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xveenusx · 1 year

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And Yet..

Paring(s): jj maybank x fem!reader

Summary: two people who should be together simply can't find their way. In other words, JJ can't let himself be loved and can't let her go.

Author's note: This one is brutal so prepare yourselves. Realistically, JJ would totally self sabotage any chance of happiness because he can't handle how it makes him feel so that's exactly what this is. Thank you for all the feedback on 3 seconds! If you like when it hurts, then this is for you!

Part 1: Three Seconds

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He left.

It’d been hours and none of us knew where JJ went, only that he left. While JJ storming off was a normal feat, he always came back.

Now normally, I would have been looking for him, knowing exactly where to look. I’d find him and we’d avoid everyone until he felt like he was ready. This time was different. He never looked at me the way he did today.

A look of pure betrayal.

John B had gone MIA with Sarah while Pope and Kie were handling everything we needed to look for the gold. Me? I was trying to find a way to cope with the sudden JJ sized gap in my life.

It was brutal trying to get through the entire day without collapsing. Everything felt dull. I decided going home and hiding out in my room was the only option. It spared me the looks of concern from our friends and gave me the freedom to cry.

My room felt abnormally empty and cold. My stomach rolled as JJ’s words played in a brutal loop. I crawled into my bed where I curled into myself tightly, hugging my knees to my chest to create some type of pressure.

He’ll come back. He always comes back.

I jolted awake to pounding on my window.

“-wake up. He needs you. It’s bad oh my god it’s really bad.”

Scrambling off the bed, I pushed the curtains aside to see Kie’s panicked face. “Kie, what’s going on?”

Her face filled with relief as she pulled me into her. “We need to get to the chateau now. He’s not making any sense and bought all of this stuff.”

Nausea rolled in my stomach.

“JJ-“

She cuts me off. “He needs you.”

I left the house in seconds, hopped into the Hayward truck and we took off. I nibbled on my nails, glancing at Kiara in the drivers seat. Her face was painted with worry and her leg bopped up and down displaying her nervous energy.

Kie moved one hand from the steering wheel and threaded our hands together, squeezing tightly.

Pulling up to the chateau, I see LED lights tangled up on the trees, shining lights reflecting on the yard. How was there power? The hurricane had taken everything out.

Before I could figure it out, I heard a commotion that drifted up the drive way.

“Where is she? You said Kie was getting her.”

My heart jumped to my throat. I hold onto Kiara tighter as we move toward the raised voices.

Something twisted in my chest as I took in the hot tub and lights suddenly decorating John B’s yard.

JJ is shouting at Pope now, slurring his words slightly, before taking a pull of the champagne he clutched in his hand.

“Look man, she’s here. She’s here, JJ. Calm down.” Pope announced, pointing in our direction, before placing his hands around his head and taking a deep breath.

Awareness ran through me. JJ turned his body to face me, his gaze flicked to mine.

He said nothing yet his eyes said everything. There was an openness that seemed to make him vulnerable.

“You came.”

A tug deep in my chest urged me to move closer. “You asked.”

“Okay, now that she’s here. What did you do, JJ? Where did all this come from?” Pope asked, but we all knew the answer.

“I got a jet going straight in my butt right now. Y’all should get in immediately, ya hear?” JJ laughed, the aviator sunglasses slipping down slightly. His blonde hair slick with water stuck to his forehead as he messily poured champagne into a glass. “Salud!”

Pope let out a noise of disbelief, “How much did this cost?”

“Uh, pretty much all of it.”

I moved around, taking in the inflatable floaties that filled up the yard, while biting the inside of my cheek. He spent all of the money.

“Kie, what? Can’t a man have a little luxury in life?”

I tuned out their arguing. There was a reason he acted out and bought all of this pointless shit but I couldn’t figure out what it was. He knew. He knew he needed to pay for restitution.

A blanket of dread covered my body like an old blanket as the consequences of JJ’s actions finally settled in. Another sense of dread hit when I knew I wouldn’t leave him.

“You could have paid for restitution or better yet, helped us buy supplies.” Pope said, shaking his head in clear frustration.

They weren’t seeing this for what it was. Something was wrong. Yes, he was reckless and rash but like I said before, most of the time he does those things because something happened.

“Okay Pope. Well, I didn’t do that. I got a hot tub for my friends,” JJ choked out, “I got a hot tub for my friends. Screw that, I got a hot tub for my family.”

“JJ, what the hell?” Kie whispered.

Something in her voice made me turn back around quickly and that’s when I saw it.

JJ stood at the center of the hot tub, one hand clutching the champagne bottle while the other hung loosely at his side. His gold necklace moving back and forth shining under the lights, but that’s not what caught my eye.

What caught my eye was the purple and blue bruises that littered his chest and ribs. A high pitched ringing filled my ears as my body felt like it began to float.

This. This was the reason he spent all the money.

My hand covers my mouth as I let out a choked sound.

Hearing the noise, JJ turns to me, his face entirely shattered, tears causing the crystal blue orbs to shine.

“Do you see what I did? Look what I did for you,” He cried out as he held out his arms, staring at me with such vulnerability I could feel my knees start to buckle.

Tears freely began to fall from my face as I took inventory of just how many bruises covered his body.

“No, stop being so emotional. It’s fine, everything’s fine.”

My feet moved on their own accord. Fully dressed, I threw one leg over then the other ignoring the burning from the heat of the water.

He reached for me the moment my body hit the water just as my arms circled around his neck. JJ curled his body into me, the champagne bottle forgotten, his arms circling around my waist digging into my lower back, clutching me like a life line.

My legs knocked together as the adrenaline and helplessness kicked in. I began counting in my head my breaths because I knew in this moment, I couldn’t afford to break down.

Not when he was broken beyond belief.

My fingers threaded themselves into his sun-kissed locks, brushing from the nape of his neck to the top of his head and back again. I pressed my lips onto his head, not letting my grip loosen for one second.

“I love you.” I murmured over and over again as sobs wracked his body, his head in my chest soaking my shirt with his tears. “I got you, it’s okay. I’m here, Jayj.”

I glanced up helplessly and see Pope and Kie staring at us, both of them clearly distraught.

I beckon them over with a nod in my head and instantly JJ and I are covered in warmth. Their arms wrapping around us both, whispering words of love to him.

We stayed like that until our skin got pruny, not wanting to move until he was ready.

When the time did come, I could tell by the way his grip on my waist loosened and his sobs quieted down. Brushing the hair out of his face, I brought my face close to his, “You ready to get out now?”

JJ nodded.

“Kie, can you set out some of John b’s clothes?” I asked her, moving to get out. She nodded and pope followed her inside.

JJ followed closely behind me. His fingers laced with mine, trembling slightly as the night air bit at our soaked bodies.

Shuffling into the chateau, our friends were sprawled out on the couch with Kie strumming away at the ukulele.

“I left the clothes in the spare.” Pope said, his eyes locked on JJ.

I shot him a thankful smile, “Thanks, Pope.”

Once we were in the room, I shut the door as JJ shimmed out of his shorts. Ignoring the heat in my cheeks, I grabbed the towel from the bed and began to dry him.

I could feel his intense gaze on my face the entire time. Biting back a smile, I whispered, “Can I tell you something?”

“Please.”

“I really like the hot tub.”

JJ tilted his head back and let out a surprised laugh. The sound of his familiar laugh caused a wave of warmth to crash over me, causing a zoo of butterflies to swarm my stomach.

“It is a pretty sick tub, isn’t it?” He smiled.

“It is. Very kooky of you.”

He narrowed his red rimmed eyes at me, “Take that back.”

I couldn’t have his my grin even if I tried.

“JJ the kook? I could see that.”

He sends me a cheeky smile in return. Bringing my attention back to the task at hand, I drag the towel along his shoulders before heading towards his chest. My hand stalled slightly as I saw how angry the bruises were, the hue of the purple and blue causing my stomach to churn.

My head moved carefully as I pressed my lips softly along each bruise, fluttering my eyes shut. I feel familiar rough hands tangling themselves in my hair and he lets out a sharp breath.

Opening my eyes, he tilted my head back with his fingers gripped the nape of my neck. A storm brewed in the crystal blue eyes, flicking between every emotion.

His thumb slowly drew my bottom lip down causing his eyes to darken with each passing second,” Thank you.”

Tremors wracked my body at how close we were, our breaths intertwined filtering into my bloodstream.

JJ shifted forward allowing his lips to softly brush mine. The moment my lips parted, he pressed his again almost like he was inhaling my every breath.

Pulling back, he rested his forehead on mine and repeated, “Thank you.”

“I got you. I’ll let you change-“ My words got cut off as he grabbed my arm to stop me in my tracks.

“Stay.”

And so I did.

_______________

I blinked at the alarm clock that read 3 a.m and slowly rubbed the sleepiness from my eyes. I could hear the sound of the skeeters buzzing outside the chateau and felt a strange sense of calm at the quiet.

Reaching toward the other side of the bed , my hands were met with empty cold sheets. He was gone.

I closed my eyes tightly and took in a deep breath as I willed for this nightmare to go away. We still had a lot to work through, but I thought after last night, he finally understood how fucking in deep I was. I was all in, completely and utterly in love with him. It’s always been him.

Pushing my body up, I slowly bring the sheet up to my chest covering my naked body from the cold. A sharp tinge of fear hit my chest as I noticed a presence at the end of the bed that was quickly replaced with an immense sense of relief.

JJ sat on the edge of the bed with his bare back facing me, his elbows on his knees, and head in his hands. A small smile played my lips as I shuffled over, my hands slowly trailing themselves over his shoulders and pressed my lips softly against his shoulder blade.

“Can’t sleep?”

His shoulders tensed the minute my lips touched his body. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Confusion filled every fiber of my being as I finally took him in. I could feel the weak stitches that held my heart together suddenly begin to tear.

I opened my mouth and closed it. The backs of my eyes burned as I stared at the side of his face, the face that I spent hours admiring, that refused to even look at me.

“I thought after last night-“

JJ shook his head in disgust and let out a dry breath, roughly tugging at the messy strands on his head.

“We fucked. It’s not like that’s something we’ve never done before. It doesn’t change anything.”

Like I said before, I understand him. I know him and I know exactly what he’s doing. That doesn’t stop every part of me from feeling like I had just gotten kicked in the chest.

“JJ, please don’t do this.” I inhaled a shaky breath as I clutched the sheer tighter to my chest, almost like it was an armor against his cruel words, words that I knew came from a place of panic. Yet, it hurt just the same.

“Do what,” JJ said, getting up from the bed to face me, arms crossed tightly against his chest. “You made it clear what side you were on and it wasn’t mine.”

“Stop twisting what happened. You forget that I know you, JJ. I know you,” I stood on my shaky feet, the sheets wrapped around my body. “You think I dont know why your treating me this way. You’re dad doesn’t decide who you are.”

Desperation burned in my blood as I once again tried to grasp at straws. He was always finding excuses to run from me and each and every time, JJ took a piece of me with him.

“Shut up. I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“You have no idea how special you are do you? How easy you are to love?” It was an honest question, one that seemed to anger him if the clenching of his fists was any indication.

“Stop-“

I cut him off. “Because you are. Special, I mean.”

JJ said nothing. His gaze met mine, and the blue eyes I thought matched the ocean perfectly, showed a battle of emotions.

I took the opportunity to move closer to him, fighting the urge to curl up and cry at the look of utter confusion on his face.

Luke had successfully beat it into him that he was worthless, useless, and would never amount to anything. This, this look on his face was why I stayed.

He didn’t know. He really didn’t know the effect he had on people, on me.

My fingers trembled slightly as I reached to touch the bracelets that decorated his wrist. All of them being gifts from me.

“You’re fiercely loyal to the people you love. The family that you chose for yourself. It’s almost frustrating how you don’t see it,” I muttered, tilting my head up to search his eyes. “I mean, fuck JJ, you took the fall for Pope because you didn’t want his future to be ruined. You went to jail and now you’re on probation.”

“Please, stop.” His plead was weak at best.

My fingers danced along his jaw, my voice wavering slightly at the tightness in my chest. “You sat with my everyday during summer school so I wouldn’t be myself. No one does that, JJ. Especially not here.”

He had to know I was telling the truth.

“So please, listen to me when I tell you that loving you has been the easy thing I’ve ever done.”

Despite the immense beating my poor heart has taken, it still beats with a naive sense of hope.

Hope that sky rocketed when JJ reached forward to twirl a strand of my hair in between his fingers, almost as though he was memorizing how it felt.

“Such pretty little words.” He hummed. “How many other guys have you told that too?”

I recoiled back in shock.

“Pretty little words won’t get you anywhere. You wanna fuck, I’m down. But that’s not gonna stop me from mackin’ on other chicks.”

Then he dropped the strand of my hair, along with every hope that he could love me.

I chose to then focus on my anger that slowly began to bubble to the surface.

“Like who? Your gonna start mackin’ on Kie?” I launched the question at him, my voice raising an octave in disbelief.

“Maybe. At least she knows when to leave.”

“Stop talking to me like that,” My voice broke at the end, the burning in my eyes getting too hard to ignore. “You’re hurting me.”

All I could do was stare.

Here I stood, heart bleeding, begging a broken boy to love me back. And maybe that wasn’t fair for me to ask, maybe it was too much but a large part of me thought he felt something. Even if it was a fraction of what I felt for him because at least it was something.

Anything.

“You’re never going to let me love you, are you?” I ignored the sharp stab in my stomach as I finally said the question I already knew the answer to.

JJ’s head snapped up in shock at my question. “I never asked for you to love me.”

“You showed up to my window every night because you didn’t want to go home. You hold my hand, you kiss me, you fuck me. You come to me when you can’t fucking sleep. You sleep in my bed. You teach me to surf and take me everywhere with you. You ask for my advice and god forbid I don’t answer the phone, you have a melt down.” I was shouting at that point, my voice loud enough to wake up our friends who were sleeping in the living room but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

“You need me, I’m there. You got arrested, I bail you out. You get in a fight, I clean you up. JJ, you showed up in my life and surrounded me. You’re fucking everywhere. How could you not expect me to fall in love with you when you do these things?”

The laugh I let out was one of a broken girl, one who had completely lost herself in a wave of chaos known as JJ Maybank.

The door was right there. And yet, I couldn't get my feet to move.

“Because I don’t fucking understand it, okay? Because I’ve never had the luxury of someone looking at me the way you do and it makes me physically fucking sick.” JJ took several strides until he was pressed up firmly against me, his fingers threading themselves into the nape of my neck.

