take tons of pictures and show them to me!” she exclaims before disappearing behind the same steel doors Bradley had followed you into earlier.
A beat of silence passes; partly because you’re so stunned by what had just occurred.
“So,” he clears his throat, “Now that I know you’re old enough to have watched The Little Rascals, what’s the plan? Like is this an overnight thing or a reception thing or?”
You perk up at his question.
“Oh, umm.” You subconsciously pick at your cuticles before forcing yourself to stop. Your mom and aunt would be disappointed to see them ripped to shreds. “So I kinda - well, it’s an overnight thing but we definitely don’t have to stay overnight.”
He nods his head, ears intently listening to what you’re saying. You think he’s nodding his head to queue up a firm decline to your plans despite his insistence on going with you.
“I mean, you don’t have to! You can like, drive home and come back the next day? Or not go to the rehearsal dinner and just meet me at the wedding? I just know that sleeping in the same room is gonna be weird and I think my room reservation only has one bed because like I said, I had a boyfriend whenever they booked it and I never changed it after we broke up and-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts your word vomit, “Breathe, kid. Breathe.”
You take a deep inhale in and you want to kick yourself for doing it at his request.
Are you just gonna do whatever Bradley tells you to do, or do we actually have a fucking mind of our own?
“Why would I leave you hanging like that? Huh?” He licks his lips subtly and you have to keep from drooling. “You asked me to come with you and I’m gonna go the whole time and have a blast.”
You nod your head. Your thoughts and emotions have been bouncing off the wall in a vapid fashion from the two hours you’ve been clocked in.
“Okay,” you whisper shakily.
“Okay,” a laugh jumps from his throat and he leans in closer. “Can I get your number, at least? So I can call you instead and make it easier?”
You’re reaching beneath the bar and grabbing aimlessly at the mason jar full of random gel pens and a roll of open receipt paper that was too short to be put inside the machine but too long to be thrown away.
Lime green glitter ink spells out your phone number on the stark white paper before you wordlessly slide it over to rest near Bradley’s fingertips.
He sends you a smile before pulling out his phone and typing the number into the keypad. You have to look away because if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll start hyperventilating.
Your cell phone buzzes in your back pocket once, twice, thrice.
“Are you…calling me?” you ask, head tilting to the side to meet his mischievous glint.
“Context clues, kid. C’mon,” he replies. He holds his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone.
You stand in disbelief in front of him.
He shoos you with his hands. “Go on! Answer!” he urges.
You sigh and playfully roll your eyes before slinging your phone out of your back pocket. You click the green phone icon on your screen before bringing it to your ear.
“Hello?”
“Alright, missy. What’s the address I’m picking you up from Friday afternoon?”
Bradley Bradshaw may not be your boyfriend and probably will never be, but he sure knows how to play the part well enough to fool your family. He may even have you fooled too.
“Shit!” you yelp. Your upper body tenses up and you slam your curling iron on the countertop of your bathroom sink.
The strong vibrations of your phone ringing move your device closer to the edge. You scramble to pick it up and bring it to your ear. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. Odds are, it’s either your mother or your only cousin that you can actually stand, Hallie.
“Fuck,” you whisper before clearing your throat, “Hello?”
You flash your neck in the mirror, fingers dancing around the irritated baby pink skin surrounding the already darkening magenta wound. The skin feels hot to the touch and you know that its placement makes it look more like a hickey than anything. Your mind starts to wonder if putting makeup on it would be a bad decision.
“Hey, kid.”
Fuck. Bradley. It’s Bradley. I forgot about Bradley!
“I’m outside.” You take a deep swallow that you pray he can’t hear over the phone. “You said the house with the purple hydrangeas near the front steps. Right?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Am I this fucking stupid that I can’t even think of another word to use right now?
The long pause doesn’t make Bradley hang up.
“Kid? You okay in there?” The sound of a car door slamming can be heard through the receiver. You listen to the Carlsons down the street mowing their lawn. A few dogs are barking and the sound of Bradley’s shoes hitting the pavement plays a symphony with the bliss of what is a Friday afternoon at 2 PM encapsulates.
His knuckles rap against your front door and you audibly gasp. Your finger hangs up the phone before sprinting to let him in. The flutters in your stomach make you feel like you might projectile vomit any second. No amount of pep talks you had given yourself in the past two days can prepare you for the events of this weekend; not to mention Bradley and your big fat crush on him being the cherry on top.
