#bought the white screen y'all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sepherinaspoppies · 20 days

Text

Riding the Dragon- Modern! Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: after a great dinner with Aemond, he decides to give you a ride on his motorcycle, a Dragon T6.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, public smut, pussy on bike, cum play?, reader getting off on Aemond's bike, some tiddy succin, mentions of p in v sex, I think that it?

wc: 3,064

click here to be added to my general taglist!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

masterlist

click here for a tiktok that gives off aemond in this story lo

notes: this is my first time writing in reader's pov? the whole 'you' kind of perspective. I apologize if it sucks ass, I wanted to try something different. And can y'all believe I wrote majority of this when I was ovulating? HAHA

“I had a really nice time tonight.” The man in front of you says with a content and flirtatious smile on his pretty chiseled face.

Heat coats through your cheeks to the tip of your ears. Definitely not the effect of the two glasses of wine you’d drunk not too long ago. Wine hardly ever did a number on you to slightly fuddle your conscience.

You give him a sheepish grin, scraping the tips of your heels against the pavement, shying away from the intensity that his eye holds. “Same here. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

His face contorts in a way that clearly indicates that the feeling is in fact very, mutual. “Mind if I take down your number?” He asks, pulling out the latest new Iphone from his pocket. You only engaged in conversation through the dating app both of you met in and you thought it seemed only fair to give him your number after weeks of meeting him.

He taps a few things on his screen before you’re met with a white screen with only your first name and birthday typed. It is then when you wonder how he came about on knowing your birthday, if you had ever mentioned it in your electrifying conversations either on the app or this date. Most likely the second option.

You knew his name, well if you’d call it that, supplying you only his first initial. By his angelic looks, he was definitely of Valyrian descent. And you hate how much of a sucker you were for those blonde bitches. You knew he was in the last year of university, double majoring in political science and business here in the capital. You also knew he had a geriatric maine coon cat, Vhagar, who’d stuck with him since he was a child.

But that was pretty much it.

You nod, typing out the most critical information both of you needed in order to secure the second date. “Here you go,” you hand back his phone with such caution that causes his lips to quiver in a smirk.

He leans forward, too forward in a way you feel his breath steadily fanning your face and the warmth that radiates through his chest. You don’t pull away as his head lowers, keeping your gaze steady with his, admiring the amethyst hue of his lone eye that twinkles against the low street lights.

A snakes his hand around your hips, which normally you’d slap away if it was any other man. But he was different. A rare gentleman who bought you a single winter rose even when you were five minutes late, let you devour the fries off his plate, and hashed your steak without asking.

You wanted him to kiss you and perhaps even more.

You wouldn’t say no. If anything you’d whimper out a simple “please” if it came to that.

However, just as you expect his lips, it doesn’t come. He pulls away with a lupine smirk on his face, waiting for a response to a question you did not hear.

You cough away the slight embarrassment, “What?”

“I asked what your password was,”

Before you process how he did it, you see him wave the gray screen of your phone around your face, waiting for the six digit code.

Oh.

“I got your number but you did not get mine and you’re gonna need it when I take you out to dinner again.” The blonde in front of you points out.

True.

It almost feels too goofy revealing the code that multiple of your friends tease you for. Nevertheless, you stutter out the numbers: one, two, three, four, five, and six.

You hear him dryly laugh, shaking his head side to side as he types out the three sets of numbers. “Mmm, you need a better password, darling. One might think you want your personal information stolen,” He teases. You shift your thighs to a close at the term of endearment, already feeling the slightest tingles in a place where you desired him the most.

You make a sound of agreement making a mental note to change it later tonight. After he hands back your phone, he combs back the loose silvery hair out of his face into a neat bun that well flatters his face. “Take mine for example; it’s five, twenty-two, one-thirty. Easy to remember.”

“Is that your cat’s birthday?” You questioned.

“No. It’s the day we matched on Tinder.”

You are lost for words. Not even you knew the exact date you matched with him, only knowing it was around a few weeks ago. Judging by your reaction, he knew what you were thinking.

After a few more rounds of flirtatious conversations, you both decided to call it a night, waving each other goodnight as you watched as he sped up in a black, shiny Dragon T6, a vintage motorcycle that was the second most precious thing he owned. (The first being Vhagar). You’d be lying if that wasn’t one of the list of reasons why you swiped right. A tall Valyrian man, with long locks, that rode a motorcycle definitely modeled the countless dark romance books you’d spent hours reading.

To your frustration, the price of Uber had doubled the amount you’d paid for hours ago. Not even Uber Share happened to be near your price range. For ten gold dragons, you could buy a week’s worth of groceries!

So you sighed, turning off your phone. Your usual bus was still in service and way cheaper than the ridiculous prices of Uber. And while it was too late to be out by yourself, it was a risk you were willing to take.

As you rummage through your wallet for some copper coins, you hear a deep, rumbling sound of an engine revving up close to where you stand.

It’s him. Braking his bike on the side of the road where you are. His expensive Lysene suit coat no longer hugged his body, wearing only a white dress shirt that was half unbuttoned, giving you an impeccable view of his perfectly rounded cleavage and the multiple hidden tattoos you didn’t know he had.

“Hop in,” He says, pointing his head to the side. It was not a request but a demand.

You tilt your head, unsure whether to say yes or no. “Is it safe?” You ask. His chest moves, seemingly laughing as he opens the visor of his helmet. “Of course it is. I’m a cautious driver, never had an accident and I don’t think I ever will. I made sure to drink water after a glass of wine, so I’m not under the influence.”

He narrows his eye, observing the hesitation written throughout your face. He offers the spare helmet from his bag and hopes that it will coax the uneasiness.

“If you’re so dubious about it then by all means the bike is yours to drive.”

It’s your turn to laugh because the thought of you riding something of high value and rarity seemed absurd and silly. You were someone who did not have experience in driving in general whilst also being terrified of the narrow and steep roads of King’s Landing.

But there was no humor in A’s eye.

“You’re not serious are you?”

He powers off the bike before he scoots back from his seat. “I am.” He eagerly pats the spot he has saved for you.

“You do realize that this is a Dragon T6, right? They practically don’t make these anymore!” You gesture your hands around the expensive looking machine that was probably worth more than your left kidney.

He clicks his tongue, crossing his arms on his chest. “What’s your point?”

You scoff playfully, “My point is that manufacturers don’t make these anymore and if I crash it–”

“–You should have a little more faith in yourself. Maybe this will come naturally to you but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

You can’t help but exhale in slight failure. This was a conversation you knew you couldn’t win with him. “Look, I’m not going to pressure you into something you don’t feel comfortable doing but I happen to be a great teacher. And if you do crash I’ll buy another, they aren’t that expensive anyways.” The Valyrian man shrugs as if thousands, or hundred thousands of gold dragons were nothing.

You mutter a “fine” under your breath which makes him all giddy with excitement and slides the helmet down your head. He double checks if it's secured before he lifts you to sit properly on his bike.

“Or I have one or two things in mind of how you could repay me.”

Every single piece of information he hurled your way was taken deep into your head. And you did your best to pay attention to it all under the sharp needles of nerves going through your spine. At some point he had given you little rubs up and down your back to soothe your nerves. The effect was anything but that, instead all you could think about was how his hands would feel against the bareness of your body.

Fuck.

You tried to push those lewd thoughts away as he demonstrated the anatomy of the Dragon T6. The ignition was a little red switch right below the speedometer, whilst the clutch was on the left hand side and the accelerator in your right. The gear shift was something you had to get used to as it was not on your eye level but rather a small little lever near your foot.

Once he feels you’ve gotten the grasp of how everything works it was time for the ultimate test. “Alright now we start. Are you ready?” He asked with an eager smile tugging his lips.

No.

You nod your head, adjusting the mirrors to match your height. You feel the tips of his fingers lift and turn your chin towards him, “Use your words, darling.” There it was that name again that made you clutch your thighs together. You audibly gulp, “Y-yes I’m ready.”

“Good,” His hands squeeze at your hip bones to bring you closer to him. Your eyes widen almost comically to what you assume is his cock pressing insistently onto your ass. It was hard, and through the thin material of your dress you could feel it throbbing full of want and need. Gods, how will you ever focus now?

A brief image flashed through your mind of how much and what was packing underneath his undergarments. The length and thickness and how it would feel wrapped around your palm as you’d stroke him from base to tip, or the taste of him as you’d take him inside your mouth, or having his full length stuffed deep inside you as he fucked you dumb.

Something tells you that he knows what you are thinking but neither of you speak about it.

Finally, he takes your hands onto the handles of the clutch and the accelerator and you, being a step ahead, check if the gear is on neutral before you release the clutch and to your satisfaction it is. The blonde behind you smiles at you proudly like a teacher would to their student.

“Now, you’re gonna slowly release the clutch and twist the accelerator slightly…there you go, good girl. You’re doing such a good job.” He coos at your ear.

The beat of your heart raced almost out of your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the excitement of a small accomplishment or the low timbre of his voice praising you but you welcomed it.

With confidence you didn’t know you had, you decided to drive the rest of the way to your apartment without complications and took up every tip the man behind you advised. The cool air kissing your skin and the adrenaline wildly pumping through your veins, awoke something in you and slowly you began to comprehend why A loved riding.

You had felt like a small bird taking its first flight through the skies.

When you both reached the parking lot to your apartment, you returned his helmet and a small part lingering inside you did not want to let it go. You enjoyed it and the freedom it brought you.

“That was so fun! I can’t believe it was that easy. Think I need to save me up for one of these,” You quipped patting the bike.

He throws his head back to let out an amused laugh, “Or I can just give you this one,” A tone of nonchalant laced through his voice.

You look at him baffled, “I was–”

“–But first we need to get you your license before I–”

“–Absolutely not, I was jesting.” You snipped, making him roll his eyes with a slight pout drawing out his lips.

“You’re stubborn and difficult, has anyone told you that?” You chortle thinking of the numerous times you’ve been called that.

“Plenty of times but I reckon this won’t be the last.”

He hums tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear, “I guess I have to fuck it out of you.”

You blink.

The hue of your cheeks increased tenfold, your feet and body became paralyzed to what he had just confessed.

Had he just said that to shut you up? If so it worked.

You didn’t know how to respond to something as bold as that and to your inclination you lowered your head but the blonde behind you couldn’t have that. You felt the tips of his fingers roughly grip your jaw to meet his gaze. The amethyst hue of his eye turned into a darker shade of violet as he eyed between your eyes then your lips.

Every part of you screamed for him to kiss you or to do something to appease the longing.

You instinctively parted your lips when his head began to dip towards your lips. The tip of his nose brushed delicately against your own then it slowly trailed to sniff at your neck, the sweet smell of spiced peaches.

“Nyke jaelagon ao,” He whispered in his mother language.

“Pār emagon issa,” You said before you mentally said ‘fuck it’ and knocked the wind out of him with a kiss.

He lets out a mix between a growl and a groan as he feels your wandering hands tugging the roots of his hair. Something you yearned to do ever since you saw how long and silky his hair was.

And Gods did it meet your expectations.

His lips moved against yours most ardently and with equal fervor. It was hungry and needy the way your teeth clashed with his, tongues dancing for dominance until you hissed when he bit your lower lip.

You melted into his warm embrace, deciding to tease him by rubbing your palm on his clothed length, detecting a damp patch. You shot your eyes open, separating away your lips.

“Did you just cum?” You panted heavily.

A smirked, “I came when you first got on the bike and I was about to cum right now.”

You quirked a brow, “That’s what did it for you?” Redness coated his cheeks and before you knew it his lips were on you again and his hands lifted the hem of your dress, exposing the black lacy panties you wore just for him.

“Incase you get lucky,” Your best friend Sara teased just the day before when you and her took a shopping trip to a Lysene lingerie store.

Through some imaginary telepathic communication, you thanked Sara.

He groaned feeling the wetness that gathered through your folds. You weren’t just wet, you were dripping like honey on a hot summer’s day. A mischievous idea popped into his mind, something so lewd that made the head of his cock twitch with excitement.

You squealed as he swiftly turned you around and twisted the ignition switch on. Was he going to make you drive in this state?

“Move your panties to the side.” He commanded behind you.

You pushed away the curiosity and did what he bid you to do. “Good girl. Now lean forward a bit.” You shifted yourself forward until you could feel the warm metal of his seat pressing tenaciously at your bare cunt.

A gasp turned into drawn out moans as the blonde behind you revved the accelerator at a speed that made stars appear in your eyes. It felt good, so obscenely good that all thoughts about being in a public setting flew right over your head.

You began to grind yourself with the vibrations, creating as much friction to your bud as you could.

“That’s it, darling,” He encouraged behind you, increasing power to the accelerator just enough for your arousal to coat his bike. “Fuck yourself on my Dragon.”

You clenched around nothing, whining as you felt the pure waves of ecstasy slithering down your spine. It was unlike anything you ever felt, not even the vibrator you owned made you topple over the edge.

In ten seconds or less, you loudly moaned, not caring who heard or saw you, as your legs shaked and the coil around your stomach loosened, cumming absolutely hard.

Your limbs felt entirely spent as if you ran three laps around Rhaenys’ hill.

“Mmm, do not get too comfortable, now, darling.” He boasted smugly as his fingers scoop your honey to his lips, humming at the delicious taste. “I haven’t even fucked you senseless yet and after witnessing this I want nothing more but to ruin your ability to walk straight for week.”

A low whine escaped your lips at the thought of him roughly taking you. “Is that what you want?” He questioned, lowering the straps of your dress to expose your breasts to his gaze.

You sighed contently, feeling his tongue enclosing around your perk nipple. “Yes please,” You tenderly loop your fingers through his hair.

“I promise I will never make you beg,” He murmurs against your breast, “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

He had kept true to his word as he not only bent you over his bike as he fucked you raw, but took you three more rounds on your couch, bed and shower until you absolutely passed out in his arms. And for the rest of the week you couldn’t walk straight without limping. Thanks to Aemond Targaryen.

general taglist: @dreaming-for-an-escape @marvelescvpe @omgisrdj @ramsip @silentf @thenightmistress @dixie-elocin @namelesslosers @gigi-panecillo @laureeedn @watercolorskyy @seabasscevans @kittendoll05 @fullmoonworshipper @bunbunbl0gs @summerposie @dusicapopilic @tulips2715 @kckt88 @chaoticwinnercupcake @folksriddle @ficsandsin @nyx-daughterofchaos98 @qweencrimson @slytherized @qyburnsghost @tofujiji @saturnssrings @janeety @thought--bubble @theunburt @mandiiblanche @iamkookiesforyou @jeben196 @just-a-harmless-patato @moneypriestess @ladymoon666 @angelinap09

empty is who I couldn't tag sowwy besties.

#aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond #one shot #kinda smutty #aemond one eye #prince aemond #house of the dragon

467 notes · View notes

callsign-venus · 23 days

Text

For the Love of Love | Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Reader | Part II

Part I | Series Masterlist

Summary: You immediately have doubts. As the morning goes on, they only get stronger. Good thing Bradley can be normal about this. Right?

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: fake dating, fake dating Bradley Bradshaw in particular, completely implied age gap

a/n: Thank all y'all for the response to the first part :) I was so nervous to post it, but everyone has been so kind and encouraging! Also, I've created a taglist for this series -- please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future updates! Ok, ok, let's get this show on the road (literally, we're on the way to Tahoe lol), enjoy x

It was 6:15 am. Streetlights washed your walls a bright, sterile white. You paced in front of your door. Next to it, your pink luggage set waited for you dutifully. Bradley was supposed to pick you up 15 minutes ago. He hadn’t responded to any of your texts. Or your calls.

