#for work the garment one would literally be life changing
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“INTERNAL REDEMPTION” LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR
summary. (y/n) finds herself in Lucifer’s grasp, knowing her job is to get close to him in order to figure out his future plans for hell and to ultimately sabotage him by telling the V’s. Though their first encounter didn’t exactly go as planned.
CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR
warnings. lucifer morningstar x stripper!fem!reader, eventual smut, mention of death, biblical references, sex work, sexual themes, trauma, abuse, murder
author’s note. this story has gotten so much love in such a short amount of time! thank you all!
“Change of plans, dollface. Your new owner wants you brought to someone else’s place, apparently you’re his gift.” The shark face man tossed you into a back of a van with a snarl, “How generous of him.”
“Screw you.” You bit back as you pushed yourself up, giving the guy a glare.
“Ouch!” The guy playfully steps back with a roaring laugh, “The dove can bite.” You glared at the man as he slams the car doors, covering you in complete darkness. ‘This sucked’ you thought to yourself, you got caught up in something that could make or break Hell itself when you just wanted to live a simple life, or at least the most normal idea of simple you can get. You wanted nothing more than to just dance to your hearts content while keeping under the radar but because of your damned loyalty to Valentino you had no other choice. Cruel as the man can be, you owed him more than just your afterlife.
Before you knew it, you were in a bedchamber after being scrubbed down from head to toe and put in a quite revealing garment. You did not even have time to admire the walls that would serve as your cage for the time being. The intricate architectural designs had you in awe, it was clear you were far away from the slums of Hell being in such of place of grandeur. Chandelier's adorned the high ceilings, oil paintings decorated the walls, and the smell of it all caught you off guard- it was a clean scent, something that only the rich and those bathed in luxury could afford to have.
"You will wait here, until his highness is ready for you." A elderly maid took your clothes that was neatly folded beside you as you stood in the center of the room feeling oh so out of place.
"Asmodeus is still away?" You asked, wrapping your arms around yourself.
"As-? Oh, no dear, you are in the King's bedchambers." The maid revealed, catching you up to speed on your current situation, "You are a gift for Lucifer."
Your heart sank then. Of course this is what you wanted, this was plan a, but how could have you caught his attention so soon? Your mission was now becoming more real and you realized that you couldn't fail. You couldn't disappoint Valentino because your afterlife quite literally depended on it. But now that you were actually in the King's bedchamber what should you expect? Someone demanding? Someone who easily towers over you? Ruthless in bed? You knew to keep your expectations low if the rumors about the King were even remotely true.
For awhile you sat on his large bed. Swallowing into your own thoughts as you waited patiently for Lucifer to arrive. Your nerves only grew and with that your curiosity as well.
Though Lucifer himself was a ball of nerves just like you. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervousness at the thought of a woman in his chamber waiting for him. This was all so screwed, he didn't even want to be at Asmodeus' party nor did he want a prostitute in his room, that he didn't have time to clean due to such short notice. ‘Were you laughing at him and the mountains of rubber ducks? How fucking embarrassing!’ As much as the thought of a night of passion was intriguing, this is not how he wanted it to go. He could be everything people wanted him to be but he wouldn't stoop that low to sleep with someone who was under obligation.
Lucifer returned home to his palace with one thing in mind, and that was to free you from his ownership.
The sound of the rattling doorknob had you shaken from your thoughts, making you hurriedly get onto the center of the bed to make yourself more presentable. Tucking your legs under you, you let a strap of your gown fall from your shoulders as you puff your chest out to reveal your cleavage. You took a deep breath, ready to put on your facade to appear more alluring as you watched the door slowly open revealing the evil, dark, merciless- short king?
You blink once. Then you blink twice.
“I’m sorry,” You scramble to your feet, trying your best to cover yourself with your arms, was this some joke the maids thought would be funny? Putting you in the wrong room? “I must have the wrong room.”
“No, actually this is my room, ha ha.” Lucifer tapped his cane against the ground as he walked further into his bedchamber, kicking a rubber duck to the side, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long, my dear.”
This wasn’t a prank.
“Oh! Your highness,” you curtsy with a bow of your head to show respect, “Forgive me.”
“All is forgiven,” Lucifer tugged on his shirt collar, suddenly feeling smothering in the fabric. He was a bit nervous now that he was in your vacinity. You were absolutely breathtaking up close, “I hope your ride here was smooth.
‘Hardly that’. “It was, my king.”
“Good, Good…uh.” How was he going to go about this? “Well this is awkward, ahaha. I actually was going to release you of your duty to me. Your uh…services, aren’t needed here. This was all just a simple mishap.”
You tilt your head in confusion. He was letting you go? So easily? What of those rumors you heard before, of the man who took and ravaged without mercy? And besides all that, you had a mission to do, you couldn’t fail so easily and so soon. The day wasn’t even over, “Do I not please you, your highness?”
“What?! No, no, no! You are…quite the lovely creature with an,” Lucifer gulped, his eyes raking over your figure with flushed cheeks, “an amazing body but I just—” ‘Spit it out, you idiot!’ He thought to himself. “I-I’m married, you see.”
“Ah,” You look to the floor then, trying to jumble up the words you wish to speak before you were tossed out. How could you convince him otherwise? “I see..”
“Good!” Lucifer clasps his hands together, trying to ignore the fact that he absolutely, positively— what do the young kids say now a days? Fumbled. He fumbled hard on such a pretty woman as yourself. But for good reason. He was married and as lonely as his life may be, he still held out hope for Lilith. He was faithful to her even after all these years…or at least that’s what he wanted to believe, “I will have the maids see you out and pay you handsomely for any inconvenience.”
“No!” You always did want to try acting sometime when you were alive, “Please my boss, would not accept me back. You’re all I have your majesty.” You held onto Lucifer’s arm gently, forcing your eyes to become glossy with tears, “I have no where else to go.”
“Well, that..” Lucifer felt goosebumps arise at the feeling of your fingertips on him, “that…is quite a pickle.”
“If you don’t accept me as your mistress then let me join your staff,” You plead with fake desperation, a desperation so good that even Lucifer was starting to pity you, “I can cook, clean…anything else really just please don’t kick me out.”
Lucifer bit the inside of cheek, trying hard to remain true to his word on releasing you from his leash but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for you, and all it took was you batting your eyelashes at him with a sad look that had him folding instantly. A spark ignited within him, something that he wouldn’t dare even acknowledge.
“I supposed I do have to replace one of my maids.” The King of Hell, gave in without much of a fight. Even if he knew that this was a bad idea, “Fine, fine, fine! You can stay but know that you are allowed to leave whenever you wish, I will not keep you against your will.”
You couldn’t help that your heart all but fluttered as his words. His voice radiated a warmth that you haven’t felt in such a long time. It was surprising and almost distracted you. Almost.
“Thank you, Thank you, your highness,” You bow your head again before raising it to meet his gaze. For a split second the both of you got lost in each other’s eyes at a loss for words until Lucifer finally broke the silence by clearing his throat, turning his back to you with a new found coldness.
“The other maids will take care of you and tell you everything you need to know.” Lucifer made his voice go slightly deeper, “You are excused.”
You nod before leaving the room, silently thankful that your desperate act worked. Which only confirmed that the King of Hell did have a soft spot, a simple crack in that stone wall of his that you fully intended on using to your advantage.
“The King does not eat breakfast but loves brunch, you are to serve him at eleven twenty-five sharp, not a minute early not a minute less—!” The elderly maid you met the day before was walking ahead of you in such speed you were unsure how her little lamb legs could even move so fast. You struggled a bit to keep up, trying to memorize everything she was saying, “—All the windows in the palace needs to be dusted before noon, are you listening to me child?!”
“Ah, yes!” You bumped into her as she abruptly stops, letting an apology fall from your lips before looking up at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows you were expected to clean, “How can you possibly clean all the windows in the palace before noon? How many even are there?”
“Six hundred and sixty-six.” Lysandra states matter of factly, “Now keep up, we mustn’t dawdle.”
The head maid leads you into a the grand foyer, her heels clicking and clacking against the elegant marble floor as she leads you to the center, a large crystal chandelier hanging above the both of you that seemed to sparkle like diamonds under the light. Lysandra points to the bucket filled with soapy water and the big yellow sponge beside it.
“This whole foyer needs to be shining before eleven so you have time to serve the king,” Lysandra raises an eyebrow at you, “Understood?”
You glance around the room, trying your best to understand how in the fuck you were going to clean this whole foyer in under an hour. But did you really have time to complain? At least while you scrubbed you can figure out how you were going to get close to the King, “Got it.”
Lysandra smiles at you, “Good. You remember where the kitchen is? Come there in about an hour to bring the king his lunch.”
“Got it.” You repeat yourself, which makes Lysandra nod in approval before leaving you to your work. You start to get to scrubbing until the floor was so spotless that you could see your reflection through it. Before you knew it was thirty minutes pass ten, making it almost time for you to be done and believe it or not you did better than you thought you would.
Though your mini accomplishment wasn’t celebrated for long because not even a moment later the sound of footsteps echoed through the foyer, and then a loud thud!
“Who in the unholy hell made this floor slippery!” Lucifer groans, holding onto his lower back with a deep frown, “And without a wet sign?!”
You gasped, “Your majesty,” Rushing over you help him, only to be nudged away the moment he got up on his own two feet, “I am so sorry!”
It was already your second day and he had to bump into you again. What are the odds in a place as big as his palace that he ran into you. ‘Fuck, this was going to be hard wasn’t it?’ Lucifer nearly groaned at his own thoughts, ‘Give it another day or two and she’ll just blend in with the other maids.’
“What a unique way to take out the big boss,” Lucifer joked, “Through lower back pain and a dislocated spine.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at his words, stopping short when you realized what you were doing. It wasn’t your fault that the merciless Lucifer was funny— and quite charming.
“Please forgive me, I think I got a bit carried away with the polishing..”
“You think?” Lucifer chuckles, The both of you sharing a moment of laughter, “The foyer does look spotless now thanks to you so I suppose I shouldn’t complain too much. It hasn’t looked this presentable in years.”
You wanted to pat yourself on the back. Turns out cleaning could be a bit therapeutic for you. Lucifer couldn’t help but stare at your face, your small smile and honey sweet laugh seemed to take his breath away.
And he didn’t like it one bit.
You stood a bit straighter as Lucifer cleared his throat, “Now if you excuse me.” And with those words he was off into the dining hall. Which reminded you of your next task— which was to help dust the windows. You had all but completely two before you checked your watch and your heart nearly sank at the time. Rushing to the kitchen, you hurried down some corridor steps and make your way down another hall until you heard the bustling movement and hurried voices.
“You’re late!” Lysandra frowns as she hurriedly puts a tray of food in your hands, “You need to go serve the king! Who knows how long he has been waiting? Now off you go!”
With a gentle, yet a bit forceful shove, your pushed toward a hidden stairway that led you right into a hallway near the King's bedchamber. You sighed before knocking on the large door and entering once you heard a simple, "Come in."
You entered the bedroom, letting the door close behind you as you made you way toward Lucifer. The King was sitting on a chair at his desk, tinkering away at yet another rubber duck to add to his growing collection. You wanted to know where this obsession with ducks came from and why it seemed so out of character for the King of Hell to have. The longer you stayed here, the longer you realized that everything you thought you knew was a lie.
"Your highness," You did a quick bow before setting his tray of food beside him, "Your brunch.."
"Ah! Thank you!" Lucifer frowned slightly, not expecting that it would be you to deliver his food this morning. It was as if you were at every corner, constantly reminding him of his physical attraction to you, "That is all, you can go."
"Um..actually! I thought you would entertain my company for awhile sir," You smile at Lucifer, mentally noting that there was an unspoken sexual attraction but you would have to tear his walls down first to even act upon it. You figured that you would have to get him to trust you first, "I've been curious about your...rubber ducks ever since I got here."
‘Why were you being so persistent? I mean I like it but what exactly was your angle here?’ Lucifer squints his eyes in suspicion at you, looking over your face to find any hint of deceit but only found your warm smile instead, "Really?"
You nod with excitement, pulling up a stool to sit beside him. Now that you were slightly lower due to the short stool, you looked up into his eyes with a hidden determination and a new found curiosity that you couldn't help. The King of Hell was a mystery and whether it was your obligation to Valentino or your want to truly look through the cracks of Lucifer's protective barrier himself, you found yourself intrigued by him.
"Well surely, there is a story behind it." You straighten out your maid attire before putting your hands into your lap, "Will you tell me?"
Lucifer clears his throat, a bit taken aback at the fact that someone seemed so interested in his duck obsession. He hasn't had someone even remotely curious since- well since his daughter Charlie. What was this feeling inside his chest? Why did he want you to continue to look at him in the way you are now?
"I suppose I can spare a moment...or two."
© POPAMOLLY 2024 all fanfics belong to me, do not copy, translate, or repost in any other social media.
@pyromaniac-on-caffeine @froggybich @punching-pentagrams @elleofdragons @futureittomainn @cryptidghostgirl @yelinmarceline
Be sure to leave a comment & let me know if you want to added to the tag list for this story so you’re updated whenever I drop a new chapter! xo
#𖤐popamollyposts#𖤐popamolly#hazbin lucifer#lucifer morningstar#hazbin hotel lucifer#Lucifer morningstar x Reader#hazbin hotel Lucifer x Reader#hazbin hotel fiction#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel characters#lucifer hazbin hotel#Lucifer x reader#fanfic#fanfic writing#lucifer x y/n#lucifer x you#Lucifer hazbin#hazbin hotel fanfiction#Lucifer x Reader smut#lucifer smut#smut
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May I request Jack The Ripper and Hades with an s/o who's a seamstress?
“Jack, please hold still.” [Y/N] insisted as they stuck another pin into the seam line. “There’s a very good chance I could stick you if you keep moving.”
“Apologies, dearest. I am just excited.”
Jack knew of his lover’s skills with a needle & thread. Almost as deft and clean as his work with a knife. However, he had always been too shy to ask them to make him anything. Feeling it would be wrong to except a piece of their art just because they were a couple.
But when they offered to make him a new jacket, he leapt at the chance. Literally.
“I don’t know why you are so excited. It’s just a suit.” They replied with a chuckle.”
“Yes, but it is a suit that you made. By one of the finest seamstress/tailors in London.”
“I’m barely the finest in this borough.” [Y/N] said, sticking in another pin. “Not if Mr. Hertsmere has anything to say about it.”
“He won’t for long.” Jack commented off handedly, before he grinned again at his reflection in the mirror at his new suit.
“Ok. Now go take it off, carefully, so the pins don’t come out. I should have it later next week.”
Jack practically skipped off the dressing pedestal and took off the garment with expert care.
The suit was finished later that week, right on the dot, and Jack felt like he was the best dressed man in all of London. No, the world.
Mr. Hertsmere certainly thought so. Or, at least that was what Jack thought to believe when he was kind enough to spray his blood across the wall, and not his new fine suit.
“My love, you know I love you, right?”
“Yes.” [Y/N] replied. Continuing to read their book, despite hearing Hades come in the room. Their relationship was comfortable enough that they didn’t have to acknowledge each other every time they came into a room.
“That I would do anything for you and that you are the light of my life?”
“Yes….” This was getting a little suspicious, however.
“That I appreciate everything you do for me, and I treasure every gift you’ve ever given me?”
“Hades what are you….” They finally turned around and saw Hades standing there.
Battered and bloody, but physically fine, holding what was left of his jacket. “There was a bit of an accident when I was fighting the Titans…..”
[Y/N] sighed. “An accident, eh?” They asked as they stood up. “And how did you manage that?”
“Technically, it wasn’t me. I didn’t ruin it. The Titans did.”
“Of course,” they replied, and took the scraps in their hands. “There’s nothing left here for me to salvage. I take it you brought it back to show me it was damaged and not lost?” That might have been a subconscious way of thinking, but yes. [Y/N] sighed again. “I’ll make you another.”
“Thank you [Y/N].”
“Go wash up and I’ll have it finished by then. But Hades, if you ruin this one, I will never forgive you.”
Hades nodded and went to wash & get changed. He never let anything happen to his clothes again. Too afraid that his love would never speak to him again if he ruined another coat.
#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#record of ragnarok#hades#record of ragnarok hades#record of ragnarok scenarios#scenarios#record of ragnarok imagine#imagine#ror hades#hades x reader#record of ragnarok hades x reader#jack the ripper#ror jack the ripper#jack the ripper x reader#record of ragnarok x reader#shuumatsu no valkyrie
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2019 - Miramar, California
Chapter 1 of You Are My Soulmate
Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader
Description:
It's been eight years since you received your soul markers on your twenty-first birthday. In that time, your life has changed a lot. You've established your career as an Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer and traveled all over the world. You've also made friends in Naval Bases all over the world. But after years of travel, you're excited for the chance to prove yourself on solid ground working out of Naval Air Base North Island. North Island brings you the chance to connect with some old friends and meet someone who you're immediately drawn to.
Bradley's never thought he would want to find his soulmate, not when he's seen so much of the bad parts of being connected to your soul. But after his close calls during the Uranium Mission, he's craving that connection. He's instantly drawn to this girl he helps at the Hard Deck. But his reaction is anything but great when he sees how close she is to Hangman. Why is he so drawn to her then? Can he avoid her while she's stationed out of Miramar?
Disclaimers: Misogynistic speech. Excessive alcohol consumption. Mentioned Homosexual Relationships
This content presented in this story is for audiences age 18 and over only. MINORS DNI. I will not be accepting tag-list requests from Blank or Ageless Blogs for this story.
Warnings: Female!Reader
Word Count: 7477
A/N: Hey All! Welcome to the first official chapter of You Are My Soulmate! We're going to see sparks fly, literally and figuratively between Bradley and Tinkerbell in this part. It's not good sparks, I'm sorry to have to report. Bradley is incredibly rude and chauvinistic and misogynistic in this part. He's also incredibly confused because his heart and his mind are telling him two different things. I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks to @girl-in-the-chairs-void and @sarahsmi13s for all of your help proof-reading and giving me feedback on this chapter! You both are the best!
AO3: Cross-posted Here!
My Masterlist
Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part
Tinkerbell
A wave of heat greets you as you leave San Diego International Airport with everything you own in three colossal suitcases piled on an airport trolley in front of you. The heat feels incredible against your skin, causing a near-instant sheen of sweat to collect on the backs of your knees, your forehead, and the back of your neck. Your thin sweater and cuffed jeans were appropriate for battling wind shear on an aircraft carrier, but they're a bit much for San Diego. You strip the thin outer garment off and stuff it into your purse, fishing out a pair of sunglasses and basking in the sun while searching through your messages to see when your ride is meeting you.
"Tink! Over here!"
You grin when you see him, obnoxious though he may be, and push the precariously piled trolley up to him.
"Hey, Cowboy! How are you?"