“The way you look at me makes me feel like I’m suffocating, don’t you get that? And yet, I can’t fucking thinking straight when you’re not by me.” He choked out, his face was white with panic.

I could feel myself start to crumble at his words. Welcome to the club. “Yesterday, you said I wasn't enough for you.”

JJ nodded, his eyes staring straight into me with such intensity I had to swallow.

“You know why I said it. You know how I get. The way you look at me,” He swears pounding his hand against the wall,” Fuck the way you look at me. You make me feel like I can be a better person, that I have the potential to do something great.”

“Because you can-“

“No I fucking can’t. You give me this hope that I can be better and then something happens to remind me that I can’t and it crushes me. It fucking wrecks me.”

I roughly wiped the tears that blurred my vision and asked, “So what are you saying?”

The silence caused the anticipation of his answer to intensify, making breathing almost impossible.

“Sometimes, being with you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Can you hear that? It’s the sound of my heart shattering for the last time.

“Then you have to let me go.”

He shook his head,”Thats not what I want.”

“Let me go, JJ. If not for you, then for me because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. You haven’t even been able to say it back. You completely own me, every thought I have is about you.”

“You own ME.” JJ shouted, his hands in his hair tugging it in anger. “And it completely terrifies me and then I say the first thing I can to make the fear go away just so I can get a moment of peace. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

In a way, I couldn’t really be angry with him.

No one’s every really described just how dangerous loving someone can be. How they consume every part of you until there’s nothing left. Until suddenly, you can only breathe when you’re around them. When your very mood depends on the expression of their face. The pure feeling of ecstasy that covers your body in a layer of electricity the moment you’re around them and they look at you.

“You love me,” At my words, JJ looked almost relieved, like he finally understood why he felt so many things at once,” but you can’t let yourself love me.”

And yet, despite this revelation, I still couldn’t bring myself to leave.

A tortured look passed his face as he pressed his back against the wall and slowly slid down.

“You need to let me go because I love you to the point that I cant bring myself to leave. So if you don’t want me, if you can’t be with me then do this for me. If you don’t, I’m going to keep giving you every piece of me until there’s nothing left. “

I guess you never truly understand until it happens. Until you get physically ill when they’re upset or filled with warmth when you see them tilt their head back and laugh. When you see them and suddenly the world is just a little less overwhelming, bearable even.

When every fiber of your being is tuned into one person.

Gripping the sheet tighter, I moved in between his legs and settle myself on the floor. The moment I did, JJ engulfed me in his embrace. His presence soaked through my skin leaving the intoxicated feeling in its wake.

“I can’t,” He shook his head fervently, “ I can’t do that.”

I understood him, because I couldn’t either.

“What are we going to do, Jayj?”

JJ pressed his face against my throat, “I don’t know.”

We weren’t okay, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. Nothing had been solved and yet, we sat on the floor wrapped in each others embrace.

So I said the only thing I knew to be true and give him yet another piece of me, “I love you.”

“I know.”

There we were. Two souls irrevocably intertwined in a mass of love and hate that were broken beyond recognition. Neither of us being able to leave the other.

And yet, all I could focus on was his inability to say he loved me back.

_____________________

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hellfire--cult · 10 months

Text

Edit of Eddie: Sofiiel

Stripper!Eddie x Shy!Fem!Reader

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 (end)

WC: 9.7k

⚠️ +18 MDNI, Stripper!Eddie, shyness towards men, nervousness, talking about traumas, self-esteem issues, fluff of some sort, self doubt.

Plot: You thought you were cursed with your shyness, but after one embarrassing night, you decide it's time to change, and you believe someone might be able to help with that.

Summary: You see someone in a coffee shop, and you make the first move towards a new life.

A/N: I didn't think so many of you would enjoy this story! I hope everything lives up to your expectations, we're gonna go slow with this one, but don't think that Billy and Steve won't participate in this project of yours ;)

As always, all reblogs help, tagging it as well, and I always enjoy reading your comments!

PART 2

Your eyes slowly opened, feeling completely light headed as you tried to focus all around you.

You groaned in pain as you felt a sharp sting in the back of your head and you felt the light above you blinding you, sharply.

Where the fuck were you?

“Is she awake?” You heard a female voice talking. You tried focusing again and saw Kali’s face over yours and she smiled at you when she saw you open your eyes at her.

“She’s awake!” Kali says and you see more faces trying to come in focus over you, making you whine by how dizzy that made you. You heard Kali protesting to the other people to give you some space as she fanned your face with her hand.

“W-Where am I?” You asked and slowly but surely, your senses started sharpening again. Below you, there was definitely a bed. Then, all the voices around you were female. And then, you smelt cinnamon, the same one as your scented candle in your room.

“Your apartment. Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” You heard Nancy ask worriedly as she held a bottle of water in her hand. Honestly, you didn’t feel sick, just plain dizzy, as if you had ran out of oxygen for a few minutes. You held onto Kali’s arm and slowly sat up, centering yourself in the room as it began to get in focus for your eyes.

“Jesus, what happened?” You asked as you grabbed onto Nancy’s bottle and Robin looked at Nancy worriedly and then back at you.

“You fainted.”

“That much I know Robs.”

“In front of the stripper.” You spat the sip of water you just took, dizziness completely gone now, embarrassment and shame taking over your body as an anxious knot filled in the center of your gut. Barb stepped away from in front of you just in time before she got drenched and you started coughing wildly as Vickie patted your back.

“Oh god, now I am gonna be sick.” You say as nausea fills your stomach thanks to how humiliated you felt. You just remembered his brown eyes, looking at you, getting closer and closer to you. You winced as you tried to imagine his face when you simply blacked out in front of him. How pathetic it must have been for him.

“Yeah, you’ve been out for thirty minutes.” You groaned loudly at Barb’s words and you looked at Nancy. You were so embarrassed for ruining her night, and even making all of them go through all of this.

“Nance, I am so sorry. Words can’t describe how stupid I feel for this… I should have waited in the car, or in the bathroom, or away from the stage…” You hid your face in your hands as tears started to fill in your eyes. You felt so weak, so small because of this issue of yours. You made your friends end their fun night because of you.

“No, no! I shouldn’t have even considered a strip club knowing one of my bridesmaids doesn’t do good in a place like that!” Nancy replies, trying to make you realize she didn’t mind, but you were too far gone to notice that. How many more nights will you screw up in this way?

You remembered your prom night. Because of your shyness, you were always the target for bullying, and boys didn’t help at all with your case. They pulled your hair, got close to your face to tease you, grabbed your shoulders, caged you against the wall just to see you squeal in fear.

So that night, you decided to try and be brave, only to be cornered inside the boy’s bathroom by three guys from the soccer team. They were telling you they could cure you if you’d only suck their dicks. That was all you needed. Thankfully, Kali smashed into the bathroom with a fire extinguisher and sprayed the men on the spot. She had seen you being pulled aside, and in your shock, you didn’t pull away, nor ran.

That was a dangerous situation, but this one… This one was plainly humiliating. Embarrassing. Pathetic.

The poor guy was just doing his job, and he had to see you crumble in front of him, just by his mere sight and touch. He was supposed to make you feel desired, and you cannot even imagine how he felt when you just fainted on him. Eddie. Poor Eddie.

“Hey, if he didn’t catch you in time, you would have hit your neck on the back of your chair.” You looked up to see Robin speaking to you.

“He helped me?”

“He even carried you to my car. Told me to drive safe and all.” Robin didn’t tell you, just to spare you from more embarrassment, but she explained your condition to Eddie and Joyce who were feeling responsible for what happened to you. The guy looked confused really, but didn’t press more than that and just waved all of you off.

You were looking at Robin and then you looked at your arms. He had wrapped his arms around you, and lifted you in bridal style to carry you away. You sighed as you cursed at yourself for only being able to tolerate something like that when you were completely out and not conscious at all.

You wanted to feel hands like that awake. You wanted to be able to enjoy a handsome man pampering you. You wanted to kiss a hot guy. You wanted and needed to be fucked with someone you felt attracted to, completely, not just barely.

“Oh, sweetheart don’t cry… It really isn’t a big deal…” Kali wiped your tear away, one you didn’t even feel dropping, but she didn’t understand. It is a big deal. No one understands you, no one knows what this feels like. No one knows how you feel about this. No one gets it.

You just wished you could be normal.

It’s been a week since that night, and you tried. You were seriously trying.

But you were now in your fourth coffee shop, parking your car, because the last three you’ve been at, the baristas, were young men. As soon as you entered the doors and saw the counter and the man behind it, you immediately left.

After that night, it seemed as if your shyness and your nervousness only worsened just by how humiliating those events were. You couldn’t even turn on your camera at the team meetings of your workplace, which thankfully, it was 100% from home. You worked at a big company just as an administrator, and it paid well so you didn’t complain.

Now, on a friday, you look forward to the afternoon coffee, and you were happy to see that in your fourth coffee place, you found a woman at the front counter. You walked towards her as you looked into your wallet, looking for cash.

“Hi! What can I get you?” You heard her cheery voice and you looked up with a smile.

“Hello, um… Just a medium coffee with a bit of creamer please.” She nodded at you and you handed her the money so she could go and start preparing you coffee. She asked for your name and told you she would call you once it was done. You nodded at that and stepped aside, grabbing your phone to scroll through your instagram.

You smiled when seeing the stories of Robin. She was posting about how boring her classes were at nursing school. Then you jumped over to Nancy’s which was a picture of her and Jonathan. Your smile faltered a little at that.

Jonathan was a handsome guy, and when you met him you didn’t feel that immense shyness you always felt. You never knew why, because deep inside you, you knew he was attractive. Yet, you could shake hands with him, and engage in conversation as if it were a natural thing for you to do.

A deep voice came from next to you, and your eyes widened. You knew that voice. You recognized it, because last time it vibrated so close to your ear, it had settled in the deep of your stomach. You slowly side eyed, turning your head just a bit and you held in the gasp as you felt your body grow a cold sweat.

“The usual, Princess.”

Oh fuck. Shit. Son of a bitch.

You could see his hair tied up in a bun, some specks of unshaved beard covered his jaw, and the smell. You could smell the wooden cologne. Kind of leathery like. You turned your head as you felt your whole face turn a deep shade of red, and it almost felt like it moved all over your body.

Your fingertips felt like they were sweating, and the knot in your stomach was moving all around. She took his order and you stepped aside trying to create some space between you two. You looked away so he wouldn’t recognize your face, because if he did, you were sure you would die.

Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest and you were looking at the barista’s every move. She was preparing your coffee now, and his presence was just overwhelming you entirely. You wanted, no, NEEDED, to bolt right out of there. You could hear him yawn as he stood next to you, and your nerves were going insane right now. You heard your name being called out, snapping you out of your almost panic attack.

“Thank you…” You said almost in a whisper as you took the coffee in your hands. You didn’t waste a single second, turning away and rushing out of the shop, taking a deep breath in of the clear oxygen. Now, you don’t really think it would be adequate to fill your body with caffeine when your nerves were this bad, but you already paid for it.

Your heart was on the verge of exploding as you took many deep breaths in. You should apologize to him, or say thank you for helping your friends carry you out of the club, but here you were, running once again. Like you always did.

But is it something you really want to do? Do you want to keep running?

You turned around and saw him through the window, taking slow sips of his coffee as he looked through his phone. His profile was already making you sweat by just how good looking he was, without even trying, with the afternoon sun hitting him in the right places.

You wanted a normal life. You wanted to be able to feel attraction. You wanted to be kissed passionately. You wanted physical touch. You wanted to be normal, simply normal.

So your feet moved. They guided you towards the doors again. They guided you into the shop. The girl looked at you with confusion over the counter and then you turned, going towards the booth where the man was seated at.

Eddie though, didn’t even acknowledge you. He was tired, too spent from last night's show. He was grabbed onto more than usual, and he had done several personal lap dances. Everything was good money of course, and he knew he sealed his fate into being the favorite one the moment he agreed on being physical with clients. No more than a kiss, or some holding, but that made him wanted.

He didn’t mind really, but when the ladies would take advantage of that and touch him, when they knew they shouldn’t, drove him up a wall. He wasn’t going to lie and say he didn’t bang one or two clients per week, sometimes for money, sometimes for his pleasure. This was all his doing. Joyce was against them doing that, but his colleagues, and himself, found out that their dicks can get them two thousand a night.

He didn’t even notice until a shadow casted over him, that made him look up, that you had sat right in front of him, making him frown in confusion because… You weren’t looking at him. You were looking downwards and he could almost see the steam coming out of one of your ears.

“Um–”

“I’M SORRY.” He jumped at the high pitched loud tone, almost a squeak, making him shake his coffee a little bit on his hand.

“Jesus christ!” It was too late for loud noises, and much more for apologies he didn’t have a clue on why they were being said to him. And from a girl who wasn’t even looking at him. You were trembling, looking at your lap, because that apology came out way too embarrassing for your own good, and now you wanted nothing more but to crawl and disappear into thin air.

You stayed silent, trying to form words in your throat, but you could only feel the lump forming, and you cursed at yourself internally because you thought you were making progress by sitting in front of him, but now that you made a fool out of yourself, once again, you wanted to run away. But his voice stopped you.

“Holy shit, it’s you. The girl who fainted.”

Your blood went cold. Of course you would be remembered as that. Shit, everyone that night will remember you as the pathetic girl who fainted in the arms of a stripper. Your knuckles went white on your lap as you gripped them tightly, trying to fight the urge of running away. Your voice was still not found but there was no need because he kept talking.

“Are you alright? After that night?” He was asking for your wellbeing. This guy who didn’t even know you was asking if you were doing okay. You had to answer, you had to say something. Anything, just move your lips, make the air come out.

“Yes…” You almost mumbled it, but it was something. Eddie was squinting at you, his phone long forgotten on the table as he inspected you. He gave a small smirk, even if you weren’t looking at him, he just couldn’t help himself.

“And I thought your friend made up a horrible excuse for you that night, saying you were shy against men. I can see that she wasn’t lying.” Your body jerked up at that, your eyes widening and your head lifting up slightly, focused on his cup and he was finally able to see your face. You were beet red, making him smirk even more.

“Y-You were doing a great job! It’s m-my fault for trying to be strong and staying there!” Did you just say he was doing a great job? That formally? To a stripper? You winced at your words, ready to stand up and walk away but the sound of his laughter stopped you, and you wanted to look up, but you knew that it was going to make you freeze in place.