Were you dumb for thinking he really wanted to join you – and your entire family – in Tahoe? Was he drunker than he let on last night, or maybe he forgot entirely? You hoped not, you’d already bought him the seat next to you on the plane. You really didn’t want to explain to your parents why they were paying for two plane seats when only you arrived at the cabin.

You checked your phone. 6:17. Soon, you’d have to drive by yourself. Maybe he’d catch you at the airport.

Just as you made for your keys, there was a sharp knock at your door. You undid the deadbolt and flung it open. Bradley stood in the sickly yellow light of the hallway, looking better than you wanted him to in just gray sweats and a black hoodie.

“Good morning!” He was surprisingly chirpy for how early it was.

“You’re late. Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

“What texts?”

“The texts I sent you?” You grabbed all three pieces of your luggage and struggled through the door frame.

“My phone died.” He was tapping his phone screen like he was just realizing that it wasn’t turning on. He gave up, pocketed the phone, and lifted the two biggest suitcases out of your hands. “Jesus, how long are we going to be gone? It’s like you packed your whole closet.”

“Three days. But I have to be prepared.” You locked up your apartment and started down the stairs, your suitcase clanking down each step. Your neighbors were probably thrilled.

Bradley followed behind you, lifting your other suitcases as if they weighed nothing.

“So you’re just going to travel with a dead phone?” You asked when you finally made it to the lobby.

He shrugged. “Is your phone charged?”

“Of course.”

“Works good enough for me.”

He reached over your head to hold open the front door as you dragged your suitcase into the brisk early morning. His Bronco shone like adventure. You and Bradley loaded your luggage, and he opened the door for you to get into the passenger seat.

“Coffees?” You asked as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.

He glanced down at the twin iced coffees lined up in the cupholders between you. “I thought it'd help us get through the early morning. I didn’t know what you liked though, so I just got you my drink.”

You stabbed a straw through the plastic lid of the coffee and took a sip. It was shockingly sweet. You coughed a little.

“You like it?” Bradley smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve perfected my order. Caramel and white mocha and cinnamon sprinkle on top.”

You take another sip. Without the sweetness taking you by surprise, it was much better. “It’s good. I would have pegged you for a hot black coffee guy, though.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He merged on the freeway.

The sound of the road passing under the Bronco filled the silence of the car.

“So…” Bradley tapped his thumb against the Bronco’s wheel, the echoes of some song you didn’t know. “What’s your family like?”

You watched lights flick on in the windows of the buildings you passed. People getting ready for their typical days. You pressed down a shock of panic. This was absurd. But Bradley seemed committed, and if it was going to work, you had to set him up for success. That meant warning him about your family.

“Well, my Grandma Sybil and Grandpa Thomas have been married for sixty years. Obviously.” Nervous laughter bubbled from your lips before you could stop it. “They’re Grandma and Grandpa. I grew up going to their house and stuffing myself on her cookies and falling asleep on his lap. But Grandma Sybil can be… stern.”

He stopped tapping his thumb to snag his coffee and take a sip. “Like, how so?”

“She’s just a little rough around the edges. She had a tough life before meeting my grandfather, and though she softened to him, I don’t think she softened much to the rest of the world. Just, don’t take it personally if she doesn’t warm up to you right away. Or at all.”

“Noted.” You heard him swallow.

You picked at a seam in your pants. “And their oldest daughter is my Aunt Marnie. She’s married to Uncle Jim. They run a crystal shop just outside of Vegas. They might try to push moonstone or onyx on you. Just smile and accept it.”

“Ok. Marnie and Jim. Crystals.” He committed the names to memory.

“Their daughter Sabrine just got married.”

“You went to the wedding, I remember.”

You flushed, grateful that the sun hadn’t quite risen yet and the hotness of your cheeks dissipated in the darkened car. He had remembered. You didn’t think any detail of your life was important enough for him to care to remember – and it really was just one week that you were gone – but maybe your life had bled into the Daggers’ more than you thought.

As the airport came into view, you told him about Sabrine and how she would bring her new husband Matt. She was already seven months pregnant. Grandma Sybil was less than pleased, but Grandpa Thomas either didn’t care or hadn't worked out the math.

“And what do your aunt and uncle think?” Bradley asked.

“I think they’re just happy that she’s happy. They sound excited to be grandparents. But Auntie Marnie did complain that the wedding was tacky.”

Bradley snorted. “Was it?”

“It was sweet,” you said. “It was in his mom’s backyard. The colors were red and black, but it was sweet.”

An airplane roared overhead, glinting in the sun that was just sharpening over the horizon.

Bradley pulled into the airport’s parking garage. He had only packed himself a duffle bag, so he was able to carry all of your luggage plus his own. In exchange, you carried both coffees and locked the Bronco. You slipped Bradley’s keys into his pocket as he instructed, your fingers warming where they grazed the fabric of his sweats.

The airport was fizzing with the whispers of early morning travelers. You rubbed your eyes as you stepped under the fluorescent lights, taking stock of just how many others were yawning and lining up at the baggage counter under those same lights. Why was the airport so busy before 7am?

As if he could read your mind (or maybe he just saw you tense up at the sight of so many people), Bradley said, “It’s ok. We still have time.”

His reassurance drove you to action. You traded his coffee for your bags and shuffled into line for the check in counter. From the standstill line, you watched Bradley as he wandered around the walkway, taking sips of his coffee, staring up at the ceiling, and generally being a 6’1” hazard to the travelers rushing to get to the TSA line. You rolled your suitcases across the green gray carpets the check in counter line eked forward, nearly running into the old man in front of you as you kept your gaze on Bradley. Why was even his boredom endearing?

Just before you got to the front of the line, he stopped and stared up at the ceiling, causing a woman who was looking at her phone to crash into him. You giggled as you watched him apologize, and saw, in real time, as the woman went from indignant to flustered as she realized how hot he was. She tried to strike up a conversation, but he caught your gaze from across the room. Her eyes followed his, and when it hit you, she was quick to disappear into the airport crowd.

Your face grew hot. You mouthed sorry to him as the woman at the counter was calling you forward. You were a little sorry; she was very pretty. But some part of you delighted in being perceived as his girlfriend, even if it was easier to convince a stranger than your family.

“Ma’am, next guest.” The stern voice of the woman at the counter shook you from your thoughts.

Once your bags were checked, you caught up with Bradley. The two of you rounded the corner only to stop short when you saw the enormous security line.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” you groaned.

“We’ll be fine. It’s only 7:15.” Bradley nudged your shoulder with his. “Plus, it gives us time to get our story straight.”

“Our story?” You asked as you both stepped into line.

“Yeah. Like, how did we meet?”

You didn’t skip a beat. “Nat introduced us.”

“That was quick.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Well, let’s try to stick with reality as much as possible. And my family loves Nat, her stamp of approval will go down great.” You really hoped no one could hear you two. But the steady murmur of overlapping early-morning conversation seemed to drown out your weird topic of conversation.

“Well, how long have we been dating?”

That you had to think about. “Well, it can’t be too short, otherwise it would be weird that I’m bringing you.”

“It’s already weird.” He laughed.

“They don’t need to know that,” you said. “How long do you think we could pass for? 2 months? 6?”

“Aren’t they going to ask why you’ve never talked about me or brought me around?”

“Good point. We’ll say 4, and I’ll just tell them I wanted to be sure before I told them about you.”

“You think we could convince them we’ve been dating for four months?”

You shrugged, but your stomach somersaulted. “We can try.”

“Like this?” He grabbed your hand and laced his fingers between yours.

Your hand tensed. Your stomach did a whole gymnastics routine. You were holding hands with Bradley Bradshaw in the airport. You looked around, sure that any TSA agent in your vicinity could sense your anxiety and pull you for secondary screening.

“Relax.” He patted your hand with his free one. “We’re not going to get far like this.”

You forced your fingers to meld with his. The iced coffee and your nerves were a terrible mix for your empty stomach.

“Better.” He kept hold of your hand as you shuffled up the line. Then he grinned.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“You know those couples in lines at amusement parks?” A lopsided smile brightened his face. “When they’re waiting in line?”

“The ones that are really into PDA?”

“Exactly.” He dropped your hand, slid up behind you, and wrapped his arms across your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. “All we need to do is follow their lead.”

You did everything in your power to stay upright and keep your breathing steady with his chin pressing into your skin. He kept hold of you as the line moved up. You clenched your hands, your nails digging crescents into your palms. There was no way he couldn’t hear your racing heart and your ragged breathing.

“And there’s this move.”

As the line slouched to a stop, he spun you around, still keeping hold of your waist, but now you were face to face. You looked up at him, tried to form a sentence, but found yourself completely dumb. He leaned his forehead against yours. Surely he could feel the warmth of your face, see the confused longing in your eyes. He smiled at you for just a second before he broke away from you and threw his head back laughing, drawing glares from your fellow sleep-deprived travelers.

You were practically mute through the rest of security. Bradley seemed to have fun grabbing your hand, draping an arm around your shoulders, and messing with your hair. You wondered if he knew the effect he was having on you or if he was earnestly trying to practice for your family. Maybe he was just trying to rile you up.

“You were great.” He patted the top of your head, causing your heart to shrivel a bit. “We’ll have them all wrapped around our fingers.”

You cleared your throat and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Once you were through security, you broke up to scrounge some breakfast. Well, that’s what you let Bradley think anyway. You tried to beat down the butterflies in your stomach as you wove between slow-walking travelers toting huge suitcases and knots of families with waddling toddlers, straight to the bathroom.

The stall offered you just enough privacy to freak out. You felt your face, your waist, flexed your hands right in front of your eyes. It took you months to not freak out about the platonic arm draped around your shoulders, his quick hugs goodbye at the Hard Deck. How on Earth were you going to be normal about this?

He complimented you on a job well done, but in truth, he did all the work. You didn’t reach out for him once in the security line. Would your family even believe you liked him? After that performance, the idea that they could possibly think that you were in love seemed laughable.

The weekend stretched long ahead of you. You were beginning to realize how stupid it was for you to begin such a ruse that you’d have to keep up for three days. You wondered if Bradley would react poorly to being sent home after already getting through security.

You hurriedly texted Nat – who knew very well how you felt about her coworker, almost to the point where she might have purposefully orchestrated your trip. It was a bit of a text wall, detailing the TSA line and your dread about the weekend. If she wasn’t already working, she would probably be asleep for three more hours, so you pocketed your phone after hitting send.

The sound of a flushing toilet reminded you that, yes, you were having a small crisis in a public bathroom. That thought was so sad that you took a deep breath, set your shoulders, and walked out of the stall to face the world.

From a little store, you picked up a berry parfait for breakfast and a bottled orange juice, since the TSA confiscated your half-empty iced coffee.

You found Gate 4. People were falling asleep upright in the airport seats, blankets and pillows abound. It smelled like the Jack in the Box across the way. You found two empty seats by the window and kicked up your feet to reserve one for Bradley.

He found you ten minutes later, carrying a bag stuffed with two bagels – one sausage and egg breakfast sandwich and one cinnamon raisin with strawberry cream cheese, he explained. You nodded as you dropped your feet and scraped the rest of your yogurt out of your cup.

“So your cousin Sabrine is pregnant and your grandma isn’t happy,” he said around a big bite of bagel, egg, and sausage. “What else?”

“Well, my grandparents’ youngest child is Auntie Elaine. She lives in Alaska with her husband. They breed sled dogs.”

Bradley paused right before another bite. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. Some of their dogs run the Iditarod, and I think one was part of the winning team a few years back. They have twins a little older than me. Nora and her wife Madison, they’re… really cool. Last I heard, they were climbing K2. And there’s Nora’s twin brother Owen. He has a girlfriend named Addison, which I think is funny. Madison and Addison. The twins don’t think it’s as funny as I do.”

Bradley laughed. The bagel sandwich was gone, and he traded the leftover wad of greasy wrapping paper for the cinnamon raisin bagel. “And what’s the deal with Owen and Addison?”

“They’re pretty chill.” You thought about it for a minute. “Owen used to punch drywall, but he’s calmed down.”

Bradley stared at you, waiting for you to laugh.

The gate agent called you to board before you could explain. Though you didn’t think any explanation would be helpful.

The plane ride was nice and short. You slept through most of the hour and a half. You were mortified to wake up on Bradley’s shoulder as the plane jolted in the harsh turbulence that shrouded the Reno airport.

You sat bolt upright, fully awake. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He patted your thigh assuredly. “It’s good practice.”

You didn’t have time to freak out at his touch because the plane rocked again. You’d experienced this turbulence countless times, something about the mountains and the desert air made the plane bounce around like a toy in the hands of an overexcited toddler. Still, as the plane jerked down, it planted a pit in your stomach that made your hands clammy.

When the plane dipped again, you clutched the armrest. You didn’t want to look at Bradley, who probably thought your overreaction was silly. He’d experienced g-forces upwards of 8Gs countless times. It was bad enough flying next to Nat, who you knew would never judge you, but next to Bradley, you felt like a little kid scared of the dark.

“Hey,” he gingerly pried your hand off the armrest and held it with a softness you didn’t expect from him, “look at me.”

You tore your eyes away from the flight tracker on the display in front of you, worried you’d see judgment in his dark eyes. But his expression was everything soft.

He smiled when you met his gaze. “We’re going to be fine. Trust me, I’ve flown a plane or two.”

You laughed despite the plane suddenly banking upward.

He squeezed your hand as the plane leveled. “So here’s the deal: you keep looking at me. You can only panic if I start panicking. Deal?”

You nodded. “Deal.”

He held your hand and your eyes until the plane kissed the blessed tarmac. By then, the pit in your stomach had been flooded with a mushy feeling you simply did not have time to drain because the seatbelt sign dinged off, and you had a rental car to secure.

Getting out of the airport went as smoothly as possible. Within 20 minutes of deboarding, you and all your luggage was crammed into a rental Prius. Bradley’s nose crinkled when he first saw it, but he folded himself into the passenger seat without complaint.

You fiddled with the radio until you got it to play a throwback ‘70s station, then peeled out of the airport. Soon, the dusty city of Reno and its casinos were in the rearview, and the Sierra Nevadas loomed large on the horizon. When the road lifted off the desert floor and began winding through the foothills, childhood excitement drummed through your veins. As the car screamed along the highway, desert scrub blurred into pine trees that jutted straight up toward the endless blue sky. Patches of snow bloomed in their shade.

“Wow,” Bradley said as the trees grew thicker like a tightly stitched blanket over the mountains. Snow carpeted the ground. Little cabins shone through the forest and snow like jewels.

“Wait until we get around this mountain.” You couldn’t keep the smile off your face. You carefully made a sharp turn, the mountainside steep and unwelcoming. But as the car straightened out, the trees yawned apart, and you caught Bradley gawking at the lake out of the corner of your eye.

Nestled between snow-draped mountains, it shone like a sapphire in the late morning sun.

You’d spent several summers splashing in its frigid waters with your cousins until your skin was so covered in goosebumps that Grandma Sybil threatened to pluck you for Christmas dinner. The same lake was the backdrop to hundreds upon hundreds of ski runs and one trip down the mountain with ski patrol. Your arm still ached to think about that late February day, even all these years later.

“It’s beautiful,” Bradley said, and you agreed wholeheartedly.

Your phone’s navigation system stated that there was only 20 minutes until you reached your grandparent’s cabin. You sucked in a breath between your teeth and cracked a window, hoping the cold, piny air would help settle your stomach. It didn’t. But you still had to finish giving Bradley the family rundown.

“My parents are Sean and Catherine,” you said. “My dad might try to intimidate you, but don’t worry, he’s a softie.”

“Ok.”

You couldn’t be sure he was paying attention, as his face was all but pressed against the window, soaking in the spectacular views. Even if you wanted to be mad, you really couldn’t blame him.