You swing the door open; a shocked Bradley staring at you and a frenzied heart damn near beating out of your chest.
“I’m not ready yet!” you exclaim, turning your back and rushing back into your bathroom. You move so swiftly that you don’t even notice the bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand.
Fuck! The curling iron is still on.
Bradley lets out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too.”
You pick the iron back up and finish curling the piece of hair you had started on before being interrupted.
“Sorry!” you shout back, “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go.”
Bradley lets out a puff of air he didn’t know he had been holding in. If someone had asked him a month ago where he thought he would be spending a Friday afternoon in mid-March, he probably said he wouldn’t know for sure.
Which is true.
He’s worked out a schedule where he’s able to leave work by 11 AM on Fridays and what he does is often a wild card; his Fridays range anywhere from mundane errands to impromptu skydiving endeavors with Coyote and Phoenix. He might even go for a quick afternoon surf session if he feels up to it.
He’ll admit, sometimes he imagines spending his Friday afternoons with you. In one timeline, he convinces you to ride down the coast with him at sunset. Another has you laying on your stomach at the beach with your nose shoved in a book pretending not to be ogling him while he surfs.
Bradley even lets his mind wander to the possible tan lines on your hips and how he would graze his thumbs just beneath your bikini bottoms to feel the fullness of the skin there, but then he realizes how inappropriate that may be, and he lets the thought sit in the back of his brain unwatered and underdeveloped.
Besides, he was raised better than imagining women naked. . .Even though he thinks you’re absolutely stunning both clothed and naked. . .And would love the opportunity to see you na-
That’s beside the point. Get it together, man.
His eyes survey the surroundings of your living room. Throw pillows and blankets. Candles on the coffee table. Books everywhere. Open windows create sunspots on the carpet. A vintage record player on the shelf of your bookcase and your Tango in the Night vinyl playing softly.
He likes to think that in another life (he’s hopeful for this one, but he’s learned what having too much hope does to a person) your blue fuzzy blanket has a home on his cream-colored couch or that your Fleetwood Mac vinyl finds solace next to his Otis Redding and James Brown records.
Bradley takes a seat on your couch. The brown butcher paper holding together the peony floral arrangement he had picked up crunches in his hand. The other pats along to the soft rhythm arrangement in time with “Mystified.” He can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the sounds of life you make, the small gasps and soft humming and whispered curse words, fill him with endearment.
He’s so wrapped up in melting into your aura that he doesn’t even realize that you had left the bathroom until you stood dead in front of him; curled hair, makeup on, and an electric blue dress laying flawlessly on the silhouette of your body.
You make his mouth dry and any words that he wants to say disintegrate with how amazing he thinks you look. Him not saying anything makes you panic and you wonder if you forgot to blend the bronzer near your neck or if your blush was too pink or if there was a piece of hair you had forgotten or if the dress you had on actually made you look like a frumpy version of Aquamarine (a lot of or, or, ors).
Bradley, please say something.
He sits up straighter upon seeing you. The navy blue dress pants on his long legs bring out the green in his hazel eyes. Your heart feels warm at the thought of him matching you; especially after offhandedly mentioning that you were thinking of wearing a blue dress to the dinner rehearsal.
Your eyes glance to his non-dominate hand and spot the pink peonies wrapped in butcher paper. The simple notion of him getting you flowers makes your knees weak, and the fact that he didn’t get them from the grocery store - that it was an arrangement that he had gotten from a florist - makes you wish you were a better woman and weren’t thinking of dropping to your knees right there in front of him and thanking him with a blowj-
He doesn’t even think you look pretty enough to say something. Don’t get too ahead of yourself.
“Oh,” he wipes his empty hand on the fabric of his pants, “These are for you.” He pushes the bouquet forward for your observation.
A smile is center stage on your lips as you grab them from his grasp. “Thank you. This is really kind of you, Bradley.” You turn to head into your kitchen to grab a vase.
She didn’t say they were pretty. Does she even like peonies?
The silence surrounding you both is deafening. If you could ignore the slightly prickly feeling of heat eating away at the hairline on the back of your neck, you can almost forget that Bradley is even here.
But the thing is, Bradley is here. He’s here and so present and you’re gonna have to give your poor heart a break from beating so fast if you want to survive this weekend without having a stroke.
All the thought does is make you even more nervous (as if that’s even fucking possible at this point).
“Okay, kid. If we’re gonna be together all weekend, this,” he points his finger between you and him, “Ain’t fucking happening. We need to tallllkkkk.”
