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earthtooz · 8 months

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x : NOT JEALOUS ! :*+ﾟ

in which: alhaitham isn't jealous, he doesn't get jealous, so what is this suffocating feeling in his chest that only happens when you're talking to another man that isn't him?

warnings: 5.4k words, jealous!alhaitham x gn!reader who has loads of rizz, university!au, fluff with angst but happy ending, pining!alhaitham who doesn't realise that he loves you, kaveh is there, mention of cyno, ooc at some bits?, swearing, alhaitham is a little bit of an asshole at some parts sawry. he's bad with feelings.

a/n: inspired by @danijaci's jealous jealous boy comic with alhaitham! hi dani if you're reading this pls don't perceive me... hides... but i hope you all like it :,)

Alhaitham isn’t jealous.

The uncomfortable feeling obstructing itself in his throat is just because he’s beginning to develop a sore throat- that’s all. It is flu season after all, who knows what kind of bacteria are in the air? Ones capable of lathing an uncomfortable oil that burns inside his chest, the smog crowding its way into his heart, sickening him to his core as Alhaitham can’t help but eavesdrop on the conversation happening beside him.

“I’m free friday,” a voice besides you confirms.

“Okay!” you cheer, sounding a little too happy for Alhaitham’s liking. After all, it’s 9 am, who has this much energy in the morning? “lets do Friday then!”

“Sounds good, I’ll see you then. Bye Y/n.”

“Bye, see you!” Alhaitham watches from the corner of his eye as you wave to the random stranger you’ve decided to associate yourself with before finally taking the seat beside him with a sigh.

He doesn’t say anything to you, feeling your eyes glance at him expectantly as he stares stubbornly at the lecture board instead of acknowledging you or the jumble of feelings clogging up his diaphragm.

“Hello, you,” You lean over slightly, careful to not invade his personal space whilst waving at him, hoping to catch his attention. He glances at you, nodding in greeting before returning to his book, the pages and rows of words only fuelling his unease he suddenly felt. He doesn’t even know where he left off, the book’s events a blur in Alhaitham’s mind.

How bothersome. What’s happening to him?

“Talkative today, aren’t you?” Your tone is playful despite his cold attitude and Alhaitham sneaks another look in your direction, noting the way your lips curve upwards. “So, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, inserting a bookmark between the pages before slamming it shut, an indicator that you could keep conversing with him.

“Cool.” You tap your nails on the desks of the lecture hall. “Oh, I finished my essay the other day.”

“The one for your elective?”

You hum in agreement, “I hope I never get it back. Submitted it ten minutes before the due date.”

“You know you wouldn’t have been stressed over it if you just started it earlier-”

“I know, I know,” you huff, “spare your productivity lectures for another time, I’ll be needing them later in the semester.” The grey-haired shakes his head as you laugh, but his gaze returns to the front cover of his book as he solemnly thinks about the interaction you had with another man, right in front of him.

(What right did he have to see you smiling so earnestly like that?)

“Who was that?” Alhaitham coughs out, barely choking down his pride in time to make space for the question.

You murmur some guy’s name that he doesn’t bother to remember. “He’s a friend of mine in the same discussion group for this course and we decided to do the assignment together. He bumped into me on the way in so we were just planning when to meet to do the research.”

“Oh.” Your answer doesn’t calm the churning in Alhaitham’s gut. Not even one bit, in fact, it makes it worse.

But it’s not jealousy, Alhaitham doesn’t get jealous because he’s above petty feelings of inadequacy. He’s merely concerned for you, worried for your brainpower by the end of the project because your partner seems less-than-incompetent. If you’d picked someone like Alhaitham (or better yet, just picked Alhaitham), you would’ve aced the class without even blinking an eye.

(The two of you are friends, so why didn’t you pick him? It’s literally been proven that the two of you are compatible working together since you were both executives of Sumeru’s Cultural Society, and amidst all of the activities the club has run, you’ve collaborated many times to make each event run flawlessly. So why not him? Why would you pick another man over him?)

“You know you could have picked me, I wouldn’t mind working on the assignment with you,” he grumbles, words soft but very clear.

Alhaitham misses the way your eyes widen in shock as apologies scramble out of your mouth. “I’m sorry! I automatically assumed that you wanted to work on it by yourself. Next time I’ll ask you.”

The lecture begins before he could say anything in return and like a robot, he sets his thoughts aside and begins listening, notes document up and cursor blinking at the ready.

A mundane two hours pass by, one powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide before the lecture is finally over, much to your pleasure. Alhaitham notices the way you eagerly jump out of your seat to stretch, grabbing your bag. On the other hand, your grey-haired accomplice takes his time in packing up, forcing you to wait for him.

“Would you like to get some coffee before the meeting?” You ask.

“Sure, we can find a seat there and join it together,” he adds and you beam at him, expression bright and so enchanting that it makes him forget about all the perplexities he felt before the lecture.

The two of you make your way to one of the many campus cafés where you practically wrestled Alhaitham to stop him from paying for both your orders (losing in the end) before sitting at a booth, your laptop set up with a pair of Alhaitham’s earphones shared between you. The meeting begins to fill up with almost all committee members, even Kaveh, who resides in his room of his and Alhaitham’s shared flat. Upon noticing him, you go to text him, with the grey-haired peeking over your shoulder from time to time to see your conversation- not that he cares that much.

(Perhaps if Kaveh glanced up from his phone, then he’d see how close Alhaitham had gotten with you, breaching the distance that he prefers to keep around others. He’d also notice the headphone sharing despite how he generally tends to keep them out of anyone else’s hands.)

You’re tasked with the role of taking notes for the meeting since Alhaitham, in your opinion, is not at all a reliable scribe. His notes tend to just include vital information and never what everyone else needs to know, yet each time you scold him for it, his unbothered expression never falters, waving your complaints off with a shrug.

“Hey, Kaveh and I are going to go for lunch tomorrow after our classes. Care to join?” You ask, smiling at him hopefully as your messages with Kaveh sit open on your screen. Alhaitham doesn’t think twice before agreeing.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It looks like it’s about to rain,” you murmur, pulling out a chair as Alhaitham and Kaveh take their seats opposite you.

“So it does,” Alhaitham notes, not caring to look too long out the window before returning his gaze to you. “You have an umbrella, right?”

“I, uh, didn’t think I needed one today.”

“Do you not check the weather before you leave?”

“Not everyone’s like you, Alhaitham.” Kaveh teases. “It’s no problem, Y/n, if it rains I can walk you back to your dorm.”

“Only if you are okay with it,” you insist, “I have no problem walking home in the rain. I love the rain.”

Alhaitham intervenes with a raise of his hand. “Nonsense, you’ll catch a cold. We’ll walk you home.”

A soft but genuine ‘thank you’ slips from your lips, neither of you wiser to the way Kaveh eyes his roommate suspiciously, not missing the use of ‘we’ in his sentence and the implications the collective pronoun has. For it meant that Alhaitham is willing to take precious time out of his day to perform an act for someone that he is not indebted to do. Not that Alhaitham is inherently selfish, per se, but he is a man of routine. He wakes up every morning and takes five minutes to scribble on his stupid whiteboard in the kitchen what he has to do for the day and strictly abides by it, not even straying two minutes off schedule.

Willingly volunteering his minutes? Kaveh finds that suspicious.

“So, how’s your architecture assignment, Kaveh?” You ask, breaking the blond from his daze whilst Alhaitham pours glasses of water for the table, starting with your cup.

“A nightmare,” he sighs, sinking into his chair. “I still have so much to do, you know my professor didn’t like my blueprint? How ridiculous! I hope that man steps in a puddle and wets his sock.”

The grey-haired pipes up with a remark. “I can’t wait for it to be done, our living room is a mess right now.”

“Hey, I am the one that cleans that living room, thank you very much. Your bookshelf is still a mess even though I’ve asked you to clean it five times.”

“If it bothers you so much then why don’t you do it yourself?”

“I’m the only one who-”

“-I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you murmur, cutting the conversation before shuffling out of your chair, seemingly eager to do so.

Kaveh turns to the grey-haired again, “and you just scared away Y/n.”

“Sorry no one wants to hear about your architecture project.”

“Y/n literally asked, asshole.”

A rebuttal sits on the tip of Alhaitham’s tongue- as it always does when it comes to bickering with his roommate, but it dies out when an intruder comes to the table. “Excuse me, I hate to interrupt,” he begins, “but the person who just got up, is that your friend?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“Oh, I just wanted to drop this off, mind passing it over for me?” The piece of paper he was holding lands in Kaveh’s hand. “Thanks, bro.” Is all he says before strolling away, out of sight but definitely not out of mind.

The blond does not hesitate to open it up, chuckling in amusement when reading the content. “’Hey you’re cute, here’s my number’ it says. What a bitch! You didn’t like his vibes either, right, Alhaitham?”

“Hold on, what does the note say?”

Grabbing (snatching) it from Kaveh, the grey-haired has half a mind to rip the note apart, a certain sense of distaste washing over him that intensifies the long he stares at the guy’s handwriting. His eye is twitching. Why is his eye twitching?

“Hey!” He hears Kaveh call. “Don’t scrunch it, that’s Y/n’s-“

Alhaitham stuffs the ball of paper into his bag where he’ll recycle it later even though something irrational within him tells him to burn it. “Y/n won’t miss it. You said it yourself, he’s a bitch.”

“Sure, but why are you doing-“

“Hey!” You interrupt, sliding back into your chair with a grin on your face. “So, what did I miss?”

“Nothing,” the grey-haired murmurs, assuming his crossed-arm position. Kaveh side eyes his roommate before agreeing with a hum. “Let’s order something now. We want to beat the rain, right?”

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

This meeting for the Sumeru Society might have been one of the most important ones of the year thus far, with almost every committee member expected to attend. After all, the annual ball was a big event that always had the largest turnout, and the amount of planning that goes into it to ensure its success is almost triple that of its other events.

So why weren’t you here?

“Why did you leave the meeting early on Friday?” Alhaitham asks as soon as he sees you.

You pause briefly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. It must have been the way that Alhaitham’s voice raised a pitch towards the end of the question, demonstrating a nervous break in character that was not at all typical. Cool and collected would be the defining words to describe Alhaitham, as well as someone who does not care for the menial activities of others, so what is he doing asking you? And why does he care so much?

“I, uh, had dinner with someone,” you confess, continuing to grab your books and laptop, missing the way his features contort into something un-cool, and very un-Alhaitham.

“Whom?”

You murmur the name of some other guy, who he vaguely recalls to be your project partner.

“What?” Alhaitham snaps.

“I didn’t think missing out on some of the meeting would be a big deal! I got another committee member to explain what I missed,” you justified. “Besides, there’s no big events going on right now, so I thought-”

“-That you could abandon your tasks and go have fun with someone else?”

Alhaitham’s not really sure why he said that. He’s not angry that you skipped a meeting; there are larger things in the world to worry about, he’s angry because you spent time with another guy that wasn’t him.Why not go to dinner with him instead? He spends it every night with Kaveh, and you are far more favourable than Kaveh.

“Is it really something to get mad over? I already told you, I got the meeting notes and everything-”

“-You’re an executive of the society, Y/n, more is expected from you.”

“Seriously?” you ask, “how come you didn’t bat an eye when the vice president wasn’t there the other day?”

“Because she was sick.”

“Okay, fine! what about the subcommittee? they’re not always there either!”

“They’re subcom. Whether they miss a meeting or not is not crucial.”

“So, it’s just my business that you care about?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed, disbelief clouding over your expression like a mask.

Again, Alhaitham doesn’t know where these punches are coming from and why he’s throwing them against you so viciously, but his heart is tightening defensively with a burning emotion that he’s been feeling more and more recently, and his first instinct is to lash out, to protect himself from it.

Perhaps it’s because foreign things that he can’t understand terrify him and you, all you ever do is make him feel things that he’s never felt before and he can’t understand why.

“You’re not that special.”

A flash of hurt gleams in your eyes and Alhaitham knows now that he’s royally fucked up. “You’re an ass,” you grumble, about to walk away when he intercepts.

“Listen to me!”

“Fuck off!”

“Y/n-”

You’re gone before he can get another word out, retreating figure stomping away whilst his chest weaves into knots; something that no amount of deep breathing can calm. It doesn’t help that the minute he returns home, Kaveh is onto him like some sort of parasite, curious over the tense air surrounding his normally-composed roommate.

“Hey, welcome home- whoa, what’s gotten into you?” The blond asks.

“None of your business,” Alhaitham grumbles through gritted teeth, taking his shoes off and throwing them aside haphazardly. Kaveh doesn’t miss the way Alhaitham’s jaw is clenched, or the strain in his hand when he brings up a hand to run through his hair, or the very subtle and minute twitch in his cheek.

The blond ignores all signs that he wants to be left alone, and instead, follows the grey-haired to his room after he swung the door open.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, let’s talk about this-”

“Talk about what?” Alhaitham growls.

“Who pissed in your black coffee today?”

“No one. Now get lost.”

“Aw, come on, you know what they say. Getting things off your chest is always beneficial.”

“There’s nothing on my chest, go away.”

“You sure? no stress, no deadlines, no love interest making you tear your hair out-”

“-No, no, none of those!”

“Then what?”

Alhaitham steadies himself by resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he exhales loudly. “I got pissed and took it out on Y/n, who’s mad at me now.”

“Huh? Why so annoyed?”

“Because Y/n went to dinner with another man.”

It’s silent for a while. The sassy quip that he expects from Kaveh does not happen. Instead, the blond merely smiles, a satisfied, knowing grin that slightly irks him. “You know, I’ve been waiting for the day you realise you have feelings for Y/n.”

“What? Where did you get that conclusion from?” Alhaitham sits up straighter. There are a lot of things he knows, and he knows for sure that he does not like you in any way beyond platonic. He doesn’t have any time to spare for love. There are scholarships he still needs to apply for, internships to be interviewed for, research projects to submit- nowhere amongst the minute hand of the clock is there space for love.

“Oh come on,” Kaveh sits down on the bed beside his roommate, leaning back on his hands. “You’re not as smooth as you hope to be sometimes.”

“I’m serious, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Y’know the sooner you accept you have feelings for Y/n, the easier life will be.”

“Life is already easy and there is no sooner because I don’t like Y/n like that. Now get lost. I have stuff I need to finish.”

Kaveh shrugs, standing up with a soft ‘suit yourself’, taking seven steps before he’s out of the room. Alhaitham lets out a sigh that has lodged itself in his throat for too long, and the feeling of reprieve he gets is short-lived before he’s flooded with a certain tightness again. Maybe he did have a weight on his chest after all, not that he’d ever admit it to himself or Kaveh.

He gets up from his made bed with a grunt and decides to push aside all distractions. Time is unforgiving, and if doesn’t finish his assignment by this Friday then he’ll be a little less than pleased.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Alhaitham feels like he can’t breathe.

You’re sitting alone at a library desk, all focused and concentrated on your laptop screen with your headphones on, blocking out any outside voice as you type away. He wonders if he should say hi, maybe try apologising for the way he acted last Monday- who is this guy that’s approaching you and why does he look so familiar?

And why are you smiling so happily?

You beckon to the seat beside you and the guy readily complies, taking the chair beside you like he belonged there, like there weren’t other candidates that should be there instead (he’s not talking about himself. definitely not).

He hands you one of two coffee cups he’s holding. What kind of right does this guy have to give you a coffee? Does he even know your order?

He feels like a bit of creep keenly watching you interact with someone else from a balcony of the library, but the book and laptop in front of him lies forgotten, and in a rare moment of weakness, Alhaitham can’t find it in himself to return to his tasks, pursuit of knowledge momentarily forgotten. He can’t push aside the bile that threatens to rise, he can’t loosen his grip on the couch’s armrest, and he can’t blink for a second in fear of losing you from his sight.

(You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? How can you look so pretty laughing and why doesn’t he ever get to make you laugh like this?)

Alhaitham is losing his damn mind. So much so that the first thing he does when he sees you again is corner you.

“You shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

You’re backed against the brick walls of the time-worn building that your shared lecture always takes place in, and Alhaitham, spotting you like a hawk, put you in this precarious position as soon as the two hours were over.

He can’t breathe. It’s been almost three weeks since you last spoke to him and you’re staring up at him like you’ve done nothing wrong, blinking once and twice at his uncharacteristic display of subtle aggression.

“Who?” you mutter, shaking your head to try and grasp reality once again. you hug your laptop closer to your body. “What’s this about?”

“I said you shouldn’t talk to that guy anymore.”

“What guy?”

“Your project partner.”

“Really?” you mutter in disbelief.

He nods, teal eyes shining at you firmly. “Really. The project’s over, you don’t need to talk to him anymore.”

“I don’t recall ever giving you the right to dictate who gets to be in my life or not, just like how you can’t tell me what to do with my time.”

“I’m looking out for you, so stop trying to make me sound tyrannical.”

Your mouth hangs open as you furrow your eyebrows, growing more and more frustrated with each second. So much for thinking that he wanted to resolve the awkwardness between the two of you. “I’m not even going to argue with you,” you murmur a quick ‘jerk’ under your breath before brushing past him.

Alhaitham, however, is not willing to let you go as easily as you wish, quick to chase after you. Not that you go far anyways, turning around to face him again in the spaciousness of the vacant hallway. “Why do you care?” You ask, exasperated. “You’re Alhaitham, you don’t let trivial things like who I hangout with bother you, you’re cool and collected and rational, and I just don’t understand why you’re acting like this.”

He doesn’t understand either, not the erratic beating of his heart, the stubbornness of his mind, nor this undisputable urge to keep you all to himself. Is it normal to want to hide someone for selfish reasons?

Trailing off, Alhaitham is slightly humiliated that for the first time in his life, someone has witnessed him coming short of an answer. No logical conclusion, no explanation, not even a satisfying quip, just plain, suffocating silence.

“Right. When you do have an answer, let me know.” You walk away.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Your last rebuttal still weighs heavily on Alhaitham’s mind, even two days later as he and Kaveh are seated for a lecture in a shared course. His thoughts are scrambled like never before, the messiness of it all making him feel uneasy because for once, he doesn’t have an appropriate answer to a question.

Why was he acting like a temperamental teenager? What you did with your life was up to you, and indeed he has no right trying to change that. More importantly, why was it so hard to apologise for the stuff he said-

“So, how’s everything between you and Y/n?”

Kaveh turns to him with widened eyes whilst Alhaitham’s poker face doesn’t move an inch, deceivingly apathetic.

“Good, we’ve been hanging out a lot more recently,” the other guy says, who Alhaitham quickly recognises to be your project partner and distaste rises in his stomach like bile.

“Aye, good for you, man! So when are you going to ask Y/n out?”

“No way, bro, not yet. I’m such a wimp, but I hope I grow the balls to ask soon because I really like-”

“-looks like you got some competition!” The blond nudges Alhaitham, and if it were anyone else, they would not have glanced twice at the grey-haired who seemed unmoving and uninterested. However, Kaveh is not anyone else because he noticed the darkened look in Alhaitham’s eyes instantly, anger seeping into his composed gaze as his nose scrunches in disgust.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“So, you and Alhaitham still aren’t talking?” Kaveh asks, leaning on the table of the restaurant with curious ears, hoping that he can grab some answers out of you as to why there was a stalemate between you and his roommate.

“Nope,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

“I’m just-” you pinch the bridge of your nose, “I’m just waiting on an apology from him.”

“An apology? Why? What did he say?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“You know how he is. Always insufferably secretive, so no, I don’t know anything that happened.”

“Alhaitham just said some hurtful things to me, and he was being weird when I told him I was going to dinner with a friend of mine. Just kept being in my business.”

“Really?” The architecture student quirks a brow, confusion plastered on his face. “That’s not like Alhaitham at all.”

“I know, right? He kept trying to be like ‘don’t hang out with him’ and ridiculed me for not playing my part as an executive of the Sumeru society,” you complained, “like sorry I have other things I want to do.”

Kaveh nods in understanding as the conversation briefly stops when the waiter comes to drop off utensils at your table. As soon as they were gone, however, you begin again.

“And even though he was all up in my business, trying to tell me what not to do, he then said that I wasn’t special, which is so confusing because like-”

“-hold on. Alhaitham said that you weren’t special?” You nod at his parroted claim. “To him?”

“Yeah. Stung like shit when he said that, especially since I thought we were friends but guess not,” you murmur sadly, fiddling with the fork.

Later that night, almost immediately after meeting you over dinner, Kaveh barges into his roommate’s room, not even changing out of his outside clothes. The sudden intrusion shocks Alhaitham who was busy typing on a document, textbook splayed open beneath him but momentarily forgotten as the blond takes a seat on the bed.

“What the- not even a hello?” The grey-haired asks, confused by this uncharacteristic silence of Kaveh’s. It’s pretty normal for the blond to barge into his room without notice, but it was not normal for him to be so quiet, practically brooding on the mattress. “Whatever. Where have you been? Have you eaten yet, because I made-”

“When will you just confess to Y/n?”

The mention of your name causes a spike in Alhaitham’s heartbeat and he swivels around instantly, attention fully directed towards his roommate. “Where is this coming from?”

“Y/n told me everything that happened between you two by the way-”

“-what, when?”

“Tonight, we just met for dinner.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“What would you have done if you knew? Showed up and made things worse?” He doesn’t say anything in retaliation, merely shutting his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows. “Why did you say that Y/n wasn’t special to you?”

“I didn’t,” Alhaitham sighs, very loud and very perplexed. “I didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did.”

“Don’t you miss Y/n? You two used to hangout so often.”

“I do, of course I do!” He exclaims, burrowing his face in his hands.

“So why aren’t you apologising?”

“Because whenever I’m around Y/n, I’m not who I normally am,” he mutters, “especially everything whenever that project partner is around-”

“Jealous, much?”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Oh come on, you’re ridiculous. Stop pushing away your feelings and just be honest with yourself, Alhaitham! Y/n is not just a friend to you and you know it.”

“But, we are just friends-”

“So you mean to tell me that if I hung out with someone else- like if I hung out with Cyno, you would be pissed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Then why is it different with Y/n?” Once again, Alhaitham doesn’t have an answer to the question, sitting as still as a statue hunched over his desk. “Fine, I’ll spell it out to you. You like Y/n, more than just a friend!”

The silence leftover from Kaveh’s outburst is tense and full as the grey-haired lets the words sink in.

“I’ll let you think about it,” the blond murmurs, voice softening dramatically as he stalks out of the room. Before he closes the door, however, he leaves a few final words. “Just- be honest with yourself, Alhaitham, and I wouldn’t delay trying to talk to Y/n.”

A sharp click rings through the room.

Alhaitham is no stranger to being alone, for who needs the company of others when you are happiest by yourself? Yet, in the weeks that you have not been speaking to him, a cardinal urge as been growing each and each day, wanting him to do something so atypical of him: to reach out and make the first move. Every passing day doesn’t lessen the thoughts that plague his mind, rather, they make him more and more impatient, because what if you get swept away by your project partner?

(What if he’ll be too late? What if you won’t know of these powerful emotions that are steering through the storm in his heart? What if you won’t know just how badly he was been wanting you- wanting to see you, wanting to apologise, wanting to see you beam at him like you always would.

What if you won’t know that he adores you, especially now that he’s figured it out?).

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

A rain droplet falls and lands on your nose, another lands on your forehead, then another lands on your lip then more and more keep falling from the cloudy sky, falling through the leaves and landing on the bench you were currently sitting on. Goodness, you should have checked the weather before leaving your dorm. Why was it now out of all times that it had to rain, what would Alhaitham think after he finally decided to reach out to talk?

Taking your phone out to message the grey-haired about relocating, an umbrella is suddenly held over you, stopping the gentle drizzle from falling onto you. Looking up, you’re greeted by a familiar face that you have been missing too much recently.

“Hello, you,” you breathe, voice gentle and quiet and Alhaitham feels like he can finally breathe after so long, the scent of rain washing away all perplexion.

He nods at you in greeting before offering you the bouquet of flowers he was holding. A gorgeous arrangement of pink of white stare prettily at you and a man even more gorgeous expects you to accept it.

“For me?” You ask.

“For you.”

“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” you take his gift with gentle hands, holding it close to your chest.

“I want to apologise,” he firmly states, getting straight to the point; very Alhaitham of him. “For treating you the way I have been recently.”

You beam at him, so bright and so gorgeous that it renders him speechless, a feat pretty difficult when it comes to someone like Alhaitham who has a whole dictionary of words, in multiple languages too. Somehow, they all flock out of his mind the second you smile at him.

“I accept your apology, thank you for reaching out, must have been hard for someone like you, huh?” You tease, standing up from the bench.

“Well, I had do for someone as special as you.” The grey-haired’s voice is deceivingly confident and assured, but you know better, especially when he looks away to hide his expression with his neatly styled bangs.

“No need for the flattery, you know, I’ve already forgiven you.” There’s a moment of silence that occupies the air, caused by Alhaitham’s hesitation as he fishes his brain for the courage to ask you out. You speak before he can get a word out, however. “I got asked out the other day.”

“By your groupmate?”

“He has a name, you know, but, yeah. I rejected him, though,” you laugh awkwardly, almost like you were trying to cope with it by playing it off. “Did you know that he would do that?”

“Yes. I did.”

“Is that why you were so adamant on me not hanging out with him?”

“I guess you could say that. We can talk more about it another time,” he tells you, voice gentle and caring to mask the subtle hit of jealousy he feels in his chest, scolding himself for letting someone else confess to you before him. However, it’s a minute sensation in comparison to the triumph Alhaitham feels knowing that you rejected the other party.

“We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

“We do, but I want to ask you something first.”

You nod, hugging the bouquet closer to your chest, anticipation heavy in the air as you spur him to continue.

“If I asked you out, would you reject me too?”

A mere second passes by where you don’t respond, yet the second stretches out to what feels like eternity as Alhaitham’s stomach churns. Patience is something he doesn’t lack, but how can he be patient when his heart wants you so bad?

Then, you take his hand, and the heavens sing at the feeling of your hand in his. “I wouldn’t, but are you asking me out?”

“Are you free right now?”

“I am. Why?”

“Let’s go out then. On a date.”

“I'd love to.” You rise up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek, one that has his heart racing with joy rather than frustration.

The smile you earn is gentle, shy, but says more than Alhaitham's words ever can.

#i didn't edit this btw don't judge #alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #fluff #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham fic #genshin fic

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usedpidemo · 2 months

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More than you know (Nmixx Haewon)

“Miss Haewon, please see me after class hours later. I would like to talk to you.”

There it is. A rather predictable bookend to another dull lecture. She saw it coming from the moment she walked into the classroom.

She absolutely loathes hearing it.

Despite the comically indignant scowl she shoots you on the way out—and the mocking jeers from her friends that elicit embarrassment—by the time the final bell rings, she couldn’t wait to see you later on.

You’re excited, too—but for all the wrong reasons.

She’s the only thing keeping your passion for teaching alive.

—————

For the record, Haewon is not a bad student, not in the slightest. If anything, she’s par for the course. She’s not gonna be some summa cum laude, but she isn’t a sorry case, either. And that’s been the pattern with your students for years. They only care enough just to get by. Haewon is the most clear-cut example you can refer to.

Based on the rather intriguing stares she shoots at you, you’d be tricked into believing she’s actually interested enough in improving her future performance in class. Peeking through the laptop, catching glimpses of everyone’s grades. Her name is highlighted on the document, and the scores consist primarily of mid-eighties with some low-nineties. Clearly she’s nowhere close to a flunk or a future dropout.

Better than the high seventies and low eighties that the rest of your class averages.

“Sir, how many times do we need to go over this. I’m doing well for myself,” she remarks, giving you a look that says I told you so. The evidence is right in front of you, written in bold. “C’mon sir. Just let me go early today.”

And that’s when you make your first of many mistakes—feeding her the attention she craves. Where’s this energy when it comes to your lectures, you wonder?

Before you even entertain the thought, the scene has already gone completely sideways. Here’s a student with zero regard for following rules, and you’ve experienced your fair share of troublemakers. She’s sitting on the desk, pale skin in plain view from the off shoulder cropped sweatshirt that barely qualifies for the dress code. You’re looking—and she’s keenly noticing.

“Maybe another time, sir?” Haewon reads your mind like an open book. She’s purposely dressing improperly for two reasons: to piss off the higher-ups who hate her guts, and to make it easier for you to rip through her clothes. “I’ve got dance practice with the theater girls and I’m running late.”

“Well for one, you can drop the honorifics,” you reply, plainly, in a particularly weak effort to change the conversation. The attention you give her is short-lived; your focus returns to the unanswered emails and grades you need to fill. “Class hours are done for the day.”

It’s evidently not the response she wanted, because her arms are crossed and she’s pouting. You have to admit, she looks cute acting like that, revealing clothes be damned.

“Sir.” Haewon drawls out into a groan, bothered by the monotony of waiting when she has places to be. She won’t go as far as to knock your laptop down, but she’s considering it as a last resort. “You’re being a bitch right now.”

Anyone else in her position would get it—a verbal lashing that would get your teaching license rescinded and take you to court, but Haewon is the epitome of getting away with murder. You have no idea how she does it—how she manages to escape mostly unscathed from punishment. Even now while you drum on the keyboard, because you’re allowing her to call you a bitch without consequence.

Maybe because you like her more than you would openly admit.

She sighs. It’s a defeatist tone. A few moments later, you close your laptop and she perks up.

“Take a seat. I do want to talk to you about something important,” you tell her, knowing one hundred percent certain she’s not getting off your desk.

Haewon can’t help herself to a snarky comment. “Damn. Finally.”

By every conceivable account, this should be awkward, if not outright wrong. She’s still an undergrad, you tell yourself, staring into her sharp, alluring eyes. For as rebellious and as unruly as Haewon acts, she still listens to you. Hell, you’re the only professor she bothers to attend classes regularly for. She’d tell you she cares in her own twisted way. Look at how she dresses, for one. Your thoughts consist of mainly her in some cumbersome position, her lips letting out these desperate, heavy gasps. Your hands squeezing her taut breasts; the way her shirt accentuates the curves of her chest drives your imagination wild. You can spend all day planning how you intend to fuck her—

“Sir, you’re staring again.” A snap back to the present, where she’s grinning and leaning close to your face. So pretty. “I get it—I’m hot, but we’re on borrowed time, sir.”

“Right. I honestly forgot what I was gonna tell you,” you mindlessly drawl, searching through your desk for something. Something to temporarily distract you from the inevitability of the end. The rest of your paperwork lies unattended in the faculty room, you remember, but you’re not gonna step foot inside that place—not when the other professors are still around. Time is money. “But it’s definitely not your grades, that’s for certain.”

“What’s it about, then?” Her eyes continue to follow your every move.

You place a folded sheet of paper between you. She grabs it and reads through the brief content. The response is concerning.

“You’re leaving?” Haewon turns to you, stunned and gobsmacked. A rare expression coming from someone who’s usually indifferent toward everything and everyone.

Genuinely, you have no idea how to explain yourself. You had this all planned out since the beginning of the year; these two semesters will be your last, you were completely certain. You could have told anyone in the faculty. They’re decent people—as decent as they can be during the few times you actually interact with them—but they were merely coworkers and nothing more. You could have told your wife, who just so happens to be a fellow professor and colleague, but she’s one of the reasons why you’re leaving in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire around campus, so you know to be careful, but this is straight recklessness. You call it mutual trust.

“Been thinking about it for a while,” you say, rather quietly, trying your hardest not to look her way.

“Let me guess,” she says, breaking the pretense of sympathy and concern for her usual caustic tone. “No one cares about your shitty class?”

You’re not remotely bothered by her comment, even if she’s speaking the truth. Though she could have used a nicer word besides shitty. “Part of it, yeah.”

“I seriously don’t understand why there’s gotta be a religious unit for a business degree,” she adds, fascinated by her own question. Even more so than listening to your lectures. “I don’t get it.”

“I don’t get it either.” Truthfully, you seriously question why you’re even teaching here to begin with.

You’re employed by one of the top universities in the country; every parent would sacrifice everything just for their children to study here. It pays well by teaching standards, but the bar is in hell. Despite the prestige, the overall experience is no different than your time in public high school. Most of the students who do attend come from rich backgrounds; people who use the place as a dick measuring contest to see who is the richer person. These entitled scholars who are always on their phone—one of their many phones—and cheat to get ahead.

It happens so often on the regular that you eventually stopped caring.

“Hmm,” Haewon thinks to herself, running through every piece of information she has to weaponize against you. She knows you better than anyone, mainly because you share personal life details like they’re the daily newspaper. Not to mention the very reason she comes to the classroom in the afternoons: you.

Then she comes to a rather off the wall conclusion. “It’s Miss Myoui, isn’t it?”

You squint your eyes. Haewon glints up. A small opening.

After a brief pause, she piles on, smirking. “Did I touch a nerve? Poor you,” she says, shooting you a mocking pout that you mostly ignore. “I guess you haven’t had some good pussy in a while. I mean, there’s no reason for me to be here other than the fact that Miss Myoui isn’t letting you clap her ass. Maybe the rumors are true then—”

Before she continues to spill more information that anyone shouldn’t be allowed to know, you fire back with a sharp glare. She cheekily grins. By ignoring the flashing red light right in front of you, you’re purposefully walking towards your own downfall. It’s a trap; you know this. You know Haewon more than any other student. All her little tricks, all her crafty schemes.

God, you can already see how this is gonna end.

“So I’m right?” Haewon tilts her head, leaning slightly forward. Her smug expression, word choice, and mocking tone tests your patience—including your blood levels—and you’re failing by the minute. “Trouble at home?”

Your response? Nothing. Going word for word with her ultimately results in a losing effort; previous conversations with her leave you more tongue tied and in a rut by the end. Haewon is so natural at getting under people’s skin. It’s what she gets off on—wrapping professors and superiors around her finger with her mouth. And more often than not, she’s charismatic and charming enough that it’s entertaining, but no one wants to openly admit it except you.

It’s how she’s able to read you like an open book. Let personal information slip so seamlessly. The numerous discussions regarding her underperformance in class lead into intimate sessions where you and Haewon become more acquainted with each other. A little too comfortable at times, but you can see where and why she acts the way she does. And you had come to the conclusion that you can’t fix her. Many have tried—and failed. She does whatever she wants, and she’ll end up getting away with it.

You slide your laptop aside, ready to dance with the devil, going against everything you swore against. “Mmm—not quite, but you’re halfway there.”

Haewon smiles and her eyes flutter. Not in a patronizing, condescending way, but the sweet kind. Genuine. The soft side she’ll only let you see. “Miss Myoui not letting you clap, sir?”

“She does,” you say, dour. And I already told you class hours are done. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Right. Sir.” Haewon’s playful tone trails off with that loathsome word. She can’t help but smirk; it’s second nature to her. She’ll claim that you fell for that bait, but that was deliberate, you’ll say—even if she refuses to believe you.

After a brief impasse, “So—sir,” she follows, using her eyebrows and cadence to tease, her hands on the edge of her pants, teasing some underwear, “You need to fuck me again? Now? Is Miss Myoui not letting you have some lately?”

Turning your gaze away and to the desk, “About Mina,” you reply, drumming your fingers on the table, deep in thought, “I’m planning to divorce her soon.”

“Huh?” Her eyes shoot wide, her expression rather surprised at the sudden revelation. You’d think by how she teases you about your wife, she’d have a much more subdued reaction. Considering she knows facets of your rather strange relationship with Mina. “Well, I would tell you’d be fumbling big time, but you should know—”

“She’s cheating on me. I know.”

Now she’s genuinely shocked, completely caught unaware. She’d assume you to be particularly naive and clueless about campus rumblings, especially since she’d never see you outside of the classroom and in the faculty room. “Well damn. I honestly thought you didn’t know.”

“Can’t say it would be the first time I’ve heard about it,” you say, turning to face her again, cold and gloomy. Pointing your finger at her, “And before you say anything, no, I didn’t catch her getting eaten out in the faculty room.”

You say that with the utmost sincerity—and sarcasm.

Haewon hesitates, before answering, rather “I figured.” She understands that your poor eyes have seen some things you shouldn’t be seeing.

Truthfully, you’re amazed she hasn’t brought up the subject a lot earlier. Since the end of the previous academic year, you’ve noticed Mina’s sudden changes in behavior. She’s sending more text messages telling you she’ll arrive home later than usual, the frequent faculty outings she chooses to attend, the cancellation of plans scheduled months in advance—the biggest of which, a dinner date at a particularly expensive five-star restaurant on the other side of town that has a notorious 18 month waitlist that you miraculously booked for your anniversary. And that was five months ago.

People change, but Mina is an entirely different person to you now. You can hardly recognize her.

“I guess I should say I’m sorry for what happened,” Haewon says, pretty modest and empathetic in tone, but even during serious moments, she can’t help but remark, “But you were kind of loser material for a woman like her.”

You can only stare back, annoyed. She chuckles, heartily. Seeing your animated, cartoonish expressions only serves to amuse her even further and fuel her addiction of teasing you.

“Ah, I fucking love you, sir. You’re my favorite professor for this reason.” In an instant, the somber facade falls apart and she’s back to being her usual coy self.

“Among other things?” you question.

“Such as?” Haewon looks confused. It’s a bluff; you’re calling it now. “Such as what, sir?”

Placing a hand on her knee, you’re creating friction so intense that her mouth goes agape and her breaths grow heavier. “Such as the fact that no one eats you out better than I do,” you reply, inflection transitioning from formal to low.

“Oh?” She doesn’t believe what’s happening to you. “Sir,” her cadence dances in such a melodic and sultry way it’s gonna ruin you faster than anything she’s done so far. “You have no evidence to prove—”

Suddenly, Haewon goes tongue tied, unable to finish her sentence. That’s a first. And you didn’t need to lift a finger or use your voice. Your other hand finds solace around her toned waist, exploring her tummy, and it’s thankfully not restricted by any layer of clothing. So much pristine skin to claim as yours, you begin to lose your restraint—and there isn’t much left to begin with.

“I can take you to the faculty room and show you,” you mumble against her belly, the cold breath tickling her flesh that she trembles. Haewon’s senses float off, her vision growing dark as her hands impulsively latch onto your shoulders. In return, you peck her navel, her abs, until you reach her abdomen, a hair’s breadth away from her chest. Between kisses, you continue to feed into her want, “Or I can give you an example right now.”

“Please,” Haewon finds enough clarity to cup your face up and meet her in a lengthy passionate liplock. This is what she wanted from the start. “Indulge me, sir.”

The only thing keeping you two apart is the laptop dangling on the opposite side of the table, almost pushed aside while you were making out. You quickly place it on a random desk before closing the two classroom door curtains.

When you return to Haewon, she’s sitting atop your desk, playfully swinging her legs, smiling modestly. It’s only now that you recognize how pretty she looks. But behind that meek appearance is a demon, a temptress that only sees you as a conduit for pleasure. In her eyes, the only purpose you have to give is sex, and nothing more.

So push your chair forward when you sit down. Haewon’s legs are already spread wide, but the pants remain on them. She doesn’t like to do it herself.

“Won’t give me a cheating discount?” you say, looking up at her coy grin, placing your hands around the hem of her trousers.

“Technically—” she trails off, kissing you, “You’re cheating on her with me, sir.” Followed by another. Each one deeper, more intimate than the last. “Don’t act all innocent now, especially when we’ve been doing this for months.”

Then, Haewon consumes you—as in, devours you. Grabs you and makes out with you with a passion you wish she’d present during class hours. You’d be content to remain in this position for the rest of the day, even if the clothes never come off; he’s so passionate and fervent that it’s intoxicating. But it’s all planned. Elaborate. You’re familiar with her more than you ever want to be: how she loves to unbutton your shirt while kissing you, how she mumbles and hums softly against your mouth, how she whispers desires that end up becoming realized after the foreplay. In reality, she’s the one dictating the pace, the one calling all the shots, and you’re merely an instrument she uses to indulge herself.

And she wants it: everywhere, in every position—something you find too much to handle, and she’s already quite the handful. But it’s merely a delay of the inevitable; you’re going to fuck Haewon, you’re gonna pour all your cum inside her, and you can figure out the rest the morning after.

More often than not, your shirt ends up unbuttoned, but not completely undone. One of two layers keeping your impulsive desires in check. As you work Haewon’s pants down her legs, most of your lesser instincts are shown in full display. It takes almost tearing your own fingers off your very hands not to rip through her panties. Meanwhile, she’s lounging on the desk, enjoying the sight of you reverting back to something primal.

The way you fondle her creamy thighs, never finding their beginning and end, is like beholding a sculpture crafted by the gods. They’re meant to be worshiped, to be handled reverently.

And Haewon guides you through the process, commanding you like she has authority over you. Titles do not matter—they never have. “Keep going,” she says, as you leave delicate kiss marks down her thighs, slowly burying yourself into the inviting presence of her pussy. Peeking through the near-nonexistent layer of fabric, she shifts the lift of her legs, perching on your shoulders as she forces you into her suffocating warmth.

“Show me,” she gasps, brushing your hair with her hand, and that’s what sets the rest into motion.

Her legs clutch you into a breathless hold. God, she’s killing you slowly, and you don’t mind it one bit. At this point, you have nothing to lose. You might as well treat this as your last supper, your final meal before you have to say goodbye. She can strangle you with her thighs while you drag your tongue up and down her folds, suck on her clit, take in all her nectar—it doesn’t change the fact that Haewon is gonna fucking end you.

You might as well repay the favor.

And despite throwing caution to the wind, Haewon appears unprepared. Dazed and confused by the overwhelming sensation burning through her nerves, she trembles—and moans. She couldn’t be any less subtle if she tried; hearing her hit notes you never thought she’s capable of hitting only serves to be a minor distraction from her pulsating heat. You’re relentless, slowly picking away at her senses, at her sensitive cunt, knowing that no one can eat her out as well as you do.

“S-sir.” Haewon can only muster up a single word before her mouth fills the room with nothing but air.

Deep down, you despise the rather obstructive yet comfortable position you’re in. Your tongue brushes against Haewon’s folds, going back and forth to taste of her warmth and her clit. The rest of her frame lays atop the desk, trembling, unable to keep herself steady under your grip. She’s lost you somewhere in between, clinging onto the edges of the table for support. You can only imagine her jaw agape, her expressions twisting in pleasure, wriggling and tossing her head around as she aimlessly tries to find some semblance of control.

Her mouth is the only tool she can use to make some sense of this overwhelming bliss. And even that doesn’t amount to much. ‘Shit,’ ‘so good,’ ‘don’t stop—’ these are only some of the things she groans out as you trap her in a whirlpool of her own ecstasy. It’s still not enough. You want to prove her wrong; you want to remind her what’s important, and the only way you can make sure she truly understands if she fucking cums all over your face.

So while Haewon writhes and makes a damn mess of your desk, you continue to feast on her pretty cunt. She’s making sure every person in the building knows how good your tongue is, and it’s in character with how unabashedly shameless she behaves in front of everyone. Her legs kick sharply against your chair, so you end up where you were supposed to be from the beginning—on your knees. And yet it doesn’t deter you; if anything, you grow more attached to her pussy, savoring every taste and drop, taking piece of every little part of her as yours.

You can’t wait to explore the rest of her body and claim it as yours. On the off chance you’re able to rip her shirt off, your hands roam her tight, lithe figure. You’re met by layers of fabric, frustrated at the inability to grab her breasts in their natural form. She grabs you by the wrists; it’s a miracle she’s able to feel you through the waves crushing her to the desk. You suck on her clit hard. She lets out this guttural moan that sounds violent in nature, like you’re hurting her, when you’re actually doing the exact opposite.

And it’s how you play off each other for the most part. Your need to get Haewon naked is only matched by her desperation to cum. She doesn’t need to tell you directly how much she wants to. Her hands guide you beneath her shirt, and you press on the underside of her boobs in appreciation. You’re playing a dangerous game; you have no intention of letting go.

Surprisingly, Haewon holds up well. One look and it might appear that she’s a complete wreck: how her body trembles unceasingly, how she has half her shirt lifted to give you a better view of her chest for when you eventually come up for air, how helpless she is at even the slightest touch. You made her like this. It’s a habit she’s used to by now; she’s learned that a figure like hers is meant to be admired, to be used.

Before you grow comfortable with the habit, the idea that you can eat her out on the desk for hours, Haewon cums.

She keens and shudders through her surprise orgasm. It’s aligned with her playful nature to cum without your knowing, even though the signs were there all along. Your tongue works through the torrent of fluid, then the wave of slick that you drink up. Lap whatever your satiated bud allows. You can see remnants of her climax spill down the desk and to the floor, to her pants.

Even now, you’re still learning something new about your students. For one, you never knew Haewon squirts.

The wet desk would make for a perfect reference picture for when she questions your legitimacy again—but you have better ways of explaining yourself.

You give Haewon no reprieve; she mewls and whimpers as you lick her folds clean, till you settle into soft, gentle kisses. The situation is all sorts of fucked; she has places to be and friends to meet, but you have her on top of your desk, keening after eating her out and making her cum without a care. It’s gonna take an essay's worth of explaining the glaringly wet patches on her clothes and deep red marks over her skin.

Truthfully, she’d rather be with you than with her overbearing friends—but you won’t hear it directly from her lips.

Speaking of, you hear a phone ring. Haewon cranes her neck in the direction of her bag. “Sir, I need my phone.” She huffs, gasping for air, each word spaced out between deep breaths.

Regretfully, it takes every bit of your resolve to release your tongue from her warm cunt. You rummage through her bag and hand the phone over to her. It’s about picking up the pieces now, salvaging whatever you can make of the mess you made, albeit there’s hardly anything to save, even yourself.

“Don’t.” Haewon uses her loose toes to point at you, shifting herself into a sitting position on the desk. You’re halfway done with the first button on your shirt when she stops you. She’s tapping through her phone, texting some bullshit excuse to her friends. Knowing her, they’re most likely no better than her; they might be playing into your little secret, too. All it takes is one person, one word of mouth, before information spreads around like wildfire.

Like everything else about her, you had mostly left it up to interpretation. Forcing details out of Haewon is a near-impossible task. You were never really a good negotiator. The deal usually ends up like this: her panties for a bonus in her grades, her lips for a signed excuse letter, and if she was really in the mood, her pussy for a cheat sheet. Sometimes,

She sets her phone aside on the desk, hopping off the table to lay her hands on your exposed chest. Momentarily kissing you, she whispers, “Sir, I told them I would be a little late today. You should know better by now.”

Her fingers wring around the collar of your button up shirt, eyes ablaze with reinvigorated lust, lips curled in a pleasant smile. You’re so enamored with her, it drives you crazy. Even when she pushes you onto your chair, even when she rips the already undone shirt off your body, all you can do is pay attention to the stars in her eyes. Her warm, wanton gaze—both charming and alluring in all the right ways. She knows how to use every part of herself to near perfection.

The rest of your clothes couldn’t come off any faster. Your pants and boxers pool around your ankles, followed shortly by a dark cropped sweatshirt. You’re not given any time to savor the perfection that is Haewon’s naked figure; she’s straddled on your lap, stroking your hard cock with a delicate grip. She smirks, and she has every right to look smug. You’re left breathless, under pressure; if only you can see yourself in the mirror and see how needy you look, and the utter control Haewon has over you.

And you allow her; this is her specialty, this is what she’s built for—to fucking end you.

If your words allow you, you’d command her to get on her knees, suck your cock and take a warm load all over her face; this is the ideal position to make the move. But you can’t. Not when you’re missing the point.

Haewon is on the edge of your lap, running her hand around your cock, gathering spurts of precum on her nails and finger pads. She’s still winded from before, slow in her movements. The naughty look she gives your body never grows old.

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask you a question,” she starts, looking down at the little mess she’s making on your thigh. You’re too overwhelmed to breathe, let alone say a word.

“Be honest with me. I’m being serious for once.”

And she sounds like she means it. You gulp your throat as you enter the unknown.

Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, her expression deep in thought, something she’s not usually seen doing. And you feel the heat gradually building on your lap, but you’re paralyzed by anxiety for the sensation to register. She runs the other hand through hair to take a good luck at you: your rather sweaty face, somewhere between pleasure and tense.

“Tell me,” she sighs, running a hand down your shoulder to your elbow, before continuing, “Am I the best student you’ve ever fucked?”

“Yes.” The word comes out involuntarily, as if it were muscle memory. Like your body knows, and it knows itself better than anyone or anything else.

It draws a piqued reaction from Haewon. She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “And what about Yoona?”

“And what about her?”

A reply you end up regretting almost immediately. Haewon doesn’t take bullshit for an answer, as evident by the cold, dour stare on her face. If there’s anyone who knows the ins and outs of university, it’s her.

It doesn’t take long for you to cave in. “She’s so tight,” you admit, sounding like a guilty criminal being interrogated. “But you’re still the best, I swear.”

“And what about Yuna? That exchange student Lily? Miss Minatozaki? You say that to just about anyone.”

In an instant, she goes from curious and passionate to downright frightening. It’s not supposed to be like this; normally it’s you who has the authority. Haewon can go on and on for hours if she wanted to. She has all the leverage, all the evidence, all the power to cause the end of everything, your life included. But she only wants one thing: the truth.

“They’re nothing compared to you. Promise. You’re still my favorite student.”

To a certain extent, you’re right; Haewon is your favorite, but for all for the wrong reasons. It has nothing to do with teaching her anything other than being a good toy, because deep down, she’s about as irredeemable as your peers make her out to be. Really, it’s about using her body, fucking her, pushing her to the absolute limits—anything to get your mind out of the numbing, monotonous work of being an actual professor. There are many good girls in class, including the names she mentions in passing, but this is a stark reminder that Haewon is yours, and you belong to Haewon.

“Then show me.”

And to drive the point even further, she sinks down on your lap, pressing her weight on your crotch—until her pussy meets your cock and you both disappear into the sea of pleasure again.

Haewon throws her head back, and she’s never looked more vulnerable, not even when you had her laid out on the desk. All this flesh and body to claim, and you have no clue where to begin. But that’s the least of your problems when she begins to glide up and down, rocking your lap with slow, agonizing thrusts. You end up blanking out and caring about the friction in your hips instead.

The slip of your cock in and out of her pussy when she rides you. Your palms press against her waist while you watch her slowly come undone: the moans, curses, and every sound in between, the rapidly twisting expressions, the hypnotic jiggle of her chest. Soon, you find a steady rhythm to match, and everything becomes effortless. Both of you pushing and pulling against each other’s bodies in an effort to get deeper. You forget you’re a professor and her a student, only two souls in need of sex during some trying times in your lives.

In a way, you’re both meant to be. Fate is a strange entity.

Then Haewon regains some clarity, enough to be kissing you, moaning directly in your ear, demanding your gaze. Even when her hole swallows your cock, she still wants your attention. And even while you have it so deep in her cunt that she’s mewling, struggling for oxygen, she manages to form a coherent sentence.

“Tell me I’m the tightest. Tell me I have the best pussy you ever fucked.”

God, she’s so fucking tight you can’t fully comprehend it. Perhaps even more, and you’re used to using her. Maybe it’s all that pent-up frustration toward your dead end job, toward Mina, that makes her clench tighter. That’s now how pussy works; you’re just stretching her out really hard, but you have nothing sensible to conclude with. What you can tell, however, is that you needed this—and you needed it badly.

You’re thankful you closed off the doors and curtains to the classroom, because the last thing anyone needs to see and hear is the sight of Haewon riding you while you both moan about how good the other feels.

“Love this pussy,” you murmur, breathing against her collarbone, wanting a taste of her taut nipple. She has you in a tight bearhug that binds your hands around her waist. “Fuck—so—fucking—tight—the best—”

And that’s all she needed to hear. Every word—every sound—slips from her lips like it hurts, but she’s in total bliss. She moves her hips against the roll of your cock with deep emphasis, like fitting puzzle pieces together, and it sends you. You’re left even more breathless, more in awe at how fucking well Haewon takes your length. As if it was always meant for her.

Curses and praise aside, she’s never one to talk during sex. But then she makes the faintest comment about how your cock fits so snug inside her, and you honestly just lose it.

Once in a while, a certain inquiry is brought up. What’s your favorite thing about me, Haewon asks, when it’s supposed to be the opposite. You’re supposed to give out this very question to your students as a way to improve your teaching style and maybe come off as an approachable authority figure. As expected, it wasn’t helpful in the slightest. She then would suddenly come to you at the most random of times with this particular question, and you’d be preoccupied with numerous things—home life, school activities, the usual—to find an answer.

But right there, right as you spear deep into her tight, needy cunt, is where you figure it all out. It’s all in the little details. Your hand going up and down her arched back. The squelching of her pussy against your cock. The furious sound of your flesh slapping against hers. Her loose, shrilly whines while you bury your face between her chest, begging you harder. Her hands tangled with your hair and nape. All that while she’s bouncing on your lap at such a feverish pace; she’s going to break the chair you’re sitting on.

Before you know it, your tongue has traveled all over the most sensitive parts of her body: nipples, neck, and even pits.

Everything about Haewon is so ridiculous, you can’t believe how much of a challenge she has been for the longest time that you’ve forgotten how easily she folds. Like she’s meant to be used.

But no punishment is suitable enough; no amount of discipline can change her. If anything, it only fuels her goal to thread the needle even further.

“Gonna fucking cum, Haewon,” you hiss against her ear, blurring the line between kissing and biting her collarbone. Using all the strength in your hips, you have her legs spread as wide as they can over the chair, over your thighs. The squirt she releases as she crashes on your lap serves to fan the flames in your cock even brighter. It’s all but inevitable that you’ll pour it all inside her, and she wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you had any semblance of a spine, you’d never let her hear the end of it. The idea that her pussy isn’t getting its fair share of seed disgusts her. She needs to learn what boundaries are, and how not to cross said lines. At least there’s one lesson you can impart on her before you split, but you’ll save that for another day, because you cum.

You fuck Haewon so hard, she turns into mush that melts in your grasp. Forget the guttural groan you made; the aftermath is alarming. Her pussy drips with a huge load pooling on the chair and trickling down her thighs. You make sure you bury yourself to the hilt and unload inside her. The evidence is undeniable; from the smell to the sight of clothes and cum, there’s no concealing it—if there was even anything to hide, because your salacious activity could easily be heard anywhere in the building.

And lost in the madness is your train of thought; your body is reeling from the aftershocks of your orgasm, and you simply idle. Let your cock stay in Haewon’s warmth as long as possible. Let the setting sun bathe her pretty face in that lovely afterglow. Let her slowly recover and realize that you’ve been right all along about everything.

“Sir, you came inside me a lot,” she says, a little over a whisper, trying to take record of your work. Her eyes stay glued to the puddle of cum dripping down her leg, running a finger to taste you.

“For my favorite student, why wouldn’t I,” you tell her, caressing your hand up and down her back. Even through the climax, you never stopped.

The brief, peaceful respite is interrupted by, you guessed it, another phone. This time, it’s not Haewon’s. She moves gingerly bending down, almost tumbling over in an attempt to retrieve your phone from the depths of your pocket. Your only contribution is ensuring she doesn’t bash her head on the floor.

“Well, well, well,” she comments, looking at your phone with a familiar, sarcastic tone before handing it over to you. “Speak of the devil.”

On the screen are two missed calls and one new text, all from none other than Mina herself. A grim reminder of the reality you live in.

The message is as predictable as it reads. She won’t be home till late in the evening, which might as well be dawn of the next day.

“Miss Myoui is getting it. A hundred percent sure.”

She delivers it with such conviction that it might as well be fact. You’d be upset about the very thought—anyone would—but a glance at Haewon gives you an idea. One that leaves her curious.

“Sir? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You can already imagine it: the image of railing Haewon everywhere. On the table, against the wall, under the showers. Maybe if you’re lucky enough, Mina will go through that door and be greeted by the sight of her least favorite student getting fucked by her husband from behind.

You show her the text, and just like that, you’re both one and the same. A look of pride crosses her face, as if she’s accomplished an important milestone—and it’s quite a momentous one.

And what better way to celebrate than inside the comfort of your home.

—————

(A/N: Been down bad for Haewon since December. Also, NMIXX is actually good now! Their latest EP has some bangers, highly recommend Run for Roses and Passionfruit. The setting might be a bit more on the bleaker/less wholesome side, but I hope it's not uncomfortable/upsetting. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #nmixx #haewon

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melzula · 2 months

Text

Smoke and Shadow

part one

pairings: Zuko x Princess!reader

notes: it’s finally here! hope you guys enjoy this and sorry it took so long! and ofc reminder that reading the comics is suggested for this piece

summary: The Princess decides to pay Zuko a visit only to find the Fire Nation in disarray.

~ part of the fire lilies series ~

Returning home from the Fire Nation always feels bittersweet; you miss your people, but you know that once you’re back in the South the ache of homesickness will be replaced by your longing to be at Zuko’s side. You once thought the end of the war would mean easier days for your relationship, but being the leaders of two different nations seemed to keep you apart more often than it kept you together. Leaving him never got any easier, but you knew in your heart that this was for the best. You had duties to fulfill and people to take care of, so you’d just have to be patient. Things will settle eventually and the distance will become easier, you just have to see it through.

“Do you really have to go? You just got here!” Kiyi complains with a frown as she watches you pack your things and prepare for your return home.

“I’m sorry, Kiyi, but my people need me.“

“Can’t someone else do it?” She retorts, prompting you to let out a small laugh of amusement. She certainly had her older brother’s attitude at times.

“I’m afraid not. I have a tribe to rebuild and students to teach,” you explain to her. “Things don’t run very smoothly when the Chief is away for too long.”

“Will you at least come back and visit me?” The little girl begs, and you can’t really find a way to say no to her when she looks at you with her best pleading eyes. “I want to see more water bending tricks!”

“I promise to come back as soon as I have the time,” you assure her before giving her a tight hug. You’ve grown rather attached to Zuko’s little sister since meeting her, so it’s not easy having to say goodbye.

A gentle knock at your door alerts both you and Kiyi of someone’s presence, but once you see Zuko’s face peeking through the doorway you smile and part from the girl so that she can run out to play in the palace halls. “My love, the ship is ready to leave when you are.”

“I suppose I’m ready,” you sigh with a melancholic smile, melting into Zuko’s touch when he pulls you into his embrace. “It’s going to be hard being away from you.”

“I know,” he comforts while resting his warm hand upon your cool cheek, “but it’s nothing we can’t handle. We’ll be together again soon.”

“I’m already counting down the days,” you profess earnestly, eliciting a soft chuckle from him in return. Rubbing his nose affectionately against your own, Zuko angles his face to reach your lips and press a tender kiss against your own. It’s the last one you’ll be sharing for some time, and he makes sure to savor it for as long as possible. Your kiss is impossibly sweet, your smell of fire lilies intoxicating, and it pains him to have to pull away from you.

“I love you, y/n. I hope you know that.”

You smile before pulling him in for another kiss, enjoying your perfect goodbye.

~~~

A month has passed since you left the Fire Nation, and the South has developed swimmingly. With the help of your sister tribe, the outer villages have slowly begun to transform into cities equipped with new buildings, homes, and even town halls. Progress is steady and your tribe is growing, and it will only be a matter of time before the Southern Water Tribe is restored to its rightful glory.

As your advisor, Hakoda has agreed to oversee the Southern Reconstruction Project so that you may focus on teaching the next generation of water benders with Master Pakku. Your time as Chief is spent either at your school or in your office to approve new construction plans and debrief with Hakoda about the progress of the rebuilding project. You’re as busy as ever, but you couldn’t be any happier.

“Sifu y/n, why do we have to learn about healing?” One of your students complains as you set out the practice mannequins for the children. “I don’t want to heal, I want to fight!”

“Healing is just as important as bending,” you explain thoughtfully. “As a wise woman once told me, ‘You cannot bend something that is broken, but you can heal something that is hurt.’ Some situations require a gentle hand, and it’s important your bending has balance. Healing can save lives, and your gift can be used to help your people.”

“Sifu y/n,” another student says with her hand raised eagerly in the air, “is it true you healed Fire Lord Zuko from a lightning strike?”

“It is,” you reply with a fond smile, laughing at the amazed gasps your students share at the story. “I wouldn’t have been able to save his life if I hadn’t known how to heal, and that’s why it’s important for you all to learn. Now any last questions before we begin?”

A little hand raises into the air and you nod, signaling them to continue. “Do you miss Zuko?”

“Always,” you sigh wistfully, the familiar ache of longing pulling at your heart strings. You wondered what he was doing now and if he was thinking of you in this moment.

After teaching your healing class, you retire to your office for the evening to look over the new construction plans Hakoda has prepared for you. However, your mind seems to be elsewhere for the night as you find yourself repeatedly looking upon the frame on your desk. The night of your coronation you’d had a local artist paint a portrait of Zuko and yourself. You shared the biggest smiles, the two of you adorned in formal water tribe attire for the festivities ahead. It had been a perfect night, and the painting served as a reminder of the wonderful time you’d had together.

Sighing, you look over your schedule for the upcoming week. Nothing too major seems to be taking place, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you took a short trip to the Fire Nation to see how Zuko and Kiyi were doing. Hakoda could handle the reconstruction project on his own for a few days, and Pakku could look after your students in your absence.

Grabbing a scroll and a brush, you quickly begin scribbling out a lengthy list of items for Hakoda and Pakku to oversee while you’re gone. It seems your mind is made up, and as soon as your affairs are in order you’ll be using the secret tunnel to travel to the Fire Nation to finally see Zuko again.

~~~

Zuko was exhausted.

Carrying the guilt he felt for his sister’s kidnapping as well as the awkward tension that came with working alongside his ex-girlfriend wasn’t exactly helping him keep his peace. More children were going missing with every night that passed, and it seemed he wasn’t any closer to catching his sister and her group of Kemurikage. A part of him wished it really was spirits tormenting his people instead of his sister, but he figured she’d have to turn up eventually.

“We’ll find them, Zuko,” Mai comforts, carefully resting her hand upon his tense shoulder as he stares down at the array of scrolls scattered across his desk. Various passages about the Kemurikage and information about the men part of the New Ozai Society line the endless papers, and yet none of it has gotten them any closer to figuring out where the missing children or Azula are.

“I hope you’re right,” he murmurs before shifting his gaze to the bush of fire lilies out in the courtyard. It dawns on him then that he hasn’t had the time to write to you lately, and he feels you deserve to know about Kiyi‘s disappearance and Azula’s return. He’s sure you’d know just what to do, just what to say to make him feel better, and he needs the comfort now more than anything. “I should write y/n. She cares for Kiyi just as much as I do, she should know.”

Mai’s mood immediately sours at the mention of the Southern Princess, but she’s able to mask it well enough for Zuko’s sake. Despite being willing to work with her ex-boyfriend to find her missing brother, their past relationship was still a sore subject for her. It’s not exactly easy getting over the fact that the boy you thought was in love with you was really just using you to get over someone else.

Their talk at the Boiling Rock hadn’t given her any real closure, and her encounter with the Princess at the flower shop didn’t leave the greatest impression on the girl. Mai still couldn’t see what was so special about her, and she didn’t understand what kind of future Zuko saw with her. She supposed it didn’t matter what she thought anymore, and it didn’t matter what Zuko did with his life. She was with Kei Lo now, and the Fire Lord was no longer her concern.

“Is writing a letter to your girlfriend really your top priority right now?” She can’t help but to retort sarcastically, prompting Zuko to scowl.

“Y/n could be a great help to us,” he argues defensively. “She views things more clearly than I do at times and keeps me from making rash decisions.“

“So is she your girlfriend or your babysitter?”

“Mai-!”

“I know, I know,” she sighs with a passive wave of her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Zuko lets out a quiet breath before turning to meet her gaze. He’s unsure of how to approach such a sensitive subject, but he knows he must if any progress is to be made. “I know you’re still mad at me, and I know no apology will fix the hurt I caused you, but you have to put it behind you if we’re going to work together. Y/n is my girlfriend, and Kei Lo is your boyfriend, so why are things still so awkward between us?”

“It’s not that simple, Zuko,” Mai snaps, a bitter scowl masking her features. “It’s not just that you broke my heart, it’s that I was stupid enough to let you! I should have known I’d never be enough for you, and you talking about her is like throwing salt in the wound. It’s like a constant reminder that I was never good enough for you, that what we had was all just a lie. I never want to feel that way again, but I feel it every time I’m around you. I’m like the pathetic ex-girlfriend you can’t get away from.”

“Mai…”

“I can’t believe I still care about you,” she grumbles sullenly.

“I care for you too,” he insists before gently taking one of her hands in his own. “Maybe not in the way you want me to, but I do. I always have, even when we were children and I pushed you into the fountain to put out that apple on your head. You’re a good friend, and I owe you more than I can ever repay you for what you did at Boiling Rock. Can’t we still be friends?”

Mai is silent, her gaze set firmly upon her hand in his own. The sensation is warm and familiar, comforting, but she knows the hurt that is to come if she agrees to his request. Maybe one day she can learn to love Kei Lo and fill the emptiness, be the one doing the using instead of the one being used, but she can’t accomplish this feat with Zuko in the picture.

The room is quiet and tense, but still she does not remove her hand.

And neither of them notice the figure in the doorway watching the scene unfold.

~~~

You’re surprised to find Zuko’s end of the tunnel blocked off by Fire Nation guards. He hadn’t been expecting you of course, but you didn’t think you’d find the passage closed off like this. What had happened while you were away to promote such a drastic measure?

“Excuse me,” you call gently so as to not startle the guards that face away from you, “I’m here to see Fire Lord Zuko. May I cross?”

“I’m sorry, but no one is allowed in or out of the Capital City,” one guard states gruffly, but his companion waves him off dismissively.

“She’s the Southern Chief and the Fire Lord’s girlfriend,” he explains before gesturing you to continue forward. “I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy to hear we’d blocked his beloved from seeing him.”

“O-Oh, my apologies,” the first guard stutters sheepishly before clearing himself out of your path.

“What’s going on? Why is the Capital City in lockdown?”

“Children of the Fire Nation have been going missing and the people are becoming restless,” he explains. "The Fire Lord wants everyone to stay put until a culprit has been caught and the children are returned safe.”

“How awful,” you murmur quietly before an uneasy feeling begins to hit you. “Have you heard anything of Kiyi, Ursa’s daughter? Is she safe?”

The two guards exchange solemn glances, and that’s all you need to know before immediately rushing towards the palace. If Kiyi is in danger, you want to do everything you can to help Zuko find her and the other missing children before it’s too late. Who knows what danger they could be in?

Your trek to the palace isn’t easy, what with the protests and unrest occurring on the streets as a result of Zuko’s harsh restrictions, but you manage to weave your way through the chaos and make it to your destination. You’re a bit overwhelmed by the commotion, blind to the conflict that’s been occurring in your absence and unaware of what exactly is going on, but you do your best to focus on finding Zuko first.

Surprisingly, the palace hallways are relatively empty, and you slow your sprint to a walk once you reach the throne room corridors. The pristine gold doors are left open, and the sound of Zuko’s voice carries through the air. Already you can feel the worry melting away just by hearing him speak, and though you want nothing more than to run in and throw yourself into his arms you stop to listen. You want to make sure you’re not interrupting anything important before you announce yourself.

“I care for you…” you hear him say, prompting your brows to furrow slightly in uncertainty. You can’t exactly make out everything he’s saying or what the context of his conversation is, but you’re able to note the soft gentleness in his tone, and a part of you is starting to feel strange listening in. Who is he speaking to in such a manner?

Peeking your head around the corner, you can’t help but feel your heart begin to sink to your stomach at the sight before you.

Zuko stands in the center of the throne room, gently clasping one of Mai’s hands in his own as he speaks to her in a comforting manner. You’re not sure what exactly they’re saying to each other or why she’s there, but watching the scene unfold before you fills you with dread and insecurity. Surely Zuko wouldn’t be unfaithful to you… would he?

You’ve worked hard to build your trust in him again after all you’d both been through, but you can’t help but question what he’s been up to in your absence. Why was he with his ex-girlfriend, and why he was holding her hand in what looked to be like an intimate moment? Was he thinking of leaving you again? Had he changed his mind about your relationship? What had you just walked in on?

“Zuko?” You call meekly, as if you shouldn’t be there interrupting their moment and as if you’re not his actual girlfriend. The two startle at the intrusion, but when Zuko realizes that you’re actually there before him he immediately releases his hold on her and runs towards you.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, engulfing you in the tightest hug imaginable. You’re unsure how to react at first, still reeling from what you’d just seen, but eventually you return his hug. Your weary gaze sets upon Mai who keeps her eyes down to the ground and refuses to look you in the face.

“Am I interrupting something?” You warily ask when he finally pulls away. He falters for a moment, almost offended by your insinuation.

“No! No, of course not,” he rushes to explain. “We were just… talking.”

“It kind of looked like it was more than just talking to me,” you say defensively. You don’t want to be jealous or accusatory, but you can’t help it. How could you not question them being alone together and holding hands?

“Princess, I swear there is nothing going on,” Zuko pleads earnestly, taking both of your hands in his own. “Mai is only here because the children of the Fire Nation are going missing and she’s helping me find them.”

“They took my little brother,” she adds quietly, solemn gaze still focused on the ground.

“They took Kiyi,” Zuko utters sorrowfully. His eyes are full of shame and worry, and you find it difficult to be upset with him when he looks so hurt and vulnerable.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmur softly before pulling him in for a tight hug.

“I have the city on lockdown until I’m able to find the people responsible, and I’m doing everything I can to get them back. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, I didn’t mean to exclude you. I swear I was just going to write you and ask for your help.”

“You never have to ask,” you say with a comforting smile. “I came to surprise you because I missed you, and I’m glad I did.“

“So am I,” Zuko professes earnestly before cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Neither of you notice Mai leaving the room.

~~~

Zuko catches you up on everything- the Kemurikage, the “Safe Nation Society,” the kidnapping of Tom-Tom and Kiyi, Azula’s return, and Ukano’s possible connection to Zuko’s sister. It was a lot to process, but you were quick to get up to speed so that you’d be able to do all you could to help.

“I don’t think you should have kicked Aang out of the throne room,” you chide Zuko after hearing him recount his disagreement with the Avatar. Fire Nation guards escort you to the Capital City prison as you converse, and Zuko hopes that by the time you reach your destination Mai’s father will be caught and ready for questioning.

“I tried to do things his way, but if he isn’t going to see things my way then I can’t have him around,” he tries to explain.

“Zuko, I saw firsthand how restless your people have become as a result of your harsh lockdown rules. Aang might be right,” you try to reason with him. “I don’t think causing fear and uncertainty is going to help us find the missing children.”

“I had to do something,” he argues weakly, “I have to get my sister back and stop Azula before it’s too late.”

“You will,” you assure him firmly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

As the two of you talk, Mai trails along quietly behind you both. A whirlwind of emotions are festering in her mind; she wants her brother returned to her, but she feels guilty exposing her father to Zuko and his guards and costing him his freedom. It feels like she’s working with the enemy, and perhaps in a way that’s true.

She can’t help the scowl that plays upon her features as she watches you and Zuko walk arm in arm to the prison. While she’s fretting over her family, it almost seems as if you two don’t have a care in the world about anything but each other. That isn’t true, of course, but her resentment clouds her better judgement, and all she can feel is disdain for the couple in front of her.

You were Chief of the Southern Water Tribe, a master bender, kind, beautiful. She could understand why any guy would want you, but why did Zuko? And why did you have to want him back? You had practically everything, you grew up a Princess, so why couldn’t you have just let her have this one thing? Why did you have to take him back and take him away from her after she’d finally gotten the one thing she’d always wanted?

“I’m sorry about your brother,” a voice says, pulling Mai away from her thoughts. So wrapped up in her cynicism, she hadn’t even realized they’d made it to the prison. A couple feet away, Zuko speaks to one of his men about the riot that had broken out on behalf of the Safe Nation Society. And in front of her you stand, your features kind and your words remorseful despite the tension you share.

“Thanks,” she says flatly, unsure of what else to say. The last time she’d spoken to you had been in the flower shop, and it hadn’t exactly been a pleasant conversation. She knows that you’re trying, and she knows this is all just as uncomfortable for you as it is for her, but she still isn’t so easily swayed. She doesn’t think you deserve her sympathy or understanding, and she doesn’t plan to go out of her way to be nice to you.

“I don’t have any siblings so I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I want to help however I can if you’ll let me.”

“You can help by staying out of the way,” she replies bluntly, her gaze hardening much to your surprise. “Zuko promised he’d help me find Tom-Tom, and I don’t need you distracting him while you’re here.”

“I want to help him find Kiyi,” you argue defensively, “I’m not going to get in the way of something as important as finding the missing children. Why can’t you believe that?”

“Because you have a really good track record of getting in the way of things that are important to me.”

Stunned by her admission, you can’t help but find yourself falling short of words. You knew Mai didn’t exactly think highly of you or approve of your relationship, but did she really still believe that you’d stolen Zuko away from her? You’re not to blame for what Zuko did to her or what she went through. You’ve endured just as much hurt as she has if not worse, and it isn’t fair for her to paint you as the problem.

“I didn’t even know about you and Zuko until we were already broken up! I’ve never personally tried to hurt you, and I don’t expect you to like me, but you need to get over yourself. Zuko isn’t what’s important here, you and I are not what’s important, it’s the kids. It’s Tom-Tom and Kiyi and all the children that are probably so frightened and alone. Can we at least agree on that?!”

It’s silent for a moment, you and Mai simply starting each other down for what feels like ages until she finally relents. Her tense shoulders slowly fall in defeat and she sighs, somewhat embarrassed at her little outburst. She’d been letting her emotions get the better of her lately, failing to conceal them like she was usually so good at doing, and it was painfully embarrassing for her to come to this realization.

“You’re right,” she murmurs, “let’s just focus on finding the children. The sooner this is all over the sooner we never have to see each other again anyway.”

“Fine by me,” you huff indignantly. Though Mai has more to say, she isn’t given the time to once she spots her boyfriend being escorted towards the prison in handcuffs.

“Kei Lo!” She exclaims before turning to the Fire Lord. “Zuko, this is obviously a mistake! Get him out of those cuffs!”

“I’m not so sure,” Zuko says hesitantly, looking to you for guidance to see if he’s making the right choice. You merely give him a hesitant shrug, not really wanting to get involved in their quarrel. You don’t know the full story, so it’s better to just stay out of it.

“Are you serious? You need her permission to let my boyfriend go?” She exclaims exasperatedly. “Release him!”

“What were you doing with the Safe Nation Society, Kei Lo?” Zuko prods firmly, ignoring Mai’s complaints.

“They ran into me! Literally!” The boy argues to try and prove his innocence.

“You’ve betrayed your allies bedore, who’s to say you aren’t acting as a double agent now!”

“Zuko! Stop being ridiculous!” Mai scolds angrily before looking to you. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

“I’d rather not get involved…” you trail off awkwardly, only irritating her further.

Eventually Zuko allows for Kei Lo’s release, but you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t too happy about it. His firm gaze seems to be burning holes into the back of Kei Lo’s head as he watches Mai embrace the boy, and a part of you wonders if he’s feeling some sort of jealousy towards him. Surely he wouldn’t be, he has no reason or right to be jealous, at least you think so anyway.

“Zuko?” You utter softly, placing a careful hand on his back to get his attention. “If I ask you something… will you be honest with me? Even if it’s something I don’t want to hear?”

“Of course, my love,” he says earnestly before giving you his full undivided attention. “What is it?”

“Do you… do you still-“

“Zuko!”

You startle away from Zuko at the sudden intrusion, eyes widening as you see Aang sprinting towards your boyfriend with Suki and Ty Lee in tow. You’re honestly surprised to see him considering he should have been heading back to the South with Katara and Sokka by now, and based upon his reaction it seems he’s just as surprised to see you.

“Aang!”

“Y/n! What are you doing here?” He exclaims in bewilderment.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Zuko interrupts. “I thought you left.”

“Well you thought wrong, buddy!” Aang corrects him impatiently. “We’ve been looking all over for you! Suki, Ty Lee, and I found something you need to see! Come on!”

“Fire Lord,” one of Zuko’s men interrupts, “the sun will set before we know it. We need to make a plan our people will rise up again.”

Zuko shares a quiet glance with the men before looking to Aang. You know what his answer is going to be, and you know that the Avatar isn’t going to like it.

“I’m sorry, Aang, but General Mak is right. I need to handle this my own way.”

“Even if your way is stupid?!” He rebuffs indignantly.

“What Aang means to say,” you correct, trying to put a nicer spin on his words, “is that maybe the approach you’ve been taking isn’t working. Maybe keeping your people on lockdown like they’re criminals in their own homes will only make things worse. You need to change your approach.”

“I’m sorry, Princess, but I know what’s best for my people.”

“I’ve seen your people, and they’re not happy. They’re scared, and I know you want to find Kiyi and stop Azula but you need to start thinking rationally first.”

“Can you please just trust that I know what I’m doing? Help me come up with a new plan to keep the Fire Nation citizens in order and find Azula and Ukano so that we can find Kiyi.”

His pleading eyes beg for your understanding and support, but you’re hesitant. You know that Zuko means well, but you don’t agree with his methods at all. Being a leader yourself, you know that fear and unrest is not the way to solve problems. You must treat your people with trust and respect like they deserve, otherwise they won’t be able to do the same for you.

Luckily, Aang buts in before you’re able to shoot Zuko’s request down. An air scooter is abruptly thrown beneath your boyfriend, lifting him up and carrying him away to spirits know where- if the situation weren’t so serious you’d laugh at how discombobulated Zuko looks being swept up off his feet and whisked away by a ball of air.

“Aang, slow down!” You call out before sprinting after the pair. Suki and Ty Lee are right beside you chasing them down. “Why are our reunions always so chaotic?”

“I don’t think this group knows how to live without chaos,” Suki quips with a breathless laugh. “It’s good to see you, y/n. Ty Lee and I will catch you up on everything on the way there.”

“I’d love nothing more,” you applaud gratefully.

You can only hope that whatever it is they’ve found will make things much easier from here on out.

Because you’re not sure how much more of this you can take.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

| fire lilies tags: @emberislandplayers @kikaninchen-2 @music-geek19 @thia-aep @thyunnamed @haylaansmi @nataliahaslosthershit @idkdude776 @aangsupremacy @thirstyforsometea @ihaveaproblem98 @brown-eyed-thang @xapham @misnmatchedsox @chewymoustachio @that-bucket-hat-gal @chilifrylizard2 @kyomihann @kaylove12 @kiwihoee @freggietale @moon-spirit-yue @bubblegum-bee-otch

#fire lilies #atla #smoke and shadow #zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #zuko x princess!reader #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla x reader #zuko x mai #mai

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thewulf · 3 months

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Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.” Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it. He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy

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rainylana · 1 year

Text

“Something you wanted.”

Eddie Munson x female reader

Summary: you show up to Eddie and Wayne’s with gifts.

Warnings: language, very soft eddie, eddie doesn’t know how to react to presents, some insecurities on his behalf, new relationship with him and the reader. i hope everyone had a great christmas!!<3 okay and also i’m not going to do my taglist anymore because that’s a pain in the ass so sorry for my laziness!!

“Merry Christmas!” You beamed, lugging in bags of christmas presents in your arms, huffing a breath as you tried to cram yourself in the door.

“Uh- babe,” Eddie helped usher you through the door, eyeing your skeptically. “Why do you look like Santa Clause?”

You chuckled as you dropped your gifts to the floor, face red from the cold. “I look like mrs. clause, thank you very much. You like my skirt?” You twirled your red and white skirt, matched with a red sweater and a santa hat on your head.

“What are you doing here?” He started patting the snow off your shoulders, closing the door to his home. “Thought you’d weren’t coming over till tomorrow.”

“Well tomorrow won’t be christmas anymore!” You smiled, looking around the trailer. “Is Wayne here?”

Eddie gave you another weird look before turning. “Old man! Y/n’s here!” When he looked back you were on the ground shuffling through your gift backs.

“What are those for?”

You paused, looking up at him to give a funny look. “What do you think they’re for? They’re for you guys, dummy! Christmas presents!”

“All of these?!�� His eyes widened. “Y/n- no way, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know that.” You chuckled, taking them out one by one at his feet. “But I wanted too.”

“Why is Santa in our living room?” Wayne announced himself, standing in the kitchen with a raised brow.

“Merry Christmas, Wayne!” You waved, sparking off your pearly teeth. “You guys go sit down so I can pass these out!”

Eddie looked to his guardian with confused eyes, not sure what to do. Wayne muttered under his breath as he made his way to the couch, nodding for Eddie to sit down.

“Okay, so I have these labeled.” You crawled over to their feet with two gifts in hand. “Read what it says.” You sat them in their lap.

Eddie was looking at it like it was a ticking time bomb, while Wayne fished out his reading glasses. “Something you need.” His voice came out in a deep hum.

“Are we supposed to open it?” Eddie said confused.

Wayne rolled his eyes as you laughed. “Yeah, Eddie, open it!”

He nodded before both of them started to tear open the paper, and you noticed how Eddie kept looking at you, then to the other gifts you had behind you.

“Underwear?” Eddie raised a brow, holding up a five back of boxers.

“Oh, thank god,” Wayne exhaled. “You’ve been living in those blue checkered ones for three years now.”

“I have not!” Eddie burned red, straightening. “Quit talking, old man, and open you’re shit.”

“Hey, I’m the one who does your laundry, boy, I outta know.”

You giggled behind your teeth, watching as Eddie felt the fabric at the opening, giving you an awkward smile.

“Batteries?” Wayne said skeptically.

“Uh-huh!” You nodded. “Because the last time I was over you were bitching about your flashlight dying with those old batteries, so know you don’t have to bitch!”

“Thank god.” Eddie praised. “Say, thank you, old man.”

Wayne gave his nephew a glare before giving you a grateful nod. “Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome.” You nodded back. “Okay, next!” You reached behind you to grab two other gifts, making their jaw drop.

“Y/n, you didn’t have to do all of this.” Eddie furrowed his brows as you placed another gift in his lap. “We don’t need-”

“Something to read.” Wayne read the label on the red paper before tearing it open.

Eddie hurried to catch up.

“Hey, nice,” Wayne chuckled. “Peanuts comics.” He showed to Eddie. Wayne liked to read the comics in the paper before work, especially peanuts and Garfield. “Thanks, doll.”

“No fucking way.” Eddie cursed, revealing a thick, brown book. “You did not.” His eyes were wide as saucers. “Y/n, this is-”

“Not as expensive as you think.” You finished for him, grabbing his calf. “Just look inside, it’s actually pretty cool!”

It was a collectors edition version of The Fellowship of the Ring, maps on the inside, facts of lore and inspiration from the author. Eddie had seen it once in a bookstore in Indianapolis. That was four months ago.

“Pretty cool?” Eddie’s voice rose an octave. “Babe, this is amazing.” He looked over at Wayne, holding up his book as the man smiled at him. “Look away, old man.” Eddie flung his hand toward Wayne as he leaned down to give you a peck on the lips. “Thank you so much.” Eddie allowed himself to smile. “Really, thanks a lot. This is epic.”

You blushed, your heart warming at his own happiness. “Okay last one.” You placed two other gifts in their lap as wrapping paper laid down at their feet.

“Something you wanted.” Eddie read this time, giving you a smile.

Wayne tore into his quickly, making you laugh as he revealed his present. “Now, just how and the hell did you know I wanted this?” Wayne chuckled, holding out his new leather wallet. It was expensive, but they didn’t need to know that.

“I specifically heard you say damn wallet one day when the zipper was stuck.” You smirked, patting his knee.

“New chains!” Eddie squealed that time, nearly jumping in his seat. “Holy shit, thank you!”

You smiled widely, then over to Wayne who looked very proud. “You’re welcome, Ed’s.”

“These will look perfect on my black jeans, don’t you think?” He asked, taking them out of the package.

“Without a doubt.” You tossed off your santa hat, getting hot. “Look right sexy.”

And then Eddie got quiet. Very quiet. Both you and Wayne noticed it, but he was the first to say something. “You okay, bud?”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything, keeping his head down. You tried to find his eyes but couldn’t, chewing on your lip nervously. He had seemed to like everything.

Wayne mentioned something about going out for a smoke, stepping over the wrapping paper and thanking you once more for the gifts.

“Eddie, what’s wrong?” You grabbed his ankle. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

Your heart sank when you saw he was crying. “Hey,” you said gently, moving to sit beside him on the couch. “Eddie, what’s wrong? I saved the receipts if you want to exchange them.”

“Exchange them?” Eddie looked at you, eyes tearful and red. “No, y/n, it isn’t that. It’s just…”

This wasn’t normal for him. Wayne and him would give each other something small sure, but someone coming into their home with gifts wasn’t normal. Someone thinking of them for a change wasn’t normal. You should of realized, but it wasn’t your fault. This was your first christmas with him.

“Hey,” You grabbed his red cheeks. “You deserve every little bit of this and more, you hear me?” You wiped his tears with your thumbs. “You’re my boyfriend and I love you. I wanted to do this.”

“I’m sorry,” He shook his head shamefully. “I just..well, I’m not very good at this stuff. I have something for you too, but it’s not near as good as all of this.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You shook your head. “That’s not what this is about. I just want you to know how much I care about you, is all. That’s what this time of year is for. Both you and Wayne deserve it.”

Eddie allowed himself to shed one more tear before he buried his face under your chin, pressing his nose against your collar bone. “I love you so much. I don’t deserve you.”

“Yes, you do.” You wrapped your arms around him, kissing his ear. “Both of you deserve this.”

You could feel his tears slide down your skin, and you held him tightly close, knowing Wayne was outside probably close to freezing to death. When you heard his sniffled stop, you peaked down at him with a smile. “Should we go check on your uncle? He’s probably an ice block by now.”

Eddie chuckled and sniffled, using his sleeve to wipe his tears. “Yeah, let’s go check on the old man.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #soft eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagines #eddie stranger things #eddie blurb #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x you #christmas eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons

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patrophthia · 8 months

Note

Hi! I love your writing and so I was wondering if I could request something with Theo Nott based on the song The Party by Maisie Peters maybe? It's ok if you're not interested. Thank you <333

thank you for liking my writing!!! i’ve never actually heard of this song so thank u for introducing me to this banger it’s so cuteeee (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

you’re my favorite comic | theo n.

pairing: theodore nott x reader

genre: fluff, established relationships!! childhood friends to lovers, reader refers to slytherins as the enemy, happy couple stuff, there’s scorpius too

part of my 1k celebration event !

There’s a few way Theodore remembers you, all of which seems to be memories of when he decided he felt something for you.

Like, for example, when you were four, sitting down besides him with your ankles in your laps, heart in your hands with your eyes focused on him as he read you a story you couldn’t comprehend.

He’s four too but he’s a cool four year old —this is what he told himself, seeing as he was the only four year old he knew who could read— who decided then that you were a friend, and that you’d always be his friend until he’s all old and wrinkly, and you pruning as you listened to him read you your new favorite book —he could only hoped you never learn how to read.

He remembers you well when you’re both sixteen, standing under the quidditch pitch as you scowl at Malfoy a few feet above you. “I can’t believe you’re with the enemy.”

And Theodore stifles a laugh, forever finding it amusing how his best friend (Draco Malfoy), and his child hood best friend (also known as someone he’s been fancying for the longest time) were both quidditch captain for the opposing team. “Technically you’re the enemy.”

“Well you better stop fraternizing with the enemy then,” you snickered, eyeing the Slytherins practicing from below. “You’re going to look real bad when Malfoy finds out.”

“Finds out what? That we’re friends?” He retorts uninterestedly.

“No,” you replied, “that you’re in love with me.” You say it so causally that he chokes, Theodore actually chokes up on his spit that you have to run a calming hand down his back. “Don’t worry about it. I’m in love with you too. Have you ever wondered why I’ve turned down every person who’s asked me out?”

Theodore composes himself then. “I just thought you weren’t interested.”

“I wasn’t interested because they weren’t you,” you say, pulling out your wand and handing it over to him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to have a word with the enemy.”

And as you leave —as if you didn’t just admit that you’ve known that he’s loved you this entire time— with your wand in his hand, Theodore decides you’re as unpredictable as they come; and that if you were a cartoon, you’d always be his favorite comic.

And he remembers —well, promise to remember you now, with a hand pressed against the small of your back and the Malfoys a few feet behind the two of you; thanking you for coming to their small dinner party and being the last one to leave by helping them clean up, did Theodore decide that he wants to marry you.

You’re sat at the passenger seat, fussing over your hair through the tiny mirror; a small pout is prominent as you sigh. “I can’t believe you let me go out looking like this.”

Theodore spares a glance at you, not spotting a single thing wrong with you. “Like what?”

“My hair is a mess, Theo.”

To him, you’re stressing out over nothing. But he loves you, and he knows you well enough to understands that it’s not like that for you. So he tries his hardest to reassure as best as he could. “Your hair looks fine. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all night, baby. Don’t be so harsh on yourself.”

You’re quiet for a second, before: “so you think baby Scorpius is ugly?”

Theodore is baffled, bewildered by you as he struggles to come up with a respond. “That’s not what I said.”

“But if I’m the most beautiful thing then you think Scorpius is not as good looking then?”

“Scorpius is a baby,” Theodore sighs. “He looks like a sack of potatoes.”

And when Theodore couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed by your dramatic scandalized gasp at his words; he knew he was in it for the long run.

#theodore nott headcanons #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #🧳: my writing #🍰: 1k with patro!

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literaryavenger · 22 days

Note

So I read somewhere that if the word ‘Sputnik’ is said to Bucky it knocks him out. Like it was a way for HYDRA to temporarily incapacitate him until they could control him better if he got out of hand. I’d love to see if you could write about how the reader and the team would deal with this situation. Maybe incorporate the satellite, as we know how much Bucky loves space. 💙✨ Maybe an established relationship? Again don’t need to do this, but I thought you’d appreciate a little help to get out of this writers block :)

Sputnik

Summary: Bucky's fascinacion with Space gives the team an interesting, emotional week.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Romanoff!Reader, Platonic!Bucky Barnes x Various!Avengers

Warnings: Language. Established relationship. Mentions of Bucky's past and trauma. So much angst, but tons of fluff too. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 6.4K. This one got away from me, lol.

A/N: Okay, so I heard about this too and did some research and found out it is a thing that the Red Skull uses against Bucky in one of the many universes of the comics, but it can only be used once. What I couldn’t find is how to wake him up, so that part is made up by me lol. Anyway, I hope this satisfies you, Anon, and to everyone that’s sent me requests already, I promise I plan on working on all of them, even if it takes me a little time. But keep ‘em coming! Also, I put a lot of MCU references and lines, so have fun finding them all, lol.

Masterlist

Life isn’t always fair.

That’s something most people can agree on. But it’s especially never been fair for one Bucky Barnes.

Bucky has been an Avenger for years now, and sometimes he still feels like he’s made little to no progress. Other times even he can’t deny how far he’s come.

Like right now, he’s sitting on the couch with you, his girlfriend, sitting next to him with your legs over his as he strokes your thigh absentmindedly while he’s engrossed in a conversation with Peter about astrology.

That’s something that Bucky has always found interesting, and the young genius has been filling Bucky in on everything he’s missed on the subject since the 40s.

Most of the Avengers are away on missions and the rest of the team that’s at the Compound (Tony, Steve, Peter, Wanda, Sam, Natasha, Bucky and you) are all hanging out in the common room, the fading colors of the sundown coming through the window making for a nice setting.

Tony, Steve and Sam are talking about Formula One, Peter and Bucky are in their own little nerd world and you are talking with Natasha and Wanda about the latest tv show you’ve all been binging together.

Your attention is brought on Bucky when he taps on your leg gently to signal you to get them off of him so he can get up, never breaking his conversation with Peter.

“What’s a satellite?” Bucky asks with furrowed eyebrows as he gets up from the couch.

“It’s an artificial body placed in orbit around the earth, or moon or another planet, in order to collect information or for communication.” Peter explains like the cute little geek he is while Bucky goes to the kitchen to get another beer, still concentrating on their conversation.

“You know,” Tony interjects, the whole team’s attention now on their exchange. “The first artificial Earth satellite launched in 1957, it was called Sputnik and it was-”

“Bucky?” You interrupt Tony in the middle of his fun fact when you see your boyfriend freezing as he’s about to sit on the couch where he was a minute ago.

He doesn’t say anything but you can see his eyes rolling back into his head and then he falls to the ground unconscious.

“Bucky!” You yell as you kneel beside him, everyone else rushing to his side, just as worried as you.

You grab him by his shoulders and shake him a little, but the man doesn’t move a muscle. You look around at the team, but everyone is equally as clueless about what’s happening as you are.

“Should we try slapping him?” Sam offers, earning a glare from both you and Steve and a slap on the back of his head by Natasha.

You look back at Bucky, but you can’t think of anything to do to help him, your mind completely blank. You feel a hand on your shoulder but you pay it no mind, your eyes focused on Bucky.

“We could try the book…” Steve’s voice is quiet but to your ears those words feel like a scream and your eyes snap up to his just to find him already looking at you.

You know what book he’s talking about, of course you know. The Winter Soldier’s red book, the one Bucky gave you to keep safe because he trusts you with his life.

You’re the only one that has access to it, but you’ve never even opened it because Bucky trusted you not to unless it was necessary. He chose not to destroy it for this exact reason, in case something inexplicable happened to him.

He himself has never opened the book, so it stands to reason that there are a lot of things he doesn’t know about the Winter Soldier’s programming.

You promised him you’d keep it safe and that’s what you’ve done so far, but you also promised yourself you’d never open it and see the horrors even Bucky doesn’t know they did to him. You certainly never thought it would be necessary, that’s why you agreed to it.

But right now, as much as you hate to admit it, it’s your best option.

You leave Bucky in Steve’s care and go to your and Bucky’s room. You go into the closet and remove the hardwood plank in the far corner and reach into it to take out a small safe.

It’s Stark Technology, even Bucky wouldn’t be able to get into it, if he even knew it was there. But he doesn’t, he was very insistent on you being the only person that knew the book’s hiding place.

You scan your thumbprint, then your retina and lastly say the voice command ‘Jamie’ and the light turns green. The safe opens and you reach into it, moving away the files about yourself you recovered from the Red Room after you and Natasha escaped, then the Hydra file Natasha found on Bucky and some other documents you have there before spotting the red leather at the bottom of the safe. You pull it out and hesitate before sighing.

This is necessary.

That’s what you keep telling yourself over and over as you open it and start looking through the pages for anything about Bucky passing out.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long for you to find it, and you’re careful to put everything away the way it was before going back to Bucky.

While you were looking for an explanation, Steve and Sam moved Bucky to the medbay where Tony hooked up some machines to him to make sure he was still healthy, even if he’s unconscious.

You enter the room and hesitate before walking up to the bed. You can tell everyone’s worried, most likely because even the shuffle of bringing him here didn’t wake him up.

“Please tell me nobody slapped him.” you say quietly, half joking and half actually worried someone tried to slap him awake. When Steve shakes his head no, you let out a relieved breath and cross your arms in front of your chest. “I think I know what happened.”

“You do? What is it?” Steve asks hopefully, although the tone in your voice doesn’t prompt anything good.

“Apparently, Hydra planted a failsafe in Bucky’s subconscious.” Everyone’s attention is on you, and you look at everything but Bucky. “It was made in case the Winter Soldier rebelled and they needed a quick way to shut him down.”

“I don’t get it, why didn’t Shuri take it out with his trigger words?” Sam asks with a frown.

“She didn’t know about it.” You answer simply. “Bucky didn’t even know about it…”

“If she didn’t know it existed, she didn’t know to look for it…” Tony elaborates and Sam nods.

“Does it say what the word is?” Steve asks you.

“The word is ‘Sputnik’.” You say while looking at Tony with a tight-lipped smile. You know it’s not his fault, he obviously didn’t do it on purpose and you know he understands you don’t blame him, and neither would Bucky. “Good news is, the failsafe can only be used once.” Everyone relaxes a little, at least there’s the bright side that this won’t ever happen again.

“And the bad news is…?” Natasha prompts while raising her eyebrow, making everyone tense again. You sigh, damn her for knowing you so well.

“Since it’s never been used, there’s no saying what will happen to him, how long it’ll last or how to wake him up…” You trail off, looking down at your feet while biting your lip before finishing your sentence. “If he even wakes up.”

You hear Wanda gasp at your words and the room goes silent. You don’t have the courage of looking anybody in the eye at the moment, so you just keep looking down.

“What do you mean, if he even wakes up?” Peter is the one that asks the question, his voice quiet and a little unsteady.

“It’s Hydra we’re talking about, I doubt they cared about the consequences their actions would bring on Bucky’s psyche…” You say bitterly, wishing you had any Hydra agent at hand so you could snap their neck. “That trigger word could’ve done anything to him.”

“T-there has to be something else, maybe you missed something.” Steve mutters and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. You know this is coming from a good place, he’s worried for his best friend, but it’s still annoying that he’s doubting you.

“All it says in the book is that it’s supposed to knock him out long enough to provide an opportunity to move him somewhere where he can’t do any damage or even put him back into Cryo if necessary.” You recall word for word what you read in the book, making it clear that there’s nothing else to be done. “All we can do is wait it out…”

You glance at Bucky and something inside you snaps. You know you can’t look at his still, angelic face any longer or you’ll lose it, so you turn around and walk out of the room, leaving everybody perplexed at the wake of your actions.

“Wait!” Steve says from behind you, but you don’t turn around until you’re at the elevators.

“We can keep watch on him one at a time until he wakes up.” That’s all you say while entering the elevator, giving him no chance to say anything back.

He understands this is a lot for you, so he decides not to push it. Instead he sighs and turns around, walking back to the rest of the team to tell them your, admittedly simple, plan.

Day 1

Steve volunteers to be the first one to watch over Bucky, hoping that he’ll wake up within a day and then everything will go back to normal.

“Hey, Buck.” He says quietly as he sits down on the chair next to Bucky’s bed.

“This is weird…” He says more to himself while studying Bucky’s face. “Should I talk to you? What should I even say to you? I don’t know, man…”

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve known me my whole life. My entire, overextended life… Is there really anything you don’t know about me yet? Well, maybe…”

Steve knows there’s something he hasn’t told Bucky. It’s something he hasn’t told anyone, really. But he needs to get it off his chest, so he takes a deep breath and decides to go for it.

“It’s hard, Buck… This whole hero thing.” He says quietly while looking at his lap. “I got into this life to help people, that’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, but… I never thought it’d be this hard.”

Steve plays with his fingers as he talks. He knows Bucky probably can’t hear him, he can’t even see him at the moment, but he still feels guilty about what he’s saying.

“Remember during the war, how we used to think about going home after it was all over and find a nice gal, settle down, have a family…” Steve can’t help but smile at the memory of all the times they spent in bars between fights with the Howling Commandos, just fantasizing about what their lives would be like after the war was over. “I know what I have with Natasha is real, and I love her, and you got pretty lucky too.” He smirks at Bucky while thinking about his relationship with you.

“But this isn’t really the life we imagined, is it?” His smile falls. He can’t help but feel like saying these things out loud make him look selfish. But who better to understand him than his best friend, who went through something very similar? So he keeps going.

“This job, man… People depend on us to keep them safe, and that’s a lot of responsibility on its own, but being Captain America…” Steve scoffs, just the title he was given all those years ago now carries a weight he can’t escape. “It’s exhausting.”

Steve finally looks up at Bucky, half expecting him to be looking at him with an irritated expression, but Bucky’s still unconscious, his face still and peaceful, almost as if he’s merely sleeping.

“I try to be perfect all the time, but, outside this team, no one wants me to be myself… They want me to be the version of myself that they like. The version that serves them better.” Steve leans in, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes focused on Bucky’s face. “But I’ve always known I could be myself with you. ‘That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb to run away from a fight’, right?”

Steve laughs. That’s how Bucky described him. Even after the serum, that’s how Bucky always saw him.

“That’s me… You’ve always seen me for who I was, not who you needed me to be…” He takes Bucky’s hand in his. “Even when I had nothing, I had you… And I know what you’d tell me if you were awake,”

Steve chuckles, knowing his stubborn best friend would insist Steve would be fine even without him. “I have the Avengers, I found myself a family, I’ll be okay…” He pauses thinking about the team, but then he gets to you and his smile falls again. “But her.”

He knows he doesn’t have to say anything more. If Bucky were awake, he would immediately understand Steve’s talking about you. “For her it’s different.” Steve says quietly. Everybody knows how much Bucky means to you. “You’re everything to her, Bucky.”

Day 2

Bucky still hasn’t woken up, but you can’t bring yourself to watch over him and Natasha can see it on your face when Steve suggested you’d be the next one on Bucky watch, so she offers to go instead of you like the good big sister she is.

“Hi, Barnes.” She says when she sits down on the same chair Steve spent the day on yesterday. “I think we both know I’m only here for your little doll.” Natasha teases with a small smirk before she gets more serious.

“She can’t face this yet…” Natasha says quietly, thinking about your face just moments ago. “She doesn’t believe she’s as strong as we both know she is.”

Natasha knows you haven’t slept much, the darkening circles under your eyes give you away.

“But I get it,” she sighs “you mean so much to her.” She’s never seen you as happy as you are since you started dating Bucky, and she knows you’d do anything to protect that. Hell, Natasha herself would do anything to protect something as pure as your relationship with Bucky.

“Our whole lives, all she wanted was what she has with you now.” Natasha smiles sadly at Bucky. “And now that she’s found it, it’s hard for her to face reality and admit to herself that she might lose it…”

Natasha sighs and shakes her head, thinking about everything organizations like Hydra and the Red Room took from all of them, and how they’re still managing to hurt them even after all these years.

“You know,” She says after a moment of silence “I’ve never been homesick. Because there was no place I belonged to.”

She knows Bucky felt the same way for the longest time, and she wants to give him the same hope she had. “And then I got this, this job… This family. And you’re part of that family too, Bucky.”

She leans in and scans Bucky’s face, looking for any signs that he might be conscious, but she finds nothing.

“None of us are ready to lose that. To lose you.” She tries to drive home the point by taking his hand. “You have a family again, a family that cares for you.”

“And you can’t do this to her… You know you can’t.” She adds after another moment of silence. “All our lives, she’s been looking for a home… You are her home, Bucky.”

Day 3

“Hey, man.” Sam sits down on the chair next to Bucky’s bed.

“I know, I know, I’m probably the last person you want here…” Sam chuckles. “But that’s too damn bad for you, because I’m gonna be here anyway.”

Sam looks at Bucky, it feels kind of weird for him to see him without the scowl that’s usually directed at him. “Oh, how I wish I could know what’s going on in that big cyborg brain of yours…” Sam says with a small grin.

“If you were awake you’d be glaring at me. Is it weird that I kind of miss it?” He wonders out loud. “Two days without your annoying staring problem is two days too long…”

Sam chuckles again. He knows Bucky would be threatening his life at this point if he were awake. Not that he’d ever follow through with his threats, though. Sam sighs.

“I know you don’t want me getting all sappy on you, but… I never did tell you why I tease you so much, did I?” Sam says quietly as he sits back on his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’ve asked me repeatedly why, but you don’t really expect an answer when you do…”

A lot of the conversations between them end with Bucky asking Sam why he’s such a pain in his ass while Sam, and anyone else witnessing the exchange for that matter, just laugh. Even you.

“But here I am, giving you one anyway.” Sam says with a grin. At this point he’s almost hoping that if he annoys Bucky enough, he’ll wake up just to kick his ass.

“You know how they say ‘we accept the love we think we deserve’? Well, I know how little love you truly believe you deserve.” Sam has never said these things out loud, especially not to Bucky because he knows that wouldn’t end up well for anybody. But now he feels like he has to.

“Thing is…” Sam says quietly, taking the rare moment where Bucky is not rolling his eyes or glaring at him to be honest. “You deserve so much more than you care to admit, Bucky.”

He looks out the window for a moment before looking back at Bucky.

“And I’m gonna mess with you, and make fun of you, and tease you like friends do.” He says defiantly, almost challenging Bucky to stop him. “Because, whether you like it or not, I am your friend.”

Sam grins at Bucky, wishing he was awake just so Sam could see Bucky’s face as he annoys him. “You have people that care about you, Bucky. You have a whole team that does.”

Sam says sincerely with an easy smile, but then he sighs. He knows, if Bucky could reply, he wouldn’t want to believe what Sam’s saying. Ever the stubborn one, that man.

“Look Bucky, I know you believe you’re hard to love…” Sam says quietly, thinking about his next words carefully with you in mind. “But she loves you like it’s breathing, man.”

Day 4

“Good morning, Bucky.” Wanda says as she enters Bucky’s room in the medbay. “How are you feeling?”

She sits down and sighs. “Yeah, I know, I could easily just look into your mind and see for myself, like Tony has been bugging me to do since all this started, but…” She pauses and smiles softly at Bucky. “I made you a promise.”

Bucky didn’t trust Wanda when he first met her. He knew she had ties to Hydra, he knew she could control his mind and he had enough of that for a lifetime.

“I’ve never entered one of our friend’s minds on principle, but I know how important it was to you that I willingly promised you outright.” She says softly while remembering the look on his face when she seeked him out to relieve his worries. “It didn’t take a mind reader to see the weight being lifted off your shoulders when I actually said the words…”

After that Bucky seemed less guarded around her, they even had some conversations about their experiences with Hydra, and Bucky came to understand where Wanda was coming from.

“And I get it, you’ve had no control over your own mind for the longest time, you don’t want anyone else in there.” Wanda says quietly “You trust me not to, and I’d never betray that trust.”

She’s proud that she was able to gain Bucky’s trust, and she’d never do anything to lose that.

“You and I both know what it’s like to have nothing,” She sits back on her chair, her eyes on the window. “and we both value trust above all else, having had no one to trust for the longest time.”

“After I got these… These powers…” She looked at the red energy coming out her fingers while they played with it. “I knew people saw me differently. I knew they feared me…”

Her Sokovian accent comes out more as she gets emotional, her eyes leaving her hand as she looks back at Bucky. “And Hydra conditioned you to expect people to fear you, too.” She says sadly. “But we can’t control other people’s fears. Only our own.”

That’s a lesson that took her a while to learn, but it’s an important one for both of them.

“We’re not monsters.” She says with conviction, like she’s trying to convince him more than just remind him, before adding. “We are all born so beautiful… The greatest tragedy is being convinced we’re not.”

Wanda smiles, that’s another lesson that was hard to learn, but luckily for them they had someone to help them believe it.

“You know who taught us that, who helped us really believe it…” Wanda chuckles softly, thinking about how you went above and beyond for both her and Bucky. Even before you started dating him, you wanted to make him see himself the way you saw, and still see him.

“She believes wholeheartedly that you’re beautiful. I don’t need to use my powers to see the way her eyes, her face, her whole soul lights up when she looks at you…” Wanda feels like he needs to remind Bucky what he has. If he’s fighting, he needs to know what he’s fighting for. “You’re her hope, and her peace… You’re her whole world, Bucky.”

Day 5

“Hello, Mr. Barnes, sir.” Peter says shyly as he hesitantly sits down on the chair, almost expecting Bucky to look at him and tell him not to do that because Bucky always insists Peter call him by his nickname like everybody, but Peter never does.

“I’m sorry, I know you hate it when I do that.” Peter scratches the back of his neck nervously. “You always say ‘just because I have a few decades on you, it doesn’t mean you have to call me sir’.”

Peter chuckles. “I know that, but I can’t help it… It’s not because you’re older,” Peter quickly reassures him. “It’s because I respect you. I admire you, really…” Peter blushes a little at the admission, but after all Bucky is a war hero and a role model.

“Everything you went through, even before Hydra…” He trails off, glancing at Bucky with a pained expression before continuing. “It made you stronger. You’ve always been able to help people, even without being a supersoldier.”

Peter remembers the conversations he had with Bucky, after the man got used to the 16-year-old’s enthusiasm and energy, where Peter’s curiosity and genuine interest of what he had to say brought them hours of Bucky recalling what it was like to live in the 40s and through a war.

“You had a duty back then… To protect your country, your family and your friends… It was a responsibility, albeit a terrible one at that.” Peter says admiringly, recalling how shocked he had been when Bucky told him he got drafted and didn’t enlist like it says in his exhibit at the Smithsonian. “But you know what it’s like, to do what you have to do because it’s the right thing…”

“I know you look at me and see a younger version of Mr. Rogers… Young and small and in need of help…” Peter says after a moment of silence, chuckling at the similarities he felt he shared with the pre-serum version of Steve before Peter got his powers. “And I get it, I spent my whole life like that… And then I got this opportunity.”

Peter looks at his hands, knowing what he can do with them alone is extraordinary. But he didn’t feel like he deserved it when it first happened.

“It was an accident. A fluke, a mistake…” He said quietly, words he’d never said out loud but he’s said to himself countless times. “But it gave me a chance to help people.” He says, now very proud of the opportunity he’s been given.

“When you can do the things that I can, but you don’t… And then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.” He says while smiling at the memory of telling Tony that when he first recruited him. “And I know fighting is the right thing to do, but it’s also a lot for me to take on…” His voice gets quieter.

“And it took me a while to get the hang of it. I still struggle with it sometimes…” He admits sheepishly.

“But, ‘just because you took longer than others, doesn't mean you failed.’” He says before smiling at Bucky. “Remember that, kid.’” he says imitating Bucky’s deep voice with a chuckle.

“You told me that, sir. And I always remember that.” He says, proud of himself. “I’m doing my best, and that’s what matters…” His smile falters when he then sees you pass Bucky’s medbay room, like you do a few times a day even if you still can’t bring yourself to enter it.

“She’s doing her best too, Mr. Barnes.” Peter says quietly, looking worriedly at you. “To keep herself together, to not break down… To not lose hope.”

Peter looks back at Bucky and leans in, like he’s telling him a secret. “But I can tell it’s getting harder. She can’t sleep, or eat, she can’t stop thinking about you but she can’t bear to see you like this…”

Peter almost hoped that telling him this would be enough to make Bucky wake up, but he understands that it’s more complicated than just willpower. Peter sighs and leans back in his chair, his eyebrows furrowed with worry as he looks at Bucky. “You have to come back to her, Bucky.”

Day 6

You almost shove Tony into Bucky’s room. Everybody else is busy, most of the team being out on missions, and you still can’t bring yourself to see him.

“Hey, Terminator, how’s the coma going?” You groan loudly enough for him to hear while yelling ‘Tony!’ from outside and he chuckles. “Kidding, kidding…”

Tony reluctantly sits down on the chair next to Bucky’s bed. It’s not like he hates him, they have slowly developed a relationship. It’s not quite enough to call it a true friendship, but it’s enough for them to get along when they’re in a group setting, they just don’t spend any time just the two of them.

“Fine, let’s level, Barnes.” Tony says with a sigh after several minutes of silence. “I know we’ve had a rocky relationship from the start, but you have to see where I’m coming from.”

Tony thinks back at what happened in Siberia. He feels guilty about it now, but in the moment he was in the eye of the tornado. He couldn’t see a way out.

“Seeing you do those things on camera… It did something to me. And then that’s all I could see, your hand around my mom’s throat…” He trails off, swallowing hard as the memory comes rushing back. “But that wasn’t your fault.” He concedes after another moment of silence.

“You know how they say that villains deserve to have their stories told from their own point of view?” He asks rhetorically, knowing Bucky can’t answer. “I never believed that. I thought it was just an excuse for bad people to justify their actions… A ‘you don’t know what drove me here, so you can’t judge my actions, as bad as they may seem to you’ type of thing.”

He glances down before looking back at Bucky with a small smile. “And then I met you. And I tried to kill you…” He chuckles awkwardly, then sighs. “But I’m glad I didn’t succeed. I’d never been able to get to know you, to understand your side of things… You’re a pretty badass dude.”

Tony smiles at Bucky. Even he has to admit that Bucky has made so much progress. He’s opened up more than anyone would’ve expected, he cares about the team, he laughs and jokes around with everybody. He’s not as guarded as he used to be, he’s truly a part of their evergrowing, eccentric family.

“I know I should’ve told you this a long time ago. It’s always been kind of implied, but…” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t blame you for what happened to my parents. Not anymore.”

He pauses, he’s never actually said the words out loud, but right now he needs to.

“But I will blame you if you leave her like this…” He says playfully before adding more seriously. “She needs you, Bucky. More than you know, maybe even more than you need her.”

He’s never actually called him by his name, but he knows this is important and doesn’t find it in himself to come up with some funny nickname.

“Everybody wants a happy ending, and you’re hers.” He adds after another second. “And I know, part of the journey is the end, but… It’s not time for your end yet. Don’t leave her like this.”

Day 7

You can’t put it off any longer.

The team is out on various missions, you’re the only one in the compound along with a still unconscious Bucky. You take a deep, shaky breath and enter his room.

For a moment you stand in the doorway, tempted to run out as far and fast as you can. But you need to do this.

You walk to his bedside and bite your lip as you look at his peaceful face. Steve was right, he looks like he’s just sleeping. But you know better.

“Hi, baby…” You say quietly as you run your fingers through his hair softly. “I know, I’m sorry I haven’t… I haven’t been here.”

You feel guilty that you haven’t been taking care of him like you should. “But seeing you like this… It just hurts so bad.” You know it’s selfish. He’s the one that you should be caring for, but all you can preoccupy yourself with is your own feelings. “I want to be strong for you and I’m sorry I can’t…”

You sit down on the chair next to his bed, gently taking his flesh hand in yours, and it’s as warm as it’s always been. For a few moments you do nothing more than just look at him, the beeping of the machines becoming background noise. You almost hope he’ll wake up out of sheer willpower, but you know it won’t happen.

“I need you to wake up, Bucky. Please…” You say quietly, almost pleading with him as tears start to come to your eyes, but you try your best to hold them back. “I need to see your smile, and your beautiful blue eyes, even if they are rolling in annoyance at some stupid pun I made.”

You chuckle at the thought of all those times that he rolled his eyes at you when you made bad puns and dad jokes, only to laugh a second later.

Not even because he found them funny, but because of the look you’d give him. Like you were doing everything you could not to laugh, because to you those silly jokes were the funniest thing ever, and he loved how much joy they brought you.

And that was nothing compared to the way your eyes would light up when he’d laugh, like your greatest accomplishment in life was bringing him joy, even when both of you were entirely aware that it’s not the jokes that he enjoys.

It’s you.

“I need to hear your voice and feel your touch… You’re everything to me, baby… Everything I need, everything I love…” You pause and bite your lip.

Love. That’s a word you two haven’t said yet. You feel it, you show it, you both know it. But you don’t say it.

Is this the best moment to say it for the first time? Probably not, but, with some hesitation, you say it anyway.

“You are love. When I think of love, when I hear it, when I say it… It’s you, just you, filling my head.” You reach out to caress his cheek. “It’s just you. I love you, Bucky. I’m sorry I’m telling you like this, and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner… But I need you to wake up so I can tell you. I need you to hear it, I… I need you, Bucky.” Your tears start to fall without you even noticing.

“I can’t lose you… I’m not ready… No one ever is, but I can’t…” Your voice breaks and you try to stifle a sob but fail miserably. “I can’t do this without you, Jamie... Just please wake up...”

You wrap your arm around Bucky's, your other hand holding onto his like it's the only thing keeping him, and you, alive. Like you almost expect to hear the monitors flatlining if you were to let go.

So you don't, you lay your head on his arm and allow yourself to break for the first time all week and your voice becomes a whisper. “Please…”

Day 8

Somehow you managed to fall asleep, the first time you’ve slept in a week, still holding onto Bucky’s arm.

When you wake up the next morning there’s a few moments where you forget everything that happened. You try to get up from the bed, but feel a weight on your stomach and when you look down you see Bucky’s arm holding onto you.

Suddenly everything that happened in the past week comes rushing back and, at the same time, you realize you’re no longer in the medbay but instead you’re laying on the bed of yours and Bucky’s shared bedroom.

Confused as to how you ended up here and still a little sleepy, you look up with a frown to see Bucky already looking down at you with a goofy grin.

“Bucky!” You all but yell while throwing yourself at him, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. You hug him tightly as he chuckles at your more than enthusiastic reaction.

You feel his arms wrapping around you as he hugs you back. You want to look at him, but part of you is terrified that if you were to let go he'd disappear. You'd wake up and realize this was just a dream and Bucky is still unconscious.

“Doll,” That simple word, his deep voice was all you needed to confirm this is indeed real and he's awake “you're kind of crushing me here, sweetheart.” Bucky teases you playfully, but he doesn't mean it and you both know it.

Even though you are clinging to him like a koala bear, it doesn't bother him in the slightest. He just wants you to look at him.

You reluctantly pull away from Bucky’s neck just enough to look into his eyes. He brings his hand up to stroke your cheek softly and you instinctively lean into his touch.

You close your eyes for a second before they snap open again as you realize there’s something you need to tell him.

“I love you.” You take his face in your hands. “I love you so fucking much. And I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I ju-”

Bucky interrupts what he’s sure it’s gonna be a long rant that ends with you unnecessarily apologizing a bunch of times by placing his hands on yours on his face and squeezing them softly, bringing you back to the present.

“I know, doll.” he says simply and you frown a little.

Sure, you’ve both always known you had deep feelings for each other, but he seems pretty sure when you have never actually said the words.

Bucky can see the wheels turning in your head and, chuckling, he decides to solve the mystery for you. “I heard you. I could hear everything while I was unconscious.”

“You could?” you ask, blushing a little now that you know he heard you breaking down. You’re glad he now knows the depth of your feelings for him, but it’s still a little embarrassing.

“I could,” he says with a smirk. “It's gonna make for a lot of interesting conversations with the team.”

You can’t help but laugh, you’re not sure what the rest of the team talked to him about, but if they were all as emotional as you then Bucky’s gonna have a field day discussing all of that with equally embarrassed Avengers.

Suddenly, Bucky brings your face down to his and kisses you. You make no attempt to resist and actually whine a little when he pulls away, which makes him chuckle at your antics.

“I love you too, baby.” He says softly while stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re everything to me. My best friend, the love of my life, my very reason to live.”

You feel your tears starting to gather again but, even if this time they’re of joy, you still don’t let them fall.

Before you can say anything though, the door of our room slams open and you can barely understand what’s happening before Steve, Wanda, Peter, Natasha, Sam and Tony throw themselves on the bed, crushing you while they all yell at the same time, the chorus of joy being along the lines of ‘Bucky’s alive’.

Bucky’s arms around you tighten while he tries to protect you from the team’s attack as best as he can while the two of you laugh at your friend’s antics.

You may have had the worst week of your life, but it’s over now. And while you’re looking forward to having some time alone with Bucky, right now you’re happy to be squished under a pile of shouting Avengers.

This just feels right. As weird as your life, and your family is, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

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beenbaanbuun · 2 months

Text

club w/ wooyoung

wrote this after an interaction with mean girls at my local club…

wooyoung has been gone for a little over two minutes now - the bar must be busy - leaving you alone with an almost passed out san

normally you wouldn’t mind since you were well practiced in the art or staring down men to the point where they would dare approach you

y’know, stare into their eyes with a disgusted look for long enough for them to grow just a little self conscious

there’s only one man it’s ever not worked on, but he’s your boyfriend now

sometimes wooyoung can be about as good reading the room as san is holding his liqueur - bad… with a capital B

but the issue tonight isn’t men, it’s women

more specifically, a group of girls standing just a couple of meters to your right

they’re pretty, you think to yourself, but the way they point and laugh warps your perception of them until all you see is a group of mean girls

mean isn’t pretty

you turn to look at the dazed man next to you

he seems to have taken an interest in the way the lights swing around the room, following them like a cat with a laser

“san,” you grab his attention, “can you see those girls over there?”

you point him in the direction of them with a tilt of your head, and his eyes follow slowly

he nods, stumbling a little as the movement makes him lose his balance

you catch him and push him against the wall so he doesn’t have to focus so hard on staying upright

“are they talking about me?” you ask, “they’re laughing at something in this direction but i don’t know if i’m being paranoid.”

san comically narrows his eyes at the girls, looking like they do in the cartoons, and you let out a small giggle

and then san nods

“they keep looking at you,” he clarifies, “one of them just took a photo, i think.”

your furrow your brows

“what?”

“yeah,” he angles his head so he can see the girl’s phone screen, “something about your back must be really interesting to them. they’re sending it someone on snapchat…”

the thought alone makes your heart freeze in place, and you immediately stop having fun

the smile on your face drops completely, and the weird little sidestep dance you always do at the club comes to a stand still

a drunk hand finds the top of your head - a little too hard, you must say, but you’d never tell san that - and gently tousles your hair

“they’re just jealous,” he slurs his words with a smile, and although they’re sincere you find it hard to believe

because they’re all standing there in their tight black t-shirts that accentuate their chest and baggy cargo pants that fall perfectly from their hips

and when you look down at yourself all you can see is your black corset that makes your tits look great, but sometimes reveals too much back fat for your liking, and your tiny black mini skirt that now you look at it, makes your tummy bulge over the top in a way that you hadn’t noticed until now

your distressed tights that you normally love now look messy under your critical gaze, and the knee high black socks that go under them just look weird

and all of that is without even mentioning your platform trainers that are chunkier than any other trainer you’ve ever seen, and add at least two inches onto your height

you look weird, you decide as you study yourself

“what’s got the prettiest girl in the club so down in the dumps?” you boyfriend asks loudly as he finally arrives back to your tiny group with his and your drinks in his hands

the laughter that comes from the group of girls punctuates his sentence cruelly, and you shrink into yourself more

you don’t particularly want to talk about it, but thankfully, with san in the state that he’s in, you don’t have to

“where’s my drink?” san pouts, ignoring wooyoung’s question completely

“i got you one like five minutes ago,” he didn’t, but san is too drunk to remember that, “look,” wooyoung points to an empty plastic cup on the floor, “you had a single vodka coke, remember?”

san is, somehow, satisfied with the lie and goes back to chilling against the wall with a dopey smile

wooyoung smiles fondly at his friend before turning to you with a more serious look

“now, back to you, baby,” he passes you a cup of pink liquid which you immediately start gulping down

it only takes a few seconds before wooyoung snatches it out of your hands with a frown

“okay, so that’s concerning,” he grumbles, “tell me what’s wrong.”

you shrug, but your eyes betray you

wooyoung must notice the way your eyes flicker over to the group for a few seconds and his gaze decides to follow yours

the girls are giggling, as usual, but this time you make eye contact with one of them

she looks you up and down before frowning and raising her hands in a ‘what have i done?’ motion

and then like clockwork, the frown cracks and they all start laughing again

you stare as the one that had looked you up and down moments prior uses her finger to instruct one of the others to do the same

you frown

“i wouldn’t normally say this, but they’re fucking bitches,” wooyoung whispers as he reaches a hand out to touch your shoulder, “do you want me to say something?”

you shake your head - it would be embarrassing for you if you sent your boyfriend to tell them off for you

even if they are acting like bullies in a playground…

“no, woo,” you shake your head and put on your bravest smile for him which you can tell he doesn’t believe, “just stay here with me, hm?”

he sighs and nods before shuffling the two of you around until his body is blocking yours from the group’s vision

but it doesn’t do much, not when you can still hear their laughter over the music

you try and let it go, but it’s all you can hear

the song could be anything in the world but you wouldn’t know

your mind is still racing and you can still hear them and you just can’t find it in you to have fun anymore

you look at your boyfriend, trying not to think too hard about the sympathetic look on his face

“actually, can we just go?”

you feel bad about your request, but you’d feel worse if you were to stay and ruin the atmosphere for the two guys who would otherwise be having a great time

wooyoung nods and puts a hand on san’s shoulder to pull him off of the wall

with one arm around his friend’s shoulder, he wraps the other around your waist and the three of you begin to walk

it’s slow, with san’s stumbling and the insane crowd of people, but before you know it, you’re almost out of there

but just as you reach the door, wooyoung stops

“shoot, i forgot to put the drinks down somewhere,” he unravels his arms and pushes the two of you over to a wall, “stay here, i’ll be back soon, alright?”

you nod and watch as he weaves his way through the crowd

you lose him within a few seconds, and decide to focus your attention on san instead

no doubt he’d be sleeping on your couch tonight, you giggle to yourself

it’s always an experience when he spends the night at yours; more often than not you wake up to him asleep on the floor of your room rather than the sofa you left him on

one time you’d even found him cuddled up to wooyoung in his sleep

you still have the photos on your phone as blackmail

the thought cheers you up a little

not much, but enough to bring a small smile to your face

a smile that quickly vanishes when wooyoung comes storming out of the room, a sheepish look on his face and a wet patch down his front

he grabs both of you and without wasting a second, drags you out of the door and onto the cold street

“what happened?” you ask as he hails a taxi

one pulls up and wooyoung quickly tells the driver your address before the three of you climb in

he sits next to you and takes your hand in his

“wooyoung, what happened?” you repeat

san gags as the car starts to move

you ignore it - san may not be able to handle drinking, but he’s not (yet) thrown up from it before - and keep your attention firmly on your boyfriend

he shrugs, “nothing much…”

you give him a look that lets him know you don’t believe him

he tried to wait it out, hoping you’ll let it go after a few seconds, but you don’t

“fine,” he concedes, “i spilt my drink on one of the girls, purely by accident, and she threw hers back…”

“wooyoung!” you slap his chest gently

he just chuckles and puts his hand over your own, pinning it to the sticky wet patch on his chest

“they deserved it, hun.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez headcanons #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fluff

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goldhoekin · 6 months

Text

Angel || Sam Riordan Smut

Angel || Yandere!Sam Riordan x Fem Reader

summary: After Marie becomes #2 and Brink is killed by Luke Jordan slips in the rankings. They begin to obsess over the rankings neglecting their girlfriend who lets their frustration slips and Jordan takes their frustrations out on their girlfriend.

cw: fem!reader, porn with some plot, creampie, unprotected sex, dubious consent, oral sex ( f! receiving), overstimulation, biting/marking, dacryphilia, obsessive behaviors, and nonconsensual use of aphrodisiacs .

Words:2.03k

He sees you every single time Luke is brought down for his infusions, each time you look at him with such kindness and sadness as you plead for his freedom. It makes him happy to see someone actually fight for him. One time you’d even held his hand in exchange for him to stop struggling.

“Hi Sam. My name’s Y/N, I’m so sorry you have to go through this. Would you like it if I held your hand to help? I know its not much but maybe that’ll make this a tiny bit more bearable?” You say, a genuine look in your eye, that’s how he knows you’re real and not a puppet, you’re a real angel.

You’re his personal angel…and he has to have you. You were so nice to him, you must like him right? For weeks he spends his time sketching you on pieces of paper, hiding them each time you visit him, and spend time with him.

One day after lunch he asks to speak to Shetty, telling her he has a deal for her. He’d dreamt of you sitting down in his room, reading comics with him, holding his hand as he saw the puppets all with those sparkly eyes of yours.

“You let me have Y/N for a few hours a day and I won’t fight you anymore..” Sam says, eyes sparkling with hope, voice steady…well as steady as he can make it.

The woman’s brows raised in surprise, you were a simple supe who made pretty little light shows. Harmless enough, you were one of the few supes she actually had no issue with, you were an angel truly. Though as much as she didn't like bargaining you off to a highly dangerous supe…she wasn’t left with much choice Sam was integral to Luke’s success and if giving you up to him for an hour, after doping him to high hell so he didn’t kill you, then so be it. Vought didn’t need to know what they did for the Woods project to go smoothly and if she had to get her hands dirtier than so be it, keep them distracted on what she was really doing.

“You can have her for one hour a day and that’s only if you take your medications without fuss, Y/N’s a sweet girl. We don’t want her hurt, do we Sam?” Indira says, a false smile on her face.

“O-one hour? No cameras right? I won’t her I promise!” Sam hastily replies.

Shetty simply nods her head in confirmation and turns towards the exit, “She’ll be here for you tomorrow, don’t screw this up Sam.”

You were called to Dean Shetty’s office, she texted you and said it was urgent. She told you to dress up, wear white and tell no one. So when Andre asked you where you were going looking like a sexy Virgin Mary with your pure white sundress, matching shoes, garters and underwear included. You hated not looking put together, a habit you’ve had due to your belief that keeping up a certain image will help your brand, which for all intent and purposes it did.

You simply said, “Some of us don’t get dressed in the dark while spending my daddy’s money on tacky clothes Andre.”

A cackle leaves Luke’s lips as Andre’s face turns into one of shock, Jordan silently crying into a throw pillow, Cate struggling to breathe through her laughs. Without another word you make your way to Dean Shetty’s office, the woman already waiting outside her door, two cups of a hot beverage in hand.

She walks towards you and guides you in the familiar direction to the Woods, handing you a warm cup that you take without hesitation. You unfortunately knew about it, finding out by accident. Dean Shetty knew of your record of caring for those who need it, this should be right up your alley. Though she knew you wouldn’t be the most susceptive to Sam’s advances without help so she slipped a high dose aphrodisiac into your cinnamon creme drink that you love so much.

“Y/N love, I have a special mission for you.” Shetty says as they move downwards towards the prison facility, “Sam needs someone to spend time with, he said he’d love to talk and spend time with you! Would you be willing to spend an hour a day with him, just help him adjust and stay settled? I know you’ll be great at it love!”

You think its actually sweet that Sam felt safe enough with you to ask to spend time with you. The poor boy needed help that Vought could give him, maybe you can as well. Maybe you can even work with him to get him a little tv or something or more books for him to read.You fall into your thoughts as you absentmindedly sip your drink, noting how good it tasted.

“Sure we can read some comics, maybe even have some snacks,I think it’ll be really fun!” You say with that lovely smile on your face, the same one Sam loves and Dean Shetty fears will never grace your face again after today as she takes the now empty cup from your hand.

Making your way down to Sam’s room you wait for him to enter, promptly security and Shetty leave and the door is securely closed behind you.

Sam stares at you in awe, mouth agape at your appearance.

She dressed up for me, my angel put on this pretty outfit for me. Y/N really does love me!

“Y-you look really pretty. I can’t believe you did all this for me!” Sam beams, moving forward to grip your hand. You notice he has a band-aid on his wrist, noting that he’s been injected with something.

At that moment you feel your body growing hot, prompting you to immediately take off your tell tailored white coat. Your breasts now on display as you chest heaves as you try and fail to gather air in your lungs, you hardly noticed Sam’s face so close to yours, his eyes staring at your lips. Without hesitation he slams onto yours, his hands gripping your waist in a bruising grip.

They must’ve given a strength dampener, because he could’ve fucking crushed me…

You think to yourself as you feel his lips clumsily move onto yours, you move yours against his, feeling the weight on your chest lessen slightly. You feel your pussy grow wetter and wetter as his hands roam your body, making his way under your dress to grip your ass.

You move him in the general direction of his bed, the young man breathless.

“I–i can’t believe you like me back!” Sam whispers, his knee grazing against your dripping wet cunt.

“What-I like you, just as a friend Sam.” You say as you feel his neck brush against your neck, which promptly stops at your words.

“If you don’t like me then why are we in my bed? Why are you kissing me and letting me touch you?” Sam asks, his voice hurt, you couldn’t help but sigh.

“I…I can’t stop for some reason. I’m so horny it hurts, if I could do this with someone else trust me I would Sam. I’m so sorry!” You whimper, unconsciously grinding your weeping pussy against his knee, desperate for friction of any kind. At this he tosses you back, so roughly you land on his bean bag, legs spread wide. A large gray spot showing how wet you are, your face hot and your breasts threatening to spill out from your dress.

“You’re mine!” Sam growls, eyes darkened as he crawls in between your legs, he takes his time pulling down your panties and exposing your pussy to the open air. He keeps your legs open with his strength as he dives into your wetness, your hand immediately goes into his hair gripping it harshly. A moan leaves his lips as you pull him as close to you as possible, your moans pouring from your lips as he licks at you with inexperienced vigor.

“Use your finger Sam! Take two, move them in and out of me, keep your mouth on my clit. Y-you’re so good baby, fuck you’re doing so fucking good!” You moan, thankfully Sam listens to you his deliciously thick fingers plunge into your cunt and sucks at your cunt harshly, the knot that was forming in your stomach tightening more and more. You wrap your now free legs around Sam’s head grinding your cunt against his face as you feel yourself about to cum.

“Oh fuck! Sam, I’m gonna cum!” You scream as you feel yourself gush, your legs shaking violently as you come down from your high. Sam’s tongue lapping up your juices eagerly, licking and sucking you damn near clean. After you stopped shaking he pulls back, swiftly pulling his cock out, the tip violently red. His tip is leaking large amounts of precum, he runs his hand up and down his shaft.

“Don’t worry I’ll be good, so good that you won’t want anyone else! It’ll be perfect and maybe you can stay down here with me longer!” Sam says settling between your legs, he begins to rub himself up and down your still twitching cunt, your pussy gripping on nothing. Without warning he plunged himself into you, his body leaning over you as he pushed himself into you to the hilt, his face buried in your neck. He begins to push himself in and out of your pussy, the feeling becoming overwhelming fast as you feel him pick up the pace, albeit not the smoothest rhythm was set.

“Y-you feel so good! You really were made for me my angel, I can’t believe I get to go do this with you! Tell me what you want me to do, I’ll do it! I’ll do anything for you, just ask!” Sam says breathlessly, his hands find their way to the top of your dress, roughly pulling down the bodice to watch your breasts spill out. Sam latches his lips around your pebbled nipple, nipping and biting down harshly on your chest, a gasp leaving your lips. You begin to feel another orgasm building, causing you to wrap your arms around Sam’s neck and your legs capture his midsection.

“I’m gonna cum again! Fuck!” You moan as you feel Sam’s thrusts grow sloppy, hopefully he’s smart enough to pull out.

You feel yourself cumming again, thick cream coating Sam’s dick as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, the overstimulation causing you to cry from the overwhelming sensation.

Sam looks up at your face as he feels your tears, he couldn’t help but think about how good you looked like this. All fucked out, those beautiful eyes shinging with tears from how good he’s making you feel. Sam decides that he wants to see you like this more often, him fucking you till you cry and him filling you up, his various bite marks and hickies littering your decolletage and those wide angel eyes filled with tears. This pushes him to prop himself up on his hands and piston in and out of you, your breasts bouncing wildly and your hands trying to push him away as the sensation is too much for you and the fear of him cumming inside of you. He buries his face into your neck, biting down harshly as he cums deep within you, filling you to the brim.

‘Don’t worry Angel, we’ll be so happy. It’ll be great just watch, I made you mine and I’m never letting you go.” Sam whispered into your neck, by now the drug that was slipped into your drink was wearing off and your face began to contort into one of horror, thoughts of you being stuck down here with him. You possibly ruining your a career by having a child too early while you yourself were a child became too much and those lovely eyes of yours went dark, the spark dying instantly.

Fuck.

#gen v #gen v smut #gen v amazon #gen v imagine #gen v x reader #sam riordan #yandere gen v #yandere sam riordan #sam riordan x reader #sam riordan smut

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cheesecakethots · 7 months

Note

I love regretful yans as well. I think it would work really well with Illumi and a chatty and outgoing Darling. He realizes that the routine and insolation is killing her when she doesn’t talk anymore “every day is the same”

i love the idea that he doesn’t realise how much he enjoys the talkative and outgoing nature of his darling, not until it’s gone.

he’s the one that stays pretty quiet at times, just hanging onto every word that you say. he seems the type to appear as though he doesn’t care all that much when you go on and on about some comic you used to read, only for the week after it to appear on your bedside table when you wake up.

little things like that aren’t good enough, though.

the routine slowly kills you; having to get up just to be treated as though you have no qualities other than being a wife and future mother definitely hurts a lot more than you’d like to admit.

despite the fact that you borderline hate illumi for taking you away, he’s also your only lifeline to talk and share things to, as he is really the only person that cares, even just a little bit. in his own way, at least. he’ll probably find a way to ruin it, though.

you might be in the midst of a breakdown, tired of these routines and being treated like nothing but a womb and a wife, only for him to tell you in an airy voice that that is all you are. you don’t know that he thinks it’s a good thing, and he doesn’t know why you think it isn’t.

you grow quieter soon after that.

he unconsciously makes sure every night that he gets home before you go to bed, so that he can hear you ramble on about small things in your otherwise very boring day. this time, he watches you go about your routine before getting into bed next to him. he turns his head towards you and- oh. you’ve lifted the covers over yourself and faced away from him. he stares at you for a couple minutes. you don’t turn around.

the next night is the same. and the next. and the next.

even on days where he can spend it by your side, you’re almost silent. he eventually forces himself to try and get you to talk, but you only answer his questions with nods or shakes of your head.

he starts to realise it’s the routine that’s killing you. he doesn’t understand why.

he tries breaking the routine he has you on occasionally, but to illumi a change in it is simply getting to lay in a bit longer, or to have half an hour to yourself (he’s secretly watching you but you don’t need to know that) in the garden or library.

it isn’t enough.

he starts telling you about his day, about where he went and who he met (and not what he did with them). this only makes you worse.

it might get to a point where he’ll allow you out of the house, with him, for a few hours, maybe even an entire day.

he hates every minute of it, up until he catches a ghost of a smile on your lips. maybe a break in the routine isn’t so bad, after all.

#tw yandere #tw.yandere #yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere illumi #yandere illumi x reader #yandere illumi zoldyck x reader #yandere illumi zoldyck #tw kidnap mention #tw kidnapping #tw reader depression #tw depression

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sometimesanalice · 9 months

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Leave a Light On {vol. ii}

Summary: Of all the sounds you would have expected to hear in the hazy, quiet small hours of the morning, the gentle rasp of Bradley’s voice wasn’t one that you ever could have anticipated. After three months away, he is finally home.

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Warnings: lots of pining and yearning (Minors DNI)

(read vol. i here)

“Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

That voice. His voice.

You’d been running your fingertips over the smooth keys of his piano, just about to settle them back into the starting position of the part of the song that had tripped you up in the first place. One breath away from launching into that tricky portion yet again, when you were nearly startled out of your skin. Surprise and shock shooting up your spine, the pencil in your hand sent flying.

Of all the sounds you would have expected to hear in the hazy, quiet small hours of the morning, the gentle rasp of Bradley’s voice wasn’t one that you ever could have anticipated.

Your pulse is pounding wildly, in your chest, in your throat, in your ears, as you swiftly spin around towards his front door.

And there leaning against the wooden doorframe of his house, wearing his green flight suit with a canvas seabag still clutched in hand, is Bradley.

Healthy, whole, and here.

“Bradley!” You’re up and off his creaky piano bench in less than half a heartbeat.

You had wanted to be the one to surprise him, but here he was surprising you. His arms wide and welcoming.

If his body was any less solid you might have knocked him over in the way you collide as you throw yourself at him. His bag hitting the floor with a thud as he drops it to hold you properly for the first time in three months.

I’ve missed you.I’ve missed you.I’ve missed you. your heart taps out against your ribcage.

I’m here.I’m home.I’m yours. you feel his beat in reply.

He has you so tightly pressed against his chest, holding you so close within the safe cocoon of his sturdy arms. Your face is buried in the side of his neck, breathing him in. He doesn’t smell like the sandalwood scent you’re used to, but rather some sharp astringent smell from whatever taxpayer funded soap they provided on the carrier. But underneath that, there’s something that’s just so Bradley.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he says almost incredulously into your hair, his arms tightening around your waist. “I thought about you all the time. I missed you so much.”

Still in too much shock to speak, still too overwhelmed by him, you just rapidly nod your head in agreement and burrow yourself closer into his warmth. Your fingers combing through the fine hairs at the base of his head in that soothing way that you know makes him sigh. Smiling to yourself when you get the reaction you were hoping for, when his exhale ghosts down the side of your face as you hold each other.

Your perfect Bradley. Your Golden Boy.

You’ve thought about your reunion with him so many times over the last few months.

Visions of you picking him up, waiting for him by the Bronco wearing that sundress that drives him wild. Of him surprising you at work after some meeting that could have been an email, standing head and shoulders above the gray drab cubicle walls of your office. Of him lingering outside the door of your apartment with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, just like he had after that comically bad third date, but this time without the bug bites littering his thick forearms.

And even though your hair is probably a mess and you’re in an oversize threadbare shirt and wearing slippers that had seen better days, this is better than anything you’d imagined. Because this wasn’t some delicate daydream spun together in your mind to keep ache of missing him at bay.

In the early hours of the morning, it’s not a lyrical vibrato and swell of strings that serves as the soundtrack to his homecoming like it would be in the movies. It’s the percussion of the drip from the kitchen faucet, the low hum and rattle of his refrigerator, the melody of your mingled breathing. These were the sounds of the score to your reunion with Bradley, a domestic symphony.

The quiet, steady ticking of the clock mounted on his wall is the only acknowledgement of time passing as the two of you stay wrapped up in each other. The only indication that this moment isn’t suspended in time like the way it feels it is. A sign that while the sky is still inky and dark outside his living room window, that soon enough the birds will be chirping and the sun will be rising. And for the first time in a long time you will not be waking up in a bed alone.

Because he is here, he is here.

“Your heart is still beating so fast,” Rooster whispers lowly. His thumb is skimming the side of your throat as he cradles the back of your head with his big, warm hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart.”

You place a gentle kiss to longest scar that decorates the skin of his throat before pulling away to get a good look at him. He’s wearing the softest smile for you as you take his face between your hands. His hair looks a shade darker than his usual sunkissed bronze and his skin a bit paler than it was before he’d left. And your heart squeezes in sympathy as you note the deep, dark purple circles beneath his eyes and the weariness he carries around the edges of him.

The little lamp with its soft glow was the only source of light in the room, but his exhaustion clear as day.

You could feel the worry creeping up on you, making your eyebrows pull together with unease, “Is everyone-”

“Everyone’s fine, baby,” he hushes you reassuringly. His family in San Diego had become yours as well. You care about them all. “Everyone’s home. Safe and sound.” The relief you feel drifts over you like a gentle breeze.

“I’m so happy to see you,” you say as you pull his face to yours. “I missed you too, Bradley. So much.”

His lips are a little dry, a little chapped, but the way he kisses you still takes your breath away.

You can taste the burnt coffee he must have had after landing, the perpetually scalded kind from base that’s terrible regardless of who makes it. He’s told you about how he always waits to cool just enough so he can throw it back in one go, not wanting to draw it out. You’ve never had it yourself, but you don’t mind the bitterness when it’s off his tongue.

There is nothing hurried or desperate about the way you reconnect with one another, nothing like how you imagined it might be after being apart for so long. Not the hungry mouths or frenzied touches you’d thought about late at night while looking at the pictures and videos on your phone that he had so generously left for you, with only your own hands and imagination to keep you company.

It’s easy to lose yourself in him, making up for lost time and lost kisses. Normally his attentions set your pulse racing, but the longer he kisses you the steadier the beating in your chest becomes as he pulls soft sighs from you. He kisses you slow and deep, like he is savoring the slide of your lips against his. His hands smoothing up and down your back and along your waist, as if he is luxuriating in the feel of your body under his warm palms.

“Bradley,” you breathe contentedly.

“I’m here,” he says.

The simple statement has your mouth breaking out in a wide grin, you can feel the matching one he’s wearing against your lips as he pulls away.

“You’re back.”

“I know,” he says teasingly, running his finger down the bridge of your nose.

You huff a laugh, “No, you’re back early.”

“Mhm,” he hums happily, “And you were playing something really pretty on my piano.” He drops a sweet, lingering kiss on your lips again. “And here I thought”- a kiss on your right cheek- “you said you couldn’t”- a kiss on the left one- “play anymore,” he murmurs as he kisses your forehead. The coarse hair of his mustache feeling rougher than you remember against your skin after so many days without it. “You’ve been holding out on me, sweetheart.”

Your hands slides down from around his neck to rest on his chest. “I’ve been taking lessons,” you tell him. Feeling a bit shy now as you glance up at him from beneath your eyelashes.

“Yeah?” He pulls his head back to look at you, there’s surprise there in his eyes but also pride, “For how long? When did you start?”

If Bradley hadn’t been gazing at you with such genuine affection in those brown eyes of his, you might have been much more nervous to admit just how long you’ve been keeping this secret from him. Even so, you still feel like you’re holding your breath as you reply, “Since you got back from that first deployment.”

You can tell he’s trying to school his features, but his eyebrow still jumps up a bit as he does the math. And as he blinks at you, you can’t help but feel like for all your good intentions that you’ve let him down.

Six months was a long time to keep something like that to yourself.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him, it had been on the tip of your tongue on more than one occasion. He was the only person you’d been wanting to tell, but waiting for the right time had turned into a three-month deployment.

There’s already an apology about to work its way out of your mouth when he cups your cheeks in his hands, “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have been practicing here the whole time. That piano is basically fifty percent yours anyways, since you were the one who found it.”

“I just- It needed to be mine, just for a little bit,” you say quietly, hoping he understands. Your fingertip anxiously traces around the edges of the patch that rests over his heart. “And I wanted to surprise you. But, then…” You nod your head to the green seabag forgotten on the floor.

The kiss he presses to your lips makes your knees weak with its softness. With its acceptance. With its understanding.

“Well, consider me surprised. You play so lovely,” he says with a gentle smile to put you at ease. And you feel instantly lighter, the pressure that had been building in your chest now just a memory. “I swear, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in months. What were you using to practice with before? The piano at the Hard Deck?”

That he was so invested in this because it was something that mattered to you soothed that tender part of your heart.

His enthusiasm made you want to tell him more, to tell him everything, “I bought an electric keyboard for my place.”

“Wait, really? Where?” he asks, looking adorably confused. You can see him trying to search his memory, as if he’d somehow missed a big rectangular black and white thing pressed against a wall in your tiny apartment. “I swear I’ve never seen one there. That’s something I definitely would have noticed.”

“I would hide it under my bed whenever you were coming over.” Saying it out loud makes you feel a bit sheepish about the lengths you took to keep it a secret until you were ready.

“Under the bed, she says,” Rooster repeats with a shake of his head, clearly amused.

“Well, we’re usually busy on top of it, so it seemed like a good place to keep it hidden,” you say with a little shrug, biting back the smile at the memory of the one time he’d shown up unannounced catching you off guard. And how flustered you been trying to shove it under your mattress as he recovered from the blowjob you’d given him on the couch as an attempt to keep him from going into your bedroom before you could put it away, but also because he really had such a nice cock.

He throws his head back to laugh, the deep sound of it fills the living room. Hearing it for the first time since he’s been away makes your smile grow wider until your cheeks hurt. You love that sound. You love being the one to make him laugh.

But something still tugs at you, something you need to know, something you need to hear.

“Bradley- You’re not…” you trail off.

Mad. Disappointed. Or worse, hurt.

“No. No, I’m not,” he says earnestly, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone softly. “I mean, yeah, I wish I’d known sooner. But only because I would have loved to be the one turning the pages for you and supporting you. I know what this means to you.” He pauses for a moment, that thumb still caressing the curve of your face, “But will you do me a favor?”

ofcourseofcourseofcourse

“Anything.”

That soft smile of his gets bigger and brighter, “Will you play a song for me, sweetheart?”

Some winged thing inside of you takes flight at the sweet sincerity laced between the syllables and the consonants his question.

He’s asked you to play for him so many times. And it had always hurt to deny him what should have been such an easy yes to such a simple request.

But now it didn’t have to be some lonesome dream. Because you’re there and he’s here and it’s all you’ve been wanting.

“Yes, Bradley,” you beam, “I can play something for you.”

You take his hand and pull him further inside the house from where you had been standing in the open doorway. He kicks his duffle bag out of the way, so that he can close the door behind him, shutting out the rest of the world.

It’s just you and him. Together.

In the comfort of his cozy living room, the light from the lamp on top of his piano wrapping you both up in its warm, golden glow.

His piano is no longer daunting the way it used to be. Instead, it welcomes you as you approach it with him in tow. Familiar and friendly.

He lets go of your hand and crouches down next to you. When he stands back up, he shows you the pencil in his hand that he’d picked up for you before tucking it behind your ear, back to where it had been earlier. And you’re dying to know just how long he had been standing in that doorway listening with you completely oblivious to his presence.

You watch with your heart in your throat as he straightens out the previously askewed bench and motions for you to take a seat, dropping a kiss to your cheek.

The creak of the bench not cold and mocking as you sit down, but rather a cheery acknowledgement of your return and of the hours you’ve spent there sitting and practicing together.

You close the open booklet in front of you, to clear up space on the shelf to swap it out for the other sheet music to the song you were planning to play for him, the one you had wanted to welcome him back with. Just as you’re reaching for it, Rooster stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist.

“Wait.” He’s looking down at you with his head tilted and a slight pinch of confusion between his eyebrows, “Why are you putting that one away?”

The song you’d been playing when he’d arrived wasn’t as rehearsed as the other one you’d been reaching for. It wasn’t something you’d ever meant for anyone else to hear, that is other than your piano instructor as she helped to guide you through the tricky parts.

“Oh, um, that one’s not ready,” you falter over the words just a bit as you try to hedge the question. “I have a different piece I wanted to play for you.”

You hold up the sheet music to him and his eyes soften when he sees the title of the song you purchased and practiced with only him in mind. It was polished, it was ready.

You’d had three months to get it ready for him, and you’d made sure to play it through at least once a day. You had wanted it to be perfect, he’d waited so long. He deserved the best and you wanted to be the one to give it to him.

He holds your gaze for a few moments. There’s a questioning look in his eyes, but he must find whatever answer he was looking for written on your face. Because instead of asking you the question seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, he just clears his throat with a little shake of his head.

“You learned this just for me?” he asks, his voice thick and raspy.

And when you bob your head yes, there’s a brief moment where it almost looks like he is struggling with himself. His eyes bouncing from you to the sheet music in his hands to the piano.

“I can’t wait to hear this. Truly, sweetheart. It’s just- the other one is the first thing I’ve ever heard you play...”

It’s not even a real question, but there’s a gentle request ripping in the wake of the way he trails off. There’s no pressure behind the ask that’s not an ask.

But still, there are butterflies fluttering around in your stomach now.

“Ok, Bradley. If that’s what you want to hear, then I’ll play that one for you.” You would do anything this man asked of you, you would do anything for him.

“Yeah?” The grin on his face could power the whole city when you nod your agreement.

He takes a few long strides around you as you work on reopening and flattening out the sheet music to the song he asked you to play for him. Out of the corner of your eye you see him grab and turn the wooden spindle framed arm chair, bringing it closer and situating it in just the right spot next to the piano.

“Look,” he says gesturing to it, pleased with himself as he settles into the chair, “A front row seat.” He is close enough that his knees are hugging either side of the piano bench.

The genuine excitement in his voice makes your heart stutter and skip a beat.

That the anticipation of fingers on keys and hammers striking strings is better to him than any jackpot or trophy could ever be. He makes you feel like this moment is his lucky lottery ticket. That this is his winning championship game.

You.

You seated at his piano bench with sheet music stretched across it and hands that can make music again.

And you would learn all every song ever composed just as long as he keeps looking at you like the way he is now, eyes bright and with a boyish grin on his face.

“Will you turn the pages for me?” you ask him, even though you already know what is answer will be.

“I would be happy to,” he says with satisfaction. And you know he means it.

You’re nervous now seated on the bench with a different song waiting to be played with the black and white keys under your fingers. As you feeling the warmth of Bradley’s presence next to you and the intensity of his gaze on you.

And with shaky fingers, you begin.

All Bradley had craved when he was on that carrier was for some silence.

Just for a moment where he could hear the sound of his own breathing, where his thoughts weren’t overwhelmed by all the other commotion.

And the closer he got to his house, seated in the back seat of the white Prius that had picked him up from base, the more he wished he was headed somewhere else. To someone else.

It had been three months of endless noise.

Three months of the relentless humming and buzzing and rattling and shaking of the USS Theodore Roosevelt. Of planes taking off for night hops and the explosions of jet fuel and machines banging on deck and the clang of metal on metal.

Three months of endless voices. In his ear from over the radio. Bouncing off the walls of the dull gray passageways. Layered and loud on top of the clatter of forks and spoons on plates and bowls in the mess hall.

Three months of sharing a room with Payback, who was considerate and tidy, but snored louder than anyone he’s ever bunked with. In such tight quarters it was hard to get a moment to himself, let alone a sliver of some peace and quiet.

With over a decade of service under his belt, Rooster would have thought it was something he’d get used to. And while it got more bearable over time, it never seems to get any better.

Sleep ‘til you’re hungry. Eat ‘til you’re tired.

That was the motto most of them lived by when they were aboard the ship.

His schedule shifting depending on the day, at the will of whatever commanding officer was in charge. Lunch became breakfast, the leftovers from previous dinner service that they ate during Midrats gave him just enough energy to make it to dawn. He often had stretches where he’d go days without seeing the sun, it was just another reminder that his time didn’t belong to him. There were moments when it felt like he wasn’t even his own person, but he’d known what he was signing up for when he inked his name on those papers.

Those first few weeks on a carrier were always the worst, when sleep would escape him just when he needed it the most.

He was either doing the midnight hops or being woken up by them. Trying to sneak in naps whenever he had more than twenty minutes of free time. More often than not he’d be right on the precipice of falling asleep when his alarm would go off and he’d have to rush off to the Ready Room for tactics trainings or the flight deck for practicing inflight refueling and aerial combat maneuvers.

Bradley loved flying.

He loved that moment when he climbs in the cockpit of his F/A-18 and everything just clicks into place. When the edges of the world around him sharpen, when the contrast is increased and the clarity heightened. That feeling of surety that washes over him every time from knowing that his actions matter, that what he does matters, that he mattered.

It was the way he could honor the man who made him and to solidify his bond with the one who raised him.

He understands his place in the world the best when he is thirty thousand feet in the air.

In the past, it had been easy to put his head down and get through his deployments because his career gave him purpose. His temporary discomforts and the high-stakes risks he took were worth it for the sake of the greater good.

But things were different for him now because he had you. You were always on his mind.

The two of you have been together for a little less than a year, but it feels like he’s known you forever. You make him feel seen and understood in a way that he’s never experienced before.

Bradley knew how lucky he was to have you, he’d almost blown it one too many times for his comfort in the early days of your relationship. His anxiety nearly derailing one of the best things that’s ever happened to him.

But luckily for him, you wanted him.

Even with all his flaws and scars and baggage.

And for you, he wanted to be a man worth waiting for.

That first deployment was harder than he could have ever anticipated. Not only because he’d never had anyone to miss before, but also because he’d never had to carry the weight that came from knowing someone else was missing him just as much in return.

The way he felt as he held you and danced with you in his living room, with that record you’d found spinning in the background, was a moment he wasn’t ever going to forget. It had felt just as special then as it does now. It’s the memory he replays in his mind over and over again on the nights he can’t sleep.

He’d ordered the sheet music to “Make Love to Me” during those final few hours he had left with you the night before he was due to leave. The screen brightness on his phone turned down all the way so that he didn’t wake you up as you slept soundly, soft and naked, next to him in his bed.

The anticipation getting home to you and learning it for you was the only thing that helped to get him through those six weeks when he felt like the walls were closing in on him from the way he missed and wanted you.

And once he was back, in between the hours he spent at work and the hours he spent tangled in bed with you, he’d go to the Hard Deck before it opened to use Penny’s old upright to practice. Thinking about how nice it would be to have one that he had a place to call his own. Then flipping off Hangman every chance he got when he’d groan about having to hear the song again.

Rooster had been able to bribe his team with the promise of free beer for a month in exchange for their participation when the song was finally ready for you. He’d known that their over the top antics would make you laugh. And the smile on your face when he’d serenaded you with it for the first time had been worth every penny of the hefty credit card bill he’d received the next month.

It was just as hard this time.

It had taken him a while to realize what exactly that feeling was that had settled heavy on his chest.

Homesick.

He’d never known he could be homesick for a person until he met you.

Time seemed to move faster when the two of you were together. And when he was away from you, the hours and days felt long.

It was harder to let the little things roll off his back because he couldn’t look forward to seeing your smile after a long day when he was thousands of miles away. He couldn’t decompress the way he was used to, the burn he worked up at the weight bench in the gym wasn’t nearly as effective as sitting at the bench in front of his piano. Even if his biceps were reaping the benefits.

On more than one occasion, he’d caught himself absentmindedly tapping out unheard tunes on the sides of his thighs.

Bradley hadn’t realized how much tension he was carrying in his shoulders until he’d felt it release at the sound of your laugh on one of the rare instances he’d been able to call you over the satellite phone on board.

“Have you been wearing the sunscreen I sent with you, Golden Boy?” you’d asked him.

“I promised you I would, didn’t I?” he’d replied, even as he rubbed at his sternum in discomfort at the not quite lie. When the reality was he didn’t need it when he was on such good terms with the moon. But he didn’t tell you that, didn’t want you to worry about him more than he already knew you were.

“That’s good. Because Lobster Boy just doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.” He could hear the smile in your tone, could feel it as it traveled over the electrical currents.

All the sounds and noise that seemed to follow him around, all the thoughts that circled and spiraled in his head, they faded when he got to listen to your sweet voice. As you told him how much you missed him and how proud you were of him and how much you loved him. Everything he’d never had before. The one thing he’d never let himself hope for.

Someone who cared. Someone who loved him. Someone who was waiting for him.

It was the first time in weeks that things had felt quieter. That he could finally breathe a little easier.

Until they’d told Bradley and his team that the mission they had spent the better part of two and a half months preparing for was getting moved up. And then the sound of the pounding of his heart was drown out by the ringing in his ears.

And on the night, during those pivotal moments where the minutes stretched on like hours, they’d flown it as damn near perfect as could be.

The feeling of sweat dripping down his back as his team had made their way back to the carrier an uncomfortable, but welcomed, reminder that he’d made it. That they’d all made it. That he would be headed back to you soon.

They did the fly-off two days before the carrier was due to dock back at base. Unlike usual, there wasn’t a fanfare of family and friends ready to greet them at the hanger. Normally, their return was a big event. Their formations immaculate as ever as they showed off for all of the important people in their lives before landing.

With all his other deployments, it was the moment that Bradley did is best to avoid thinking about, as he tried and failed to ignore the dread that would settle deep in the pit of his stomach.

Knowing that he’d have to watch as members of his squadron were met with a cheerful homecoming of handmade signs and smiles and laughter and hugs. Watching their tearful and happy reunions, watching as some of his teammates met the newest members of their families for the very first time. All while he’d gather his things and shake the occasional hand, only leave alone.

With this one, it was something he’d been looking forward to for the first time in his career. The idea of you being there to greet him, that big beautiful smile on your face just for him. Of getting to hold you in his arms for the first time in months in the bright golden California sunshine.

But he didn’t mind missing out since it meant he could be home early. He’d trade all the hoopla and hubbub for any extra minute he could have with you.

After all, there was always next time.

Because there would be a next time.

They’d gotten in sometime after midnight, the flashing lights on the runway guiding them in. The diet of stale coffee and adrenaline that he’d been living off of for the last few days finally catching up with him as he worked his way through the final check list of things needing to be done. The brief wrap-up that Cyclone wanted to have ended up going longer than originally planned.

And the longer he had sat there, the more the bone-deep weariness had set in.

His boots felt heavy on his feet as they’d all shuffled out the door to collect the rest of their belongings to head out. Everyone eager to get back to their own homes, back to their own beds. And for the lucky ones, back to the people in those homes and in those beds, who would be excited to see them.

Reuben had offered to give him a ride. He’d snuck a call to his wife the moment they’d gotten service to let her know he was coming home, and she had been there in the parking lot waiting for him. But Payback’s classy condo was on the other side of town from his own Craftsman bungalow, and Rooster wasn’t going to have his now former roommate drive out of his way when he had an app on his phone that could drop him off without inconveniencing anyone else.

So he’d bluffed and said that you were on you way, and then lingered in the break room with another cup of terrible coffee for an additional twenty minutes until everyone cleared out before ordering his ride.

He had been so close to putting in your address for the drop off when he’d booked the Lyft. He really wanted to see you, he’d missed you so much over the last three months. But had decided against it at the last minute, when he realized just how late it was. Thinking that maybe he could surprise you at work and take you out for lunch after some much-needed sleep, when he wasn’t so dead on his feet.

He wanted to be at his best for you.

But the longer he sits in the back of the white Prius, with his knees crushed against the back of the seat in front of him, sipping on the little eight-ounce water bottle the man had blindly tossed in his direction when he’d climbed in, the more he was realizing just how big of a mistake it was to give the driver his own address instead of yours.

The roads were mostly empty, only a few cars here and there.

It was sometime when night met astronomical twilight. The sun hovering somewhere between twelve to eighteen degrees from the horizon. Some stars visible in the night sky even with all the light pollution from the city.

Too late for the people from the bars to still be out and too early for the stirrings of the early commuters who had a long journey into work ahead of them.

Bradley had spent months wishing for the quiet. And he finally had it.

It was silent in the car.

His driver has his AirPods in- which he knows is illegal in California, but he wasn’t going to press it when the roads were this deserted- and the man hadn’t bothered to turn the radio on, so he was left on his own with his worn and well-used duffle bag, an empty water bottle that looked comically small in his hand, and his thoughts.

That quiet he had been so eager for wasn’t the peaceful kind he had hoped for. It is a lonely kind of quiet. It was one that pointedly reminded him that no one would be waiting for him at the end of his destination, when he finally reached that dot at the end of the purple road on his app.

The white static in his ears gets louder with every passing mile. As he watches the minutes tick down until the end of his ride. Where he would get out, and the driver would move on with his night, and he would still be on his own.

He was so tired of coming back from deployments to an empty space. Just like it had been at the barracks. Just like it had been at the minimally furnished apartments he’d rented before he’d been relocated.

This felt too close to those hollow, lonely homecomings of his past.

And while he liked his house, with its wooden shingles and original windows and warm charm, it was just building with four walls and a roof. The rooms held his things, but they didn’t hold anyone.

His dark, empty, quiet house.

It wasn’t a home if he was there alone.

He’d be so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he’d missed the fact that the driver had turned up his street. He’d missed the tree lined suburban blocks leading up to his small Craftsman, until the car slowed down and came to a stop in front of it.

Bradley can feel the guy’s eyes on him in the rearview mirror as he waits for him to grab his things and get out. That homesick feeling in his chest that he’d carried with him for the last ninety days, now back in tenfold. The weight of it keeps him sitting where he is.

He is so much closer to where he wanted to be when he was out in the middle of the ocean, but still too far from who he needed to be with.

As he is opening his mouth to give the driver the address to your apartment, his eyes catch on a light that’s been left on in his house.

That gentle, warm glow of the small lamp above his piano illuminating his living room against the shadows. The curtains still pushed to either side, so he can see in from the outside. Where he can see his piano and a figure curved over it.

And then he’s out of the car and standing on the cracked sidewalk with his bag in hand and taillights rounding a corner before he can fully even process it.

He almost doesn’t want to believe his eyes, the dried out and tired things that they are. Not trusting that in his sleep deprived state that they aren’t playing tricks on him, conjuring the one person he wanted to see the most.

It’s not until he hears the faint sound of his piano calling for him to come closer that it hits him in the chest with as much force as it does when he’s pulling G’s.

That his favorite daydream was now his reality.

His pretty girlfriend, the one who said she couldn’t play, was the one who was sitting at his piano making the music that was welcoming him home.

But as his feet carried him up the walkway, up the stairs, and across his porch to the front door, the music had only gotten louder and clearer. Fishing out the key from his pocket, he slips it into the lock as quietly as possible, opening the door ever… so… slowly… and with more patience than he knew he had in him.

He is too captivated by the curve and shape of you sitting there to try and figure out what that familiar tune is that you’re playing. There’s a cup of tea resting on top of the piano, sitting on one of the coasters you’d got for him when you realized he didn’t have any. You look so soft and perfect wearing a t-shirt of his that he thought he’d lost, a pencil adorably tucked behind your ear.

The picture in front of him is easily the best thing he has seen in months.

Bradley loves that piano. You were the one to find it for him.

It’s his favorite thing that he owns, because when he looks at his piano he thinks of you and the fact you were thinking of him.

It was always something he’d meant to find the time to research, to look into. He knew he wanted one, but he’d never taken the initiative to actually shop around for one.

It had been a dream of his for years, but he’d never had the opportunity to even consider it until after the Uranium Mission when they’d all been permanently relocated to San Diego. And even after he’d bought his house, it was something that sat in the corner of his mind rather than in the corner of his living room.

Instead of putting roots down, he felt like he was waiting for the rug to get pulled out from underneath him. Yet again.

Until one night at the Hard Deck, after he’d played a few of the crowd-pleasing tunes he kept in his back pocket, you’d passed him your phone to show him something. It had been picture of a gorgeous mahogany console piano, just the right size for where he’d been imagining one would go in his house.

“You’ve been telling me you want one of your own for ages, so I set up a few alerts just see what was out there,” you’d told him a bit shyly, almost like you weren’t sure if you were overstepping. “That one just came up, it looks like it’s in really great shape. And that price is better than what I’ve been seeing from some of the other ones I’ve looked at. So I sent the seller an email- just in case- and they replied. They’re not too far away, you’d just need to move it yourself. But you’ve got first dibs on it if you want it.”

His eyes had bounced back and forth between pictures and your beautiful face, “You did that for me?”

“It seemed like something that would make you happy,” you’d replied simply.

He can still remember the way his heart had pressed against the ribs in his chest.

“This is- It’s perfect. Thank you for finding this. Will you ask them if they want a deposit?” he’d asked, watching as that tentative, hopeful smile on your face grew bigger and brighter. “I don’t want to lose it. This is the one for me.”

He’d been sure of it. He was still sure of it.

A couple hours later and standing in front of Penny’s jukebox, he had still been buzzing from the find. The seller had taken down the listing, the deposit had been sent, the pick-up time was set, and he’d even managed to rope Jake into helping him move it in exchange for a bottle of whiskey. And you, you were the reason for it all.

He didn’t mean to play the song, didn’t even remember selecting it.

One minute he was looking through the catalogue of songs and the next you were in his arms as he twirled and spun you around on the scuffed wooden floors of the Hard Deck. He knew you weren’t the most confident of dancers, but loved that you trusted him to lead you in a slow easy rhythm.

Enjoying the feel of you in his arms, his lips pressed against your ear as he whispered anything and everything that came to his mind, the words all honey-dipped, as the song played on in the background.

“My girl likes sweet nothings?” he had murmured teasingly at the way he’d felt another shiver dance its way down your spine.

“They’re not nothings, Bradley. They’re sweet somethings,” you’d murmured back, settling your head on his shoulder. “It’s never nothing with you.”

He took your hand and placed it on his heart and he leaned back in. Whispering more sweet somethings into the shell of your ear. He didn’t stop until the song ended, but he could have gone on for hours.

Later that night, Mav had slid up to him at the bar as he was cashing out for the night. He was having a hard time focusing on the conversation the older man was trying to have with him because his eyes kept searching out you from across the room.

And you kept catching him looking.

“You going to marry that girl?” Mav had asked him with a knowing look in his eyes.

He knew the meaning of the song Bradley had selected better than anyone else. Pete been there the night his parents had gotten married, watching on from the sidelines as they’d had their first dance to the crooning voice of Sam Cooke.

“I sure hope so,” he’d answered.

He’d been feeling it for a while, but that was the night he knew.

Now he feds Penny’s jukebox his quarters and plays that song on purpose at least once a week.

For how tired he had been in the back of the Lyft, he feels like he could stand here and watch you for hours.

You’re humming to yourself as you play. Shaking your head when your finger hits a wrong key, slowing down to repeat it, before continuing on. Nodding along when you get through a portion, like you must have practiced that part in particular and were proud of yourself to get it right.

It’s the best thing he’s ever heard. Even when your fingers slip up and play a string of wrong notes.

“Fuck me, F Sharp not F,” you huff.

And he has to bite his lip to keep from chuckling and giving himself away.

Stopping this time to pull the pencil from out behind your ear, you bend forward making some circles on the sheet music in front of you for the spot that had tripped you up. Grumbling some other expletives lowly under your breath as you work.

His studious sweetheart.

Bradley is hit was with a tidal wave of affection so fierce that he knows he can’t stay quiet anymore.

You’ve made your marks and are setting your hands back on the keys about to start over again when he decides to ask you a question in-person for the first time in three months, “Can you play it from the beginning this time, sweetheart?"

“Bradley!”

He loves the way you say his name. He loves the sound of your voice. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

It’s almost an out of body experience to have you in his arms.

To kiss you. To taste the hint of chamomile on your tongue. To feel your heart beating against his chest. To tease you. To touch the soft skin of your face with his fingertips. To talk to you. To listen to you as you tell him about when you started taking lessons.

Because he still can’t believe you’re here, it still feels too good to be true.

He doesn’t feel the gravity settle back into his bones until you say you’ll play him a song.

Feeling oddly anxious when he notices you closing the booklet that was in front of you, in favor of putting it way and reaching for something else. But then you smile up at him as you show him the sheet music for song you told him you’ve been practicing.

There’s a look in your eyes that tells him you know exactly why he feeds Penny’s jukebox his quarters and plays “You Send Me” when he wants to dance with you. He knows in his gut that Mav must have told you, probably an intentionally unintentional slip of the tongue.

And god, he really fights the urge to ask. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings or for you to think he’s taking this moment for granted or that he’s ungrateful for the work you’ve put into learning that song just for him.

A song that meant something to him.

But he is so desperate to hear you play the other one, the one that welcomed him home, the one that’s the first song he’s ever heard you play. It’s already so special to him in a way that he can’t put words too.

When you agree, Bradley’s chest swells with warmth and he can’t hold back his excitement. He pulls up a chair next to you as close as he can get without getting in your way.

And he swears he falls in love with you all over again when you ask him to turn the pages for you.

He hasn’t proposed yet, but if he is lucky enough to look in your eyes as he vows to spend forever with you, he knows he is going promise to turn your pages for the rest of your lives together. That is, if you’ll have him when the time comes.

His eyes catch the way you squeeze and flex your hand, the faintest hint of trembling in your fingers before you set them on the ivory key. The only thing giving away your nerves. Then after a deep breath, you’re playing for him.

And he gets to hear your song, from the beginning, for the very first time.

It starts of soft and melodic, almost like a lullaby. The timbre of the lower notes would sound almost melancholy if it weren’t for the uplifting lyrical, melody of the treble clef. The juxtaposition makes his heart ache and soar at the same time. He knows this song, even if he’s still having a hard time placing it, the title just out of reach.

When you had first told him that you’d forgotten how to play, he’d felt so guilty for all the times he’d tried to get you to play something for him. Kicking himself when he offered to help, not knowing even if you wanted to play anymore. He didn’t want to ever be the one causing you pain.

He knows better than anyone the bittersweet and complicated relationship that you have with the instrument. So the meaning of this gesture isn’t lost on him in the slightest.

He can feel every ounce of love and effort that has gone into this. And all because you wanted to wanted to share this part of yourself with him? Because you loved him?

Bradley wants to absorb every detail of this moment, wants to carry it with him always. The sound of the rich and round notes from the keys your fingers are gliding over. Your sweet face as you read the sheet music in front of you.

He only glances away every now and then to keep track on where you were in the song, so that he can fulfill his duties and turn the page when you’re ready.

You surprise him when you start singing along quietly. And he can’t help but lean in.

He’s always liked the sound of your pretty voice. He loves when he’s able to catch you singing in the shower, when he’ll linger in the doorway and listen. You’ll sing along with him in the car when the winds are whipping from the highway or when you’re tipsy. But it’s rare that he gets to hear you so sing so freely.

It’s not until he hears the words that it clicks for him, that he finally recognizes the song. It’s one he’s heard hundreds of times before, but never like this. There’s a sense of sincerity in it that feels new to him, but that seems entirely perfect for the piece. It’s like he’s hearing the song and understanding the depth of the lyrics for the very first time.

And the more you play, the more overwhelmed he’s getting. The lump in his throat growing in size with every passing measure. The pressure building behind his eyes isn’t from the lack of sleep, but something else entirely. The words you’re singing to him landing and making a place at home in his heart.

You’re approaching the chorus again. He knows where the song is building to. And he wants to meet you where you’re at, wants to show you he hears you. The one thing he’s always liked about the original is that it’s a duet. It’s a conversation.

Rooster realizes now that it was never the quiet he had wanted. It wasn’t the lonely sound of silence. All he wanted and all he needed was you.

Licking his lips, he waits for the right moment and then joins in with a low whistle.

Your head whips towards him and the brilliant smile on your face looks and feels like home.

This.

This is what you had wanted.

His harmonizing whistle was something you didn’t know you’d been hoping for until he joined in.

A part of him, a part of you. Something to be shared.

As you’d gotten yourself situated, smoothing out those pages in front of you, you’d felt your nerves trying to get the best of you.

Thinking about Bradley’s pretty brown eyes on you as you played versus actually having his steady gaze pinned on you were two very different things.

You’ve always had a hard time being the center of attention.

At your birthday, he had so flawlessly distracted everyone from that moment you always dreaded so much, sparing you from having everyone sing and watch on as the candles on the cake were blown out. Because he knew you and cared enough to want you to have the best time. It was the first birthday you’ve had where you were entirely out of your head for the whole evening.

However, he did play it for you himself on the piano much later that night when it was just the two of you, as you ate leftover cake wrapped up in his sheet.

And even those times when he’s serenaded you during crowded nights out at the Hard Deck, it was fine because while his eyes were on you, everyone else was busy looking at him.

But in his small living room, there wasn’t anything to distract him with or for you to hide behind.

The rapid sixteenth notes had been turned into more manageable eight notes with the help of piano teacher. Her tidy markings simplifying and streamlining the music to make it easier for you to learn. Done in pencil, she’d pointed out to you when she returned the sheet music back to you the next week after you’d given it to her, so that you could easily erase it when you were ready to tackle the more difficult portions.

Even so, there had been a brief moment where all the notes seemed to bleed into each other on the page.

It was as if the words of a book had been scrambled and rearranged just as you were getting to the best part. Just as you were about to find out who did it, just as they were about to kiss, just as the heist was about to be pulled off.

Your shaky fingers landing on the edges of a couple of the keys rather than in the middle of one.

But Bradley didn’t care that you’d fumbled over the opening. From the corner of your eye, you’d been able to see the way he was looking at you. It was like you’d hung the moon and the stars just for him.

He wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve, because his feelings were always worn so openly on his face.

All those butterflies that had been swarming in your stomach took their flight, and a gentle warm wave of contentment filled you up instead.

You didn’t need the perfect notes when this was the perfect moment. It felt real, it felt right.

The urge had snuck up on you without warning. You hadn’t meant to start singing along, but once the first few words had come out of your mouth you were committed.

And then he’d leaned in.

He was already so close, you could just barely feel his knee brushing against the outside of your thigh from the way his legs were bracketing the piano bench. But there he was trying to get closer still.

Only you would know how many hours you’d spent behind your little electric keyboard and in Mrs. McMullen’s cozy music room and at Bradley’s house seated on his creaky piano bench.

Only you would know after he’d left, you’d driven right back to his house, the smell of his fancy coffee and sandalwood scent still lingering in the air. That you had pulled out the music to “Make Love to Me”, thinking that trying to play it for yourself on his piano would make you feel better, only to end up missing him more than ever when he hadn’t even been gone for an hour yet.

Only you would know many times you’ve tried, and made mistakes, only to try again. Once more, once again.

But in that moment, you didn’t want him to hear all the hours of lessons or all the hours of practice.

You wanted him to hear your heart.

And when he turned the page of your music for you, you couldn’t help but smile.

You wanted this song to speak to him like it had spoke to you the first time you’d heard it. The way it still speaks to you. How it made you think of him, every time you played it and every time you heard it.

You hoped he could feel it through the keys beneath your fingers and the pedal under your foot.

When Bradley joins in, quietly at first before getting a little louder after you grin at him, you know it’s his way of telling you that he does.

And it is everything.

He follows the lead of your fingers as they glide over the keys. The ebb and flow of his whistle, coming in and tapering out. Your melody strong on its own, but made better with his counterpoint.

For him, you were up for it all. Those quiet periods were just beats of rest that dotted the staff of your life with him. There were so many more notes in his song to look forward to.

Because he was worth the wait.

Those combinations and arrangements of notes that had once been fed your yearning were now fueled by your joy.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, it dawns on you that this was the first time that you weren’t playing the piano not to mask the loud or to cover the quiet. You weren’t playing because with a self-imposed pressure to make something perfect. You weren’t playing as a way to try and ease the longing that had taken up residency in your chest ever since you’d dropped him off at base nearly one hundred days ago.

You were playing because he made you happy and it made you happy to finally be able to off this little piece of your heart to him. He knew you in every other sense, but all you had wanted was for him to know you in this way too.

You were playing because it made you happy.

The rhythm of your left hand sure and steady like a heartbeat, while those soaring winged notes of your right sounded like the way you felt when he was near. When he was here with you, when he was home with you.

It feels like time isn’t being marked by the ticking second hand of a clock, but rather by the passing of beats housed within measures. Dictated by tempo of your own choosing.

You let yourself float in the moment, in the music. Of the feeling of the keys under your hands, of reading the notes on the page. No longer a random series of dots scattered along five lines on a page. Their language unlocked to you once again. Of the pride you can feel radiating off the man who loves you as you are. The one who made you want to try. The one who helped you find this part of yourself again.

Those two parallel lines that mark the end of the song inch closer as he turns the final page for you. And you find yourself playing just a bit slower. Trying to draw out every note and chord, soaking up the way they filled every nook and corner of his living room with their sound.

It’s inevitable when you come up on those few closing measures. All good things come to an end, but it doesn’t mean there won’t be more good things to come. You can have this whenever you want. You have all you need.

You and Bradley and a piano.

Your fingers hold down the keys of those final notes, pulling out every last bit of sound that can be let from them. The sound waves bending and spreading, their energy passing through his home until they can’t be heard any more.

Holding on. Holding it. Before finally, letting go.

And when you turn to Bradley, his arms are already open and waiting for you.

His piano bench announces its displeasure you’ve stopped playing for the moment when it groans and creaks as you get up in favor of tucking yourself into the comfort of his lap.

He wastes no time pulling you into him and wrapping you up. Encouraging you to nestle your head into his shoulder. Pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his cheek on the top of your head. His hand slipping under the hem of your t-shirt to run soothingly up and down your spine as you breathe him in.

You’re feeling exposed to him in a way you’ve never felt before. It was your turn to put all your cards on the table. But you know you’re safe with him, your heart is safe with him. Just as his is with you.

Neither of you say anything as the weight of the moment relaxes into something softer. As you felt the essence of the notes you’d been playing settle around the two of you from how they’d been silently lingering in the air.

It’s quiet, but there is peace to be found in it.

Bradley is the one to pull away to take your face between his large hands. His brown eyes brimming with warmth.

“I love you so damn much,” he murmurs before leaning in to kiss you. Delicately, softly, tenderly. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too,” you say running your fingers through his curls. Your heart swells as he leans into your touch, letting his eyes flutter close in contentment. Your Golden Boy. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

“There’s no place I’d rather be than here. My home is with you,” he sighs, sleepy and satisfied. But the sincerity in his statement wraps itself around your heart.

“Bradley.”

“Mmhm,” he hums, his eyes still closed.

“Let’s go to bed,” you say softly as you gaze at him. Even half asleep, he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. And he’s yours. “It’s still too early for even roosters to be up.”

He huffs a little chuckle, cracking one eye open to squint at you. The side of his mouth pulling up on one side in amusement.

You move to climb off of him, but he hooks his hand underneath your thighs. Waiting for you to thread your arms around his neck before he stands up with you in his arms as he starts walking towards his bedroom.

Looking over his shoulder, you notice that little light above his piano is on.

The sky outside Bradley’s window is beginning to lighten now, the dark of night has given way to a dusky navy. There is the gentlest tease of wispy pink and purple cotton candy clouds, a sign that a sure to be stunning sunrise that’s on its way.

And you already know, it’s going to be a good day.

Thank you for reading, friends! This soft little piano fic has been living with me since January and I'm so thrilled that it's out now! I loved getting to share this one with you!

And a sincere thank you to @gretagerwigsmuse, @callsignspark, and @laracrofted for the support, and for letting me send endless snippets and the feedback! I appreciate you so much!

I purposefully left out the song that Bradley's Sweetheart plays, just in case anyone wanted to imagine their perfect song. But if you’re curious, here’s the one that I had in mind when I was writing this: Home (slowed) by Edith Whiskers 🤍

You can read some of my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

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

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hana-no-seiiki · 21 days

Note

Ohh I got soooo many ideas, like CV reader got kidnapped by black mask (I think it's red hood nemesis, am not that deep in DC comics but I know the basics) so he could have a deal or take information out of red hood using CV reader. And when Jason found out about it he was pissed but when he got there the bad guys already down because CV reader took them down.

P.s I don't mind if you use this as a reference to make a headcanon or story on contrary i would love to read it, but it's up to you!!

🎧ྀི » [ what a catastrophy ! ] «

0:00 ─〇───── 0:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

tw/cw: yandere, jason being horny/implied noncon, cat villain! reader being an absolute menace and a whore as always.

pairings: yan! batfam x cat villain/vigilante! reader

note: this happens after conflict between jason and other members of batfam are resolved and at that point cat villain! is more solidly on the cat vigilante! side

“How long is this going to take exactly? I’m about to take an involuntary cat nap with how utterly slow you all are being.”

The Court of Owls were a group of people you’ve absolutely despised on every era you’ve had under your cat mask. Whether it was your wild years as Cat Woman’s protégé or when you were basically assimilated as the Batfam’s shared s/o. You could never bring yourself to like absurdly rich people that well. Much less rich people who do bad things.

For legal and safety reasons, you have to say that the Batfamily are an exception.

You don’t know how on Earth they managed to get their hands on equipment that prevented your powers from working, but it was proving to be quite the annoying conundrum.

“I’m sorry but I’m feline a little too underwhelmed by this whole kidnapping thing. Why don’t we hurry things up a little?”

MEANWHILE . . .

“Where the hell did you take them?!”

Jason slammed Black Mask unto the wall, using the backside of his arm and pressing it against the man’s chest.

The latter’s men took a defensive, alert stance. Ready to pounce on command.

But Black Mask only gestured them to stand down.

“You have to understand, the fact that I even thought of informing you of my deal is a huge risk. I could lose my biggest benefactors.” He replied, calm and polite. In contrast to the harsh kick he deals to his assailant, making Jason back off. “I’m doing you all a favor. I’m doing [Cat Villain Name] a favor.”

“They’re currently on a private island to the south. I can’t give you the exact coordinates but here’s the general location.” He tossed a flashdrive, one swiftly caught and skimmed through by Tim.

“Why are you helping us?” Damian’s mind was already calculating the best way to get rid of everyone in this room. The grip on his katana tightening by the second. He had full faith that you were capable of taking care of yourself, but it did not help with the fear of disappearance whatsoever.

He was sure that the sight of you getting hurt would lead to him going on a rampage.

“Maybe the fact that even with my help, you kids being too late would open their mind and make them come back to our side. They’d finally learn that you’re only as good for them as Batman was to —“ Damian couldn’t stop himself anymore, knocking the man unconscious as the rest of the crew took down his goons with ease. Their worry over your current condition giving them a surprising amount of efficiency as a team.

“It’ll take several hours to even get to those islands much less even find which one . . .” Tim bit his lip. He wasn’t concerned at all. He knows you inside and out. In fact, he already knew where you were exactly. All of this info gathering was just his plan to delay things so that your patience would run out and he’d get front row seats to the carnage you’d inevitably cause. After all, there was something he can always predict when it came to you.

Your unending thirst for fun and chaos.

It took about a week for them to find you. Just about enough time for you to get antsy about not seeing your beloved pets and home.

And plenty of time for you to have your fun, pretending to be hurt, crying out in feigned agony, before you finally took down your prey.

“Red Hood! Come back! We can’t just barge in—“ Dick called out to Jason.

But all Jason could think of was the way you screamed in terror. The footage of your ‘torture’ was something he had nightmares about.

“Kitty! Are you—“ He kicked the door off its hinges, guns ready to fire.

But his sights only landed on a singular breathing being in the middle of a room. Covered in the blood of your victims. Grooming yourself clean.

Each lick sending shivers down his spine.

He sighed in relief. “You really have to stop playing with your food, Kitty.”

His lips envelopes yours as the world disappears from your vision.

୨ ©️ ୧⸝⸝﹕hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024﹐⊂☁️⊃ ‹𝟹

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distorted59 · 7 months

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First of all, I love your works soooo much! And I love you too

Please I really want Kirk Headcanons. He’s the love of my life! I want to cuddle him and also something smut things too

thank you lovely!! I'm sorry for taking so long, i hope you enjoy!! <3

He’s really shy!! When you first met him, he was very nervous. Blushing and stumbling over his words. (You thought it was absolutely adorable of course!!!) When he first shook your hand, he felt electricity running through his body. After a while he fell right into your trap, he was hooked. Begging for more every day.

He gets flustered a lot when he’s around you. He would mess up riffs during rehearsals or stumble over his words. One time he didn’t sleep very well, because he was overthinking all night. (May or may not have been horny all night) and he’d show up tired and sexually frustrated. You’d welcome him with open arms and took a nap together, when he woke up (hard) he got nervous. Your smell and arms around him drove him crazy. You noticed him stiffening once he woke up and quickly figured out what was happening. You’d start kissing his neck and rubbing him over his jeans. “Let me take care of you, baby.”

loves to eat pussy. Like he devours it. All of the boys would be into it but he’s addicted to it. Very good at it as well. He’d pull you to the edge of the bed so he could grind himself against the mattress while eating you out.

“Fuck, you taste so good, baby.” Kirk moans against your cunt. His hips are unrhythmic and desperately grinding against the bed.

you moan and tug on his hair, keeping him in place right between your thighs.

“Hmm!” you let out a squeal as he hits just the right spot. Kirk is humping against the bed like an animal.

“gonna make me cum just like this, honey, fuck!”

I feel like he gives the best hugs ever! Loves to cuddle and hold you close to him.

80s Kirk is such a cutie, I just wanna hold him and kiss all his worries away. like, he’s such a geek with all his comics and action figures. Imagine going with him when he wants to buy new toys.

“Oh my god, babe!” Kirk whisper-yells at you and holds up a new issue of ‘Monster Magazine’.

“Is that the new one, baby?” you smile at him, finding it overly adorable how excited he always gets.

"Yeah!" He looks at the back. “I’m gonna get this.”

He smiles excitedly at you and kisses your cheek. You giggle and blush a bit, not expecting the kiss.

“Can I read it after you’re done?”

“Of course, baby!” Kirk grabs your hand. “We’ll read it together!”

Talking ab horror…. he would be into monster roleplay…. HE WOULD DONT DENY IT. Like him dressing up as dracula and you are the girl who got lost….. like!!!????? and he finds you and traps you and bites you and fucks the absolute life out of you. Thank you for listening.

Also, the fact that in all those videos where he makes a joke and no one laughs??? c'mon now… baby is just trying to have some fun :(

his stutter is so cute!!! he still gets nervous sometimes and can’t look you in the eye or form a sentence. but you don’t mind. <3

I have been thinking about this a lot lately; giving Kirk head for the first time. him all whiny and excited, not knowing what to expect.

“I’ll be gentle, okay?” You look up at him through your lashes.

“Mhm.” He has his fingers over his mouth, unable to even speak. You stroke him lazily and smile at him. He throws his head back and lets out a huge moan when you lick the tip.

“Ooh~, baby!” He whines. “ngh.. fuck!” his chest moves up and down and he tries to hold your hair back for you.

you lick him from the base up and put him in your mouth. You’d think he’s seeing stars, cause he lets out the most heavenly moans you’ve ever heard.

“feels so good, baby~”

yes, just a silly little thought.

the older he gets the rougher he gets, i feel. I mean, the fame and money definitely upped his confidence. which isn’t a bad thing AT ALL.

One of my favorite eras of him is htsd, his hair is starting to gray a little bit, and his skin has that old deep tan. the mustache, the goatee. yes just yes.

I feel like he’s such a tease!!?? imagine going out for dinner with some friends, or the rest of the band. and he’s touching you all over.

“Does my baby wanna feel good?” he slides his hand over your thigh. He’s been touching your thighs an kissing your neck all fucking night.

“Kirk, please.” you whimper. “Not here, why here?”

“Why here?” he smirks against your neck and moves up to whisper in your ear. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this as much as I do, princess.”

GIMME THAT I NEED IT NOW

He’s a really sweet boy, has a kind heart and actually looks too cute to be in a metal band. His voice is so sweet, his hands are very soft. (they become more and more calloused over the years). He would trace his fingers over your skin and whisper sweet things in your ears and place soft kisses on your neck.

ALSO Kirk with eyeliner!???? just imagine you making him feel so good after a show or sum and he starts crying in pleasure and it just drips down his face!!???? His face is messy and his eyes are red with tears as he craves more and more of you.

actually need that rn

and going to the beach with him!! maybe he'll teach you how to surf or just chill with you enjoying some drinks in the shade and going for a casual swim. <3

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everscorner · 2 months

Text

Something In The Way You Move

Author’s note: I hope you enjoy reading my first ever one-shot. I got the idea for this after listening to the Ellie Goulding song with the same title. I’m not exactly sure how I would categorise this fanfic, but that’s alright. This is only for fictional purposes only, and please don’t copy my work without my permission. Enjoy 🤎

Warnings: bad language, toxic relationship, flirty men at the bar, mentions of bruises, cheating, implied smut, fluff, angst, relationship issues, minors DNI (let me know if I missed anything)

famous!Reader x Jude Bellingham Word count: 8k words

///

‘“Y/N Y/L/N is the most famous woman in football.”’ Winnie dramatically turns towards you, eyes comically wide, her grip firm on the copy of the British Vogue magazine in her grasp. ‘Bestie, did you hear that? According to this article, you’re the most famous woman in football.’

You chuckle. ‘Yeah, apparently I am.’

‘How are you so calm right now?’

You’re anything but calm, you’ve just mastered the art of concealing your emotions—it’s a skill you developed shortly after meeting Jude. ‘I don’t know. I guess it’s the shock, it still hasn’t sunk in yet.’

‘It’s definitely the shock, not that I blame you,’ her eyes flit back to the article. ‘This is insane.’

‘In a good way, I hope.’

‘Very good way.’ You watch as she takes in the words of the article. ‘Girl, you’re in Vogue. Like, on the cover! They, like, wrote a whole article about you.’

‘God, sometimes I forget how dramatic you can be, Wins.’

Her theatrics are what first drew you to her. Never in your life had you come across someone like Winnie, and now you consider her one of your best friends. The two of you met at a fashion show a year ago, and well, the rest is history. . .

‘Dramatic? How is this dramatic? This is a big deal, Y/N,’ she shuts the magazine, using her fingers as a makeshift bookmark to save her spot, then sits it on her lap. ‘When you told me you were doing a shoot for Vogue, I didn’t think you meant a cover shoot. Why didn’t you tell me?’

Because the whole thing was surreal, ‘cause I didn’t actually think they’d put me on the cover, the thoughts go through your mind.

‘I guess it slipped my mind,’ you state nonchalantly because that sounds better than the self-deprecating thoughts.

Your cool exterior makes you seem indifferent about the whole thing, but you truly are flattered and overwhelmed. Never in a million years did you think you’d be on the cover of Vogue, and yet here you are.

‘“I guess it slipped my mind,”’ she mocks with a hearty laugh. ‘Seriously though, I’m so proud of you. And if we weren’t sitting in this car right now, I’d give you the biggest hug.’

‘Thank you, Wins, and I know you would.’

You’re in the back of a black Mercedes Sprinter, there is a Netflix crew with their cameras filming you, and you’re being driven to Wembley Stadium where you will watch your boyfriend’s team play a Champions League final.

The cameras are there because you’re in the midst of shooting an episode for season one of your yet to be named Netflix reality show. It’s been a month of filming scenes with the crew, but you still feel self-conscious having such intimate conversations with cameras present.

Who’s idea was it to give you a Netflix show anyway?

‘Shall I read it to you, then?’

‘Uh, no. No no no.’

‘Oh, come on. Why not?’

You squirm in your seat and feel your face heat up, ‘Uh, I don’t know, ‘cause it’s awkward.’

It was a hundred percent your idea to stop at the shops to have yourself filmed buying the magazine, you know, for content for the show, but now it feels so silly, almost like you were bragging or something. To have Winnie read the article to you will only make the embarrassed feeling worse.

‘Why is it awkward?’

You discreetly point a finger towards the camera.

‘The cameras?’

‘Shh!’ you want the seats to part and swallow you up. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘But this will make great content for the show.’

‘Oh god.’

Winnie laughs hard, she’s clearly entertained by all that is happening. ‘Are you shy?’

‘You know this about me.’

She laughs harder.

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying this.’

Not to be that person, but Winnie doesn’t get it. You can almost predict how the internet at large will react to the footage, should Netflix decide to use it for the show. It’s not beneath the world, namely those wretched online gossip rags, to paint you as some self-involved individual who makes her friends read magazine articles that praise her successes.

Hell, just this morning you made the mistake of reading the comments of a MailOnline article about your recent night out in Madrid. You had been out for dinner with your manager and his wife, and it was your standard MailOnline article—though they were uncharacteristically nice to you—nothing out of the ordinary, so you felt it was safe to venture into the comments.

Big mistake, and it’s safe to say that in future, you’ll steer clear of the comments section of anything.

‘Last chance, are you sure you don’t want me to read it?’

‘I’m begging you not to.’

‘Very well,’ she lifts the magazine back up from her lap, her finger bookmark helping her open to the exact page of the article. ‘I’ll just read it for myself.’

‘Let me know if it’s any good.’

She scoffs, ‘Whatever.’

With a wry wink, you blindly reach for your phone that’s seated comfortably on your lap and open the Instagram app to update your story. The hope is that this will distract you from your fretful thoughts.

Again, on the exterior, you’re as cool as a cucumber, but inside, you’re tightly wound. It sounds like an exaggeration, but so much is counting on Real Madrid winning tonight’s match, so you’re praying for their triumph.

Will it fix the many issues that riddle your life? No, but a win could mean a less tense Jude, and it could take him out of the foetid mood he’s been in lately.

To be fair, the moodiness is not only exclusive to Jude, but you know.

‘Gosh, I really hope they win tonight.’

The words slip out your mouth before you can stop them.

‘Huh?’

‘Real Madrid,’ you turn to Winnie, who’s engrossed in the words on the page, ‘I really hope they win tonight.’

She looks up from the magazine, and with a kind smile assures you, ‘Don’t worry, they will.’

She’s so optimistic, so sure, and that’s the attitude you will carry with you through this final.

///

It wasn’t easy, but in the end they came together as a team, and Real Madrid won the Champions League.

The hours that followed the victory were nothing short of chaotic. First there was the team’s celebration on the field, where they received their trophy and medals. Of all the events of the day, that’s the bit you hated the most. So much was happening all at once, which overwhelmed you and made you unpleasant, and of course, that led to an argument between you and Jude.

///

A couple hours earlier.

‘What the actual fuck is wrong with you?’

And more importantly, what the fuck is wrong with you for still putting up with Jude’s shit? You don’t even know how it got to this point. One minute you were teasing each other and making light conversation on the bed of your hotel suite, and the next you were bickering. But that’s how it is with you and Jude lately, there’s no middle ground.

‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’ he challenges.

‘Yeah, did I stutter? What the fuck is wrong with you?’ you press, refusing to back down. Usually, he can intimidate you into submission with a harsh look and tone, but not tonight. ‘Seriously, Jude, you’re not even fun to be around anymore.’

‘That’s rich coming from you,’ he spits back.

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘As if you don’t know.’

‘I wouldn’t be asking you if I did, would I?’

The fucking prick, and if it were any other day, you’d tell him that he’s a prick, but that would only prolong the fight, and you both still have to get ready for dinner in an hour.

‘Why are we even having this argument?’

‘You tell me, you started it,’ he throws the accusation so carelessly.

‘How is any of this my fault?’

‘You’re so childish all the time,’ he answers without faltering, ‘always acting up in front of a crowd.’

‘You bastard!’

‘Then when I call you out for it, you start hurling insults at me,’ he finishes, a smug expression on his face.

You hate it when he gets this way, so vindictive and purposeful in his aim to hurt you. ‘You’re such a fucking prick!’

‘Case in point. . .’

And you think you might cry, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing you teary over him.

‘That’s it, I don’t want to go anywhere with you tonight,’ you announce after a stretched silence.

‘Like hell you’re not.’

Your eyebrows come together in a frown so deep, it’s sure to leave lines in its wake. ‘You can’t force me to go with you.’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘Stop being childish.’

‘How am I being childish?’ With an incredulous scoff, you tell him, ‘You know, there’s something seriously wrong with you. I think that you need to get your head checked.’

‘What?’

‘You’re. Insane. There’s something wrong with you, in your head.’ There’s nothing normal about his recent behaviour. ‘If you think I’m going out with you tonight after you’ve disrespected me, you’ve got something–’

‘We’re not doing this shit.’

‘“This shit”? What does that even mean?’

‘I’m not doing this shit with you. What’s this even about?’

‘It’s about you not respecting me.’

‘That’s bullshit, and you know it’s bullshit,’ he responds dismissively. ‘What have I said or done to disrespect you? I only asked why you were frowning on the field.’

‘And I told you that I wasn’t.’

‘You forget that you’re a bad liar.’

‘I am not lying!’

‘Keep your fucking voice down!’ he yells right back at you, and his voice is like a whip.

That’s when the tears spring to your eyes. You know you said you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, but it’s all too much.

‘Oh, don’t cry.’

‘How can I not when you’re being so cruel?’

Jude’s livid now, nostrils flaring livid. You should shut up, but you can’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth. It’s like a tap that won’t shut.

‘And, it’s like,’ sniff, sniff ‘like you enjoy seeing me upset. And I just feel like everything I do sets you off lately, and I don’t know what to do anymore.’

The tears are freely falling now, and you don’t bother to wipe them away. You want him to feel guilty for the way he spoke to you.

‘Why do you hate me so much?’

‘Baby, I don’t hate you. How could you even ask that?’

When he reaches out to take your hand, you move it away from him. ‘Don’t.’

‘I’m trying to bridge the gap. I’m trying to comfort you.’

‘I don’t need your comfort,’ you sound so sad, and maybe that’s because you are really sad.

You can’t believe the current state of your relationship, and you can’t, for the life of you, understand how it got to this point. You and Jude loved each other, you still love each other. . . Well, you still love him, you’re not so sure of his feelings.

‘And can we drop this, please? I promise I’m not trying to get out of talking about it, but’ sniff ‘just for now, until after dinner.’

///

So you both agreed to a temporary truce, but things are still awkward between you. For example, the ride to the restaurant was silent, Jude barely acknowledged you at dinner, and now he’s somewhere in the restaurant socialising, and you’ve been left to your own devices.

It’s not all bad though, because you’re not completely alone, you have the other WAGs to keep you company.

‘How’s your cocktail?’

You wish Winnie had come though, she would make it better, more bearable. You tried to beg and bribe, desperate for her to meet you here, but she’s stubborn and she wasn’t in the mood. ‘A night wasted with cunty football WAGs? I don’t think so.’ Her words, not yours.

‘Good. It’s a bit too sweet for my liking though.’

‘Same,’ Coralie chuckles.

You’re jonesing for something stronger, a shot of something, but you’re already tipsy after opting out of dinner—your excuse was that you weren’t feeling well—so rather you stick to the sugary beverage.

The group of you are at some swanky restaurant in Mayfair, and you’re doing your best to be sociable, but it’s hard to do when all you want to do is burst out crying.

‘How do you plan on celebrating tonight?’

You shrug your shoulders, ‘I thought this was the celebration.’

‘With the team, yes, but how do you plan to celebrate with Jude?’

‘He has to be up early tomorrow morning.’

Coralie rolls her eyes.

‘You don’t like that answer?’

‘It’s boring, is all.’

And because you don’t know how to respond to that, you take a sip of your cocktail.

‘You look tired,’ she continues.

You guess she just wants to fill the silence?

More like over it. It turns out, you’re not so great at concealing your emotions. ‘Exhausted. It’s been a long day.’

‘Filming a reality show is exhausting, huh?’ Coralie chaffs. She leans in towards you, probably to prevent someone from eavesdropping on your conversation. ‘I need all the details.’

Coralie’s sudden shift in topic catches you off guard. This whole exchange is not really going the way you want it to go, but you’re playing along because you really don’t want to sit alone.

‘Uh, the details?’

‘All of it.’

Unlike everyone else at this table, Coralie isn’t a WAG. She’s employed by the team, and her job’s to be sort of an assistant to the players. When you moved to Spain at the start of the season, Coralie was actually one of the first people you were introduced to, and she was instrumental in helping you and Jude find your apartment.

‘Where to start?’ When you draw a blank, you inquire, ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Hm, how did the opportunity come about?’ she turns in her seat so she’s fully facing you now. ‘How long have you been filming? What is the show about? I want to know it all.’

The reality show is the last thing you want to be talking about, but fuck it. You’ve been internally spiralling all night thinking about your fight with Jude, and this will give you something else to focus on for a bit. Without giving too much away, you skim over your agreement with the streaming platform, how they approached you with the offer, and the basic premise of the show.

‘And it’s not weird for you to have the cameras following you around?’

‘I mean’ you finish the remainder of your cocktail and place the glass back onto the table ‘it’s not like we’re filming every day. There’s, like, a schedule.’

‘And how does that work?’

You do your best to explain the schedule and how it’s set up, but you’re past the point of tipsy, slightly over it, and quite frankly, you want the conversation to be over.

Truth be told, you still can’t believe that someone at Netflix looked at you and your life and thought you were interesting enough to give a reality show to. Not that you’re complaining, the exposure and paycheque totally make it worth it.

‘And how does Jude feel about it?’

Coralie’s question comes as no surprise. She’s got this little crush on Jude, but it’s harmless, endearing even.

‘I don’t know.’

‘He doesn’t talk about it?’

‘I mean, we have talked about it, just not in great detail.’ You can hear the defensiveness in your tone. ‘We don’t talk much about work.’

‘But this affects him,’ she presses on, clearly not satisfied with your response. ‘Or will he not be on the show?’

‘He will be.’

You’re not entirely sure where she’s going with these questions.

‘He just doesn’t have an opinion on it?’

‘Well, I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.’

Of course this is a lie. After your manager had reached out to you about the offer, Jude was the first person you called because you value his opinion.

You weren’t sure you could commit to filming six episodes for the season, and you felt like having the crew and cameras around would feel like an invasion of your personal space.

Jude felt differently and was encouraging.

‘This could be good for your career,’ he had advised.

He’s even filmed some scenes for the show.

‘So you’re like Kim Kardashian now,’ Coralie teases.

‘Jude said the same thing,’ you smile at the memory.

‘Well, I’ve got an idea for the finale.’

You cock your head to one side, ‘You do?’

She nods, a wide smile taking over her beautiful face, ‘I do. Picture this: you’re on vacation, I’ll let you pick the location, and Jude proposes to you.’

Oh you’re not drunk enough for this. And the crazy part is that she seems so delighted with herself—proud even.

‘What do you think?’

‘No.’

‘What? Why?’

‘No, absolutely not.’ You feel yourself getting worked up. You’re so moody these days, and it’s not hormonal.

‘At least think about it.’

‘Coralie, no.’

‘Okay, okay.’ And you think she might drop it, but she continues to ask, ‘Which part don’t you like?’

All of it. In fact, you don’t want to be having this conversation anymore. But you don’t want to be impolite, so you force a smile as you tell her, ‘Right now, marriage isn’t on the cards for us.’

With her hands held up defensively, Coralie clarifies, ‘It was just a suggestion.’

‘And I appreciate it.’

Well, this is a shitfest. Winnie, Winnie, Winnie, you think, I should’ve pushed harder.

There’s no use in dwelling on the fact, and there’s no use in staying at this table. But if you leave abruptly, Coralie might take it the wrong way.

‘I need a refill, want to come?’

She points to her still full cocktail glass, ‘I’m still good.’

‘Okie-dokie,’ you raise off of your chair. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

Coralie’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes, it seems the annoyance is mutual. You just wish the night was over and you were back at the suite. Part of you wishes you’d bump into Jude, not because you have anything to say to him, but you sort of miss his face.

‘Get a grip,’ you mumble to yourself as you manoeuvre through the tables.

You’re miserable, more than usual, and it’s affecting the way you’re interacting with people. Already Coralie thinks you’re a bitch. She didn’t say anything to you, but she didn’t have to, it was written all over her face. And on a different day, the guilt would gnaw at you, but tonight you can’t bring yourself to care.

‘A vodka tonic, please.’

At least your manners are still intact.

‘More vodka than tonic.’

So you’ll drink in hopes that it will help the time pass quicker, and maybe if he sees your tragic state, Jude might let you go back to the hotel. After tearing into you, of course.

As if the sadistic fuck would let me leave.

Knowing Jude, he’d force you to stay but he’d be pissed at the fact that you weren’t on your best behaviour.

The last time, he called you ‘inconsiderate’. And maybe it’s true, maybe you are ‘inconsiderate’, but he’s no better. Hell, he’s worse, but you can never tell him that. In his heart and in his mind, he is a saint—you just bring out the worst in him.

‘Thanks.’

The tumbler is cold in your hand as you raise it to take the first sip. You wince at the bitter taste of vodka, but it’s just what you need, and you feel some of the tension leave your body. You think you might stay here a while.

It’s peaceful at the bar. There’s no Coralie and her unsolicited suggestions, there’s no sulking Jude. . . though you’d much rather have him sulking at you than the cold shoulder, at least then he’s showing some emotion.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’

But then there are the men who think it’s okay to approach you.

‘I’m John, by the way.’

John flashes you a bright smile, and you can’t help but notice his super white and super perfect set of teeth.

‘John, cool.’

‘And you are?’

Bored. Annoyed. Over this interaction. ‘Do I have to tell you?’

‘It’d be nice, yes.’ He then looks at you, really looks at you, then very thoughtfully, he says, ‘You know, you look familiar.’

‘I do?’

‘Yeah, I feel like I know you. . . or I’ve seen you somewhere.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘No, I think I do,’ he waves for the barman’s attention. ‘I think you’re famous.’

‘Well, you’re wrong.’

When the barman comes over, John orders himself a scotch. ‘You know, you still haven’t told me your name.’

And so, despite your better judgement, you tell him which sparks a conversation. Of course, he’s a ‘finance bro’—his overconfidence is a dead giveaway—and he’s at the restaurant for his uni pal’s bachelor party. There’s a group of them.

Without being too obvious, your eyes look down at his left hand, which is conveniently hidden away. Your guess is that John’s got a wife at home, and he’s been allowed out for the night, begrudgingly, of course, so he’s trying his luck with you.

‘Well, since it’s a bachelor party, shouldn’t you be at a gentlemen’s club?’

He shakes his head, ‘Isaac’s not into that.’

‘Isaac is the groom, then?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I’m sure Isaac and your friends are missing you, John,’ you raise your glass to your lips. ‘But thanks for the chat.’

Your dismissive tone only spurs him on, you literally see his eyes light up. Clearly, he sees you as a challenge, something to conquer. ‘How about you? Are you here alone, with friends?’

You polish off the remainder of your drink, ‘Something like that.’

‘That’s all you have to say?’

‘Well, I–’ Your body tenses when you feel a strong arm snake around your waist, but it immediately relaxes when you smell the all too familiar scent of Jude’s cologne.

‘I’ve been looking all over for you,’ he says, strategically wedging himself between you and John, his back turned to him. ‘Hi.’

Jude leans over to take your lips in a deep kiss, you know, the kind that you feel deep in your core. God, you love this man.

‘Hi.’

You don’t have to force a smile, because you’re genuinely pleased to see him, and at first you can’t read his expression as his perfect brown eyes search your own, but then he smiles, really smiles, which causes you to relax.

‘Vodka tonic?’ you offer.

‘No,’ he leans over to kiss you again, this time it’s on your forehead. ‘Is that what you’re having?’

‘Yeah,’ you raise a hand to wave the barman over.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Ordering myself another drink.’

‘No, you’re not.’

The tone of his voice is one you know all too well. You know not to push him, you don’t want to push him, ‘cause things between you are actually good.

‘I’m not?’ your tone is teasing.

‘No, you’re not. Come.’

Before you can question where he’s taking you, he leads you away from the bar, and you don’t even get the chance to say goodbye to John.

‘Jude, that’s rude,’ you tell him, suppressing the urge to smile. ‘And where are you taking me?’

‘Back to the hotel.’

Finally, ‘The hotel?’

‘Yeah, we’ve had enough socialising for the night.’

///

You release a content sigh. ‘You know,’ you start nonchalantly as you leisurely stretch your limbs and flex your toes, ‘I should flirt with random guys at the bar more often.’

Keeping your hands off of each other on the car ride back to the hotel proved quite the struggle. Jude’s earlier possessiveness had you putty in his hands, and his actions, paired with the alcohol in your system, had you ready to jump his bones.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he playfully admonishes. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

‘I might be inclined to, I like it when you get like that.’

‘Like how?’

‘Possessive and all that,’ your heart swells with pride at the memory of Jude moving you away from John.

‘Oh god.’

You burst into fits of obnoxious giggles when he buries his face in the crook of your neck and starts kissing the area.

You and Jude had managed to behave yourself in the car and on the elevator ride up to your floor, but the moment you stepped into your suite, he took your wrist into his large hand and tugged you into him. Without a word, he pushed you up against the wall of the dark entrance hall, and took your lips in an impassioned kiss.

‘Jude, stop!’ you screech.

‘Promise you won’t flirt with random men.’

‘No!’

The kisses intensify, his beard tickling the sensitive skin.

‘I swear I’ll scream,’ you actually can’t breathe, and your stomach hurts like you’ve been doing crunches. ‘Babe, please!’

‘Promise me.’

‘Okay, okay! I promise,’ you relent.

And so he stops.

‘If we get a noise complaint. . .’

‘Who cares?’ Jude rolls back to his previous position on the bed, his back pressed against the mattress, his toned torso exposed.

Instinctively, you follow him, curling into his side, craving the connection. ‘You don’t care?’

He shakes his head, ‘No, do you?’

‘I guess I don’t.’ All you care about is the fact that things between you and Jude are good again, and all is right in your world. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘You are?’

‘Ravenous.’ On cue, your stomach starts to grumble. ‘I’m thinking of having a burger and–’

‘What’s this?’ Jude’s hand moves down to your left hip bone, and his index finger lightly traces over the bruise that’s starting to form. ‘You’re hurt.’

The forming bruise is the result of you being pressed against the entry table as Jude fucked you.

‘Oh that?’ you weave your fingers with his to stop their tracing motion. ‘Don’t worry about that, I honestly don’t mind it.’ But when his eyes remain fixed on the spot, you insist, ‘Babe, please don’t make a big deal of it. It was good.’

Like, really good. So good, Jude had to put his hand over your mouth just to stop the wanton moans that were spilling profusely from your lips.

The heat creeps to your cheeks at the very welcomed memory. ‘And by the way, don’t act like you’re not pleased with yourself.’

He doesn’t try to deny it, he simply laughs.

‘Exactly,’ you rest your head on his chest and focus on the calming steady beat of his heart. You wish you could stay like this with him forever, and abandon all your responsibilities.

‘I love you.’

Jude’s admission catches you off guard. It’s not his first time saying those words to you, he’s said them countless times in the past, but there’s something about the way he says them now. . . it’s so heartfelt.

‘And look, I know I’ve been a jerk these past few months,’ he continues before you can say anything, ‘but starting tonight, I promise to be better.’

His words, so vulnerable and pure, leave you stunned.

You blink away the tears that are starting to collect in your eyes, ‘Jude. . .’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’

You drape your arm over his torso, and release a shaky breath. ‘I love you too.’

There’s so much you want to add to that, but you don’t trust yourself to not break down in tears. Recently, your relationship has been put through the wringer, and you admit that you’ve still got a long way to go in terms of repairing it, but this moment is proof that it’s still salvageable.

After a long and comfortable silence, Jude asks, ‘You still hungry?’

‘Mmm.’

‘Here,’ he hands you the in-room dining menu.

You thank him and start scanning the menu’s offerings. ‘The skinny fries sound good.’

‘I thought you said you were ravenous.’

‘Hold on, I’m not done.’

Five minutes later, your main and a side with dessert, were on their way.

‘And now we shower.’

You let out an obnoxious groan.

‘What?’

‘I don’t want to move from here.’

Jude laughs, ‘Sure you do. Come on, Lazybum.’

‘Lazybum?’

He laughs some more. ‘Yeah, Lazybum. Let’s go.’

Nothing against the shower or anything, but you’re worn out and are too hungry to move. ‘Five more minutes.’

‘No, let’s go.’

You raise your head off his chest, and your eyes lock with his, ‘I can’t persuade you to stay in bed longer?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Oh, babe,’ you whine, and move to straddle him. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘I’m no fun? What do you mean I’m no. . .’ The words sort of fade from his lips when you start writhing against him, the only thing separating you is the bedsheet. ‘Stop that.’

‘Stop what?’ you feign innocence, your hip gyrations not ceasing.

‘What you’re doing right now,’ his hands move to your hips to stop their subtle winding motion. ‘It’s distracting.’

You sigh.

‘And stop pouting.’

‘Make me.’

Jude’s eyes light up at your testy attitude. Then he sits up, and with his hands on either side of your face, he pulls you in for a peck. ‘Behave.’

‘Yeah, but babe, I–’

‘Hey,’ swiftly and smoothly, his hand grabs a hold of your wrist and starts massaging the spot just past your palm, and he maintains eye contact when he tells you, ‘We’ll shower, then we can lay in bed after.’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay?’

You nod, ‘Yeah, okay.’

Your cooperation earns you a second peck.

‘But babe, can we watch a movie after? My choice.’

Despite having to be up early tomorrow to fly back to Madrid, Jude agrees. A post-midnight dinner with a movie and cuddles from Jude, you like the sound of that. You can’t help but stare at Jude’s pert ass when he gets out of the bed—the guy’s got a hot body.

‘You like what you see?’

You flush, but make no effort to turn away. If he’s going to give you a show, who are you to look away? ‘Shut up.’

‘Pervert.’

‘You’re the one slutting yourself out.’

‘Whatever.’

Then with a final kiss, Jude disappears into the bathroom. Some moments pass, and then you hear the shower water run.

You’re scrolling through Netflix’s romance category when you’re interrupted by the incessant buzzing of a phone. Your initial thought is that it’s your manager—who never seems to sleep—calling about a new work opportunity, but when you grab the vibrating device, you discover that it’s Jude’s phone and not yours. And it’s Coralie calling him.

You think nothing of the fact that she’s calling Jude at such a late hour. It’s probably something work related that can’t wait till morning, and you’re about to answer the call when the vibrating abruptly stops. That’s when you see the text notification displayed on Jude’s lock screen:

Coralie: I’m drunk and I miss you, call me

Heh?

Your heart starts hammering against your ribcage and a sick feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

What?

The room starts to spin as you struggle to breathe, and you think you might collapse onto the bed.

Is he. . . Surely he’s not cheating on you. With Coralie?

‘Babe?’ Jude's voice calls from the bathroom, startling you and causing you to almost drop his phone.

‘I’m coming,’ you absentmindedly respond back.

‘Hurry.’

The cheek, you think as you punch in his phone’s password.

The phone unlocks and you think what an idiot he must be—a smart cheater would change the password.

‘Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.’

You have a very limited time window, so you’ve got to move quickly. The adrenaline rush makes your fingers fumbley and shaky, but you somehow manage to open the WhatsApp app. Coralie’s chat is right at the top ‘cause she was the last one to text him.

If you had more time, you’d peruse through his other contacts to see if he’s texting other girls.

‘Here goes nothing,’ you tell yourself.

Then with a deep inhale through your nose, you psych yourself up one last time for what’s to come when you open the chat, and then you open it.

Before the bit about being drunk and missing Jude—drunk texts? How corny—Coralie had sent another lengthy text complimenting the way he looked at dinner tonight, and explicitly told him what she wanted to do to him in the restaurant’s loo.

The fucking bitch!

How dare she? How dare she act friendly with you knowing very well that she was sending dirty texts to your boyfriend behind your back? And the worst part is that you believed the friendly act, believed that she had good intentions.

Rah!

But there’s no time to get hung up on that, there’s plenty of time to do that later. Moving quickly, you scroll up the chat and stop at a random spot.

Jude: Y/N’s in Paris, come over?

You recognise the date to be earlier in the year, when you were in Paris for fittings and shoots. He’d called you really late that night, and he’d told you that he loved and missed you, and that he wished you were at the apartment with him. Basically, he’d lied to you because Coralie was warming his bed that night.

Fuck them both!

The text thread carries on in a similar fashion: Coralie texts Jude saying that she misses him, he texts her when you’re out of town, and sometimes, on special occasions, she’d send a dirty pic. Or if she’s feeling particularly giving, a video.

Fuck.

You angrily toss the phone to one side, and try to contemplate your next move, but your mind is all over the place, and you can barely formulate a cohesive thought.

What now?

‘I got tired of waiting for you, and got out.’

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the shower water shut.

‘Hm?’

‘In the shower, I waited for you.’

You don’t like the way Jude says that statement, the accusation in his tone.

‘I’m. . .’ what is it that you’re trying to say? ‘Oh.’

‘Are you okay?’

Far from it, actually. ‘Hey, are you. . .’ you pause to think about how you want to phrase the question. ‘Are you cheating on me?’

He didn’t expect you to ask him that question, and he seems taken aback by it—shaken even. ‘What?’

But he doesn’t deny it.

‘Are you cheating on me?’ you repeat, enunciating every word. ‘With Coralie. Are you cheating on me with Coralie?’

You watch as his world slowly unravels, and you can see the invisible wheels turning in his head as he cooks up a lie.

‘Well, are you?’

‘What, cheating? What are you on about?’

‘About the messages on your fucking phone, Jude,’ you grab the phone from the bed and throw it at him. It hits his leg and then lands on the floor, right before his feet. The sound it makes leads you to think you might’ve broken it. ‘I’m talking about the fuck dates when I’m out of town, the nudes and videos she sends you. I saw it all.’

‘You went through my fucking phone?’

‘That’s all you have to say? “You went through my fucking phone?”’ you mimic the way he posed that very stupid question. ‘Give me a fucking break, Jude. Yeah, I went through your phone, but you’re deflecting.’

‘I’m not deflecting.’

‘Yeah, you are!’

‘Keep your fucking voice down!’

‘Are. You. Cheating?’

It’s insulting at this point. You’d much rather have him lie to you, it would send you over the edge, but this? He keeps deflecting, there’s no flattery, no lame excuses. . . His blatant lack of effort hurts more than the actual cheating, it’s like he doesn’t even care to save your relationship.

‘Y/N, I’m just trying to de-escalate the situation.’

‘De-escalate what, exactly? Jude, I don’t need you to de-escalate anything, what I need from you is the fucking truth!’ And if you could scream at the top of your lungs with no repercussions, you would. ‘When did it start?’

‘When did what start?’

‘Your affair.’

‘It’s not an affair.’

As if that fucking matters. ‘You keep deflecting!’

‘I’m not!’ he fiercely defends. ‘I just want you to calm down, okay? I just want us to have a normal conversation.’

‘Well, for me to be calm, you’d need to answer my question.’ When a tear escapes from your eye, you quickly swipe it away with the back of your hand. ‘I mean, I know things have been bad between us’ another tear, another swipe ‘lately, but I can’t believe you’d cheat on me.’

And with Coralie, of all people.

Jude sighs, and you can’t place his emotion. It’s kind of hard to place when he’s saying absolutely nothing.

‘Are you just going to stand there?’

‘What? Now you’ve got a problem with me standing?’

‘You know that’s not what I mean.’ This is exhausting, he is exhausting. ‘You’re just standing there saying nothing.’

‘You’re not allowing me to speak.’

‘You’re not really saying much, are you? “Calm down” is not going to cut it.’

‘Well, you keep jumping down my throat.’

‘Blame shifting? Really?’ You sigh, ‘How do you expect me to be calm when you keep shifting the blame and upsetting me?’

‘This is pointless.’ Jude walks over to the bed and takes his seat at the end of it, his muscular back turned to you, head in his hands. ‘You do this every fucking time.’

The words come out muffled.

‘Do what?’

‘Act irrational. It makes it hard to talk to you.’

So according to Jude, voicing your opinions and concerns makes you ‘inconsiderate’ and ‘irrational’.

‘I’m irrational all the time?’

‘Yes.’ After a frustratingly long silence, he lifts his head from his hands and turns to regard you. ‘Look, Y/N, I’m not going to say I’m sorry, ‘cause I’m sure that’s the last thing you want to hear.’

‘So you’re not sorry?’

‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’ He huffs, ‘I thought it was my turn to speak.’

So you bite your tongue and allow him the space to state his case.

‘Coralie was. . . a mistake,’ he starts once he’s sure you won’t kick off again. ‘A big mistake and something I regret, and if I could take it all back, I would. There’s no excuse for what I did, and my actions are unforgivable, but baby, I meant what I said earlier when I said I loved you and want to do right by you.’

I know I’ve been a jerk these past few months, he’d told you, but starting tonight, I promise to be better.

The revelation of Jude’s affair gives his words a whole new meaning. And to think that for the longest time, you believed that you were the issue in your relationship, that your career picking up and you constantly having to be out of the city was the root of your issues.

‘We were fighting all the time.’

‘I know.’

‘And when I’d take the blame, you’d let me.’

‘And I’m so sorry. I really am so sorry.’ Jude reaches a hand out to you, and you don’t push it away, you let him take your hand into his. ‘It’s something I regret every day.’

After a long silence, you have to ask, ‘How did it even start?’

‘Babe, please don’t–’

‘No, I want to know,’ you cut him off.

He’s apprehensive, but to avoid another argument, he tells you how six months ago, so in December, when you were out of town after a big argument between you, Coralie had come to the apartment to help him with something. For whatever reason, they started drinking wine, and one thing quickly led to another, and the next thing he knew, they were fucking.

He insists that he felt awful after the act, but that the affair continued because he ‘honestly didn’t have the balls to end it,’ and he feared that Coralie, the woman scorned, would run to tell you about it.

‘And then it sort of got out of hand,’ he continues. ‘Whenever we’d fight or I’d be frustrated with something at work, I’d turn to Coralie.’

‘Why?’

‘‘Cause a lot of the time, you weren’t there.’

So your budding career was part of the issue, your lack of availability led him to turn to Coralie for comfort.

‘You don’t have a functioning hand?’

With a wry smile, he responds, ‘It’s not the same, and you know it.’

You don’t find the humour in what he’s just said.

‘Too soon?’

‘Way too soon.’

‘Sorry,’ he pulls his lower lip between his teeth, a nervous habit. ‘It wasn’t just the sex, it was the connection.’

‘Connection?’ you pull your hand from his. ‘You act like I’m never home.’

‘Y/N, be honest.’

‘About what?’ You feel yourself getting worked up all over again, ‘Jude, if you’re going to accuse me, at least make it make sense. I make it a point to not be gone for more than three days in a week.’

‘I know, but–’

‘And don’t act like you’re not the one always encouraging me to take all these jobs across the world.’

And if you really think about it, in the last six months, he’d been more encouraging than ever of your career.

‘So don’t give me that connection crap,’ you conclude.

‘Why is your voice raising again?’

‘‘Cause you’re really pissing me off, and you’re shifting all the blame to me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are!’ tears spring back into your eyes. ‘Just admit that you’re a cheater, and that you lack self-control, and that you’re unprofessional, sleeping with the team’s assistant.’

‘Fucking hell. . .’

‘It’s not fair that you’re making this all my fault, and I’m not going to stand around for it.’

‘Y/N–’

‘No, Jude!’

You’re suddenly interrupted by a light knock sounding at the door. When Jude gets up to fetch your food, you slide off of the bed to take the hotel robe to cover yourself with. You hear him thank the person at the door as you crawl back onto the bed, and moments later, he comes back into the room pushing the room service trolley.

‘Where do you want me to put this?’

‘I’m not hungry anymore.’

Jude doesn’t respond to that, he simply abandons the cart and joins you at the bed, closing the distance between you.

‘Don’t.’

‘“Don’t” what?’

‘Sit close to me.’

‘I’m not touching you.’

‘I know but. . .’

How do you tell him that sitting in such close proximity to him clouds your judgement and makes it hard for you to be mad at him?

‘You know, I could always tell she had a thing for you,’ you sigh as you turn away from him, thinking of all the times Coralie had shown interest in Jude. ‘I always just dismissed it as a harmless crush.’

He doesn’t say anything, but then again, what is there to say?

‘And, like, tonight, she kept asking me about you.’ In fact, she was very pushy in her inquisition. ‘So curious about the details of our relationship. Our sex life. She used the word boring to describe it.’

‘I swear she means nothing to me.’

‘Does she know that? Does she know she means nothing to you?’

‘Yes, of course she does.’

‘I doubt it.’ You turn back to Jude. ‘How are you going to end this?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Yeah, I don’t.’

This is all a mess. All of it is a big, stinky mess and a scandal like this could be detrimental to both your careers should it come out.

‘Y/N, I’m really sorry and I regret it.’ There is sincerity in his voice, in his eyes. ‘And if you leave me, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life because you’re the best thing to ever happen to me.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘What’s not true?’

‘That I’m the best thing to ever happen to you.’

If it was true, he wouldn’t have cheated on you with the team’s assistant.

‘It is though.’

‘Whatever,’ you allow yourself to fall back onto the bed, and with a soft grunt, you say, ‘Well, this is a mess.’

‘A big one,’ Jude lies down next to you, and weaves his fingers with yours.

‘I’m so mad at you.’

‘I know.’

‘In fact, I think I hate you.’

His grip on your hand tightens, and you think it might be a pained reflex. ‘I know.’

‘And I don’t know if I could ever move on from this.’

‘Please try to.’

You turn your head so that the two of you are lying face to face. ‘So what now?’

‘I don’t know,’ he admits.

And you’re right there with him. You can’t help but feel like this is the calm before the storm. You wouldn’t put it past Coralie to run to the tabloids to share the story of her affair with Jude just for her 15 minutes of fame.

But it hurts your head to think about that.

‘I’m tired.’

‘Me too.’ And on cue, Jude yawns obnoxiously loudly. ‘We should sleep.’

‘Yeah.’

So you get under the covers, and try to pretend that your entire world isn’t falling apart. You close your eyes and try to force yourself to sleep, but there’s so much going on in your mind.

Tomorrow is a new day, and who knows what it will bring you? Jude says he’s sorry, and maybe you’re an idiot, but you actually believe him. And as for Coralie? Well, that’s a subject for another day.

///

‘I guess I’ll see you when you get back to Madrid.’

It’s the morning after, and when you went to bed last night, you weren’t sure what to expect of your morning exchange, but this isn’t it. Things are somewhat awkward between you, but you’re also being cordial and some version of normal in your interactions, which is nice.

‘Yeah, I guess so.’

This morning, Jude joined you for an early breakfast in your suite. During the breakfast, you mostly talked about possible vacation spots for the summer, and revised the previous day’s events. With all the arguments happening, you didn’t really get to celebrate the fact that Jude had won his first UCL.

‘Are you filming today?’

And now he’s standing across from you, dressed and ready to join the rest of the team down at the hotel’s lobby for their flight back to Madrid.

‘Yeah, but only later.’ You smile, ‘I can’t believe I agreed to this.’

Jude laughs. ‘My very own Kim Kardashian.’

‘You know me,’ you tease.

There’s actually something you want to tell him, but now doesn’t seem like the right time to.

‘Is everything okay?’

His simple question is a reminder that you can never truly hide things from him, he’s just so good at reading you.

‘I’m all good,’ you assure him. ‘I’m just going to miss you, is all.’

He flashes you a bright smile. ‘It’s only a few hours.’

‘I know.’ You walk into him, right into his tall and strong frame, and wrap your arms around his muscular torso. ‘I’m, like, really going to miss you.’

‘Why does it feel like you’re saying goodbye to me right now.’

You chuckle. ‘I’m not. I promise you I’m not.’

‘Okay,’ he presses a kiss to the top of your head. ‘Okay.’

You don’t immediately release him, you’re not ready to, but he’s got to go—duty calls.

‘Text me when you land.’

‘Yeah.’

With a kiss to the lips, and an ‘I love you’ murmured against them, he’s gone.

///

An hour later.

The timer you have set starts going off.

Your heart is hammering against your chest as you reach for the Clearblue home pregnancy test. After Jude had left, you had called the hotel’s front desk to request a pregnancy test, if they had one. Within 15 minutes, there was a woman at your door to deliver it.

With a shaking hand, you reach for the plastic stick.

‘Holy fucking. . .’

You can’t believe your eyes.

‘I’m pregnant.’

///

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

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pricelessemotion · 2 months

Text

love is kinda crazy (with a spooky little boy like you) | E.M.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: [2.4k] eddie takes you on that halloween date. it doesn’t go quite like you expected.

warnings: pure fluff, a little awkward date shenanigans, r is described as having frizzy hair and wearing prescription glasses, r also has an (unnamed) sister

a/n: ah! i’ve been dying to write and post a part two for this fic since halloween and i thought there was no better time to post it than now! happy valentine’s day 🖤

masterlist | part one

“There, perfect!” Your sister punctuates the end of her makeover with the snap of her powder compact and the flourish of a makeup brush.

You turn slowly, the pink cushioned stool a little wobbly under your unsteady frame. Your reflection looks comical, all blurred edges and wavy lines. Without your glasses, the bedroom vanity has turned into a funhouse mirror.

“What does it matter if I’m going on a date with him if I can barely see him?”

You don’t need glasses to know that she’s rolling her eyes. Even though you can’t quite see her, you can hear her exasperation in the way she’s loudly chewing her gum. “You’re going to the movies, you’re barely gonna be able to see him anyway. Besides, you’ll be able to see him when he’s close enough to kiss and that’s the whole point.”

You blink each eye one at a time, trying to gauge which one is better. Your left eye is slightly clearer, though the difference is negligible. “I think you’re severely overestimating my eyesight.”

“I think you’re severely underestimating my dating advice.” She blows a bubble, the view of her face becoming a bright pink smudge before it pops and she continues smacking. “Just trust me, it’ll all be fine.”

You do trust her. Even though she has spent the last two hours plucking and primping and preening, you want to take her advice. She’s not doing this to be condescending or controlling. She’s genuinely excited that you have a date, even more so that it’s with a living breathing human boy and not another library book.

You don’t have much experience. With dating, with seeing someone, with kissing someone. What it means to be dating someone versus what it means to be seeing someone. What you’re supposed to do when you kiss someone. I mean, are your lips supposed to be on top of each other or are they supposed to interlock like the teeth of a zipper? Yeesh, you didn’t even wanna think about how teeth and tongues factor into the equation.

These types of questions would usually be the kind that you would ask an older sister. You’ve just never had the bravery to say them out loud. Sure, you’ve watched romance movies and rewound and observed so much that you were afraid the tape in the VHS was going to break. And you’ve read enough romance that Ms. Marissa gives you side-eye when you pass the library’s reception desk. But there’s a difference between fiction and real life. A bridge you’ve yet to cross. You’re sure that you’re going to need all the help you can get.

So, you heed her advice. You let her spray you with enough Aquanet to try to keep the flyaways at bay. You let her paint your lips with a shimmery pink lip gloss that isn’t too sticky and tastes like vanilla. You don’t, however, let her see you sneak the thick frames into your bag for emergencies. If it were up to her, the frames would be set out with Thursday’s garbage and you’d be wearing contacts like everyone else in your age group.

She drops you off at The Hawk with another smack of her bubblegum and a reassuring pat on the shoulder. She barely waits for you to close the door of the station wagon before she’s speeding away, her Halloween plans including a keg, a pushup bra, and a slightly inebriated Steve Harrington.

Eddie’s easy to spot. His silhouette sticks out against the brick building, white shirt, black leather, and blue denim against a red background. He lights up when he sees you and it’s the first time you’ve understood the meaning of the phrase. Since you can’t quite see his face clearly, you’re paying extra attention to his body. The way he pushes off the wall to stand tall. The way his shoulders visibly relax. You bet that they could see his smile all way in Indianapolis.

“I know you’re usually supposed to give flowers on dates, but this is the best I could do.”

He presents an origami paper flower in the shape of a rose. It’s made from binder paper, evident by the familiar feel of it in your hands. The folds are a bit unsure. There’s evidence of it being undone and folded again with a cleaner precision, you can feel the wear and tear on the paper with your fingertips. You’re dumbfounded.

“Thank you,” You whisper, twirling the stem between your thumb and forefinger, watching the rosebud spin. “No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

“Never?” He gapes at you in apparent disbelief before he schools his expression. “Well then, I’m glad to be the first.” He offers his arm to you like a real gentleman and you take it.

The leather in the crook of his elbow is cold to the touch, but being in such close proximity you can feel the body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s a continuous marathon, so they’re showing movies all night. We can start with any one that you want.” He gestures up to the marquee above the concession stand. When you look up to the sign, the words might as well be written in Cyrillic the way the letters all blur together.

After a trip to the concessions stand, the two of you eventually settle on The Exorcist, which you had decided to cling to after Eddie’s nervous yet adorable rambling about which movie would be better to start with.

Horror movies are even scarier when you can’t tell what’s going on. It didn’t occur to you how much you relied on sight to be able to mentally prepare for jump scares. Eddie must think you’re a total wimp the way you practically leap out of your seat at every flash on the silver screen that accompanies a discordant string of violins.

You jump when you feel a hand brush your bicep, your arms flinging out. It’s much too late when you realize that intimate touch was Eddie trying to figure out if you were alright. The large Coke that Eddie had gotten–two straws because he said he didn’t wanna be presumptuous–the casualty of your fright. The flimsy lid pops off like it has nothing better to do and the dark brown liquid splashes over the arm of the seat right into Eddie’s lap.

Eddie recoils, half-jumping and half-hovering in his seat because he just got a handful of ice-cold soda in his crotch. The people behind you are jeering, grumbling about the disturbance and Eddie half-whispers fucking shit under his breath, in what you’re sure must be a mixture of disdain and disgust.

You pull napkins out of your purse and thrust them in Eddie’s direction before rushing out of the theater, chest heaving and eyes stinging.

It’s a wonder you don’t trip and fall on your way out. You’ve walked these dimly lit halls hundreds of times, so luckily instinct and muscle memory win out and you make it out of the theater mostly unscathed, just with a few bruises on each shoulder. Nothing compared to the mortification of what had happened inside.

Because it’s October in Indiana and you can’t seem to catch a break, it’s raining. Only every so slightly, but enough that you’d be soaked to the bone if you walked home thanks to your sister’s insistence that you dress for fashion and not function. You huddle close to the payphone, pondering if you have enough change to call around and get your sister to pick you back up because no way are you waking up your parents for this.

The doors to the theater creak open behind you and suddenly you’re not alone anymore. The biting cold chills you to the bone but it’s Eddie’s presence behind you that sets you on fire.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Maybe it’s because you’ve spent the last hour and a half in the dark with your nerves on edge, but the tenderness in Eddie’s voice makes your throat constrict.

“I’m sorry,” You blubber. “I’m so embarrassed. I just wanted everything to be perfect and I ruined it.”

“Hey. Hey.” Eddie repeats himself more forcefully when you don’t meet his gaze the first time, “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s just a little soda. I’ll live.”

His fingers rub the back of your hands in a soothing motion. Back and forth, thumbs caressing the valleys between your knuckles. He’s close enough that his features are almost in focus. You still have to squint.

“You keep doing that.” He points his fingers toward your furrowed brow before mimicking the action on his own face. The finger is not accusatory, it just seems like Eddie likes to talk with his hands.

You sigh, a resigned and weary sound. “My sister convinced me that I shouldn’t wear my glasses.”

Eddie makes a face that you can’t quite discern in the dark before letting out a soft hmph! “Your sister kinda sounds a little mean.”

“She means well.” You defend, weakly. You love your sister to death but there are times that your differences become much too apparent and that leaves you with nothing to do but suffer the consequences. This is one of those times.

“Did you bring them with you?”

“Yeah,” You reach into your bag, finding the frames folded into one of the inner pockets.

Eddie takes them and puts them on you. “You keep doing that.” You murmur, a repeat of his earlier accusation. Now, though, you both know it’s in reference to him adjusting your glasses not just once but twice.

“It gives me an excuse to be close to you.”

You can see him with unrelenting clarity now. The little crinkles next to his eyes as he smiles warmly down at you. The way the slight breeze has carried the miserable drizzle under the theater awning. The way that drizzle clings to his curly hair like dewdrops on morning grass. You almost robbed yourself of all of this, and for what? Eddie knows what you look like.

“Y’know what I thought when I saw you yesterday?” Yesterday, when you had been wearing a witch hat on top of your frizzy hair and the same Coke bottle glasses that sit on the slope of your nose now. “I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. I thought I made a fool outta myself and that you wouldn’t give me the time of day, not in a million years.”

“The whole scaredy cat schtick was quite endearing I must say.”

He nods seriously, just a slight hint of a smirk on his face. “I try my best.”

You look down at the seat of his pants. Sure enough, there’s a dark stain splashed right across his crotch.“Oh god. I'm so sorry. Again”

“What did I tell you about apologizing?”

“You didn’t say anything about apologizing.”

“Well then, this is me saying something. Stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“It looks like you pissed yourself,” You wail mournfully.

“Well, that definitely makes me feel better.” Eddie jests before he tugs you into his chest and plants his chin on top of your head.

You nuzzle your face into his sternum, appreciating the soft hiss he lets out when your cold nose touches his warm skin. You inwardly groan because, quite frankly, there’s nothing more embarrassing than running out of a nearly full movie theater the way that you did. The only thing more embarrassing than that, you think, is going back inside after having embarrassed yourself. You tell Eddie as much, with the reassurance that you don’t want the date to end and if he really wants to, you can go back inside and finish the movie. He’s already tugging you toward his van that’s parked on the other side of the street, saying the six words that make your night:

“I own The Exorcist on VHS.”

You spend the entire time back in the trailer park cuddled up having quiet conversation about gory practical effects over a bowl of microwaved popcorn. The closest he gets to kissing you is when you duck into his chest to hide and his lips brush your temple. He could’ve lived off of that single brush for the rest of his life if he had to.

When Eddie pulls up to your house later that night, he really does mean to give you an innocent kiss goodnight. The neighborhood is quiet, seeing as it’s probably been an hour since the children of Hawkins had fallen into their sugar-induced comas. He turns the engine off and shifts towards you, his smile both giddy and shy while he tells you that he had a really good time tonight. You mirror his expression and tell him the same. You both lean forward, chests rising and falling in tandem, noses brushing.

When you finally make it past the front door, your lips are swollen and your glasses are fogged up. You kick off your shoes and pad up the carpeted steps two at a time, racing to your bedroom window. When you turn on your lamp and look out to the tree-lined street, Eddie waves at you, his rings glinting in the streetlight. You wave back, watching the van disappear into the distance.

“Hey,” Your sister is leaning against the doorframe, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

“How’d it go?” You’re already slightly aware of the answer since she’s standing in front of you with a freshly washed face and hand-me-down pajamas instead of in an empty house in Loch Nora.

She shrugs noncommittally, “It was a bust.”

You hum in solemn solidarity, trying to tug the grin on your face into a much more situationally appropriate neutral expression. You feel for her and you don’t want to rub it in her face that you had such a good time, despite her advice. Unfortunately, you do not seem to have as much control over your facial muscles as you think you do. Your sister sees right through you, grabbing the purple throw pillow at the foot of the bed and launching it at your face telling you to shut up. You catch it before it has the chance to hit you, huffing with righteous indignation at her before the two of you collapse onto the bed in muffled laughter.

“So, how’d it go?” She whispers in your direction, mindful of your sleeping parents down the hall.

You trace your cupid’s bow, feeling the chapped and swollen skin for the hundredth time that night. You turn your head toward hers, readjusting your glasses when they slide down your nose.

“It was perfect.”

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