You stepped on the breaks as the road started dipping down a little. “My mom will be the most problematic. I swear sometimes she can read my mind. Whatever we do, it’ll be hard to convince her.”

“We’re going to be there in 18 minutes. Next time, a little more heads up please?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Your grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Just tell her that you take me to Vino in La Jolla and buy me flowers.”

“Is that what your ideal man would do?”

Would it be so bad if you just drove off the road? The steep mountainside looked more inviting by the second.

“Shut up.” You froze your gaze to the winding road. “I have a brother, his name is Tommy.”

“I know,” he said. “I think I’ve met him once – when he was in San Diego for spring break?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” you said. “Well, he and his girlfriend Georgia are high school sweethearts. They’re the perfect couple, and it makes me sick.”

Bradley chuckled. “Noted.”

“So first goal: be believable.”

He laid his hand on your thigh. “Done.”

“Good.” His hand was burning hot. The car swerved ever so slightly as you lost focus on the road for a moment. “Second goal: be a better couple than Tommy and Georgia.”

“Let’s not try to overshoot this. We’ve only been dating for 4 months.”

You laughed in spite of yourself. When you eventually found your real partner, and everyone gathered in Tahoe again for Tommy and Georgia’s wedding, or a wintery ski trip, or whatever comes next for your family, you’ll come clean. You’ll cling to your partner and tell everyone all about your good friend Bradley Bradshaw and how the two of you never really dated. Your grandparents’ anniversary will be a hazy memory, but everyone will remember the tall, good-looking naval aviator and his (totally out of season) Hawaiian shirts and giant mustache. There would be shock, but eventually it would be an inside joke for years to come. You just had to get through this weekend.

Too soon, you were pulling into the cabin’s long, steep driveway. The cabin itself jutted off of the mountainside, its tapered roof giving it a harsh look, though you swore when you were little it just made it look cozy and inviting. Its windows were like glassy eyes following the Prius.

You put the car in park and turned to Bradley.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Ready, babe.”

Before you could fully register the fact that he called you babe, the cabin’s front door slammed open, and your family bursted out to greet you and the mysterious man you’d arrived with.

The knot in your stomach tightened like a noose.

Taglist:

*let me know if you'd like to be added/removed!*

@djs8891 @avengersfan25 @cornishkat @julielightwood @makingpeoplelaughsince1995 @abitdemented @darksparklesficrecs @igotmajordaddyissues @cupofchamomileeee @imaginationlover101 @simpfictionalcharacters

#top gun maverick fanfiction #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction

176 notes · View notes

inmyicyworld · 7 months

Text

New purchase

kinktober - lingerie kink, mirror sex

Summary: You just got a new expensive lingerie set and decided to tease your mafia boss boyfriend with some sexy pictures.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: mob bucky barnes, established relationship, smut, p in v, lingerie kink, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, sexy pictures, doggy style, butt slapping, hair pulling, dirty talk.

Author's note: I know for a fact that I won't be able to write for every day of the Kinktober event, but I still want to be a part of it lol. So if any of you have some spicy (or not) ideas, my inbox is open for requests or suggestions.

Also, I had too much fun with AI stuff and y'all... this Bucky Barnes makes me literally weak in the knees😩😩 (I have a few more AI-generated pics to add to my fics, if you'll like it.)

masterlist my ao3 ko-fi

As soon as the message from you popped up on Bucky’s screen, he was no longer involved in the conversation with his people, who were reporting on the situation that got a few men killed.

No, now his eyes were glued to the screen of his phone. To the photo that you sent him, to be exact. You were standing in front of the mirror in the new blue lingerie set that Bucky definitely hadn't seen before.

“miss you, baby.”

Bucky took a deep breath, studying every little thing in the photo—from your half-hidden smile to the soft skin of your legs and stomach—and noticing the way your boobs were perfectly sitting in that almost see-through bra. Fuck, to be right now on top of you instead of sitting here was a dream. You knew what effect you had on him and that Bucky loved your expensive lingerie, but he couldn't just leave now, right? Controlling Brooklyn was not easy, especially when some brave idiots tried to threaten him.

“please, Jamie…”

Another text message with an attached picture appeared in front of him, and his pants immediately became much tighter. Now it was from another angle. You were on the bed on your hands and knees, your spine perfectly arched to show your round ass in just a little piece of fabric that shouldn’t even be considered underwear.

Flashbacks from all the times Bucky was holding your hips while thrusting into you from behind filled his head and he almost wanted to moan out loud. No, it was impossible to listen to whatever Peter was saying, especially when it was the first time you sent such photos.

“You better stay in this position, baby. I'm coming.” He typed quickly before suddenly getting up from his fancy leather chair, making the whole room go quiet.

“D-did I say something wrong, boss?” Peter’s face became white. Bucky probably looked really angry right now, but only because he couldn't touch you and bury himself in your heat at that exact moment.

“I didn't listen, Parker. I need to go; finish here without me. Steve, you're responsible.” Bucky took his jacket and stormed out of the room without another word.

You were walking around the bedroom in nervousness, as if it were your first time waiting for Bucky from work. But now something was different, though. You knew that he was busy, and you hated disturbing him, but after looking in the mirror at yourself for too long, you got so confident and bold that you decided to text him with photos, which you had never done before.

Your best friend Nat took you out shopping, but even though Bucky always gave you his card and told you to buy whatever you wanted, you never actually did it. Until you saw that unbelievably beautiful blue set. Bucky went crazy every time you had new pieces, but they weren’t as expensive as this one because you always bought them with your own money. Your friend basically shoved you into the changing room and convinced you that it cost every single penny, so you gave up and used Bucky’s black card.

The loud noise of the slammed door came from the first floor, and you knew that your boyfriend had come home. Fuck, it has been only 15 minutes since he messaged you, and he was already there.

You sat at the edge of the king-size bed, facing the door. And in just a few seconds, heavily breathing and slightly annoyed, Bucky stood in the door frame. If you hadn’t been dating him for almost a year now, you would’ve thought that he was angry, but the way he licked his lips and the look in his eyes while he was scanning your almost naked body told you otherwise.

“You’re such a fucking tease, babydoll. I had an important meeting, and you just had to send me those photos, huh?” Bucky grinned at you, taking off his expensive jacket and rolling up the sleeves of the white shirt. He took small steps toward you, but you were too focused on his tattooed and veiny forearms to notice it.

You blinked only when a soft but firm hand pressed under your chin, making you look Bucky in the eyes. The realization of how ridiculously wet you were hit you hard, and Bucky probably saw the way your cheeks blushed because his lips curled in a one-sided smirk.

“You’re looking like the sexiest thing on the planet, but you’re blushing. God, you’re amazing, baby.” His eyes slid down your body, covered in a thin lace, and you swore that his eyes darkened within a second.

“I just thought that I became wet by just looking at your hands.” Bucky growled at your words. He took both of your hands into his, silently asking you to stand up from the bed. "Sorry for bothering you at work, I just... I don’t know.”

“I don’t care about work as long as I can see my amazing girlfriend looking so incredible. Is this new? I know every single piece of clothing that you own; I’ve never seen this before.”

“Nat convinced me to buy this... from your card. I hope you don’t mind." Bucky chuckled at your words.

“I told you a million times to buy whatever you wanted. My money is your money, ‘key? Now spin for me.” He lifted your hand above your head, helping you to spin around and show him every little detail of your new purchase.

The bra, which perfectly lifted your boobs, so they seemed nice and round. Matching lacy blue thongs and a garter belt that was attached to the tights sat on your waist, showing every curve of your hips. There was nothing left for imagination. You looked so soft, delicious, and sexy, but those cute little flowers all over the fabric made Bucky want to destroy you.

“So pretty, goddammit. I need you right now.” He firmly grabbed one side of your face, connecting your lips in a hot and messy kiss, while the other hand trailed its way from your neck down to your soaking wet panties. “Still can’t believe that you’re mine. The most beautiful woman on the whole fuckin’ planet.” Bucky growled into your lips, refusing to let you go. “Is that all for me? Are you so wet because of your naighty little photos or from my hands? Tell me.” Two fingers run up and down your covered folds, making you moan into Bucky’s mouth from the stimulation.

“Both… Jamie, please. I need you.” You tried to grind your hips on his hand, but Bucky gripped your thigh and lowered his mouth onto your hot neck.

“‘M not gonna let you get off on my hand, not today. You teased me with those sexy pictures, so I think it would be fair if I just fucked you senseless. That’s what you asked me to do anyway, right?” You just eagerly nodded, hoping that Bucky would do anything. The heat in the lower half of your stomach was almost painful, and you felt awfully empty inside, squeezing around nothing with every kiss Bucky had left on your sensitive skin. “Should I bend you over the bed? Or maybe on the floor in front of the mirror so I could see how good you feel when I fuck you?” He asked mostly himself.

Bucky pulled away from you, admiring fresh red marks on your collarbones and neck and already knowing that you'd blame him in the morning before work. His lips were swollen and his hair was a mess, but you still bit your lip at how sexy and pretty he was. Lately, you didn’t spend much time together because of his job, and now you wanted to spend every second admiring and touching him.

“I don’t care, Buck. I just want you, I miss you.” Your hands flew to the collar of his shirt, opening every button until his tanned chest was on full display.

“Get on your knees and hands, doll.” Bucky mumbled, and you knew that he had lost all of his patience.

You lowered yourself on an expensive white rug and teasinly moved your ass from side to side, looking at Bucky through the mirror. His eyes stuck on your body, and he licked his lips once again. You saw the way his pants were barely holding the hardness behind them, and your mouth instantly started watering from that thought.

“Are you going to fuck me or keep starring at my ass?”

He smirked at your words and fell onto his knees behind you, slightly pushing his covered hips into yours and making you both moan.

“Oh, I am going to fuck you? Don’t worry about that, doll.” The sudden slap on your ass cheek made you loudly gasp; your mouth stayed slightly open as Bucky was massaging your burning cheek with one hand and unbuckling his pants with the other.

You felt the silky-soft skin of his cock between your legs when Bucky ran his length on your wet panties. “It’s too pretty, I don’t wanna take it off of you. ‘M just gonna push them to the side.” He took your underwear out of his way, lining the leaking tip with your wet entrance.

You couldn’t stay steel, so Bucky had to grab your hair, raise your head, and perfectly arch your back. You whined at the slight pain from his grip, but it soon turned into a loud mixture of a moan and Bucky’s name when he pushed inside of you.

It never failed to amaze both of you how perfect you were for each other. The sex was incredible every single time. Your body instantly adgasted for his size; your wet and soft folds gripped his cock firmly, as if your body didn’t want him ever to leave. Bucky honestly didn’t even remember the sex before you; at that time he thought it was nice, but since the first night with you, everything has become blurred, and he couldn't look at any other woman in a sexual way anymore.

“Fuck-fuck-fuck, James!” You cried, squeezing him harder and gripping the soft material under your hands.

“Holy shit, doll. Your pretty pussy ‘s taking me so well; she’s so greedy for my cock.” Bucky slapped your ass again at the same time as he bottomed out in you. You tried to stay focused on the reflection in the mirror, but that teasing little push of Bucky’s hips right into your g-spot made your eyes roll back. "What? You can’t handle it, baby? But that's what you asked for. You thought that you could just send me these things and not get fucked like a naughty little girl?” He chuckled, immediately increasing the speed of his thrusts.

“I just wanted you, J-Jamie, fuck!” You cried at another slap on your ass. Red hand prints were already visible, and you knew that it would be hard to sit the next day. “I need to cum, please…”

“Already drunk with my cock?” Bucky chuckled, slightly squeezing your hair in his hand, until you opened your hooded eyes and looked at him in the mirror. “Look at you, always so perfect for me.” His blue eyes studied your reflection. Your still covered in bra tits bounced every time he pushed his cock inside of you, and Bucky felt like he became even harder because of the fact that he couldn’t see you fully naked.

It felt like he wanted to split you in half with the power of his movements. Your skin slapped into each other, and the wet sounds of your pussy were almost too loud and inappropriate for you, but Bucky didn’t care. He moved fast and hard, mumbling praise words under his breath, which you barely understood, being too close to cum.

“Bucky, ‘m gonna cum… Please, let me cum, ‘m so close.” You loudly moaned when your body started trembling and your hands were almost too weak to hold you up.

“Do it, doll. I’m right behind you. Cover my cock in your cum.” Your mouth fell open, and your eyes instantly closed when you finally came, clenching around him. Bucky looked closely as your face expression changed—it was his favorite thing.

He pushed into your tight cunt a few more times before freezing as his own orgasm came. You moaned at the feeling of his hot seed feeling you from the inside.

“Just like that, doll. You did so well.” Bucky soothed the skin of your thigh and reddish cheek, finally loosening the grip on your hair. Your hands couldn’t hold you up anymore, and you collapsed on the soft rug with a muffled puff.

Bucky slightly chuckled, slipping out of you, and flipped over your exhausted body so you could face him. You both were flushed and slightly sweaty. Bucky brushed your hair from your face and lowered himself to catch your lips in a slow kiss. You wrapped your arms around his strong shoulders until he fell on top of you.

“I’ll call Nat so she can take you shopping tomorrow. Use my black card and get yourself everything that you like, because now I want to see you in every possible shade and variation of lingerie, doll.” Bucky mumbled near your ear while his hands traced the soft skin of your ribs and stomach.

“I don’t want to spend your money, James.” You laughed.

“Then I’ll give my card to Nat, so she can spend it on you. Because I won’t leave you alone anymore, doll. You drive me crazy looking like this.” He started kissing your neck, going lower to your chest. You just sighted, knowing damn well that there’s no point in arguing and that your amazing boyfriend would find a way to make you buy more lingerie. “Are you ready for round two? Because I really wanna put those pretty tits in my mouth.”

Whatever you wanted to say died on your tongue with the first touch of Bucky’s wet tongue, and your brain went completely blank.

380 notes · View notes

seasonsbloom · 1 year

Text

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)

part 1

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics

note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???

Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.

The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.

You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.

Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.

All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.

He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”

It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.

Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.

“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”

Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.

“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”

Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”

“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”

Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”

It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.

Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?

Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat.

“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.

“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”

The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.

Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.

“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.

You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.

So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”

“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”

His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad.

Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.

At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.

It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.

Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.

Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.

But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.

Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”

Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”

It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.

Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”

Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.

Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different.

“No, I… I had this at home.”

Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”

The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.

“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”

After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.

It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.

“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”

And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.

But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm.

“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”

And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.

So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others.

You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”

Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”

Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.

A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”

Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is.

Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”

You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.

“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?

Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”

“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”

“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.

You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.

Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.

It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.

You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”

It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.

For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.

Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.

And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.

“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.

You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.

It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.

The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.

“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”

You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.

But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.

Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.

“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”

You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.

Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.

“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.

When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.

With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.

What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways.

You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.

You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.

Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.

Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”

You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.

And still. None of it feels real.

The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.

It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.

Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.

“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”

Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”

“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”

You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…

Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.

When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.

It makes you smile.

“Thanks,” you say and mean it.

Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.

A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.

Suddenly, you feel warm all over.

Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.

“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”

“Hello to you, too, Jake.”

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”

You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”

Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.

“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”

“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”

Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.

“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”

Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”

Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.

“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.”

The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again.

“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.

Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”

“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.

Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”

“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?

Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”

He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.

You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt.

“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”

“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.

“Is… are you okay?”

You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.

Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”

“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”

Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.

Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.

So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.

Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.

Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.

The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.

“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”

The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it.

And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…”

“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”

He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.

Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”

It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.

If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”

“You… you do?”

He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”

“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”

Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”

“Who is, then?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.

“Bradley?”

“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”

A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”

“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”

He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.

#rooster #bradley bradshaw #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #top gun imagine #mine #f:blph

412 notes · View notes

cookinguptales · 1 year

Text

tabikaeru tutorial

Hi! I've just been informed that the Tabikaeru tutorial that was previously posted to tumblr has been deleted, so here I am making a new one.

For the uninitiated, Tabikaeru is a Japanese mobile game that was released in 2017. It's about a little frog living in the forest who likes to travel around Japan and have adventures!

You can gather clover to purchase snacks and tools for your little frog so you can pack his bag for him, and in return, he'll send you photos from his travels and bring you little souvenirs.

I translated all of the extant snacks, souvenirs, tools, etc. back when the game first came out and stayed up to date for a couple years, but there are a few items from the most recent update that I haven't translated. There seems to be a lot of renewed interest in the game recently, so maybe I'll get on that...

Anyway! Y'all need to know how to get started before you can collect anything! So here's an English guide to the game's tutorial so you can send your frog on lots of cute little adventures.

(Note: I won't be putting in screenshots for every piece of dialogue due to Tumblr's image limit, but I will have the translations.)

Step one is to go to the app store and type in "tabikaeru", which means Frog Traveler or Travel Frog!

The one you want looks like this:

When you first boot it up, you'll see this screen:

This is just a screen begging you to turn tracking on! (Please turn tracking on, it'll let us target your ads better to you, you can turn it off from your settings whenever, etc.)

Every app does this these days (because they legally have to) and you can make your own decision, but I always tell it no. lmao

So just tap "Ask App not to Track" on the next screen. For me, that part was still in English.

Now we can start the game!

To the left, the start screen. To the right, one asking you to agree to the terms and conditions. The top button here will let you read all those TOS (which... I'm assuming you can't read anyway if you're using this tutorial, so ignore that), the left button is accept and the right is deny.

So tap the start button on the start screen (that's the white one), then the bottom left option on the next screen.

The next screen says, "There's a frog here. Let's give them a name!"

This is the screen where you can name your frog. It says, "Please input a name. Maximum 5 characters." [empty box] "You can change this name later."

I wrote in the name かっちゃん, or Kacchan, which is short for カーミト, or Kermit! (My original frog is named グレン/Glen, which is short for Grenouille. Don't worry, he still lives undisturbed on my cell phone!) From here on out, though, I'll be referring to my ipad frog as Kacchan.

Note: You can use Japanese or romanized characters in this box, depending on which keyboards you have installed, but remember that you only have five characters! This'll go a lot further in Japanese.

The next screen says, "[The frog] has gone inside their house. Let's take a peek inside."

Tap the little button that looks like a house at the lower right of the screen. It says おうち, which just means "home". You tap this button whenever you want to go inside your frog's house.

You'll find your frog inside trying to decide what to pack. Several text boxes in a row will say:

"They are preparing to go on a journey. Let’s give Kacchan a little help with their travel preparations."

"There are three kinds of provisions you can set out to help them prepare: packed lunches, lucky charms, and tools.

These items are essential for travel. Let’s give them a packed lunch."

"Travel supplies can be bought in the shop using three-leaf clovers. So first of all, let’s go out to the little garden near the house to harvest three-leaf clovers."

It'll then indicate the icon at the bottom of the screen. It looks like a little mailbox and says にわさき, or garden. Tap that button, which you can use to go outside. You'll then see a little hand, which is asking you to drag the clover garden into view.

Once you do that, you'll get this screen:

This is your clover garden, and it says, "Slide your finger over the three-leaf clovers to harvest them."

A little hand will point at the box in the top left of the screen (the one with the ♣ symbol) and it says, "You can check how many three-leaf clovers you've harvested here."

Then it says, "Harvest all the clovers from the field."

After you've done so, it'll say, "You found a four-leaf clover! When you’re looking in the field, sometimes you’ll find a rare four-leaf clover amongst all the three-leaf ones. These can be used as lucky charms during travel."

"This is a good opportunity, so let's make this into a lucky charm."

(A translation/cultural note on "omamori" here. I've translated it as "lucky charm" for ease of use in the tutorial, but I usually just say "omamori" in the rest of my guide.)

"We've finished harvesting the three-leaf clovers, so let's try using them to buy things in the shop."

It will then indicate the middle icon at the bottom. It looks like it has bags on it, and it says おみせ, or shop. Tap that button whenever you want to go to the shop.

"First, let's buy the very reasonable Ebidzuru Scone."

(Note: ebidzuru is a type of grape, so this is basically a raisin scone.)

Tap on the top left item (a fully translated shop guide can be found in my Tabikaeru guide) and you'll get this pop-up:

"Do you want to buy an ebidzuru scone? (Number owned: 0)"

On the left is yes, the right is no. You'll be seeing confirmation screens that look like this a lot as you play the game. It's always just asking you if you're sure you want to buy what you tapped on.

Then it will say, "Now let's prepare their travel supplies."

It will take you back to the screen where your frog is pondering their bag, and a hand will point at a wooden sign at the bottom left that says したく, or preparations. Tap that button.

This will take you to a blue screen. At the top, it says かばん, or bag. This is where you can pack your frog's travel bag.

At the top left, it says おべんとう, or packed lunch. At the top right, it says おまもり, or lucky charm. At the bottom, it says どうぐ, or tools. Below those boxes, there is a white button that says かんりょう, or complete.

"Please select ebidzuru scone for the packed lunch and the four-leaf clover as the lucky charm. Then, press the complete button."

(Tap on each dotted square beneath each label to choose what to assign. Don't worry about the tools for now, you can buy those later.)

Put the scone and the clover in your frog's bag, then tap the "complete" button at the bottom.

It will then say, "You are done making travel preparations. Please wait for Kacchan to begin their journey. *Because this is the tutorial, when the app reboots, Kacchan will leave."

And then, "App will now reboot."

Press okay, and the app will basically just make your frog leave for their journey immediately instead of making you wait for them to leave. This is only for the tutorial; you'll have to wait for your frog to be good and ready to go before they take off most of the time.

You will then see this message, which will become very familiar as you play this game:

"Kacchan is setting off."

(i.e. your frog is currently traveling.)

It then says, "Kacchan has departed. If you close the app and wait for a little while, they'll return. If you've made preparations for them, they'll come back in a few hours."

Basically, just close your app and be patient. It usually takes at least an hour or two for your frog to return, but sometimes it could even be a day or two if they're going somewhere really far. I recommend making sure you have notifications on so you're not constantly checking to see if your little dude is back.

(The "if you've made preparations for them" part just means that if you leave the game for a long time and don't put any food/items out for your frog, they'll be gone when you come back. They'll come home as soon as you put some food out for them. I guess your frog is just being self-sufficient.)

The game then says, "*If you go to ヘルプ (help) and turn notifications on, you'll get a notification when Kacchan returns home."

I think you probably will just get a pop-up that will ask you if you want to turn on notifications (in English), but if not, tap the menu button (top right, メニュー), then the right-most button, which has a question mark and ヘルプ on it. You'll then see this screen:

Don't worry about most of these for now. Just tap the top one, オプション/options, which will bring up this screen:

This is your settings screen.

I think the sliders are pretty self-explanatory. These are the background music and sound effects sliders. Beneath that, you have the notifications. Select on if you want them, off if you don't. At the bottom, you have your support ID, which you can use in case you need to contact them or transfer your game to a new device.

Anyway, back to the tutorial.

The game then says, "You don’t have to make preparations for Kacchan; they can come and go freely. But if you help them out and make preparations, they will send you photos of their journey and occasionally bring home souvenirs that they picked up here and there and give them to you as presents."

Again, this is just saying that the frog will leave and come home regardless, but if you put things in their bag, they'll bring you presents, which is how the game is played. In other words, your frog isn't gonna starve to death, but you won't make any headway in the game if you don't pack their bag.

(For a cultural note on "omiyage", which I've translated as "souvenir", see here.)

Then, "While your frog is gone, you can prepare for their next journey. To get ready, you can harvest three-leaf clovers and buy them things."

(So yes, come back regularly to harvest clover even if your frog isn't home.)

"The tutorial is now complete. Please have fun traveling with Kacchan!"

And they'll give you 500 three-leaf clovers and one four-leaf clover to get you started.

The official tutorial is done now, but I'll give you a little more information.

Sometimes you'll see a little letter hovering over your mailbox. This is where you get mail, which is typically items that you've received. If you tap the little white bubble in each message, you'll receive the item.

(The thing at the bottom is still just trying to get you to turn on tracking, ignore it.)

This is what the notification looks like when your frog is home! It says, "Kacchan has returned."

Now I'll show you what it looks like when your frog comes home.

"Kacchan has returned."

"They brought you souvenirs."

The top part, or いっぴん/ippin/masterpiece, is a special item that your frog can get from each location. They'll probably have to go to each location a few times to get its masterpiece/ippin.

The second part is the めいぶつ/meibutsu, or regional specialties. There are different foods your frog can bring back from different locations, and those foods can be used to feed friends when they come to call.

For more information on these items and how they're used (and how to entertain friends), please look at my Tabikaeru guide.

Your frog will also probably bring home some three-leaf clovers and a lottery ticket. For more info on the lottery, you can also see the guide.

"A photo has been delivered."

Your frog will often send you photos. This could be from the place they visited, it could be photos of the journey, or it could be friends they made along the way. The photos are always super fun and cute, though.

It's Nagoya Castle! :)

If you want to keep the photo, tap the button on the right. For more info on photos, please look at the guide.

You'll probably get this pop-up when you first come home:

"You've acquired the 'Solo Traveler' title."

As the game progresses, you'll gain more titles as you complete more objectives. Tap on your frog when they're home to change their name or title. For more info on titles -- you guessed it, check out the guide.

You'll get pop-ups explaining the title, the tools, and the desk.

I just explained the title thing, then the tools can be bought in the shop just like the food (see guide), and the desk is really similar to the bag.

The desk is used just like the bag, except it's how you prepare for future journeys. After you fill your frog's bag, you can also put lucky charms, boxed lunches, and tools on the desk. When your frog comes home, they will automatically refill their bag with what's on the desk. So if you're not around, your frog will be fairly self-sufficient.

(Now if the desk is empty for too long, your frog will not bring you anything until you put stuff on it.)

Unlike the bag, do not hit the button at the bottom when you're done. That's the "clear" button, and it will clear all desk slots.

The desk can be accessed from the prep button just like the bag, just hit the arrow to switch between the two.

There's a lot more to the game, like seasonal tickets, visiting friends, etc. but you can find all that as well as translations of all the food/tools/souvenirs in my guide.

I hope you end up loving this game as much as I do! Please let me know if you have any questions that aren't answered by this or the guide! 🐸💜

#I made the guide a long time ago #so I might make an updated version at some point...#but for now it'll do #tabikaeru

24 notes · View notes

radiosummons · 1 year

Text

Lowkey slowly starting to lose it. My younger brothers have taken the liberty of informing me, repeatedly, that my phone screen savers--

--are of "That one kid in Shameless!"

As if:

1) I haven't already repeatedly told them that, yes, it is indeed Cameron Monaghan.

2) I didn't already know that Cameron Monaghan was in Shameless. They have both shown me multiple episodes of Shameless. I am aware that he's part of the ensemble cast. And wouldn't you know it, he has been in other things like Gotham and The Giver, too. And countless other films/TV shows. Because he's an actor. They do stuff like that.

3) They haven't literally watched my replay Jedi: Fallen Order on at least five separate occassions. And every single time a cutscene started, they both blurted out "Hey! That's the guy in Shameless!" Every. Single. Fucking. Time.

4) I haven't already told them on multiple occassions that Cameron Monaghan, one of their favorite actors of all time, plays the main character--Cal Kestis--in a Star Wars video game. A game that they repeatedly seem to forgot exists despite the fact I've been talking about it for over a year now.

5) They both, independently of each other, have come up to me with actual fan art of Cal Kestis, and said completely deadpan "Oh, look! Another person made a SW fan art of Ian from Shameless! Isn't that cool!?" Only for me to remind them, again, that the actor who plays Ian--you know, Cameron Monaghan, their favorite actor of all time in their favorite show of all time--is the main character in a SW game. The fan art is not of Cameron Monaghan--the adult man/actor--in a SW AU. It's fan art of Cal Kestis, the character. From the SW game that I've been playing.

6) Our sister literally bought me the pre-order for Jedi Survivor with a black and white printed photo, which was passed around from relative to relative. Only for our parents to then comment that said black and white photo had a picture of "That one actor that you guys love so much" on it.

I wish they were both pulling an elaborate prank on me by pretending to not know that Cameron Monaghan is Cal Kestis. But like ... no. They're not pretending. They are genuinely surprised every single time this happens.

The burden of being the eldest sibling is real, y'all.

#radio talks #sibling shit #cal kestis #cameron monaghan #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor #i'm going to lose my mind #i'm going to fucking die #all because my younger siblings #can't get their shit together #fml

38 notes · View notes

rat-cigars · 2 years

Text

Damn Bitch You live like this?

masterlist

(a/n: oh yeah here we go. It's date night babes. I Hope y'all enjoy this chapter as much as i do. This is gonna be a lot of fun to write, it's mostly fluff but there's still the hints of canon set up and incel shit. But as always be mindful of TWs and take care of yourselves! <3 )

(TW: incelish stuff, phone tapping, creepo moments, blood, drinks, blacking out at the club, inferred murder/SW, lil rage moment )

*Reader POV)

**Edward POV)

Wc: 1573

Possible Spoilers in this chapter

Afab!Reader (she/her) pronouns

Chapter 10: The Date

*Edwards' heart had seemed to beat a million miles per hour after your encounter. He couldn't help but smile until the time neared. He had thankfully gotten a second chance with you, his beautiful angel. The thoughts made him bite the inside of his lip.

It felt like a dream, a coma that he would be rudely awoken from. The image of you red handed continued to plague his mind as he got ready.

Ed put on a dressier white button up and paired it with some dark blue jeans. The clothes fell awkwardly on his body and the fabric was terribly wrinkled. God knows when he had last worn it, maybe college? He pushed the question from his mind and tugged his belt tightly around his hips.

The metal clinked against itself as he adjusted it properly, while walking into the bathroom to freshen up.

That's when Edward heard the ping of his computer, his focus quickly shifting to the set up in the corner of the room.

You were probably just texting Ron or calling your friend, Jenna. You didnt call her everyday but you would give each other the occasional check in every few days. Usually you would text her but during big events you'd always phone her up to give her the details, excitedly.

He walked towards it and squinted his eyes seeing Bruce Wayne had tried to contact you. Ed's heart raced and faster than he could comprehend he grabbed the computer shoving it crudely off the desk, making a loud thud. He stood shocked with himself before leaning down, immediately busting out a string of curses under his breath.

“You fucking idiot..” he groaned to himself seeing the screen had gone black and even worse the casing of the back had popped off, revealing the insides.

“Shit.. Il just.” Edward mumbled talking to himself while getting up. “I'll just get it later..” He sighed and rubbed his face for a moment. He had really fucked up now. That had been his singular way for keeping tabs on you and he just destroyed it in a tantrum. Edward finished getting ready, brushing his hair and adding some cheap cologne onto his neck.

Content with his appearance he grabbed his large gray jacket heading down to the lobby to wait for you.

*Shortly after he had been waiting, you arrived. Dressed up casually you made eye contact walking in. He stood from the lobby couch that he had been waiting on, holding a small bundle of flowers he had bought minutes before.

“Hey.” Edward smiled and a soft pink coated his face as he walked to meet you in the middle. “Wow.. Edward, you look great.” Your lips spread to a soft smile looking over his outfit and face. “T-Thanks.” He chuckled out and then reached the hand with the roses out towards you. “I um, got these for you.” He looked so bashful with his gaze pointed downwards towards you.

Gently grabbing the plastic that wrapped the bundle, you lifted it to your nose. Taking in the floral scent and hint of cologne from Edwards body. “They're beautiful, I love them.” You leaned up quickly pecking his cheek with your soft lips. He smiled catching your gaze and held out his hand again, you took it feeling the sweat from both of your palms against each other.

“I'm glad, are you ready to head out?” he asked as you looped your fingers through his. “Yeah, Iceberg lounge?” you smiled and had set down the flowers behind the desk before leaving, not wanting them to be ruined. He nodded letting you lead the way into the night with his eyes on your form, just enjoying your company.

The music inside was way louder than you had remembered, almost deafening at some points. Still though, Edward tried to talk to you, leaning over and yelling a little in your ear.

“How do you get in here?” he laughed, shocked the two men had allowed them through.

“Well, the Redroom Inn has been host to a few of the club's exclusive members. I don't really ask questions, but basically we put them all under the same name whenever anyone comes over for the night.” You replied as you leaned back up hugging his arm lightly to get leverage.

He furrowed his brows, wondering how or even if, that was legal. But to be fair he did the same thing, or tried to.

“Ron doesn't even know why we do it. But I've learned it's better to just observe sometimes.” you continued after seeing his face. “Doesn't that scare you?” Edward mused.

“Of course, but if i asked more, i probably wouldn't even be here.” You chuckled, leading him to the quieter back of the room by the bar stool.

It did scare you but you figured joking about it was better than stressing over the issue. Besides Ron didn't even know and you knew that for a fact. He wouldn't lie to you, especially not like that. The few times you had questioned the odd service he had continued to not have answers, knowing the same as you.

Walking up to the stools and sitting beside him, you held up the hotel's company card. “Another perk?” Edward teased.

“Of course, why else would we go out for drinks.” You laughed, gently pushing his arm. “I'm not Bruce wayne.” You giggled and his face fell a little but then regained his smile just as fast.

“Thank god for that..” He mumbled and turned to the bartender, ordering your first round of drinks.

**Edward wasn't much of a drinker, that was obvious. He was barely three shots in when he felt the faint pink start to rush to his face, this time from the drinks. You were smiling and telling him about your childhood home and laughing about your past. He loved to listen to you talk, even if he already knew everything.

He knew who had broken your arm in 1st grade and how you had broken your mothers favorite pot. It was magic to hear these words drip from your lips though. He was focused so hard on your features he didn't even hear you call his name until you gently slapped his thigh for his attention.

“Eddy..” you cooed, snapping him to your face.

“Yeah?” He smiled, “Sorry I didn't catch that.” He stuttered, flustered by the pet name. “I said, '' Do you wanna go dancing?”

You smirked, the club's lights shining to show the tint that accompanied your face. “I'm not very good..” He looked away, “But I-I can watch you.” He smiled. You rolled your eyes at his reply but slowly stood from the bar. “Well, I'll be waiting for you then prince charming.”

You teased with a long slur, gently moving your hand off his thigh as you stood.

Edwards' eyes widened as you had touched him more, “Y-Yeah..” He chuckled breathlessly out. With that you were off, walking to the floor with the crowd you stood on the outside the swarm, starting to dance with a small group of girls that had called you over.

Edward watched, sipping from his tall glass, seeing you move in the most interesting of ways. This felt different than when he had stood outside your bedroom door, admiring your sleeping features.

Your body moved with grace and you caught him watching, smiling and turning back to the girls. You spoke and by the girls looking over collectively at Ed, he knew it was related to him.

They seemed pleased though, the group giggling as your face blushed. The girl beside you leaned up into your ear, but as you pulled back after, there was a look of shock on your face. He furrowed his brows, now more concerned.

You spoke what looked like a question as the crowd in the background started to move from the floor.

He blinked his bleary eyes trying to make out the figure moving towards you. You hadn't even noticed still chatting with the girl, oblivious to the crowd moving. Edward did his best but couldn't make out who it was, and he felt a burning in his stomach.

Damn that shit was really hitting him like a train. Before he could move to get up from his stool he realized how wobbly his body had become, slumping over on the bar's countertop, unable to keep his eyes open. He needed to get out more, maybe then he wouldn't be in this predicament.

Ed unwillingly blacked out on the countertop just as the figure approached you. The girl beside you moving away, only you and the figure were visible as he fought to keep his eyes open.

But Edward lost in the end, succumbing to the alcohol and passing out.

#riddler 2022 #the riddler x reader #dbyllt #paul dano #paul dano riddler #rat rites #the riddler x y/n #dano!riddler #riddler x you #batman 2022 #riddler fanfic #riddler x reader

28 notes · View notes

maryellencarter · 2 years

Text

having discovered that i get free google play pass through one of my myriad oddments, i am poking some of the games which it makes available for free or removes in-app purchases from.

* sudoku (this app by sudoku.com and easybrain). a classic. play pass removes all ads and gives infinite free hints. i am very fond of sudoku anyway, because it works well with the shape of my brain. i can't memorize solutions, but i also don't get fuddled by my brain's odd relationship to words. (i'm completely useless at wordle, for instance, for the same reason i'm just about literally superpowered at spelling and proofreading. i perceive words differently than most people and part of that is not being able to shuffle the letters mentally, like at all. i can do the trick where someone writes only the first and last letters of each word correctly while jumbling all the other correct letters and you can still read the sentence, but it's... it feels like doing a magic eye puzzle, only considerably more difficult. i miss magic eye puzzles.) this particular app has loads of customization options like turning off the timer, the mistake limit, making it tell you when you make a mistake or not, etc, and with the ad removal it's just great. the "giant" format could do to be a little more legible on a phone screen, but i also bought the smallest phone i could find on purpose.

* stardew valley. reportedly a classic. i played five minutes and got the worst motion sickness i've had in years. had to take the day off work and lie down in a dark room. did not expect wandering around a pixel-art map pulling weeds to do that to me! uninstalled.

* i love hue too. sequel to "i love hue", which does not appear to be on the play store. game where you are shown a grid of shapes in slightly different graduated shades, then some of the grid blocks are mixed up and you must put them in order. very soothing if you like that sort of thing. a screenshot explains it best, have one. when i hit "play" the hexagons which do not have dots on them will be shuffled, and my job will be to sort them back into their proper places. it's sort of like a jigsaw puzzle for people who like very abstract jigsaw puzzles and also putting things in order. the music is sort of twinkly and soothing too.

* flow free. a game where you must draw pipes connecting certain colored dots and they must not overlap. i do not usually complain of being too good at a game, but this one fits my brain so well there is literally no challenge. i look at the map and draw the lines, win in the minimum number of moves, and go to the next puzzle. sometimes it's fun when i am extremely blah in my brain, but it's so easy for me i don't even get the full dopamine hit of winning. might be more fun for somebody else. has variants with warps, bridges, hexes, etc.

* monument valley. again best explained by a screenshot. visually simple game where you solve puzzles by making escher-ish paths for a little being to walk along. the little white figure at the bottom of the screenshot is trying to get to the doorway at the top of the building, and you have to rotate parts of the building (the faucet-like handle and the pink part with sort of lego dots show you what you can move) in order to connect paths in the right order. i am currently stuck on level four because they added being able to rotate... uh, gravity, I guess? so that a different side of the paths are walkable for the little figure, and that's too many dimensions for me. but it might be perfect for some of y'all! again, very soothing music, no time limit, very elegant design.

another screenshot of the same puzzle, now partly solved. you see what i mean about escher-y? you'll either love or hate this game. i think my brain might be too linear for it.

* maze: the path of light. i am extremely good at mazes, at least the kind you solve from the top down where my sense of direction is not at issue. this game is okay, but would be a pain in the ass without play pass to get infinite free teleports, because more often than not, the mazes are not soluble as they stand, and you have to use a "teleport to a random spot in the maze" card (normally obtained via ad-watching or in-app purchase, I can only assume) to actually get into a position whence you can reach the end. do not recommend.

if there's a particular game included in google play pass that you're curious about, i'll be happy to download it and try some of the gameplay, with the understanding that the answer might turn out to be "apparently i can't do 8bit style games at all", or maybe i can't do top-down, or maybe it was something about stardew valley specifically, who knows? (i am also happy to answer "is this specific app included in play pass" questions. i do not have free apple arcade so this is android only, sorry.)

#jt plays mobile app games

11 notes · View notes

wenellyb · 2 years

Note

At this point I'm pretty sure that there's some half dozen k*thony fans going around the very few blogs that dare to like Edwina and the Sharmas (even when they also ship the same ship they do) and just send them messages or harass them because this is getting ridiculous. Again, it's one thing to ask for better promotion for the romantic lead, it's a whole other to take to saying offensive shit about another actress just because various parts of this fandom wants to use them as their racism scapegoat. Both Simone and Charithra are doing their jobs yet this fandom is foaming in the mouth if they don't drag either one into some racist bs and it's really tiring to watch. Especially when white fans that are being openly offensive just continue on to do this yet anyone else that could call them out ends up focusing their hate on an actresss?? Y'all think these people care about either of these women when they openly talk like this??? And the dichotomy between how Simone and Charithra both understand each other's character journey on the show and the fans trying to pit them together is wild. Both women support each other and their work (especially if you watch bigger interviews where they get to talk in depth about what they think), but yeah nevermind that let's get to spreading rumor #50 about how Charithra's parents bought out a Shondaland production

Hi Anon!!!!

I hear you and I agree with everything you just wrote. I haven't received any hateful messages about Edwina but I'm not surprised about what you're telling me. I have block so many blogs since the show aired, otherwise the Edwina tag was a mess. The hate towards Edwina is unbelievable, I feel like I missed a scene where she murdered someone or something. And the worst part is when the hate shifted towards Charithra. Do people still not know the difference between character and actor??

And the calls complaining about Edwina's screen time and asking for it to be reduced? Come on! As if it's impossible to have 2 non-White ladies as the leads. Simon and Charithra were both leads and did a great job! If you would have liked to see more of Simon you can say it, but why throw Edwina under the bus?? I hate this fandom, it's annoying and exhausting.

I'm not talking about all Kathony shippers obviously because some of them are fine, but I think that there are some Kathony shippers who cannot enjoy their ship without sh*tting on Edwina's character every step of the way. If your ship only works when Edwina is the bad guy, I have bad news for you.

It's like they don't understand that you can like or ship characters even if they are flawed or made mistakes, and they put all their frustration on Edwina and use her as a scapegoat. Some of their explanations don't even make sense.

My only advice is to block as many hateful blogs as possible, it will make navigating through the fandom a little better.

#bridgerton #edwina sharma #kate sharma #anthony bridgerton #kathony #bridgerton spoilers #fandom racism #anon asks

3 notes · View notes

shidouryusm · 7 months

Text

Hi my luvs!! your girl arrived home after 10 hours :( so lemme give y'all a rundown of my day cause yall are my babies-

I had the most mixed day ever today, idek how to feel about today. Like it was a weekend so me and my friends went on this place which got different food courts and a hell lot of activities to do. But before going there I got into a bad argument with both my mom and dad and I cried and almost didn't go out of stubbornness and ego but later decided against it and ended up going (which was a good thing honestly i enjoyed it there)

Me and 3 other of my friends went kart racing, i was so scared at first but I aced it so good. it was saurr funnnn, your girl drifted accidentally but it was cool so pats on my back tehee. before that i grabbed a thai bento box with prawn tempura which was also so so yum. there was this thai milk iced tea with boba balls - I just absolutely fell in love with the drink and ordered it twice also my sister bought a cookies and cream ice-cream which was also super yummy (i'll be damned if I catch a cold). it was a bit hot today but it was eventful. BUT BUT BUT- my phone decided to act up and now there's this white screen with literally no display and it got super hot. like it rang and everything but I cant do anything. my phone didn't even fall down or anything how did this happen? I called my dad from my sister's phone to inform him what happened, he lectured me through the phone like it's my damn fault :// which soured my mood but it was the moment when my friends took me for kart racing so that cheered me up a little. there was this pottery section that I wanted to do to but there was no time yikes.

Now im home with no phone at hand and operating everything through this laptop and listening to cinnamon girl, my mood is sour again cause i got beef going with the family today lol. eldest daughter lash out things. Gonna answer some asks and start working on a drabble.

hope y'all had a good day babies!

#sams.shit #it was a mixed day but more on the good end I'd say #also if anyone knows why this happens specifically in iphone 13 pro lmk im gonna cry for my phone #how am I supposed to go through the whole day tomorrow ://#with no phone #also my weekend ended smh #sending luvs to yall mwuah mwuah

1 note · View note

cherryxrandom · 1 year

Text

← Must Read First

Chapter III

The Big Entrance

First Day of High School, 2008

Summer break had been both a blessing and a curse for the trio but it had finally come to an end and the first day of high school was about to start.

As always, the three girls all got up and opened their laptops, starting a group video call between them.

❝What are we wearing for today?❞ Wendy asked, doing her morning skin care routine in the process.

❝Open your closets, girls. Let's see what we can pick to match.❞ Kang spoke in an authority tone and everyone did as told. Yes, good question, don't they need to wear a uniform? Indeed they do. But the trio had other ideas in mind. ❝Oooh! Mari! Take that pastel red top! Wendy-ssi, that white shirt with the pastel blue details. And I'll be taking this matching pastel yellow crop top.❞

Sasaki picked the top and looked around for a bottom to pair with it when her eyes went wide and the corners of her lips twitched upwards, ❝Guys! Y'all remember those black skirts we all bought the same? I think it'd fit perfectly!❞ she spoke reaching for the skirt and a pair of black sport shorts to wear underneath for safety.

❝You're a genius!❞ Seungwan cried out quickly grabbing it and a pair of shorts as well.

❝Good thing I told you guys to buy one too.❞ Seulgi laughed with a smirk lingering on her lips as she reached for a pair of shorts and the skirt. ❝What about footwear?❞

❝Doc Martens and thigh high socs!❞ both Wendy and Mari exclaimed, making Seulgi raise her hands in surrender with a chuckle.

❝I was expecting it from Mari and her obsession with boots, but you? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Wendy-ssi, is Mari rubbing off on you after all these years?❞ she teased making Sasaki burst out laughing and Son to glare at her through the computer screen before she hung up on them.

❝Yah!❞ Seulgi and Himari both scolded before laughing and shaking their heads, ❝See you at the usual spot!❞ Himari spoke ending the call.

Sasaki slipped the pastel red top over her head and adjusted it so it hugged her figure perfectly before throwing the shorts on, stuffing the hem of the top into the shorts before slipping the skirt up her legs and to her waist, adding a black leather belt to hold it in place before she sat on the edge of the bed and slid her black socks up each leg. Today was going to be one hell of a first day.

Rushing around the room as she did her morning skin care routine careful not to mess up the clothes before adding nothing more than a cherry red lipgloss that gave her lips just a little bit more of life. Spraying her bangs in place once done styling it, Sasaki gave her hair soft, gentle waves and let it fall over one shoulder before collecting her backpack that fitted nothing more than her wallet, a few, different coloured pens and her earbuds.

She rushed out of the room and into the kitchen, preparing her usual protein shake for breakfast and takin an apple for the way. At the door, she threw her leather jacket on and slipped into the expensive white pair of combat boots, ❝Bye mom!❞ she called out before heading out the door and entering the backseat of the black SUV that would drop her off at the usual spot.

Once there, Sasaki greeted the others who shook their heads, ❝Why are you always late?❞ Wendy asked.

Mari simply shrugged, ❝We still have an hour and a half left before school starts, I'm not that late.❞

❝True, but don't forget we still need to figure out who this Chungha chic is.❞ Wendy said and Sasaki rolled her eyes at the mention of the student that took first place.

❝Alright, alright. Let's go then.❞ she said taking the girls' hands and dragging them towards the same black SUV she had hopped off before.

And within a few minutes, the car came to a stop in front of the school and the three stepped out of the car. Sasaki held out her elbows just enough for Wendy to link her arm with hers on one side while Seulgi did the same on the other side before the trio entered the school, heads held high. Beating them was nearly impossible as they not only were extremely talented but their beauty was mesmerising.

To Be Continued...

0 notes

johnradams · 1 year

Text

also I like just started doing photography at the zoo but i love my job a lot. rn we have an event where we're taking green screen pictures and then you get put into a dinosaur egg for this event at the zoo that has animatronic dinosaurs. it is so so fun!! the youths love it so much!!!

i watched a like. 3-5 year old little boy roar back at a dinosaur and then say "you know I love you right?" TO THE DINOSAUUUURRRRR

and also when I was working up front with just guests that come in I was adjusting my camera settings when some dark skinned folks came thru bc shocker black people and white people photograph differently! and i was like 'one moment y'all let me adjust these settings so we can see your smiling faces!' and the dad was like thanks so much I really appreciate ya and he bought the photos at the end of the day :)

idk it just made me really happy!!! like i'm glad i was able to get their family some nice pictures of a nice day at the zoo :)

#tedwardposting

0 notes

raksh-writes · 2 years

Text

I meant to write more today, but I remembered there's the finale of our biggest polish charity event going on today and some streamers I like are doing their joined stream too and I just Can’t not watch it. They're having so much fun while people are donating so much money in such an important cause, like - this is one of those things that never fail to give me the best, warmest feels and a little faith in humanity back. Like, I do wanna write too, but at the same time how can I not watch, going a little teary eyed at how amazing and lovely this whole thing is? Impossible 😂

#personal #Raksh posts #its the 30th anniversary of this event too #y'all have no idea just how much this charity did for polish medicine and hospitals #half the equipment if not more is bought from the money they rise every year #and they arguably did more throughout the pandemic than our shir goverment #shit*#which is also trying to sabotage them ar every step these days #and this stream is just - only the best warmest vibes #also! now that Im finally earning money I can properly donate too ^^#the organisation and event is called Wielka Orkiestra Świątecznej Pomocy if anyone's curious #and their signature is a red heart with the name in white on it ^^#its always put as a sticker on the equipment they buy #and every year they chose a different 'section' that needs help #maybe I'll try to write in a split screen between the stream and my gdoc 😂😂#and to show you the scale at least a lil' bit - the organisation as a whole rised 86 mil already this year #but they'll only know their whole count by like march 😄#and its gonna be Much bigger #like - how heart warming is that?#I cant not love everything about jr #it*

4 notes · View notes

outerbankies · 3 years

Text

new light part 7: take a ride — rafe cameron

new light series masterlist

summary: you feel everything fall into place when you finally get to see rafe again, but he still has to try and fit into your world somehow.

pairing: rafe x reader

warnings: drinking, weed (omg!), swearing, a lil suggestive content

a/n: wowee this fic is getting looooooong. i think 2 more parts + an epilogue after this. i think. we'll see! say hello to a bunch of OCs with ridiculous names (i was having so much fun lol). let me know what you think of this one :) y'all know the drill but with s2 coming up just want to remind everyone this is not canon rafe cameron!

my writing

take a ride up to Malibu

The two months you’d spent apart from Rafe had been about as tough as you’d expected. Your boyfriend was attentive, calling and texting you (even though he hated texting, Rafe came around for you) almost every day. He was horrible at sending pictures, even when he demanded them from you all the time. You finally got through to him about how much you just wanted to see his cute face and he started sending you pictures when he felt like it, your favorite being the picture he made one of his friends take of him out on the golf course in the collared shirt you’d bought him donning your school’s emblem. Not to mention the picture Dylan had sent you of him with Rafe at a tailgate when their schools played each other in football. Your heart had nearly burst when your stupid little brother texted you, giving you his approval in his stupid little brother way.

Rafe is cool and if you break up with him I think I’d still be his friend

Don’t fuck it up

But no photos could compare to seeing the real thing, which you eagerly awaited as you leaned up against your white Jeep outside the airport in your college town. It’s a small airport just ten minutes from your campus, not many people around with only the one flight coming in.

You finally spot all six feet and three inches of Rafe Cameron, wearing the aforementioned golf shirt like a nerd. You know he spots you, because his pace goes easy, shoulders dropping by a foot and smile taking over his features. You attempt to play it cool, staying leaned up with your arms crossed over your chest against the hood of your Jeep. But as soon as you have a clear path to him, you really can’t resist. You step off your car to tug him into your arms as soon as possible, but it’s a useless gesture. Because Rafe immediately drops his duffel on the cement in front of your car, backing you right back up into the side of it. “Holy shit. There’s my girl. Look at you.”

“Look at you!” you squeal, knocking his hat off his head, running a hand through his hair. It was longer than it had been since you even started dating. It was definitely working for him. “Baby, your hair!”

He blushes at your attention. “I know, I know. You like it?”

Ever since Rafe made you binge the Fast and Furious series with him, his favorite, he’d been ticked off by how hot you found Paul Walker. He agreed to go as Brian and Mia for the costume party your roommate was throwing because it meant he could wear a shirt and jeans, Rafe’s only requirement for a costume. But when you told him it meant he had to grow out his hair so he could look more like Brian, he’d immediately complained. When you showed him what you planned on wearing, it was even worse.

“Why can’t you be Letty? She’s a badass. And she wears less revealing outfits.”

“Then you’d have to be Dom. Did you wanna shave your head?”

He’d rolled his eyes through the grainy Facetime camera.

“You can cut it off right after, baby,” you’d plead. “I can book you a slot at my salon.”

“Fine. Is it one of the fancy ones where they’ll wash my hair too?”

“Obviously. What do you take me for, Cameron?” You’d paused, looking at the picture of Paul Walker in the 2000s you had pulled up on your phone, comparing it to your boyfriend’s face on your laptop screen. “Am I pushing it if I ask you to use the sun lightener?”

You take his sunglasses off too, dropping it in the passenger seat like you had his hat, running your fingertips all over the lines of his face.

“Rafe, you look so good,” you praise. “You’re gonna be the perfect Brian.”

“I better, I wanted to cut it so bad,” he whines. “I can’t believe I have to meet your roommates looking like a hooligan.”

“Shut up, they’re so excited to meet you,” you say, hands resting on his chest. He still hasn’t let you off the car, his entire body pressed into yours like he’s trying to merge them together. Except you still haven’t kissed him, which isn’t acceptable. Rafe makes the realization the same time as you, hand sliding into the strands at the nape of your neck, slotting his lips over yours for the first time in months. “Minty. Did you just brush your teeth in the airport?”

“‘Course I did. So let me kiss you some more.”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” he murmurs, barely moving back from your lips. “Hi. I love you. My California girl.”

Your body thrums, you hadn’t heard those words in person since back in August at the air strip. You thought they’d lose their effect once Rafe started dropping them on to the end of every Facetime sign off, texting it to you (barely legible, along with a slew of random emojis) when he was a tad over-served, or recording it on your voicemail box when he knew you had a hard day, but couldn’t force himself stay up long enough to call you when you were off of work and he was three hours ahead. But damn, if hearing it when he was standing right in front of you wasn’t bad for your heart. “I love you, too. Missed you.”

“Missed you,” he agrees, arms coming around your waist to hug you so tightly he lifts you off the ground. “You drive a Jeep out here?”

“Of course. Doesn’t it suit me?”

“Everything suits you. Come here, I’m not done kissing you.”

—

Rafe watches in awe as you point out all of the sights to him, driving him by all of your favorite spots and stomping grounds on the way back to your townhouse. And he didn’t get enough of you at the airport, pulling you in for kisses at every single red light. His leg is bouncing up and down the entire ride over, and you knew he wasn’t used to being driven by you but you didn’t think you were that bad. But when he starts messing with his shirt collar and his hair once you pull into your neighborhood, you realize what’s really going on.

“How do I look?” he asks, opening your drivers’ side door and standing in front of it so you can see his entire outfit.

“Fine,” you say, accepting his hand as you get out of the car.

“Not too, like, kook-y right?” he asks, grabbing your keys from your hans so he can unlock your trunk. You sigh, surveying his outfit when he grabs his bag out of your trunk. You try to take it but he just slings it over his shoulder.

“You listen to your sister’s friends too much. And there’s only so much I can do when you show up in a pair of Sperry’s, RC.”

“I did not miss hearing that. And fuck. I knew I should’ve worn my Birkenstocks. They’re gonna think I’m so preppy.”

“You are, but so are they. Now c’mon.”

“Hold on.” He bends down to check his hair in the driver’s side mirror.

“Why are you so nervous?”

“I want them to like me, Y/n/n. These are the first friends of yours I met that I didn’t already know,” he explains, smoothing his hair every which way. “Plus, they’re way cooler than me.”

“I know I didn’t just hear Rafe Cameron say that.”

Rafe had been able to meet Davis and McCall over Facetime of course, always joining in with them to egg you on to go out when you just wanted to stay home and talk to your boyfriend instead. And you knew for a fact they were all Instagram mutuals.

“Go on, baby girl. Have fun with your friends. M’tired anyways,” he’d say. McCall would fake wretch in the background; Davis would fan himself dramatically out of view of your webcam.

“You did great with my parents,” you point out.

A look you can’t decipher flashes across his face. “Yeah, but that’s—”

“Just pretend Davis and McCall are my parents.”

“At least if it was your parents I’d have Wilbur here,” he whines.

“Oh, toughen up, babes.” You lean up to kiss him. “If my friends are cooler than you, does that make me cooler than you, too?”

“Yeah, but I already knew that.”

“But you still got me,” you preen, wrapping your arms around his neck, tugging him down slightly.

“You know this,” Rafe says, letting himself relax in your hold. “That was pure luck.”

“Mm,” you hum, connecting your lips with his once again. “For me or for you?”

—

You knew Rafe would be wiped from travel, the time difference not doing anything to help, so you promised you’d keep his first night in California low-key. He told you he was down for whatever, but you insisted on a night in, with just your roommates as company. Which was a tall order in and of itself.

Davis and McCall loved Rafe. Like, won’t stop texting the roommate group chat about how hot he was in person. Like, Davis following you to the bathroom to ask if you had anymore “southern himbos” that you could set him up with. Like, McCall drunkenly—low-key night in didn’t have to mean sober night in—banging on the door to be included, wrapping you up in a teary hug and saying how happy she is for you because he’s just so sweet. She hated the idea of you dating a boy from your hometown after what happened to her freshman year, but you could tell he'd won her over.

You’d accepted her hug but left them up there to collect themselves, coming down the stairs to find Rafe standing in your kitchen. He’s looking at your array of Smeg appliances, tracing his finger over the controls on your espresso machine.

“Coffee this late at night?”

He smiles in surprise, setting down his IPA on the marble island. You’d bought them just for him, a local brand of course. You had no idea what you were doing in the beer aisle at Whole Foods, but he seemed to like it.

“It’s a nice place, Y/n/n. California looks good on you.”

“It looks good on you, too,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist. You felt like hadn’t been able to stop touching him for more than ten seconds at a time since he got here. Not that either of you mind.

“Everything okay up there?” he asks, nodding his head to where you ran off with your roommates.

You nod, yanking his head down to kiss his forehead. “You passed. Flying colors.”

Rafe sighs in relief and buries his head in your neck, flushing crimson from his cheeks to his collarbones.

—

“I’m biased, but I think they’re great,” Rafe says, a heavy hand coming to rest on the strip of skin of your hip between your jeans and your strappy tank.

“Mm,” you hum, pushing him back a little to twist and turn in front of the mirror. You were really excited to wear these vintage designers jeans you got from a consignment store downtown, but they were way lower of a rise than you were used to. They sat practically under your hip bones. You were committed to the look. “You think?”

“Yes,” Rafe says definitively, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

He nudges past you to fiddle with his hair in the mirror, and you cross your arms over your chest, smiling at his expression. “I can't believe you're in my bathroom. Also, I promise you look hot.”

“Take your own advice then, Y/l/n,” he counters. “Refill?”

“Please,” you say, chugging the rest of your wine and handing him your stemless glass. “You know what I’m drinking, right?”

He gives you a look in the mirror. “Don’t insult me. And when are we switching to Coronas?”

“Ew, Rafe,” you scrunch up your nose. “I only bought those for the pictures.“

He just smiles. “You are such a princess.”

“And?” you say, touching up your darker eyeshadow, leveling him with a look in the mirror.

He shakes his head, biting his lip. “Missed you, princess,” he says, kissing your head one more time before heading downstairs.

Rafe indulges your friends like a champ, doing the same greeting about ten times over. You begin to lose track of how many times he’s introduced himself after your third glass of wine, just plastering yourself to his side and looking up at him dreamily while he explains how the two of you got together.

You loved watching him like this, watching him make a place in your world out here. You’d really distanced yourself from the Outer Banks since you moved to school, so sometimes it was hard to reconcile those two parts of your lives. But having Rafe here in your living room, talking with some of the guys you’d dormed with freshman year—it’d never felt easier.

You have to remind yourself that you’re the one hosting him, because Rafe is always the one trying to take care of you and play that provider role. He doesn’t even bat an eye, navigating your kitchen to get either of you new drinks, taking pictures of you with your friends, slipping into conversations with some of the guys you and your roommates had invited over effortlessly—taking all of the flack they give him for being a southern boy in a fraternity. They weren’t his usual crowd, and you could see it wearing on him a bit. Even for a couple of Figure 8 kids, the group you fell into at college could be a bit extravagant. But Rafe was doing a good job of not letting it show. At least not to anyone else, but you knew your boy.

“You good?” you ask him, after the friends you’d been talking to walk off for refills.

“Yeah, baby girl. I’m great,” he says, using the arm around your shoulder to bring you into forehead-kissing distance. The cool condensation of his tequila tumbler brushes up against your shoulder, causing you to jump. “Sorry. Let me fix that.” He throws the rest of his drink back, setting his glass down on a table behind you.

“Oh god,” you laugh, and he just smiles mischievously, leaning in for a kiss that tastes like tequila and beer. You’d put up with it, just for him.

“Why’d that one dude look at me so weird when I asked what he was going into after graduation?” he asks. You furrow a brow, trying to think back to what conversation he was talking about.

“Oh,” you realize, laughing a little. “The one who said politics? Tall with brown hair.”

“Yeah, that was weird.”

“He’s a Kennedy.”

Rafe’s eyes widen. “Jesus christ, Y/n/n. Are Malia and Sasha here, too?”

“McCall actually knows—”

“I need another drink,” he tells you, letting you unwind from his hold. He looks around at the party, then back down at you. “Actually, you mind if I step outside for a bit?”

“Of course not. You sure you’re alright? I can come with you.”

Rafe shakes his head, smoothing a hand down the back of your hair and pressing a kiss to your temple to cut you off. “Just give me five. It’s warm in here”

“Okay,” you nod, letting him walk off, but not before giving his hand a squeeze.

—

Rafe steps onto your back patio to catch his breath, pulling incessantly at his shirt collar like he had been all night until he decides to just pop the first few buttons, sighing and taking a long swig of his drink. He almost hates that he loves the local beer you told him you’d picked up just for him. And maybe the thought behind it was part of why he liked it so much but, god damn. You didn’t even like beer and you managed to nail it. Good girl. His girl.

He’s frantically typing out a text to the boys before he can help it.

Rafe: Guys what the fuck

Rafe: Y/n is friends with a Kennedy

Top: Lmao

Top: Of course she is

Kelce: I told you bro. You were warned

It takes him a second to notice the other figure on the patio, hearing the slide of sand on concrete underneath their shoes before making out their figure.

“Hey man,” they say, and Rafe can make out a figure in one of the deck chairs by the fire pit. He recognizes him from meeting him earlier inside, some guy one of your friends had brought along, but can’t quite place his name.

“Hey, uh…?” he trails off, slinking over to sit in the chair beside him. This guy’s wearing a trucker hat and flip flops. Rafe immediately likes him.

“Wren.”

“Wren,” Rafe confirms. “Rafe.”

“Yeah, yeah. Y/n’s guy, right?” the guy says, connecting a Corona to his lips. Rafe briefly wonders if it’s the from the six pack you’d bought for your costumes.

“That’s me,” Rafe preens. If he cranes his neck, he can see you through the window in the living room. Cares about your outfit long gone, your hands in the air, wrapped around your friends’ shoulders. Life of the party, spilling love, light and laughter (and maybe a little bit of riesling) onto any patron you come in contact with. He could clock your eyes searching for him, he knew he had about seven minutes before he’d be found again. You were always worrying about him.

“Nice. Hey, good to meet you. Loved your costumes,” Wren says, leaning over for a handshake so firm that Rafe thinks about how it rivals Ward’s. Rafe looks over his casual attire with a pensive stare, and Wren laughs. “We’re supposed to be Brody and Kristin from The Hills.”

Rafe nods in recognition, even though he has no idea who that is. When you told him McCall was hosting a couple’s costume party just for an excuse to get with the TA in one of her classes, he’d assumed it’d be a sea of Jim and Pams and Hughs and Playboy bunnies. But he’d hardly recognized any “costume” he’d seen all night. And it felt way more like a Figure 8 soiree than any college party he'd been to.

“Your first time out here?” Wren says, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I go to school in Georgia.”

“Sick,” Wren’s eyes light up. “What for?”

“Uh,” Rafe fumbles. This might’ve been the first genuine interaction he’s had all night, feeling totally comfortable and paid attention to in a non-condescending way. “Finance. For my dad, he’s got a development company.”

“Back in your guys’ hometown, right?”

“Yeah. What about you?” Rafe asks tentatively. He notices the lines around Wren’s eyes, the rougher look he’s got to him.

“Ah, I was at the CC down the road from the university,” Wren starts, taking another swig of beer. “Took a semester off. I like working at my uncle’s garage.”

Rafe nods, a bit shell-shocked by how this conversation with a guy he would’ve probably never given a second glance to back in the Outer Banks was by far the easiest one he’s had all night with your friends.

“How did you meet, uh… what’s her name? Sorry, been meeting new people all night,” he asks sheepishly. Wren laughs.

“No worries. Delilah. Yeah, her dad’s a long time customer. Said his daughter was coming in to get her brakes checked one day,” he says, readjusting his hat. He smiles fondly. “Rest is history.”

Rafe nods, eyes clocking you in the kitchen, crouching down and standing on chairs to take a zillion pictures for your roommates in their costumes. He sees you talking to who he now remembers is Delilah, she’s tugging on your belt loop and making you blush about your jeans.

“I know what you’re probably thinking,” Wren continues, noticing Rafe’s eyes on the two of you. “How did a guy like me land her? End up at these fancy parties?”

“Honestly, man,” Rafe says, leaning back into his deck chair, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve been feeling the same way all night.”

“A lot of the people in there are… well. You know,” Wren laughs. “But Y/n has never been like that, at least since I’ve known her.”

“I know,” Rafe nods. “She's always been great.” His knuckle brushes up against the Zippo he has tucked into his jeans, bringing it out to flick it on and off lazily. He clocks the moments Wren’s eyes zero in on his movements.

“Hey, Hometown. You smoke?” Wren pulls a perfectly rolled joint from behind his ear. Rafe swears he’s never loved a guy more.

—

When your boyfriend re-enters your townhouse, his eyes are about five shades pinker than they were when he’d left. You catch Wren following behind him, who winks at you. You just roll your eyes.

“What’d you do to my boyfriend?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Wren says, but his eyes are just as pink. “Had to show your Georgia boy how we grow out here in Cali. Where’s Li? She texted me she wants to head out.”

“Living room. Thanks for coming,” you smile, pulling him in for a hug. You lock eyes with Rafe while Wren gives you a squeeze. Your boyfriend is just giving you the dopiest smile.

“Sure thing. See you later, Y/n/n. And hey,” he says, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I like this one.”

You just smile, waving him off.

“O’Connor, can I get a vibe check?” you ask, giggling as your boyfriend practically melts into you, pulling you to splay across his lap in a kitchen chair.

“Little bit crossed. Is that what they call it out here?”

“Yep,” you confirm, pushing his long hair back from his eyes for him. You were really gonna miss this haircut.

“Crossed. In love with you. Kinda in love with Wren,” he murmurs. “Lol.”

“Did you just say 'lol'?”

“Yeah. He said he’d never seen you as happy as you are with me,” Rafe preens. Totally gone, on an entire other planet. But his words still hit you straight to the heart. “Is he right?”

“About me being happy with you?”

Rafe nods, blush blooming across his cheeks.

You lean forward, kissing both of them. “Yeah, he is.”

“Wanna know a fun fact?” Rafe asks. You just quirk an eyebrow, standing up to lead him into the kitchen. He rests up against the island while you fill up your pink Hydroflask and get a cup of water for him.

“What’s that, babes?”

“He gave me another one. As a gift,” Rafe whispers conspiratorially, pulling it out of his shirt pocket. “And I think we should go upstairs, and smoke it in your bed while we watch The Office.”

“Then come back down?” you joke, already putting your hair up in the claw clip Rafe had let you attach to the bottom of his shirt for when you needed it. He was watching you with stars in his eyes as you twisted your hair up. He shakes his head, blinking his bleary eyes.

“No. Then we sleep. This top doesn’t look comfy though. You should change before we sleep.” He fiddles with the halter straps of your tiny tank, frowning down at you.

“C’mon,” you agree, knocking his hands away to start pushing him toward the stairs. “If we’re fast, we can pull an Irish exit. Straighten up.”

“Yes’m,” Rafe agrees, growing by about two inches as he stands up straight. His tall frame is cutting through the sea of bodies like a knife, and you just have to be thankful you can hide behind his broad figure while you skate across the living room floor, ignoring glances from your roommates and friends. “You’re gonna change though, right?”

“Yes, Rafe. Calm down,” you laugh, finally getting him to sit down on your bed. He’s haphazardly kicking his shoes off, his jeans ending up in the middle of the room.

“Just want you to be comfy. You can take one of mine,” he says, gesturing to his suitcase before sticking the joint between his lips.

“Cameron! Crack a window,” you admonish, half undressed.

“Oops, sorry, sweet girl. Going now,” Rafe says, stumbling to push your window open and practically rip his shirt off. He stares down at the ground outside your house, smiling at you with a joint in between his teeth. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed from the drinks, body bare save for his blue boxers as he leans outside of your window. You almost want to take a picture. “I think this wall might be easier to scale than your house back home.”

You rifle through his suitcase, settling on an oversized and faded black shirt. Smelled just like him. You make a note to shove it to the bottom of your hamper next time he’s in the bathroom. “Good thing we’ll never have to find out.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” Rafe says, holding the joint to your lips for you where you bend over the bed. “Might be a fun role play.”

“Jesus Christ, Rafe,” you giggle, nearly coughing on your hit. He just grins, putting the joint between his lips while you stand again to take your makeup off.

“Also, when are you going to get these blinds fixed?” he asks, gesturing to where your blinds gathered up to one side, the string sinched beyond repair.

You were a lightweight; it takes you a second to realize what he's talking about. “You sound like my dad.”

“Does your dad know anyone can just look in here when you’re changing?”

You smile at him lazily. “He gave me a number of a place to call and sent the cash for the repair. I just keep forgetting.”

“I can fix them for you,” Rafe says, joint still emitting smoke as he assessed your blinds, fiddling with the strings and slats appraisingly.

“If you want. Did you have fun tonight?” you murmur.

“Yeah,” Rafe says, a little quickly. You glance at him, your eyes growing heavier by the second, through the mirror of your vanity. “It was a lot. Your friends are intense. But I liked Wren.”

“Wren’s a good guy,” you say, coming to melt against your boyfriend where he’s laid down in your bed now. He still holds the joint for you as you lean back into his chest, body bracketed by his bare legs. “He and Li have been together forever.”

“Glad you have a guy like that around you out here,” Rafe says, reaching over you to pull out your laptop from where you keep it on your bedside table. “Set it up.”

“Mm,” you nod, the joint really starting to curl around your senses as you try to remember your password. Your skin feels on fire wherever Rafe touches you. But that might not even be the weed. “Baby—”

Rafe nearly moans. “How come you hardly ever call me that?”

“It’ll lose its potency,” you smirk. “Can you ash that out in the little tray on my windowsill?”

“‘Course. One more hit for you,” he says, handing it back over. Rafe ashes it out and then gathers you into his arms, clumsily walking you across the room until the two of you stumble into your en suite to brush your teeth, giggling at each other the entire time. You nearly burn your throat by taking a long drink of water when you’re done, Rafe just shutting his mouth in protest when you try to get him to drink some.

“For me?” you ask, straddling his hips. He rolls his eyes, taking the glass from you and downing the entire thing. He even takes a swig of your Hydro for good measure. “Thank me tomorrow when you aren’t hungover.”

“We won’t be hungover if we just smoke another J in the morning.”

“I invite you out here one time and you turn into a stoner,” you giggle.

“You're the one with an ashtray on your windowsill. Get under the covers,” he demands, shutting off your lamp and setting your computer on his lap. You oblige, squealing when he knocks the laptop off of his lap to get closer to you. He presses a kiss into your hair. “Missed this, Y/n/n. Missed you.”

You look up at him, the glow of your laptop illuminating his features. “Missed you.”

—

You’d be remiss if you didn’t notice the slight ways in which Rafe’s mood deteriorated over the weekend. He was more than ecstatic about most things; he loved seeing your campus, had bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet when you asked if he wanted to attend a class with you.

And he had actually gone out of his way to set up plans with Wren and Delilah after the costume party, blushing at the way you gawked when he’d told you he wanted to meet them at the beach.

So you thought you might be pushing him when you asked him to tag along for drinks with your capstone cohort, because they were by far the most uppity of any of your friends.

And no matter how hard you tried to escape it, you were seniors about to start the rest of your lives in a few months—all anyone wanted to talk about was post-grad. Rafe had pretty much leaned into it, and you wondered in the back of your mind what his motivations were. If he was comparing himself, if he was attempting to force the conversation between the two of you. Either way, if the look he’d given you when the sleek Uber XL pulled up to the back entrance of the lounge, and you’d dragged him through the private area straight to the VIP section without a second thought hadn’t been enough to set you on edge, the pinch in between his eyebrows as your classmates rattled off their post-grad plans definitely was.

“Google.”

“Harvard Law.”

“Interning for my uncle at the Hill.”

“I have offers from all of the big 4, just trying to decide for now.”

“I simply don’t work,” Davis says, sipping on his drink. You were so glad you could convince him and McCall to come along, to ground both you and Rafe.

“Oh hush,” you admonish. “Davis‘s mom is a designer and so is he. He’ll be at NYFW by spring.”

“What about you, Rafe?” your classmate, Meredith asks.

“Uh, my family has a development company.”

“Like, software? Are you in Silicon Valley?” Frederick asks.

Your boyfriend sucks in a breath, his chest moving against where your body is pressed up against his on the bench seat. “No, er—like houses, properties? Back in mine and Y/n’s hometown. North Carolina.”

“Rafe’s gonna be CFO one day,” you say, pushing some hair out of his face, smiling at him proudly. “If he wants to.”

“Ha,” McCall laughs. “As if Y/n would ever leave California. She’ll have you out here soon enough.”

So maybe you weren’t glad she came. You shoot her a look, but she shrugs, sipping her martini through a straw.

“Guys,” you chide. “That’s months away.”

Rafe’s quieter after that, saying less and less as the conversation goes on, not that any of your friends seem to mind. You lean into his ear about half an hour later, when he’s looking around for the waiter to order another round for the two of you.

“Just realized something,” you murmur.

“Hm?” he asks, one hand on your back and the other bringing the remainder of his drink up to his lips.

“If both of my roommates are here right now, then our house is empty.”

Rafe pauses, then throws the rest of the drink back, making you giggle. You’re sliding off his lap to sit on the bench next to him, smiling fondly at him as he tries to simultaneously wave down the waiter and open the Uber app on his phone.

“I’ve got the table,” he says, gesturing with the black card in between his forefinger and middle to your table of friends as the waiter comes by. “But we’re heading out, so I’ll let you run it now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, buddy. You’re our guest. I booked us the table, I'll pick it up,” Frederick says. You can feel Rafe actively resisting rolling his eyes, and you squeeze his hand under the table. He definitely shouldn’t have said buddy.

“Alright,” Rafe says, standing from the table, hand held out for you. “Nice to meet you all.”

McCall and Davis just give you knowing smiles, and you can already feel your phone buzzing with texts in your purse.

You stop in confusion, bumping into Rafe's back when he halts you two at the hostess stand by the exit of the lounge. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a sec, sweetheart.” Rafe slides his credit card out again, telling the hostess which table your friends are at and that they can order whatever they want until bar close. You just smirk, hugging his arm to your body as he tugs your outside to wait for the Uber. “What?”

“You’re such a man sometimes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Because I wanna buy my girlfriend’s friends some drinks? No offense, but that guy’s a dick.”

“Remember that guy I told you about? I met his parents sophomore year?”

Rafe nods, frowning when you remain silent. “You did not go out with that asshole. I thought you said his parents were hippies?”

“They are,” you agree.

“Rich hippies?”

“Yep. But you’re kinda hot when you’re trying to prove yourself.”

Rafe forces out a breath. “Where the fuck is the Uber?”

—

Usually, Rafe can feel himself physically relax whenever he’s in your presence. He sees your smile and your eyes, feels your touch; anything he’d been worried or stressed about melts away. That had been his life all summer, his body practically melting whenever he'd see you after a rough day at work with his dad. He remembers one time, when he'd fucked up so badly—at least in his dad's eyes—that he'd sent him home from work early. Rafe had asked where you were, flipping a u-turn when you said you were taking a spin class at the Island Club. When he'd met you at the smoothie shop nearby, your ponytail bouncing on top of your head as you skipped up to him, it was like his day was starting anew.

And he’d definitely felt that way when you first picked him up from the airport. And he still felt it when you two were alone, after you finally shut your bedroom door for the night or when your roommates left the two of you alone for a little bit.

But for everything else in between—he’d been rigid. Every party, every club, and every interaction with your friends was just winding him up more. He hoped you didn’t pick up on it, because he knew he could play it cool when it mattered. And he really couldn’t handle a discussion about the root cause of all of these things he was feeling: his dad’s words that had been echoing in his mind for two months straight.

Like now, the two of you standing on the porch outside of Agnes and Beau’s—Rafe swears he can't catch a break.

Of course it was a gated community, a security guard smiling and waving you through once he saw who you were. You’d driven your Jeep up a hill to another gate, punching the programmed button in your car to open it. Rafe had white knuckled the roof handle the entire time.

“What does… what do they do again?” Rafe asks, counting at least six spots in the garage as you pull up to park.

“Agnes is an author. But Beau’s in real estate and development, just like you,” you say, hand coming to rub in between his shoulder blades.

He’s facing the double doors as the two of you wait when he feels your hand come up to thread through the hair on the back of his neck, heel of your palm pressing down until he’s obliged to look over at you. “Thanks for coming to meet them, Rafe. I’m—I really appreciate it. They're like my family out here.”

And Rafe’s softening at your tone, leaning forward to kiss you before he can even help it. “Of course, sweetheart.” But his nerves didn’t dissipate.

One door swings open, a flurry of ringlet curls burrowing into your legs, short arms wrapping tightly around your thighs. “Miss Y/n!”

“Hi Becks,” you coo, immediately crouching down to his level.

“Y/n, you know you don’t ever have to ring the door bell,” the woman in the doorway, Agnes, says. She turns to Rafe, resting her hands on her hips. “You must be the boyfriend!”

Rafe laughs awkwardly, peeling his eyes away from where Beckham is hiding behind your legs. “That’s me. It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs.—”

“Oh,” she says, waving a hand. “Call us Agnes and Beau.”

“Of course,” Rafe nods. “Thanks for having us, Agnes.”

“Please,” Agnes dismisses, stepping to the side to allow you both in. Rafe looks over at you, and you’re already holding Beckham on your hip, talking to him quietly. He ushers you in with a hand on your back, smiling at Beckham over your shoulder. The little boy just burrows his face into your neck. “I’ve been hearing about the hometown water polo boy for years now.”

“Agnes,” you whine, and Rafe knows if he put the back of his hand on one of your cheeks right now it'd be warm to the touch. “Becks, can you say ‘hi’ to my friend? This is Rafe. Can you say ‘hi, Rafe’?”

Rafe files away what Agnes says to tease you about later, focusing on the little boy you’re bumping on your hip. “Hi, Beckham.”

“Hi, Mistuh Wafe,” the little boy says, burrowing his head back into your shoulder.

“Sorry,” Agnes says, leading the three of you out to the backyard. “We have him in speech therapy for those pesky Rs.”

“Oh,” Rafe says, taken aback by her contempt. This kid can’t be older than four. “No worries at all.”

“Rs are hard. Where’s Barry?” you inquire, before Rafe hears water splashing in the backyard. You smile over at him. “Ah, should’ve known.”

“Why don’t you both go outside? I’ll bring you drinks. Y/n, I have a riesling you’ll love. Rafe, the same for you?”

“That’s perfect, thank—”

“He’s being too nice. Rafe likes beer. Or maybe one of Beau’s whiskeys?” you say, smirking at him.

“A polite guest,” Agnes winks. “I’ll pick something good for you, Rafe.”

“Whatever you have is fine, thank you.”

“C’mon, baby,” you say, and Rafe can tell you know what you’re doing. How can he stay mad when you call him that?

“Baby,” he parrots, voice dropping to a whisper by the ear furthest from Beckham. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Stop, you can do no wrong.”

“You’re right. I am the hometown water polo boy, after all,” he smirks.

“Oh, for the love of god,” you say, setting Beckham down when the two of you reach the grass. “You’re not gonna let that go for a while, are you?”

“Nope,” he says. “You talked about me to your employer?”

“Rafe,” you groan.

“Kinda obsessive, if you ask me,” he says.

“Ah, there he is,” a male voice says. Rafe looks over, seeing a tall man with sunglasses on and a sweater tied around his shoulders striding across the yard. Rafe almost feels like he’s back in Figure 8. “Y/n, introduce me to your boyfriend.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, grabbing Rafe’s forearm. “Rafe, this is Beau. Beau, this is Rafe.”

“Nice to meet you… Beau,” Rafe says, relaxing as he recalls what Agnes had said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Of course, of course,” Beau says. “We love Y/n. We’re so glad to have her. Any friend of her’s is one of ours. Or boyfriend. Although, you are the first, son.”

Rafe can't stop the shit-eating grin on his face when he looks down at you.

“Oh my god. Anyways, let’s go meet Barron,” you say, already tugging Rafe away from the man.

“They’re just selling you out tonight, Y/l/n,” he teases, hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. You’d worn one of those dresses with no back like he loved. And it was definitely not an occasion where he could afford to not keep his hands to himself.

Seeing you around the kids and hearing how you’d talked about him to Agnes wasn’t making it any easier.

Another boy is standing on the steps in the pool, looking like he’s poised to jump in. But then he looks at the two of you, gasping when he spots you. “Y/n!”

“Hey, buddy,” you wave, standing at the edge of the pool. “This is Rafe. He used to be a swimmer like you.”

“Really? Sup, Rafe,” he says, moving his green goggles off of his eyes. Rafe used to have a pair just like that. “What events did you do?”

“U-uh,” Rafe stutters. “Well, water polo, mostly. I did 200 free for swim, though.”

“Me too! We should race some time. Before I go to the Olympics. Miss Y/n said I can go in 2028.”

And with that, Barron puts his goggles back on, jumping into the water.

—

It felt weirdly domestic to Rafe to be here like this, shooting the shit with Beau like he was some sort of established adult, watching you walk around the lavish backyard with Beckham following you around like a puppy. Barron was always asking you to watch him swim, even calling Rafe’s name a few times, too. He felt like the two of you were married or something, over at some friends’ house for dinner, playing practice with their kids.

You’d sent him plenty of pictures with the kids, the exclusive versions with their faces uncovered, which you couldn’t post on your Instagram story. Apparently, Beau’s father (and therefore, all of his descendants) was pretty important. You told Rafe that the NDA you’d signed when you started working was over an inch thick. But nothing could prepare him for how much he loved watching you with them in person.

“You know, I had a lisp when I was a kid,” Rafe says, eyes following Beckham across the yard. “But it went away after a while.”

Beau just looks at him oddly. “Okay?”

“I just—because of Beckham’s thing with Rs,” Rafe clarifies.

“Oh,” Beau says, nodding disinterestedly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Agnes said—yeah, you’re right. He’ll be fine,” Rafe rushes.

Beau changes the subject. “So, Y/n told me you’re in real estate as well. Or trying to be?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, sitting up straight in his patio chair. “My father owns a company, back in mine and Y/n’s hometown. I’ve worked there since I was fifteen. I’m finishing up school this year before I head back to get started.”

“Nice,” Beau praises. “What’s the market like back there?”

“Good, yeah. Although, it’s really all I know,” he realizes, as he says it. Beau looks at him questioningly, and Rafe switches gears. “Um, but I’m sure it’s nothing like you do out here. I mean—“

Rafe gestures to the house around them, Beau smiling proudly.

“Yeah, we do alright,” he says. Rafe is eerily reminded of his father. But Beau's not exaggerating—Rafe had looked up their house on Zillow in the bathroom ten minutes ago. He had gawked, especially because that was an estimate, and he could tell it was a lowball. “So, you’re for sure going back?”

“Yes,” Rafe says immediately, like somehow someway his dad is around to hear him right now. There’s never room for hesitation when it comes to his father. Especially now.

“Even with Y/n staying out here?” Beau presses.

“Yeah, we’re um… we’re working on that. I’m not sure if she’s decided yet,” Rafe says honestly.

“Well. Let me know if you ever need anything out here, Rafe. Y/n clearly really cares for you. We love having her with us, and we’d do anything to make that an easier choice for her. Especially with the baby coming.”

Rafe blanches. “The baby?”

“Agnes is still very early on, but we’re planning ahead. If Y/n can graduate and go full-time with us right around when Agnes gives birth, that’d help us out a lot. So, if you’re ever looking—”

Rafe can feel the panic clawing up this throat, his dad’s voice practically yelling in his head right now. 'She’s going to have you following her around in California like a little lap dog in a fucking purse.'

“Beau. Sorry. Wow, I really—first of all, congratulations. I had no idea Agnes was expecting,” Rafe blurts, looking over to where you’re sitting on the grass. “And thank you so much for the offer, really. But that won’t… I’m moving home. Y/n and I are talking about what’s next for both of us but, that’s me for sure.”

Beau nods. “I see. Well. If not for her, then for you, Rafe. You could make a killing out here, compared to whatever your dad is getting in the Outside Banks.”

“Outer Banks.”

“Exactly,” Beau says, smirking at Rafe. Rafe keeps his eyes trained on you, unsure of what to say anymore. You finally spot him, giving him an easy smile. One he doesn’t return.

Why didn’t you tell him?

—

tags: @moniamaybank @downbytheouterbanks @littlementalpolaroids @fangirlvoice @chicagoblackhawkslover96 @amourtentiaa @loveylangdon @oopsiedoopsie23 @sodasback @arvinrussellseggplant @cooper8224 @rafeyybabyy @lemur46

#rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron #outer banks netflix #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfic #outer banks fic #rafe outer banks #she writes

637 notes · View notes

jlalafics · 3 years

Text

"Photograph"-a Royal!Everlark story

This was inspired by this prompt from @writing-prompt-s:

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

This is totally unedited. Thank you to @sparklingdust4612 for bringing this prompt to my attention. Looking forward to everyone else's interpretations along with this one and the story by @jhsgf82!

I actually have more of this but I thought I'd show y'all a little bit of my interpretation of the above prompt.

****

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen, still…

-Ed Sheeran

Photograph

Katniss Everdeen loved building castles.

In the massive sandbox, she packed another bunch of sand into her bucket before placing it upside down to set. While waiting, Katniss imagined how she would decorate the inside of her palace, a delighted smile growing on her face as she thought of the possibilities.

First, the walls would all be yellow. Not the ugly yellow that looked like snot—but yellow like Prim’s, her baby sister, golden locks.

Yellow meant hope: that’s what Daddy always said.

Knocking on the sides of the bucket to loosen the sand like Mommy showed her, Katniss slowly lifted it revealing a perfect tower for her castle.

“Yes!” she hollered, jumping up in excitement.

Her eyes went to Mommy who was sitting on the bench across the way. She was talking to a pretty, yellow-haired woman with a big tummy. Prim was asleep in her stroller, her binky hanging from her mouth.

“Mommy!” Katniss rushed over, stopping just a scant from toppling over on the concrete. “Look! I’ve made the perfect tower!”

Her mother smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Katniss.” She turned to the woman next to her. “My Katniss is always building and dreaming on how to make her perfect home. Her teachers tell me that she has such a creative mind for a seven-year-old.”

“How absolutely charming,” the woman responded kindly, a smile on her pink lips.

Katniss tilted her head at the sound of her voice. There was something different about the way the lady talked—the dips of it sounded strange—but still nice.

“Why do you sound like that?” she asked bluntly.

Her Mommy frowned. “Katniss Everdeen! Please apologize!” She looked to the woman once more. “I’m so sorry—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured her. The pretty woman turned to Katniss. “I have a little bit of an accent because of where I’m from, that’s why my voice sounds different.”

Katniss nodded. “Okay, but it does sound nice…like a song!” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

The woman glowed like an angel. “My name is Marguerite.”

“Hello Miss Marguerite.” Katniss looked to where her sandcastle waited. “I better go before someone takes my stuff! Bye!”

Throwing a wave at the woman, she plopped back down onto her space in the sandbox ready to add some detailing to her newest tower—

The foot crushing her tower landed straight in the middle of it creating a space between each side.

Katniss fumed and her eyes went up to the blond-haired boy with the snooty face.

She stood, her hand slamming into his chest. “Hey! You destroyed my castle!”

The boy stared at her in shock. “No one ever touches me!”

“Until now—”

Katniss was suddenly blocked by another boy, tall and dark-skinned.

“No one touches his royal highness,” he declared, and the blond boy stuck his tongue at her.

Another boy, this one dark-haired and sharp-eyed, approached.

“Prince Peeta has decided that you will be his bride,” he stated with a scowl.

Katniss made a face, crossing her arms to show them how disgusting that sounded. “Gross.”

The so-called Prince Peeta walked over to her.

“As my bride, you can make as many sandcastles as you want,” he explained. “I’ll build a bigger sandbox than this for you!”

Something inside zinged at the thought. “Really?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katniss eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you want to marry me anyway?”

Peeta shifted in his stance, the confidence in his blue eyes suddenly wavering. “I like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

A rise of pink colored his cheeks. “They’re soft…and pretty.”

That had been it for her.

On that warm afternoon, by the swings of District 12’s only playground, Katniss Everdeen married the so-called Prince Peeta.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Gale, the dark-haired boy, said. He looked at Peeta, a teasing smile on his face. “Go on—kiss her!”

“Close your eyes,” Peeta told her.

Katniss, wearing her paper towel veil courtesy of the park’s public bathroom, did what he said and closed her eyes.

SPLAT!

She barely registered being shoved down into the muddy puddle.

Katniss looked up at the sneering boy, feeling the rise of anger in her body.

“That’s what you get for pushing me.”

++++++

Twenty years later…

“Katniss.” She looked up from laptop to find Prim at her open doorway. Her sister held out a Fed-Ex envelope. “This just came for you.”

Without even glancing at it, Katniss tossed the envelope on her bed, going back to the open page on her screen.

“Don’t you want to open it?” Prim stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed, picking the post up to examine it. “It looks important.”

“Probably one of those things saying that I’m eligible for another credit card.” Katniss frowned, sitting back, and staring at the blinking cursor. “I’m so stuck on this blog post!”

“Is this the one about kitchen flowers?” her sister asked, and she nodded. “You got some great pictures from Madge’s shop.”

“I know but my writing inspiration is zilch,” Katniss explained. “I need to get this done if I want to post by Mother’s Day.”

“Speaking of Mother’s Day, mom is wondering if you’re bringing anyone to Sunday dinner,” Prim informed her.

“I love our mother but lately every conversation we’ve had is either about my lack of a dating life or my withering eggs,” Katniss said. “Right now, I need to focus on getting more attention on the blog. It’s just gaining momentum!” She rested back and turned to her sister. “This is important to me.”

“I know,” Prim replied. “And you are good at it. I mean, look at what you’ve done to our apartment! To this room!”

Her sister’s bright blue eyes looked around the buttercream room, beautifully decorated with white-washed furniture. The console that her television sat atop was bought at a nearby thrift shop and refurbished by her. Katniss had sanded it down before putting a whitewash over it and adding lacquer to give it a more modern look.

In fact, most of the furniture in her and Prim’s apartment was completely refurbished by her. She had always had an eye for decorating and instead of going to a four-year college, Katniss had opted to go to design school.

Creating something new from what people considered junk gave her a special kind of thrill—almost akin to being in love.

At least that’s what she thought it might feel like.

“Whoa!”

Katniss whipped over to her sister—who was holding an unfolded paper in her hands.

She stood from her seat and went to Prim. “What?”

Wordlessly, Prim handed the piece to her—it was a letter.

The letter was on marbled paper, an elegant insignia atop it, and she could see that the elegant calligraphy was done by hand:

Dear Miss Everdeen,

You are hereby summoned to the kingdom of Panem to present yourself to His Royal Highness, King Peeta.

Photo documentation has validified that you are the Queen Consort to His Royal Highness.

Attached is my business card, please contact me to arrange your travel to Panem.

Respectfully,

The Rt. Hon. Effie Trinket

Private Secretary to His Royal Highness

“This is a joke!” Katniss tossed the letter onto her desk and laughed. “Photo documentation? There is no such thing—”

The laugh fell from her lips as Prim turned the FedEx envelope upside down and a single photo fell onto her bedspread.

“There’s a business card in here, too,” Prim told her carefully.

Walking over, Katniss could see that the photo was facedown.

Trembling, she picked the print up and read the elegant cursive atop it:

‘Peeta and his new bride, Katniss Everdeen!’

Next to the caption was a happy face; it was obvious that this statement was made in jest.

Turning the photograph, a wave of nausea hit seeing the image of her seven-year-old self, a paper towel veil atop her head, joining hands with a blond boy—

Prince Peeta.

Or to be more precise, His Royal Highness King Peeta of Panem.

#Everlark Fanfiction #Everlark #Royal!Peeta #Commoner!Katniss

174 notes · View notes