“Thank you darling. I guess I appreciate the feedback.” He noticed how you jumped slightly at the nickname he gave you and he cleared his throat. “I guess I do, in fact, owe you an apology myself…”

At that, your eyebrow raised up, not looking at him, but staring at his phone this time, just trying to not meet his gaze at all. Why would he need to apologize to you?

“You didn’t do anything w-wrong!” You stuttered at the last words, but you were surprised to have found your voice quicker this time.

“Well, Billy told me that there was a girl that needed her friend’s help to put a bill in his jeans. He told me what you looked like and what table you were at… You were my target that night.” You froze at those words, and the knots in your belly started tangling even more, not understanding why he would target you like that. “Shit, I didn’t know you actually had a problem with men, I mean… You were at a strip club, Sweets.”

You couldn’t help the small huff that escaped your lips with the hint of a smile on your lips. It did sound quite stupid if he said it like that. He stared at your reactions, taking a sip out of his coffee and you could see the movement from the corner of your eye, reminding you that you have some coffee in your hand as well. You took a sip too, feeling the warmth in your throat, soothing out the dryness this interaction provoked in you.

“It was… My best friend’s bachelorette party…” You explained to him and he was still not understanding where you were getting at, so he stayed silent for you to elaborate which made your nerves peak up again. “I-I didn’t want t-to bail on her.” You stuttered again as you talked about your feelings to a stranger who grinded on you a few nights back.

“Ah. I see. Next time you go to a place like that, wear a sign or something around your neck. You know, like the dogs that wear a harness that say ‘Nervous’.” Those words coming out of his mouth finally made you open your mouth as a giggle came out. You covered your mouth to stop your laughing but he caught you way off guard.

Eddie was still staring at you, a bit of pride in himself as he saw you laughing because of him, and he was glad you got to loosen up a little bit in his presence. He was curious, way too curious for his own good. Ever since he got this job with his friends, roommates even, all the women he met were straightforward, knowing what they wanted, hands roaming without fear all over his body. Yet you are here, embarrassed for laughing in front of him.

And your eyes still never met his.

“Why did you approach me darling?”

Your giggles stopped immediately, and your eyes slightly widened as you put your hands around your coffee again. Your heart was simply exploding now, and the tips of your fingers were tapping on the cup, trying to steady a normal breathing pace in your lungs, in sync. You were being engulfed by flames, and it worsened each time you remembered that his gaze was on you.

But you didn’t want to feel like this, which irritated you even more.

“I-I want help.” At that, Eddie raised his eyebrow in question, but he rested against the booth, waiting for you to continue. You stayed silent for a minute, noticing that he was being patient with you, acknowledging the fact that this wasn’t easy for you to do, and the knot in your stomach detangled just a bit, loosening up enough for you to keep talking. “I want to be normal.”

Eddie’s eyebrows twitched at that. You didn’t think you were normal just because you had this situation going on with yourself. He felt a little sad for you, and he couldn’t even imagine for how long you really struggled with this.

“I want– I want to be able to have a normal life…” You pressed on and he was slowly understanding where you were getting at, and he looked at your cup, seeing your name written on it.

“Right… And you want my help with what exactly?”

“I want to fight this… this shyness… I don’t want to be nervous anymore. I am tired of making a scene or embarrassing myself because of it. I don’t want my friends to accommodate to my needs everytime we go out…” You didn’t even notice that you did not stutter once at those statements. Statements you were fully aware of yourself and you were fed up with. Eddie, obviously, noticed, raising his eyebrows up, losing themselves under the small fringe of his curls.

He was looking at you, wondering how this day turned completely on its axis and now you were sitting in front of him, shaking like a deer in front of some headlights, but still voicing your worries out. He was skeptical really, not knowing if this was all a farce to get in his pants for free.

He wasn’t going to lie, he would fuck you for free. You were pretty, but you didn’t make an effort to show that off. Your clothes were bland, your make up was just some blush on your cheeks, and your hair was tied up in a ponytail.

But if your intentions were to sleep with him, you wouldn’t have said what you said next.

“I w-will pay you! I just want to– be able to talk eye to eye…” His heart clenched slightly at that. You didn’t want him to teach you sexual stuff, or something of the sort… You just wanted to be able to talk to him properly, or any man for that matter. He gave a small nod, as if in thought, even if you weren’t even looking at him.

His life has been very monotonous lately. For the past year to be exact. It was work, women, eat, sleep, shower, and do it all over again, every single day. He didn’t know if his roommates felt the same, but he knew that Steve started pottery classes, and then Billy had gotten the hobby of playing video games in his free time.

Yet Eddie didn’t have the motivation to do anything. Until now.

This was new, intriguing, and something that might ignite some fire in his everyday mundane life. So he reached his hand out towards you, and you looked at his ringed fingers with wide eyes, wondering what was going on.

“First things first. Presentation. I’m Eddie.” He said to you and his hand was waiting patiently. You gulped as you stared down at it, but then realization hit you. He was going to help you with this, and a flame of happiness ignited in you, slowly reaching out and putting your palm against his. You noticed the different size and the warmth of his skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You gave him your name in a stutter and he grinned when he closed his hand on yours and saw you stiffen slightly, so he softened his grip, to then move your hands up and down gently in greeting. He pulled away, and you put your hand onto your lap as quickly as you could. Your whole body was ablaze, still looking at his phone to not clash eyes with him.

“I-I can pay you–”

“Nothing.” Your eyes widened at that, raising an eyebrow up in question and you almost raised your head to look at him. “You look really shaken by this, and taking money from you doesn’t really sit right with me… And who knows, maybe this will blossom into an odd friendship.”

Those words slipped out of his mouth before he could help it, and a slight pink tint formed on his cheeks. He really did crave for another friendship, already getting tired of just being with Billy and Steve. They are great, and they are almost like brothers, but maybe that was the thing. It was just those two, and no one else.

You on the other hand turned a deep red at that, feeling your heart banging in your chest, not being able to take it anymore and you grab his phone, startling him completely and his eyes went wide at the action, but you didn’t move from the seat. You opened the dial without unlocking the phone, sliding up from the right corner of the screen and you pressed your cell phone number in there.

You slid it back to him and stood up, not being able to handle the pressure of his stare any longer and he held onto his phone to look down at the number on it. His eyebrows centered in the middle with a frown and he raised his head up only to see you gone, turning his head around until he saw you rushing out of the shop through the window and into your car.

He looked down at his screen, biting the inside of his cheek. He looked at his cup and saw the number of the barista under his name. She had tried many times to put her number down in his cup, but he never saved it on his phone. He looked down on your number, a scoff coming out of his lips.

“Hmm...”

You had been screaming into your pillow for the past half hour.

You cannot believe what you did two hours ago. You gave your number to a stripper. To a goddamn stripper. And you even asked for help with this issue of yours, but what if it came out wrongly? What if he thought you were asking him to help you sexually? It didn’t really feel like that but what if you didn’t read the air right?

It was an impulse. A goddamn impulse, but you were fine, it was all going to be okay, because you left your phone, and maybe he doesn’t even indulge in this stupidity of yours and move on, or maybe he deletes it by mistake and everything will be back as it was before.

You stopped screaming at that.

But you didn’t want to go back to before. That’s why you took that chance, and you have to look at the positive side of all of this. You sat in front of him, you talked to him, you shook his hand! You shook a handsome man’s hand! That’s improvement, a lot of it. Yes, if you put your mind to it, maybe you can change this stupid part of yourself.

You remembered his voice. Deep but with a hint of mischief behind it, and then those words that sounded hopeful yet sad. How he managed to say that the two of you could become friends in the meantime. You wondered what his daily life was like now, outside of his job. Who did he live with? How old is he? What is his favorite food?

You grabbed your phone as you turned to look up at your ceiling. You unlocked your phone to start scrolling through TikTok. You smiled at all the dog videos that showed up on your For You page and saved all those cooking and baking tips you found. You were startled from your trance of scrolling when your phone started ringing. The beautiful sound ‘The Shire’ from The Lord of the Rings filled your ears which helped a lot to the anxious feeling of talking on the phone. Who did that nowadays?

You looked at the number and it was not saved on your phone. Should you answer? Maybe it’s a telemarketer. Did you forget to pay a bill? Internet? No, you paid all of those. Your eyes widened in realization.

What if it’s him?

You were about to start trembling and in your fuss you pressed the Answer button and you almost cried out as you started hearing the other side of the phone.

‘We are calling to ensure you have the best communication serv–’

And you hang up, fucking automatic calls. You let out a sigh of relief until you felt that it wasn’t that much of relief at the end of it. Something felt uneasy within you, like something was not right. A certain disappointment maybe? Did you want him to be the one calling you? But that would be too much for you to handle, definitely.

You sighed, sitting up on the bed, scratching your head until a soft ‘Ting’ on your phone caught your attention. You looked down on the notifications and it was a message from an unknown number. Your eyes widened when you looked into the text preview.

‘I believe that in text form, you won’t be too shy to talk to me.’

Your heart got caught in your throat as you begin to cough desperately. You weren’t expecting something from him so soon, and it startled you completely. You held onto your chest as you read the text again, and again and again… You didn’t feel the blood flowing at the tip of your fingers, his image coming up in your head. His side profile of today, but then his face up close to you, in the middle of purple and pink lights in the club.

You clenched your eyes tightly, trying to move the images away. You took a deep breath in and unlocked your phone, heading over to the text. First, you saved his contact, because you might forget right? Then you put in a personal notification message because you just felt like it, but maybe if you do that, you can also put in a special ringtone as well? You didn’t do that for everyone but you were feeling like–

You were stalling. You were definitely stalling.

You gulped as you went back to the screen, now with the title ‘E’ because you didn’t want to receive a message from him when you were with your friends. They knew his name, so might as well tell them it’s Eleanor from work.

You started typing ‘Hi’ but he didn’t start with hello, so you erased that. Maybe a ‘how are you’ or ‘how has your day been going’ but that really doesn’t sound right either, he didn’t ask you that at all. You deleted it again and were about to type in again until you saw the three dots that signaled you that he was typing.

‘Even on text? Damn, I wonder how many texts you just wrote and deleted.’

He caught you, red handed, and you took a deep breath in, pushing your embarrassment away as you started typing.

‘Not many.’ You were already biting the skin on the side of your left thumb thanks to your pumping heart, which only increased its beats every time you saw the three dots from his side.

‘Really? I bet you wrote ‘Hey handsome’ and deleted it, right?’

You giggled at that, feeling your nerves loosen up a bit at his cheekiness and you typed once more.

‘Oh, sure, whatever strokes your ego.’

‘That hurt princess.’

Your breath hitched at the endearment.

‘You’ll survive.’

‘Black is not a color.’

‘Not you too with that bullshit. 🙄’

‘But it’s not, it’s a shade, as well as white!’

‘It’s my favorite color, a color, and that’s final.’

You giggled at the banter you were creating with Eddie over some texts. It’s been a week since you saw him and it’s been a week since you both started texting each other. They’re not long conversations really, just an hour a day or less, and it always starts with Eddie asking you something about yourself.

On Monday, it was your work. He made a lot of funny comments about how he is an accountant when you knew what his job actually is. Then Tuesday was about your favorite animal, in which you said Dog and he said bats. He told you he actually has a swarm of bats tattooed on his right forearm. Then food on wednesday, and favorite drink on thursday.

Today was about your favorite colors.

Yours was red, sometimes purple, while Eddie claims that his favorite color is black. You were having fun messing with him, smiling at the phone as the nerves in your belly were kept to a minimum. You were surprised how loose you got when you received his texts, and it was almost as if you were excited when they did.

“Why are you so smiley?” You blinked and looked up, completely forgetting you were having coffee with Robin at the Starbucks near your apartment complex. Robin actually got an apartment three floors down from yours and you were happy that you have a close friend as a neighbor.

“Oh, um… El sent me a meme.” You lie, feeling your chest compress at it. You didn’t want to lie to your friends, but you were doing this behind their backs because you didn’t need the encouragement. You wanted to do this on your own, without the need of your friends overprotecting you as if you were a piece of paper that might rip apart at any comment a man does to you.

“Right…” She sipped on her coffee as another notification made you look down at the screen, and you went pale at what you saw. It was a message from Eddie, yes, but the anxiety started filling your stomach as you read what he wrote to you.

‘We should hang out this weekend. Test the waters.’

He was asking you out. Well not asking you out, more like hang out, as friends, but, oh no. You were feeling nauseous, the memory of his face, and his stomach showing coming up in your mind. You don’t think you will be able to tolerate it, and you don’t even know if you can trust this guy. You haven’t told your friends about Eddie, and if you went missing or something–

“IT’S EDDIE.” You blurted out, startling Robin, your panic winning completely over you. She spat the coffee, coughing loudly as she punched her chest a few times, trying to recover herself. You on the other hand were slightly panting from the anxiety that was eating you up, but the need to feel protected won you over.

“What!?”

“I AM TALKING WITH EDDIE.” You said again loudly, making various customers turn their heads at the commotion and Robin made you lower your voice with a big ‘shh’ and a hand movement.

“Eddie… Who the fuck is Eddi– Oh, WHAT?!” Now the customers turned their heads at Robin’s explosion. You were clutching your phone to your chest and you could feel your eyes beginning to heat up from the tears that were threatening to leave them.

“I know, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to lie, but-but–”

“Why are you talking to–” Robin looked around and bent over a little closer to whisper to you. “To the stripper?! Are you nuts?!”

“I mean– I might? I don’t know? I–” You took a deep breath in, closing your eyes as Robin sighed in front of you. “I just need help… Being normal…” Robin’s eyes turned those into sad ones as she looked up at you. She stood up, putting her hand out for you to take.

“Tell me all about it while we head back to your place.”

“Yep, you are definitely crazy.”

You were pacing back and forth while Robin watched you from the couch, looking down at all the texts you’ve sent Eddie. But even if she did call you crazy, your friend was proud of you because she never thought you would tell a man about your favorite things. She also didn’t expect this Eddie guy to actually be gentle with you, never crossing a line, never flirting with you.

She wondered if his intentions were pure and when you told him he didn’t accept the money, Robin was baffled. Now, the true reason as to why you had told her about this, is because of his last message. He didn’t pressure you into saying yes, so that was a green flag, and it also lets someone know who you were with last in case the worst case scenario happens.

“I know I am crazy Robin, I fucking know, it was an impulse–”

“But I think it’s working… I mean, maybe he can actually figure out what’s going on in that head of yours.” You gulped at that and continued pacing. Nothing traumatic with men happened to you, the absence of your father and the multiple cheating on your mother helped, but it didn’t explain the reason as to why it was almost as if you were terrified of men. Attractive men at that.

You had of course the bullying at primary school, and then all the way to high school, but you cannot really pinpoint anything too cruel.

“Robin, I– I don’t even know him. What if he makes a move on me?” You would probably pass out and he would have access to do whatever. You really don’t know the guy, even if he seems trustworthy on text messages, that’s just what they are. Text messages. He could be lying, he could be pretending to be something he is not, and you can’t read his face or his movements. Not that you would if you were in person either, because you can’t fucking look at him.

“I don’t think– Look, invite him to the bar three blocks down, just the two of you, and don’t make a fuss about it. He seems cool, and he never overstepped from what I’ve seen… Nothing with a double meaning either.” She was trying to reassure you, to help you with it. For some reason Robin had a feeling that you didn’t cross paths with the stripper again just out of pure coincidence. She was a fair believer of fate, and karma.

“I– I mean it is public, a bar.” She gave you a nod and handed you the phone. You took it into your trembling fingers, looking down at the messages.

“Yes, and you have me as your emergency contact. You just have to press the lock button 5 times and I know where to get you.” That statement actually calms you a lot. And the fact that you would be at a bar three blocks away from home was also bringing you relief. “Remember, this is not a date… He is not asking you out romantically.”

“Right, I know that, as a friend.” You replied to her, giving Robin a nod as you felt another uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t describe once more. You looked down at your phone, and licked your lips, gulping loudly as you typed in your response.

‘Does tomorrow at 6, the bar between Monroe ST. and Chadwick sound good to you?’

You almost threw the phone towards Robin, feeling yourself cringe at the risky message you just sent, but if you truly think hard about it, he was the one who sent it first. Robin caught your phone as it trembled in your hand. She heard a popping sound and looked down at the screen, a smirk breaking on her lips.

“Sounds perfect, and I will give you a whole presentation on why Black is indeed a color."

You were trying to calm your nerves as you looked at the watch, every now and then on your phone. It’s already 6:05 PM and he didn’t show. It’s only five minutes late, but maybe he bailed?

But he was the one who asked you, why would he bail? But maybe he regretted it? Oh god, did he have to work today? You invited him without even asking and maybe he has a full night and you didn’t even think of–

“Parking around here is a pain in the ass Princess.” You heard his voice as he passed by you, sitting at the seat of the booth in front of you. You felt your body tensing up, and you were now self conscious of your clothes. But it wasn’t a date, so you dressed normally, and you applied a bit of mascara. You weren’t good at doing your own makeup so you settled for the simplest of things, because if you tried to do something, it would be worse than nothing.

Your eyes immediately drifted to the napkin holder on the side as you tried to gather up courage to talk to him. He sighed and put his phone on the table, right in front of him, which made your gaze drive to that. He did it so that he could see your face instead of your profile, taking note that last time you were together, your eyes didn’t leave his phone.

From your point of view you could see his shirt, which was a black simple t-shirt with an Iron Maiden illustration on it. You wanted to know what he looked like right now, and given from what you could smell of his perfume, he must look nice.

“Sweets, I need you to cooperate with me here. We talked all week on the phone, I assure you it’s no different than using your voice.” You blinked once and maybe that was the trick. You just have to imagine this is just texting, as if you were reading your messages out loud.

“I-I know that…” The curiosity was killing you at this point, but you wanted to make sure of something first. “Do you work tonight? I didn’t even ask you before…” He was surprised at your question, and he smirked slightly, nodding. Once he realized you still weren’t looking at him, he sighed as he opened his mouth again.

“Yeah, but not till 10 PM. Jason and Billy are on the early shift today.” He explained to you and that is actually a lot of time to talk to him. You didn’t think you would stand being with him, looking at his phone for more than an hour. You felt another presence approaching and you looked up to your side, seeing the waitress coming up.

“Ready to order?” She gave you a small smile and you nodded.

“A beer, please.” She put it down and turned to Eddie, her smile widening as you watched her interact with him. He must really look nice if this woman was smiling like that. Why can't you be like her? Why do you have to be so nervous about it all? You wanted to smile at a cute boy, not barf on him or pass out on the spot.

“Same as her.” Was his short reply. Your gaze went back down towards his phone as the waitress retreated to get your drinks. You wondered how he looked at her. Did he smile? Did he wink? Did he keep a serious face on? “Didn’t take you to be a beer kind of girl.”

“Oh, well, it’s really my drink of choice, but a sweet drink I like too sometimes.” You replied, keeping your gaze on his phone, imagining that everytime he talked to you, a small ‘Ting’ of a notification sounded in your ears.

“I like beer too, but I am more into the bitter kind of stuff.” He replied to you and you now burnt all over because you didn’t know how to keep the conversation flowing. Gladly, the waitress returned quickly with the two bottles of beer opened and ready to drink. You grabbed yours and saw Eddie’s hand wrapping around his own bottle, leaning it towards you. You gulped and clinked your bottle to his.

“To cure your shyness sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on your lips at that small sweet touch. Giving a cheer for you, even in the short lapse of knowing each other, made your heart calm down just a tiny bit as you took your first sip of the bottle. Eddie caught on the smile you gave and was about to talk when your phone rang.

You looked at the caller and saw it was Robin. Your eyes widened, realizing you didn’t tell her you were already with Eddie. It was kind of a safe protocol, tell her you arrived, tell her he arrived, and keep her updated if you remembered to do so. You had sent her your live location as well, keeping you safe at all times. You declined the call and immediately sent her a message to tell her you were with Eddie already and that everything seemed ok.

Eddie though, was wide eyed, staring at you.

“Was that the flute of The Shire?”

You blinked at your phone and you almost looked up thanks to your surprise. He liked The Lord of The Rings? You weren’t a super fan of it, but the soundtrack had captivated you since you were a kid.

“I, yes–”

“Holy shit… Look, I only got my little brother to talk this with, and– I just never expected you to like something like that.” He replied, a wide grin on his face. You gulped, a blush on your cheeks. So he has a brother, another small detail of his life.

“I could say the same about you…” He chuckled at that, nodding at the thought.

“Never saw a Stripper being a total nerd?” He replied and you snorted at that, followed by a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. He was thinking, wondering of a way to get you to look at him. “Is it your favorite movie Saga?”

“Oh, um… No, not really. Harry Potter is my favorite.” He was surprised at that answer, taking a sip of his beer, tapping his finger on the table. He didn’t know much about it, but he never really took the time to watch the movies chronologically. He had an idea of the main story, of course, but never knew the details.

“I like the fifth movie, the one with the hippogriff.” He said and your eyebrows pulled to the center in a frown at that.

“That’s the third movie…” You replied at that and he scratched his head, thinking hard as he tried to remember the small details.

“Really? Then wait, the fifth one is not the one with the snake right?” He tried again and you felt something in your belly, something like annoyance but not quite.

“You never watched them correctly?” He shrugged at that.

“Never found the time, or cared enough to do so… Plus, the scenery is nothing like The Lord of the Rings.” And Eddie’s eyes immediately widened, his voice gone, and his hand clenching against the bottle in his hand.

“Okay, first of all, the scenery is fucking amazing, the shots are beautiful and they got them in real places and added CGI on them. Then, the soundtrack I admit, is nothing like The Lord of the Rings, but you can’t deny that all of the music in the movies are nostalgic and majestic. Also, the character designs are incredible, outfit wise and then we have all the spells! Everything is magical from the first movie to the last!” You replied to him with exasperation. You knew about Harry Potter, and you weren’t going to let him talk about your favorite thing like that.

“Ah, yes, I am not shaming it sweets, I just prefer the latter. Plus, I never understood that part of the movie where the bad guy returns from a diary? I mean…” He continued, trying to not show his surprise to you so you wouldn’t stop. You took another sip and continued talking.

“That would be the second movie, and it was a figment of a memory implanted in the diary. The diary was part of Voldemort’s soul, a horrocrux which helped him be sort of immortal.” You pressed on, throwing your knowledge at him.

“Immortal?”

“He has seven horrocruxes in total, so he split his soul in seven parts. You had to destroy all seven in order to finally be able to kill him properly. You have to watch all of the movies in order to understand all of this! Or read all of the books!” You finished your blabbering with almost a pant.

“Sweets.”

“What?” You scoffed out and he chuckled, smiling at you.

“You’ve been talking to me, looking at me in the face, since you started ranting about Harry Potter.”

You froze, realizing that your eyes were looking into his brown ones. His hair was down, over his shoulders, the stubble you saw that day on his chin was gone, freshly shaved, and over his shirt he had a black leather jacket on. His dimples were showing as he smiled at you, and the knot in the stomach was there, it definitely was, urging you to run away.

But it didn’t urge you to look away.

He squinted slightly as he inspected you. You weren’t looking away, which is a good sign, but you stopped talking all together. He was thinking, licking the inside of his bottom lip as he thought.

“What’s your favorite movie? Not Saga, movie.” He asked and you slightly snapped out of your trance, absorbing the way his mouth moved as he talked to you.

“T-Titanic.” He rolled his eyes at that and you slumped slightly as an angry frown came to your eyebrows again.

“Really? That cliché sweetheart?” Your mouth almost hung open at his words, feeling offended by him saying that about your favorite film.

“It’s a fucking masterpiece!” You replied to him and he sighed, leaning on the table as he took a sip of his beer again, and you followed afterwards to wet your dry throat.

“Indulge me, how is that romantic movie a masterpiece?”

“Well, I am noticing you are not the romantic type of guy, but looking past that, the scenes? The music and ambience are outstanding, and for it being a movie of 1997, it was so amazingly done! Not to mention that James Cameron was the first ever person to get clear images of the actual wreckage.” You replied, taking another sip and he was still looking at you.

He lied to you. He also thought Titanic was a masterpiece. But he came to realize something, but he needed to test something else first, just to make sure that his suspicions were correct.

“So you just said I am not the romantic type of guy… Does that mean you are? I mean, I want to understand right now, but with this thing you got going on… Did you ever… do anything?” He asked you, actually curious about it and you felt the knot in the stomach form once more, the lump in your throat suddenly blocking your voice and you immediately looked down towards his phone again, a deep crimson covering your cheeks.

“It’s… Not that I am a virgin– I don’t…” And Eddie’s head almost made a ‘ding’ sound. It had clicked the moment you stared into his eyes without noticing and you talked about something you liked.

“I know what’s going on.” He softly muttered, very low but you could hear it, your eyebrows frowning at that. “Also, I didn’t bring my powerpoint presentation, sorry about that, but Black is a color, I mean, I am wearing it all right now.” He was at this again? You looked up at him, completely wide eyed, not believing he was still adamant about black being an actual color.

“Seriously Eddie, you can google it and it will tell you it’s a shade! I took art lessons in school, and the professor was always very strict on not calling white and black colors!” You were looking at him again. He nodded in thought and tapped the table, slumping back against the booth. He was staring at you, deep in his own mind, and you suddenly grew nervous at his stare. “What?”

“I know what’s happening here, in your mind that is.” You blinked in surprise at that, the statement taking you completely off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“Whenever you are confident about something you know, you have no trouble talking to me. You have no trouble talking to me about things you are passionate about, or have experience in.”

You were dumbfounded. You never thought of something like that happening to you, but now some things clicked inside your head. You didn’t talk with your male coworkers, no… But when a new hire would enter the company and you had to train them? You had no problem. Then when meeting Jonathan, he was attractive, yes… But… you were excited that Nancy is happy with him.

“Holy shit…” You muttered with wide eyes and he nodded at you with a small smile appearing in his lips to then fade away.

“Yeah… But it means that your confidence level is low. Like, confidence in yourself. That’s why you can barely talk sometimes, or you don’t look up to meet my gaze, or well… looked up, past tense.” He smiled at you, and it made your cheeks flush, but still your head was spiraling at his words.

You weren’t confident in yourself?

“You mean… like my self-esteem?” You asked, and he sighed, giving you a small nod which made your stomach sink.

“I don’t know about your past, and honestly you don’t have to tell me. But maybe we can do some baby steps…”

“Baby steps?” He took a sip of his beer and nodded, leaning on the table as he put his hand out to start counting with his fingers.

“First, why don’t you wear makeup? Is it because you are allergic or…?”

“Uh, no… I’m not very good at it.”

“Have you tried tutorials?” You shook your head, a small feeling of shame coming up your throat. “Okay, so that’s step one. Watch some, practice. I am not saying you need makeup, but it helps a lot with your ego. Trust me, when I put on eyeliner I feel like I can conquer the world.” He says with a chuckle and you tilt your head with curiosity pricking at the tip of your tongue.

“You wear makeup?”

“Hell yeah, makes me look pretty.” He smiles at you and you couldn’t help but laugh at his words. You couldn’t believe this man in front of you had a job like the one he has. “Step two, your clothes too.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” You say with an offended tone and he just stares at you.

“Seriously? You wear bland colors. Put a little bit of sparkle in it, something you might feel sexy in, or pretty, but you have to feel it. You don’t dress for others, only for yourself.” You tried to remember your closet, and you hated to admit he was right. All your shirts were simple, none of them were tank tops, none of them had nice cuts on the cleavage, or were tight… Your jeans were all the same, and you never wore dresses or skirts, no matter if you really wanted to.

You just never thought you’d look good in them.

Oh fuck… He actually might have found the problem.

“Third, be confident in your voice. We’re going to slowly work on it, but I think you are headed in the right direction, just not quite.” He replied to you and he watched how your face contorted into confused frowns and then understanding ones as if you were realizing so many things in your head.

“You mean to be able to, for example… Ask things?” He pointed a finger at you with a smile to his face.

“And there’s the first one. Yes… Till now I was the one engaging in conversations, being in text form or here. I was the one asking you all the questions.” You gave him a nod in understanding, feeling the knot in the stomach not so strongly as before. He is attractive, yes, but he is not making moves, or comments, or anything to put you in a nervous state. The nervousness was still there, and you still struggled to keep eye to eye contact, but you were facing him.

“I see… So, I gotta go shopping then?” You say with a small smile on your face and he chuckles at you, nodding, taking a sip of his beer.

“Remember, dress for you. Not for the other people around you. If you feel confident in it, then it’s all that matters. By confident, I don’t necessarily mean comfortable, but that can also help.” You were staring at him as if you had found a personal god of some sort. This man, this male stripper, was giving you better advice than any therapist ever gave you, than your FRIENDS ever gave you in fact.

You were grateful for them, but they never understood that you wanted to get better. Instead, they always made sure to make you comfortable whenever you all went out together, always protected you when men approached your group, but never once helped you make the leap of getting better, of trying to be normal like them. They just accepted you the way you are.

But you didn’t want to be accepted like this. Not anymore.

“What is your favorite movie?” You asked him, and his eyes slightly widened at that, surprised by the change of conversation, but it seems you caught on in what you had to do. He smiled and laid back on the booth.

“Okay, what do you think my favorite movie is? Just by looking at me.” He says, flipping his hair over his shoulder and you giggled, as you looked at him. The nerves in your belly started forming again as you scanned his features, but you were trying to fight against it, feeling your heart hammering in your chest.

You didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and you didn’t want to judge him. But he was asking you himself, right? And if you say something wrong it can be directed as a joke, but maybe he doesn’t like it? Maybe he thinks you are throwing yourself on him? WHat if you say something insinuating to him and you didn’t realize it? What would he say–

“You’re thinking too much about it. Stop.” He was looking at you, and you didn’t even notice you went into a sort of trance, trying to think of the words to say. You shook your head, body filling you up in flames, so before you went into a panic, he continued talking. “Just say the first thing that comes to your head. I am not a person that easily gets offended, sweetheart.”

Those words actually made your nerves settle somewhat, and you took a deep breath in to try to make your heart do the same. You inspected him again and he bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a smirk.

“You look like a… The Notebook fan.” You joked, his eyes going wide, a laugh escaping his lips and you couldn’t help but giggle with him, his laugh being contagious, and the tips of your fingers began to feel warmth once again.

“Oh my god, how did you catch me? Am I that obvious?”

End of part 2

A/N: I promise that... things are just gonna heat up from here on out. This was just to prepare you guys for it. (Billy and Steve will make an appearance soon.) I might change the rating on here to Mature, so if you don't have it enabled, please do.

Taglist is open, comment if you want in or send me an ask ;)

Taglist: @katethetank @mynameismothra @emxxblog @steph-speaks @fantasticmacaroni @aysheashea @sweet-villain @sillypurplemurple @eddiemunsonthoughts @emilyslutface @bookshelf-dust @bibieddiesgf @justheretostan

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lilac-witch · 17 days

Note

Hii can I request a eris vanserra x mate!reader fic. Like they have been mayed for a long long time, and the inner circle wants to caputre her to put some pressure on eris, and lucian tells them not to becaus she is a very kind person. But they go with it and find out she is pregnant. Some Angry eris. Sorry if its a lot, I have had it on my mind for a long time, but i cant write

Bedlam - Eris Vanserra x Reader

masterlist

Summary: Reader is kidnapped by the inner circle in an attempt to persuade Eris. Only, their plot doesn't end the way they intended. Meaning: "a scene or state of wild uproar and confusion" Word Count: 781 Warnings: Strong language, mentions of murder.

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"So we're all clear on the plan?" Rhys questioned, eyes meeting those of his inner circle.

Cassian, Azriel and Mor nodded in confirmation.

"Right, get in as quickly as you can, as silent as you can. We'll meet back here in an hour."

“You’re going to regret it.”

All eyes turned to Lucian Vanserra, who stood leaning against the doorframe.

“I think we’re ok, Lucian, but thank you for your concern,” Rhys drawled.

Lucian shook his head before slowly exiting the room. “It’s your funeral.”

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The day had begun as usual. The sun had filtered through the sheer fabric of the curtains, illuminating the bedroom with the soft light of morning. Eris had placed gentle kisses on her neck before making his way into the bathroom, preparing for a gruelling day full of meetings.

Y/n had eaten her breakfast on the terrace, as she did every morning, and observed Eris' prized smokehounds engage in play fights. For creatures that were supposed to strike fear in the hearts of the most fearsome warriors, to her they just looked like balls of fluff.

And then everything took a turn for the worst.

Swirling shadows enveloped her body, dragging her up and away from her seat. Y/n could vaguely make out the tattooed arms that caged her to a solid chest. Before she could scream, a cloth was placed gently over her mouth. Hard enough to muffle the noise, yet soft enough to allow her to breathe.

Y/n's mind went into overdrive, her fear sparking down that golden mating bond. There was nothing she could do as she watched the red and orange trees of Autumn disappear from view, nothing she could do when day turned to night.

At last, those shadows dissipated from around her body, revealing the faces of seven people. At the centre of the group stood Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.

She watched as his lips twitched into a devasting grin.

"Apologies for the abrupt departure, lady, but-"

"I hope you are not likening kidnapping to a consensual trip, my lord, because they are very much not the same thing," she hissed, teeth bared in challenge.

"I will admit, our methods were slightly... unceremonious, but necessary nonetheless."

Y/n stared wide eyes, mouth agape, at the raven-haired High Lord. How dare he! How dare he attempt to justify his actions!

A sudden wave of nausea drifted over her, stomach twisting.

"Oh gods, I think I'm going to be sick," she muttered, a hand coming to rest over her slightly rounded stomach.

Feyre's eyes widened in alarm, swiftly summoning a bucket and passing it over. Y/n hunched over and hurled, the stress finally consuming her.

"You idiot, Rhys! She's pregnant and you just stole her from her home!" Feyre shouted at her mate, guilt and sympathy crawling up her throat.

"Feyre darling, I swear I didn't know! If I had, we would have never gone ahead with the plan," Rhys pleaded, eyes flashing in apology.

"I should fucking hope so Rhysand, because you had no right, no fucking right to abduct my mate," a voice growled from behind the High Lord of Night.

Eris...

Her mate strode in, a vision of power and fury. The fire that flowed through his veins now glowed brightly in his eyes, highlighting the level of his anger, and the temper that threatened to tear the room apart.

He was at her side in an instant, hand raising to rest over hers on her stomach, lips meeting her forehead gently.

"Are you alright, love?"

Y/n waved him off. "Fine darling, more irritated than anything else."

Eris turned to the inner circle, teeth bared. "I'm in half a mind to slaughter you all for the stress you've caused my mate and unborn child."

Rhys stepped forward, hands raised in surrender. "I swear on the Mother, Eris, had we known, we would have never touched her. You have my most sincere apologies. We were simply looking for a way to persuade you to join our cause."

"And you thought the best way was to kidnap my pregnant mate? Not to simply ask first?" he hissed, arms having circled around her waist protectively.

No one moved, let alone spoke. It was as though the air in the room had frozen, freezing everything in the frame.

"If I ever catch you in Autumn again.... if I ever catch you looking at my mate, let alone touching her, I will obliterate you before you have a chance to retaliate," Eris swore, giving each member of the inner circle one last vicious look, before winnowing them back to the safety of their home.

After a moment of silence, Cassian's voice filled the void.

"Well, I guess future vacations in Autumn are out of the question."

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Hi lovelies!

As you might have seen, I had a 2k draft ready that seemingly deleted itself :(

So while I attempt to rewrite that draft, I thought I would quickly write something for the last request in my inbox, as an apology for the delay :)

I'm very excited for the posts to come, even after the lost draft fiasco, and I can't wait to share everything with you!

Tag List: @mybestfriendmademe

#acotar #rhysand #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #cassian #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #feyre archeron #mor acotar #amren #amren acotar #autumn court #night court

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deepouterspacecandy · 29 days

Text

Ex Machina

I received so many requests for period sex with Abby. This is a sensitive topic, difficult to write with the intention of fitting a wide array of readers, as our experiences with our bodies are all so different. Anyhow, this is my interpretation of Abby and intimacy during your time of the month. I hope I did it justice. Thank you for reading. 18+ only.

From the moment you crawled out of bed, a stubborn headache has plagued you, a dull throb pulsating behind your eyes. Sunlight floods your apartment, drenching the lush green leaves of all your plants while simultaneously intensifying the pounding in your head.

You glance out into the stadium and spot Abby leading the new recruits through drills on the field below. All week they’ve been running late, and although she’s usually home by now, it seems like today will be another exception.

Perhaps it’s for the best since you’re teetering on the brink of a bad mood.

You realize you should eat the breakfast she’s prepared for you, but your stomach is churning. Exhaustion burdens every inch of your body, as if your bones themselves are weary, the brain fog and bloat leaving you miserable.

While some months are more challenging than others, your period is never a pleasant ordeal. Growing up, the focus was on survival rather than on understanding the intricacies of womanhood and how to navigate them. Now, the demands of being actively involved in the WLF have made it difficult for you to prioritize and manage your health. It doesn’t help that your superiors interpret any actions that undermine your performance or distract you from the objective as a sign of weakness.

In this arena, Abby is an absolute godsend. With her background as a trained medic, and raised by a phenomenal doctor, she is also a highly empathetic partner to you.

Next to your breakfast, Abby has thoughtfully prepared a thermos of ginger tea, its peppery aroma offering respite from your nausea as you drink it down.

Abby’s concern about how much you’ve been pushing yourself has reached a peak, and given how awful you feel, you’re starting to see her point.

This time around, it’s pure luck that your days off align perfectly with your desperate need for them. Counting your blessings, you drag yourself to the shower, hopeful that the hot water will alleviate some of your agony.

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Abby strolls through the door in the late afternoon, and you immediately catch a whiff of citrus and jasmine as she places a vase of fresh flowers on your bedside table. They’re a gesture of peace to make up for being gone so long, but she’ll always find an excuse to bring you fresh flowers.

“I’m sorry it ran so late today,” she says, letting out an exasperated sigh as she kicks off her boots. “God, what a shitshow. Let’s run away together, yeah?”

“Ask me again in a few days,” you say.

While you dig through your shared drawers, she observes you swapping your pajamas for one of her roomiest shirts. The corners of her mouth lift in a devilish grin, giving her an air of playful wickedness.

“Still feeling rough?” she asks, plunking herself onto your bed.

“I think it’s worse this time around,” you explain, your hands cradling your sore stomach, finding comfort in the soft fabric against your skin. “Everything aches, and I’m so bloated. It really sucks.”

“Well, you look beautiful,” Abby says.

You go the extra mile to give her the most over-the-top eye roll you can manage. She’s a sweetheart, but her words can’t mask the overwhelming sense of detachment you feel from your body, intensifying your self-doubt.

“I’m serious,” she says, reaching out to pull you closer. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You can’t recall a time when she’s made you doubt her—the integrity of this woman is unwavering. Her straightforwardness knows no bounds, often leaving others taken aback. It is ultimately one of the traits you admire the most in her.

“I don’t feel very beautiful, I guess.”

Abby’s fingertips glide down the back of your thighs, tickling the sensitive skin behind your knees, before trailing back up to toy with the hem of your shirt. Her shirt, technically speaking.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks.

Her question carries a familiar undertone, one you’ve been meaning to address for a while now.

During Abby’s cycle, her sexual desire intensifies to an unprecedented level, and she’s insatiable.

One night, after your shift let out early, you walked in on her. The blonde wisps of hair framing her face were curled with sweat as she touched herself under a blanket on the couch. You recall vividly her delirious gaze, head tilted back on the plush armrest as she rode the waves of her pleasure, filling your apartment with the sweetest sounds.

It was in the early phases of your relationship, and you were so surprised when you entered the room that you hesitated—torn between quietly leaving to let her finish or offering to help her. Luckily, she decided on your behalf.

Instead of panicking and hurriedly covering up her deed, Abby continued without missing a beat—beckoning you to join her. It was one of the most sensual experiences of your life, and the memory of it still makes your heart race.

But for you, it’s different.

It’s a constant battle of messiness, discomfort, and frustration. When your hormones are fluctuating and you feel a spike of arousal, the thought of Abby seeing you in that state halts your excitement.

In the past, she mentioned how her lifestyle influences her body’s bleeding patterns. She attributes her active lifestyle and high stress levels to a lighter flow. But she also understands that certain conditions are beyond control for many women, affecting their relationship with their cycle and the way their body reacts to it.

“How the heck do you do it?” you ask, your fingers connecting with hers as you delicately flip her hands over to trace the deep lines etched on her palm. “You get so confident.”

Every day, without fail, you find yourself entranced by the beauty of her ethereal blue eyes as she seems to peer directly into your soul. There’s a special intimacy in truly knowing someone, beyond the flaws and all the fears.

She has a keen sense of what you’re grappling with, often before you can articulate it.

Her brow quirks as she rakes her teeth over her pouty bottom lip.

“Horny, you mean?” she smirks.

“Is that what it is for you?”

“Not always,” she explains, as her fingers move to brush against the front of your thighs, igniting a tingling warmth between them. “But I listen to what my body tells me. It’s how I heal.”

“What does your body tell you?” you ask.

“It depends,” she says, looking up at you through her soft lashes. “Sometimes it tells me to rest—other times, I need a little more than that. But I have bad days, too.”

You reflect on your relationship with your body and how Abby’s presence has transformed your self-perception over the years. She empowers you to find security in your own skin, even when you’re clawing the walls of your existence.

Even on the toughest days to practice self-love, she’s right there by your side, offering that extra boost to keep you going.

“It doesn’t gross you out, the thought of touching me when I’m like this?”

Abby lets out a surprised chuckle, gently placing her hands on your hips for a reassuring squeeze.

“Baby,” she says with an air of certainty. “There’s nothing you can do that would ever disgust me. This just reminds me how much of a badass you are. I’m a pretty big fan, if you haven’t noticed.”

You nod in acceptance as your fingers weave into her hair, gently tugging the long braid that rests on the nape of her neck. She fixes her busy gaze on you, brimming with an unmistakable and sincere affection, patiently awaiting your next move.

“It fucking hurts,” you say.

“Inside?” she asks.

“Everywhere,” you whisper.

Her lips meet the swollen part of your stomach as she leans forward, pressing kisses from your belly button to your hips. Her methodical nature shines through, ensuring she leaves no tender spot untouched.

When she glances up at you again, her eyes are heavy with hunger.

“Do you want me to make it better?”

It’s a lot to consider, and she watches you closely, anticipating your reaction as you try to process it all. If it bothers you, it will surely bother her, too—but can the reverse be true? If you have a pleasant experience, is it possible that Abby will also have a good time?

“Can we sleep on it?” you ask. “I’m just, you know—worried, I guess.”

Abby invites you to sit on her lap and when you oblige, she snuggles into the curve of your neck, sighing happily.

“Of course we can.”

Noticing your musing, she leans back to get a solid look at you. When your eyes meet, she crinkles her nose, a silent, impish signal she frequently uses to let you know she’s with you, even from across the room.

“What’s going on in that pretty head, huh?” she asks.

“I’m just glad you’re wearing dark pants right now,” you snort. “This cup thingy you got for me is working okay, though.”

“Well, thank God for that!” she huffs. “What would I ever do with bloodstains on my pants—can you imagine? Not this girl.”

“You’re on a roll today, aren’t you?”

Abby’s tongue darts out, lingering at the corner of her mouth until you dig your fingers into the ticklish spot at the small of her back, causing her to squirm with laughter. She quickly unravels under your ministrations, her voice transforming into something high and wild as she reprimands you through wheezing breaths.

“See, I warned you about teaching me how to lift weights!” you giggle, your grip on her wrists unforgiving as you pin her hands behind her. “Game over, Anderson.”

“You think so?” she chuckles breathlessly. “Hey—can I show you something?”

“You can try!”

Abby regains control of her hands and flips you onto your back with such ease it renders you utterly defenseless.

“Now what?” she asks.

She has you trapped, pressing your body and hands firmly against the mattress, careful to avoid your abdomen. It gives you an advantage, an edge to steal the upper hand, and with a sudden burst of energy, you buck into her, entangling your legs with hers in a fierce grapple. By the end of your wrestling match, your muscles burn from exertion, your focus shifting solely to the simmer of adrenaline working its way down your spine.

You leave behind any awareness of your physical state or appearance in favour of being in her arms, and she’s delighted to have you there.

Her rugged hands rest on your belly, rising and falling in sync with your breathing, and you’re weightless. The pain that had been radiating at your core all day has subsided, the niggling headache lifting from your temples as Abby works out the tension at the base of your skull with her fingertips.

Prominent veins pulse along her powerful arms in thick blue vines and as you trace them, her nostrils flare. The most innate manifestation of life and simply being alive underneath your touch.

“Let’s grab some dinner, yeah?” Abby pants, dropping a playful, squeaking kiss between your brows. “I’m starved. I need sustenance.”

“What else is new?” you tease. “You’re my God and my freaking machine.”

“Quit beating me up then,” she groans, a smile dancing on her lips. “If you build up my appetite, it’s only fair to replenish me. Do you want me to waste away or what?”

“Listen to you!”

She turns her face away, attempting to hide her jubilance.

“Bullying me—using up all my energy,” she says, jutting out her bottom lip. “Poor Abby is what they all say. You should hear them!”

“You literally started it,” you blurt. “I’m so done with you.”

Before you can roll off the bed, she quickly snatches you up and buries herself against your chest. Trying to suppress your triumph, a whirlwind of flutters spins between your ribs, like a miniature tornado poised to absorb everything in its path.

“Please don’t ever be done with me,” Abby murmurs. “Okay?”

Tendrils of soft hair spill out from her braid, and you can’t resist the urge to twist the golden threads around your finger, stroking her freckled shoulders with your other hand.

“Forever is a long time,” you murmur.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it,” she says, wrapping herself around you.

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After months of waiting, the chow hall is finally serving your favourite meal, and you’re in a state of pure bliss as you savour it with your friends and comrades.

Manny is on his grind, recounting the funniest stories he can think of, causing uproarious laughter and taking harmless jabs at everyone at the table. Among her squad, Abby truly shines, earning admiration for her ability to treat everyone as equals, regardless of her superior position.

She is a leader in the field, but at home, she’s everyone’s trusted friend.

As you reminisce about a time before you knew her, the thought of living without the familiar scent of pine soap and the comforting feeling of her arms around you while you sleep becomes hazy and indistinct. The sensation of her breath against your neck as you wake up each morning is a treasured gift that you never want to lose sight of.

Under the table, you give Abby’s knee a gentle squeeze. She instinctively laces her fingers with yours, fully focused on Manny’s irrational fear of a girl storing her toothbrush in his apartment.

Only when your hand glides up her thigh does she split her focus, giving you a knowing sidelong glance.

Abby subtly adjusts herself to accommodate you, widening the space between her legs as the edges of her ear takes on the prettiest pink hue.

You toy with the button on her cargo pants, trailing your fingernail along the zipper, and despite her best efforts to focus on the surrounding conversations, she’s fading fast. Absentmindedly nibbling at the dry patches on her lip, she blinks with a slightly delayed rhythm, absorbed by your attention.

With each seductive surge, the intensity of your pain subsides, smoothing out its sharp edges.

“It’s your fault,” Manny explains, addressing Abby directly, the tines of his fork slicing the air. “I never had these problems when you were my roommate.”

Foreseeing a mental showdown, you slowly retreat to your lap, but Abby immediately tugs your hand back.

You know precisely what is going through her mind.

“Don’t blame your mommy issues on me, Alvarez,” Abby retorts. “Shit or get off the pot.”

Your fingers scratch a torturous path across her hard thigh, only stopping to pay special attention to the rigid seam of her pants before traveling back to her knee. Abby clears her throat and straightens up, indicating that she’s about three seconds away from a polite excuse to refuse dessert and propose an early night.

You beat her to the punch by deftly gathering your trays, offering a nod of farewell to everyone in the room and letting your girl know it’s time for her to take you to bed.

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Rain trickles in silver ribbons along the panoramic windows of your apartment, flashes of lightning illuminating the night sky as the occasional rumble of thunder punctuates a mounting storm. Abby places candles on every tabletop and surface, creating a dim, flickering glow in anticipation of a possible power outage.

The crackling hiss of each match strike pulls you deeper into a state of relaxation.

She abandons the matchbox and, in one fluid motion, lifts her sweater up and over her head, tossing it onto the rocking chair in your reading nook.

Her back is a tapestry of sculpted muscles and you’re eager to feel them twitch and flex. It’s time to put an end to the silence that has been lingering between you since dinner.

“Abby?”

She hums, spinning around to face you, her expression lifting with an affectionate smile.

“What’s up?” she asks.

“I trust you.”

All traces of her tough exterior vanish as her determined strides carry her across the room, closing the distance between you. It’s a compliment that you know she will hold in high regard.

“I’m glad,” she whispers. “You’re always safe with me, okay?”

Abby’s eyes are a fragment of the ocean, a world of mystery and depth pulling you in. Her touch is gentle as she cups your jaw, delicately tilting your chin toward hers.

“I mean it,” she says.

The moment your lips meet, the taste of her intoxicates you, the room a dizzy blur of raindrops and candlelight. Her eager hands greedily explore the curves of your body, and the languid pace is torment. Taking her lower lip between your teeth, you suck her gently into your mouth, rocking against her for relief.

“Please let me take care of you,” Abby says.

You guide her hand between your legs, giving her the freedom to ease your pain. The surface is so slick that her fingers glide over your smooth folds, circling your swollen clit until you’re whimpering against her throat.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she whines. “You’re so wet, I can’t even take it.”

“Keep this up and I won’t last long,” you giggle.

Abby lifts you and sets you down on the bed, and that’s when you see it for the first time. Faint streaks of you staining her fingertips.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you say.

“Look at me,” Abby murmurs, trailing kisses up your thigh. “You are so incredibly sexy like this.”

#abby the last of us #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #abby x you #tlou abby #lesbian

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inoreuct · 7 months

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*drums my fingers on the table* so… weretiger zoro angst, anyone? (happy ending tho bcs. always happy endings) [cw: slight gore]

Zoro is on the hunt. There is something in the back of his brain snarling protect them, protect them, chase it down—

“—arimo!”

He’s so hungry. Hell, he doesn’t even need to chase— His prey is right there in front of him, fresh blood racing through its veins as its tiny heart works overtime. He can taste its fear at the back of his throat, and he bares his fangs in a grin; the poor thing screams, a sharp, high keen of terror as it scrambles backwards, and Zoro pounces.

“—arimo!”

He is kind enough to give it a quick death. Its throat rips out easily, trachea crushing between his jaws as he slits its torso open with his blades. Blood sprays across his body. Why hadn’t he shifted? He spits out a mouthful of bone and cartilage, pierces his fangs through a forearm and yanks, feels something pop and hears a wet tear. This would be so much easier with his claws—

“Zoro!”

Oh. His human is calling for him.

Sanji looks scared. Why, though? He drops the arm in his mouth, lets it hit the deck with a wet splat as he croons a soothing apology at not replying sooner. Gore is sticky beneath his boots as he stalks forward and he holds in a growl of irritation, nimbly avoiding the guts strewn across the wooden planks.

Rumbling his reassurance does nothing. Sanji still looks vaguely afraid, and so Zoro tries again; safe, he purrs, and the tip of his tail does not swish through the blood puddled on the ground like it’s supposed to. He cannot feel it at all.

The cook doesn’t budge. Zoro can smell his apprehension, his nerves, the slight sour tang of fear that makes him want to go hunt down whatever’s causing it and make it hurt. He smells it on the rest of his crew, too, and he doesn’t get it. The threat is gone, no? He senses no danger. Scanning their surroundings on the enemy boat yields no answers; all the men around them are still very, very dead. Zoro had made sure of that, so what was the problem? They should be back on the Sunny right now, sitting in the galley debriefing and having dinner—

Something clicks into place in the recesses of his mind, and dread starts to prickle through his body.

He had been so… He’d almost eaten—

Oh, no.

Zoro tries to shift the shape of his soul and fails. He does not feel his body changing. His shadow is, has been, in the shape of a man’s, and the blood on his skin suddenly feels disgusting.

In the span of a moment he becomes hyper-aware of it all, pouring down his front, dripping off his chin, salty-sweet-metallic on his tongue. He turns to the side and spits multiple times, tries to get the cloying taste out of his throat as he raises a hand before realising that it, too, is coated in red. Zoro almost retches as he swallows instinctively, nausea slamming into him in a wave so strong that his stomach churns. He tastes bile. He’s thankful for it— It’s better than blood.

Anything is better than blood.

“Zoro?”

His head snaps around so fast that something cricks in his neck. His eyes are saucer-wide. Sanji takes a step forward and he is rooted to the spot, frozen statue-still; he is sure his heart stops beating for a second. Fitting. He knows he should step back— Knows now that he had been the threat, and yet he cannot move.

“Let’s just… go back to the ship, how about that?” Sanji says tentatively, wincing as he kicks aside something that looks like a liver to put his foot down again, and he’s so close. Too close. “Let me—”

“No,” Zoro rasps, and God, fuck, he sounds like a fucking death rattle and he wants to claw his own voice box out of his fool mouth. The cook’s expression is a twist between desperation and something else, something that makes Zoro want to gag and cry and scream. Sanji should never look like that and it’s because of him. “No,” he tries again, quieter. He looks away. He doesn’t think he can stand looking into those blue, blue eyes. “It’s my mess, I’ll clean up.” Sanji makes a noise like he’s about to protest, and Zoro pierces through his own heart as he turns his back. “Alone.”

A beat of silence, and then Sanji is walking away. His crew is walking away. Zoro stands, surrounded by bodies he’d ripped apart, and thinks that perhaps this is how everybody that has ever been under his claws had felt.

And that’s that.

The following days are hell. He breathes in and everything he smells is wrong; anxiety, worry, an undercurrent of tentativeness that makes him throw himself into his training with renewed fervour. He is torn between the urge to bare his throat, show his belly and prove to his crew that they will never come to any harm from him, and the pride that insists he will not go against his nature to make himself more palatable for anybody else.

He is all fang and claw and wickedly sharp teeth. He is a predator by nature, given humanity and a mortal form. This is the shape of his soul.

But they are his family. His nakama. And sitting here on the floor of the crow’s nest after running every kata he knows countless times, Zoro feels painfully, inexplicably sad. It is unfamiliar; he doesn't really do regrets, but it reminds him that at least some part of him is still human.

He lost control. He doesn’t do that, either. He never does that. But he did, and now none of his nakama can look him in the eye.

Somebody climbs up the ladder, and his nostrils flare.

“Zoro?” Chopper asks, peeking his head up, and the swordsman immediately tries to look like he’d been busy, which… is ridiculous. He is sitting on the floor and moping. The sigh that whooshes from his lungs is defeated.

“Hm?” he prompts, when the tiny reindeer doesn’t say anything else.

Chopper climbs up fully, rubbing his hooves together. “I’ve checked everybody over except you.”

Zoro can see the way he takes a fortifying breath and walks closer with a purpose. He stretches out his legs and allows Chopper to do as he wishes.

“…We’re all worried about you,” the reindeer says after a while, staring intently into Zoro’s eye and testing his pupillary reflex.

The swordsman gives a non-committal hum. “Scared of me, you mean.”

“No!”

Zoro jumps when a hoof whacks him across the forehead. “Wh—?!”

“We’re scared for you!” Chopper scolds, sounding dangerously close to tears. His distress turns Zoro’s stomach. “Do you know how scary it was to see you like that?! And then! You haven’t eaten in three days, and you probably haven’t slept, either, have you? Sanji’s been trying not to push because he knows you’re upset, but he’s been pacing a hole into the galley floor and chain-smoking like—”

“Wait,” Zoro interrupts. Replays that chunk of speech in his head. “You just said it was scary to see me like that.”

“Because we didn’t know what happened to you!” Chopper cries, huffing shakily. “And the look on your face when you realised—”

Zoro’s back bumps into the bench as Chopper grabs him in a hug, arms around his neck. His breath catches in his chest.

“Don’t do that again,” Chopper says firmly, shoving Zoro’s shoulder for good measure as he pulls back. “You seem okay, at least physically. Any pain?”

“No.”

“Any trouble shifting?”

“Haven’t tried.”

The doctor makes a noise, a cross between displeasure and something softer. “Well, try soon. Can Sanji come and see you?”

“…Yeah.”

“Okay.” Chopper stands, giving Zoro one last look. “For the sake of our cook’s lung capacity, come down to dinner.”

Zoro sucks down a breath and holds it until it burns. He smells worry-care-care-anxiety-care and pats a hand over Chopper’s hat. “Alright.”

He sits back against the bench as their tiny doctor leaves, and within a minute someone is climbing up again. Sanji stands, silhouetted by the late-afternoon light. Zoro’s chest aches.

“Marimo,” the cook says evenly, and Zoro resists the urge to scent the air.

“Swirly-brow,” he returns, neutral. Testing the waters. “Heard you missed me.”

Sanji is silent, and Zoro’s heart gives a sickening squeeze. Has he overstepped already? He opens his mouth to say something, anything, and nearly jumps when he ends up with a lapful of gangly limbs, his spine pressed hard into sanded wood.

There are hands on his face, in his hair, lightly callused and holding him in place as Sanji kisses him like he’s got a point to prove. Zoro freezes up at first, because even in his human form his teeth are sharp and he doesn’t know what he will do if he draws Sanji’s blood. Maybe run away to live out the rest of his life in well-deserved exile.

But then he smells salt, and something wet smears against his cheek, and Sanji’s lashes are clumped with tears as he pulls back and there is a slender finger jabbing hard into his sternum.

“Don’t you ever,” Sanji hisses, poking him again for emphasis, “do that shit to me again, you fucking bastard.”

He smells like bitter fatigue, acrid worry sharpened with anger and underneath all of it— love, lemon-bright and so goddamn sweet that it coats Zoro’s tongue like honey, wipes every memory of red iron and rust from his mind. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, eyes roving over Sanji’s face; the curled ends of his brows, the long lashes, the high cheekbones and strong nose and a sharp cupid’s bow, so familiar he could trace it in his sleep. “I thought you— wouldn’t want to see me.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Sanji spits, his face crumpling, and he goes easily when Zoro coaxes him to his chest. “Do you know how long I spent worrying about whether or not you were okay?”

“I know,” Zoro soothes, and his heart is beating so fast that his ribs hurt. “I’m alright.”

“Well, I’m not,” Sanji announces, digging his knee up into Zoro’s side with a vengeance until he gets a wheeze. “You owe me three packs of cigs. You owe the whole crew an apology. Luffy’s damn near lost his appetite; even Nami won’t so much as insult me when I try and get a rise out of her.”

Sanji’s glaring at him with the force of the sun, fierce and beautiful and golden-bright, but the dark circles beneath his eyes make guilt drag razor-thin talons across Zoro’s stomach. “You shouldn’t smoke so much,” he says softly, brows furrowing as he cards Sanji’s bangs out of his face and cups his cheek.

“You shouldn’t go berserk and then isolate yourself without considering the fact that your crew would be worried sick about you,” the cook fires back without missing a beat. He leans into Zoro’s touch anyway, and Zoro smooths a thumb into the hollow between his bridge and brow.

“Weren’t you scared?”

“More— unsettled, maybe. Marimo,” Sanji’s throat bobs, eyes flickering over Zoro’s face. “Your eyes were slits. Like you were expecting to get attacked. We didn’t know how to talk to you without you panicking and running away.”

“I do not run—” he begins, scowling, and then shuts his mouth. What has he been doing these past three days, if not running away? “I think…” He digs deep into the memory, lays everything out in his head and ah.

That man had crept up in Sanji’s blind spot, a wickedly long knife in his hand, and Zoro hadn’t thought. Hadn’t planned, just jumped. “He was gonna get to you,” he mutters, forcing himself to hold Sanji’s gaze even as the cook frowns. “I’m sorry, cook. I lost control. It won’t happen again.”

The words are clunky and unfamiliar in his mouth. He’d almost eaten a man in his human form. That had to have looked all kinds of fucked up; he really didn’t blame his crew if they—

“Oi,” Sanji scoffs, flicking him in the forehead. “Are you always so distracted even with pretty people in your lap?”

Zoro huffs through his nose. “Oh, I’m sorry, princess. Just contemplating how I nearly ate someone.”

The cook’s mouth twitches. “There are a great many jokes I can make about that, but I’ll save them for later. You’re a tiger, marimo. You were just protecting us. We really can’t hold it against you.”

“…You’re not scared of me,” he murmurs one last time, because he has to be sure.

“I’m not,” Sanji confirms easily, rubbing his thumb over the shell of Zoro’s ear, dragging through his earrings and making them tinkle like wind chimes. “Come down and the rest of them won’t be, either.”

Something in him gives. Shifts, releases, crumbles in his chest like a little collapsible galaxy as he pulls the cook down for another kiss. He feels Sanji’s tongue trace over the points of his teeth, utterly fearless— It steals the breath right from his lungs, this blatant, unwavering trust that he’s been allowed to hold cupped in his battle-rough palms. He gathers flaxen hair into his hand so that he can look the cook in both eyes, blue as the sky at high noon and crystal clear. Sanji leans into his chest with a ragged exhale and Zoro slides one palm up to the nape of his neck, one over his ribs, if only to feel him breathe, and the words slip out. “I love you.”

He doesn’t know why it feels like he’s never said them before. They must have crossed his tongue hundreds of times by now, his mind a hundredfold more. He loves Sanji, he knows; it aches under his ribs, next to his heart, woven into his soul. He loves his crew, he knows; he gives them leeway he would allow nobody else, and refuses to accept that he needs their affection as much as they want his.

But it feels new. Every single time, it feels brand-new. Like a freshly-minted coin that never tarnishes, pure, solid gold— So he lets himself be greedy and leaves his fingerprints all over it, goes to sleep with it tucked in his fist like a child holding on to a dream. “I love you,” he whispers into Sanji’s hair, and he feels the cook shift in his arms, feels the same words shaped against his throat, teeth to bone, fingers around his heart.

He purrs the words subsonic, over and over even when his crew cannot hear. He will put them out into the world until his nakama know and he will think them a thousand times more.

But for now, they have an hour left till dinner. Sanji is breathing slowly, his arms tucked against Zoro’s chest. The lines of worry between his brows are smoothed out.

Zoro thinks he’ll take a nap.

#zosan #one piece zosan #roronoa zoro #zosan au #black leg sanji #zoro x sanji #one piece sanji #straw hat pirates #one piece #weretiger zoro au #it’s like 4am im going to bed #goodnight zosan nation #waiting for my weretiger zoro anons to see this like hehehehehehe #ino writes

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writinginthetwilight · 2 months

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Knock, knock.

Eddie Munson x Neighbour Reader.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone. AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Horror-esk/creepy vibes.. Hopefully. See Masterlist for full list of warnings.

Authors note: Thank you for all the love on the last part of this fic. I promise more Eddie is coming. As before all my love to @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird little world I'm making.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you bye.

Part 3- Accusations made in barely lit corridors.

Nobody lives there.

Nobody lives there. But they will send someone around in the morning to check out the scar.

Nobody lives there, but there is very much somebody living there and you aggressively hammered on their door.

At night.

Alone.

Oh god.

The realisation that there could be a murderer living next door and you just swanned up offering yourself on a platter, hits you fast, a sudden wave of nausea making the bitter taste of bile coat the back of your throat.

Rationalising thoughts pitter patter through, few and far between the spiralling dread and self deprecation as you hold your head in your hands.

If they were in hiding they were not being very subtle.

They brought people around.

More likely squatters passing through.

Or a ghost.

Or whatever peers through the bathroom door at you when you're under the cloak of sleep, trapped in your bed and unable to move.

Shit.

Shaking legs take you to the kitchen, the faucet spluttering cold water into the tall frosted glass tumbler and in the back of your mind, a voice says you were meant to get that fixed.

The cold drink makes your chest feel less tight, lets you breathe a little easier as your weight leans against the countertop, you try to concentrate on the feeling of sunlight warming your cheek through the window. But a door slamming shut next door forces you upright.

Adrenaline prickles the ends of your fingers and sends your glass of water skidding over the worktop, you scramble to stabilise it, thoughts tumble quicker than you can collect as you stare at the adjoining wall.

You can hear him moving around and curiosity makes you slowly creep over and press your ear to the wall then, like it so often does, music blares to life on the other side.

A soft curse.

The music lowers.

Footsteps move behind you and your eyes track the sound up and down the room, now sparsely filled with furniture and nicknacks. It's laughable that you thought they would soften his sounds.

The music doesn't have the definition it usually does, it's softer, and you have to strain more than usual to catch what song it is.

You press your ear back to the wall, the music there clearer.

He moved it.

Radio, speakers, whatever. He's moved it further away.

The notion softens your thoughts.

He has a life set up there.

He could be hiding.

Could have found a dry place to call home for a while.

Could just need a break.

You quickly grab your phone, typing out an email back to your landlord.

Tomorrow will be fine, it would have to be early because I have work. I only assumed it was number 5, but realistically it could be from above or outside, maybe number 7?

You chew on your thumb staring at the screen, a silent argument of conflicting thoughts steamrolling you until you finally press send, quickly locking your phone tossing it away.

He starts to sing and the sound accompanies you as the mottled yellow paper rips from your notebook at an angle, to-do lists and numbers you need to call come Monday revealed and quickly forgotten as you push it back into its drawer.

Hey, it's no6.

Still, no way he's getting your name.

Someone's coming around tomorrow morning to take a look at some things in my apartment.

Just a heads up they might need to come round your place, if whatever is wrong crosses over onto your side.

Thanks for keeping the noise down, appreciate it.

It's a white lie, you don't even know if they will need to go around if your email works, but just in case, it gives him a chance to move on without getting in trouble.

Less chance of him thinking you complained and holding a vendetta against you.

Silently staring down at the note, you run your nail down the fold until the crease is crisp, the thickest corner sharp, pressing into the pad of your thumb.

It's broad daylight, this was fine.

You try and open the door as quietly as you can but she's stubborn, the yank needed to open it causes you to stumble and you just catch it from announcing your movements.

The corridor’s empty but doesn't hold the cloying silence that was last present when you approached next door, lazy murmurs of life on a Sunday quietly audible.

You quickly crouch and stuff the note under, your hurried movements scrunch the paper at an angle where it won't slip through and you start to panic, quietly begging it to behave, scrambling quickly away when it finally slips past the threshold.

You latch the chain, the lock clicking behind it and back away slowly, holding your breath as you wait for a sign that he's gotten it.

Nothing comes through, his singing has receded off and you're left with the dulcet tones of.

Metallica?

You laugh gently at yourself.

Jesus christ.

Settling back onto the couch the TV that's long gone into standby winks back to life, and you frown as you try to pick up where you left off.

Password or username is incorrect.

Try again.

He doesn't come round and the rest of the evening and your lives move in tandem, your ex had changed all passwords on your shared accounts Spotify, Netflix anything you shared even though you always paid half.

That petty son of a bitch.

You refuse to speak to him and ask him to give you the login details, that’s what he's hoping. You can manage until you get paid.

So you get out the old stereo, set up some old CDs and it hums away until sleep finally takes you.

You're roused from sleep sometime later, consciousness trickling in as you toss and turn in soft blankets, the bed creaking weakly below you.

Drip.

Stilling, you listen. The sound seems closer than it should like it doesn't drift from its origin, just an empty echo in the air around you.

You look to the bathroom, the doors closed but the bedroom doors ajar, light just beyond it and you let the sheets slip from you as you make your way over.

You wince at the thud the door makes when you try to open it, the sound abnormally loud as it hits against something, a bookshelf blocking the way.

Squeezing yourself out you're faced with an uncomfortably familiar scene of your few belongings now crowded and warped on a backdrop of shadow.

An inhale sticks in your throat as you watch the scar still drip, the small puddle now completely coating the countertop, the carpet around it sodden and inky black.

It ripples as you walk towards it, watching how it inches over the linoleum floor towards the looming black.

The sound of your bathroom door opening behind you is unmistakable and you turn, eyes wide as the darkness hums behind you, the floorboards creak in your bedroom.

Light dances like last time over the wall and you rush over hoping for the relief of consciousness as you push against it only to fall straight through.

Starburst's dance across your vision and you hiss from the ache in your knees as they hit the murky green carpet below.

The small room feels instantly claustrophobic bathed in a light much softer than the glowing wall behind you should emit.

It's crowded, cluttered with belongings, discarded boxes and flyers, bags, shoes and jackets. A sideboard with a lamp and an old record player are all stuffed inside the small space.

A frosted glass door is your only exit and you wipe the dust that coats your hands down your clothes as you quickly move through it. Turning, you wait for any silhouettes to appear but only the light behind it glitters.

Your back hits a refrigerator as you step away, alphabet magnets clattering to the floor below and skittering away into the galley kitchen where you now stand in.

Take-out cartons and empty glass soda bottles litter the side with the makings of meals and dirty dishes, a layer of dust beneath them remains thick and untouched. There's no drip here that you can see but you can still hear the sound, although it's garbled like it's struggling to find you.

The stillness of the room makes you jumpy as you travel down to the end and turn to a small hallway with two doors.

The wall at the end dances with light.

You look back over your shoulder, wondering where the weird corridor of rooms is taking you and hoping that you'll wake up soon.

The doors are ajar and you peek inside, the first’s a bathroom, small and dark, but the second opens to reveal the rose hues of a sunrise that stem from a dark window.

It's a bedroom.

Lived in and yet somehow like it's been untouched for years, the paint peels from the walls and dust kicks up around your footsteps, but the bed's unmade, guitars in the corner catch the light, polished and well kept.

Models sit along the shallow windowsill, and your fingers run against the dents and notches where the gloss is applied too thickly.

“Shit!”

The voice is followed by a crash that has you spinning and exiting the room quickly, the door slamming closed behind you almost of its own accord.

Footsteps fall in tandem with yours as you rush to the end of the hallway, the wall gives way and your legs catch something and you fall. Harder than before, awkwardly and you wheeze as the air is knocked from your lungs.

You can hear them approaching, an outline of a body appears above you pressing against the curtain of light, blood rushes in your ears and you gasp as your body suddenly comes crashing back to earth.

You try to make yourself look as unphased as possible at the fact that there's a complete stranger standing in your home at 7 am.

Your bedroom’s filled with the soft light of early morning and all is quiet.

Charlie, the maintenance guy. As he introduced himself.

He refused your offer of a drink after greeting you and unprompted, spent his first few minutes in your home showing you pictures of his grandkids on his phone.

You remind him of his eldest, he told you with a broad smile and with a clap of his hands he rubbed them together and asked what we were looking at.

You pointed to the ceiling, his eyes trailing up and a low whistle escapes him as he walks below it, hands on hips.

“Rupert said there was a hole but thats-”

“A scar.” you say.

And he gives you an amused smile as he nods.

The small silver ladder clacks as he climbs it and you watch on as he makes non-committal grunts and noises at it.

“Can you do anything?”

He shines a light into the places where the plaster never took, darkness peeking through and then promptly clicks it off, rubbing his chin he climbs back down the ladder.

“You said you've been hearing neighbours through it?”

You stutter a little, “Well yes, I think, I'm not entirely sure where, but like, it echoes sort of as if it's through a vent?”

He hums to himself again, arms crossed, eyes following it down the length of the room.

“Not a whole lot I can do if there's a vent coming through there, but the cavity isn't deep enough to house one I wouldn't think. It shouldn't have been left like that.” he tsks.

“Some cowboys will of charged him arm and a leg.”

He slips on the small glasses that have been hanging around his neck as he jots down notes on a small notepad.

“I'll see what the big man says, can't promise anything though, it's a big job going to be pricey”

He gathers his things and leaves you his card in case you need anything done, because ‘Rupert is useless'.

Alone in the room, you stare up.

You feel like it knows.

“You brought this on yourself” you whisper to it as you collect your belongings.

Walking through the door you pause finding the man who you'd just left hunched over in the doorway of No. 5.

Changing the locks. You frown to yourself as you prepare to say a polite goodbye but the words get caught in your throat.

The doorway opens to a small room, with green carpet, a frosted glass door to the left glittering with the light coming in behind it.

“Hey. Can I take a look?” you don't recognise your own voice, words coming out of their own accord.

He looks up at you and you try to make a face of indifference, he shrugs.

“I guess so, just watch out it's been empty for a while. It'll only be a minute. ”

A horrible sense of deja vu washes over you as you make your way into the kitchen.

It's a snapshot of your dream, but void of all signs of life.

Dust, dirt and debris line the room like you remember but there's a gap where the refrigerator should be, the sink empty. You turn the faucet and it moans spurting murky brown water with a wheeze before clean water runs freely.

The windows are stained with the same sepia tint that you scrubbed from yours.

The corridor looms dark to your right no dancing walls of light only the two doors slightly ajar.

Bathroom. Bedroom.

You creep slowly towards them holding your breath your mind screaming that this isn't right.

But you need to see something different something that doesn't line up with your vivid memory of this place.

Your stomach drops at the sight of the bathroom.

Small and dark.

And as you push open the bedroom door, it makes you feel motion sick, like your brain can't quite take in what it's seeing.

It's the same no bed or posters or guitars. But it's the same room and as you approach the window frame you swallow harshly as your fingers touch the same notches and grooves that you had seen before.

“Done.”

You almost fall to your knees, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Didn't mean to scare you,” Charlie says chuckling from his place in the doorway.

“No, sorry it's fine.” you brush past him quickly and into the corridor.

He locks the door behind you and you look over it for a moment.

Thoughts finally falling away from the surreal past few minutes.

“I can see him now. Stupid smug bastard”

You hope he finds somewhere better to sleep than there.

Janet's squinting face is suddenly moving as she picks up her phone and moves you along with her.

You'd managed to thoroughly freak yourself out as the day wore on, and due to your lack of familiarity with your coworkers, it meant she was now your escort back to the apartment tonight.

“Jesus, get away from the window.”

“I could let his tires down.”

“I feel like that's slightly extreme.” You laugh but when she doesn't respond, still squinting out her living room window at your ex your tone changes.

“No, property damage.” you hiss quietly looking around at the other passengers on the bus “He changed my login he didn't kill my dog. I'll sort it all when I get paid.”

She hums unconvinced.

You spent more time next door at hers than you did in your own home to the end of your relationship. She was the only one who stood behind your decision to leave. She always hated the guy.

“You spoken to him? ”

“No, blocked him the day I moved, after the 30th missed call.”

Her attention is suddenly back on you, a frown deepening the creases in her brow.

She shakes her head, scowling through the window once more, before your being whisked away with her again “How far are we?”

“Mine's the next stop, thank you again by the way.”

“Don't worry about it darling, it seems I'm your protector from obnoxious men.”

“Janet the protector.” the last syllable is lost to a yawn and you open your eyes to see a tender expression on her face as she looks back at you.

“You okay?”

“I'm just tired, nightmares, it's been a lot.”

“I'm proud of you, you know.”

“Don't.”

“What? I am.”

“You're going to make me cry on the bus”

When you finally arrive at your stop, a sea of black umbrellas and hurried footsteps accompany you as you retell your dream as the rain steadily soaks you.

“It was just so weird. It was the exact layout” you say opening the door to your building.

“Maybe you lived there in a past life? Or was the original floor plan on the website when you were looking?”

“Maybe?”

The entrance is looming as you close the door behind you. You're stuck in place and Janet must catch the look on your face.

“Here we go, you got this.”

You don't feel like you have this.

The elevator rattles to the third floor, the metal gate creaking as you open it up and walk down the corridor to your apartment.

“Nobody's waiting.” You whisper.

“I told you.”

Your steps quicken as you pass his door, fumbling with your keys and pushing harshly, the door slamming into the wall and you quickly shut it behind you.

There's no noise and Janet stares at you as you pause for any signs that he's around.

“We clear?”

“I think so," you say quietly walking to the kitchen and propping her up against a bottle of oil on your counter.

“Good, can I finally get the tour of-” . She pauses frowning at you as you shrug out of your drenched jacket.

“ What are you wearing?”

“ Work clothes?” You say looking down at the rigid clothing you'd put on this morning.

“You look like a bit of a cunt.”

You bark a laugh, grimacing at yourself as she smiles brightly at you.

You're not fully awake.

“Yeah I know.”

But your heart’s pounding in your ears.

Music's blaring from the other room.

You're instantly up, stumbling in the dark through the vague outline of your room, unfocused and pixelating darkness leading you out of your room.

You slap the wall, finally catching the light switch.

The stereo is blaring and you wince at the volume as you walk to it, aggressively turning it off.

The music stops.

On your side.

But the same song continues on the other side of the wall, pacing footsteps echo out behind you.

Back and forth back and forth

No.

You back away from the sounds, stomach-churning, then dropping.

Yellow mottled paper sits at the foot of your front door.

Trembling fingers pick it up, unfold it, it's your own note.

Tacked onto the bottom a reply.

Are you dead?

Next.

#Stranger Prompts #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #Eddie Munson fluff #eddie munson angst #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie x reader #eddie x you #stranger things #my writing #Spotify #SoundCloud

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drowninghell · 1 year

Text

Turtles saving their s/o

Major warnings , graphic depictions of violence.

Minors dni

I would love to know what you all think of this one , obviously super angst which is my shit

Mikey

When this ray of sunshine heard your desperate pleas for help under hushed breaths , he was gone. His heart dropped into his stomach. His ecstatic demeanour faltering. Jumping up from his place of rest. It was unusual for you to call when he was catching some shut eye, thank god he answered now.

“ hey, baby, it’s okay, I’ll be there , where are you, tell me where you are baby. Don’t talk, text me.” He was speaking a mile a minute, heart ready to burst through his plastron. From your hushed voice he knew they had to be close to you whoever ‘they’ were. He didn’t even tell his brothers, straight away arming himself, a fiery determination splashed along his face, odd for the orange clad turtle.

By the time he and his brothers had got there , they where on you, trying to pull your bag from your arm, vicious in their assault, truly barbarians.

Michelangelo couldn’t help it , he couldn’t help the anger, now , that was raphael’s thing , however, hearing how you called him, the pure panic in those usually vibrant eyes, was a cardinal sin and he woundnt stand for it.

By the time he got to you his brothers had nabbed the assailants , he found himself pulling you back into the rigid surface of his plastron , whilst his brothers pried your attackers grubby hands from you.

You where shaken , physically , ruffed up real good. He didn’t even hesitate , spinning you around and pulling you into a bone crushing hug. Desperate to hug the shakes away. “ I gotcha baby .” He would soothe. It almost weirded you out how serious he was. You couldn’t think about that how, not as you clung to him. After a moment he reluctantly pulled back to cup your face and rest his forehead against yours, a tender gesture you both always shared.

“ way to go, way to hold out till I got to you eh?” He half smiled, encouraging a chuff from yourself. If anyone could make you smile, it was him.

Donnie

It was pure luck that he happened upon your apartment out on patrol. Every night like clockwork , don sent you a goodnight text before heading out into the concrete jungle. Upon receiving no answer back he assumed you maybe fell asleep early , although extremely unusual for you.

If one thing about the genius of the group was that he was through, he knew your routine off by heart, the same way you knew his.

He couldn’t help but wonder maybe you got wrapped up with a client. On the side of your day job, you did a little bit of skip tracing. Running background checks, suspicious activity on certain people, it’s actually how Donatello met you in the first place.

You where quite the computer whizz yourself.

Ofcourse Donatello had forgotten the purple dragon hard drive at your place, even if you where sleeping, you both slipped in out of each other’s place all the time, due to sharing tech work. The same way Donatello left his lab open , you left your window unlocked and slightly ajar. Although he wished you would stop doing it. He nagged and nagged however his efforts where fruitless.

God he wish he nagged a little more.

He was not prepared to see what he saw as soon as he stepped foot in the apartment , the apartment in disarray. Then, from the main dining room he head glasses smashing, a raised booming masculine voice. Your whimpers. God his heart sank and he felt nausea like never before.

Before his head ran with him he slid back into that overly analytical , cold , brainiac mentality. He could not afford to be emotional, not with you. Sticking his head out the window he signalled to his brothers, one immediately flanking to his side whilst the other two made their way to the other window.

Gently making their way to the cracked open door and peeking in he seen two individuals, one armed with a small firearm and the other with a narly looking knife. The second eldest had to swallow the lump in his throat as he zeroed in on you. On your tear stained face, the colour drained from your features. True shock evident in the creases of you skin. He wanted more than to dive in but he had to be smart. He could not risk you.

“ who’s paying you to look in on us! “ the supposed leader screamed, flailing the gun at you. Your reaction broke Donnie , he nearly ran in then and there as you cried. “ I don’t know what you are talking about! You have me mixed with someone else!”

You looked so pitiful on your knees , hands on your head. At that, strategy be damned!

He dived in with such force and speed he took Them by complete surprise, his brothers following in tow. As soon as they where apprehended, Donatello took great care In seeing to you. Gently offering a hand and helping you to your feet.

A finger coming to be beneath your chin as he titled your head back to get a batter look at you, manuvering your head side to double check you over, his big hands delicate in their task. You where in shock, clearly. After giving you a once over he brushed your hair back from your eyes in such a soft manner. Upon looking up you could see the complete panic and turmoil apparent in his features , had he been too late, god knows what would have happened. Gently he Brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “ are you dizzy? Do you feel sore anywhere else?“

With a snake no of your head the genius was satisfied that other than being roughed up you had no physical injuries. Donnie would never force contact on you due to the trauma of your attack , only gentle touches and silent concern. It was you that sought the embrace as you stepped into him. Wrapping your Arms around his waist as best you could. He was so quick to return the embrace, arms closing around you like a vice, resting his head atop of yours. He released a breath that he felt like he had been holding on to forever. That night he didn’t leave your side.

Raphael

His lungs burned, he felt like he could feel blood coating his throat, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. God he ran like he’d never ran before. Over the New York City skyline, as agile and nimble as his father taught him to be. His brothers on either side of him.

However, no matter how fast he ran, how hard he pushed himself , he couldn’t catch up to you.

Earlier on in the month , the big bara and Mikey had run into their fellow mutants , bebop and rock steady. Obviously, their skill dwarfed that of those common criminals and basically, made a fool out of them. However, now, they were getting their own back.

Using the foots resources, they collected information , ways they could hurt the turtles, information that lead them to you. The perfect way to make Raphael hurt.

By the time the band of brothers arrived on scene you where already being dragged across the roof tops kicking and screaming, flung haphazardly over a shoulder.

Whilst dodging gunfire and also debris being flung at them, he struggled to make headway. To catch up, he was that focused, that fixated on getting to you, he hadn’t even noticed that those rooftops where being replaced with shipping containers.

“ Raph!” You shouted, your voice shrill and hoarse from the fight you had put up. Your fingers clearly busted up from the aggressive manner you where defending yourself with. his heart was breaking.

His brows knitted together in a fierce scowl he noticed them slowing to a halt, bebop spinning on his heel and opening fire, they had come to a dead end, being cut off by the frothing and seething sea. Using this opportunity he threw the last of his bladed stars.

The propellor type blade found its target in the thigh of the rhino mutant, causing him to falter. “ just let them loose for gods sake! “ the thick Irish accent groaned, his free hand clutching the now bleeding muscle. Whilst bebop was distracted, looking to his equally dull friend, Raphael closed the gap, like a raging bull, charging towards them.

With wide eyes, rocksteady simply let you go. Straight down into the dark abyss of the angry swirling sea below.

“No! No!” Raphael screamed, the air taken straight from his lungs. Straight away, he tried to get behind rocksteady to get to you , they wouldn’t let him. Blocking his path.

The first thing you felt was the cold, the barbarically cold water. That cold that instantly your limbs burned. Already exhausted from the fight you had put up, swimming against the strong current was difficult. you got up above the surface, your head craned back to try and catch sight of your darling, your red.

It was getting hard to tred water, massive waves where crashing, pushing you down every time you got back up. Your limbs burning and sore, you lungs where in fire from the lack of oxygen until you just couldn’t get yourself back up. Slowly slipping out of consciousness.

By the time Raphael was in the water, you where already sinking down into the murky depths. Even he was struggling to swim against the vicious swell. Only pure panic and adrenaline moving his exhausted body forward. Before he knew it, he had your freezing badly in his arms and carried you safely back to the surface, trying to pull himself and you up over the pier. He handed you up first to Leonardo, who started compressions whilst Raphael got himself out.

Donnie straight away hooking multiple devices to you. “(Y/n)’s not breathing.” Leonardo said bleakly, although still not relenting in his compressions. As soon as Raphael was back on dry land he was moving towards you.

It was as though this primal instinct took hold of him and he could not stop himself from pulling Leonardo away from you and taking his place with compressions. Alternating between filling your lungs with air and pumping your chest. He couldn’t deny that your cold lips against his made desperation cloud his movements.

“ you’re not doing this to me alright! Don’t you dare! “ he hissed, balking at the sight of your blue lips. Just as he was about to lean in for another mouth to mouth your eyes flung open and you coughed up water. Straight away relief washed over him as he helped you sit up to clear the salty water from your lungs.

A large three digit hand rubbing your back , helping soothed your spluttering, he muttered incoherent panicked phrases about how you where going to be okay, how he would make sure you were going to be okay. The relief that washed over him when he pulled you up into his arms bridal style. His tense body almost sagged under the disappearing adrenaline but despite his exhaustion he wouldn’t let anyone else tend to you. Defensively holding you close to him with an almost animalistic passion.

Leonardo

Leonardo promised himself that when he started to see you that your safety had upmost priority. That he would be careful, to keep you from his many many enemies.

He never expected this to happen to you. After spending a nice night together he had walked you home , a delicate night time task that had been ingrained into his day to day. He would kiss you goodbye, promise to text as soon as he got home and tonight was no different.

However, upon arriving back at the lair he sent his nightly “ that’s me home” message. To which a face time option popped up from yourself.

He answered to see karai. The second in command of the foot. A snide grin prevalent on her features. