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pisupsala · 1 year

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One for The History Books [Epilogue] [Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw]

[Summary] You are an archivist at the Pentagon, sent on assignment to TOPGUN to catalog and report on a top-secret mission. In the days under the Californian sun, a certain naval aviator puts your once orderly life in a tailspin that you might never recover from.

[Pairing] Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc

[Warnings] Mature content: swearing, (explicit) smut. 18+ only.

[Words] 6.4k

[Library]

The gravel crunches under the wheels of the rented Bronco as Bradley easily steers it into a parking spot. The lot in front of the Hard Deck is busy, even though it’s closed for a private party tonight.

You smooth down your dress as you get from the car. The loose cut makes the soft fabric gently sway in the wind, grazing your mid-thigh. The smell of salt on the gentle ocean breeze hits you, still warm from the late summer sun. It takes you back to three years ago, when you found yourself here for the first time. You close your eyes for a moment.

The first time you saw Bradley.

Back then, you didn’t know yet that it was the night your entire world pitched off its axis. You didn’t really feel it until you fell—and kept falling. Even now, you’re not always sure your feet have touched on solid ground yet.

“You okay, darlin’?” Bradley appears next to you, his fingers grazing the skin of your neck and shoulders, exposed by the wide neck of your dress.

“Yeah.” You smile up at him. Your heart still does a little jump when your eyes lock—especially today; when he looks so relaxed, every smile reaches his eyes, and he carries himself with such easy confidence, lighting up every room.

Sure, it also doesn’t hurt he’s wearing his service khakis, that look like they’ve been molded onto his body. His classic aviators complete the image of effortless coolness. It’s like you’re falling for him all over again.

Bradley closes the car door for you, before running tracing his fingers down your spine before resting on the small of your back, guiding you to the entrance of the Hard Deck. He greets some fellow officers shortly on the way, never taking his hand from your back.

Inside, the Hard Deck is busy, filled to the brim with uniformed personnel. Penny and Amelia clearly made an effort in decorating the place for tonight— red, white, and blue garlands hang from the ceiling, banners, the works. You smile; some if it is definitely Amelia’s handiwork. She has a real creative streak.

“Bradley! Darcy!” Penny is making her way through the crowd, smiling broadly. She looks amazing—her long dress makes her look like she stepped out of a classical painting. “I’m so glad you guys made it.”

You gladly accept her hug, before she turns to Bradley to hug him too. “We’re glad to be here.” He smiles.

“I love what you’ve done with the place.” You say, looking around.

“Thank you, I’m glad it actually turned out well,” Penny chuckles. “Today has been absolutely crazy.”

“You should have called, I could have come earlier to help.” You say a bit worriedly.

“Nonsense, you guys have been so busy, you should enjoy your time off together.” Penny dismisses you easily, looping her arms through yours. “Let’s get you guys some drinks—what are you having?”

“A beer for me.” Bradley says as he follows you to the bar.

“I’ll have a… sparkling water.”

Penny doesn’t say anything, but her gaze quickly travels down to your midsection. Her eyes meet yours for a moment, and you can feel the burning question behind them.

“I’m just thirsty.” You laugh, waving her away. “It’s so warm today.”

“Of course.” She smiles back.

Amelia is sat at the bar, and as you receive your drinks, in lieu of a greeting, she just says: “That empire waist looks cute.”

Teenager.

Penny rolls her eyes, and you thank Amelia graciously, trying to not blush.

Bradley is silently laughing as he leads you away to greet Pete, who is the guest of honor today.

“I think they are on to us.” He chuckles softly as he uses his free hand to pull you against him.

“Pff, I never expected differently from Penny. Amelia is surprising, though.” You sigh. “As long as they keep it to themselves, I’ll pretend this is a vodka soda or something.” You take a sip from your drink.

Two-and-a-half months. That’s how far you are along. You’ve only known for about four weeks, but since then it’s become your most closely guarded secret, shared only with Bradley.

Being a stickler for rules under normal circumstances already, you are so nervous about something going wrong, you implored Bradley not to tell anyone before the three-month mark, and especially not at Pete’s retirement party tonight.

Unfortunately, you met up with Penny right after you found out when you and Bradley visited in Nevada before they flew out for Pete’s retirement ceremony, and you already used the excuse of coming off medication when refusing a glass of wine.

It’s not going to fly again.

You haven’t seen Pete anywhere yet, but you assume he’s being kept busy as the guest of honor. Bradley stops to talk with Mickey, while you greet Nat. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her, but she’s amazingly sharp as always.

“Bradshaw, as I live and breath.” Seresin emerges from the crowd, clapping Bradley on the back.

“Hangman.” He greets back, nodding shortly, before moving just a fraction closer to you, his hand still resting on the small of your back.

“And if it isn’t Miss Williams.” He continues, grinning mischievously. “I have to say, I am surprised…”

Yep. Still an asshole.

You smile politely, as you hold up your left hand. “Actually…” You start.

“That’s Dr. Bradshaw to you, Bagman.” Bradley cuts in, almost arrogantly.

Honestly.

You giggle. He still allows Seresin to get a rise out of him so easily. You have to admit, it’s kind of cute how proud Bradley is of you. It sure as hell makes you feel amazing.

Seresin’s momentarily utterly confused look is worth it, too. Although, he recovers in typical fashion: “Well, I suppose congratulations are in order to you both. But especially Rooster, because she’s even more out of your league now.”

“Doesn’t Darcy go by Dr. Bradshaw-Williams?” Nat suddenly pipes up, shutting both Bradley and Seresin up. Mickey nearly chokes on his beer. “Since, as I recall, she had a career and got the PhD before she got a husband.”

You cannot stop yourself from laughing as you thank Nat under your breath. Bradley scoffs. After you received your doctorate, Bradley absolutely beamed with pride every time he introduced you—and you still had your maiden name then, as you were only engaged.

After you got married, and you sent him a picture of the new name plaque on your office door, Nat told you he showed it off to the whole wing.

You chose to hyphenate your name—Nat is right about that. You already have a career and publications under your maiden name, and it’s an absolute bitch to get your name changed on all those articles retroactively. Plus, you don’t want to suddenly lose any name recognition, so you hyphenate mostly for work purposes.

“True, but Dr. Bradshaw works just fine.” You grin, lightly touching Bradley’s arm. To his credit, Bradley never made an issue of you hyphenating your last name. He even admitted to you he would understand if you kept your maiden name when you discussed it.

But you know him.

When you told him you would take his last name together with your own, the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. It was the only right decision—because deep down, it was incredibly important to him: the idea of family being a family together and sharing a name.

Bradley presses a kiss against your temple, as Seresin rolls his eyes. “Who’s up for some pool?”

“We need to talk to Mav first.” Bradley replies. “Any idea where he is?”

“Probably at the pool table, actually.” Mickey replies.

Bradley leads you through the crowd, arm wrapped around you to keep anyone from bumping into you.

You give Pete a big hug, congratulating him.

“How does it feel?” You ask, smiling.

“Strange, very strange.” He admits with a half-smile. “I don’t think it’s complete sunk in yet.”

“How was the ceremony?” You inquire conversationally. Pete chose to have his ceremony onboard of the USS Roosevelt together with his closest fellow aviators and colleagues a few weeks ago. Bradley had been there, while you stayed behind with Penny. This was the party for everyone who wasn’t at the ceremony.

“It was very nice, but let’s not talk about that now. I’d rather hear how you are doing.” Pete replies with a grin. Ah, it probably still feels raw for him, finally retiring from active duty. “How’s the new house? Are you getting settled?”

“Yeah, it’s finally as good as done.” You let out a sigh of relief. “You should come visit sometime soon.”

The last six months have been insane: you got married, bought a new place together, Bradley went on a 6-week detachment, you tried your hardest to turn that house into a home and then you got pregnant. You haven’t even been on honeymoon yet. Now, you try not to think about having to convert one of the bedrooms into a nursery soon.

“It’s as good as done if Darcy doesn’t keep buying more books,” Bradley jokes. “I will be building shelves forever at this rate.”

Pete laughs, as you gently elbow Bradley in the ribs, frowning playfully.

“I’m kidding, darlin’, I’ll build you all the shelves you want.” He concedes, laughing too. You really, really try not to blush at the implication behind Bradley’s words.

Yeah, so, you thought you had a thing for Bradley in uniform? Try having him working with his hands, power tools, in the house you bought together. Fuck. You could try to blame it on the newlywed rush, coming off birth control, missing Bradley—but the bottom line is—he’s so good with his hands, and looks so fine doing it, you’re 99% sure the shelves are the reason you’re pregnant now.

“I’m glad you kids are doing well.” Pete comments, almost wistfully.

“Thanks Mav.” Bradley replies sincerely. Although he’d probably never admit it as such, Bradley cares deeply about Pete’s opinion, and wants his approval. It’s something that goes unspoken between them, but is mutually understood.

The moment is disturbed by Seresin waltzing past with a tray of shots. “Rooster, Maverick, you’re up—two v. two against Payback and me.”

Pete and Bradley share one look—and you know they will never back down from a challenge like that. Shaking your head, you follow them to the pool table.

“Go sit down, darlin’.” Bradley leads you to a bar stool, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you slide onto it. “You still good?” He asks quietly.

You nod, smiling. Bradley is trying not to be overbearing, but he wants to make sure you are comfortable. You are okay with that—smothering, not so much. Bradley starts racking the balls as Seresin is distributing shots, and even though you shake your head, he presses one into your hand.

“Come on, Willia- shit, I have to call you Bradshaw now.” He corrects himself.

“You can call me Darcy.” You laugh.

“Will your husband be okay with that?” He taunts. Bradley shoots his a murderous look from the table.

“It’s my name, you ass.” You reply with a fake smile. “And I don’t want a shot.”

You move to put the glass back onto the tray Seresin is holding.

“It’s for a toast to Maverick’s health,” Seresin plays up his faux shock. “Surely you can’t say no to that?”

“Leave my wife alone, Hangman.” Bradley warns.

“Please tell me you didn’t get so boring since marrying Rooster.” Seresin continues needling you, ignoring Bradley. “You used to be fun: doing shots, shotgunning beers…”

You roll your eyes. Of course he wouldn’t let up, acting like going out with you and Bradley wasn’t a one-off, that time when Seresin suddenly showed up in Arlington.

You hold the shot glass up, shooting Seresin a sarcastic smile as he walks away. There’s not arguing with him.

“I’ll drink it for you.” Bradley whispers, turning to you.

“Don’t worry about it, babe.” You shake your head, as he runs his knuckles over your upper arm. “I’ll get rid of it—you keep all your faculties for the game.” You add, teasing.

“I’m glad you have such faith in me, darlin’.” Bradley drawls sarcastically. You blow him a kiss in response. Penny joins the crowd, standing next to Pete—they look radiant together—as an old friend of Pete’s makes the toast.

As everyone kicks back their drink, you bring the shot glass up to your sealed lips, tilting your head back as if you’re drinking, only to dump the clear liquid into the melting ice of your water glass as you move your head back down.

You put away both glasses on the bar behind you, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. Bradley’s fingers gently wrap around your chin, tilting your face up to his.

“A kiss for good luck?” He murmurs against your lips.

You giggle, pressing your lips against his. He tastes faintly of vodka. “I’ll be here, enjoying the view.”

“Order me another beer, sweetheart?” He asks as he accepts a cue stick from Pete. You nod affirmative, as Penny slides onto the bar stool next to you.

“Smooth move.” She comments airily. You just shoot her a look as you accept a new glass of sparkling water and a beer from the bartender. She knows. But you just shake your head.

“Not yet. Not today.” You don’t elaborate—you don’t have to. Penny nods in understanding as she grabs your hand and squeezes it in assurance. An understanding of ‘I know what you’re going through’. You squeeze back as a thank-you.

“At least one of us will be sober enough to drive.” You comment dryly, nodding to the pool table as Bradley and Pete knock back another shot. You dissolve into giggles with Penny.

You chat with Penny as the boys play, later teaming up with Nat to take on Bob and Mickey. Dodging Seresin and his mission to get everyone blind drunk (it is an open bar, but man, show some restraint), which you think you’re doing a pretty decent job of.

You keep ‘forgetting’ your drink on the side table, or just simply handing it to Bradley as you pretend to focus on the game. Barley beating the boys, you high five Nat.

“C’mon, let's have a drink to celebrate.” She grabs your elbow and leads you to the bar.

“I’m good.” God, you never realized how hard it’s to dodge every offer of alcohol. You tug back a little, stopping Nat. “Designated driver.” You grin lightly, shrugging.

Nat cocks an eyebrow, knowing full well it’s several hours before you’ll leave. You hold your smile on your face, trying to look as neutral as possible. It’s not even a lie—you are the designated driver. But Nat is sharp. Thankfully, she’s also tactful and doesn’t push the issue.

You make your way to Bradley, who is standing at the dart board with a few others, wrapping your arms around his waist. He immediately, automatically puts his arm around, and presses a kiss on the top of your head.

After that, there is a flurry of names and faces—so many people know Bradley, knew his dad, and want to talk to him. The smile never leaves his face. You know he is loving this, he loves being around people, and he does it so well—laughing, joking, telling stories.

People gravitate to him, his genuine warmth and his light. He doesn’t always see it himself that way and uses his extraversion as a mask, but it’s really him.

“It’s good to see you, son.” An older man claps Bradley on the shoulder, before pulling him into a hug. “Taking after your old man more and more, I see.” He adds jokingly.

Bradley laughs. “I can only hope.”

You politely chat to the man’s wife—honestly, your brain is turning to mush from all the names—supplying her with details of your newlywed status.

“That’s not Carole’s ring, is it? She asks suddenly, gently grabbing your hand.

“No, we decided to keep them together.” You share a look with Bradley as you both smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back then, when he stayed in Texas for a month, Bradley had put any thoughts of marriage to rest for the time being. He knew then already: it’s not that he doesn’t want to marry you eventually—it still crosses his mind regularly—but he’s not sure if you will actually say yes right now. He doesn’t feel worthy of it. Not yet.

So he doesn’t bring it up. Neither do you.

After he comes back he has time to spend by himself with his memories, that you are lovingly and painstakingly restoring for him. While you are out for work, he flips through the pictures, trying to remember, to feel those moments again.

Some evenings he sits quietly next to you, as you pull nitrile gloves on, hair in a messy bun, and slowly, carefully go through every picture. You go through almost meditative motions as you reapply glue, precisely placing the photo on the page, humming softly.

He loves it.

It’s such an incredibly intimate affair. There are no words. There is no touching, but it’s like watching you preform surgery on his soul. For Bradley, these moments are like a vacuum in time, simultaneously without end, but also always too short.

It’s only when you stretch out, groaning involuntarily as your spine pops, it’s like the bubble burst.

Running his fingers over the tight muscles in your shoulders, Bradley jokes:

“You should work on your posture.”

You moan softly in response, eyes closed, as he works out the knots in your back.

Bradley has purposefully been avoiding the box that has the display case with his father’s funeral flag. You asked him what he wanted to do with it, but truthfully, he just shrugged, not having an answer. You regarded him carefully, like you were trying to discern what he was thinking. Ultimately, you suggest keeping it in the box for the time being with the other items, gently waylaying the decision to the future.

It stays there until after Christmas.

You spend Christmas at your parents’ place in Colorado together, and despite the numerous arguments you have with your sister, seeing you with family, being welcomed into your family, makes Bradley ache for having his own.

With you.

When you return home, Bradley’s head is once again filled with those intrusive thoughts. His gaze is trained on your hand as you play with a pen while reading, running your fingers through your hair in deep thought, wrapped around a mug of tea as you watch TV together. It looks so bare, and it’s almost offensive to him.

He should get it together and ask you to marry him. It’s been months since that seed took hold in his brain, and it has been only growing, even though he tried not to feed it. The vines have now irrevocably entangled him, and Bradley knows he can’t pull them off without tearing his soul apart in the process.

He just doesn’t feel ready. It’s like he’s been rooted in place.

If Bradley is completely honest with himself, he never particularly put much thought in marriage or family in his own life. Ironically, that has been leading him down a lonely work alcoholic path similar to Mav’s (and Bradley even had the gall to call him out on it—it’s embarrassing in hindsight). But the solution seems so simple. He’ll get his mom’s ring, ask you, and pray you will say yes.

But it’s when he finally actually sits down at your desk and opens the small items box, even the little bit of resolve he feels melts away. His mom’s ring and dad’s dog tags sit snugly together, like their last earthly possession have found their final resting place. Together, as they should be. It feels almost sacrilegious as Bradley takes the ring out, and inspects it.

It’s really quite dirty, grime stuck along the setting, the yellow gold band dull. He rolls the ring around in his palm, weighing it, trying to figure out why it doesn’t feel… right.

The center topaz glints happily in the sun—and it reminds him of his mom. Her warmth, the way she could light up a room with a single smile, and her incredibly energy. She was the sun; keeping him in orbit, on the right path.

Leaning his head on his head, he sighs. But that’s not you. You are steady and patient; a calming presence. Not a force of nature in the way his mom was, but rather a gentle guiding light.

Bradley didn’t realize how little he could actually see until you illuminated his path home, like his own personal north star. And Bradley wants more than anything to always come home to you.

He decides to mull it over as he leaves for deployment. Every time he makes port somewhere, he cannot help but stop in front of a jewelry store. Looking at the displays, he feels lost.

What would you actually like? What would actually make sense for someone who hardly wears jewelry?

Before he left, he took a quick look at your sparsely filled jewelry box—it’s mostly filled with simple silver designs. It makes him grin. You are such a practical person, even when it comes to things that are supposed to be nice.

Nothing catches his eyes for weeks—months, even. He googles, trying to come up with a better description than: something Darcy would like, something that will make her happy every time she looks at it, something she will wear every day. But nothing seems to fit.

Bradley finds himself in Portsmouth, England for a week. His fellow aviators have cottoned on and absolutely to refuse to let go of the matter. A few of the younger guys don’t understand the big deal (like, it’s all cool if it’s like a diamond, right?) while others seem to firmly on the side that it’s romantic.

To Bradley, it’s becoming torture.

It’s only the second time around, when he walks past several of the city’s jewelry stores, something finally catches his eye. He looks at the ring through the glass—a thin silver band, beset with a round light blue stone, surrounded by what he assumes are diamonds. But it looks too big, so he leaves it at that.

The next days are busy, full of preparations for departure festivities before embarking back west to Nova Scotia before returning to Virginia. The more he thinks about that fucking ring, the more he realizes that… that might actually be the perfect one. He doesn’t remember any of the other rings he’s seen, but this one stayed on his mind from the moment he saw it.

On departure day, already dressed in his Navy whites, he makes an attempt at looking dignified while dashing to the store. Please, please be open, he prays.

He practically Kramers into the store, his loafers skidding on the polished wooden floor. The poor clerk is so out of sorts he just looks at Bradley mutely, eyes wide in surprise.

“Good morning.” Bradley smiles, breathing a little too hard, trying to regain some composure. “I want to buy a ring.”

The clerk nods, before jolting into action.

“So, this is a white gold ring, with a halo design: the center stone a beautiful light blue aquamarine, beset with white diamond accent stones, which-” The clerk is doing going through his sales pitch, showing the ring from all angles in the glittering light, but Bradley really doesn’t have time. He shouldn’t even be off the boat right now.

“Sounds lovely.” He cuts in diplomatically. “Can I see it?”

Perturbed, the clerk hand him the ring. Bradley runs his finger over the gems—the setting is smooth. He likes to imagine you would wear this when working: not tearing through gloves, comfortable as you write—and the light blue is elegant and understated.

It feels so much more like you.

In the palm of his hand, the ring doesn’t look that big, but your hands are significantly smaller. Before he can start overthinking it again, Bradley decides that, hell, even if the stone is a bit large—surely it’s not that bad to show off that you are engaged?

Bradley is so lost in thought, he doesn’t really hear the clerk patter on about upselling him on similar rings, different boxes, gift wrapping—the works. Rather than to waste even more time, he just cuts to the chase.

“Do you take credit?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, commander, are you ready for tonight?” You are fixing your hair in the bathroom mirror. Bradley peeks into the bathroom, appreciating how his favored sundress is clinging to every curve of your body. He was recently promoted, and so you had taken it upon yourself to tease him a bit with his new rank. Just to get used to it a little.

“I’m all good.” His eyes rake over your body, appreciatively. “You look great, darlin’.”

You turn to him with a smile, dress twirling. Bradley is dressed casually—you’re only going to a 4th of July cook out, after all. But you can’t help but be nervous, you really don’t want to be over or underdressed.

“You sure this is okay?” You ask, hesitantly. It’s the first time you’re actually doing a thing with his work buddies, at work. And you’re his guest.

“More than okay.” He assures you. To him, it’s adorable how worried you are. But it’s also a good thing, because if you are worried about what you are wearing, maybe you’ll be less likely to clock him. Bradley is sure the anxiety is rolling off him in waves, to the point where his own voice sounds weirdly forced to him.

For weeks that little box has been going everywhere with him—in his pocket, glove compartment, locker—sometimes he almost wished you would just find it. Now he needs to find a good way to keep it on him—he can’t really ask you to keep it in your purse, but it’s too warm to wear a jacket. So he takes a risk.

“I’ll pack you a hoodie, okay, sweetheart?” He says, turning around and walking to the bedroom to grab his gray zip up hoodie. “In case you get cold later.”

He can pretend it’s the gentlemanly thing to do and hold it for you, hiding the ring in one of the pockets. He’ll have to keep an eye on it during the day, but he’ll have to keep his wits about him either way.

Because today is the day.

He is going to ask you to marry him.

Finally, he can accept that there will never be a perfect moment. The goalposts will always move, and new challenges come up on the horizon at every turn, and the darkness doesn’t disappear as easily as it came.

But you stick by him.

You stick by him through the deployments, the comms blackouts, the things he can’t talk about, the things he wants to talk about but hurt. You are the constant.

Some dark nights, when sleep is elusive, he wonders what it is he actually does for you to make you want to endure him.

On the other hand, whatever it is he’s doing, it’s working. Your face breaks into a smile when you see him, and when pulls you in for a dance in the cereal aisle, your laughter is definitely taking over your mortification, and secretly his favorite? You don’t stop singing immediately when he walks into the room, allowing him to listen before you revert to soft humming.

Your sister casually mentioned you were in choir in high school, intending to make fun of you (you threatened to stab her with a butter knife at the dinner table), but for Bradley that was… well, music to his ears.

But now he needs to get through this afternoon, the ring box practically burning a hole through the hoodie in his hand as you strap on your sandals.

Every time you catch his eye that day, talking to people, playing with one of the kids, every time you smile, it burns him a little bit more.

Finally, the sun is setting, and the first fireworks start soon.

“Let’s go for a walk.” Bradley whispers in your ear, easily whisking you away from a conversation with one of the junior officers in his wing. Your fingers thread through his immediately, as he leads you away from the noisy crowd of the party, along the shoreline away from the harbor.

“Aren’t the fireworks starting soon?” You ask, looking back quickly. You are moving away from the fireworks show, which strikes you as strange. Bradley has spent weeks talking that the fireworks show they put in Virginia Beach is absolutely amazing, and you really have to spend the 4th of July there, having a booked a hotel even before you agreed. In hindsight, that should really have been a hint.

You descend from the walkway down to the beach, the waves softly lapping at the sand the only sound around. The sun is in those final minutes before it drops behind the horizon competently, covering everything in a palette of oranges and reds like a final goodbye. The wind picks up every so slightly, causing you to shiver.

“Good thing I brought this.” Bradley jokes, although his voice sounds somewhat forced, as he slips the zipped open hoodie over your shoulders.

“Where would I be without you?” You chuckle. In your periphery you see his Bradley’s closed fist, knuckles straining, like he’s holding on to something heavy. Before you can ask, he twirls you around, resting your back to his chest, arm wrapped around your waist.

“The fireworks will come from there—and trust me, this is the absolutely best spot to see them.” In his own ears, he doesn’t sound nearly as smooth or confident as he’d like. You turn your head at him, smiling contently. The final rays of sunshine are dancing over his skin, the dark shadows brining your every movement of his muscles and illuminating his curls in a golden hue. How can you be so lucky?

Not being able to stop yourself, you pepper kisses along his jaw. Bradley kisses you back, almost absentmindedly, eyes looking away in the distance.

There is something strange about being on an empty part of the beach, so close to dark. The twilight has a foreboding feeling to it. Maybe it’s the anticipation for the show, although that feels like a too-shallow explanation for the strange twisting in your stomach. It feels like… it feels like you’re about to take an exam that you haven’t studied for—woefully under prepared and no insight about what is happening.

You lean back into Bradley, who tightens his arm around you, listening to the soft swash of the sea. When the first rocket soars into the night sky, dappling the darkness with red, white and blues, he hears you gasp softly. This is it.

His eyes travel down your delighted face, hands clasped in front of your chest, the colors of the fireworks reflecting in your eyes. You’ve never looked prettier to him.

Slowly, gently, as not to startle you from your enchantment, Bradley loosens his hold on your waist, fingers ghosting along your stomach before retracting his arm completely. When he steps back in a moment, it will be the point of no return, as you will surely notice then. He’s holding on to the ring box so tightly, it feels he’s about to crush it with his nervous energy alone.

On three, commander, he tries to spur himself into action.

He counts back to one at least ten times before pushes himself back with a little bit more force than intended, taking a clumsy step back. It’s now or never. The adrenaline coursing through his veins makes it feel like time is slowing down, allowing him to see every move with anxious clarity.

You start to turn, look of surprise on your face as the colors from the sky reflect on your skin. Your mouth is opening to say something, forehead creasing in confusion.

Not at all gracefully, certainly not with the level of control one might expect from an experienced aviator, Bradley lands on his knee in the sand before you can complete your motion. Your eyes meet, and for a second, a second that seems to stretch into infinity, nothing happens.

The flickers of colored light are the indication that time has not ground to halt completely as you stand rooted to the ground, unable to parse what is happening. There are so many thoughts running absolutely rampant through your head, you cannot find coherence.

Bradley is holding his breath—maybe he’s forgotten how to breathe—as he looks up at you. This is on him. He needs to make a move.

Finally loosening his vice-like grip on the ring box, he rests it in his palm. He rehearsed the words in his head so many times, wrote them down, rewrote them, kept them tucked in the pocket of his shirt. And now they seem to have evaporated from existence.

“I want to come home to you for the rest of my days.” He starts, his voice mercifully steady unlike his insides, which seems to have turned into jello, quaking with every heartbeat. He’s completely winging it now.

Your brain appears to finally be capable of reaction, as your hand covers your mouth, tears threatening to spill from your brilliant eyes. “I promise to take care of you as you do for me, love you -” He trails off, eyes flickering away for a moment in embarrassment. So much for rehearsal. Don’t think, just do.

“I don’t want to be without you anymore.” He concludes, voice strong. “You are the light of my life, everything make sense with you. Please, Darcy, will you marry m-”

He never gets to finish the sentence as you catapult yourself into him, arms desperately wrapping around his neck, your lips crashing into his. He falls backwards into the sand, catching you by the waist, your tears dripping on his face.

This is a good thing, right? Bradley muses. This is a good reaction. He thinks. You haven’t said anything, you didn’t even let him finish. Hell, you didn’t even wait for him to open the ring box. It’s currently in the sand, his hand blindly grasps for it, clutching it in his hand.

Maybe all that really isn’t as heavy and important as he made it out to be. Maybe all that really matters that you are happy, and he is a source of that happiness.

You break the kiss, sniffling a bit before breaking into soft laughter, the amalgamation of emotions raging within. Bradley watches it play all on your face anxiously.

“Yes.” You smile. “With every part of my being, yes.”

It’s like he can now relax and finally solidifies back into reality. Laughing, he lies back into the sand, pulling you with him in a kiss. Behind your back, he pops the ring box open and takes the ring out.

“Give me your hand.” He murmurs against your lips. Sitting up a little, you watch with bated breath as Bradley takes your hand, and tenderly slides a ring on your ring finger. Holding on to your hand, he presses a kiss to your knuckles, as if to seal the ring in place. The stones glint in the sparse light of the night, the fireworks having died down.

Bradley follows your every move carefully as you take a closer look at the ring.

“It’s beautiful.” You say breathlessly, tears prickling in your eyes again. It’s by far the nicest piece of jewelry you probably ever owned, and you don’t think you’ll ever own anything more precious. “I’m never taking it off.”

Bradley laughs, eyes filled with happiness. “That’s the idea, darlin’.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slowly but surely the party at the Hard Deck winds down. You are set next to Bradley at the piano, head resting on his shoulder as he plays the melody to Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here for you. It was always one of your favorite songs, something you would hum under your breath as you worked or did chores.

One day, you had been humming along exactly like that, softly singing excerpts from the lyrics to yourself as you were unpacking boxes in your new living room. It was the strangest moment, when your humming was suddenly accompanied by the soft tones of the piano, Bradley adding little flourishes to the melody.

You were stunned into silence—you had heard Bradley play before, but never this song. Did he learn it for you? Because you hummed it? And he noticed?

If you hadn’t been married already at that point, you would have married him again. A thousand times over, just for that.

So you sat down next to him, exactly as you are sitting now. You started humming again as he harmonized with you. Music is what connects Bradley to his family and memories, and you could see in his eyes that this was something he wanted—that he needed. No matter how scared you are to sound off-key (like… he’s actually good, you are generally glad to hold a note), you enjoy this moment to the fullest.

And every moment after that, when he plays that song, just for you.

“I’m ready to go when you are.” He tells you softly. You just watch his fingers deftly dance over the piano keys for a bit longer. You will never tire of watching him move so elegantly, so precisely and with so much feeling.

“I’m about ready to go home.” You nod, smiling. “But you can stay if you want? I think Nat and the others are staying longer.”

You look at the group milling around the bar still. Bradley follows your gaze but shakes his head.

“You sure?” You ask. Stationed all around the nation, hell, half the world, they don’t get together in one place that much.

“Positive.” He replies, getting up from the piano.

“Dr. Bradshaw, if I may have the honor?” He holds out his hand to help you up, that cocky half-smile gracing his lips and mirth in his eyes—he knows you a little too well how to get you hot under the collar.

You laugh, blush dusting your cheeks. “Take us home, commander Bradshaw.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[note]And that's truly it for the main story. All in all, it clocks in at about 100k words, including the existing side stories. That's officially longer than my thesis. So what's next? Side stories (one already done, coming very soon), editing (lol), some more art, and I may or may not have been thinking about a new story. As long as stays fun to do! Again. Thank you for reading my first fic in a decade. I couldn't have chosen a nicer fandom to return to—you guys make it worth it. See you at the next one!

#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw #top gun maverick #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #rooster x oc #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x reader

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imnottheonlyone · 4 months

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what happened to high school?

When I was young, I thought high school students were so cool and grown up. I watched as they started driving, dating, having sex, and going to parties and I couldn't wait to be that fun age. Now that I am in high school, where has the fun gone?

As people have realized, generations are starting to look younger and younger. When you imagine a senior in high school, you often don't imagine the people that I go to school with. Their baby faces haven't gone away and the growth spurts have not hit yet. Part of the appeal of high school is the feeling of adulthood and maturity, not only in the classes you take or your social endeavors, but in the way you look. I don't know if it's because there isn't as much of an age gap between myself and a senior in high school now, but when I was little, they just looked so old. I don't see that anymore.

Also, technology is nowhere near new and exciting. It's a part of our everyday lives and I will resent that for the rest of my life. While it comes in handy for teaching and grading, and Google is a major plus, it shouldn't be our only source of school these days. I rarely get assignments on paper and honestly, I wish they were. I want physical copies and mementos from my high school days. Not to mention, I don't even have a real school identification card. It's in an app.

When social media and technology was new and exciting, it acted as a third space for teenagers. Like malls and roller rinks in the eighties and nineties, Tik Tok, Instagram and Tumblr are the "hang-out spots" for teenagers in the late 2010s and 2020s. In the early to mid-2010s, teenagers still went to malls and roller rinks to hang with friends while also adjusting to the new online world. It was a place for teenagers to communicate their ideas and express themselves. Now it has become a part of everything. I almost never have conversations where someone doesn't whip out their phone mid sentence

Also, we have no defining trends for our generation. Social media has brought forth something called the microtrend. A song, make-up look or body type will be a trend for two weeks before out short-attention spanned peers decide it's not interesting or cool anymore and move on to something else. While the nineties had grunge and glamor and the eighties had acid wash denim and big hair, the 20s has....leggings? And Utah curls? What I mean is, when you think of the 1990s, a specific image comes to mind. Grunge music and dark eye make-up. When you think of the eighties you picture big curly hair and neon spandex. When you think of the 2020s, nothing in specific comes to mind because we can't decide on one thing. Nothing is interesting or cool enough anymore. We live in such a capitalist, consumerist society that once we engage in something too much, it becomes boring and we have to find something else. Social media and influencers only amplify that. I don't know if it's Gen-Z's push-back on being categorized or defined by anything, or if nothing is good enough anymore.

And don't even get me started on the music. In the 20th-century, different music trends came and went. In the 70s hair metal and power ballads became huge. In the 80s glam metal, synth, and pop started to materialize and in the 90s alternative rock, grunge, nu metal, and boy-bands made their breakthrough. This overbearing control of the music industry made music a novelty and allowed teenagers to be a part of a subculture. When punk came about in the 70s and goth in the 70s and 80s, it allowed teenagers to interact with another and create relationships because of the subculture they identified with. This made high school the stereotypical version we see in 90s and early-2000s movies. The goths sit over here and the popular kids sit over there. Even in the 90s with grunge and the 2000s with emo. Though to come it seemed “clique-y”, it made making friends and self-expression more cohesive and less stand-out. Even into the early 2010s, those who liked pop punk, didn’t hangout with the kids who like mainstream pop or trap beats.

With the rise of the influencer and easy access to higher paying or earning jobs, anybody can make music, even if they’re horrible at it. Content creators online put out singles or albums that sample the same beats as everybody else and have the same dense and shallow lyrics, where it is obvious they’re trying to sound deep and meaningful but they’re fully missing the mark. It’s hard to want to claim a genre or use a specific sound or style of music to identify your generation or simply the people you hangout with. New music doesn’t have that power anymore. New major music genres have not been pioneered since the 90s with grunge and nu metal. People that are making music aren’t creative and the creatives aren’t making music.

The things people listen to and the way that they dress says a lot about them. For teenagers, it has said everything about them. However in the last ten years, social media and technology has ripped those ideals away from us. Nobody wants to be perceived as one thing. They want to be everything and nothing is good enough to define anybody anymore. Tik Tok has ruined the essence and the glowing aura that once was the teenager.

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children-of-subcon · 2 years

Photo

Do you guys remember that one time I made an AHiT swap au? Me neither!

Haha, just kidding... sorry for not posting much lately, I’ve been really busy and kind of struggled with drawing Earl for a while... but I’ve finally got them figured out! Mostly!

If you find their design kind of confusing, then good! It’s supposed to be a bit of an optical illusion, which sounded really cool in my head but was a lot harder in execution. Anyways! I’ve decided to try and post at least one ref a month! Will I be able to stick to this? Probably not, but let me hope ;w;

As always, info is under the cut :D

At long last, meet the final member of our main team! Here for all your player 3 needs, Earl is pretty much Prince and Duke’s only other friends from their home planet, Chronaeon. In the main timeline, they arrive on Earth around the 3rd DLC. They’re the single chill, level-headed one of the group... usually.

Ironically, Earl isn’t the same species as Prince or Duke--they’re actually what’s known as a Timeeater! This species, as you may have guessed, is infamous for their ability to eat through time itself and thus travel from place to place near instantaneously. Of course, how far they can travel depends on their appetite...

Due to this, Timeeaters don’t really have a set home planet, and can be found almost everywhere. Even on Chronaeon, apparently, who is in a sort of cold war with the Timeeaters. Chronaeon HATES Timeeaters, believing them to be desecrating Time and seeing them as something akin to garden pests... but since they’re trying to maintain their image as the perfect protectors of the universe, as well as Timeeaters’ history of being hard to kill, Chronaeon can’t actually declare full-scale war. Yet. After all, all it takes is the right excuse.

Despite this, Earl was a Timeeater who decided to take a chance with LIVING on Chronaeon. Their ability to travel quickly has allowed them to stock an unmatched variety of items, and as it turns out, Chronaeon’s inhabitants are really good customers. Earl runs several stores across Chronaeon, but it was at their bookstore that they met Prince and Duke! They were the one who introduced them to manga 😔

Earl’s real name is unknown. On every planet they visit, they just... let the inhabitants choose what to call them. On Chronaeon, they’re most commonly called Jack (as in, Jack of All Trades), while on Earth they picked up the name Earl :)

Despite being the shortest, they’re actually the oldest of the team, in their mid to late 20′s. They’re blind in their left eye, and occasionally a bit twitchy, although they weren’t always...

Earl originally started wearing their mask to hide their face markings, signature traits of a Timeeater, but nowadays it’s to hide something else. The markings with still glow through when using magic, however!

Unlike Prince and Duke, Earl isn’t a Timeshifter. As I said, though, Timeeaters are notoriously lucky when it comes to avoiding death ^^

Aaaaaand that’s about it! Hope you enjoyed! Feel free to ask any questions if you have them :D

#this is my birthday present to myself hehe :)#I have been SO EXCITED for this one you guys don’t even know #FINALLY. I CAN TALK ABOUT EARL #AND I DON’T HATE THEIR REF SO HOORAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY #A Hat in Time #AHiT #ahit au #USAU #ahit Badge Seller

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mybookhaven · 1 year

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A Day of Fallen Night - Samantha Shannon

High Fantasy - Queer Rep - WOMEN

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ (5/5)

I had extremely high expectations for this book, so much that i thought i am going to ruin the experience purely because of all the pent up excitement. Boyyyy was i taken by surprise. This is going to me my favorite read of 2023, yes i know it's still early to decide, no this will not be changed regardless of what i end up reading.

Frankly i do not even know where to start. Everything about this book was magnificent, from the complicated world building, the fascinating character arches, to the intricate dissection of the plot that kept me entranced throughout. I got to fall back into the world of "The Roots of Chaos" so easily that i ache for having to leave it behind again.

The story was narrated by 4 characters: Tunuva Melim of the south, Noziken pa Dumai of the east, Glorian Berethnet of the West, and Wulfert Glenn alternating between west and north. To say that it was easy to relate to and fall in love with each of the characters would be an understatement. Each had their own tone, Tunuva being in her 50s with half her life already spent fine tuning her image of herself, Dumai in her late 20s her life about to be turned upside down, and Wulf and Glorian being close to their mid/late teens battling the world to carve a place to fit themselves into (we do not know the actual age of Wulf for reasons i will keep unknown here because OH BOYYYYY was that one of my favorite plot lines in the book).

The sorrow of ages arrives, and no one is prepared to deal with the wrath of earth unleashed. As i've read "The Priory of the Orange Tree" before, i knew the general direction of the events to take place, and i want to stress the genius of Ms. Shannon in giving us a story that kept me on the edge of my seat regardless of that fact.

The strength and warmth of Tunuva, the love between her and Esbar, an old love nurtured for years and set in admiration, comfort, and lasting desire. The fear, resolve, and retaliation of Queen Glorian who sees the Berethnet legacy for what it actually is. The perseverance of Wulf, a man lost to the world and to himself. The trusting nature of Dumai, a woman raised for the peace of temples swept into the war of politics. I could go on and on about almost every character mentioned in this book, major or minor. The amount of attention given to the creation of this world is beyond my greatest imagination and i cannot thank Samantha Shannon enough for sharing it with us.

I don't want to talk about specific details of this books because i'm trying to stay spoiler free, but it needs to be said that there are moments in this book where i've lost my breath with the unfolding of events leaving me full and empty within a couple of sentences.

I cannot recommend this book, or this series enough. Samantha Shannon is officially my favorite writer and i doubt anything will change that in the foreseeable future.

#i am in so much pain after reading this amazing book #i have never fallen in love with characters so intensely before #honorable mention to Kuposa pa Nikeya (my love)#with that i crumble #seriously though the best book i've ever read #a day of fallen night #the roots of chaos #roots of chaos #samantha shannon #the priory of the orange tree #tunuva melim #noziken pa dumai #dumai #glorian berethnet #wulfert glenn #nikeya deserved better (i will cry myself to sleep)

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minuy600 · 5 months

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LEGO On A Budget 2024 #1: 60399 Race Car & 60410 Fire Rescue Motorcycle

Now that the prerequisites are outta the way, let's discuss the first two sets I actually went to a store for and bought!

I am not showing the same image again.

LEGO City 4+ - 60399 Race Car

So Lego 4+ is certainly a thing now. They come with a simplified instruction manual that show you exactly what you need to hold in your hands before placing them, which makes the booklet look more meaty than it actually is.

This little racer only comes with a total of 56 pieces, which means my building time was no more than about 25-30 minutes while watching a video. Strangely, the hardest part was giving the female racing driver minifigure her hair, it seems you gotta put it on backwards before sliding it into place. The other minifigure, our little cameraman friend, also has the issue of holding a camera that appears to be too heavy to him. You gotta topple him backwards a bit for him to stand in a relatively stable manner.

I still had an okay time building this one, like, it may be for the youngest demographic but it still generally fits the aesthetic of City and the end result is sturdy and looks nice.

I goofed and put the trophy in the racing seat and now I cannot get the bottom part of it out. Nice start.

LEGO City 4+ - 60410 Fire Rescue Motorcycle

This one is a nice blast from the past for me. One of my first ever non-Duplo sets WAS the fire rescue truck that pretty much coincided with the full brand refresh of Lego Town in late 2004. It was still in stock by early 2006, as I got it alongside the first ambulance and larger police cars for that year's birthday. God, anyone else find the mid to late 2000s City styling really appealing? Whenever I see one of the REALLY big boxes at the toy store now, it gives me a nice callback to those times.

Anyway. Clocking in at 57 pieces, this motorcycle-and-hotdog combo pack is a little more novel than the race car in my opinion. This one comes with an additional thing you can build (even if it would only take 2 seconds to do so), that being the barbecue that is on fire. I was surprised by how robust the motorcycle actually felt, it does topple over a touch easily but that's to be expected. Pretty smart design to have you connect those two large pieces together eventually.

And then you also have the hose, the fire and the hot dog pieces! They're fun to twiddle around with as sorta unique, more shapely pieces. The hot dog bun attaches to the panicky guy's hand by attaching it at the top, not too shabby either.

That's not to say it is without flaw- I find it odd that there is absolutely no way to attach the burnt hot dog to the grill in any capacity. For a 4+ set, that would've made sense to do. As a very perfectionistic guy, it makes it hard to consider that 'part of the set', too, if you catch my drift. Still, it's a rather minor issue overall.

It seems pretty clear what my personal preference is. The race car is not even bad, it was a nice start to my little adventure here, it's just that I find myself more fascinated and photogenic by this little fire rescue adventure. So for now, the ranking is as follows:

City 4+ - 60410 Fire Rescue Motorcycle

City 4+ - 60399 Race Car

These are also the only 4+ sets we are covering. These are honestly pretty overpriced for what you get out of them. With these €10 boxes, it's a very manageable deficient, the next couple in line won't have too much to put together either. However, once you go more expensive, it becomes increasingly ridiculous.

The most expensive 4+ package overall from 2024 is €55 for the Team Spidey Web Spinner Headquarters... with 193 pieces total. Yikes. For comparison's sake, if you move up a single age to 5+, you could already get the City Hamburger Truck for €20. How many pieces does that one have? 194. Spidey's getup may LOOK nicer, but I doubt the kids are fixated on 'the quality of the pieces included'. 35 bucks is a massive gap, man.

With that out of the way, i'll see you all on Friday with the singular representations of two themes in the €10 price range! I'm quite excited.

#minuy600 #review #lego 4+#lego city #lego review #ranking list

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miruac · 9 months

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003 | croissant

genre: strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, potential angst, fluff

pairing: casey ruang x yunmei qi

warnings: none

synopsis: casey is a bit homesick, how to cure?

masterlist

LIKEY CAFE; 10:45 A.M

saturday morning, on a breezy fall day. just the slightest chill flowing through the mid october breeze. weekends were rather slow for un. not much to do, since she's on top of her assignments. as of now, she sat in a little corner booth at a local diner outside campus.

“well looky looky, what do we have here?”

a familiar voice spoke, catching yun’s attention. she looked up, and there stood casey ruang. a little smirk plastered on his face, his smirk growing into a toothy smile.

“..hi?"

“hey. what’cha up to?” casey pushed his bag below the table, sliding into the booth as he let out a quiet grunt.

yunmei glanced at the croissant in front of her, before glancing back at casey. this diner was always her to-go meal spot. need a quick breakfast? take a breakfeast wrap from their to-go breakfast menu. late night dinner? Their dinner plates will be right out as soon as you even order.

“croissant.”

“i’m sorry?”

“croissant. they have good croissants here.” yun explained as she wiped leftover pastry crumbs off of her mouth with her sleeve. awkwardness creeped in as the two grew silent; plates clinking and quiet chatter being the only sounds. yunmei looked at her pastry sheepishly, whereas casey was looking at the menu. he glanced around before raising his hand. a teenager quickly came over, pulling out a notepad and a pen.

“hi, what would you like today?”

casey looked back at yun, a small smile on his face.

“one plain croissant, please.”

yunmei smiled fondly at casey, going back to her food. she glanced between casey and his backpack. the diner had opened a couple weeks ago, but yun had been frequenting the place recently.

“so, why are you here?”

yunmei took another bite of her croissant, chasing it down with a fresh cup of strawberry milk.

“was looking for a place to write; my literature professor assigned us a mock report, and the dorm wasn’t really a good place. y’know, someone threw a party last night and left their mess for us. what a great morning!”

casey took a deep breath, rubbing his face. now that yun looked closer, she saw that casey’s eyes were dropping and had bags under them. an arrow of concern poked her heart but she decided not to inquire about it.

“jeez, sounds bad. i was gonna go grocery shopping later, you wanna go with me? after you’ve made some progress on your report.”

“yeah, sure. i have to buy a couple snacks anyways.”

it made yun a little happy that she didn’t have to go shop alone, nonetheless she wasn't expecting for him to come with.

;;

I.H DORMITORY 7:20 P.M

evil spawn #1(claudia): insert image me: why does mom have to make my fav when i’m not home evil spawn #1(claudia): lolz evil spawn #1(claudia): did u eat yet me: no, almost done studying evil spawn #1(claudia): i’m snitching to mom me: NO SHE’S GONNA END ME evil spawn #1(claudia): go eat broski me: never call me that ever again evil spawn #1(claudia): ok bye love u me: love u too

click

a wave of melancholy struck casey, causing him to stare up from his work and at the ceiling. after seeing th picture claudia sent, casey realized something. he missed home. the chaos of four siblings, the noisiness, but his mother’s cooking is what he missed the most. It had been a while since he last ate something that truly tastes like home. he glanced at the digital clock on his desk. 7:24, it displayed.

may as well have dinner, i can study later.

casey thought to himself. he had been studying for the past four hours, and it was already past the time he would usually eat dinner. as casey made his way out of his room and into the communal kitchen, the scent of beef and spring onions grew stronger and stronger.

peeking past the corner, he spotted yun at the stove. it seemed like she was sauteeing some sort of noodle dish. casey stood there for a minute, waiting to see if yun would even look away from the stovetop. he stood for a good three or four minutes, before yun scanned the premises. she jumped, then began to laugh as she clutched her heart.

“oh my god, casey! i almost threw my spoon at you, don’t do that."

casey chuckled, walking over to the kitchen island and sitting down.

“okay, okay sorry. what’s on the menu tonight?”

“oh, just this beef noodle dish i ate growing up. i messed up the ratios though, there’s bound to be some-”

growl

casey’s growling stomach interrupted yunmei’s speaking, embarrassment creeping up onto his face.

“..leftovers…i’m gonna assume you’re hungry, and you can have the rest. i don't trust my cooking, so you taste it first!”

yun shoved a bowl of the noodle dish into casey’s arms, and handed him a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. the aroma was heavenly, notes of different soy sauce variations and oyster sauce with that slight smokey scent. it…reminded casey of something familiar.

“if you don't trust your own cooking, why should i trust it?”

“because you’re hungry and i’m not letting you starve.”

“...fine..”

casey hesitantly picked up a couple strands and stared at them with a questionable look, and put them in his mouth. the expression on yunmei’s face was one of uncertainty, her eyes glued onto casey’s face. it was subtle, but his eyes sparked. he looked up at her with a look of excitement on his face and nodded.

“i’m surprised you don’t trust yourself, because this is really good.”

yunmei let out a breath, anxiously shaking her hand. her shoulders felt lighter as her face lit up with happiness.

bzzt

something was vibrating. it was casey’s phone. he pulled it out, and his expression changed to worry. he whispered a ‘sorry’ over to yunmei. His finger hovered against the screen, before flicking up.

“casey, my son! claudia says you didn’t have food, are you eating now?”

a light and airy voice spoke from casey’s phone. other voices were distantly heard in the background. yun assumed it was his mother, judging from the words ‘my son’. she gathered the pots and pans, and placed them in the sink for later.

“mom, mom. i’m fine. i’m okay, just a little tired. i’m eating right now. claudia showed me the seolleongtang you made.”

“sorry, your brothers and sisters wanted it because they know you like it, and they miss you.”

“i’ll be home soon, okay? just two more months and i'll be home for christmas.”

“okay. what are you eating now?”

“well my friend made this beef noodle stirfry, and there was a lot extra so she gave me some.”

casey looked over at yun, who was standing across him. she seemed to be invested in her own bowl. he flashed her a soft smile again, before turning back to his phone.

“okay. I know you’re a busy boy so i’ll let you eat. stay safe and-”

“is that casey? hi big brother!”

“casey!”

“ew, it’s you.”

casey’s phone screen went from displaying just his mother to his whole family. a smile lit up on his face, and yunmei could see his eyes crinkle. it warmed his heart, seeing his whole family after little contact.

“hi everyone. claudia, that’s mean. hi cecillia and cody. are you two being nice to mom and dad?”

“yes! cody helped her make dindin, and claudia draw with me!”

a high pitched girly voice spoke.

"is dad home or is he still at the bakery?"

"yeah, he's still working. your favourite tarts have been the weekly special for like, three times since you left."

a breathy voice spoke, in a slight sing-song tone.

“thanks, claudia. and what about cole?”

the phone screen panned from his siblings, back to his mother.

“oh, cole is having a sleepover with one of his friends. they have soccer game tomorrow. eat now okay? i love you, my son.”

“okay, love you too mom. bye everyone."

“bye casey!”

“byebye big brother!”

“see’ya.”

click

“sorry about the fuss, my family’s a bit on the rowdy side.”

casey took another bite of his food, wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin. yun shook her head, fiddling with her utensils.

“it’s okay, your family seems fun. are you the oldest?”

she asked, walking to the fridge.

“yeah. i’m the oldest, then it’s my sister claudia, my brother cole, and the twins cecilia and cody. claudias fifteen, coles eleven, and the twins are both four.”

“oh really? What’s it like,being the oldest?”

yun chuckled, wiping her hand with a napkin. the boy smirked and sighed.

“well, it’s kinda hard since i help my parents with the younger ones, but i don't mind it.. they’re all great kids.”

it was nice, seeing casey talk about his family in such a loving way. if yun was being honest, she thought it was kind of cute.

I.H FILM ROOM; 9:20 A.M

“you’re finally on time, for once!”

“always on time for my favourite class. professor lee still isn’t here?”

casey shook his head, unsheathing his laptop from the case. he pulled out his sketchbook as well, flipping it open to a blank page. this time, yun was prepared. she had stuffed an extra sweater in her backpack, and even brought a couple of instant heat packs if the chill became unbearable.

“nope, i wonder what surprise he’s gonna show up with this time.”

professor lee is casey and yunmei’s film professor, and he always came to class in a special way. sometimes he would wear inflatable animal costumes to teach in, other days he would just not follow the day’s agenda and would just casually talk to the class.

“i’ll buy you lunch if he comes to class wearing a dinosaur costume. he doesn’t, then you treat me.”

yun said, pulling out a packet of mini rice puffs to snack on.

“deal.”

the two shook hands, smirks on both their faces. last time, prof. lee wore a carrot costume and almost every week, he alternates from food costumes to other types of attire. but when yunmei sat down, the professor came through the doors wearing something no one expected him to.

“oh my god.” casey whispered, his eyes slightly widening.

“what even is he wearing? oh whatever, thanks for lunch art boy!” yunmei squealed excitedly.

professor lee came to class in not just one costume, but separate parts of multiple costumes sewn together. the cherry on top of the outfit was the pumpkin hat that sat ever so perfectly the professor's head.

“okay class, let’s get started!”

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

EEEEEEEK HI EVERYBODY!!! i'm so sorry for the wait, i got stuck writing this chapter :/ i hope it is up to your standards. but as for other chapters, they may be published rather late. i will try to post at least once a month, but it may be a bit longer. either way im so glad that you all stayed this far, i hope you all had a good first day of school <3 goodbye my loves !!

#podcast au #casey ruang #goodnight central #fluff #miruac #college au #oc #yunmei qi #slowburn #friends to lovers #ftl

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beautifully-lumpy · 2 years

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the beautiful person's journal - #11: evolution of sponsors

you're sitting there, watching the brand-new caddicarus episode. you're about 20 minutes into the 70-minute epic, you've already finished your bowl of popcorn, and you're racking up reaction images and clips like it's the lottery...

when suddenly, out of the blue-

it's december, the most consumerist month of the year. christmas shoppers clog every store imaginable, buying everything in sight. so what better time of the year than now to discuss sponsor segments?

sponsor segments are sort of the way of life for just about every youtuber these days. whether they're formally placed before or after the show proper, or placed in the middle with awkward segues, it's hard to find a youtuber who hasn't talked about raid shadow legends or nord VPN in any of their vids. with the adpocolypse back in 2017, youtubers began incorporating sponsors more than ever in their videos, as well as patreon plugs. since then, it's become a necessity.

the caddicarus show and its channel's side shows are no strangers to sponsors. in fact, the channel has had sponsored segments and videos ever since the old kingdom! (which is my placeholder name for 2012-late 2015 until i come up with an original name. i took an egyptology class this semester okay.)

in this entry, we'll take a look into this channel's history with sponsors, and how the segments have evolved over the years.

pre-2019

if you were around pre-2019, you may remember that sponsors didn't use to be as entertaining as they are now! in 2015 we slowly began to see sponsored segments and videos make their way onto the channel. at first, we had mentions of appman during the end slate of the videos, then we had sponsored tinker time videos for the PS store, and then we had the announcement of caddy partnering with the pixel empire in july 2015! he didn't have any of his merch on the site until 2016, though - this was back during the days of rodeo arcade and the yetee. do those sites even exist anymore...?

...okay, looks like the yetee's still around...first thing i saw when i looked up rodeo arcade was a reddit thread about how bad it was. lmao.

with the pixel empire partnership, we began seeing dedicated sponsor segments at the beginning and/or end of videos. not EVERY video, but a whole lot. and with the introduction of outtakes in mid-late 2015, the endings of videos could get up to 3 minutes! it was a much different world back then compared to today's straightforward "okay here's the subscribe jingle and here's the patreon credits with no voiceover and here's stanley's segment".

as 2015 continued, we started seeing ads for crunchyroll and audible. i believe there were also ads for dollar shave club - i actually found about about these companies through caddicarus, and they would go on to become household names when it came to youtube sponsorships! i think i also found out about amino through caddy - it was either him or rebeltaxi. my memory is cloudy when it comes to the specifics of this stuff.

in 2016, gamesgrabr promos really ramped up, and chrono.gg - later nexus.gg - was introduced into the mix. the address "chrono dot gg forward slash caddy" was ingrained into the skull of many a beautiful person. there was also a sponsored current quickies about an AR game called kazooloo - and i never realized it was unlisted. it COMPLETELY slipped my mind when i was compiling privated/unlisted videos. what's strange is that this and the 2017-19 sponsored videos were unlisted but not the 2015 sponsored tinker times.

caddy returned to patreon in 2016, so in a bunch of videos after that, that was like a sponsored segment.

2017 was a hotspot for separate sponsored videos - i touched on these briefly in my entry on the caddy show. you can find most of them in this playlist!

i remember the dreadnought video stuck out to me because there was this bit that 15-year-old me thought was really funny for some reason... it went something like "bada bing bada boom...! i was a bada man when i used my computer that doesn't use the default web searcher as bing to make the bada ships go boom!"

that was the original screenshot i took of it in 2017...the file was titled "cursed image"

another sponsored vid i have fond memories of was the one on the acer predator laptop. i was on vacation in branson, missouri when it dropped, and i remember watching it while riding back to the hotel late at night as i looked at the view of the city from the mountains.

there was more of the same through the rest of the pre-2020 era. there were two more shady voucher app things which i think were the same people - "appbounty" and "apphunter". there was this especially shady-sounding one literally called swagbucks. there were some videos sponsored by forhims, and let me tell you, opening a caddicarus episode and being greeted by caddy talking about men's pubic hair and sexual wellness and it not being a bit was like a digital punch in the face

he was also one of the many youtubers who sponsored betterhelp in 2018, and if you know the drama behind that company...yeaaaahhhh. but he took the sponsor in good faith and pulled out when shit hit the fan.

none of these sponsors were particularly controversial. there were the usual "sellout" comments, and many eyebrows were raised at sponsors like swagbucks and forhims, but most fans didn't mind these segments. the only genuinely controversial one was the PUBG video from 2019, which had a nearly 50/50 like/dislike ratio and a divided comment section. and...it really was such a weird video. like, it felt like an AI watched some caddicarus videos and was made to produce a sponsored caddicarus video about PUBG mobile. it felt very dishonest, very uncanny, and it's just...you know those mobile game ads that show some kind of influencer playing the game? like the ones seen on the vinesauce android games segments? yeah the caddicarus PUBG video was one step away from being classified as that. we just needed a video of him in the corner playing the game.

season 13 onwards

with the premiere of season 13 in august 2019, sponsor segments at the beginning/end of the show were taken away entirely in favor of awkward segues in the middle of the video, a tactic that was starting to become popular in the youtube sphere. if viewers know for sure the beginning/end of the video will be sponsored, then they'll know to skip! so how about we just put it in the middle of the video?? that'll surprise them!

and...viewers still skip them! as this tactic increased in popularity, we as viewers have been conditioned to start tapping that screen or spamming the right arrow key when we hear a youtuber start to emphasize online security or website building in the middle of their 4-hour essay about an obscure cartoon that ended years ago.

so how does jim combat this? well, he simply makes his sponsored segments entertaining to watch. much like emplemon and internet historian, caddicarus sponsored segments from the final season of the original series and beyond are known for their entertainment value.

the spons character we know and love today is a combination of two characters. one is the unnamed kite demon who first appeared in the pixar games video. the other is the actual named character spons who was first introduced in the lego games video, and he wasn't a kite - it was literally just jim. the lovable shill kite as we know him appeared in the kinect games video, and it's been that way ever since. and he's now legally bound to the channel!

also i have to show y'all this tweet that's an absolute gem.

i hope you enjoyed this look into how sponsors were done on the caddicarus channel!

#caddicarus #the caddicarus show #jim caddick #hidden block #hiddenblock #the beautiful person's journal #the BPJ

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kappanaiiscrossage · 2 years

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6 Animal Crossing humanized villagers 3.1 (My villagers)

I was supposed to upload this an insane amount of time ago... Yet I didn't, I have no excuse reason for not doing this, but here they are.

I know the size is wildly different from the others but that's what happens when you play with archive sizes, either the base image had to grow or the characters had to shrink and decrease in quality, there was no middle ground.

-Snake wants to be a ninja and all that jazz. His hair in naturally pink. Inexplicably, he's good friends with Gloria. He does have normal ears under his dressing, the hoodie ears are not real. The most uncanny part is that his bunny ears are not real indeed but they do seem to perk up, act and move accordingly, nobody knows how.

-Bianca is just your typical wannabe superstar, although she DOES have a good amount of following on her social media so she's not too unknown. She tends to extend her "just nod and smile" social media personality to real life, not because she's fake but because she wants to be as positive as possible, sometimes leading to bottling up her feelings (unusual for peppies since they tend to be pretty expressive).

-Vic is a grumpy old man with extensive navigation experience, probably got stuck in a foreign place for a long, long while and was presumed dead. Had to move after he was found alive because he didn't feel at home anymore.

-Leopold comes from a long line or teachers, professors and deans. He's no exception, he wants to be a teacher too, but still hasn't been able to get to his goals and feels like he's running out of time. Decided to move out while he rearanges his plans.

- Gloria is a lady that kinda lives in the past and loves all vintage stuff and is obsessed with old hollywood (Kinda like Jasmine Chiswell). Aside from her aesthetic and tastes she's always up to date with all trends, makeup and technology. Moved to chase for an actress career but eventually settled down to a more stable and quiet life.

-Naomi was a singer in a cover band. After the band dissolved, decided to make a living as a makeup artist, avant garde style was her speciality. Decided to leave the city to take her craft to smaller villages and islands.

-Snake is in his late 20s

-Bianca is in her early 20s

-Vic is in his early/mid 40s

-Leopold is in his early 30s

-Gloria is in her mid 30s

-Naomi is in her early 40s

[Original dA post: 14/7/22]

#representative speech #representative art #animal crossing gijinka #ac snake #ac bianca #ac vic #ac leopold #ac gloria #ac naomi

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redghetto · 3 years

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Ouroboros 🎡 - The Life Cycle.

Ouroboros expresses the unity of all things, material and spiritual, which never disappear but perpetually change form in an eternal cycle of destruction and re-creation.

🔅 Britannica

Today, I am writing this note to share my observation about the relation of Ouroboros with psychology, numerology, and astrology in the life circle. Those are all my hypotheses so if you want to contribute an idea, I happily welcome your opinions 😸

♦️ The Ouroboros is an ancient symbol illustrating a serpent or a dragon absorbing its tail. This symbol is often comprehended as an image for eternal cyclic resurrection, a cycle of life (or Circle Of Life), death, and rebirth. The skin-sloughing cycle of snakes symbolizes also the transmigration of souls.

♦️ In alchemy, Ouroboros was also seen as an emblem of assimilation. Consumption of the contrary. As the serpent never dies and is invariably reborn, this image was also regarded as a symbol of eternity.

♦️ According to Carl Jung, Ouroboros is a primitive archetype that represents integration and assimilation of the "shadow". Hence, he views the Ouroboros as a crucial role of the individual process.

When we come to peace with our many selves, accepting them rather than denying them, we can integrate them and feel less fractured and more whole. Carl Jung called this process individuation.

Maybe like the ouroboros, you are not just “chasing your tail” when you reflect on your past and on what you deny about yourself but are instead doing important work: striving to move from feeling fractured to feeling whole and healed.

- Carl Greer, a Jungian analyst clarified his concept.

🔆 carlgreer.com

Noticeably, his portrayal brings in my theory of the Soul Journey, the evolution of the soul. The explanation lies in the cycle of a man kills and rebirth himself from the dead, unfortunately, not merely a dead can give him the most perfect skin. As the snake-sloughing process, it relies on his progress in the previous stages. A hopeful or less optimistic transformation is in his hands but others.

Therefore, we can have multiple spiritual awakenings, each of which allows us to experience different aspects of what it meant to be truly awake.

📌 In summary, I am doubtful that Ouroboros has a substantial influence that completely shifts individual conception. It is not only awaking each person with downfall and revival through synchronicity for soul progress but also signifies the soul urge.

🔺 Now the Question is:

Can we know the specific time that we will experience the stages of transformation?

-> Yes, we can use numerology and astrology to know the phase of transformation but not much clearly. In some way, I think the Universe expects us to learn, experience, and live in the present.

Here is what I explored..

🗝 The Life Circle in Numerology and Astrology.

In numerology, there are two long-term cycles. It is Pinnacles and Period Cycle. But I would like to take focus on the Period Cycle that reaches the exact level with observations through my and other's life.

🔺 Period Cycle in Numerology

The period cycle has 3 cycles, each cycle lasting around 30 or over 30 years. I discern this progress as we are nurturing ourselves and get growth. For better insight, I will take all the descriptions of each cycle through this website.

-> The First Period Cycle number is your birth month. The cycle begins in childhood and lasts through your late 20's. It's a quest for knowledge and identity while you cope with the powerful forces that are present in your environment. These forces include your parents and the socio-economic conditions of your family.

-> The Second Cycle number is your day of birth. It brings about the slow emergence of your individual and creative talents. This cycle begins in the early and mid 30's while struggling to find your place in the world. The late 30's, 40's, and 50's, bring a greater degree of self-mastery and influence over your environment.

-> The Third Period Cycle number is your birth year. The Cycle starting at approximately age 55, represents a flowering of your inner self as your true nature comes to fruition. It is during this period that you have the greatest degree of power and self-expression.

❗❗Here is the link to calculate and understand your Period Cycle stages.

🚩 Personal Year

-> You can use the Personal Year to guess upcoming events on that year. Each personal year runs sequentially 1 up to 9, which means it begins on the day you are born and repeating after every ninth year.

-> According to my research, I think the Personal Year is not only merely a year forecast but also a crucial tool in Period Cycle stages. To be specific, the last year of the First and Second Period Cycle stage always stops at Personal Year 9.

For example, Britney Spears was born on December 2, 1981. 2011 and 2038 is the last year of her First and Second Period Cycle and those both years stop at Personal Year 9.

I am not her fan, but I still remembered around 2011 to 2012, her fans noticed that she seemed pretty lethargic and tired on stage. By the end of 2012, she and Jason (her fiance) had broken up before they could marry. After Jason resigned as co-conservator, Jamie Spears reclaimed authority. It is extremely horrible. Thank the Universe, she is in tune with her Period Cycle number 2 and Personal Year 11 this year now, she has bravery fight for herself and deserves to receive support from many people in her battle for freedom.

❗❗Here is the link to calculate and understand your Personal Year.

🔻 Natal and Solar Return Chart in Astrology

⚠️ I am a real amateur in Astrology so it has been taking me a lot of time to research the meanings of planets, aspects, and zodiac signs. However, I am so in love with the idea of blending beautiful myths, numerology, and Astrology charts to signify life progression, then... I decided to write down even though this may lacking data due to my insufficient understanding of Astrology.

In Roman mythology, the ouroboros was associated with Saturn, the god of time, who joined together the first and last months of the year like the serpent swallowing its tail. Saturn swallowed his children, and, with his scythe, symbolized the devouring of life or mortality.

🔅 Occult world

📌 I had tested the First and Second Period Cycle in both the Natal and Solar Return Chart to see if it brings a surprise to me. And YES.

-> The first remarkable is the Ascendant point stands 3 - 4 zodiac signs apart from our Natal Ascendant in the last year of the First Period Cycle and 7 signs in the last year of the Second Period Cycle, and the following sign of the 7th sign is in Natal 12th house, the house of the unseen realm, secret, dream, unconscious, shadow, and the life after death.

To better understand, I will borrow Britney Spear's birthday again. As I mentioned to you the last years of her First and Second Periods are 2011 and 2038, I had used both years to compare through Solar Return Chart. And here what I got, her Natal AC Libra (1981) comes to the AC Sagittarius in 2011, then switched to AC Leo in 2038, and the next sign is Virgo, also her natal sign in the 12th house. It's pretty cool, right?

-> The second remarkable are the stories around Saturn, the planet of rule, structure, karma, and spiritual growth. The myth most frequently referred to is the Greek Titan Kronos, he is usually described as an old man and is sometimes shown holding an ouroboros, which represents eternity and the cycles of time. He was an earth and fertility god, known for castrating his father and eating his children until Zeus, the only one who survives, returned to defeat his father and forced Kronos to regurgitate his children, including Hades (Pluto).

I used to search the turning-point hints in an Astro chart and assume Pluto and Saturn which is the only symbol of the Transformation and Destruction. Until then, I learned the fact that the Ouroboros represents the element Mercury, believed to permeate and unite all matter. It could mean the hidden message lies in other planets which would send to Mercury since it is ruled by Hermes, the God of Message.

-> Thus, I presume that Saturn is the Observant, Judge, and Destroyer, Jupiter is the Expander, Pluto is the Transformation Maker, and Mercury is the Messenger, who will send you those assemble messages through Synchronicity.

⚙ Temporary Theories:

I have to be honest with you again that I do not have any specific way to know exactly when the turning time begins but this temporary theory. If you have already known your Personal Years and Period Cycle numbers, you could know the possible time that you get the synchronicity, and remarks in Solar Return Chart.

For instance, a person was born on August 5th, 1989. This person is Life Path 4, and they have 2021, and 2048 as their last year of the First and Second Period Cycle. By the effect of First Period Cycle number 8, they have to make efforts in improving abilities of physical aspects, especially material traits as money abundance, mastery, success, achievements, karma in the First Period, and the important year of this stage may happen at the Personal Year 8 (2020). If they won't work harder, they could less achieve what they expect (fortunately to my friend that they did work harder), and their next year (2021) appearing as the judgment of the First Period Cycle with Personal Year 9, also the ending of the first stage. In Astrology, they can choose 2011, 2012 2020, 2021 to observe, which means those years are the year you need to carefully noted in the First Period Cycle, especially Saturn, Pluto, Jupiter, Mercury, North Node, 2nd House, 8th house, 6th house, 10th house, and some asteroid Fame, Talents, Abundance..

🛑 Those are all I get. I expect that I have the ability to enhance this project in the future, so I can bring you more detailed data.

Btw, thank you for your reading! Hoping you enjoy my observation ❤

📍 Do not copy and plagiarize my work.

#divinity #ouroboros #astro notes #numerology #life cycle #synchronicity #spirituality #spiritual development #spiritualjourney #astrology #symbol observation #personal year

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bluestripedspeedo · 2 years

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Indiscreet – 01. Before... Pairing: Writer/Producer!Javi Gutierrez x you (Hollywood AU) SERIES MASTERLIST

Image credit

Chapter summary: How it all starts – you are offered a role of a lifetime. Chapter warning: Still on the flirting phase, so nothing spicy yet. The age gap is around 20 years. You're in your mid to late 20s. Some OCs are introduced here, but only a few of them will stick around. Words: 6,3k

Playlist: Songbird - Fleetwood Mac Cornelia Street - Taylor Swift False God All I Want - Joni Mitchell River A Case of You

Author's note: Thank you all for the feedback on the introduction chapter! I'm so excited to finally get this story fully going. Javi loves movies, and you love movies, and I'll be happy if you can find references in this and future chapters. 😉 And in case it's not clear yet, regardless of whatever aesthetic posts I reblog, the actress is you. So she looks like what you look like.

✧✧✧

NOVEMBER

The New York winter feels brutal as you wobble your way into a brownstone building in Brooklyn. Thankfully you had decided against taking the subway. And thankfully cabs exist. You can’t imagine braving the sidewalks in your 5-inch boots that’ll crack your head open like an egg if you even attempt to walk in them. Not to mention balancing your handbag, a Tiffany shopping bag full of baby gifts, and a huge bouquet of flowers. You’re glad to be out of your apartment and meeting someone who’s not from your previous job or random parties.

Óscar invited you to his place practically the minute you touched down at JFK five months ago. Your parents wanted you to stay in touch with him just to have an emergency contact in the city. They have been longtime friends from when he was an up-and-coming actor who hung out in the same circles your mother did in her modeling days. Your presence in the previous Morales house used to be a fortnight occurrence until he had to fly out to shoot and you were swamped with work that the routine had ceased a few months ago.

Not only that, but you’ve been needing alone time more often than usual. Even now, in your head you’re already setting up a schedule for another solo night. Pick up a few bottles of wine and gin. Get some macarons from Ladurée on the way home. Order Chipotle. Stop by the cart for a falafel wrap. Pick up a box of microwaveable mac and cheese. Don’t forget Coke again. You have been slowly going insane from the same cycle of waking up, eating, watching movies, and going back to sleep every single day without anything else to look forward to.

Upon graduation your parents had encouraged you to take any opportunities from their friends, acquaintances, business partners; but you didn’t. You’d thought you were too good for an actual job. That’s not where you belong. You’d kill yourself first before committing to a 9 to 5.

And that was an arrogant mistake. It now leaves you with nothing to do and no friends to regularly hang out with because they’re all busy with their grownup jobs. So you spend your time writing anything that comes to mind and reading books and watching movies while traveling the world to give yourself a bit of spark. Not that any of that actually did anything for you.

You had been looking forward to another year of existential crisis when you had the bright idea of moving to the city that never sleeps. Okay, it wasn’t entirely your idea. Your parents finally got tired of seeing you lounge around in their house all day and told you please, find somewhere to go and something else to do that’s not another vacation. We’ll pay for it. So you decided to come here, to the Big Apple, even though you used to think it was the most overrated city on earth. You thought the intimidating chaos and endless options of things to do could finally inspire and push you to actually make yourself useful.

So you finally accepted an internship under a fashion designer whom your mother was a muse to just to be around pretty clothes that you already loved fawning over anyway. And with that, you picked the most gorgeous place with views people would kill for: a sprawling four-bedroom condo with its own lap pool, gym, home theater, and sunroom overlooking Central Park on one side and skyscrapers on the other. All paid for by your folks under the condition that you’ll do something and support yourself from that point on.

I bet their view is nice too from here, you think as the elevator rides up to the topmost floor. Yesterday Óscar asked you to come by their new place after a month-long whirlwind of moving, childbirth, and welcoming well-wishers. He said you were due for a catch up and that he has something for you in mind. Your internship had only lasted a couple of months before it took a toll on you mentally. You love keeping up with runway shows and buying nice things as a hobby, but you couldn’t care about the behind the scenes process as much as you wanted to. Whatever Óscar has in store for you, it’s bound to be much more interesting.

The elevator opens with a ding to a circular foyer with a round table in the middle. You’re not sure where to go from where you stand, so you set your gifts on the table. You’re about to pull up your phone and call Óscar when you hear Ava’s footsteps approaching.

“Hey! I didn’t think you’d be here for another hour.”

“Am I interrupting anything? I’m sorry, I didn’t end up taking the subway and–” you start.

“It’s fine, I was just putting the baby to sleep. But, good decision. Those look painful,” she says, leading you by the elbow to a small closet space and handing you a pair of house slippers. You thank her for it. You wanted to dress really well to impress Óscar as a form of courtesy, and gratitude too, but damn if it’s not entirely comfortable.

You take off your boots and your long green coat, leaving you in your jeans and white long sleeved turtleneck. “I got you some flowers and a couple of things for the baby. I wasn’t sure where you were, so…” you gesture to the table.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to. It’s nice to finally see you again! How have you been?”

“Well, fine. I walk around the city most days, hang out, travel when I have time…”

“As you should,” she gives you a sincere smile. “I have one more thing to do, and Óscar should finish his call any time now. Why don’t you wait in that room at the end there? Make yourself comfortable.”

“Sure.”

✧

When you reach the end of the apartment, you find yourself in a big bright room surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s breathtaking. Pictures in frames are on the walls next to shelves of trinkets from their travels abroad, tattered vinyl records, and worn out books. Colorful throws and rugs adorn the surrounding seats in front of the TV that’s blaring an animated show about a platypus detective. You see the couple’s eldest son sleeping on the couch next to a vaguely familiar looking man who’s typing on his phone. He looks up when he realizes your presence. You awkwardly hover around and he stares at you with an unreadable expression.

“Hi,” says the man after a brief pause. Oh god. “Are you waiting for Óscar?” His voice…

“Yeah. Ava told me to wait here.” You walk to the lounge chair closest to him and sit down. Glancing down at the boy who is still unfazed, you feel the man’s eyes on you. You look up at him, his eyes catching yours. They’re a warm shade of brown, soft and intense at the same time. “Uh, hi. I’m Óscar’s… friend.” He’s more like an extended family to you, with him occasionally popping in and out throughout your life. And he’s more like your parents’ friend, not yours, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I know,” he says. You raise your eyebrows in question. “Óscar said you’re coming over.”

“But we haven’t met, have we?” You cock your head towards him, trying to figure out if you’ve seen him somewhere. He really does look familiar. Maybe a small-time actor?

“No, no. I’m Javi.” He offers his hand to you. You shake it briefly and tell him your name; your handshake weak and noncommittal to his firm and encapsulating one.

“You look familiar… are you an actor too?”

Surprise briefly crosses Javi’s face before he points to an action figure on the floor. “No, but… That’s mine.” You just look at it in confusion, so he continues. “The Man in Beskar?”

“…what?”

“The Man in Beskar. From The Forces Saga. I wrote that.”

“Oh.” You still haven’t shown any sign of recognition.

“The movie with the green alien baby?”

“OH. Yeah. I’ve seen the memes!” Your face lights up. “I haven’t seen it yet. My friends are obsessed though. So, scriptwriter?”

“And producer.”

“Oh. That’s nice. I’ve always wanted to do that. Well, both of your jobs, actually.”

“Yeah? What do you do?”

“Nothing at the moment. I used to be an assistant for a fashion designer.”

“But movies are more interesting?”

“But movies are more interesting.” You nod in agreement. “What else?”

“The Iron Throne?”

“Uh, sorry. Never seen it,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“No way.” He says incredulously. It swept the technical categories at the Oscars and earned over $2 billion at the box office, but fine. “The Last Sicario?”

“I know that one, I… I think I’ve seen clips of it. I’m so sorry.” You laugh nervously.

“You can’t be serious…” He shakes his head, faking disbelief on his face. Javi is not an arrogant man, but the series made headlines because of who made it. It spawned endless heated debates about morality because he wrote it from his own firsthand past experience. He didn’t directly participate in his family’s shady business, but he was an attentive observer, and somewhat of an accomplice. People love it though, and it’s still going strong in its third season.

“We’re off to a bad start, are we?” You laugh. “Okay, what else?”

“Massive Talent?” Javi offers.

Wait. It dawns on you and you feel embarrassed. After a few moments of recovery, you speak up. “You’re, um, the guy from that fa– Spain, aren’t you? Billionaire turned movie… mogul?”

“I guess you could say that.” He smiles shyly, not used to the moniker. “At least that’s one you know.”

“Okay, why don’t we start over. Hi,” you reintroduce yourself. “Nice to meet you. I’ll watch your movies.”

He chuckles. “Mucho gusto. I’m Javier Gutierrez, you can call me Javi. Óscar has told me about you.”

The movie isn’t the only thing you know about him now that you’ve realized who he is. You’re peripherally aware that this man in front of you frequents the Eligible Bachelors lists in recent years. Guest of a Guest, Tatler, Town & Country, everything else your friends regularly appear in have fawned over him… but you were too busy with your own life to pay attention to celebrity gossip. Except for the story that he’s a billionaire from Spain who invited the Nicolas Cage to his birthday party and they ended up making a movie about their time together. And the viral Fallon interview (that you haven’t properly watched except for Twitter clips-slash-memes) where he correctly guessed every single movie with only 3 seconds of clues. He looks slightly different now than you remember from glancing at his pictures in passing a few years ago. Aged, in a good way.

“I can see now that it’s fantastic casting in that movie. He looked just like you.”

“Younger, fitter…”

“No, totally perfect.” You flash him a grin, albeit nervously. “So, what’s next?”

“I’m still working on it.” He studies your face. “You? Any plans to write?”

“It’s not even a work in progress. I was doing it while I was traveling before moving here, and it’s hard.”

He nods. “Eventually divine inspiration will come. Just wait for it. Where did you go?”

“I went all over for a year. Europe, Asia, Australia, here… too many to count. More than 50 cities, that’s for sure.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. I never stayed in one place for more than a week. It was amazing.”

“I’m jealous. I haven’t been able to do that since… since I have a steady job, so to say. Where’s your favorite?”

“That… is tough.” You give it a thought for a few seconds before giving up. “I can’t, I’ll get back to you on that. Oh, I went to Madrid this year. Do you still live in Spain?”

“I still go back now and then, that’s about it. Have you been to Mallorca?”

“No, it looks gorgeous in pictures, though. I’d love to visit.”

“Let me know when you decide to go there. I’ll show you around.”

“O-okay.” You’re sure you are blushing hard now, you just hope it doesn’t obviously show on your face. This very gorgeous man, who probably lives on his own island in Mallorca, being your personal tour guide? Sign me the fuck up.

“How do you like New York?”

“I’m enjoying it so far. I can watch plays and musicals and whatever, whenever I want to. And I still haven’t been to all the museums here.”

“I do the same whenever I come here, soak up everything.”

“Are you here often?”

“Not as much as I used to. I usually stayed for months back when Óscar did theater.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m only here for the week before I have to go back to London. I live there now most of the time.”

“Oh, that’s really nice. I used to go there a lot.”

“Yeah? You’ll–”

“Great, we can skip the introductions.” Óscar enters the room with a mug on each hand, Ava following right behind him.

You rise to your feet and give him a hug. “Hey, Óscar.”

Óscar tries to hug you back while balancing the drinks before he hands you one. Green tea, as usual. He takes a seat across from you while Ava sits next to Javi on the couch.

“How have you been? How are your parents?”

“Great! They’re off to some adventure somewhere, as always. Actually, I was just telling Javi about mine.”

“Where are you going next?” Ava asks.

“Not sure yet. Nothing comes to mind either, really.”

“We’re going to Tokyo next week for my premiere. Come with us,” Óscar suggests.

“Ah, I don’t wanna intrude. Besides, I’m waiting for this one job interview…”

“Oh, yeah? What are you up to?”

“Some social media stuff. Nothing too exciting, to be honest.” You lean back on the chair, extending your legs. You feel Javi’s eyes raking in your form not so subtly.

“Forget about it.” Óscar says so casually you think you must have misheard.

“What?”

“Forget it. I have something better for you. I’m directing a movie, Javi’s writing and producing, and I want you in it.”

You chuckle. “I’m not an actress, Óscar.”

“I know. But I’ve heard how you talk about movies. You have the knowledge and passion. And Javi here would have someone he could rant to. I’m sick of it.” Javi’s head whips towards him and he snickers.

“That’s still not acting, though.”

“You can do it. You used to perform when you were a kid, remember?”

“Ballet recitals are hardly the same as what you do, Óscar.”

“You’ve got experience in performing. That’s enough for me.”

You look at the three of them nervously.

“Here’s the thing. You love movies, you didn’t enjoy your fashion job, otherwise why quit, right? And I think you’d have fun on a movie set.” You listen, silently agreeing with everything he’s saying. “You could network, at least. That could open doors for you. Do you still write?”

“I mean, it’s just a hobby…”

“So, just be on set and see how we work.”

“Can’t I just be on your crew, then? Why do I have to act?”

“It’s great for exposure being in front of the camera. You could get more opportunities that way.” Ava finally chimes in, reassuring you in a soft voice. “And, you’re too pretty to be just behind it.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that, but you hope you don’t look too embarrassingly awkward.

“It’s just a supporting role. Nothing demanding. If anything’s too much for you, we can always rewrite. Let me show you the script first, okay?”

Three pairs of eyes are looking at you expectantly now. “Uh. Okay, then. What’s it about?”

✧✧

THREE DAYS LATER

You’re preparing dinner with your friend Damien after an entire day out together when Óscar texts you an invite. A little get together, he says. You’ll only have to cross the street and walk for 5 minutes to the address he links you to, so you think, why not? It’s not like you have somewhere more important to be, and he says Javi will be there too. You don’t feel like cutting your time together with Damien short, but you want to see Javi’s face again too, so you ask Óscar if you could bring a plus one. To your surprise, Óscar immediately says yes without any question. You don’t know the host personally, but she’s apparently a good friend of his from back in college, and an actress too now. He wants to introduce you to his friends in the industry at the party to ease you in. And if Damien’s going to make you feel more comfortable, so be it.

You met Damien a few years ago through an ex and became fast friends. His good natured humor and happy-go-lucky approach in life contrast your more mellow and anxious one. The two of you continue to stay in touch even after your relationship ended, without it ever coming up in your conversations since. You don’t have many friends to begin with, and you could use a male perspective sometimes. So here he is, sitting on the couch in your bedroom as you finally walk out of your massive walk-in closet after 4 different outfit changes.

“Is this okay?” You ask him.

“It’s literally snowing outside.”

“And?”

“Sooooo what the hell are you wearing?”

“I have nothing that makes me look sexy but still warm, and it’s pretty close, so I could just wear my coat for the walk, and then we’re gonna be indoors anyway…”

“Sexy? For what? Isn’t he like your uncle?” Damien scrunches his nose in disgust. “And don’t ask for my jacket if you need it. When you need it.” He knows you too well.

“Not for Óscar, you gross. Okay. Five more minutes.”

You finally settle for a black Galvan jumpsuit with a slightly plunging bodice, a Saint Laurent shearling leather jacket, and a pair of Gucci mules for your safety. You immediately feel the warmth and comfort upon walking into the Victorian-style apartment. The owner and host, a short red-haired woman named Mira, takes you under her wing and introduces you around to everyone. At one point you lose Damien to a group of guys, deep in conversation about an upcoming hockey game.

Almost an hour later, when you can’t keep track of names and faces anymore no matter how famous they are, you find yourself in the kitchen. You’re in front of the refrigerator looking for a drink when a velvety voice behind you says, “There you are.”

Surprised, you look over your shoulder to Javi leaning on the kitchen counter with a bottle of beer in hand. He’s wearing a white henley shirt with the top buttons opened and his hair slicked back. You feel yourself involuntarily clench at the sight, and what a sight it is. You’ve been catching yourself thinking about him in the past three days since you last saw him, which takes you by surprise every time. He is your type after all… tall, dark, very handsome… except... You know he’s a lot older, that much is clear, but you don’t dare to look up his actual age. Save yourself the embarrassment of developing a crush on your uncle figure’s close friend. Crush??? No, you say to yourself. He’s just very attractive. Anyone could see that.

“I thought you and Óscar bailed and left me to the sharks here.”

“Pfft. We were just having a smoke on the balcony. What are you looking for?”

“Anything but alcohol or water… oh, look. There’s strawberry milk.”

Javi chuckles. “What, not old enough to drink?” he asks, some of the humor disappears from his eyes as he sips his beer.

“I drink just fine, actually!” You say sarcastically, finally finding a can of Coke in the back. You stand up next to him, pouring the contents into a glass. “Maybe too much.”

“How are you doing?” He moves closer to you. Oh, he smells very good.

“Fine, I guess,” you shrug. “You?”

“Same.”

“Wh–” “I’ve–” Javi blurts at the same time as you do.

“Where’s your date?” Javi asks you carefully.

“My date?” You snicker and nod to where Damien’s now playing pool with the same dudes. “I think those guys over there are holding him captive. They were talking about hockey or something.”

“Is he a player?”

“Hockey? No. He used to play football, got injured, and… yep.”

“Hmm.” Javi gets quiet for a moment as you dash a lime over your drink.

“What?” You glance at him.

“Nothing.” Javi clears his throat. “Where’d you guys meet?”

“Us? Well… I was dating his close friend.”

Javi lets out a comically dramatic gasp. “Now you’re with him?”

“What? No! Wait, you think we’re dating?! Ew!” You give Javi a disgusted look as he looks confused. “No, we’re just friends. I don’t know how but we just stayed friends after.”

“Oh… When Óscar said you’re bringing someone, I thought…”

“Yeah, most people think we are too. But no. I was hanging out with him when Óscar texted me. I felt bad, so… now here we are. Where’s yours?”

“No, it’s… nah.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that. I just thought you’d say she’d be at home with the kids, like Ava is right now.” You’d looked him up on Instagram on the way home from Óscar’s, where you noticed his latest post of him in between two toddlers from the back. You’d also noticed that it didn’t take long for him to follow you back, as in mere seconds.

“…what?!” Javi exclaims, his turn to look completely shocked now.

“Your wife, or… I don’t know.” Javi is full on laughing at you now. “What? Oh my god, what?”

“What makes you think I’m married?”

“Well, I don’t know, your Instagram picture—”

“Those are my nephew and niece.”

“Oh! I see,” you say, looking down at your drink, embarrassed. “So we’re off to a weird start again, huh.”

“No wife, no girlfriend, no kids,” he says once he stops wheezing.

This is certainly interesting, you think, as he flashes you a brilliant half smirk. You do remember him being lauded as the most eligible bachelor a few years ago, but things could change pretty fast. And it’s not unheard of for billionaires/A-listers like Javi to secretly have a family somewhere… you’re glad that’s out of the way. But why do you care, hm?

“So, where do you go for drinks, usually?” Javi unabashedly looks into your eyes now.

“Wherever my friends want to go. Lots of small jazz bars these days. They’re pretty cool.”

“Uh huh. So no one would mind if I… if we go out for drinks sometime?” Your heart races a million times per second but to your dismay, he catches himself and clears his throat. “To talk about work, of course.”

“No, of course.” You bite your lip. You wouldn’t mind if he asked you not for work, but let’s be realistic here. He’s your boss now, technically. That’d be inappropriate.

“That’s good.” Javi’s smile widens and you drink to hide your disappointment. Snap out of your daydreams, you remind yourself.

✧✧

You’re woken up in the afternoon by your phone’s non stop pings. You’re still adjusting your eyes to the sunlight seeping in through the curtains and stretching your body and the stream of notifications doesn’t slow down. Grabbing it from your nightstand, you begin to read.

25 messages from your friend Anya 3 from a private number 1 from an unsaved UK number 5 DM requests, 3 new follows, and 2 tagged pictures on Instagram

Not wanting to start conversations yet, despite your grogginess you decide to go for a swim. On the way to your pool, you see Damien in your gym on the Peloton. Why is he here? You don't remember him staying over last night. Not that you ever mind, but you simply can’t remember.

“Hey.” You slide open the glass door to greet him. “Have you been up long?”

“Sorry. I’ll reset this later,” he says. He knows that you’d said to never mess with your bike setup, but he really needs to get that workout in. “Like an hour or two ago. You?”

“Just now. Thought I’d swim to wake up. My head fucking hurts.”

“No shit. You drank like it was a frat party.”

Oh. So I ended up drinking, that’s why. “Come on. I don’t wanna swim alone.”

You’re floating on your back while Damien slurps a green juice poolside, already tired from his third workout of the day.

“How much did I drink last night?”

Damien shrugs. “I don’t remember how much I had either, so.”

You only remember staying at the party until there were only a handful of people left, at Óscar’s request. He introduced you to his Forces co-stars who were about your age, then to a blonde actress and current it girl named Elise who you’re used to seeing… everywhere and everyday online. Apparently she’s going to play the lead in Óscar and Javi’s movie.

“But we were fine walking home?”

“No, Óscar and uh… Javi? Burt Reynolds look alike? They drove us back.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” You feel mortified that they saw you in a state that you are not proud of right now, but at least you got home safe.

“Is he still coming today?”

“...who?”

Damien chuckled at you. “Javi. Is he still coming today?”

“What are you talking about?” You splash towards the edge and get up, frantically drying your hands to unlock your phone. The private number had to be his.

“I’ll be there at 4”, says the first text, received two hours ago. Then a picture of a Fleetwood Mac vinyl. Then “on my way”, less than an hour ago.

“He’s… on the way.” It’s already almost 4.

“Damn, you really were wasted,” Damien tsk’s.

You dry the rest of your body off while quickly typing a reply: “Can’t wait!” You open the rest of your notifications to see if there are more surprises waiting. The UK number is Óscar’s Forces co-star telling you how nice it was to meet you and that she couldn’t wait to see you again in Tokyo next week. So you guess you had agreed to go and have to start planning your travels. Elise tagged you on Instagram, a picture of you sandwiched in between Javi and Óscar. You remember wrapping your arms around Óscar when Javi photobombed you, his face buried into your hair. You can still recall his cinnamon and cigarette scent.

More of your memories surface once you scroll through pictures from last night. You and Javi were checking out Mira’s jukebox when you told him that you have no idea how to set up yours. Mira said Óscar gave it to her as a housewarming gift; you share that in common with her. Javi immediately offered to set it up for you, and then Óscar made fun of him for fucking up a car audio setup years and years ago. Javi pointed to one of the plates inside and asked if you’ve ever listened to Fleetwood Mac. “Just the Rumours album,” you told him. “I don’t have it, though.”

You remember struggling to zip up your jacket before Javi’s warm hands with long and thick fingers helped you, cackling when he said something about your fuzzy shoes (“they look like that politician’s hair”), passing out on the leather backseat of a very comfortable car…

✧

THE NIGHT BEFORE

Javi slams the car door shut as he settles in on the passenger seat next to Óscar.

“She got up safe?”

“Yeah, all good.”

“She’s not usually like this. She wouldn’t be like this while working, I promise you that.”

Javi shrugs. “I’m not worried about that. We weren’t any better back then either.”

“We’ll send her the contract, then.” Óscar smiles satisfyingly.

“No need. I’ll bring it to her tomorrow.”

There’s a brief pause before Óscar speaks up again. “So… I know that you like to get close with the actresses–”

Javi’s demeanor changes entirely. “Okay, and? What are you accusing me of?” He never did anything without their consent (Javi makes sure of that 100%), and never when they’re actively working together. But no one needs to know the details, except him and his… participants.

Óscar’s taken aback by Javi’s sudden defensiveness. “Whoa, chill out, I’m not accusing anything.”

“We go to events together, maybe dinner. With their enthusiasm,” Javi states curtly.

“That’s all, really? Come on, man to man,” Óscar is teasing him now. It’s amusing seeing Javi pissed off, it’s a rare occurrence. Óscar knows he’s not slimy, and it’s not like he never had his own share of fun before settling down.

Javi rolls his eyes instead of giving a verbal answer. Whatever.

“Don’t bring her into it, not that I think you would, is what I was going to say. Just do Elise.” Óscar says calmly. “I appreciate you making friends with her. That’s all.”

He doesn’t want to do Elise, but whatever. It’s not like he’s interested in you like that… isn’t he? “Yeah. Sure.”

“I promised her parents I’d take care of her. Would appreciate your help.”

Not my problem.

✧

Javi replays the conversation he had with Óscar last night after he dropped you off. Usually it had to take so much more to get under his skin, but his questioning bugged Javi. Is it wrong to have fun when the world is his oyster? When everyone involved are adults who know what they’re doing? It’s not exactly unprofessional… he doesn’t do it on the job. And really, half the time it was purely platonic. Sometimes he just needed a friend to go as his arm candy. What else should he do, hire an escort? Such a fuss having to worry about discretion when he knows people he could trust, people already familiar with the industry.

And the other half… Well, it wasn’t always his proposition either, it’s a modern world where women can also do whatever they want, with whoever they want. You included. But would you want that, with him? Javi’s aware he’s out of your league, and not only that, he begrudgingly admits to himself that Óscar has a good point after all. He’s a nice, responsible, respectable guy. From his best friend’s perspective, it’s unthinkable.

But he knows now that he likes looking at you, talking to you. And he doesn’t want to only interact with you within the confines of work. Is this work, like he told Óscar? He doesn’t think so. But no one has to know.

You’re on your back on the carpet, silently humming the tune of Songbird. You’re bliss personified, and he can’t help but to smile at the scene: your closed eyes, the content look on your face, your feet softly tapping to the beat, and the pink sunset washing down on you through the glass roof-slash-window of your sunroom. He has to admit - it’s impressive, and he’s envious. A floor-to-ceiling glass-covered corner taking up ⅓ of your apartment, it has a massive TV, a projector, the jukebox he offered to set up, a shelf filled with books on the left side of the door and another filled with movies on the right side. A huge velvet pink couch takes up the space, and there’s a small sliding part of the glass ceiling that could open to allow you fresh air when you need it. You told him that you would just lay here on rainy days, finding the pitter patter calming to your ears.

✧

“Wow.” Javi gapes in wonder when he walks in.

“Yeah. It’s the centerpiece, this whole thing.”

“I didn’t know something like this could exist here. Wow.”

“Me neither. And you can see the entire park from here too. And the lights from Times Square if you’re on your tiptoes.”

His eyes scan every direction, taking in the view. Seeing the small rack of vinyl on the floor, he asks, “Who’s your favorite?”

“Taylor Swift.”

“No, seriously.”

“I’m serious.”

Javi silently looks at you as he takes in this information. Okay, that actually makes sense. You’re in that age range. Maybe it’s him who’s too old and out of touch. “Fine, who else?”

“Joni Mitchell. I discovered Blue a few months ago and I’m obsessed.” You sit down on the couch and grab a pillow to your chest, fingers playing with the tassels.

“Really? I thought you kids just stick to your own decade.”

“No! And, I’ve told you I like jazz too. I love the nostalgic feel, I think. The idea of it at least.”

“So… pop, folk, and jazz. Didn’t expect that.”

“How about you then, Mr. Oldie?”

“Watch who you’re calling old.” Javi jokingly warns as he squats and rifles through the stack. Not much yet, and he’s mentally taking note to buy you more.

“You are,” you say with a teasing smile.

“Guns n’ Roses. Elton John. ABBA. Prince. That’s my ultimate.”

“November Rain, yes.” You wrack your brain. “I love ABBA and Elton, but I’ve never heard of that last one. Prince?”

“Are you kidding me?!” Javi sounds legitimately surprised and offended. “Purple Rain?!”

“Nooooope. Sorry, Oldie.”

“I’m gonna get you his albums. You have to listen to him.”

You snicker. You find his exasperation funny. You don’t think someone could be so passionate about anyone having not heard their favorite artist. “Thanks, and… sure, if you’ll listen to Taylor Swift too.”

“I’m not into pop.” Javi scoffs as he gets to work.

“ABBA is pop.”

“It’s different.”

“She’s also country and folk-ish, trust me, I’ll make you a playlist. You’re so missing out.”

Javi sighs at you in defeat, but gladly so. Whatever makes you happy.

✧

You change the song and close your eyes again as you hum along to the song. “Baby, I get mystified by how this city screams your name…” The sky is quickly getting darker now and neither of you has bothered to turn on the lights, so it’s only him, you, the sparkling lights of the city, and the soft flicker of a scented candle. You look so beautiful in the twilight and your silk robe and he wants to–

You turn to him. “Are you bored?”

There’s a beat until Javi registers that you asked him a question. “No. No, just… enjoying it. This one’s nice.”

“I told you.” You smile.

“Are you gonna play me the whole record?”

“Hmm, no. Aren’t you in a rush? And this isn’t really my favorite. Just thought it fits the scene… New York and all. Who even says ‘record’ anymore?” You tease him again.

He doesn’t bother to come up with a comeback for that. You change the song to something jazzy about worshiping the altar of your hips, and he just stares, and stares, and stares… he thinks about your laugh at your own ignorance of him when you first met. Of you stretching your legs on that lounge chair. He was almost sure that Ava caught him staring. Your turtleneck that made your chest look full. Your enticing lips that you like biting in nervousness. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t spend that night scrolling your Instagram feed just to ogle you. He couldn’t possibly make a move now after what Óscar said to him in the car last night, it’d be too obvious to Óscar and not to mention disrespectful, but he could enjoy looking at you in every kind of outfit that makes you look even more gorgeous (even in a silly snowsuit) whenever he wants and no one would have to know.

After he went home last night he kept thinking of your tight outfit and how it showed off the outline of your figure. He almost lost his composure when you bent over the kitchen island and he got an eyeful of your behind. Your elegant neck and cleavage were on full display to him when you tossed your hair over your shoulder, and he didn’t think he even had the decency to look away. And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t try to find the guy that you were with on your profile, just to figure out your type… to no success. You must have scrubbed him clean. As he deserves.

In just a few short days, he could certainly say that his life has changed. Nothing prepared him for you to literally walk into his life. For the first time in years, he feels nervous talking to someone. One of the reasons being you’re practically half his age, and that’s uncharted territory for him. He’s gone for younger, but not this much younger. Would you find him too old and gross? Or worse, creepy? He likes to think no. You don’t seem like you’re bothered by any of it… so far. If anything, he’s almost certain you checked him out too last night, and a few times today… or maybe his aging mind is just playing tricks on him to make him feel better and less desperate. That, or the alcohol.

An hour passes by, the room now in almost total darkness, as you both quietly listen to Joni’s croons and your occasional hums. He feels a tap on his foot by the end of a Christmas carol rendition that brings him out of his thoughts to you mouthing that this is it, your favorite. He can’t help but notice that you have a faraway look in your eyes as you stare up at the glass ceiling, perhaps tinged with longing, throughout the song. Just right after it’s finished, you sit up and turn it off.

Javi waits for a few moments before he breaks the silence. “How about we order some food, and watch a movie?”

You smile. “Javi, you’re gonna miss your plane.”

✧✧✧

Taglist: @just-here-for-the-moment@dontshouthisnamelikehesathing@beaucannon@sherala007@littlemisspascal@harriedandharassed@wardenparker@queridopascal @saintcooper @lovesbiggerthanpride@druigswh0ree@peaches-roses-sins@thereisaplaceintheheart@spideysimpossiblegirl @hannannannannannah

#fic: indiscreet #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #tuwomt #the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi g fanfiction #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you #javi g x reader #javi g x you #the bubble #pedrostories #hollywood au

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the-wild-wolves-around-you · 3 years

Text

hear those bells ring: chapter 3 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)

Summary: Bakugo wakes up with his hearing and a bunch of questions.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.

A/N: Sorry for the wait on ch 3, I had to work over the weekend. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”

Ao3 Link: Here

Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here

Bakugo woke up confused, disoriented, and pissed off.

He bolted upright, the taste of smoke and ash still on his tongue, but when he whipped his head from side to side, there was no fire, no burning asphalt, no villain, only the empty, dark expanse of his apartment.

But something was still tugging at him, fucking incessantly, and it took him a moment to realize it was his phone alarm.

Red eyes flicked to the device on his bedside table, and even though its continuous siren was like nails on a chalkboard, Bakugo found himself unable to move, unable to stop it.

Because he could hear the alarm. Clearly. Loudly.

He hadn’t been able to hear his phone alarm in weeks, not really. It was nothing more than a muffled tone that petered out toward the end as it rose in pitch and frequency. Thankfully, Bakugo’s internal alarm got him up most days around the sun, but he’d been late to morning patrols a handful of times.

But now…

Numbly, Bakugo finally reached out and tapped his phone. His ears rang slightly in the ensuing silence, but it was barely perceptible, nothing like the perpetual buzzing he’d been living with, like a hive of bees had taken up residence in his head.

The quiet, after so long, was almost… unsettling.

And it was all because of that woman. He was sure of it.

Bakugo pressed his lips into a thin line as he thought about you, the memories of last night flooding back. The blurry image of your face, crouched over him, splattered in a thin mist of red blood and dusted with white plaster. He couldn’t remember much from right after he blasted that villain into the fucking dirt. He remembered the feel of glass breaking around him, and pain, a lot of fucking pain, but then it was black until you appeared. When he’d opened his eyes and met yours, he recalled thinking he should be in more pain, but then you spoke to him and derailed all coherent thought.

Because he’d heard you. Clear as fucking day.

That immediately drew his attention, and so did the blood all over your hands.

There was a lot of it. Way too fucking much for nicking yourself on some glass or whatever bullshit excuse you gave. And Bakugo knew it was bullshit. You weren’t a convincing liar. Well, maybe to some idiot extras you would be, but not to him. He clocked the way you stuttered, the way you fidgeted and averted your eyes. And when you looked at him… fuck, your face was so goddamn guilty.

Why, he had no idea.

But he did know one thing.

You had a healing quirk. There was no other explanation.

Even if he hadn’t just miraculously recovered the hearing that a doctor told him he would never get back, there were a lot of other little discrepancies. His left arm, for one. Bakugo remembered how it felt when the villain’s asphalt wrapped around his limb, the burning, scalding agony of it. But now, the skin was just pink and barely blistered in some places.

Then there was the blood.

When he’d gotten home after ditching the crime scene, Bakugo had immediately beelined for his bathroom to take a shower. But, when he stripped off his hoodie, he realized it was heavier than it should be right before he noticed it was dripping onto his floor. Dripping blood. Without thinking, he’d wrung the hoodie out on the bathroom floor, and a fuck ton of red liquid seeped out of it.

He had immediately dropped the jacket and started scanning his body in the bathroom mirror, but besides the shallow gash on his abdomen, the burned arm, and a few other minor scrapes and bruises, he was uninjured.

But… his back was coated in red, and so were the seat of his dark jeans and boxer briefs. It was almost like… he’d been lying in a pool of blood.

So, you had to be a healer. You just had to be.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to confirm this since the cops had been circling you like vultures. He also hadn’t wanted to be bitched at by any more heroes, or the fucking media, so he made himself scarce.

But he needed to see you again. Needed to hear the truth from your own mouth.

And maybe he could coax you into a deal.

The doctor Bakugo spoke to yesterday obviously hadn’t known what the hell he was talking about. He had made it sound impossible to fix the blond’s ears, and yet you’d somehow done it easily, in the middle of a fucking battlefield.

With that kind of power, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about going deaf or designing stupid hearing aids with some company.

With that kind of power, Dynamight would become Japan’s Number One Hero in no time.

But first, he had to find you.

Resolved, Bakugo shoved the covers off and slid out of bed, but before he could make it to his bathroom, someone started knocking on his front door.

No, not knocking. Banging. It sounded like they were trying to break the fucking door down.

“Bakubroooooooo!”

“Gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Bakugo grumbled as he padded to his front door. He was only dressed in boxer briefs, but that’s what the idiot got for barging over so early in the damn morning.

The banging persisted, growing louder and more fervent.

“I’m fuckin’ comin!” the blond shouted just before he undid the deadbolt and wrenched open the door.

Eijiro Kirishima, dressed in his Red Riot costume, blinked on the other side of the threshold, his fist still raised to knock.

“What the fuck, bro?” he asked after a moment of just staring at Bakugo.

The blond immediately scowled. “That’s my fuckin’ line. What are you doing breaking down my door at six in the damn morning?”

“Excuse me?” his patrol and agency partner scoffed. “I’m obviously coming to check that you’re not dead since you’ve been MIA for over twenty-four hours.”

“What?” Bakugo frowned. “I saw you yesterday morning for patrol.”

“Noooooo,” Kirishima drawled like Bakugo was a particularly stupid child. “That was two days ago, bro. Then that night, I see you all over the damn news, and no one could get ahold of you all day yesterday. I would have come to check on you sooner, but I’ve been having to play damage control with the media because someone decided to blow up a residential neighborhood.”

“Two days?” Bakugo echoed with a furrowed brow. He’d slept that long?

“Have you been passed out this whole time, dude?” Kirishima groaned as he shouldered his way into the apartment. “I guess that means you got none of our messages?”

“Our?” the blond grumbled as he closed the door and followed the redhead to the kitchen bar.

“Yeah, Denki, Mina, Sero.” Kirishima waved his hand dismissively, marching over to the counter where Bakugo kept the fruit and selecting an apple from the wire basket. “I even asked Izuku to message you, just to see if he’d actually get a rise and response from you.”

“I don’t need stupid Deku knowing about my problems, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo growled before he stomped over to his fridge to see what he had to eat because he was suddenly starving.

“Well, that would imply I know your problems, Oh Great Lord Dynamight,” Kirishima snorted and took a bite of apple. “So, what the fuck happened the other night?”

“I blew up a residential neighborhood,” the blond deadpanned as he turned on his stove, cracking a few eggs into a skillet.

“Yeah, I saw that. I was more wondering about what led up to it.”

“What the fuck do you think led up to it?” Bakugo snapped, rummaging through his cupboard for seasonings. “I was walking home from getting a drink, and a damn villain just popped up in front of me.”

“From what I heard, there were other heroes there, too,” the redhead mumbled around another bite of apple.

“Yeah, fuckin’ useless extras,” Bakugo sneered as he started to whisk his eggs with a pair of chopsticks, throwing in some leftover white rice and a bit of nori. “They obviously weren’t getting anywhere, and the bastard was tearing up the street, so I stepped in.”

“To finish destroying the street?” Kirishima cocked an eyebrow, chewing noisily.

“Fuck off,” the blond said with an eyeroll.

Internally, though, Bakugo knew the redhead was right. He’d been sloppy, careless, probably still borderline drunk. But he’d just been so angry about the doctor’s appointment, his fucked-up ears, his bleak and silent future. He had just wanted to break something, hurt someone, consequences be damned.

Except now the consequences were catching up to him.

Fuck, he didn’t even want to think about what his citizen’s approval rating must be now.

Silence stretched between the two pro heroes for several long minutes, in which Bakugo finished making his breakfast and Kirishima finished gnawing on his apple core. The blond quickly shoveled a few bites of eggs and rice into his mouth, but his scarlet eyes kept flicking over to the redhead.

“How bad?” he finally asked.

Kirishima, to his credit, had learned how to translate Bakugo’s curt grunts years ago.

“Actually, if I’m being honest, it’s not that bad,” he sighed, tossing the apple core in the trash and scratching at the back of his head. “Could be worse. From the reports I read, most of the damage—besides the road—is superficial. Broken windows, charred and peeling paint, a few busted cars that we’re still trying to figure out if our insurance or the city’s will pay for. It also helped that you saved two people. That definitely softened the blow.”

“Two?” Bakugo mumbled around one of his last bites. “I just remember the stupid extra on the street that I shoved out of the way.”

As the memory flashed through his mind, Bakugo frowned. He’d shoved that extra out of the way and got snatched by a giant asphalt hand for his troubles. The blond’s red eyes dropped to his pink and blotchy left arm and then trailed over to his chest. He recalled the sensation of his ribs snapping under pressure, but now only a mild soreness lingered after he took a deep breath. Yet another inconsistency…

“Yeah, two,” Kirishima said and drew Bakugo out of his thoughts. “Do you seriously not even remember your own heroics? And that girl had such nice things to say about you, too.”

“Girl?” Bakugo snapped his head up. “The girl whose… apartment I fell into?”

“Crashed into, dude,” the redhead snorted, but then he narrowed his eyes as a sly smirk tugged at his lips. “But yeah. Sounds like you remember her, huh?”

Bakugo didn’t like the smug look on his friend’s face.

“I remember her fuckin’ yellin’ at me.” The blond scowled. “Like I wrecked her place on purpose and didn’t just save her whole block from a lunatic.”

“I mean, to be fair, if you crashed into my house, bro, I would have yelled at you, too.” Kirishima grinned. “But don’t worry, she’s fine. In fact, when she called the agency yesterday, she asked for you specifically.”

“She did? Why?” Did she want to confess her healing quirk? Fuck, were there side effects Bakugo didn’t know about?

“Bro, seriously.” Kirishima rolled his eyes. “You’re Japan’s Number Two Hero, and you saved her life. And, like Mina keeps telling you, you’re not as ugly when you stop scowling.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Bakugo flipped him off before he went to dump the dishes in the sink.

“Yes, dear.” The redhead smirked. “But, in all seriousness, she called to figure out how to file a claim with our insurance. Or at least that’s what she said, but she also asked how you were doing, and she actually sounded genuinely worried.”

Worried that a random side effect was going to kill him? Or worried that he would say something about her quirk? She’d obviously hidden it for a reason, tried to lie for a reason.

And Bakugo was determined to find out just what that reason was.

“Yeah, well, I’m fine,” he grunted as he rinsed off his plate and put it on the drying rack. “Just a few scrapes and bruises.”

“I can see that,” Kirishima said as he eyed the butterfly stitches stretched across the gash on Bakugo’s abdomen. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t find you dead in a pool of your own blood. That woulda been a real bummer way to start the morning.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bakugo muttered before he averted his eyes to the living room window across from him. “So… what did you tell her?”

“The girl?”

“No, you’re fuckin’ mom,” the blond scoffed.

“Oh, speaking of moms, you might want to text Mitsuki. I called her last night after you ignored my billionth text, so she’s probably going crazy wondering where you are.” Kirishima grinned and then immediately dodged out of the way as Bakugo hurled a fork at him.

“You bastard!” Bakugo hissed. “Now, I’m going to have to see that hag this weekend or she’s gonna fuckin’ barge over here.”

“Maybe you should turn the ringer up on your phone.” The other hero shrugged, ducking again when Bakugo chucked an apple in his direction.

The blond scowled at his friend, but he didn’t reply.

If you and your quirk were the real deal, Bakugo wouldn’t have to worry about missing a call ever again.

When Kirishima realized the projectiles had stopped, he popped his head over the back of the couch and smirked. “But to answer your previous question, I told the girl we would handle the insurance claim on our end if she sent us her info. And I didn’t really have anything to tell her about you since, like I’ve said, I thought you were dead. Kinda. I was at least thirty percent sure.”

“Have you filed the insurance claim?” Bakugo asked.

“No.” Kirishima shook his head. “She hasn’t sent in the info yet.”

“Well… we should go get it from her.”

This caused the redhead’s eyebrows to shoot up into his hairline, and the surprise on his face quickly made Bakugo backtrack.

“I just… want to get this shitshow over with,” he grumbled as he averted his eyes again, but he could feel a traitorous heat crawling across the bridge of his nose. “The longer her apartment’s all fucked up, the longer the press is gonna rake me over the coals. The hero ranking’s aren’t far off, and I’m not going to lose to Deku again over some stupid broken windows.”

“Righttttt,” Kirishima drawled, but his tone was mocking. “Okay, well, I know the hotel the police have set her up at. After we swing by the agency, we can head that way… to get her insurance info.”

He still sounded unconvinced and like he wanted to needle Bakugo more, but the blond changed the subject quickly.

“Why do we have to go to the agency?” Bakugo asked, and he frowned as he glanced back at his partner. “Even if I lost yesterday, my next scheduled patrol isn’t till tonight.”

“Oh, I know.” Kirishima nodded solemnly. “But Nao wanted to have… a word with you ASAP, if I confirmed you weren’t dead.”

“Fuckkkkkkk,” Bakugo groaned as he dropped his head back. If there was anything Bakugo hated more than the press, it was his actual PR manager. That old hag was good at her job, which meant she was always up Bakugo’s ass about something, and he knew she was going to have a field day with this shitfest.

“Yeah, I’d recommend coffee and preemptive painkillers before we head in,” Kirishima said. “Plus, some putting on clothes. Maybe we can stop on the way and get her something sweet as a bribe.”

“No amount of sugar is gonna make that bitch nice to me,” Bakugo grumbled before he spun on heel and started marching to his bedroom.

“Maybe flowers then?” the redhead shouted after him.

Bakugo slammed the door in response.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous,” Bakugo growled around his cargo, kicking his foot out at Kirishima. “Why did I listen to you? I’ve had to go shopping twice today now.”

“Come on,” his friend laughed as he dodged the blow, which made the bags in his arms crinkle. “You can’t deny the flowers and cookies sweetened ole’ Nao up.”

“To you,” Bakugo muttered, shifting the package in his arms a bit. “She still yelled at me for fifteen minutes.”

“Well, you kinda deserved i—yow!” Kirishima yelped as Bakugo kicked him squarely in the ass this time. “This isn’t helping your image, bro!”

“No one even knows it’s us,” the blond hissed.

“Yeah, I guess the hoodies and sunglasses help,” the other pro hero mused.

“And the fact that we’re carrying all this stupid shit.”

“It’s not stupid.” Kirishima frowned in that earnest way of his, which made Bakugo roll his eyes. “It’s thoughtful to bring gifts to people who are having a difficult time. Especially when you made that time difficult. You basically kicked her out of her house, dude, not to mention her shop.”

A wave of guilt actually washed through the blond, which he didn’t like. It made his throat feel tight and his stomach churn, and he glanced away from the redhead with a scowl.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue. “It’s not like we aren’t gonna pay for it.”

The excuse felt flat, even to him.

“Still,” Kirishima said as he shifted the bags in his grip, pulled out his phone, and consulted the map. “It must be stressful. So, we’re going to be nice to her, alright? Which starts with the gifts.”

“And how is a fuckin’ fruit basket supposed to help?” Bakugo asked as he glared around the overflowing mound of crinkling plastic and bright fruit that he held against his chest.

“Uh, one, it’s practical. Her apartment’s all fucked up, the power’s probably still out if not inconsistent on the street, and she’s been living in a hotel for two days, so she probably hasn’t had some nice fresh fruit in a while. And two, it looks nice!”

“We coulda just left this shit at the hotel,” Bakugo grumbled. “She has to go back there eventually, right?”

After old Nao chewed his ass out, Bakugo and Kirishima had gone to the hotel the police said they’d put you up in. Except you weren’t fucking there, and the number you left with Kirishima when you called the agency was going straight to voicemail, so here there were, fucking trekking through the city with a bunch of useless shit.

Bakugo just kept reminding himself it would be worth it when he got the truth about your quirk out of you.

“Nope,” Kirishima said and drew the blond out of his thoughts. “The city only pays the first two days after an emergency, unless the villain caused all the damage, but, uh, that’s not the case here, so we’ll be accommodating her until her apartment gets fixed up.”

“At the agency?” Bakugo asked as his red eyes clicked over to his partner.

As the Number Two and Three Heroes, the two of them had built a solid agency together. Bakugo still didn’t care for a bunch of extras riding on his tailcoats, so they had few sidekicks, all of whom reported to Kirishima and left him the fuck alone for the most part. But they owned a nice, sleek building in a nicer part of town, and one of the floors was dedicated to individual rooms with beds and other amenities. They were usually used when Bakugo, Kirishima, or the other sidekicks wanted to crash after patrol instead of going home—which Bakugo did more often than not—but they’d never had a civilian stay on the premises.

Until now.

“Yessssss, at the agency,” the redhead drawled as a shit-eating smirk crawled across his face. “So, you’ll be seeing a lot of her for the next couple weeks.”

“Wipe that stupid look off your face.” Bakugo scowled and shouldered past the other hero, who snickered as he jogged to catch up.

“Take the next left up ahead.”

“Shut up!” the blond growled, but he followed the instructions.

This was good news, though. Bakugo wouldn’t have to trek to this shitty part of town more than he had to.

And he’d have a healer just down the hall.

They marched along in silence for a few minutes, keeping their heads down, but there wasn’t much foot traffic. Bakugo was lost in his thoughts, planning out the questions he was going to ask you once he could distract Kirishima, but the redhead suddenly stopped in front of him.

“Hey,” Bakugo grunted as the fruit basket crinkled against the other hero’s back. He hadn’t even notice Kiri get in front of him again. “What’s the damn hold up?”

“Holy shit, dude,” Kirishima muttered, staring out at the road he’d just turned onto.

“What?” the blond grumbled, shoving past his friend, but then he stopped, too. “Oh… yeah.”

The street in front of him looked much worse in the bright light of midday. The road was a torn-up mess, more patches of dirt and gravel than actual asphalt. Most of the large-scale debris had been hauled away, but black scorch marks covered the sidewalks in long, dark smears. The walls of several businesses also bore charring along the facades, but most of the damage was focused in the center of the street. A crater nearly six feet deep was carved into the middle of the road, and the buildings on either side were blackened, their broken windows gaping voids.

And then there was the hole in what Bakugo remembered as your second-floor apartment. A tarp hung over the wound, but one of the corners had come undone, flapping in the wind and giving split second glimpses into the darkened room beyond.

Guilt crept up on him again, but Bakugo shoved it down, hunching over the fruit basket and nudging Kirishima.

“Come on,” he muttered before he started moving forward, and a moment later he heard the crunch of boots on gravel as the redhead followed him.

There were more people on this street than on the last several, but Bakugo could immediately tell they weren’t customers just passing through. People swept sidewalks, clearing away the last of the rubble and glass in front of their shops. Then a few old ladies stood under one awning shaking their heads, their hands laden with containers of food or gifts.

Guess Kirishima hadn’t been wrong with this stupid idea.

Then Bakugo realized some of those people were starting to look back at him, so he ducked his head further behind the fruit basket, grateful for his hoodie and sunglasses.

But then suddenly he was there, standing in front of your ruined shop. His red eyes immediately flickered upward, but if there was a sign there before, it was gone now, burnt to ash.

“What kinda shop did you say this was?” the blond asked under his breath as Kirishima paused beside him.

“I’m… not sure,” the redhead said with a furrowed brow. “I don’t think she said on the phone. No time like the present to ask, though.”

Before Bakugo could stop him, Kirishima shifted the bags in his arms, lifted one hand, and knocked on the charred metal frame of the front door.

“Hello?” he called through the broken windows, followed by your name. “Anyone in there?”

“Shit!” The squeaking voice was followed by a crashing sound somewhere in the shadows of the store.

Bakugo didn’t speak a lot of English, but he did know curse words, and the sound of it made his lips twitch in amusement.

“Are you okay?” Kirishima called out. “Can, uh, we come in?”

“Yes, I’m fine!” the voice answered back in flustered Japanese. The words were fluent, though, with barely the hint of an accent. “And, um, I-I guess you can come in, but—”

That was good enough for Bakugo.

The blond shouldered past his partner, boots crunching over glass as he ducked into the darkened shop, and Kirishima sighed as he followed.

The interior, if possible, looked worse than the outside. The room itself wasn’t very big, but it was a mess. Two metal rods had been embedded in the left and right walls at odd angles, obviously caused from the explosions, though Bakugo couldn’t tell what they used to be. Several pieces of blacked mannequins were scattered through the debris, and one wall was a charred mess of shelving and fabric, spots of color peeking through the black ash here and there.

In the back, left corner were the remains of a tri-fold standing mirror, the ones where you could see yourself from different angles. Large shards of glass were missing, though, so the image of Bakugo and Kirishima standing backlit against the street was fractured.

Last but not least, in the rear, right corner of the store was a counter that was half collapsed to the floor, behind which stood an empty doorframe that Bakugo assumed led to the back of the shop and upstairs.

And it was from behind this broken counter that you popped up with a dustpan in one hand and a tiny, handheld broom in the other.

The first thought Bakugo had was your face was rather plain… but in a somehow pleasing way. Like if his eyes had scanned over you in a crowd, something about the line of your jaw, the slope of your nose, the delicate quirk of your mouth would give him pause.

His second thought was that his first one was stupid. You were just some extra, of course you would be plain and unmemorable.

But his third thought was something about the color of your eyes was captivating, in a way that was damn fucking annoying.

“Sorry, I was just… cleaning… up,” you said, slowly trailing off as your eyes met Bakugo’s.

He saw the recognition flare in them immediately, followed by fear, and he couldn’t help the frown that twisted his face.

Why were you afraid of him?

“No, we’re sorry for barging in here like this,” Kirishima barreled on, oblivious to the stare off the other two occupants of the room were engaged in. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Oh! I’m being so rude. My name is Eijiro Kirishima, or you might know me as—”

“Red Riot,” you breathed, finally tearing your eyes from Bakugo’s, and you flashed the redhead a half-smile that trembled along the edges. “We spoke on the phone.”

“Yes.” Kirishima grinned, pointed teeth flashing in the dim light of the shop, before his gaze flickered over to the blond beside him. “And this is—”

“Dynamight,” you finished once again, and you looked like you were trying desperately to maintain eye contact with the hardening hero, but then your eyes clicked back to Bakugo. You didn’t flash him a smile. “We’ve met.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Kiri chuckled awkwardly, and his arm jerked like he was going to rub the back of his neck, but the bags in his hands crinkled and stopped him.

“What… do you have there?” you asked, frowning at the bags and the fruit basket the heroes were carrying.

“Gifts!” the redhead declared as he hefted his arms up, and then he shuffled forward over charred fabric and glass and extended the bags to you.

You blinked at him for a second, but you set the dustpan and handheld broom on the counter, where they promptly slid to the floor since the whole surface was slanted. You winced at the loud clatter and tried to cover it up by taking the bags from Kirishima, which crinkled loudly again as they transferred hands.

Bakugo would be annoyed if he wasn’t more grateful that he could actually hear the innocuous little noise.

“O-Oh, um, you shouldn’t have, really,” you started as you peeked into the bags, and then Bakugo swore he saw your eyebrow twitch once you saw what was inside.

“It’s not much,” Kirishima said, and he was finally free to rub the back of his head and neck as his smile turned a little sheepish. “But, what with the state of your… apartment, we thought you might need some new clothes! And comfy clothes are the best after stressful days. These especially are super soft, we made sure of it. And, if you don’t like them, you could always sell them for a good chunk of change.”

The redhead winked at you, not in an overly flirty manner, that was just how he was, but your cheeks flared as crimson as his hair, and your eyes dropped to the floor.

Bakugo took the split instant to get a better look at you and noted you were wearing patched, faded jeans, solid boots, and a bleach-stained orange sweatshirt with some English writing he couldn’t read. Usually, he didn’t really see what other people wore because he couldn’t give less of a shit, but somehow he found your obvious cleaning clothes… endearing. The orange looked good on you, too.

Fuck, maybe you didn’t heal him as well as he thought. He had to be hemorrhaging into his brain to be thinking this stupid shit. Or maybe it was a side effect of your quirk?

He needed to get you alone and get answers.

“Well… thank you, this was very thoughtf—oh, wow, that is soft,” you murmured as you partially drew a sweatshirt out of the bag.

Bakugo instantly recognized the forest green and orange color scheme, and apparently so did you, because your face twitched, and you dropped the garment back into the bag and traded it for fuzzy socks with Red Riot’s signature gears stitched into them.

“These will definitely come in handy, my feet are always cold,” you said with an awkward giggle. Then you cleared your throat to cover up the sound. “Thank you, um, Red Riot.”

“You can call me Eijiro, or Kirishima, whatever you’re comfortable with,” the redhead said with another easy grin. “We’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, after all. Oh! We also got you a fruit basket, and I think there might be a few other sweets tucked in there.”

Kirishima nudged Bakugo forward, and your face rippled through a range of emotions, like your brain was taking a second to catch up to everything the pro hero just spewed. First, flustered embarrassment colored your cheeks, then confusion buckled your brow, and your eyes widened before they looked at the fruit basket Bakugo was extending at you.

“Oh, you can just put it down… um…” you trailed off as you turned to the counter and remembered it was half destroyed. Then your eyes jumped around frantically for some kind of flat surface, but the ruined shop didn’t offer any solutions.

“Told ya we shouldn’t of brought this shit,” Bakugo grunted, shooting a scowl at Kirishima.

“Yeahhhhh, we probably could have just delivered it to your room at the agency, my bad,” the redhead laughed. “But don’t worry, we’ll carry it back for you, along with any of your other things.”

“My… things?” you echoed, sounding out the words like a child, and a frown marred your face. “I-I think I must be misunderstanding you, I’m sorry, I’m American. But did you say my room at the agency? As in… your hero agency?”

“You’re American?” Kirishima asked with wide red eyes. “I wouldn’t have even guessed! Your accent is almost perfect, I thought you were maybe just from like the countryside or something.”

“I thought you said we were supposed to be nice to her,” Bakugo snorted at his partner like you weren’t in the room, and he saw you frown at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, shit, no, that wasn’t what I meant!” Japan’s Number Three Hero immediately began waving his hands in front of his face, his mouth moving twice as fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I really think your accent sounds nice! It’s very cute!”

Now, not only did your cheeks flush again, but the red hue traveled down your throat and across your collarbones, peeking out the stretched collar of your orange sweatshirt.

Bakugo found himself half distracted by the sight, but the other half was wondering why he suddenly felt irritation flare up in his gut.

“Okay, you don’t have to take her out on a date now,” the blond snapped, shifting his burden of fruit and plastic.

“I-I think we might have gotten off track,” you stuttered as you clutched the bag of Dynamight and Red Riot merch to your chest. “You said something about your agency.”

“Yes, right.” Kirishima cleared his throat. “We would have mentioned this in our follow up email after you sent in your insurance info, but—”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry!” you cut him off with a grimace, and you actually dipped your head and shoulders into a bow. “I meant to send that yesterday, but my laptop is broken, and my cell service isn’t great—”

“No, no, it’s fine!” the redhead interrupted this time. “You obviously have a lot on your plate. I just meant that this might seem kind of sudden, but—”

Fucking hell, this was taking too long.

“You’re staying at our agency until we can pay for the repairs to your apartment and shop,” Bakugo said bluntly. If he didn’t step in, the two of you were just going to stammer circles around each other all day. “Starting tonight. We have rooms with beds and shit, so pack whatever clothes or crap you need.”

Your mouth fell open as you gaped at Bakugo. “I… what?”

“You deaf or something?” The words rocketed from his mouth before he could stop them, before he could even think about what he was saying, and he saw the way the question struck you like a physical blow. You flinched, your cheeks paling, and he saw dawning, guilty horror glint at the back of your eyes.

He’d been right. You did do something to his ears.

“Bro, you were just talking about being nice.” Kirishima frowned at Bakugo before he turned back to you. “Ignore him. We’re really sorry about the inconvenience this whole… incident has caused for you, but we’ll take care of everything you need until your shop’s grand reopening, so you don’t have to worry about a thing, okay?”

You continued to stare at the two heroes in shocked silence, your wide eyes clicking back and forth between the two of them as you clutched the bags to your chest like a lifeline.

“That is… all so generous,” you finally breathed, your tone rising in pitch like you were growing increasingly flustered. “It’s, um, a lot to take in.”

“Of course.” Kirishima nodded fervently. “What else can we do to help?”

“Could you leave?”

Bakugo blinked in surprise and then had to stifle his snort.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry!” you quickly followed up when you saw the redhead’s falling expression. “I didn’t mean… I just meant, could I have some time to process this? Um, alone? L-Like Dynamight said, I need to pack a few things, a-and there are some people I need to speak to before, uh… well, is it okay if I tell someone where I’ll be? Like, at your agency?”

“Yessss?” Kirishima said with a confused frown. “Why wouldn’t that be okay?”

“O-Oh, I just don’t really know how the whole hero and media thing works here,” you quickly lied, and Bakugo clocked the way you averted your eyes, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed thickly. “I-I wasn’t going to post on social media or anything, I barely use that stuff anyway, but one of my customers, Mrs. Kojima, would be upset if I disappeared without saying anything.”

“Aww, that’s sweet.” The redhead grinned before he glanced at the shadowed ruins around him. “What kind of shop is this by the way? I don’t think you mentioned.”

“A-Alterations,” you said, ducking your face in embarrassment again. “My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited this place from them.”

“I thought you said you were American?” Kirishima asked, but not in an accusatory way. He was just too curious for his own good and didn’t possess much of a filter.

Bakugo usually didn’t care for small talk, fucking waste of time if you asked him, but he found himself focusing intently on you, awaiting a response.

“I am.” You nodded. “My parents were both born here, but they moved to the States after they married, and I was born there. After my grandparents passed, my dad was going to sell the shop, but I was looking for something… new, so I decided to move here instead about a year ago.”

Bakugo pursed his lips at this new information. If you had a healing quirk, why were you patching up clothes in some little shop all the way across the world from your surviving family? Could it be because your quirk was dangerous?

“Wow, that’s cool,” Kirishima said with an impressed expression that quickly turned sheepish. “Except about your grandparent’s passing. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, a small smile tugging at your lips, but then you quickly shook your head. “I-I’m sorry, didn’t mean to give you my whole life story, I tend to talk when I’m nervous.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Red Riot laughed like he did when he was meeting shy little kids on the street, flashing his sharpened teeth jokingly and winking in an overexaggerated fashion. “I promise, we look scarier than we are.”

“Speak for yourself, Shitty Hair,” Bakugo scoffed, which made you jump, like you’d forgotten he was there.

And that rubbed him the wrong way for some reason.

Kirishima merely smirked before he partially covered his mouth with his hand and lowered his voice into a stage whisper directed at you. “All bark, no bite, I’m telling you.”

“Stop making me seem lame, you bastard!” the blond growled, but the effect was kind of ruined by the fruit basket crinkling in his hands again.

This actually seemed to startle a giggle out of you, and the two heroes whipped around, one with a grin and the other a scowl.

“See, you don’t need to be nervous,” Kirishima said before he slung an arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “But we’ll get out of your hair for now so you can have some time to pack and everything. Don’t worry about picking up too much, though, we’ll have cleaning crews in here before we start the remodel, and we don’t want you to get hurt in here. If there’s stuff up in your apartment that you don’t want to bring with you to the agency but don’t want thrown out, make a list, and we’ll be sure to keep everything safe.”

“O-Okay,” you said, still standing there with the hero merch clenched to your chest and a dumbstruck expression on your face. “T-Thank you again, Red--, erm, Kirishima.”

“Of course!” He grinned. “I have patrol tonight, but we’ll send a car to pick you up—”

“No,” Bakugo cut in as he locked eyes with you. “I’ll pick you up. What time?”

The blond could see Kirishima shoot him a look in his peripherals—probably because they both had patrol tonight—but Bakugo ignored his partner, maintaining eye contact with you.

You, meanwhile, squirmed under the explosive hero’s intense scrutiny, your face paling and flushing in turns. “I… no, you don’t have to do that, I can take the train—”

“I insist,” he interrupted again, narrowing his eyes so you would realize he wasn’t going to back down. “Like Shitty Hair said, we caused this… inconvenience, so I’ll pick you up. What. Time?”

You swallowed thickly, your throat audibly clicking. “S-Seven?”

“I’ll be here at seven sharp,” Bakugo said. “And you better be out front or at least answer your phone this time.”

You better not run, he didn’t say, but by the look on your face, you understood.

“Seven sharp.” You nodded, biting your lip as a resigned expression settled over your features. “Got it.”

“Great. See you then.”

With that, Bakugo turned on heel and crunched his way out of your store, leaving Kirishima stuttering apologies in his wake.

But that didn’t matter.

All that mattered was, tonight, he’d finally get you alone and get to the bottom of your damn quirk.

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theoutcastrogue · 3 years

Photo

Brigantesse

These are some of the most famous female brigands of Italy. By coincidence, they were all born on the same year, and their criminal activities took place during and after the complete mayhem that was the Unification of Italy.

The first four photos are of Michelina Di Cesare (1841–1868), the next three are of Maria Oliverio (1841–1879), and the last two of Filomena Pennacchio (1841–1915), on the left, along with her two friends and accomplices Giuseppina Vitale and Maria Giovanna Tito.

In Italy, like in Spain, female bandits were uncommon but not unheard of, especially in such tumultuous times. These three women had very different reasons to become outlaws: Michelina was basically driven by poverty, Maria hacked her own sister to pieces with an axe because she “slandered” her (it's pretty fucked up if you ask me, but that's Honour™ for ya: talk shit, get brutally murdered), and Filomena got tired of getting beaten by her husband and stabbed him to death with a pin. So rather than stick around and get caught (or starve), they all chose a brigand's life.

There's a lot of complicated context here re: the political situation, but post-Unification brigandage in Italy is a whole field of history in itself, so I won't get into it. Let's just say that all three of them operated (more or less) against the new regime, being vaguely pro-Bourbon, and leave it at that. Though I should note that, much like Royalist highwaymen during the English Civil War or pretty much anyone during the Mexican Revolution, people often became robbers first and found a political justification later, especially if there was a faction willing to offer them support in exchange for doing some dirty work or another.

Behind the camera / posing for the camera

But I want to talk about the photographs themselves. These aren't candid shots, they are photo-shoots, and I am endlessly fascinated by bandit portraits. It's a whole genre, these portraits, there were tons of them taken in the late 19th and early 20th century, from South America to the Mediterranean and from Eastern Europe to China, wherever bandits thrived and photographers were around. (And I suppose with North American gunslingers too, but y'all already know about those, right?) The bandits stand in front of the camera and pose, rarely with a frown, often with a smile, always with a gun and just brimming with pride.

And I always wonder, what's the story behind the picture? How did the photographer meet the bandit in the first place, and how did he feel directing a dangerous outlaw? (”Stand over there, head a bit to the right, hold the rifle higher, now hold still please.”) Was he scared? Excited? How did they come to an agreement? Who had to convince whom? And for that matter, who directed whom? Portraits are traditionally credited to the photographer, but any photographer worth his salt will tell you that it's really a collaboration, and that they can't possibly take what their subject won't give.

So sometimes the whole thing was the photographer’s idea, perhaps backed by a newspaper or other publication. It would be too generous to call it “photojournalism”, it was mostly sensationalist tabloids looking for a quick buck. Other times the bandits went and hired a photographer entirely of their own initiative, to construct their public image by themselves and/or to keep the photos as a private memento. There are accounts of bandits basically kidnapping a photographer and marching him through the wilderness to their hideout, where he is treated like an honoured guest – and also forced to take their portraits, or else. Common props (other than guns) are bandoliers, knives, and various trophies. Sometimes they even take an action pose, pretending to be mid-fight, or hiding for an ambush. Sometimes it’s important to shoot on location and depict them in their element, commanding their realm (a very common moniker for bandits is “King of the Mountains”). The possibilities are endless.

And there’s just something so inherently boastful and defiant, to cheerfully pose for a portrait with a smile and a gun and a price on your head.

Post mortem

As for the photo-shoots of these Italian brigantesse, we know the story of two of them. The first one, of Michelina Di Cesare, was shot very professionally in a studio in Rome. Her photos circulated a lot in the press, and were used as propaganda for her, and her gang, and indirectly the Bourbon loyalists (who may have paid for them). That’s probably why she isn’t wearing her normal clothes, but a traditional peasant costume: she’s dressed up as a folk heroine. Sometimes bandits just had to be media-savvy.

The second one, of Maria Oliverio, was unusually taken after her capture (during which she was injured in the arm). It’s unclear whose idea it was, but she was sentenced to death and then pardoned by the king, her sentence commuted to life in prison. As for the third one, of Filomena Pennacchio and friends, we don’t know how it came to be but it’s pretty ironic, considering that Filomena eventually surrendered and collaborated, leading to the arrest of those same friends she posed with. She was sentenced to 20 years in prison, and eventually did 8.

Maria Oliverio’s post-capture photos (the second set) are remarkable. It’s hard to imagine that they were taken without the consent and supervision of the authorities, so I find it extremely strange that they are actual portraits, the kind which glorifies the bandit, rather than the standard gory post-mortem photographs which police so gleefully distributed after they killed (or executed) bandits. These aimed instead to demystify and ridicule and straight up defile the body, turn the person to a thing, strip the bandit from agency, dignity, sometimes even clothes. (Michelina Di Cesare, who was killed in battle, got that treatment too.) But that’s also a whole field of research in itself (just look up bibliographies for “the criminal corpse”, it’s... quite depressing, really), so I won’t get to it either. Perhaps Oliverio’s captors were vaguely pro-Bourbon too, and that accounts for the strangely flattering photo-shoot, who knows.

#long post #Michelina Di Cesare #Filomena Pennacchio #Maria Oliverio #brigand #bandit #exemplars #trs #photography #italy #dishonour on your cow #the potatoes of defiance #oh wow I haven't talked about photography in a LONG time #I missed it

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eclipsedpascal · 3 years

Text

Making Daddy Proud

Stepdad!Duncan x Female Reader

After moving in with your estranged mother and her new husband, Duncan Shepherd, you started to grow very close to your new stepdad. The two of you had a great relationship and he was doing his best to be a good father figure for you, knowing you missed your dad so much. But there was a problem, you found yourself insanely attracted to him and were starting to notice little things indicating he might feel the same way.

Warnings: very inappropriate relationships, Stepfather/stepdaughter relationship, Cheating is ofc implied, 20+ year age gap, daddy kink, unprotected sex (but I kinda imagined the reader to be on birth control so is okie😌) fingering (female receiving), choking, vaginal sex, oral (male receiving) and face fucking😃

Notes: Okie sooo I know some people will hate this fic and ofc I understand that, but if you do hate it then please don't send me any hate!! just don't read it🖤 anywayss I got dis ask saying "Concept: Stepdad Duncan x naive reader😉" nd omg i LOVE the whole concept of Stepdad!Duncan sm, like if you've been in the fandom for a while you'll probably know the fic "The Hand That Robs the Cradle" by Langdonsrapture nd that fic was my holy grail when it came out!! so you know I just had to go all out here nd get carried away writing it hehe:')

word count: 5.4k

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The opportunity to study political science at American University in Washington DC had been one you simply couldn’t pass up on, but unfortunately it meant moving away from your father to stay closer to campus grounds. You knew it was worth it in the long run, I mean you had been waiting on this chance for years and wanted to make your father proud, but you would miss him.

He was never home too much, always busy working, but he meant the world to you. It had been just the two of you for a long time now. Your mother had moved away once their divorce finalised 7 years ago, impulsively leaving you in his custody as she ran off and gallivanted around the world, meeting all sorts of interesting men she would tell you about.

Luckily for you, she had settled down with one of those interesting men in DC recently, and upon discovering your acceptance into the prestigious university she had offered you a place to stay whilst you studied.

It was a frightening move to make, but staying with your mother in DC had actually been pretty interesting. You hadn’t spent time with her in so long and it had been nice to catch up with her, I mean sure she had been a little distant, but that was expected with having not spent any real time with her in so long.

You were just grateful she had let you stay with her in the first place, thinking she would have probably preferred to be left alone with her new husband, Duncan Shepherd.

They had been married about four months when you moved in and from what you could see, things were going well; especially considering she had sprung the engagement on everyone pretty fast. You were just happy knowing she was happy.

Though you had only met the man in question once before moving in, he really seemed like a perfect partner. He didn’t have a single obvious flaw to him, but see that was the problem. He was completely flawless to you.

You had tried to find things you didn’t like about him, even just tiny things, thinking hating him would be far better than thinking of him the way had been, but no matter what you did, you just couldn’t seem to fault him. And the longer you stayed with them, the worse your little problem became.

You weren’t 100% sure of how old he was. You only knew he was in his early to mid forties. But being at least 20 years your senior, you knew he was definitely old enough to be fulfilling the role he was as your stepfather. It felt strange to have a new stepdad at the age of 20, (almost 21) but it was even stranger with you being so blindly attracted to him.

And it wasn’t even just his looks. Though, yes, they were quite the spectacle, it was more than that. He was confident and cocky, always knowing exactly what to do and say to make the people around him do whatever he wanted them to. He could make you laugh until your stomach was in cramps, and not just through telling dad jokes. Charisma rolled off of him in waves.

He was intuitive and crafty; smart to put in plainly. And his interests appeared to be more intellectually based than anything else, which was quite the opposite of your mother, so it baffled you as to how your mother had managed to snatch him up so easily in the first place.

Now it’s not that you were jealous, really. It was more that you didn’t understand how these two polar opposite personality’s had ended up colliding together in the manner that they had.

Whenever the three of you would sit and have an evening meal together, Duncan always made you feel welcomed in the conversation, which was a great comfort to both you and your mother, being the relationship you had was so strained. Because of this and the fact you both had quite a lot in common when it came to your interests, Duncan and you had become almost good friends in the small time that you had been living there.

It was obvious he was doing his best to be some kind of fatherly figure to you. knowing that you were missing your actual dad, he did his best to help you with the things he knew your dad usually would. Whether it was school work or just having someone to joke with from time to time. He was there.

Sometimes when he was there, though, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he felt something more too. Such as the moments where his stares would linger on your form for just a little too long, or the way he would sometimes fix your hair for you if it had strayed across your face the wrong way. Just small things he did that fatherly figures didn’t typically tend to do with their daughters; especially when his wife, your mother, was right there. Sure, she seemed oblivious to it, but you certainly weren’t.

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Taking your now lukewarm cup of coffee from the breakfast bar counter, you brought it to your lips and gulped the bitter liquid down, fighting viciously to stay alert. It was nearing 3am and you had been writing for hours. Concentrating was no longer your most favourable asset and your half lidded eyes were growing wearer by the minute, but you just had to finish this paper.

It was 17 percent of your grade and due in two weeks. A persuasive essay on propaganda within the current American political climate and you had been slowly working at it for weeks, but you knew if you left it hanging over your head any longer it would drive you insane.

Sitting back in the stool you resided on, you took quick solace in the many noises coming from the ajar kitchen window, listening to a low rumble of thunder, accompanied by the constant pitter patter of rain falling from the gloomy DC sky above. It had been hot and humid all week, eventually cultivating into large clouds that had now given in, spilling out showers for almost the entire day past.

You recalled all the time you’d spent by the pool with your mother and Duncan in the past week, enjoying the current heatwave by sunbathing next to it on one of the many loungers. The house was kind of set up like a hotel that way. With Duncan always needing to be prepared for any events he may have to hold for his company’s business associates or press, he had furnished the home with what was to the three of you, unnecessary seating and tableware; amongst other things.

You stirred, returning your eyes back to the last few lines you had written and attempted to go over them in your head, but quickly realised you couldn't even manage that without stumbling over them or jumbling the words up beyond comprehension.

Abruptly interrupting your confused stream of thought, was the kitchen door groaning open. So with a frown plastered to your face, you shot your head up to recognise the intruder. But your frown was quickly blown away at discovering that it was Duncan who had entered the balmy room, and he was in more glory than you had ever seen him.

You had seen his silhouette whilst he showered before. Having gone into his and your mother’s shared bedroom whilst searching for earrings, you had seen him through the whited out, frosted glass of the on-suit bathroom door. But this was something entirely different. This was him, stood in kitchen doorway with nothing on but his grey Calvin Klein boxers.

“Y/N? I didn’t know you were still up.” He quirked a brow at you, wondering why you were still sat in the kitchen so late at night. You swallowed deeply at the sight of him. Your eyes magnetised to his body, dilating with such a sultry image before them. Pulling your eyes back up to his face, you hoped he hadn’t seen their little detour down to his crotch.

“Uhm.. i’m, uh.. w-working on an essay.” Fuck! He’ll definitely know how nervous you are now. You looked away from him, too embarrassed to face him and cringing at your own attempt to speak. “It’s due in next week and I wanted to get it finished.” Okay that’s better, you thought. Maybe he’ll just think you’re just too tired to have a proper conversation or something.

“Oh, right,” he trailed off, looking you up and down a bit as he walked further into the room. You watched the back of his head as he opened the fringe, holding it open and scanning the contents of it. Deciding on a small bottle of water, he retrieved it from the middle shelf before closing the door and walking over to lean on the opposite side of the counter from you.

He didn’t seem too bothered by the fact he was practically undressed in front of you. Of course, you weren't complaining, but it was interesting. You tried to think of something else you could add to your open word document, wanting to distract yourself from his displayed body. But thinking as hard as you possibly could, your mind still brought you nothing.

You awkwardly pulled at the sleeve of your oversized ‘American University” sweater and hoisted it back up onto your shoulder. It had ridden down your arm whilst you were aggressively fiddling with your fingers - a nervous habit you had developed in your early teens. People would often point it out to you, but it was just one of those things you couldn’t stop doing.

There was a deafening silence stuffed between the two of you. So looking around the room, you tried to focus on anything in your line of vision that wasn’t him. It was just too hard seeing him like; his plump lips wrapped around the bottle’s mouth as he drank, his sleepy un-styled curls falling just above his perfectly manicured brows and wearing nothing but those fucking grey boxers. He was making it unbearably hard not to stare.

Deciding to speak, you cleared your throat. “So did you just wake up? Or could you not sleep?”

“Just couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about the most random shit.. and you know how your mom is, she snores a lot.” He chuckled. His eyes never leaving you, beginning to feel as if they were boring holes into your soul as you kept full eye contact with him.

“Yeah, that must get pretty annoying.” You nodded slowly, thinking about how many nights you had spent wide awake when you were younger, all due to her roaring, loud snores passing through the paper thin walls of your childhood home.

“It does.” A smile played on his lips, taking another swig of water before speaking again. “so what’s the essay about?”

“It’s that one I was telling you about a few weeks ago, if you remember. it’s a persuasive on propaganda within the current American political climate.” You reminded him of the conversation you had about it when he dropped you off to class one morning not too long ago. The two of you often carpooled together, with the University campus being so close to his office, it made for an easy drive on the days he was needed in.

You guys would listen to playlists together on the drive and make fun of each others music taste, that was when you weren’t too busy being amazed by how similar they could be.

“Are you struggling with it? I mean, it is getting pretty late now.” He turned to check the clock which hung on the wall behind him, then looked back at you questioningly.

Duncan was good at helping you with this kind of thing. He was extremely well versed in politics, with his family’s background and all. Your mom had told you he used to be very involved with the white house, saying when he was younger he even went to prison for a short time before president underwood had pardoned him.

“I just can’t concentrate, but I really need to get it done or it’ll stress me out.” You lifted your bare feet up onto the stool seat, your knees coming up to your chest so you could rest your chin on them. You were only wearing panties with the sweater, it being too hot to wear anything more.

“Can I come over and check it?” He closed his bottle of water, tightening the lid with his muscular arms as he spoke. You had almost forgot he wasn’t wearing much before he said this, but watching him screw the bottle cap on as he asked to could come round to your side of the counter? It had you weak for him all over again.

“Uh.. yeah, course.” He padded his bare feet over the white, tiled flooring towards you, placing the bottle down on the counter and moving behind you to read the most recent paragraphs you had written. His hand was stretched over to the other side of you, resting on the edge of the breakfast bar as the skin of his arm grazed across your back.

Even with you being sat on such a tall stool, he still managed to tower over you. His hight was usually intimidating as it was, but with the added factor of him being almost completely undressed it was even worse. A small waft of air blew his expensive cologne towards you, creeping past your nostrils and possessing your senses completely before you started to feel his breathe on your upper neck. It wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to make your cunt start pulsating.

You were disgusted by yourself. He’s your mother’s husband! And your Stepdad! What the fuck was wrong with you? You could only imagine what people’s reactions would be if they knew of the truly sinful thoughts you had about him, and you hated yourself for it.

He was your type, yes. A rich, older man who wasn’t actually an asshole, and they were hard to come by, but that wasn’t relevant. You needed to control yourself. No matter how hard that may be.

“What you have so far is really good. Your argument is strong and as always with your work, it’s written well. You’re smart, Y/N. It’s impressive.” He humoured himself with a scoff, his voice interrupting your lewd thoughts.

You blushed at his compliment, hiding your face behind your knees slightly and looking up at him. “Thanks, Duncan.” You knew he was just trying to be a good dad figure to you, but you couldn’t help being attracted to the way he was so caring for you. Maybe it’s fucked up, but it’s not your fault all you need is an older man’s approval to become turned on.

“I mean it.” He looks so sincere as he talks to you. His face would be intimately close to yours if you hadn’t hidden it from him earlier. You notice his eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second, and then back up to your eyes again. His stare no longer felt friendly, but more.. lustful. Were you crazy or was he really doing this?

Suddenly he looks away from you, moving his eyes back to the laptop’s screen. “Maybe you should just get some sleep. I know you said it’ll stress you out, but if you get some rest you’ll be able to get back into it tomorrow with better concentration.” He does his best to steer the conversation back to where is once was, reminding himself that you’re his fucking step daughter and that he has a beautiful wife sleeping just upstairs.

“I know that, its just..” You sighed, blinking up at him. You brought your legs back down you hang over the edge of the seat, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how close he was to you, wanting to do nothing more than to drape your arms behind his neck an-.

“Nope I won’t listen to it. From what I can see it’s an incredibly strong piece of work already, so just go get some sleep and come back to it in the morning, okay sweetheart?” He laughed a little, looking down at you again.

That nickname. Sweetheart. He called you it all the time and yet it always managed to take your breath away. But the thing is, he usually wasn’t this close to you when he did. So when you squeezed your legs together and bite down on your bottom lip, doing your best to ease the overwhelming desire you felt for him in that moment, there was no way he hadn’t seen it.

You were frozen staring at him, his face static and unreadable. You hoped he didn't choose to shout at you for how repulsive your behaviour was, or maybe he would kick you out? Your mind began spiralling, wrapping itself in intricate knots as you held your breath, awaiting a reply from him.

“Do you like that? When I call you sweetheart.” His voice was deep, sultry and dripping with desire. Shock coursed through you. That was definitely not what you had expected him to say. He seemed even larger now, his confidence making you feel small in comparison as your mind scrabbled to find the words you were supposed to use in your current predicament, but it never found any.

"You like it when daddy gives you nicknames?” He moved his hand up and delicately grasped the skin where your neck met your jaw, his eyes half lidded with lust. Your heart was beating so fast now and your breathing had grown shallow. You were so lost for words, only able to whimper out a weak “yes” before looking down to his boxers, trying to avoid his eyes but still wanting him just as much as he now appeared to want you.

He lifted your chin and kissed you roughly, drinking in your lips as if you were the water he had ventured down stairs for all along; and you began to wonder if you perhaps were. Maybe you were what he had been craving, just as you had been craving him.

He pulled the stool closer to him with his spare hand, leading you to wrap your legs around his torso as you tangled your tiny fingers through his sleep rustled hair. It was passionate. His kiss was sloppy, yet perfectly executed as his tongue slipped past your lips to glide over your own. His greying stubble dug into your skin, burning it with pure contact.

You parted to breath; and for just a moment, though it felt like hours, you stared into each others eyes with a ferociously neither of you could nor wanted to tame.

He tuts. “You really shouldn’t drink so much coffee little one, it’s not good for you. And it’s all I can taste.” He couldn’t help but reprimand you for the little habit, he had just gotten so used to doing it over the past three months, and using it to tease you sounded even more appealing.

You opened your mouth to speak, but were cut off when he lunged at you again, kissing you viciously. He began to move his hands all across your body, his fingertips grazing over every inch of you they possibly could as he started to undress you, pulling your oversized sweater above your head and taking handfuls of your breasts. He was kneading them, leaning down to kiss and suck on them whilst he watched you throw your head back, completely enthralled by him.

You were taken aback by how quick things had escalated, your sense of control had deteriorated far too rapidly and was ebbing away even further with each little kiss he left on your skin.

His large hand slid down to your panties, playing with the lacy bow that was centred on the waist band. He hovered his hand over your heat, cupping it and feeling just how sticky you had become for him. You let out a moan, all sense of wrong and right leaving you completely as you uttered a soft “Daddy” and ground your cunt into the palm of his hand.

“That’s right. So desperate for daddy.” He mused, ripping your thin underwear off and dropping it down onto the floor beneath you. Bringing his face to yours again, your noses bumped and leant on each other for some kind of purchase, the both of you watching his hand as he rubbed his fingers through your folds, gathering a fair amount of slick on them before pressing two inside you.

“Ahh!!” You let out a moan, it was louder than you expected and reminded you of what was really going on here. Having been too caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even thought about how being complete fucking naked with your step father between your legs would look if your mother had decided to come downstairs.

“Ah, ah, shh baby. We don’t wanna get now caught do we?” His breathe was hot on your lips, whispering as to not alert anyone. “So tight.”

You whispered back. “I’m sorry daddy, it was an accident- mmph!” You muffled your moan.

“That’s it. Who’s my good girl?” He lay a gentle peck on you lips, only stopping as to allow you to answer his question.

“I am daddy!! I’m your good girl!” You spoke with urgency, but did your best to keep the volume low, which was quite the struggle in between moans. Duncan could see this, so he pressed your lips together. Kissing you into a muffled silence.

You felt his spare hand on your neck, squeezing it just enough for you to still breathe okay when he pulled away from your mouth, moving his lips to the shell of your ear and biting the lobe. He murmured in your ear. “Do you know how hard it was, this week? Having to sit there next to your mom at the poolside and see you just lying there like that?! That fucking bikini. It took everything in me not to cum right there.”

His fingers were moving slowly, going in deep and curling up against your g spot, making you cry out and lean on his shoulder, biting it to keep yourself quiet. he started to rub your clit in hard circles. He was so experienced. It was mind-blowing.

“Would it have served you more pleasure to know, I only wore it for you?” It was true, you had only worn it for him and it had obviously worked. You certainly had his attention now. He growled at this, pulling his fingers out and slapping your cunt.

He yanked your neck closer to him, speaking down to you. “Just for that? Get on your fucking knees.” As soon as he let go of your throat you were climbing off the stool and onto the floor. The heat of the room, and of your acts too, made the marble tiling feel like ice pressed onto your flushed skin. But you didn't care.

You watched him pull his boxers down, cock springing free, adjacent to his stomach. Never having been with anyone of this size before, you had never seen a cock this big. You reached out and touched it, feeling just how hard he was. He hissed at the contact, looking down at you as you watched his facial expressions with wide eyes.

You played with it in your hand, stroking it with one and palming his balls with the other. He stroked his fingers through your hair, giving you a reassuring look as you licked the tip. The salty taste hit your tongue, making you crave his cock even more. So without another second going to waste, you took him into your mouth as far as you could.

“Ahh fuck!” You began bobbing your head, your eyes fixed on him as a groan left his lips. He was watching you intently, threading his fingers through your hair and onto your scalp to get a good grip on your head. You let your jaw go loose, knowing what he was about to do and preparing yourself for it.

He started thrusting his hips into your face, his cock hitting the back of your throat with almost every shove. You had honestly impressed yourself, I mean you knew you gave good head, but taking a cock this big as it fucked into your throat was something to be proud of.

“Mmm that’s it sweetheart.” Your stomach fluttered at his approval. The gagging noises you were making giving him even more pleasure. “You just wanna make daddy proud, don’t you princess?” You mumbled a wet “yes daddy” around his cock, sending sweet vibrations through it as he pushed himself as far as he could into your throat.

You couldn't even fathom how this was happening. You had pictured this moment late at night with a vibe pressed to your clit far too many times to count, so it finally happening was something hard to comprehend. Somehow he looked even more handsome from down on your knees than you had ever imagined he would. His stubble contouring his face perfectly with the ‘o’ his lips were forming.

Suddenly pulling you off of him, you gasped out for oxygen and tried to wipe away some of the saliva dribbling down your chin. It was like a snapshot from one of Duncan’s wet dreams. You looked so incredibly fucked out. He thought it was beautiful.

“Come on little one, stand up. Daddy wants to fuck that tight little pussy of yours.” You moaned as he talked down to you, stroking his calloused thumb over your bottom lip and pulling it down just to watch it bounce back up again.

You stood up, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders like you had wanted to all this time. He pulled you in for a kiss, one much slower than the rest, communicating something more to you than just pure sexual carnality. His embrace was comforting, making you feel protected and small in his arms.

His hands grabbed at your ass as he picked you up, sitting you back down onto the bar stool and adjusting the hight while his lips stayed connected to yours. Once the seat was low enough for his liking, he picked up your thighs, shelving them onto his hips and laying you back just enough so that you could lean on the backrest.

The room was sweltering, your body hot against his and anticipating having him buried inside you was getting too much to handle. He dragged his cock through your lips, teasing your clit and moving back down to almost enter you, but he never would. Just wanting to get you all worked up and loving the way you would squirm when he did.

“Daddy.. please.” You steadied yourself by holding on to the sides of the seat, hoping he would end his tournament and fuck you already.

He slid the head barely into you. “Hmm… Since you were so polite, suppose daddy should reward you.” He spoke calmly before snarling and stuffing himself into you, pushing as deeply as he physically could. He felt your walls clamp around him as he set his pace. It was a lot. Having never taken a cock this big and the fact he didn’t even let you adjust, you couldn’t help but wail out.

He shot his hand up to cover your mouth, needing to keep you quiet and seeing you clearly couldn’t do it yourself. “Wouldn’t want to wake up mommy now, would you baby?” you attempted to utter a “No daddy”, but his hand kept your lips glued shut.

He fucked you. Like really really fucked you. He was making the stool shuffle underneath you, the powerfulness of his thrusts causing you to slide down in the seat. The only reason you didn’t slip off completely being the barbarian hold he had on your hips.

It actually surprised you how rough he was. A pleasant surprise, of course, but he had been so delicately caring towards you since becoming your step father and now here you were, receiving the best of both worlds.

The closer you grew to your high, the more incoherent your thoughts became. His eyebrows were scrunched together, lips trembling as he picked you up off the seat and held you closer to him. Supporting your ass, his hips ricocheted up and off yours as he tried desperately not to yell out.

His thumb was brought back down to your clit as he pressed you up against him, swiping at it hellishly, trying to hurry up your release upon feeling your legs begin to quiver; and knowing his own was approaching rapidly.

“That’s it sweetheart, come around daddy’s cock… Gonna cum so fucking deep inside your cunt. Would you like that?” You could see a thin line of perspiration cascading down his cheekbone, he was almost breathless and his thrusts were messier now.

“Yes da-AHH!“ you whipped a hand up to your face, holding your mouth shut as you came. You dug the hand you had placed on his shoulder deep into his skin and was quickly reminded of his marriage to your mother. You hoped you hadn't left any nail indents she might see.

You felt his hot seed spurt onto your walls as he rested his head on yours, mouth open wide and letting out a silent groan. His release was long and powerful. The both of you were left panting, the only noise in the room being your own breaths and a small creak from the stool when he softly set you down onto it.

He pulled out, your mixed juices gushing out of you along with the sexual haze you had been overcome with. The severity of what you had just done began to settle in. His head still resting on yours as you started freaking out, contemplating what would happen if your mother was to ever find out what had just occurred.

You wrapped your arms around his back, needing his comfort and squeezing him in an urgent hug, which he returned. his fingers stroked the sweaty skin of your back, trying to ease the thoughts he too had running through his mind. He lifted your chin up, the look he had in his eyes telling you everything would be okay.

Kissing you cautiously, he savoured the feeling of your lips on his and prayed he would get a chance to feel them again. “Are you okay?” He whispered

You didn’t really know if you were. On one hand, that was something you had wanted for a long time and it had been far better than you ever imagined, but on the other you had just helped your stepfather cheat on your mother. “I don’t know. I think so.”

He stood up, grabbing your sweater and panties, handing them to you before putting his boxers back on. “Well, at least that paper won’t seem like such big problem now.” He chuckled, doing his best to find humour in a humourless situation.

You giggled a little, hurrying to throw on your sweater and being reminded of how he had ruined your panties. “True. Now this can hang over my head instead.” You wiped any left over salvia you had on your face onto your sleeve and thought about how you would probably need to shower after this. “At least the sex was worth it, right?”

He sent you a dark smirk, picking up his bottle of water and walking towards the kitchen door. “It was. hopefully it'll be just as good next time too.” You opened your mouth, faking shock at his confidence as you watched him open the door.

“Goodnight Y/N” He gave you one last look as he sauntered through the door, getting ready to close it behind him and leave you alone in the kitchen with no one but your thoughts. The thoughts of your acts. Remembering all the little moments you had just shared together.

In that last moment before he left, you struck eye contact with him, chewing your inner lip and speaking.

“Goodnight, daddy.”

●●●●●●●●

Thank you sm for reading!🥺🖤

Tags: @dark-mei-rose @sojournmichael @ntxoza @blakescoven @ghostangels @jimmason @fernfiction @brattylovee @7-wonders @angelicmichael @melodylangdon @instincts-baby i'm so so sorry if you don't like this kinda fic or it has triggered you in anyway, but just let me know if it has and I won't tag you in this kind of thing ever again! You can also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list too:)

#Duncan Shepherd #Duncan Shepherd x reader #Duncan Shepherd fic #Duncan Shepherd smut #Stepdad!Duncan #Stepdad!Duncan Shepherd #Stepdad!Duncan Shepherd x reader #Cody fern #Cody fern fic #Daddy Duncan #my writing

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plaidbooks · 3 years

Text

Cabin Life - The Beginning

A/N: You all need to blame both @storiesofsvu and @berniesilvas for this! I want woodsman!Sonny to be real so fucking bad, so that he can sweep me off my feet. Anyways, this covers the Cabin in the Woods square in @storiesofsvu fall bingo!

I don’t mention it in the story, but in my mind, this takes place before he’s in SVU, even before Homicide. I have him mid-late 20s.

Tags: none, just fluff

Words: 1330

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867 @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas @reading--mermaid @averyhotchner @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31

(gif by @dailypeterscanavino)

When Sonny was a kid, his parents would take him and his sisters to their vacation home; a homey cabin nestled in the New Hampshire woods. There were multiple cabins there, spread out over the land, close enough to be considered neighbors, but far enough for privacy. They had basic appliances—a fridge/freezer, a stove/oven, a sink, a bathtub, a shower, a toilet—but everything else was wooden. Dom Sr. eventually put a tv there, just in the master bedroom, so he could keep up with news and sports while they vacationed.

Sonny always loved the little community up there. Everyone was always so nice to him and his family. Which is why, after dealing with atrocities while on the force, he decided to retreat from city life. He hated being surrounded by monsters every day; sure not everyone in New York City was a creep or predator or murderer, but after seeing so much of the city’s underbelly, he was fed up.

He asked his parents if he could move to the New Hampshire house permanently. They would still be able to vacation there, of course—it was a massive, four-bedroom cabin—but he just needed to get away. He agreed to pay for everything, and he still had his cell phone so they could contact him if needed. It didn’t take much convincing for his parents to agree.

It was definitely an adjustment going from the heart of NYC to becoming a woodsman. Sonny grew his hair and beard out and bought plaid jackets—the things he saw woodsman do on tv when he was younger. The cabin needed work, especially clearing up the outside foliage, giving him some sense of purpose. And if he needed food, there were the local markets close by and a grocery store about an hour away.

The locals all remembered the scrawny little boy who spent his summers running around the woods with his sisters, and they all gladly took him under their wings. After Sonny hacked back the overgrowth, Mr. Piper taught him how to do controlled burn piles. Mr. and Mrs. Willis came over soon after, helping him measure out, then build an elevated garden. Mrs. Willis taught him how to make nutrient soil, while Mr. Willis gave him seeds, and taught him how to care for each and every vegetable.

When Sonny got the cabin, he inherited the small apple orchard, too. His pa taught him how to care for the trees while his ma taught him recipes for apple pie, cider, tarts, jams. He noticed how much he relied on bees to pollinate, and Ms. Walters, the local honey provider, taught him which wildflowers were 1) regional to them and 2) attracted bees. Sonny built another elevated garden, this time on his own, and filled it with wildflower seeds Ms. Walters gifted him with.

There was a creek nearby, and one day, Sonny found Mr. Adams fishing in it. Sonny proposed a deal; Mr. Adams gives Sonny an old rod that he wouldn’t miss, and Sonny would teach Mr. Adams the best way to clean and cook the fish. Mr. Adams agreed and gave him a sturdy rod. As Sonny went about cleaning and deboning the fish they had caught, he complimented Mr. Adams on his herb garden.

“Herb gardens aren’t the hardest thing to manage,” he said with a smile, and gifted Sonny with starters for every herb he could think of— “as payment for this phenomenal fish recipe!”

Third elevated garden up and running, Sonny fell into woodsman life easily. His muscles grew, though he was still thin; he was lean, though, not lanky anymore. Any questions he had, the locals had answers for. He grew his own food, fished his own fish, and bought (or traded) meat from the local hunters. Soon enough, the locals were calling him, asking for help with something or other. And Sonny loved all of it.

*********************

During the weekly Autumn Farmer’s Market, Sonny rented a little booth. He had brought multiple apple pies, tarts, bottles of cider, apple chips, packages of herbs, tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, lettuce, and everything else he had in abundance…that would also fit on only two tables. When he first started harvesting, he would give most away, or trade for other goods, but he also needed to make money some way. So, the extras ended up here.

He was in the middle of chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Willis about how his gardens were coming along when he saw you. He froze halfway through a sentence, his jaw hanging open, prompting the Willis’s to turn. Mrs. Willis looked back at Sonny, a knowing smile on her face.

“She just moved back in with her parents; she had been living in New York City for a little bit, trying to make a life there, but, well, as she said herself, she’s not a city girl,” Mrs. Willis explained.

Before Sonny could respond—or tear his eyes from you—you glanced over at him. You smiled warmly, and his heart beat faster. When you started coming towards his little booth, he scrambled to clean himself up, brushing his hair back off his face, smoothing down his shirt, trying to wipe some dirt off the front. Mrs. Willis gave him a smile before looping her arm with her husband and pulling him away.

“Hello! I’m new here, but I must say, your booth is probably my favorite,” you said, still smiling at him.

It took him a moment for his brain to process your words. “O-oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“All of your food looks delicious. I mean, look at this squash! It’s bigger than my head!” you announced, giggling.

He had never heard anything more magical in his life. “Do you like pie? I can give you a slice,” he replied nervously.

“How much?” you asked. You loved both apples and pie, and his looked amazing.

He gave you a soft smile. “It’s on the house; a sweet treat for a pretty woman.”

You felt your face heat and you smiled shyly as he unwrapped a pie and cut into it. He cut off a generous piece, and you opened your mouth to complain about taking it for free, but he brushed you off, placing the piece on a plate and handing it to you. You took a bite, and you swear your taste buds were dancing; it was the most delicious thing you ever tasted before, the sweetness and the tartness balanced perfectly.

You chewed thoughtfully before swallowing it. “That is the best damn pie I’ve ever had. Ever. But please, share with me, Mr.…?”

“Call me Sonny, please. Sonny Carisi,” he replied, a goofy smile pulling across his lips.

You gave him your name, then offered him a bite. You both stood and chatted while exchanging bites of apple pie. He told you about his decision to leave the city and live a simpler life, surrounded by good people. And you told him about how you had always heard of the big city and decided to live there. But after a few months, you missed the woods too much, and you came back home.

“I feel a little silly living back at home in my adult life. I’m hoping to get my own cabin one day…maybe build it from the ground up,” you finished.

Sonny nodded in understanding. “Well, if you ever need anything, anything at all, you can always ask me. I’m not the most knowledgeable about cabin life quite yet, but I have the knowledge of who to call for advice.”

“Well, thank you, Sonny. Maybe I’ll take you up on that,” you replied, and he smiled. Then you leaned over the table of his goods and kissed his scruffy cheek before winking and walking back to your parent’s booth, giving him a little wave. The smile and look of absolute adoration in his eyes would be a fixed image in your mind for a while.

#sonny carisi x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #my writing #storiesofsvufallbingo

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