If you'd told your younger self that Jake Seresin would become one of your closest friends, she'd have laughed and laughed before calling him a Cowboy Ken Doll to his face.
"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He looks good, golden and tanned, and the same as ever, even as new smile lines crinkle the corners of his eyes as he smiles sunnily at you.
"Stop flirting, Cowboy. Shut up and hug me."
His embrace feels like you’re finally home. You follow him to the tailgate as he hefts all three of your colossal suitcases in. Jake won’t let you lift a finger to help. You know it from experience, so you stay propped against the side of his truck and soak up the sun a bit longer. It’s an easy silence for a few moments as he settles your luggage.
"How's being back in San Diego treating you so far, Tink?"
Your groan as you settle into the plush, buttery soft leather of his F-150's seats is near pornographic. You prop your feet on his dash and grin at his heatless glare.
"I missed the sun. I've been stuck in the bowels of an aircraft carrier for the past three years. And I've only been stateside long enough to clear out my base housing and fly here. I swear the ground still feels like it's rocking. And don't get me started on the food and the lack of company."
"Well, that's not a feeling you’ll forget anytime soon. But you're in Miramar now, baby!"
His smile is salacious as he smirks at you from the driver's seat.
"And you've got this amazing specimen,” he gestures to himself greasily, “to show you all the best food troughs and watering holes."
You yank his sunglasses off of his nose and tip your own down so you can groan and shudder theatrically in disgust.
"Never." You shove at his forearm lightly, "Never call yourself an amazing specimen ever again. Eww. That gives me the heebie-jeebies."
Leaving the airport, the two of you are immediately in traffic, just as you remember from the last time you were in San Diego. But you're home, so even the traffic feels oddly welcoming. And you haven't seen your best friend in months, so you're happy to talk about his family, soul, and how Miramar has been. The two of you chat about anything and everything, pausing to scream-sing the lyrics to some of the songs playing until the traffic breaks.
"Alright, alright. So what's in the cards for you tonight?" Jake's teeth shine in the sunlight as he grins at you, looking like the cat that got the canary.
"Well…. I gotta take a good look at my cars and bikes, and I need to make sure you haven't trashed my house while you've been here. God knows why I let you take care of it while you’ve been stationed out of North Island."
"Your house is just fine, Tinkie. I even weeded your garden beds over the weekend."
"You?!" You're grinning, relaxing in the company of your best friend, "Weeding a garden?! Since when? I wasn't aware you'd figured out the business end of a trawl since the last time you tried 'helping' me garden."
He's grinning a smug self-absorbed grin when you look at him.
"Well, maybe I got a bit of help from Mav."
You're gawping unflatteringly at him as you let your feet land back in the footwell of his truck with a harsh thump.
"You're telling me you got Maverick Mitchell, the living piloting legend, to help weed my garden?! And he agreed?!"
"Yeah. Mav's not so bad, Tink. He's a great person. And he lives up to his reputation. He made it a squad team-bonding event! He's crazy. He has a few motorcycles and cars himself. And he restored a P-51."
"No way!" You're giddy. "Have you seen it? Is it gorgeous?! I will literally die if you've been up in it."
“It’s beeee-yootiful!” God, he’s so smug, his Texan drawl stretching each syllable. It’s nice to see he hasn’t changed at all in the years since you’ve seen him.
"That settles it. Come Monday morning, I'm driving my Kawasaki to work."
“Somebody’s a fangirl.”
“Jake! C’mon! Seriously! The man’s a living legend. He’s larger than life! He’s quite literally the best of the best. Other than you, he was the only other active-duty pilot with air-to-air kills. The way he flies a plane? It’s pure poetry. I’ve only seen him fly once, but I might swoon if he’s in one of the planes I will maintain on base.”
“Just wait until you have to call him “Admiral Mitchell, sir!” and salute when you’re introduced to him. I will bet you 15 bucks that you can’t do it without making a fool of yourself.” He’s so sure you’re going to make a fool of yourself.
“Make it 50, and I get to pick the punishment when I win.”
“You’ve got a deal, Tinkerbell.” He’s smiling smugly as he pulls the car into your driveway.
You step out into the sun and stretch, grinning at how good it feels to be home. You’d fallen in love with the cutest mid-century bungalow on the beach years ago when you’d been stationed on North Island shortly after graduating from all your qualifying courses. The sweetest old couple owned it, and you’d audaciously dropped by one afternoon offering your help. They’d treated you like their granddaughter, as they didn’t have any children or grandchildren, and you’d loved them too.
It had broken your heart when a lawyer contacted you during one of your early deployments, informing you that they had passed away in their sleep. You had sobbed on the phone as you found out they had left you their house. Since that day, you’ve been trying to live like that lovely old couple. They were each other’s soulmates and had adored each other from the day they met to the day they died. You’d kept the house, hoping it would be as lovely to you and your soul as it was to the two of them. It was now your home base every time you were stateside, and now where you’re fortunate enough to be living long-term for the first time since you inherited it.
You can feel your life slot back into place, the exhaustion and stress of being onboard an aircraft carrier for so long melting away as you step into your home.
"I'll set your bags in the master bedroom. You stink, Tinkie. Go shower, and then I'll buy you dinner and take you out for drinks." You roll your eyes at the mock disgust on his face when you’re sure he’s smelled much worse.
"Love you, Jay!" You blow smooches into the air, pretending not to notice how he staggers dramatically, catching them before walking into the bathroom and sloughing the filth of travel, and Naval ship showers off your skin. You take your time in the shower, exfoliating and shaving every inch of your skin while deep conditioning your hair. You step out of your bathroom, garbed in a soft fluffy robe with your hair finally in fluffy soft waves down your back.
“Hey, Jay?” You yell out your bedroom door. “Where are we going for dinner?”
“How do you feel about tacos? Wear something casual. And for god’s sake, not your uniform. Give that a break until you need to wear it again on Monday.” You can hear a football game from your living room and are glad he wasn’t bored while you spent an inordinately long time in the shower.
“Kay!” You chirp back, going through your closet and fishing out one of the sundresses you’d left in San Diego the last time you shipped out. It’s a flirty number with a flared skirt covered in a raucous floral print. It’s perfect for a summer night out with your best friend. You pair it with a set of cork espadrilles and throw your hair into a fishtail braid before flouncing out the door with your phone and wallet in a little bag.
The both of you are stuffing your faces at this little Taqueria downtown with the best tacos you've had since you were in Mexico when Jake picks up the catch-up conversation again.
"So?" He's grinning, his eyes glinting mischievously as he asks, "Did you find them? Did you find your soul?"
"No. There hasn't been a single person I've met who I've felt drawn to."
"Are you sure you didn't just hide away from the whole world like you do when you get all shy, Tinkie?"
"Urgh…. Fuck you. Not everyone has known their soulmate since they were fourteen years old." You steal a bite of his barbacoa tacos in compensation for that uncalled-for comment.
"Fair enough." Jake crumbles his napkin up after eating his last taco in two bites. He takes a long draft from the bottle in his hand. "What marks do you have again?"
"I have five." You glare playfully at his wolf whistle. "A scent: Sandalwood, a few features: auburn hair, whiskey eyes, and big calloused hands, a song: Tramp by Otis Redding; and an occupation and an important item. I'm not sure which is which. I have fighter jets and an antique blue truck."
Jake's thoughtful as you number each mark on your fingers, lips pursing with each item until you reach the last.
"And, what, Tink, would you say if I tell you that I might know exactly who your soulmate is?"
"I mean… I already promised to love you forever the day I met you. And I apologized to Javy for that, so what more could you need?"
"You buying my drinks at the Hard Deck every time we're both there for a month."
"Deal. Are we heading there now?"
"Yup. It'll give you a chance to meet the squadron you're working with and meet who I think is your soulmate."
You can feel butterflies and excitement swarming in your chest. This feels like everything you've been waiting for. Are you really going to meet your soul tonight? You'll happily pay for Jake's drinks for the rest of your life to pay him back for this if he's right.
You can already see yourself falling head over heels for your soul. It’s your dream to start a relationship with your soul and become better people together. You can also see yourself growing round with your soul's children, his ring on your finger. And you can only imagine how amazing it will be to spend those late-night feedings exhausted but so in love with each other and the babies you brought to life together. Finally, you can see the two of you growing old together and watching proudly as your babies grow into gorgeous adults. And you can see yourself sitting in twin rocking chairs in the house that became a home for you both, with your children and grandchildren arrayed around you.
The sweet ache of your dreams intensifies as Jake chivalrously leads you into the bar. It's packed in the Hard Deck, despite being only a little past 8 o’clock. You're craning your head to see if you can spot anyone you know or recognize. You can feel a sense of anticipation sink into your veins. Tonight more than ever, you feel like your soul is nearby. You’re thankful for Jake’s broad frame as he charts a course directly to the bar where a familiar face is holding court.
"Well, well, well, look at you, Missy! Long time no see, gorgeous!" She still sounds the same as she did three years ago. If anything, she’s lighter and happier than the last time you saw her.
"Penny!" You stretch over the bartop to hug the older woman. Penny was like a mom to you the last time you were on North Island. "Can I get you your usual?"
"Yes, please!" You yell back, straining your vocal cords to be heard. Your drink is prepared in short order, and you grin approvingly as you take a sip.
"Let's catch up later?" You mouth over the crowd, smiling at her signal for a-ok before following Jake towards a rowdy bunch near the pool tables. He's already trash-talking the players, and you elbow him in the gut to remind him you're there.
"Lady and gents, this is Tinkerbell. She just got into town today and will be stationed with us at North Island for a while." He winces and rubs at his stomach before pointing each squadron member out to you by callsign.
"It's nice to meet you all!" It's no time before you chat with Jake's squadron like you've known them forever. It helps that Javy is there, and you can squish your best friend's soul in a ridiculously long hug. It's never been this easy to talk to a squadron whose planes you'll be working on before. Your drink runs out far sooner than expected, and you fight back to the bar for a refill.
You're humming tunelessly and trying to avoid being crushed when a hand smacks down onto the bartop next to you. A body follows it, and you're automatically preparing to fend off whatever flirty bullshit this stranger will lay on you.
"That's a fantastic song."
Okay, that's not what you were expecting. You turn your head and see dark eyes and curls like in your soul mark. He's wearing an obnoxiously loud Hawaiian shirt and has a mustache from an eighties porn flick. But his voice? You could melt into a pool of primordial goop just at the feeling of his voice in your eardrums. And he likes your song clue too. You're not doing it any justice, but he'd still heard and recognized it.
"Yeah, it is. I heard it a long time ago."
"What's a pretty girl like you doing in a Navy bar?" He’s smirking now. There's the flirting you expected. You can’t help your eye roll as he tries and fails to charm you.
"I'm out with some friends. Came up to the bar to get a refill on my drink."
"Hey, Bradley!" It's Penny again. So she knows this guy. Maybe he's not a creep.
"Hey, Pen. I'll take a beer and whatever this pretty girlie drinks on my tab."
"Pen, I'll take my drink on my tab. Thank you very much," is your quick rejoinder.
He lifts his hands to placate you before going back to standing stylishly against the bar. You can feel his eyes on you as you order your refill, and you're constantly self-conscious of every word pouring out of your mouth. And speaking of your mouth, is your lipstick smeared out of place? You've just ascertained that everything looks good in a napkin holder when things get frantic in the bar.
There's yelling and screaming, but no matter how you search, you can’t see what is happening. Soon, Penny's ringing the bell, and the crowd surges around you. When you’re sure you’ll get trampled in the rush, hands are on your waist, helping you until you're perched on a barstool. The stranger leaves his hands on your waist for several long moments. You're barely breathing. With each shallow breath you take, you can feel the heat of his big hands searing into your skin. You can see the flashes of gold in his whiskey eyes this close to him.
The intense urge to kiss him surprises you. Your mark containing your soul's physical features and song is checked off, but you're still unsure if he's your soul. But you desperately want to kiss this cocky, gorgeous stranger. You feel this intense ache to feel his mustache press against your skin and numb your lips as he kisses you wantonly, urgently. More than your neck and lips, you want to know what his mouth feels like against your cunt. How that mustache would feel against your tender flesh as you scream for his talented tongue. Those hands propped so innocently against your waist? You want them everywhere too.
You're shaken out of your reverie by the crowd's repeated chanting of 'Overboard'. And then the hands clasped around your waist withdraw. Just as you're about to say something, anything to hear that beautiful voice again, you hear Jake calling for you. You wave to catch his attention. Jake comes bounding up just as you hop down from the stool.
"Hey, Tink. Are you alright?" He pulls you into a tight hug, and you'd accuse him of being smothering had you not known how much he cares.
"I just saw the crowd rush the bar, and Phoenix said you'd come for another drink." You can see the worry on his face as he finally releases you and steps back.
"Yeah, I nearly was. But this guy saved me. He hauled me onto a barstool and kept me from getting jostled there until the chaos died." You turn in place to thank the stranger for his help, but he's not there anymore. "I wonder where he went? I wanted to buy him a drink to thank him." Your drink stands on the bar top, but the beer he ordered? It’s gone, leaving only a ring of condensation on the wood.
"I have one more member of the squadron for you to meet. C'mon. Grab your drink and follow me." Jake's vibrating out of his skin. You haven't seen him this excited since he introduced you to Javy as his soulmate, not just his wingman.
He pushes you by the shoulders to the pool tables again, keeping up a stream of funny stories that make you giggle. That’s when your heart seems to start beating in double time. A familiar broad-shouldered silhouette is propped up against one of the pool tables, a beer held languidly in two fingers of one big hand as he laughs.
Jake pushes you towards the pool tables, and when he's determined you're close enough, he wraps an arm around your shoulder.
"Oi, Rooster. This here is Tinkerbell. She will be working with the squadron as one of the Aviation Maintenance Duty Officers. Tink, this is Rooster, Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."
"We met earlier. Thanks for the save back there when things got crazy."
The warmth in Bradley's eyes at the bar seems to have completely drained away. He's not smiling anymore and definitely not flirting when he responds, "Good to meet you." gruffly back at you.
The hope you felt at the song and his eyes, hair, and hands sinks like a lead balloon. An awkward silence falls over the pool table, punctuated only by the low clicking as the Jukebox switches the song playing. You’re more than a little taken aback. Bradley Bradshaw had seemed so nice at the bar. Flirty, sure, but nice. You’d enjoyed the joy sliding effervescent through your veins at each word you spoke. Jake pulls you towards the dart table.
"That's the guy I thought would be your soul. No luck?"
"I thought I felt the spark earlier, but no luck."
You're confused, but ultimately, chalk the electricity you felt to your exhaustion and the heat inside the bar. The rest of the night is easy and light. You're going to have fun working with the Dagger Squadron. And the atmosphere stays that way until you hear Rooster's conversation with Payback and Fanboy as you walk back toward the pool tables after a stop at the restroom.
"So? What do you think of her, Rooster?" It's Payback who asks that.
"Come on. There is no way she's a good Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer. She's all over Hangman. What a slut." His voice has a cruel slur as he spits out the words.
"She does seem close to him." That's Fanboy, you think.
"Hah. Even if they're soulmates, I doubt there is a single thought in that little head. I bet she got here on her knees."
They laugh, and that's officially when the night sours for you. The first time you meet Rooster and he's already decided to hate you. You haven't gotten here on your knees. The accusation disgusts you. Why had you come out with Jake tonight? If only Bradley Bradshaw had stayed a handsome stranger. Maybe then you wouldn't feel like your heart was ripped from your chest and stomped on.
You walk towards the bar, thinking about his words. They hurt more than you’d expect, considering how you’ve heard many variations of them before. A particular class of Navy men hates that a woman knows the ins and outs of a plane better than them. You’ve been victim to the nonsense spewing out of those men’s mouths before. And you thought you’d formed a thick skin and knew how to handle it. In hindsight, you should’ve known it would take only one devastatingly handsome man’s ill-thought words to tear down all your inner strength and confidence.
You’re startled out of your thoughts when a drunken sailor nearly knocks you over as you walk. He’s heavy but oh so warm. You look up, wanting to know if the sailor is okay, and see none other than the man you’ve been thinking about for much of the night. Bradley Bradshaw sends the same electricity singing through your veins as he steadies himself with those big hands on your waist yet again.
“Tinkerbell. You okay? I didn’t mean to run into you like that.” He’s drunk. He’s completely and totally drunk. You can smell the beer seeping from his pores and something woodsy and delicate that you can’t place. How can he act like his words didn’t flay you open? You can feel rage course through you at the clumsy way he’s patting you down to ensure you’re alright.
You brush his hands off your person and nearly growl at him, “Why? I’m just another garden-variety slut, right? The only way I got to where I am in my career is on my knees, right? You don't need to apologize if that’s what you think.” Rage and pain sit hot in your chest as you spit his words back to him.
He looks taken aback, something unknown swimming in his eyes as his throat works. But before he can flay you open again, you walk away. You’re thankful now that you’d settled up your tab with Penny before you headed to the restrooms. You're quick to leave after that, the alcohol in your system magnifying your anger and pain until you're lost to it. Outwardly, you smile and say your goodbyes to everyone in the squadron before telling Jake you’ll meet him and Javy in the morning for brunch and book a ride-share home.
You can’t help meditating on what you heard in the car and vow that on Monday, you'll be perfectly professional, even if every time you look at Bradley Bradshaw, you'll feel the pressure and heat of his hands on your waist. That's the part that bothers you about this whole thing. It had felt electric having him that close, at least for you. But there is no way he's your soul, right? He's too much of an asshole for that. Why else would he have said what he said?
Rooster
There is nothing like the feeling of being up in the air, going faster than the speed of sound. Many people work hard for their careers, and he’s had to do that too. But Bradley Bradshaw maintains that he was born to fly. It’s in his blood. After all, his dad, Uncle Mav, and other uncles flew. So it’s no wonder that he’s one of the best of the best. And he’s on an elite squad hand-selected by the Navy to fly those missions that nobody else can. Things are finally looking up. His career is excellent. He’s connected with his Uncles again. He’s part of a squad that works like a well-oiled machine. Only one thing could improve his life: if he weren’t so lonely.
Bradley Bradshaw has always been the life of the party. So why does it hurt nowadays after the party ends and he’s staggering half-drunk into the apartment he’s been given on base? Sure, he’s not lacking companionship. All it takes is a flirty wink, a couple of notes on the piano, and scores of badge bunnies appear ready and willing to drop everything to get into his bed. Getting his dick wet has never been so dull. All those girls flirt the same. They moan the same at the exact same times, and they always, always, always cum the same way.
So sue him. He is over thirty years old, and he's bored with everything in his life except for flying. And even with the squad, they do the same things nearly every night. Most of the squad has found their soulmates. So when they aren’t out with their soulmates, the whole crew is clustered around the pool tables at the Hard Deck. On Saturdays, he heads to the hangar in the desert with Mav to work on the P-51. Sometimes Penny and Amelia are around, sometimes not. And Sunday night is dinner with his Uncles. That's been his life since Mav crashed back into his life with the Uranium Mission. And every workday is full of flying, the high-octane rush of it the only time he feels alive.
It’s a Friday night like any other as he rifles through his closet for a Hawaiian shirt. The squadron had finished their hop debrief for the day and made plans to meet at the Hard Deck at half past 8. It is just about 8:45, and that is typical too. He's always late, and once he’s at the bar, he always downs a beer or two and then plays a few songs on the piano before taking whichever badge bunny catches his fancy home.
At least San Diego never fails to disappoint. It's gorgeous out. Bradley's sunglasses are on, and the wind whips through his hair as he drives his Bronco to the bar. If there's one thing he loves more than flying, it's driving this car. The one his dad left him. It's one of the only places he has left where he can be Bradley Bradshaw, not Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw.
There's something funky playing on the radio as he drives up to the Hard Deck, and it lifts his mood just a little. It's that old Otis Redding tune, Tramp, and he can't help the swagger in his hips as he walks into the bar. It's packed tonight, and people are dancing, chatting, and laughing from wall to wall. He can feel a strange electricity in the air, and everything feels different tonight. He can’t place what about the Hard Deck looks different, though. It looks like the same sea of Navy Personnel and badge bunnies, both male and female, milling about with alcohol in hand. Amidst the crush of bodies, he finally grasps something new. There’s a glimpse of brightly patterned fabric against the bar, colorful and flower printed. It’s like sunshine on a cloudy day.
He can feel the stretch of his muscles bunching underneath his jeans as he walks towards the bar. Each stride is nearly smooth, except for the catch in his leg, which broke years ago and still twinges when it’s damp out. It’s several moments before he sees that captivating colorful glimpse, though. It’s a girl, though a woman would be a better descriptor, wearing a floral printed sundress. The bodice clings to her figure, and the skirt is full, flaring out to just below her thigh and revealing miles of supple leg ending in wedge sandals. Her glistening hair looks thick and soft as it lies in a braid, something finicky and delicate that he couldn’t name if he tried. Could this be her? His soulmate? With only two soul marks, there is no way she could be his.
She’s humming. It’s not the most tuneful rendition, but it is instantly recognizable regardless, Otis Redding’s Tramp. Bradley lumbers forward, laying his hand heavily on the bar top beside her while waiting for Penny to make the rounds. His actions get her attention, and he’s at the mercy of big doe eyes as they glance right up at him. But she’s not coy like other girls are when he’s next to them. She looks like she’d do anything besides talk to him.
"That's a fantastic song."
Bradley can see the warring emotions behind those beautiful doe eyes as she tries to figure out how to respond.
"Yeah, it is. I heard it in a dream a long time ago." Her voice is sweet and soft but with a backbone of steel. And those expressive, expressive eyes. He can read exactly what she’s thinking in those eyes.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a Navy bar?”
Her eyes roll, her plush lips pursing and nose crinkling as she realizes he’s flirting.
"I'm out with some friends. Came up to the bar to get a drink."
"Hey, Bradley!" It's Penny who interjects. She must know this pretty girl and feels strongly about protecting her too. Bradley's on the business side of a glare like he hasn't received from her since he was eight years old and being babysat by Penny while his mom was running errands.
"Hey, Pen. I'll take a beer and whatever this pretty girl drinks on my tab."
"Pen, I'll take my drink on my tab. Thank you very much." She's beautiful and quick as a whip. Bradley resolves to stay on her good side. This girl will not accept any free drinks. Bradley lifts his hands placatingly in her direction, taking long glances at the slope of her nose and the shape of her burgundy-stained lips as she gives Penny her drink order, something fruity and sweet.
That's about when things turn upside down in the bar. A fight breaks out at some of the tables. He can barely see the drunken idiots going at it from where he’s propped against the bar. There's yelling and screaming, and Penny quickly rings the bell. The crowd surges around the bar, and he makes an executive decision. He hoists the pretty little thing he's been trying to chat up and plops her down on the bar stool in front of him, using his body as a barrier. She's staring at him in shock now. Those pretty, plush lips are parted just enough for him to glance at her tongue.
He has this sudden intense urge to kiss her, to taste the residue of sugar-laden liquor on that perfect pink-stained mouth and tongue. Bradley wants to do more than kiss her, too. He has a sudden flash of those gorgeous eyes teary as those plush lips wrap around his cock. He wants to feel the weight of her pert breasts in his hands, to make those pretty little hands grasp his hair as she screams his name. He's never felt like this with anyone before. And he finds that he's embarrassingly growing hard just at the thought of her.
Her skin is soft and hot through the thin fabric of her dress as his hands rest in the dip of her waist. Her chest heaves with each shallow breath as she looks at him. He’s just about to tell her his name, ask her what she’s thinking, or do anything to hear another word out of that pretty mouth when the cry of ‘Overboard’ fills the bar. It looks like the men who had been fighting are getting thrown out. That’s when he realizes his hands have been around this girl’s waist for far too long. He steps back with his throat dry as he lifts his hands from around her. He can still feel her against the pads of his fingers as he flexes his hands uselessly at his sides.
The bar is soon back to normal around him. Penny drops off her drink and his beer, and as he grabs his drink and turns back to the pretty girl, he can hear Hangman calling for her. Her eyes are wide with recognition, and she waves at him. So she’s Hangman’s something, though he’s not sure friend is the best term. Bradley slips away just as Hangman reaches her, drawing her into a protective embrace.
The jolt of irritation that shoots through him at the sight is filled with something uncomfortably close to jealousy. He can feel something nasty crawling out his chest at the sight of the sweetest girl he's ever spoken to being swept up in Bagman's arms. The worst part is that she looks like she belongs there. Bagman'd bragged unendingly about his soulmate before. This must be her. It figures that she’s got a soul already. That her soul is Bagman is just salt in another open wound. He takes a swig from the cold bottle in his hand and turns his back on the sight, moving through the crowd to the pool tables. Phoenix and Bob are trouncing Payback and Fanboy in a game of nine-ball, and it’s looking to be just like any other Friday night the squad has had since it became permanent.
He’s brooding, and the squad can no doubt sense the suddenly foul mood seeping from his pores. Outwardly, he's trying, really trying to keep it from showing in his tone. Sure, she's Hangman's. That just means that his soul has to be out there, right? He still remembers the pact he'd made in that hospital bed years ago when he’d gotten his marks. Would his younger self begrudge his need to find the person who's right for him? It's exhausting having to play a part day in and day out. Even with Mav, he can't let his guard down. Bradley’s not even sure when he started looking for his soul in earnest or when the revolving door of girls got stale and boring.
All he knows is that one day he woke up and wanted everything his mom and dad had. He wants happiness like the time before Top Gun when it was just the three Bradshaws and his Uncle Mav. All the light and love and happiness. Neither his mom nor his dad had any family left before they died. He’s it. He’s the last of their lines. And after his close calls over the past few months, he never wants to feel like he’s at the end without a soul who loves him ever again. He just has to find her and hope she can love him despite his life's mess and stress.
Hangman pulls him out of his reverie by pushing his girl toward the rest of them. She grins at him, and he can hear her giggles as Hangman drapes an arm around her shoulder, drawing her into his side.
"Oi, Rooster. This here is Tinkerbell. She will be working with the squadron as one of the Aviation Maintenance Duty Officers. Tink, this is Rooster, Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw."
"We met earlier. Thanks for the save back there when things got crazy." God, her voice still sounds so good, melodic, and sweet. But, the nasty little voice in his head screams at him, ‘She’s not yours. She’ll never be yours. What about you could a sweet little thing like that want?’. The irritation ever-present since he realized she’s Bagman’s soul colors his tone as he nearly barks, “Good to meet you.” back at her.
He can see a little of the joy shutter in those doe eyes and immediately kicks himself for making her feel that way. An uncomfortable hush surrounds the tables. He can feel eyes on him. Hangman’s, Bob’s, and definitely Phoenix’s. He takes a swig of his beer, but before he can apologize or ease the hush, he’s dragged away by an incandescently incensed firebird.
“What the fuck was that, Bradshaw?” He’s pissed Tasha off. He hadn’t seen her this angry since Hangman left her and Bob behind while they were training for the Uranium Mission.
“I dunno, Tash.”
“Well, you better figure it out. Tinkerbell’s going to be working with us. You don’t fuck with the girl who maintains your plane, birdbrain. Not unless you want to be falling out of the sky.” Bradley can’t argue with her reasoning as she steals his beer and saunters back to the pool tables.
The worst part is that Tinkerbell doesn't even seem to care that she's set his whole world on fire. She's laughing and giggling with Jake and Javy by the dartboard as they take turns covering her eyes and showing her how to throw the dart accurately despite being unable to see. It's a shot he's seen Bagman make about a billion times, but he can't stand seeing their hands on her skin.
For the rest of the night, he's acutely aware of exactly where she is. It's like he's orbiting her, and he makes it a point to stay as far away from her as possible. But no matter what he does, he can’t make the nasty feeling in his chest disappear. Tinkerbell fits in so easily with the rest of the team. She’s laughing with Phoenix and has even pulled Bob out of his shell more gracefully than Hangman had all those months ago. But no matter how he tries, Bradley can’t force himself to be nice to her. So he makes what is probably the worst decision he’s made all night and starts knocking alcohol back. Bradley’s indiscriminate about what he drinks. He does shots of Tequila with Phoenix and then knocks back beers with Fanboy and Bob shortly after.
A few hours after he’s started drinking in earnest later, he’s feeling loose, and that knot in his chest is fading at least a little bit. Payback and Fanboy are laughing in a corner by the windows, and he wants to know what they’re laughing about. It’s a struggle to make his legs move, and he nearly bowls Fanboy over in his clumsy journey to laugh with them.
“Woah, Roos! Man, you’re so drunk!” Fanboy’s always a giggly mess when he’s been drinking. Tonight is no different. He and Fanboy are propped carefully against each other, giggling unendingly when Payback shoves a glass of water into each of their hands. Payback waits until both Fanboy and he have downed the water and sobered up a little before asking his question. "So? What do you think of her, Rooster?"
“Think’a who?” He’s slurring as he speaks, fighting back juvenile giggles as Fanboy makes silly faces next to him.
“Tinkerbell, Bradshaw. Y’know, the girl you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off of all night?”
“Oh, her.” Bradley’s so drunk he’s looking for her again. He can’t see her patterned sundress or her pretty hair or her sweet smile or melodic laugh anywhere. But he does see Hangman with his eyes alert, watching for her.
“Bradshaw. What do you think of her?” Payback’s trying to keep his drunken self on track. Bless him.
“She’s beautiful. But, come on. There is no way she's a good Aviation Maintenance Duty Officer. She's all over Hangman. What a slut." His voice has a cruel turn as he slurs out the words.
“Aren’t you being a little harsh, man? You don’t even know her. So what if she’s close to Hangman? That doesn’t make her a slut.”
"She does seem close to him." Fanboy is finally tracking a little bit of the conversation.
"Hah. Even if they're soulmates, I doubt there is a single thought in that little head. I bet she got here on her knees." He can feel his sense of balance reel just a little as he turns away.
He staggers through the bar looking for Penny to close out his tab and get more water. That’s when he makes contact with the one person he’s been trying to avoid all night. He nearly bowls her over, too, in his overeager drunken haze.
“Tinkerbell. You okay? I didn’t mean to run into you like that.”
He can't resist dragging his hands up and down her soft waist as he looks into her eyes. Those expressive eyes look hurt and are swimming with barely suppressed tears.
“Why? I’m just another garden variety slut, right? The only way I got to where I am in my career is on my knees, right? You don't need to apologize if that’s what you think.” It hurts hearing that gorgeous voice sound so rough. His hands sting from where she’d slapped them away.
His throat is inexplicably dry again. But Tinkerbell’s gone before he apologizes or says anything to redeem himself. Well, he’s not sure what he would have said anyways. He staggers to the bar, accepts the glass of water Penny hands him, and looks drunkenly at the squadron as they continue to have fun without him. He catches glimpses of Tinkerbell as she says what looks to be her goodbyes and flounces out the door.
“Bradley, hey, kiddo.” When did Penny get here? “D’you want me to call Mav to take you home?”
He can’t find the words to reply, alcohol weighing his tongue as he fights to talk about everything he’s been feeling tonight. Penny must have decided to call Mav anyways because the next thing he sees when he opens his eyes is Mav in front of him. He’s speaking, but it takes a few moments for Bradley to identify what he’s saying.
“Hey, Baby Goose. Penny called me. She said you needed a ride. D’you have your wallet and the keys to the Bronco?”
“Yeah, Mav.” He fishes the keys out and hands them to his uncle. It’s a bit of a struggle to get out the door, and he can’t help babbling at his uncle and one of the only dads he’s ever known as he staggers out the door propped against his shoulder.
“She was so pretty, Mav.”
“Who, Baby Goose?” Mav sounds confused, and Bradley can’t keep the goofy look off his face as he incoherently talks about Tinkerbell and how much he loves how she looks.
“Why do you like her so much, Brad?” Mav’s still trying to make his words make sense, and the more lucid part of Bradley’s brain understands exactly why. “She feels like what you told me it felt like when you met Uncle Ice. And what you told me Dad felt like when he met Mama.” Having a life like his parents, it's all he can think about, even when he’s blazingly drunk.
It’s quiet in the car as Mav drives him back onto the Naval base and towards his off-base quarters. That silence continues until Mav’s gotten him into his apartment and onto his bed. And that’s when the rest of the story spills out of him.
“But she’s Hangman’s, Mav. Why does she feel like she should be mine if she’s Hangman’s?”
“I dunno, Baby Goose.” His uncle’s running his fingers through his hair like he used to when Bradley was a kid and had a nightmare. “Maybe there’s more going on there than you know? Try to get to know her without assuming she’s someone else’s soul. Try to get to know this girl as she is, and maybe you’ll find that she’s what you need when you least expect it.”
“But what if she wants nothing to do with me?” Bradley’s not surprised to hear a tremor in his voice as he asks that one final question. Sleep’s already pulling on every sense as he fights to stay awake.
“Just be yourself, Bradley. And if you’ve truly done so much damage in one night that you can’t get past, then there’s nothing you can do but hope.” That’s the last thing Bradley remembers before he falls asleep, and he hopes he’ll be able to do what his uncle says the next time he sees her.
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#star writes#star screaming about top gun#you are my soulmate#bradley bradshaw x reader#rooster x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster angst#rooster imagine#bradley bradshaw angst#bradley bradshaw imagine#top gun fanfic#top gun fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfiction#top gun maverick fanfic#unrequited love#soulmates#soulmate!au#angst#enemies to lovers#miscommunication
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After Dark Pt. 2
Synopsis: What do you do when there’s a man with fangs lurking in the shadows, swearing he can keep you safe but ever since he’s popped up in your life things get worse? Change is weird and very permanent.
Pairing: Spider-Man 2099 x Female Reader
Word Count:
Genre and Warnings: Romance, Angst, Smut (eventually), Violence, Slow Burn (kind of)
18+ Part 1. 3 (A.N. This was not proofread!)
Miguel was making a mess. He truly was.
“Look, it’s okay if you don’t have it. (Y/N) will call me when she’s back and I’ll come by to grab it. It’s really no issue.” A younger woman who had been flirting with him had been here for now an hour told him as she leaned over the counter, proudly displaying her breasts through the thin white shirt she was wearing. She was beautiful but Miguel wasn’t interested in that at the moment, he was trying to find her blue evening gown. He shook his head as he silently berated himself looking everywhere for the hung up garment. Why did he agree to this? There were at least 3 people here waiting for a while for their stuff and although they were more amused by this tall buff guy running around trying to get their correct items, Miguel couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. All that high iq and fancy job as a chemist for what? Just to not be able to find simple clothes that were hung up? He wanted to scream and break everything in here out of anger but he couldn’t because he made a promise as Spider-Man that he would help out even if she didn’t know that he was in fact Spider-Man helping out.
“No, I’ll find them. I’m just, this is my first day.” The old man smiles and begins to walk out the store, followed by the rest of the customers as well as the girl who had unsuccessfully tried to get his attention.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Miguel.” She winked and closed the door behind her.
He let out a scream and slammed the cash register into the concrete floor, breaking it.
“Oh.” Miguel covered his face in further frustration. Well, it wasn’t like it was new or working. He made a mental note to buy her a new one eventually since hers was severely banged up already and didn’t open right due to how much trauma it had went through. He was happy that he didn’t take out his anger on her little iPad that did card transactions. Now that would have been worse.
After he had fixed the broken floor with more concrete, which he had to close shop for a bit and go find the materials and do so much more manual labor, he put up a little sign next to it to warn others to not step on that side of the store. He was admiring his work when a teenager came in. Miguel looked up at the clock seeing it was 30 past 3 and sighed. This was (Y/N)’s star client for today.
“Hey, I have your jersey right here.” Miguel stepped to go to the back of the store when he realised that he had in fact left the jersey at the hospital with (Y/N), she was going to definitely kill him. “Uh, actually-“
The bell of the front door rang and in came in (Y/N), her timing being of a movie’s. She frowned looking at the sign by the newly put down concrete in her flooring.
“What happened here?”
“Hi, do you happen to have his jersey on you by any chance?” Miguel wasted no time as he went up to you.
(Y/N) frowns. What happened to her floor? “Uh, yeah.” She goes through the motions of getting the jersey out of her hospital bag and hold it out while staring at the semi fresh concrete filling what looked like a hole and cracks. Literally happened?
“Thank you so much!” The jersey is pulled out from her fingers and the bell of the door shakes indicating it’s been opened again and then the door shuts.
“What happened to my floor?” She holds her hands at her hips, the hospital bag’s cords wrapped around one of her wrists.
Miguel remembers that he didn’t even make up an excuse for why that hole was there and why he had to fill it.
“There was an at-,” (Y/N) finally looks up and is taken aback seeing the tall buff man behind the counter top of her business. “-tempt on the store but they broke the register and threw it so it left a hole.” It was the first thing that came to his head. He walks out from behind to counter and stands in front of you with his hands on his waist. You blink.
“How does that cause such a massive hole?”
“My name is Miguel, you’re (Y/N) right?” He puts his hand out offering you a handshake. You look at his hand, then up to his face. Without breaking eye contact you put your hand in his, also very large as Spider-Man’s. What was going on with men? When did they get so.. massive? And so attractive?
“Hey Miguel, what happened to my floor?” He repeats the story of the failed robbery and how they broke the register with the floor. You weren’t convinced.
“Okay but, they tend to not be that strong?” You tilt your head and he closes his eyes in frustration. The first time you tilted your head at him and he almost forgot how to breathe, you were just so pretty to him and here you were doing it again.
“How’s your head?” He opened his eyes and puts a hand around your head softly and moves your head back, changing it from the puppy tilt you did that left him wondering if he should just leave before he told you how beautiful you were. Your hands go up and grab his wrist and pull his hand down.
“I don’t know any strangers who go up to people and grab their heads.” You let go of his wrist and he feels a warm buzzing where your fingers were seconds ago.
“Sorry, uh, how’s your head?” You look at him and roll your eyes walking past him to the back of the counter.
“It’s fine, thanks for the concern.” It looked like everything else was fine and in its own place. Maybe this Miguel guy wasn’t a complete idiot like you were thinking he was as you walked to the store moments ago. And he was so, so, so beautiful. You look up and see him deep in thought, hands on his waist as he looked at the drying cement in the store where he claimed someone threw your cash register. Fuck, even like that he looked beautiful. His onyx black locks were messily pushed out of his face and they looked so soft, his olive skin tone was almost mouth watering as it looked inviting and warm, his broad shoulders made him look like he could throw you over them and built you a house out of wood. Where had he been hiding this whole time? Sure he looked a lot older, maybe 10 years an older but it added to his attractiveness.
Something peeps through his lips, out the corner of his mouth, it looks sharp.
You shake your head.
Business continues as normally throughout the day with Miguel trying his best to alleviate the work load, while there wasn’t many people there was a lot of stuff the small amount of people brought in. Everyone was generally kind and understanding, most were concerned with (Y/N) and her health. It made Miguel’s heart warm seeing how the people of this community were so tight and loving of each other. It took him a long time to get that same love from his community back at home and while he still didn’t have it with his legion, he was content. In this moment at this time in this universe he was more than happy.
“I’ll be coming in tomorrow at 7 am, if that’s fine with you?” Miguel told you as you turned off the lights at the front of the store and began to close the curtains to the windows so the outside moonlight wouldn’t come in. You hum in response.
“I don’t have the money to pay you for work tomorrow.” You lock the doors and pull out a wad of money from your back pocket, walking over to Miguel as he stood behind the counter. “But here’s for today. Thank you for your help.” You put the money on the counter and smile. It’s a genuine smile. His heart skips a beat.
“I am not to receive payment, Spider-Man made that very clear.” He leans down, his arms on the counter and he leans towards you. You realise how close he is to you but yet he still towers over you despite his upper body being on the counter, of course held up by his arms but still. The look in his eyes was serious but yet, inviting?
“I’m okay to work by myself tomorrow.” You walk past the counter, the money still there in front of Miguel as you made your way to the back of the store. You hear his footsteps as he follows you. “And no, you can’t stay here.” You open another door and make your way to your small room. The room use to be a little janitorial closet but you remodelled it and even torn down the wall that separated it from the only bathroom in your store, you had instead set up a little curtain to give it a sense of privacy but you did what you could to make your room cute and girly. Miguel walked in from behind you, seeing the pastel pink painted walls, the small mattress on the floor with white duvets that had strawberries on it, multiple plush animals decorated the room, a small tv set in front of the mattress, plants decorated the room from being on the floor to being hung from the ceiling, the only light source was some yellow fairy lights hanging off the ceiling and a long rack of clothing was in the corner with clothes.
“You have a very nice set up here.” Miguel lowly says to you as you make your way to a small coffee table by your bed and fumble with some keys. You make your way back to him as he stood in your doorway, it looked almost out of place. Here was this big massive tall strong masculine man and he was surrounded by the pink of your room. You couldn’t help but giggle to yourself a bit as you hold your closed fist to him.
“Thank you, here.” He puts his hand out, palm up and you drop a set of keys in his hand.
“Here is a copy to the store’s keys. You can let yourself out from the back doors, I’m sure you know where it is since it a next to my room. Spider-Man does in fact owe me so I’ll take the help.” He looks at the keys, they are also pink but with glitter. They look almost hand painted. He puts them in his back pocket and smiles at you politely.
“Wait so you stay here all alone?” His smile drops as he remembers that the front is mostly glass, there was no cage or anything to protect you if someone decided to break in. And the door to your room wasn’t exactly a strong door.
“Yeah, the guy that I pay for protection keeps his people patrolling at night, at least he can provide me protection at night.” You dismiss Miguel’s scrunched up eyebrows and the worry in his eyes as you turn away to take off your shoes and socks. “I’m safe only at night.” He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Someone had literally just came to basically shoot at you like two evenings ago and here you were, behind cardboard and glass. No wonder you were mad at him for failing at his job, and worst of all you were alone. You didn’t have parents or friends nearby, he realised that the other night at the hospital. It was difficult for him to process that. He couldn’t believe that you were genuinely alone, had he not been there you wouldn’t be here.
“Luckily Spider-Man is usually active at night, right?” He lets out an uncomfortable chuckle as you grab some clothes off the rack and go behind the curtain. You start to undress, unbothered by the tall man standing in your doorway.
“Yeah right.” You roll your eyes as you start to put on your pjs, some shorts and an oversized shirt that a client had abandoned. Clothes that were left behind you would take for yourself or give them to the people in your community.
“Okay well, I’ll see myself out.” Miguel says and you step out from behind the curtains. He keeps his eyes on your face as you shrug and begin to set yourself down on the mattress.
“Goodnight, Miguel.” You look for your remote between the sheets. There’s a long pause and you look up towards the doorway. Miguel is still standing there. “I’ll see you tomorrow. But I open at 10 am so I’ll see you then.” He nods curtly and closes your door.
Miguel was currently perched up on the top of your building, legs hanging over the edge as he ate a burger. He was busy wiping his mouth with the back of his arm, the suit tickling his cheek.
“Miguel,” his assistant ai’s voice came out from his gizmo and he straighten his arm away from his face. Layla came up from it, looking at him with a disappointed look on her face, arms crossed over his shoulder. He kept chewing, unbothered. “Miguel, you need to come back.” He hummed in response and kept eating. “I’m being serious. I ran the tests, while yes everything will be okay with the universe you’re in, we need you here. There’s other universes that need your help.” He closed his eyes and swallowed. Hm, he knew he should have said no tomatoes. “Are you ignoring me right now?” Layla’s voice went up an octave, indicating she was angry. Miguel opened his eyes.
“Look, I left Peter in charge. He’s got this, this is my well deserved vacation time. Things worked out with Miles, everything is fine, let me enjoy this.” He took another bite from his burger.
“Miguel, it’s been a while.” She quietly said. “When are you coming back?” He put his arm down. He hasn’t really thought about that. When would he come back?
“I haven’t thought about that yet.”
“Well you need to, because you’re the only reason we are here. We can respect you needing time off but crime doesn’t stop.” She was right, that’s why he had to stay here. He took a last bite of the burger and began to crumple up the paper that was wrapped around it. He held it in his fist.
“Mm,” He got up and started pacing around in slow circles. “Is Peter not doing a good job?”
“No, he’s doing great but it’s ju-“ Miguel’s mask pixalated off his face as he ran his free hand through his hair while he decided to interrupt his assistant.
“Great! We’ll talk later, yeah? Missed you already.” He quickly said and clicked on his gizmo to activate do not disturb on her. He didn’t understand what part of do not bother me she didn’t understand. Peter knew how to reach him in case of an emergency, which he hasn’t yet done. Not that Peter didn’t know how to handle situations, he very much did but Miguel didn’t need to worry. He was constantly stressed out at headquarters in Nueva York, here he was basically cruising. That was until you appeared in his life. He felt stressed out, much more but it would be fine. It wasn’t the end of the world.
He heard a noise from the streets and his mask rematerialised on him as he walked over to the edge and looked up. There was just some guys in face masks with spray cans in their hands. Miguel decided to look the other way, who was he to interrupt artists.
Miguel later on left, heading to his home in this universe. Thankfully the money wasn’t different in this universe from his so he was able to buy a condo in cash. He threw away the burger wrapper into his trash can in the kitchen. He was truthfully tired and sleepy but as the night progressed and he laid in his bed he couldn’t help thinking back to you. You lying on your mattress that was on the floor, in a makeshift room that was protected by a cheap cardboard material like door, that was inside a store that was essentially all glass. He tried his best to sleep but his anxiety was getting the best of him the more his mind roamed to you, there, alone.
“FUCK!” He got up from bed angrily and changed into casual clothes with his suit underneath. At least he had tried to sleep. He swung and clawed his way back to your store, landing in the back alley of it with the keys in his hands. He knew you gave the keys to Miguel but you didn’t say he couldn’t give them to Spider-Man and he was Miguel so technically he could use them. His awful logic was more than enough for him unlock the back door and go in. He locked the door behind and heard muffled talking. His almost keen senses let him know that there was no danger and as he passed your bedroom door he heard the talking more clearly.
You had left the tv on and it was playing an infomercial on a knife set. Miguel thought to himself that maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get you a knife at least so you could have some sort of protection outside of him. Miguel was soon next to the clothes and he saw a pile that said clean. Well, if he was going to stay and be security, he had to stay. Miguel walked over to the clothes and dropped down into them. He was extremely tired, his body felt soo heavy he felt his chest tighten. He breathed in the smell of the detergent you used and sighed. He felt like you charged a little, that you needed to charge more but then again realistically in the area your store was in, there was no way that would happen or be profitable for you. Miguel set an alarm on his gizmo, projecting to wake up in 4 hours, hopefully sooner than you do. Then as he laid there on the clothes a thought came to him. Where was your kitchen? What did you eat? Sleep then overtook him.
Miguel woke up, and as he had hoped, before you by a few. The soft murmurs of your tv emitted from the door of your room and Miguel walked by with clothes. He had found a pile of clothes labelled, “clothes to wash regularly” which meant these were clothes that were sent out to be washed with no special treatment. He was googling a lot of things at this point as he learned how to separate clothes depending on colours, water temps, detergents. He put them in the regular machines and then when it was time, he put some in the regular dryer and some he hung up on a regular clothing rack. He went about this for a while until he decided to step out and buy breakfast for himself and for you.
After some time you woke up. Your head was pounding but you felt good considering everything. You got up and started to undress. The tv was still on, playing some cartoon now. You walked around putting the clothes in a corner and began to put on some leggings and an oversized sweater along with sock and some shoes. Today shouldn’t be so bad, you thought to yourself as you made your way to the bathroom.
While this was happening Miguel was actually holding onto a takeout bag with one hand and with the other he was holding onto his bright red neon web was currently on a man’s chest.
“You’re making me late.” He hissed to the man as he pulled in, a sharp flick of his wrist and the man came flying toward and fell onto Miguel’s feet. “I fucking hate being late.” His mask dematerialised off his face slowly and as soon as his mouth was shown, Miguel leaned down and grabbed the man up by the collar of his shirt and proceeded to sing his fangs into his throat. The man let out a horrifying scream but as quick as the scream came out, it subsided and the man went stiff. Miguel’s mask materialised again before it completely showed his face. His claws had torn through the man’s shirt but thankfully not through his skin, it was something Spider-Man slowly had to master as to not rip people’s hearts by accident. He threw the man over his shoulder and walked out the alleyway into the busy streets of New York.
“Spider-Man!” A little boy yelled out excitedly and Miguel rolled his eyes. He wasn’t upset with the little boy, he was upset because he was already running late and a meet and greet was going to slow him down. Thankfully people in this city minded their business so no one really looked up or come up to him, only the little boy did.
“Hey,” Miguel said as he kept walking. Usually on this side of town there were cop cars stationed because NYPD was usually up and about eating.
“What are you doing?” The little boy bounced happily next to Miguel like a sidekick.
“I’m going to leave this man with the police and then I have a breakfast date.” The little boy stopped walking and Miguel quickly stopped to turn and look at the child who was probably no older than 8.
“A date? Spider-Man has a girlfriend?” The child said it as if it were the most scandalous thing that had to be kept secret, his voice was hushed and he looked up at him. Miguel laughed and nodded.
“You can say I’m trying.” They kept walking. “Hey where’s your mom?”
“She went to also get us breakfast, I can’t walk too far away.” Miguel hummed in response, agreeing that maybe he should walk away too far either.
“I’m guessing you have to turn back now.” He said looking down at the little boy. The child smiled shyly and nodded. “Alright, I’ll see you around. What’s your name?”
“Sebastien.”
“See you around Sebastian and remember, listen to your mom.” Sebastien nodded and began to run the other opposite way towards his mother. Miguel eventually found a cop car and threw the guy into the backseat. Usually he did this as he had an okay relationship with the police, most of the people on the force liked him so they didn’t mind him but the force as itself wasn’t exactly excited with a stranger popping up and making them look stupid. A police officer saw him and smiled.
“Hey Spider-Man. Another one?” She nudged towards the direction of the backseat as Miguel shut the door.
“Yeah, he was trying to rob one of the bodegas and well, can’t have that.” She nodded as she walked over to back of the car and peered into the car through the window.
“How do you get them knocked out like that?”
Miguel shrugs.
“Anyways I gotta go,” he proceeded to give her the address of the convince store in case the owner wished to press charges.
You walked out of your room and towards the clothing side of the store. It was usually silent in the mornings but there was a soft humming from a machine coming through the air. Had you left a machine on last night? No, you didn’t. You prayed that no one had broken in last night otherwise you would be extremely upset with Leo for this. He was suppose to at minimum keep you safe at night. You find the machine that was making the noise and see it’s actually washing clothes you were lagging on.
When did you get up and do that?
Clothes are thrown every which way, organised in different colours, fabrics, according to sensitivity. This was nice. You grabbed your phone and hook it up to the tiny speaker on top of one of the bigger machines that were for dry cleaning and started playing music. Music poured out of the speaker, trying it’s best to fill the empty space with its sounds as you walked around grabbing clothes from the dryer and folding it. There wasn’t a moment you didn’t enjoy working here. If you had a crew, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy your mornings before opening correctly. Your mind however kept going back to Spider-Man. He wasn’t exactly bad like you had expected. It was actually super sweet how he had stayed in the hospital with you and it was sweet how he had managed to get you there in the first place, because he really didn’t have to. But you thought back to what the nurse had said to you about how he tried to fight his way in to stay with you and yet he was there but by getting through a window.
Time passed as you began to finish up everything for today. Usually you weren’t hungry in the mornings so breakfast wasn’t something you regularly did but maybe you should. You were alive, you were healthy. Why not?
You heard a door from the back side of the store open. Who could that- oh.
“Hey! Miguel is going to be running a bit late but I decided to come check up on you.” Spider-Man walked in holding a brown bag in his hand, blood stains on his suit were heard to miss as they were on his left shoulder. You looked at him. “I brought you some croissant sandwiches.” Silence. He narrowed his eye lenses at you. “Some people would say, ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you.” He put the bag down on top of one of the smaller machines and began to take out the sandwiches.
“I wasn’t sure if you liked cheese or if you ate pork. So I got you one of everything.”
“Thank you.” You look at him as he began to walk over to you and give you a croissant that was neatly wrapped. You look at it and see a number written on the wrapper. “I actually think this one is for you.” He looks down and sighs.
“Ignore that, here.” He hands it to you unwrapped. “It’s from my favourite place, I hope you like it.” You take a bite and yes, you could see why it was his favourite place.
“Thank you.” You say covering your mouth between bites.
“Is thank you all we say?” He says with a smile in his voice. You look up at his red eye lenses. He looks intimating, his suit was intimidating as well. Did he know that? Wait, Miguel’s eyes yesterday. They were red. Like the colour part of the eyes, they were red. And now here you were feeling small under another man’s red eyes.
“Are your eyes red too?” You managed to say between bites and swallows. Miguel’s lenses narrow ever so slightly.
“No, why?” Shit, he had forgotten to put on brown eye contacts yesterday.
“Just wondering.” You finish your sandwich and crumple up the wrapper in your hands, Spider-Man takes it from your hands and looks around the small space for a trash bin. Your phone then begins to play an embarrassing song so you quickly grab your phone and hit pause. Spider-Man seems unfazed as he throws the trash away.
“A dangerous thing for a little girl to be wondering.” He says absentmindedly. He could stay with her through the day as Spider-Man and help out. If someone else needed him, he would just be told by his gizmo on his wrist.
The day dragged on slowly, he would rather be out in the streets than to be dealing with the awkward silence in the store. People would come in, see Spider-Man and began to talk to him all while ignoring (Y/N) as she would charge them out and bring them their stuff. She didn’t mind it, it was a nice change for her as she didn’t really like forcing polite conversation with everyone that entered her store but she was a bit hurt. Everyone seemed to be so happy to see him and not her. It stung a bit but it wasn’t that horrible. She actually preferred Miguel now, at least they spoke. With Spider-Man it was awkward. Why was he here?
“Uh, so where’s Miguel?” You asked innocently as the day slowed down towards the evening. People had told other that Spider-Man was at the dry cleaners which was good for business because people came in for a picture with him and to drop off clothes. But while that meant more money for you, it also meant that tonight was going to be busy for you.
Miguel felt his heart skip a beat as he sat on a stool next to you as you stood at the counter, he was currently trying to hide and people peeked in from the windows to see if they could catch a glimpse at Spider-Man. He looked up at you, watching how unbothered you were as you sprayed down the counter and then cleaned it with a rag.
“He had some last minute things to do so I came to relieve him.”
You hun in response. You put the rag under the counter and turn to look at Spider-Man, he looked so comical on the tiny stool. Usually he towered over you but this was nice for a change. You put your hands on your hips and smiled down at him. Miguel felt like a child under your gaze.
“I like Miguel more than you.” You were testing the waters, wanting to see how he would react to this. He just looked up at you, unfazed it seemed. But under the mask Miguel felt like smiling.
“Yeah?” He says softly as he reached out his arms and circles them around the back of your knees. The sudden movement takes you by surprise as you buck forward as he pulled in close, your hands immediately go out and they land on his muscular shoulders as you hold yourself up. You look down at the man holding you like a child. You feel the sudden urge to place your hand on the side of his face. But he was faceless.
“Yes.” A whisper leaves you. He sighs.
“Why is that?” A gloved hand brushed the back of your right knee, you can feel his claws lightly caress you.
“He doesn’t speak much.” Your heart starts to beat faster as he presses the side of his face against your thighs.
“I can be silent too,” he murmurs into your thighs. “But I don’t think you would like that.” His hot breath brushes on your skin through the thin material.
“Okay well,” you pull his hands off you from behind and pull away. “I just wish Miguel had told me something.”
“Yeah, he’s not great at communicating at times.” He lets you go reluctantly. Was that too much? What Miguel didn’t know was that you were getting aroused. Well, he did know but he rather act oblivious to it.
You go past the counter, past him and his stool and begin to lock the doors. It was a bit early to be closing but you already had a heavy workload tonight and no one else was going to be coming in soon to pick up so why not? You were starting to close the curtains when two man in black baklavas knocked on your closed door. Spider-Man peeked go from the counter and saw how you unlocked the door, he sensed no anxiety from you.
“Sorry, I’m closed for the day.” You saw as they come in.
“We’re here for the rest of the week’s payment.” The taller man from last time says. You frown.
“How much?” You begin to make your way to the back of the counter, they are right at your heel. Spider-Man stands up.
“Oh, so it was true.” The shorter man says, excitement in his voice as he stands there looking at Spider-Man.
“Yeah and I don’t appreciate people coming in after hours and trying to shake down my boss for money.” Miguel’s voice is low with a hint of anger. His boss? (Y/N) feels confused. Who’s his boss?
“Look, we like what you do for the community but this isn’t your neighbourhood.” The taller one says, despite him being taller he looks tiny compared to Spider-Man. Miguel narrows his eyes. You put a hand on his chest and he looks down at you, your eyes filled with worry. You shake your head. There was a conversation going on between the two of you with your eyes, well eyes and lenses. You pull your hand away and go over to the makeup bag under the counter where you were storing the cash for today.
“How much again?” You say as you crouch down counting the money. What was going on? You had Spider-Man here! Might as well use him but you couldn’t as much as you wanted.
“400. Plus 200 as a tip.” The taller man says harshly. Miguel stands there, it’s like he might as well not be there. You count the money and get up.
“I only have 300.” You walk towards them to hand them the money but Spider-Man holds you back by the waist, his arm firm.
“No, you guys can go home. Like I said, my boss isn’t here to be shaken down. You guys did not provide her protection at all. She almost was shot at in the head and ended up in the hospital. Why should she pay when she got hurt?” Miguel was furious. He walked out in front of you and his claws seemed to have extended as he locked his eyes onto the two men. The man who had been talking more angrily walked up to Miguel as if to face off.
“That’s not our problem, she’s safe at night right? That’s all that matters.” Miguel scoffed as the guy said this.
“You have got to be fucking stupid.” He growled and immediately put his hands on the guy’s chest and picked him up by his jacket and shirt and threw him towards the side of the store. The man was shocked and out of breath as his back forcefully hit the brick wall. He crumpled down and laid there for a bit, trying to catch his breath. Miguel looked at the other shorter guy who held his hands up as if to say, “I’m not here.” “You go tell your boss that mine has protection already and if you want to come down here, it better be with clothes that need cleaning, now get out.” Your heart was pounding in your ears, your eyes traced Spider-Man’s large back and his broad shoulders. He didn’t even know just how hot he was right now. He called you his boss!
The man on the floor got up, coughing and groaning in pain. The shorter man ran to him and helped him up.
“Got it, love what you do Spidey!” The man says happily as he drags his injured partner out of the store with Miguel following behind them. He stopped at the doorway of the store and has to breathe to calm himself down. The doors and then locked up again and curtains are drawn for the night after some time.
Neither of you spoke.
You had put the money back into the makeup bag and began to sift through the clothes, making note of which was here for what and what they needed and so on. Miguel helped you as well, only the occasional here and thanks were exchanged between the two of you as you worked through the night.
You stole glances at him every so often. He seemed busy in thought as he loaded clothes into machines after you finished with them. It was so comforting in a way to have him here but you were keeping him from protecting the city. You didn’t want to be selfish so you finally broke the silence after a few hours.
“Any nightly patrols?”
“The police have got it.” He grunts in response. You nod and hang up clothes.
“But don’t you need to-“
“(Y/N), it’s fine.” Miguel wishes he could take off his mask.
“But you-“
“It’s fine, (Y/N).” He exasperates. “New York took well care of itself before I did.” You nod once again. You understood his unspoken words. Silence continues between the two of you outside of the sound of the machines and the occasional here and thanks. After some time you decide to call it a night.
“I’m going to go to sleep now.” Miguel nods. “Will Miguel-?”
“Yeah,” he says quickly and walks out the back of the store and you hear the locks turn, indicating he had locked you in.
“Okay.” You say to no one in particular. What an uncomfortable moment with him. You make your way to your room but before turning the light off from your work station. As you laid in bed with the soft buzzing of the tv you hoped you would see Miguel.
“If you ever come near (Y/N), I’ll rip your throat out.”
“I don’t think Spider-Man is suppose to talk to civilians that way.” A rather large man says to Miguel from behind a desk. Miguel had stalked around around your neighbourhood and found the shorter man that had been in your store previously and in exchange of protection from his technically former boss, he would take Miguel to him. But Miguel needed someone on the inside of it so he found himself with this man alone in an office.
How classy that this guy would have a building, it was actually really corny Miguel thought to himself.
“And how would you know?” Spider-Man’s eye lenses narrowed. Leo, the larger man, stared back at him and laughed.
“You’re too hippy to actually do anything. The shit you’re spitting out at me isn’t something I take lightly.” Leo stood up from his chair and put his hands on the desk. “You are not there right now with her, neither is your friend that was there yesterday. Your tone better start changing.” Miguel didn’t need to be there to wring this guy’s neck.
“Are you threatening me now too?” He murmurs.
“Didn’t you come in here first to threaten me?” Leo smiles and looks down at his desk, moving a few papers away. “Her business is my business, I own the building. She stays there because I allow it. Keep sniffing around and I’ll throw her into the streets. I doubt an unpaid vigilante even has money.” He sneered. While he could have been right had Miguel been any other usual Spider-Man variant, specifically Peter Parker, this just wasn’t the truth when it came to him.
“I see,” Miguel crossed his arms over his chest and let out a chuckle. “Well, again, don’t come near her ever again and don’t send your people out to shake her down. She doesn’t need your protection anymore so your services are not needed.”
“Oh and she’s under your protection now?” Miguel didn’t say anything. Leo rolled his eyes. “You might think your imitation tactics work but that works only on the low kind of criminals you usually go after, I work in politics, with companies. This is a different league that you’re trying to web yourself in and you’re going to end up finding that you’ll be the one with his head ripped off.” Miguel growled and without a single thought, immediately lunged at the crime boss, not a care in the world, seeing pure red as angry shook his very core. It was a very immature and undisciplined action from him, something he hadn’t done in so long because since he didn’t possess the Spidey-Senses his fellow Spider-Men did, he had taught himself to be more perceiving about things. Had he not acted out before taking careful note of Leo’s body language, he would have seen the rather sharp dagger that Leo was quietly nursing to his leg had come out and was now within the outer corner of his eyes. What a stupid mistake he had made.
#miguel o’hara x you#spiderman 2099 x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara x y/n#spiderman 2099 x y/n
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World building and theories of Engage
Yunaka
Yunaka takes her name from unakite, a green and pink semi precious stone. Unakite is found in the Unaka range of the Appalachian Mountains. The name 'unaka ' comes from the cherokee term 'Unega' which means 'white'.
Larimar is the trademark of a rare blue stone only found in the Dominican Republic. The myth of how the stone was discovered is as follows. In 1974 a father and his daughter were walking along the beach at the foot of the Bahoruco Mountain Range. The daughter spotted the stone so her father named the stone after his daughter 'Larissa' and the Spanish word for the sea which is 'mar'.
I believe Yunaka was chosen as her new name because each stone is a unique combination of green and pink and Yunaka has a one of a kind personality. White could be a reference to her wiping the slate clean. Larimar could have been chosen as her real name to represent the changing tides in her life.
She adorns a contorted body suit with slits revealing her flesh. Revealing and tight clothing are symbols of her class and her former criminal career. In medieval times it was the commoner who wore less modest garments. The tightness would be necessary to aid ease of movement. Her body suit is a dark colour to enable her to camouflage with the dark. The black cape could also assist in camouflaging as well as aiding someone who often sleeps rough. Her cape could be used as a blanket and an umbrella. The gold armour on her legs and feet is quite usual and certainly would not assist camouflaging. I assume that due to her interest in weaponry she has treated herself to some flashy armour.
Her belt bucket is an art deco style butterfly. The butterfly has several symbolic meanings, I will start with The Gaelic symbolism. Dealan-de is the Gaelic word for butterfly and literally means 'fire of god'. Butterflies were believed to be angels that ferry the souls of the dead to heaven. I think that this meaning fits well with Yunaka's character. Her personal ability is trained to kill so she is like an angel of death. The Japanese meaning also fits well. In Japan butterflies are also associated with death,they are believed to be the spirits of the departed. It is not this meaning I am referring to, butterflies are also associated with transformation and metamorphosis. Yunaka is transforming from Larimar to her current identity. The Buddhist concept of the 'butterfly mind' could be considered relevant as well. The butterfly mind is a restless mind that cannot settle or be still. Before Yunaka meets the Divine Dragon age is unsettled as she hints for her place in the world. She is like the butterfly who cannot remain upon the cushion.
She decorates herself with stars. This could just be an aesthetic choice but there could be hidden meaning. I will start with Scotland and the flag of Sutherland. There is a star upon the flag that represents the position of the sun in the Scottish sky. In Japan there is a charming story behind origami lucky stars. They are symbols of good luck and love. Everytime a lucky star is made, a falling star is saved.
A little girl called Hoshi was fascinated by the stars in the sky. One night she started to cry because the stars were falling from the sky. She ran inside to fetch paper and a jar. For every star that fell she made a lucky star and put it in the jar.
There is also the star festival known as 'Tanabata'. In Chinese myth it is believed that the two stars Altair and Vega are only able to meet on the seventh day of the seventh month. It is tradition to write wishes on strips of colourful paper.
Yunaka's casual wear is a lot less revealing and definitely warmer. . When she is not working she prefers to cover up. There are still practical features such as the elbow sleeve length. No one wants to cut a frilly sleeve when handling weaponry. She has an element of fun with the bright pink buttons. Her palette of dark purple and black could be to represent the night.
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when men say shit like "booo hooo i need to work 8h per day in a stupid factory or in a coal mine to earn a living wage while lucky privileged women only need to sell one (1) feet picture per week or marry rich and they're settled for life".... i cannot even begin to make the full unabridged list of all the points they're missing or intentionally trying not to see. because, point one, my hermano, you should probably take this very valid complaint to your employer. the permeating capitalistic rethoric we're all wallowing in has led you to believe that you cannot change the status quo and therefore you have come to accept your subjugation with complacency. in this state of supposed powerlessness and self-pity daze, you would never dare question your direct superior or the power dynamic they impose on you, in fact the only thing you feel brave enough to do is take your frustrations out on unemployed people surviving on welfare, immigrants, or sex workers. and that's literally the dumbest shit you could ever do because it's NOT them exploiting your labour by also deliberately allowing you just enough crumbs to keep your head above the water AND simultaneously pounding into your brain the mere delusion that you should indeed feel mildly content with your situation, because that's how it's always been and that's what you were born to do and that's what everyone else is doing and how dare you question that. anyone with a solid foothold on reality would tell you just as much, no? plus communism is just unfeasible and crazy and just as bad as fascism, after all. while capitalism just feels so right and has virtually no downsides or long-term consequences for the environment or humankind, am i right?
point second, women put out more work than anyone on this god-forsaken piece of junk floating in space and don't you ever dare say otherwise because, again, you'll only sound ridiculous and out of touch. women are responsible for ALL the care and emotional labour you have ever encountered or demanded in your life. in fact, without women and the enormous staggering gigantic weight of childbearing + childrearing + homemaking placed on their back since birth for millennia, you wouldn't even be breathing right now, and perhaps that wouldn't be such a bad thing now, would it?
furthermore, even if we're choosing to stupidly ignore the weight of being expected to care and assist every child or old person in your proximity, it's still worth mentioning that black and brown women make up 85% of the workforce employed in garments sweatshops, under appalling working conditions and laughable wages. I don't know what sort of tale you're telling yourselves but it seems to me that women are still getting the short end of the stick here as even the ones benefiting from white privilege are still, in fact, working "regular jobs" and being paid less for it than the average male coworker, while still not shying away from all the unpaid unseen labour that sustains entire households and family dynamics, the absence of which would lead to the downfall of patriarchal order and the world as we know it.
oh and as per the feet picture turn of phrase y'all keep coming back to.... I don't know how to explain to you that having your entire body and every single part of it commodified and sexualised and turned into a "kink" for men to get off to is not something you should be jealous of. the fact that there MAY be some money in it, might look like privilege and luck to you, but it's actually the only way women could find to own this unreciprocated unsolicited male desire and, being the resilient resourceful survivors that we are, we turned it into a viable career path, which still, doesn't come without its challenges and pitfalls, and should not really be idealized, as in many cases, it is not even a woman's first choice.
the latest wave of feminism has only now begun to try and correct all the wrongs and is still timidly attempting to recalibrate the scales of rights so that they're not too heavily tipped in your favor anymore. and even still, we probably won't reach full equality for the next 200 years because of all the lousy ignorant pathetic obtrusive misinformed bullshit you keep spreading, pushing back our efforts of several decades (-: the least you could do is literally just to SHUT UP and let the anti-capitalistic feminist agenda advance without further hindrance from the likes of socially unaware pricks in tinfoil hats like y'all.
#im...mad today#i know this is all wasted on tumblr because the men i talk of are simply not on here#but still.... i had it in me and i needed to get it out#i might actually post it to ig#rant.txt#feminism
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Haunting - Part 16
Summary: BJ’s first day at the apprenticeship and dining out. Lawrence most definitely convinced his boss to pay him in cash by the day because he has no banking details.
Read Part 15 here
Read Part 17 here
It was probably for the best that Betelgeuse was occupied when you were at work. As much as you would have liked to spend time with him, life and work and bills got in the way. You had suggested at first that he let the opportunity slide for now, but in reality there wasn’t much else for him to do around the house unsupervised and he wasn’t qualified to drive himself wherever he wanted (or pay for anything he needed for that matter).
“It’ll be funnn! Don’t worry ‘bout it, ol BJ has got it in the bag. Maybe I’ll even get a new suit out of it!”
“Come on, let’s dance!”
Briefly you decided to hold off on your skepticism at his suitability for the job as you drove him to work. He had improved by leaps and bounds since becoming human, but sometimes he could be an absolute feral creature.
It’s by some kind of miracle that he comes out of his shift looking more put together than he did going in and with a massive grin plastered across his face to boot. A very pleased shopkeeper waves out of the window at you from behind him.
Betelgeuse, as it turns out is unsurprisingly better at front of house sales than resigning to work in silence on the actual tailoring of garments, much to the annoyed dismay of the owner who gives up on teaching him the trade and instead changes his station to salesman altogether. It’s an easy enough job for an ex-conman and somehow despite his scruffy appearances suggesting otherwise, he brings in decent money - enough to keep everyone’s mouth shut. Somehow, he even becomes a bit of a zebra striped icon for the store which does wonders for their marketing despite how horrendous it looks. No one complains.
It’s an achievement worth celebrating and so you let him pick a restaurant to dine out at. I’m barely any time at all you’re there with him, at a candlelit table that makes it feels more like a date than you’d expect.
“Did you know that fruit starts rotting once you pick it off the plant?”
“Yes? And did you know that when you die, your corpse starts to rot too?” You hit back.
“So really you’re eating dead plant babies right now. Skinning them and then cutting them up into itty bitty pieces, you’re cruel, how could you do that to the plants?” Beej wailed dramatically.
“I know right, almost as bad as you deciding to ruin my sanity and life by stalking me since day one.” popping a piece of pear into your mouth, you fix him with a deadpan stare.
“At least I have standards.” He huffed. “I may not be above punching babies but at least I don’t eat them.”
“The plants don’t know that. It checks out though, explains the gum disease.”
“I have great gums!”
“Yeah they’re working miracles for you, I’m surprised you still have teeth.”
“The rot gives off a sweet taste, trust me, I know,” he winks flirtatiously. “Maybe you’d like a little taste test?”
“Oh I’m sure they do. You know, I’m deeply honoured that you’ve given me this opportunity. I’ll even make an honourable mention of it on my resume, but I regret to inform you that I sincerely decline.”
“Your loss, baby. But in case you change your mind, you know where to find me. Francis Bacon can vouch for me: beauty itself is but a sensible image of the infinite. And since life and death are infinite and I have been both.... that automatically makes me the most beautiful person ever to exist!”
“You missed your calling as a philosopher.”
“Oh I am a philosopher. You just don’t get my vibe.”
“What would your vibe be? Blackmail and hedonism? A literal vibrator?”
“Hey, go easy on the blackmail! It was one time! One time.”
“Uh huh, so this was just one incident made up of a billion separate other incidents that drove me insane huh? You’re really selling yourself to me right now.”
“I’m here for a good time, not a long time, can you really blame me? A couple hundred years on the bench all alone would get you desperate too. Heck, maybe I’ll get to rock your world before I disappear again.” His caterpillar eyebrows wiggle suggestively as he nudges his knee against yours before he dives into his food again, but you don’t miss that wishful look in his eyes before they drop from yours.
There’s a quiet as the conversation lulls. Your cheeks burn; that last idea isn’t something that you want to dwell on.
“I didn’t know you were so interested in Francis Bacon.”
“Oh I’m interested in everything and philosophers are just sooo sexy. They know how to really party it up and they’re the most likely to summon a hot demon.” He says, preening. “All the best ones are the freaks, especially in the sheets,” he says dreamily and you wonder for a moment if he was seriously going to divulge you with information about his hookups which you’d rather not know. “Like that one time Plato…”
“I’d really rather not know!” You wanted to know, because inconveniently, the demon you’ve been saddled with has been occupying your mind for an unsavoury amount of time and lately, not all of those thoughts have been safe-for-work per-say.
“Are you sure you really don’t want to know or are you just scared of what you might like if you listen?”
There’s an unspoken tension in the air that you feel, something that you don’t want to acknowledge.
With a look that appears way too innocent, he occupies himself by sucking obscenely on his straw. You can’t help but stare as he takes his time to lap his long tongue along the side. And the curl of his lip…
He’s smirking.
The damn bastard is smirking. You hope that he’s oblivious to the thoughts running through your mind right then and there. You break out of your stare and blurt out an instant denial.
“No!” You throw the word out a little too quickly and the smug grin on his face grows into a leer.
“Ok.” He stops almost immediately, but the mischievous glint in his eye begs to say otherwise.
Wisely, you leave that particular topic alone for the rest of the dinner.
By the time the waitress comes back with the bill, you’re completely relaxed by the warm air of the restaurant and a full stomach.
Betelgeuse snatches the cheque swiftly off the tabletop before you can even reach it and quickly, counting up the amount, slips it into the book and hands it back to the server.
“Lawrence!”
“Now what kind of gentleman would I be if I let my beautiful partner pay for dinner?” It’s an unexpectedly kind gesture and you smile bashfully.
“If you insist.”
His words play in your head even as you head out into the cold air outside, walking so close to him that your hands sometimes brush.
You like the idea of being his partner and the touch of his skin against yours burns into your mind in the night when you nestle against him once again.
Tag list: @honeycovered-bandaids
#beetlejuice#beetlejuice musical#beetlejuice x reader#musicaljuice x reader#musicaljuice#brightjuice#blumjuice#koberjuice
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Hiii! I’m the anon who asked if you would ever be open to writing a DWP prompt. You said that you were open to it, so here’s my prompt🥰: Andrea is sent to a Runway benefit as part of a journalism piece she is working on but while she’s there she gets a bit of imposter syndrome& feels a bit insecure about how she looks. Miranda ends up taking her to the bathroom/townhouse- sits her in front of a mirror and assures her she looks perfect & then maybe they reveal their feelings for each other?
Sometimes, the end of things were actually only the beginning, Andy had learned. Something that had seemed an impossible lesson to believe in as a wide-eyed college student at Brown. But an eternity—okay, barely a year, at Runway did a lot to change someone’s outlook on life.
Things began. Things ended. And things changed. Boy, did they change.
For instance, Miranda Priestly, had once taken up residence in her phone’s contact list as “Satan” and now? Well, “Future Wifey” had quite a different ring to it. Figuratively, and shockingly, shiningly literally.
About a month into her job at Runway, if you had told Andy that not only would she let Miranda Priestly into her life once she had clawed her way out of her hell of a first real adult job in New York, let alone be engaged to the infamous magazine editor-in-chief, she would have laughed in your face. But here she was, kissing Miranda on the forehead before tip-toeing out of their room and into their walk in closet.
She was proud of the wardrobe she had developed. Mostly thanks to Nigel and her days at Runway, but also thanks to a Miranda who was constantly spoiling her when they’d been dating. Though there was eventually a lull in shopping sprees as Miranda learned that Andrea would much rather be surprised with a vintage edition of a classic novel or using the Priestly VIP status to meet journalists and anchors and politicians she’d always admired.
Still, she’d come a long way from the Andy Sachs Miranda Priestly had once quite literally pursed her lips at for merely doing her best to exist.
Today was going to be an odd one. It was true that Runway was only an ending that led to a beginning for her career. She spent her days writing, and reading, and editing. Attending press events. Doing interviews. Diving into groundbreaking research. She loved the thrumming of the printing presses and the smell of ink in the air. The collection of typewriters in the lobby. The hustle and bustle of co-workers running on deadline, fluttering in and out with eureka moments and eyes lit up when news dropped. It was nothing like Runway. Nothing at all.
But while the job allowed her relationship with Miranda to go from professional and terrifying to romantic and exhilarating, it didn’t quite keep their work lives separate. Magazines and newspapers had a way of running into each other time and time again. Today was no exception and it was quite the conflict of interest. But when you wanted your best to cover stories about the best, you sent Andy Sachs to a Runway benefit to cover the renowned Miranda Priestly. Even if they happened to be fiancées. Besides, it was editorial, right? No bias there.
Miranda would be ushered over to the event in a few hours in a glamorous designer outfit that was sealed up in a garment bag in their closet. She wouldn’t dress or drive herself. But Andy was on deadline, jumping into her own panty hose and dress, ignoring stilettos for chunkier wedges she could stand all day on just in case, scarfing down a bagel as she dashed out the door.
She was in the press room of the benefit looking far out dressed against the khakis and patchwork elbow blazers, yawning bland reporters scribbling in spiral pads as she snakes along the wall in black and gold, murmuring notes into her recorder. But as she peeked down the hall into the main event area, she felt anything but.
Stunning gowns and tuxedos were starting to drift in, champagne and laughter bubbling in the air. Bulbs flashing. Music playing. She felt like the scum of the earth. Like she had no right to breathe the same champagne air as them. She felt like she was back in her loafers with clam chowder on her sweater.
She did her best to shake it off. And then someone caught her eye.
She was dazzling. Radiant. Draped in hunter green silk. She gave Andy a curt nod, looking at her out of the corner of her eye and Andy felt more at ease, her heart fluttering for an entirely different reason now.
But Miranda still seemed to sense her panic. She tossed her a wink and Andrea somehow knew she should stay planted where she was until she was Miranda make her move and then she should follow her. Easy. She’d follow her to the ends of the earth.
Miranda murmured something to her staff, tossing silk gloves at them before making her way off to the side of the hall, an attendant scurrying behind her to pick up the train of her dress, leaving two young women staring after her with dread in their eyes and excitement on her lips. The new Emily’s she supposed.
She waited a beat before headed off in the same direction, noticing a sign had been put up labeling it as a green room and private quarters for Ms. Priestly.
She rapped on the door quietly, but it was open before she could pull her hand back, Miranda enveloping her as she pulled her in, Andy breathing in her rich perfume.
“I’ve missed you, darling,” Miranda whispered against her, the two staying still against each other for a moment until Andy’s heart rate slowed. Miranda pinched her ass before she backed up, looking her up and down. “You look marvelous.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Andy snorted, feeling far inferior in her reporter ensemble. “I always forget what it’s like to feel invisible around the Runway elite until I’m back.”
“Sweetheart, trust me,” Miranda shook her head. “You are anything but invisible. I wish you could only see how truly magnificent you are.”
“Sure you’re not talking to your reflection, babe?” Andy grinned.
Miranda laughed softly, pulling the younger woman to her side as she lifted her chin, facing them both towards the mirror.
“All I see are two beautiful, showstopping women. Each with her own empire. Two queens, really. You must remember that, Andrea.”
She kissed the diamond resting against Andy’s finger.
“You’re my everything, darling,” she murmured, kissing her hand. “How could you ever feel like nothing?”
#queue#blackacre13#the devil wears prada#the devil wears Prada fanfiction#the devil wears Prada fanfic#Andy Sachs#Andrea Sachs#Miranda priestly#mirandy#mirandy fanfic#Mirandy fic#Emily charlton#Nigel#runway#runway magazine#lou miller#lou x debbie#oceans 8#debbie ocean#oceans eight#debbie x lou#loubbie#heist wives#heist girlfriends#ocean’s eight fanfiction#ocean’s 8 fanfiction#carol fanfiction#Lou miller x debbie ocean#Debbie ocean x lou miller#tdwp
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Silver Lining
First thing I’ve written in literal years. Um, good to be back in the saddle.
Enjoy son Din Dijarin fluff!
Mentions of sex, briefly. No other warnings. Liberty on timeline here but before the crest is destroyed. Kind of an au with the timeline so don’t come for me!
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It had been 4 months, give or take, since you had joined The Mandolorian and his foundling. Yet somehow you both slipped into an easy, domestic routine. It had started off with you as simply cargo, desperate to escape your unfortunate living situation on tattooine, and Mando having killed your enslaver; he agreed to take you to Navarro. Somehow along the way Grogu grew attached to you, so you stayed on with the boys and although he often said otherwise, Mando had decided you were staying long before you had reached Nevarro.
It began subtly, glances that lingered too long, jokes that you definitely read in between, moving to touches and sweet words that you would come to know as Mando’a; eventually after a long night of celebratory drinking, him sneaking shots under the helmet, you got him into bed. Once that wall fell, everything settled into a steady life. You had grown used to waking up in the cot, your unarmored Mandalorian, save for the shiny helmet. Once he had let his walls down around you, you realised how much sleep the poor man must need without getting because you always awoke first. You had no complaints though, enjoying the moments where you’d steal looks at his dozing form, usually sliding from the warmth of bed to rouse the child and make breakfast. By this time you would usually lazily crawl back into the cot with the child in your lap for a nap, humming random songs from your childhood while you used the last bit of your morning to repair his battle torn gear. Restitching gloves or shirts.
The first time you did it you had wanted to do something nice for him. He always treated his armour delicately, gently setting it in place when he would undress around you, when he polished it he took his time, like it was a ritual. You admired it. After all those pieces of steel were the reason your Mandalorian returned to you everytime, and you understood the respect it deserved. So you had woken up one morning, eyeing the blaster smudged metal and snuck out of bed to get the oil and cloth. Returning with Grogu you started to softly serenade the space while you worked. When he finally awoke, you were beaming, excited for him to see your work. He looked at you and tilted his helmet slightly.
“What is is cyar’ika?” His eyes darted from your face to your hands and then to the bed beside you. You watched him take in your effort and even though his face was unknown, you could feel the smile radiating from him.
“You- you cleaned my armour for me?” You could hear bashfulness in his voice. As if he couldn’t believe you would do something like that for him.
“Well, I consider myself the housekeeper around here, figure if I can wash your flight suits and clean around here, I can help with keeping you reflective too.
You knew it was deeper than that, both of you did, but you lightened the act, trying not to embarrass him even more. You couldn’t tell, but under his visor he was gazing at you with pure adoration, it was the moment he knew he loved you. You didn’t know that, but you do know that small act of domestic intimacy changed things. He had already dropped walls, but suddenly he was doting. Bringing you gifts, and flowers when he could. Radioing you more while he was out on missions. You also noticed that he was leaving his amour unpolished more and more, and it made you happy knowing that he trusted you enough to be the one to do it.
The one garment he wouldn’t let you touch drove you crazy, his cape always smelled burned and had more holes then a grated door. But he would always deny your attempts to stitch it up.
“Mesh’la. You do enough. It’s just going to get ruined. And it’s not as important as the things you already fix.” He would say. You always protested but let it go. Knowing it was a loosing battle and deciding peace was better.
Until one morning. Mando had left for a bounty and you and the kid were stuck in the middle of the jungles of Endor. Before he left he always tried to give you timeframes, both of you knowing they were prone to changes constantly, but he was usually right with his estimates.
“I’ll be back in 4 days.” He stood on the boarding platform, looking back at you and Grogu with a final nod. He turned and stepped off into the grass.
“Please be safe.” You saw a nod of his helmet, but he didn’t stop. Biting your lip, contemplating your next words carefully, but wanting them spoken before he was gone.
“We love you!” You quickly spit out. Instantly regretting the immediate stillness your words had caused the Mandalorian. He turned around, thoughts and expressions concealed from the questioning gaze and your breath hitched in your throat. He sauntered back up the plank slowly. The whole walk you could feel his eyes boring into you. He reached out his gloved hand, placing it gently on your cheek. From your hip Grogu gurgled at the softness from his father and observed the two of you. The Mandolorian was a man of few words, you had learned to interpret his actions and body languages to decipher him. With your free hand you grasped his hand from your cheek and starred back into the black t of his helmet, waiting for his response.
One never came. He instead moved his hand to the back of your head, and gently brought your temple to his metal cladded one. Your heart fluttered and you almost dropped your child at the action. After a few moments of basking in the moment he pulled away. He never actually responded, but you understood the message. He felt the same. You gave him a massive grin and nod, sending him off as he retreated back down the platform.
“Four days, Cyar’ika.”
You could hear the smile even through his modulator and nodded eagerly back as the plank raised. You looked down at Grogu and gave him a doting look. “Let’s get this place spotless for your dad’s return, huh?” He gurgled in response and squirmed to be released. You put him down, starting to tidy up your home.
Once you were satisfied with your chores and you and the kid were fed you took him to the cot for a nap. You had been waiting eagerly for Mando to be gone on his next bounty so you could give him his first gift from you. You gently reached under the mattress, hoping he hadn’t noticed the wrapped package you stashed and found the paper sack. While exploring the shops on Nevarro while he collected his next puck you had found a cape. It was similar to his, black woven and plain, but the shop keeper had also sold you some thread. It was a beautiful hematite colour that the people of Nevarro wove out of a mineral found in the lava rocks. It was strong and delicate, offered a slight glint of metallic against the black cape.
Before your ensalvement on Tattoine, you had lived the daughter of a knight. Your mother had taught you to embroider, to care for his equipment, thinking you would find a Soldier of your own to care for one day. Although she had thought it would be from your own people, you had ended up like she thought. You remembered right before The Purge, she had taken your fathers cloak, helping him get fitted for the coming battle, she had stitched words of love and strength into the garment, hoping it would save him in the fight. Your memories ended there, getting taken in the purge and loosing your life. You never forgot that act of devotion though.
Tears from the memories bristled your lashes as you stitched. Your time with the Mandolorian had taught you enough Mando’a that you included his native tongue, knowing it would mean even more. Finally, you hemmed the bottom, adding a single strip of the silvery thread all the way through. A sign of always finding the positive should the words fail. You sat back, admiring the work, looking for flaws to fix. From next to you Grogu began to stir and you looked over to his big eyes gazing up at you. You motioned to the cape, “Think he’ll like it?” He babbled and you chucked, taking it as a yes, but mostly for your benefit. A loud beep you recognised as your com was coming from somewhere in the sheets. You desperately tore apart the bed until your hands closed on the device.
“Y/N?” You heard Mando rasp from the other side.
“I’m here, Mando.” You could hear him sigh in relief at your voice and it made you blush.
“Cyar’ika, I’m returning early with the target. I’ll see you before nightfall.”
You grinned at the thought of him having shaved 3 whole days off the hunt.
“Hm, that was quick. Desperate to get back to me or what?” You quipped. He huffed softly at the joke. “Yeah, something like that.”
“I lo-“ you began, but the line went dead. He would be here soon anyway, ‘Ill tell him then’ you thought. You picked the kid up, going to grab him a snack, and prepared the ship. You knew he was more than capable of preparing the carbonate chamber, but it made you feel useful to help. Right as you finished powering up the craft the plank lowered and Mando stomped on, dragging a limp man in tow. You moved out of his way as the Mandolorian shoved the bounty into the chamber, only relaxing his battle ready stance when the target was frozen.
“Hi.” You whispered.
“Hi.” He breathed back, grabbing your arm to pull you into his chest. You both stood there, taking the other in, elated to be back within arms reach. The peace didn’t last long as a crash came from the upper deck and you both let go at the same time as said:
“Grogu.”
Knowing the child was causing havoc upstairs. Hand on his blaster just in case, Mando was up the ladder first. You weren’t far behind and when you cleared the top you began to laugh at the scene in front of you. Somehow the child had grabbed the cloak you made for Mando, obviously desperate to be the one to show his father. He and gotten wrapped up and was looking to his dad for help from the mess he got himself into. Mando grabbed the kid first, paying the garment no mind until you reached over him and grabbed it. Looking to the child you gently chastised him.
“Naughty. That was my gift to him.” You chuckled and tapped his ear gently turning back to the Mandolorian who had his head cocked at you in confusion. “Well, it was a surprise for later. But, I made you something. Mando” You began to blush, suddenly shy and questioning if he would like it. You sheepishly held out your work, feeling his surprisingly gentle gloved hands grasping it from your grip. He let the clock unfurl, taking it in.
His hand found the subtle embroidery, fingers tracing the words and you heard a slight inhale from the voice modulator.
“This is Mando’a.” He stated it like a question, glad you couldn’t see the redness on his face at the fact that you had been learning his language. His eyes took in the words admiring the protective prayers you picked for him.
“Yeah. I’ve been learning so I can teach Grogu.” You admitted, at ease watching him take in. His helmet looked back up at you and you smiled at him. He was a man of few words you reminded yourself, hoping he did like it. “Well Mando?” You gently questioned, prodding him for a response.
“It’s Din.” Your brow furled in confusion. Was that his- you didn’t finish asking yourself before he was standing right in front of you still clasping his new cape. “My name, it’s Din.” You felt your knees get weak at his declaration, heart swelling that your simple act had inspired such openness from him. “Can’t have the woman I love calling me some nick name now can I?” You could hear his emotion through the helmet, and collapsed into his arms. Placing a kiss on his metal cheek. He had said it back, your heart fluttered as he embraced you.
“I love it, Mesh’la. I love you.” He signed in contentment, forehead falling to yours in the most intimate touch his people had.
‘He loves me too’ you quietly hummed, knowing you had finally found your silver lining after all this time.
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I was tagged by both @thequeenofthewinter and @blossom-adventures. Thank you both!
Relationship Status: Single
Favourite Colour(s): Pink, but specifically a pink that's a mix between Barbie pink and dusty rose. I can't totally describe it, but I have a travel mug that's the exact colour
Favourite Food: Uhhhhhhhhhh, good question. This constantly changes, I'm a big foodie. I will say my favourite cuisine is Korean.
Song Stuck in My Head: Nothing atm, but I've been on an Anastasia (the Broadway musical, not the Disney movie) hyperfixation lately.
Last Thing You Googled: Whether or not Carly Shay and Freddie Benson are end game or not. I'm watching the iCarly reboot and just got to the episode where they faked a relationship.
Time: 7:36pm
Dream Trip: PERU PERU PERU. I've been wanting to go since grade 4 and I have not been able to shut up about it. I LOVED learning about Inca mythology and I want to go learn more about it in its birthplace.
Last Thing You Read: A reading for class. Some experimental essay thing that was interesting, but confusing to follow.
Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: It's been MONTHS since I've read for enjoyment over school. And I don't remember the last book I read, but I LOVE They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera. It's the saddest book I've ever read, and such a beautiful story.
Favourite Thing to Cook/Bake: Literally any cookie. My friends are obsessed with my matcha chocolate chip cookies, I make chai chocolate chip cookies using my family's chai spice, and since the holidays are approaching, I'm getting ready to bake eggnog cookies!
Favourite Craft to do in Your Free Time: I don't have a specific craft that I do in my free time, as in my free time I normally focus on media I need to catch up on (yes, need XD if I'm to go into the film industry I have to keep up). But when I absolutely can't focus and need to do something, I'll find a garment of mine that needs mending (currently have a pant leg I need to mend, but I can't find my thread and it's driving me nuts).
Most Niche Dislike: Okay, so I work in a kitchen and absolutely hate it; I'm hoping to switch to Front of House soon (I know I am for sure, I just don't know when). You must continue cooking one of the dishes I make until the sauce is thoroughly soaked into the noodles. Most of my coworkers, when helping me on my station (we've been getting slammed on panfry lately, to the point where I'll get 10 dishes at once, and the menu launch stresses me out), will shut off the stove and plate when there's so much sauce it almost looks like a ramen. I absolutely HATE that.
OH! Also, when someone doesn't tuck in their chair at a table. I got that from a summer camp I went to for three years where we had to tuck our chairs in or the supers (supervisors) would get mad.
Opinion of Circuses: If it's Cirque Du Soleil? I absolutely LOVE it. If you don't know, Cirque Du Soleil is a cruelty-free circus where all the performers are trained gymnasts, dancers, and musicians. I love going to the shows, and I've seen most of the travelling shows. I've seen a few that are set in specific locations (Mexico, Disneyworld). The one I want to go to the most is "One," the Michael Jackson Cirque in Las Vegas.
Do You Have Any Sense of Direction: I like to call myself a "human navigator." If I've been there enough, I know exactly where to go. In a mall back home, I'm the GPS because I know where every store is. If I've never been there, you want me to have the map because I can quickly figure out maps to real life.
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If your fashion brand incorporates Bantu roots (iirc), will any of the pieces be traditional garments that I should look out for as an outsider? I try to stay away from cultural garments that would offend others if they saw me wearing them
That's a nice and considerate question🤍
I'm not one to get mad at people wearing other culture's textile or clothing. It's 2022 and our daily life is a melting pot of a bunch of different culture and this weird gatekeeping some people feel entitled to do reeks of insecurity. As a Black woman, I am genuinely embarrassed by Black women getting mad at non Black wearing Bantu knots or braids, when they themselves are literally wearing non Black women's hair on their scalp... At least, the non-White people doing these Black hairstyles are doing them with their own hair....🥴
I am currently obsessed with Kuba textile that originates from Congo. It's interesting that wax is hailed as a typical African textile when it's actually an import from European textile manufacturers lol (to give you an idea, the biggest wax manufacturer is Vlisco, which is a DUTCH textile company lol) So it's once again super funny to see some Black people getting butthurt defensive about non Blacks using or wearing it. So yes, wax eventually got reappropriated by Africans who made it a whole cultural symbol, exactly like the sailor suit, which is originally a British Empire uniform, got appropriated by Japan and eventually became THE symbol of the Japanese schoolgirl.
Here's a secret though : I always disliked wax because I'm not into colors like that lol I am MUCH MORE into Kuba textile that originates from my country of origin, Congo. I am fascinated with the shapes, the change of scale/"rhythm" of the composition. They are also much more toned down in term pf color (it's made of raffia so it's naturally brown and they use a natural dye(?) for the black or red color
Since I have a fondness for illustration I will create original surface pattern for the textile the clothes will be made of. I willl literally draw them from scratch. Just because I am making modesty clothing doesn't it should look boring or like a cosplay of the regency era lol I already stated how Eurocentric the tradfem aesthetic was (99% of tradfem -who aren't even White themselves- I know are fancy'ing the Jane Austeen book/Victorian era aesthetic). I want to create a collection for creative and dreamy Christian women living in the 21st century - not cosplaying living in the 1800s. Not all of us are spending all daydreaming about our rude lover while wandering in an English garden : we work, we travel, our existence isn't relying on a male attention. We are real human being - not book characters.
It's when I realized how bad I was struggling to find dresses in winter that I decided to make a brand aiming to fix this issue. Thanks to this poll, I realized that many other Christian women struggled to find clothes they felt comfortable with.
Btw, IDK if that's you who asked me the question in the poll but someone asked be if my collection was only for Christians and not Catholics and I want to make clear that despite not being Catholic (nor Protestant - I'm non-denominational lol) : my brand focuses FIRST AND FOREMOST to Christian women -from ANY denomination- seeking to wear clothes they feel comfortable with. Tbh, I think Catholics women are much more consistent than the Christian ones when it comes to modesty. Like, more Catholics seem to agree that women should be veiled at the assembly, not wear make up, dress modestly, etc. than the average Evangelical women who for the most part is more "liberal"/"GoD dOeS'nt cAre aBout ApPeAreaNce" type (which is untrue since the Bible has very precise prescriptions about our physical appearance LOL). So yeah, I respect Catholic women a lot<3
ps/ for those interested, my mailing list for my upcoming collection is up :) I will soon start updating my insta page (I already have a whole month scheduled lol) so subscribe to get updates and news :)
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The Autobiography of a Neurodiverse Oreoette (Can Shorten to TANO (or just....NO)) Chapter 1
I warn you. This writing piece might come across as a bit pitiful. I'll write out all of the trigger warning before I get started. This writing will contain childhood suicide ideation, bullying, Marxist musings, social rejection, social anxiety, adulthood suicide ideation, anger management issues, empathy deficiencies, so much failure, and maybe after all of that, just sprinkle of acceptance and hope.
This author has loved writing see the beginning of time ( yes really), and may or may not be partially stuck in some mixture of childhood, teenage, and young adult reasoning. This author has also spent most of her life alone, so please forgive any misperceptions on the outside world. This author can only conceive of what is in her head, a side effect of her neurodiversity. This writing will likely not be written chronologically, but the author hopes that the order makes some sense to the reader. This author wishes the reader luck on this journey.
Now that the disclaimers are written and the audience is established, let's begin. There are things that are different, but in a normal way. Let's take fashion. For decades, centuries, millennia even, each generation has felt a need to reinvent their expression of themselves through the clothing adorned on their bodies. In high school in the late 2000s, skaters and their admirers waltzed through the halls very tight jeans that hugged the ankles, known as skinny jeans. Other students wore bright red lipstick, and dark hair, a reflection of a vampire obsession caused by Young Adult novels. But the perceived norm were expensive shirts from labels like Abercrombie and Fitch, Hollister and Aeropostale, maybe with a pair of flip flops from Bebe. There were norms, and accepted deviations from those norms. Deviations could mean you were treated with hostility from the accepted norms, but there were usually at least a handful of people to clump up with in the cafeteria, even on the furthest points from the norm.
And then there are people like me, who wore clothes from elementary school, that were untaken care of, who who thought less of her appearance because they had read Dr. King and took his statement on being "judged by the content of their character" as literally as possible. This was not a deviation from the norm, it was an attack on unspoken values that our culture holds dear, it is never socially acceptable to look "unkept" or as if you just rolled out of bed and threw on garments. That is not a fashion statement. That is a failure to do humaning correctly. And so one might imagine the confusion at the way may classmates ignored me, snapped at me for asking questions, moved away from me when I approached, and held a general disdain for my existence. You also might imagine that when others respond to a person negatively, that person may be inclined to do some self reflection and change things about themselves to covert to more acceptable ways of being. But not me. My brain works differently. Like many students of the Barney era, I was taught that uniqueness was a prized possession, and I was stubborn enough not to change, even when facing painful isolation. After all, if all of your friends jumped off a bridge, you wouldn't do it too would you? Yet another idiom that I took literally. Nuance was not, is not my forte. It really doesn't help that flat out rejection of social norms are usually not met with kindness, not from students or adults. My parents and teachers, god bless them, were just as curt and cruel as the students in school. I think the most cutting comments about my appearance came from my mother, and my stubbornness and unwillingness to let go of my core principles, that a person's appearance has nothing to do with who the person is on the inside, caused a household where compliments were non existent (at least towards me), and violent outbursts were the norm.
There's that word again, norm. See, another unspoken rule is that it's okay to be cruel to kids if they are failing at grasping one of the basic tenets of society. There was so much sympathy for her .How could she have been cursed with such an evil child? We know she's evil because of how she looks. Surely these acts of cruelty we witness are acceptable because when a child exists outside of the rules, the abuser is justified in any and all attempts to force them into compliance. Particularly true if the child has very poor hygiene, like I did/do. That would exhaust the compassion of any reasonable person, thus violence is a completely fair response. I wonder if his is how terrorists groups justify their behavior.
End of Intro
#books#neurodivergent#neurodiversity#adhd#autism#depression#african American culture#afro#memoir#black women#black tumblr#infj feelings
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Week 12 Studio Update: Moreee paintings
This week's pictures: the completed self-portrait I showed off last week, with the start of a second. Additionally, a painting I did for my very own self, which was my first return to canvas after working on garments and other unconventional materials.
Thoughts on self portraits:
Cowboy is complete, so named because 1.) The abstracted background, based on a highly edited photo of me and my studio, wound up looking like the wild west, and 2.) because lately, Allison Ponthier's song of the same name has really been hitting me hard. Back in West Virginia, I always felt like I didn't belong among my peers-- my gayness and the politics associated with that (ex, wanting human rights for myself), as well as my disconnect from the family that would have provided a source of Appalachian identity made me feel out of place. This was despite my passionate love for the state I call home; my girlfriend and I often joked that we loved West Virginia but it didn't love us back. Now that I'm here, though, I feel profoundly ID-ed as West Virginian-- from the rude comments about my accent, to the little things in my classes and day-to-day life that show that people here view social and economic class and identity in different ways. In Allison's Cowboy, "it took New York to make [her] a cowboy". It took Cincinnati to make me a hillbilly.
Self portrait no. 2 is a photograph of myself and my grandmother, taken approx. 2 years before I got a girlfriend, came out of the closet, and very literally never heard from her again. Have previously thought that it is impossible to do an emotionally neutral self portrait; the nature of the subject makes it impossible. Have learned over the past week that this is more true for some portraits than others. It feels impossible to be satisfied with this work. Despite my self-criticism that I milk my trauma for my art, I find this is only true when I can make the art empowering. My disordered eating becomes a celebration of my body and the bodies of other women who look like me, my lesbianism becomes a celebration of gay identity and same-sex attraction, and so on. My feelings about my grandmother's abandonment, and the abandonment of that entire side of the family, cannot be made empowering. They cannot be a beautiful story, because they do not have a satisfying ending and I don't think they ever will. I cannot speak to my grandmother because I am a homosexual and can't help it, and won't hide it or apologize, and she will not change her mind about her belief that my homosexuality is a lifestyle choice akin ethically to murder. More than likely, this will be the situation until she dies, and when she does, it will be after years of radio silence she chose and I consented to, all the while hiding my sadness and my boiling hot anger. (As always, my apologies for the TMI, but I like to explain myself and my thought process.) As a result of, well, *gesturing wildly* all that, I don't know if I can ever feel like it's done or done well.
Shorter and less-melodramatic words on Serpentine, my very very pink and abstract interpretation of my favorite subject, Medusa. Conversations about femininity and pink, about the colors I choose when painting my girl collided with the desire to do something for myself, something I would like to see. Medusa is a female monster, arguably the ultimate depiction of female rage, and I like to think of my art as an exploration of that rage, but one that dives into how rage and female monstrosity can be beautiful. Pink is the color of women, at least in this time and this culture, or more accurately, the color of girls and girlhood. Girlhood and womanhood are beautiful and they are terrible. Medusa is pink.
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Beautiful clothes are not like beautiful people. A beautiful person has something you don’t, even if you’re beautiful, too: Their beauty can’t be transferred, borrowed or replicated. We can envy or resent or imitate it, but we are always outside it. A beautiful dress, on the other hand, acts like an invitation, beckoning you to step inside it: This could be you. Still, anybody who has stepped too impulsively into a dressing room, or rifled through a friend’s closet, will know that this invitation is a deceptive one. Beautiful clothes have ideas about who gets to wear them.Enter Kim Kardashian, who arrived at this year’s Met Gala wearing Marilyn Monroe’s famous 1962 “Happy Birthday, Mr. President” dress — the original garment itself, on loan from the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! museum. Watching her carefully pick her way up the stairs, her hair bleached blond, was a weird, if moving, testimony to the promise of clothes and the limits of that promise. And perhaps, a referendum on the story so many people tell themselves while judging the outfits celebrities have assembled for the gala: that if they had the looks and figures and budgets of the attendees, they would absolutely look better than that.Kardashian lost, by her own account, 16 pounds in three weeks in order to wear the original dress, instead of a replica. But the reason the original dress was so famous had almost nothing to do with the dress itself and everything to do with the woman wearing it. Its point was that Monroe, in 1962, found a way to be naked while clothed, wearing nothing under a dress that appeared sheer without actually being so. Without her breathy, soft beauty animating it, it’s just a nice dress. Kardashian looked good in it, of course, but for all her work, she didn’t really evoke Monroe; if I hadn’t been told it was that particular dress, I wouldn’t have recognized it.On social media, some loved the look: “She IS a modern day Marilyn,” went one breathless and then much-mocked comment. Others were underwhelmed. (“Sorry,” tweeted Stephanie Zacharek, the film critic at Time, “but the ‘Marilyn Monroe dress’ worn with modern underpinnings is not really the ‘Marilyn Monroe dress.’”) Conservators complained that the dress had been irreparably damaged. Some wrung their hands about the choice to crash diet to fit into it. In any case, it was indisputably the look of the night — not because it was memorable in itself, but because it was once, decades ago.The original dress was so fragile that after her slow climb up the red carpet, Kardashian changed into a replica. The real thing was just to make a point for the cameras — which is to say, for us at home. Others have successfully echoed Monroe at the Met Gala, including Billie Eilish at last year’s event. The reason to wear Monroe’s actual clothes, and not a dress meant to echo or pay homage to them, would be to insist on a literal kind of transformation: I am the Marilyn Monroe of today, not in analogy but in fact. (And one the real Monroe never got to be — not just a bombshell but a business, a mother, able to detach from toxic male influences, able to shake off tabloids.) But no amount of weight loss, shape wear and the rest can get you access to only the good and none of the bad in Monroe’s life; she lingers in the culture the way she does because she is both aspirational and tragic.
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Getting Back Into the Swing of Things (part eight)
Or, Namjoon falls back in love with his ex (and his boyfriends do too)
Ot7 x reader (slow burn, roommates au, fluff, shopping, hoseok and yoongi will be protecting you with their life from now on, txt is aged up two years each so that your friendship has a closer age range, jungoo gets a lil jealous)
A/n: taglist closed and at the bottom enjoy the story <3
A tap hit your door one morning while you folded your small amount of clothes that you had into your drawers. You looked up seeing Hoseok smiling at you, a cup of something in his hands. "Morning, you still coming to the showcase?"
"The showcase?" You paused in your folding, holding the garment in midair.
"Yeah, the performance for my students? At the studio?" He tilted his head, trying to jog your memory.
All at once you remembered, gasping, "Right! When is that, in a couple days?" You asked, folding again.
"Tomorrow night, actually. It's a black tie event."
"Oh." You stopped again to think. "I don't think I have anything like that. I have a couple dress shirts and slacks, would that work?"
Hoseok glanced down at the clothes you had placed in the dresser already and scrunched up his nose a little skeptically. "Why don't we just go buy you a dress?" He smiled, unconvinced.
You put up a bit of a fight, but at the end of it you conceded, putting the reputation of Hoseok's event over your pride. You told that you'll pay him back, to which he gave another skeptical look, "The prices of these dresses get high, Y/n. Don't worry about paying me back," he said, grabbing his keys off the kitchen table. "You'll be paying me back with your company."
Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi had been sitting at the table still, talking about who knows what. "Are you guys going out somewhere?" Jin asked, snuggled into the crook of Namjoon's arm.
"Yeah, we're going to go get Y/n a dress so she can come to the showcase later." Hoseok explained, an air of recognition falling over the room.
"You're going?" Namjoon asked you.
"Yeah, Hoseok invited me." You bounced in place, playing with the strings hanging off your sweater.
"Yeah, I know you guys decided not to, but I figured it'd be nice to bring her and show her how it usually goes." Hoseok shrugged, zipping up his jacket.
"Who said we weren't going?" Jin questioned, standing up.
"You literally said--"
"I don't know what you're talking about, but I have to get my suit ready." Jin walked out the room, moving past him.
"Okay, I guess Jin's coming." Hoseok chuckled, looking to the remaining two. "You two changed your mind, too?"
"Yeah why not." Namjoon said, standing and stretching out. "I'll go look at my clothes too. Black tie, right?"
"Yeah. You?" He pointed at Yoongi who was still leaning back in his chair at the table.
Yoongi yawned lazily. "Yeah, sure. But I don't have a suit. I guess I'll join your little shopping spree." Yoongi said, dragging himself off the chair.
"We're just getting one dress." You said, standing your ground.
"And some shoes. And maybe jewelry." Hoseok added.
"I have jewelry." You furrowed your brows, crossing your arms defensively.
Hoseok nodded. "Of course you do. Buuuuut, you could always have more."
As you all moved out the house, you trying to talk Hoseok down from buying you too much and Yoongi silently laughing at you, you hoped this would be a quick and easy affair.
You should've expected anything but.
Yoongi seemed to be in a joking mood today, him and Hoseok laughing in the front seat about something, singing along to the radio. The boys really did bring out different sides of each other, and it seemed Hoseok especially had a positive effect on Yoongi's personality.
"Alright," Hoseok cheered, pulling into a parking lot of a shopping mall. "We're here!" Filing out of the car, you all moved to the sidewalk. Yoongi and Hoseok placed themselves at your side automatically, keeping you away from anyone walking near you.
"Are you guys allowed to just walk around? Aren't you celebrities?" You watched as people weaved around you on the sidewalk, eyes drawn to the men with you. "It seems like you attract a lot of attention."
"You should've seen when we all had dyed hair." Yoongi smirked.
"We have freedom, but we aren't exempt from attention." Hoseok explained, close enough to bump his shoulder with yours. "And if anything goes wrong we have the lawyers to deal with it."
Even entering the crowded mall made no difference, eyes still drawn to the men at your sides, looking like absolute pinnacles of fashion. They definitely caught the eye, Yoongi's all black outfit making his figure seem more imposing and Hoseok's contrasting bright outfit, a neon orange jacket that would look ridiculous with anyone else, and some black pants with a lightning bolt painted on one of the legs.
Your outfit in comparison, an oversized sweater and distressed baggy jeans-- distressed from overuse, not by design-- was rather bland. They didn't seem to pay any mind to it, not looking the least bit embarrassed about being with you. Hoseok grabbed your hand, pulling your hand to drag you into a store he spotted eagerly.
As soon as you had gotten into the public eye, though, Yoongi seemed to have closed himself off again, icy and sharp, but his expression melted with warmth everytime he looked at you.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he huffed. "Just realized how many people are here." He glared back out into the crowd, irritated.
"Do you not like people?" You were a bit confused, since Yoongi had never been anything but nice to you. A bit quiet, sure, but nice.
Hoseok scoffed. "This grump? He hates everything that isn't his bed." He teased, ruffling his hair. Yoongi rolled his eyes, looking less irritated than before despite the teasing. The affection between all of them was really heartwarming, you thought to yourself, the way Yoongi relaxed in Hoseok's presence.
In the span of an hour, you went through a couple shops, not finding much, before entering a really high end one. While the others had a couple of nice dresses in a section of the store, this one was all dresses, all fine quality. Evening gowns, ball gowns, cocktail dresses, just being in the store made you feel like you had to be pay to be there.
You hesitantly took a step forward, Hoseok having rushed ahead to a dress he thought looked good on you. Yoongi was hanging back by the entrance looking exhausted already.
"Excuse me, miss," a store clerk walked over to you, saccharine smile asked at you. "Do you need help? I can assist you if there's something you're looking for?"
"Um, actually--"
You felt someone tug you away from the store clerk and behind a broad back. You realized by the neon orange that Hoseok was in front of you, separating you from them. Hoseok was giving a strained smile to the store clerk, pulling you away from them and moving in front of you. "We can help ourselves, thanks."
"Is this girl with you?"
"Yes." Hoseok stated confidently, as if challenging him to question him further.
"Okay, well, if you need me, I'll be over here." They returned to behind the counter, unsure how to continue with the sudden tension, moving away and leaving you alone.
"Will do." Hoseok replied, polite smile fading after they looked away. You tossed a confused look to Yoongi about his sudden guard dog behavior. What was so wrong with them wanting to help you, you wondered. But Yoongi just rolled his eyes, not seeming happy about the shop keep talking to you either. "People are so nosy." He scoffed.
Yoongi pulled you further into the store away from any employees towards a rack of dresses. "Take your pick," he finally said. "You can get whatever you want, don't worry about any prices."
Hoseok caught up to you, tapping your shoulder as you slid the dresses across the rack, sunshine attitude back as if nothing ever happened. "I found this nice red one, I think it'd suit you well."
You made your way around the store, finding dresses in your size. Hoseok was almost more enthusiastic than you, picking out eclectic dresses and Yoongi rolled his eyes, making him put them back, reminding Hoseok that it was a black tie event. Eventually, you headed to a dressing room with what you had gathered and stared trying them on.
You came out in the red one, too big for you and way too low cut. The bright blue was too harsh against your skin, and the sparkly gold one was scratchy. Starting to give up hope, you slipped on a velvet black dress and audibly gasped after looking at yourself in the mirror.
The dress suited you perfectly, the color complimented your skin, the cut complimented your body shape, drawing in your waist and making you look... pretty. Actually, truly pretty. It had been so long since you dressed up like this. You could already see the hairstyle you'd do with it, the makeup, the jewelry.
"So? How is it?"
"Don't just leave us guessing out here!" Yoongi's and Hoseok's voice filters over the door and you brought yourself back to the moment. You clicked open the latch on the door, stepping out barefoot.
They quieted, their faces dropping as they looked at you. "Is it... bad? I thought it looked--"
"You look incredible." Hoseok answered emphatically, Yoongi giving a sincere nod.
"I'll go tell the store clerk we're taking it." Yoongi said moving towards the counter, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from you.
The dress was placed in a garment bag which was gently folded and placed in a larger paper bag with the store's logo on it, and you walked out feeling excited for tomorrow already. It's not everyday that you have an event to wear something like this to.
Hearing the footsteps behind you quiet you turned slightly, seeing Hoseok and Yoongi stopped in front of a jewelry store.
"Oh, no. No, no, no, don't even think about it." You shook your head, turning back around and walking speedily away. Yoongi caught up to you, pulling you back, and you groaned.
Inside the shop, Hoseok was already talking to a jeweler, looking over glittering strips of diamond and silver. He turned to you as you got close, "Which do you think goes better with your dress? I was thinking this one."
He held up a necklace-- a wreath of diamonds, more like-- that was designed to circle around the base of your neck and dip past your collarbone. Each diamond glittered brilliantly like a sky of stars, the silver chain underneath just barely peeking out.
"I... can't even imagine how much that must cost." You breathed in awe, hand lifting to skim the edges gently.
"And luckily you don't have to." Yoongi smirked. "Let's take it, and these earrings." He held them up next to the necklace, long dangly things matching the necklace.
"Now we just need shoes!" Hoseok cheered as the jewelry wrapped up the pieces and handed you another bag full of impossibly expensive things.
"I don't think we--" you tried to protest, immediately shut down.
"I think we do."
You entered a shoe store, unfortunately, ignoring Yoongi's smug smirk, as you planted yourself on one of those seats in the aisles meant for trying on shoes. "We're not leaving until you get yourself something." He hummed, enjoying this way too much.
Before you could open your mouth to answer, a store clerk walked up to you. "Everything okay over here?" She asked you kindly, but all her attention was on Yoongi. His smug expression fell away, eyes narrowing into slits at the person suddenly in your space.
After you realized Yoongi wasn't going to say anything, you spoke up. "Um, do you have anything velvety and black?" She seemed surprised that you spoke, seeming to acknowledge you for the first time.
"Velvety? Are you sure you don't mean suede?" She asked with a condescending tone.
Yoongi glared even harder somehow. "She meant what she meant. Do you have it or not?"
The lady seemed surprised at his tone and then spoke, hesitantly. "Yes, I believe we have what you're looking for. Come with me."
You followed her and watch as she pulled out a selection of boxes, stacking them on top of a table and opening and displaying each of them. "We have boots, heels, wedges, flats, anything. What kind are you looking for?"
"Heels. Not too tall, please."
"How about these?" She picked up a heel, silver chains attached to the upper strap that would go around your ankle and draping towards the toe of the shoe.
"Great, thank you." Yoongi said, dismissing her as soon as possible.
"I can show you to the register."
"We'll find it just fine." He hissed, and she huffed, walking away, seemingly giving up on anymore conversation. Hoseok came running over, holding up a pari of sneakers that looked like they came out of a comic book. "Look at how cool these are!" He gushed, dispersing the leftover tension, making Yoongi smile again.
In the end, Hoseok bought the sneakers for himself, and you had the heels, the jewelry, and the dress, in very large bags that had to equal thousands of dollars. This was going to be hard to pay back, you thought to yourself, walking back through the mall.
Passing a cafe, Hosoek piped up pointing to it. "Let's grab something to eat before heading back!"
As you went to protest, your stomach growled. Yoongi gave you a knowing look and pulled you towards the cafe before you could get a word out.
You sat in a booth, Yoongi sliding in after you and Hoseok sliding in next to him. "Guys, there's two sides, you know."
"Yeah, and? We can all fit." Hoseok smiled.
Yoongi didn't look bothered by the slight squish, leaning into Hoseok's shoulder until the man wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer. Yoongi hooked a leg up over yours, eyes closing as he tilted his head against Hoseok's neck.
The waiter who came to serve you looked confused at the seating choice but didn't comment on it. Hoseok ordered for both him and Yoongi, getting a sprite and a cola, as well as a plate of chili fries for them to share. You got a burger and mozzarella sticks and the waiter walked away. While sitting in the comfortable silence, you mused on the events of the day.
Yoongi and Hoseok seemed to act entirely different with people than you'd expected. Yoongi, who had only ever been patient and calm with you, had been acting irritable all day. And while Hoseok seemed more diplomatic and tried to be polite, he didn't seem much better off, almost as if interaction exhausted and annoyed him. You had seen his smiles take on a strained egde, but you suppose only people who have seen his real smile would notice. The men next to you, peaceful in the undisturbed quiet now, seem so harmless even with the attitude you had seen earlier. Was this the real side of them, or was the attitude today the real side? Thinking about whether or not they were always like this with strangers made you wonder if they really were different from Jimin.
You looked to your right, seeing Yoongi already smiling at you, head still laid back on Hoseok's shoulder. "What?" You asked, but he shook his head, looking away. "Nothing."
After the food came, you all ate, Yoongi and Hoseok not seeming to be in any rush to go back home. Instead, they took their time making jokes and telling stories, making you giggle. Yoongi seemed to like making Hoseok laugh too, the deadpan way he'd deliver jokes never fading to make Hoseok cackle.
Because of the calm atmosphere, the yelling that had started startled you even more.
Across the restaurant, a tray of food dropped, metal clanging across the floor and a man yelling at the service worker that had dropped them. You jumped, reflexively shrinking back against the booth, despite being across the restaurant and not the person the man was yelling at.
Yoongi groaned. "People are so loud," he glanced to you to say something, then paused, seeing you trembling and concern setting into his expression. Yoongi placed his hand around yours, settling the shaking that had started. "Are you okay?"
You nodded, but Yoongi wasn't convinced, your pale face and wide eyes giving you away. "Let's just get out of here," he huffed, pushing Hoseok out of the booth and taking the bags, moving towards the exit. Hoseok stood, helping you up and throwing fifty dollars into the table.
You walked all the way to the exit as quickly as your shaky legs could carry you, getting to the car and slipping into the backseat. Weirdly, Yoongi and Hoseok slipped in next to you instead of into the front seats, so close their thighs pressed against yours.
"What's going on? Aren't we going home?" You asked, trying to keep the shakes out of your voice.
"Not until you're okay." Yoongi said, grabbing your hand again, eyebrows still furrowed as he looked at you like you were a puzzle and he was missing a piece.
You looked down at your feet in shame, trying to avoid their eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you guys angry--"
"You didn't make us angry." Hoseok cut you off immediately.
You tilted your head, feeling clueless. If they weren't mad, then what was the looks in their face? "But, you looked mad." You glanced at Yoongi, who had literally exited the cafe in a huff.
"I was mad at the guy." Yoongi explained, caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. "Never at you."
"I'm sorry," You said again. "I guess the noise just got to me."
"Why did the noise bother you so much?" Hoseok asked, but he had a feeling he wouldn't like the answer. Just judging by your reaction, he had a few guesses.
"I... I don't know." You stuttered, but you realized as they stared at you intently they wouldn't be taking that for an answer. "I guess loud yelling makes me bit nervous sometimes."
"Having a panic attack and being a bit nervous isn't the same thing." Yoongi criticized, raising a brow questioningly. "Now what's really wrong?"
"I... I guess it's because of my ex boyfriend..." you trailed off, not wanting to explain. You were twisting the sleeves of your sweater now, trying to distract yourself from the conversation.
Yoongi's leg bounced slightly next to yours, the frown on his face deepening. "What do you mean, because of your ex boyfriend?"
"He would yell at me sometimes... a lot, actually." You looked up finally, studying their expressions closely. You wondered if this was maybe too much to share with people who you didn't know that well, but something about them was so comforting, the bubble of safety in the backseat relaxing you after the stressful experience. You felt like you could trust him. They've been a lot more open and honest with you over this month you've known them, getting close to then bit by bit, after they had showed you genuine, sincere parts of themselves most people didn't get to see. You figured you could at least return the favor.
"And," you started hesitantly. "He would throw things at me a lot too." You lifted the sleeves of your sweatshirt to show a scar down your arm. "This is from the glass of a beer bottle he threw at the wall behind me."
Hoseok looked at your arm, your precious skin scarred, and anger brewed inside him as an urge to protect you rose. He looked at Yoongi's face seeing the same as the other man raised his hand to lightly trace over it.
You bit your lip nervously in the silence, and Hoseok's hand came up, immeadiately pulling it away, murmuring a small 'don't do that', and resting his hand on your jaw so you could look him in the eyes. "You don't have to keep telling us anything if you don't want to, but we won't tell anyone else if you do, okay?" He soothed, his thumb brushing against your neck reassuringly.
Hoseok watched you hold back tears and something swelled in his chest, warm and soft, and something else more stern and protective rose into place. He couldn't believe anyone had ever treated you like that, you, so trusting and compassionate. He resolved himself there to keep you from ever feeling that way again.
"I've been doing a lot of thinking since being here. It's just, there's stuff that you don't really think is that bad until it's not happening anymore. Or it just doesn't affect you because it can't, you don't have the time to break down or think about it." You blinked, realizing you were blinking past tears and reached up to cover your eyes.
Yoongi wiped your tears away. "He will never hurt you again. No one will. We'll make sure of it."
Yoongi and Hoseok shared a glance over your head and moved to get in the front seats and head home.
They would make that asshole pay.
----
Finally, tomorrow had arrived: The day of the showcase. Hoseok and Jimin had been out of the house all day, gone to prepare the event and when they returned, it had been to leave again, telling everyone in the house to be ready to go.
You slipped on your shoes, taking a deep breath in and a deep breath out. Tonight would be easy. You gazed at yourself in the mirror before stepping out of the room.
The necklace you thought was a bit much, but looking at it with the dress, you couldn't imagine being without it, the overall look giving an elegant glam. You had your hair pinned into an updo to match the silhouette of the dress, and the heels elongated your legs. Without leggings you felt a bit exposed, not having shown much skin in a while.
All in all, you looked incredible. Smiling, you walked out the room, descending the stairs into the floor foyer where everyone was gathering, Jimin and Yoongi still preparing in their rooms.
Namjoon turned at the sound of your heels, watching you step down. He was speechless off a moment, much like Hoseok next to him, both taken off guard by your look.
You deserved to always look this nice, Hoseok thought, all the riches in world wouldn't be worth as much as you.
Jin and Jungkook, however, hadn't shared the same speechlessness, immediately rushing towards you in excitement.
"Look at you, my little darling, you look so nice!" Jin cooed over you, adjusting your hair and your dress ever so slightly, tweaking your outfit to make you look even more put together. Jungkook however, wrapped his arms around your waist and twirled you around, lifting you entirely off the ground as he gushed about how pretty you looked. Your giggles filled the room and Namjoon glanced over seeing Taehyung hanging back but looking at you fondly. He let out a deep breath, feeling the weight on his shoulders loosen little by little as his boyfriends got close with you. It felt wrong to try and mend his relationship with you while they weren't used to you, but now day by day they were slowly coming around.
Eventually Jimin and Yoongi came down, Jimin ignoring you like usual and Yoongi barely having time to send a nod in your direction before Hoseok was rushing everyone out the door.
The venue was impressive, large and packed with people just as fancily dressed as you and the boys. You felt a little self conscious entering with the boys, looking out of place next to their practiced confidence. However, every seemed to treat you kindly, if a bit curious as to who you were, waving in your direction confusedly. People who came up to them side eyed you, trying to get a closer judge on your character considering they had never seen you before but Hoseok and Yoongi didn't seem to like that, forming a wall between you and whoever came up to them, shielding you from view.
Eventually Hoseok and Jimin slipped away, and when they came back, the lights dimmed, advising everyone to get to their seats. You were sat at the seats in the front row, right up next to the stage. Multitudes of shows passed over the hours, Hoseok cheering and clapping for them all. Especially after the performance with the five young boys from before-- Hoseok looked so proud, clapping louder than anyone in the room.
Afterwards, the students werefree to walk around, the students from the shows going to meet up with their loved ones as a snack table and plates were set out.
You stood, talking excitedly with Jungkook who told you he had an interest in dancing as well, and both spoke about the acts that you thought were cooler. Out of the corner of your eye, you felt someone staring at you looking over and seeing Jimin. He narrowed his eyes at you but said nothing, turning around and walking towards the snack table with Taehyung.
In a different corner of the room, Yoongi watched the way your earrings dangled against the column of your neck, smooth skin tempting and for a second he wished he was those earrings, pressed against you close like that. His own thoughts startled him for a moment but he'd be lying if he was truly surprised, the feeling he got when seeing you like a warmth seeping into his bones. You had crept in at some point between all the early morning and late night talks, your charm getting past his usual defenses. He hadn't gotten a close look at you earlier but now that he had the space to admire you, he wasn't wasting a second. You caught his eye across the room and waved excitedly, the cute smile on your face making him smile in return.
Jungkook walked away to get some snacks and got trapped in a conversation with some girls who walked up to him, you could see from here the awkward look on his face and the way they swarmed around him everytime he tried taking a step away. You idled in place for a second as you surveyed the room, everyone else in conversation and you didn't want to interrupt any of them. Then suddenly, movement caught your eyes, a flash of someone in the corner by a dessert table. It was the student from before, Beomgyu! You remembered.
Beomgyu waved at you excitedly, now dressed in a fancy suit and beckoned you over to where him and his friends were standing. You went over, and as you walked up, one of them had just noticed you, choking on his drink.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, did I startle you?" You said, trying not to laugh.
"No, no--"
"He's just nervous because he thinks you're cute!" Beomgyu said, getting an instant arm punch.
"He's lying, don't listen to him." The other boy put down his drink. "I'm Yeonjun." He held his hand out for a shake and you took it, pretending not to notice the slight red on his cheeks.
"I'm Taehyun!" Another one piped up, practically ripping your hand out of Yeonjun's. "I think you're pretty too."
"Hey, no stealing Yeonjun's girlfriend!" Another one fake scolded, as Yeonjun buried his face in his hands.
"I can't believe I'm friends with you guys," he groaned, banging his head against the wall.
"I'm Hueningkai, but you can just call me Kai, and this is Soobin!' The one who has spoke before gestured to another one that had been facing the snack table, turning around with a chocolate covered strawberry in his mouth. "What?" He said, voice muffled around the fruit.
"I'm Y/n, it's nice to meet you. You guys did incredible up there." You complimented and they beamed happily.
You started up a conversation clicking perfectly with the group who you had learned were only a couple years younger than you. To be fair, they were just easy to get along with, filling most of the conversation with their own personality, knowing each other well and making you feel welcome. You were happy to meet people that didn't hate you from the start, and then you realized how depressing that sentence sounded.
Beomgyu smiled at you an idea popping into his head as he bounced excitedly, "Ah, we should swap numbers! So we can all talk whenever!"
"Don't torture the girl, Beomgyu, she just met us." Soobin said, but you shook your head.
"I'd be okay with it! I could use a few friends honestly. If you don't mind, then I don't." You smiled, and they whipped out their phones, pushing the screens towards you, and you programmed all the numbers into your phones, laughing about the nicknames they gave themselves in your contacts.
Suddenly, in the midst of your conversation, Jungkook pushed his way over, putting a hand on your shoulder. "Y/n, we--" He seemed to just notice that you had company and tossed an unkind look towards the boys you were talking with. "We're heading home now." The grip he had on your shoulder tightened slightly, pulling you a bit closer to him. You couldn't identify the look in his eyes, but he seemed wary and suspicious of something.
You were caught off guard by both his attitude and the amount of time you had spent talking with the boys after you looked at the time. "Oh, it's already so late. I'll talk to you guys another time." You said bye to your new friends and walked away with Jungkook who moved his hand around your wrist, tugging you away quickly.
"Who were those guys?" He asked.
"Some of the students who were performing tonight. I met them first when Hoseok was teaching a class."
"A class? That's weird. Hoseok doesn't like having people sit in on his lessons usually." He raised an eyebrow,
"I had no idea. He invited me last time."
"Mm, he probably just didn't mind having you there if you were quiet. Usually me and Tae are too loud." He chuckled, seemingly relaxed now that you were away from your new friends.
New friends, you thought to yourself as you settled in the car, sleepy and happy, heading home.
-----
Taglist closed: @sunshinehobissunshine @pb-n-juju @bunnyrhe @7soulsbts @tinyoonsblog @royalchickens @urvirtualgfteehee @fangirlnonsense @deathincarnation @alngelias @jinswifeyy @not-all-are-the-same @btsizlyfe @justsomoneliving @purplelady85 @just-me-and-myselfs @thinkaholicer @kookstempo @petersplanet @squishyturtle @bunzom @fuckinglittlekitten @canarystwin @scuzmunkie @stupendousliteraturewritingoaf @sugarrush-blush @bt21chim @maries110911 @creatorspalace @bjoriis @highinhopess @little-dark-empress @onlythebest-106 @cestlabellemort @rapunzel76 @kamen-tenshi @totallynoanalien @singukieee @gingerupset @sunshinee0-0 @avadakadabra93 @lvrseok @musicismyoxygen @missinggot7 @silscintilla @jcrml @chosovisionaries @hwa-loves @placeoftime @embrace-themagic
#ot7 x reader#bts x reader#ot7 x y/n#bts x y/n#poly!bts x reader#its done!#for real this time!#im never touching this again
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