You swallow. “I -We are talking.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Okay,” you whisper sheepishly, your bare toe grinding into the carpet. The friction sends a wave of heat to your otherwise numb toes. It’s unconventional, but at least it’s helping you feel something other than anxiety.
He nods his head before standing up. His eyes glance at the gold watch on his left hand. “Well, it’s 2:30 and the rehearsal dinner is at 5. We need to get going if we wanna beat traffic.”
“Okay.”
He sighs, watched wrist coming down to lay his hand flat across his stomach. “Talking means more than just saying ‘okay.’ That’s not a conversation.”
You pause for a moment. The flowers he had brought still rest in between the crease of your inner elbow. More silence ensues. You just don’t know what to say.
He starts heading down your small hallway. The whiff of his cologne kickstarts your reaction.
“Hey!” you say, starting to stalk after him, “What the hell are you doing?”
He snickers. “Grabbing your bags? I was serious about getting a move on. Don’t want your folks to think your boyfriend is a slacker now, do ya?”
Bradley grabs the two bags you had struggled to set outside your bedroom door with ease. You never forget how strong he looks (oggling at a guy three days out of the six you work will do that to you) but you always seem to forget how strong he actually is.
You close your mouth before you begin to drool. Bradley will for sure be talking about this weekend with his friends and uncle. You don’t want to add any more embarrassing details to the story. Besides, your awkward preteen pictures from your mom’s Facebook hadn’t even been brought up yet. Some room needs to be saved for your utter humiliation.
Your feet slide into the pair of heels you had set aside before you scramble to grab your keys and purse. How Bradley can move so quickly is beyond your thinking capacity as you haphazardly take the needle off of your record. Your eyes do a quick sweep over your living room to make sure that everything is turned off so you won’t magically come home to a fire safety example at the conclusion of your weekend.
Now, if you can just make yourself stop feeling so jittery, you might be able to actually manage to fit your key into the lock of your front door.
After what feels like three years (and the embarrassment of knowing Bradley probably watched you struggle), the keys are stuffed back into your purse before you pause on your porch.
A black Ford F-150 sits curbside to your driveway. It doesn’t fit in with the SUVs and small sedans that make up the neighborhood you live in. You had never seen a car like this where you lived at all. Come to think of it, you had never seen this truck ever.
Doesn’t Bradley drive a Bronco?
Your eyebrows remain wrinkled with your puzzled expression as he rounds the back of the car; the resounding noise of the back door shutting makes his entrance known. He opens the passenger door for you and stands next to it.
He squints as he looks up at you. The sun is blazing and he forgot to grab his sunglasses from his side of the door.
“Cold feet?” he calls.
You start to head down the stairs and onto the pavement. “It’s seventy-six degrees. I think cold feet is kinda ill worded.”
“It’s a saying.”
The crossed arms over your chest signal your apprehension. Bradley stands before you, leaning against the truck and his arm slung on the top of the cab. He raises his brows at you and does a gentle motion of his head to the seat, inviting you to climb in. Even next to the large vehicle, he still looks. . .huge.
In a good way! In a good way. He’s actually really fit and I’m shaking inside and I’m sure I’m sweating and I have got to stop wearing light colors in front of him because he can probably see the sweat and - Oh God. Oh God, the seats are leather. What if I sweat all over them?
The lump in your throat is swallowed as you stand before him. “This isn’t your car,” you say lamely.
He scoffs. “Spying on me? Do you have my license plates memorized too?”
You know he’s teasing and that he doesn’t mean it literally, but you almost answer, “yes” because you do. Thankfully, you’re in the stage of your anxiousness where you clam up instead of puking your words out.
You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowed because of the bright sun.
“How do I know it’s not stolen? What if we get pulled over because it’s stolen?” you wonder, and then the word vomit picks up and - “ I can’t go to jail! I had nothing to do with it and the ABA is gonna pull my Bar application if we get arrested and I spent too much damn money and worked too damn hard to let an F-150 ruin it for-”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into a small laugh, “I know you love the Bronco,” he gives you a teasing look, “But the Bronco has no air and I figured that since we’re driving two hours on the highway, you would appreciate not having to ride with the windows down the entire time.”
“You still haven’t confirmed that it’s your car.”
“You know, for someone so smart, you are extremely bad at picking up on obvious context clues. Why the hell would I steal a pickup truck and then drive you to a wedding in it?”
You scrounge your brain for a reply. “. . .For the plot?”
He whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your current stance. “Wow. I have a comedian for a date.”
“I’m serious. It could be a possibility!”
“Well I don’t think “felon” looks good next to “painstakingly handsome,” so I’ll pass.”
You remain standing in front of him. Stubbornness was a quality that your mother both loved and loathed and you know it, but Bradley has yet to see this side of you yet. Your arms wrap around your torso tighter and your eyebrows are raised every so slightly.
Bradley knows what you’re doing. He used to do it to Maverick all the time when he was growing up. You’re digging your heels in.
“C’mon. Don’t start poutin’ on me before I even get to disappoint you with my dancing,” he quips. He brings his face closer to yours before flashing you a toothy smile.
You sigh dramatically before letting him help you into the seat. The gentle “Atta girl,” he gives you pinkens your cheeks. You pray he won’t notice your flushed face when he sits on the driver's side of the car. Every interaction you’ve had with him has kept you tossing and turning at night because of your nervousness.
So many things you wish you could take back and so many ways you wish you could act normal; a never-ending cycle of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,” and the thought leaves a small seed of sadness in your stomach.
#bradley bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster top gun#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster x you#top gun#top gun maverick#miles teller#rooster bradshaw fanfic#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster bradshaw x oc#rooster#rooster age gap#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfic#bradley bradshaw x oc#the one where i was going through an obsessive taylor and jonas brothers rediscovering phase and it shows
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Sending gifts to Mary secretly, thank you!
Benefactor
Mary Saotome x They/Them Reader
A/N: Here you go, hope you enjoy! Word Count: 1,471
“Yumeko, did you leave this on my desk?” Mary asked, somewhat suspicious of the small paper bag sitting right in the middle of her desk.
Yumeko circled the desk, hands clasped behind her back. “Nope.”
“Suzui?” Mary interrogated further, glaring suspiciously at the boy.
“N-no!” Ryota held his hands in front of his chest defensively.
“And Ririka had nothing to do with it either, nor Itsuki…” Mary grumbled, looking down at the returned texts on her phone. “I don’t like this.”
“You won’t open it?” Yumeko asked, eyebrows arched.
“Why would I look into a random bag with no indication as to who the sender is? In this crazy school? I don’t think so. I’m not stupid.”
“I’m sure it’s fine Mary. How bad could it be?” Yumeko asked, skimming her fingers over the handle of the bag.
Mary crossed her arms. “It could be a trap. I’m not opening it.”
“Hmm… then I will take the gamble. I wouldn’t want to see this gift go to waste.” Yumeko stuck her hand into the back and was mildly disappointed to to only find a pack of pens. Granted they were really nice gel-ink pens, but for all the fuss Mary was making, Yumeko found it very underwhelming.
“Pens? Who the hell would want to give me pens?” Mary asked aloud, not really expecting an answer, but Ryota helpfully chimed in.
“Oh, weren’t you upset yesterday because you misplaced your favorite pen?”
“I wasn’t upset, just annoyed.” Mary clarified, because it was a very important distinction to her for some reason. “But the point is, if neither of you did it, then who? I only talked about it with you guys.”
“You were quite expressive about it Mary. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole class heard all of your complaints.” Yumeko teased, taking a seat at her own desk.
Mary glared at Yumeko and then looked down at the paper bag and pens distrustfully. So someone in her class had been eavesdropping on her conversations, hm? Well, Mary didn’t like that one bit. She did however, need new pens, so after carefully inspecting the packaging, she caved in and tore it open, placing the new pens in her pencil case and tossing the garbage out. All the while, she observed the classroom with a watchful eye, wondering which among her classmates gifted them to her and for what reason.
***
By the next week, Mary had lowered her guard concerning the mysterious gift, finally writing it off as the non-threatening gesture that it was. However, when she entered the classroom, she was faced with another package. This time, it appeared to be a neatly packed bento in a disposable box. Nothing that would give Mary clue nor cause to find the person who left it there.
“Good morning, Mary. Oo! What do you have here?” Yumeko weaved around the desks once she entered the classroom herself. “I thought yesterday you said you wouldn’t have time to make your own lunch today because of that early morning gamble we agreed to. I remember you weren’t looking forward to having to pay for lunch here. Highway robbery, I think is what you called it.”
“I didn’t make this. Someone left it here.”
“This early in the morning?”
Mary’s eyes glinted. It was early, so early, that there were hardly any other students at school. She already suspected one of her classmates. She could go to all the usual dens, see who was around. Process of elimination!
“Outta my way!” Mary stormed past Yumeko and out of the classroom to search the hallways and gambling dens. She found a couple of her fellow second year Hana classmates, but when pressed, they all claimed not to know what she was talking about. They couldn’t even offer up any possible culprits in their place. It was aggravating.
“Did you find your secret gift giver?” Yumeko asked once Mary strode back into the classroom.
“No.” She grumbled and crossed her arms. “Not yet anyway.”
***
Mary arrived just before classes begun that morning, noting that the rest of her classmates had filed into their seats. She slid into her seat and exhaled into her hands, rubbing them together vigorously. It had snowed last night, and the gloves she usually wore had a hole in one of them. She would wear them anyway, but in this school with its snooty, rich students, it would be a death sentence, so she would have to go without until she could get new ones… or until her secret gift giver did. And this time, she would be ready.
After going about her day, casually mentioning the weather and how cold her hands were to Yumeko and Ryota, she felt she has successfully planted the bait. She would catch them this time.
The next morning, she arrived to school early and hid in the corner of the classroom. She had reason to believe the gift would be dropped off at her desk like the times before, but she also rigged a small camera in her shoe locker just in case they switched it up and decided to put the gift in there. They must surely know she’s onto them by now after all.
Mary was almost falling asleep the the corner when the back classroom door slid open and she jolted awake. She stayed hidden, watching the figure step into the dark classroom. They crept to Mary’s desk and deposited a small box and that was exactly what Mary had been waiting for. Before the person could exit the classroom again as if they had never been there, Mary turned on the light.
“Aha!”
“Ah!” (Y/n) yelped and tripped over one of the desk chairs, tumbling to the floor.
Mary cursed and strode over, “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yeah…” (Y/n) rubbed their ankle. “I’m fine…”
“Good.” Mary punched their shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Why are you sneaking around and leaving stuff for me on my desk?”
“I know you well enough that I know you wouldn’t accept the gifts if I tried to give them directly so I thought it was best to remain anonymous.” They rubbed their arm anxiously.
“You looking for favors?” Mary asked suspiciously.
“What? No!” (Y/n) gawked, “Of course not!”
“Then why are you doing this?”
(Y/n) flustered, “I just wanted to do some nice things for you because… well, because I like you and I think you’re awesome. I didn’t think you’d want anything grand so I listened to what you would tell your friends and got you little things that I thought you’d like or find useful. You aren’t mad… are you?”
It was Mary’s turn to fluster now, having (Y/n)’s concerned eyes looking up at her from the floor.
“N-no! Why would I be mad? Get off of the floor, you look pathetic.” Mary tugged (Y/n) to their feet. “I just think it was weird, that’s all.”
“Oh…” (Y/n) looked down at the floor and Mary internally slapped herself.
“Not bad weird just—“ she groaned, “thank you,” she murmured, “for the pens and the lunch and stuff. It was very thoughtful. I just don’t like surprises or mysteries. I have to deal with enough guessing games when at least one person tries to cheat me in every gamble.”
“I understand.” They smiled shyly and then picked up the thin box they had on Mary’s desk. “Then, here. This is from me… although, I guess that’s pretty clear now.”
“You don’t have to give me this you know.”
“I know, but I want to.” They smiled and presented her with the box, “Please, open it.”
Mary exhaled and took the box into her hands. She slid the ribbon off and popped the lid off, revealing a pair of warm-looking gloves. Pastel polka-dots with a cream base.
“I didn’t know what color would be best… but then I saw these and they reminded me of your thermos. Do you like them?”
Mary slipped one onto her hand. It felt almost as warm as her face felt in that moment.
“They’re more durable then I thought they would be just by looking at them. They’re really nice. I like them, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” (Y/n) breathed a sigh of relief.
It was quiet for a long moment and then Mary cleared her throat.
“It’s so damn early that I haven’t had breakfast yet. Want to come with?”
“To the cafeteria?”
“Hell no,” Mary waved her hand, “that’s highway robbery. We’re going to the convenience store.”
“Sounds like fun.” (Y/n) followed her out of the classroom.
“Great, let’s go then. I need coffee.”
Mary slipped the second glove on and put her coat back on and they walked out of the school together. She was definitely going to treat (Y/n) to a couple warm treats once they arrived at their destination.
#kakegurui oneshots#kakegurui x reader#mary saotome x reader#maeri saotome x reader#requests#anonymous
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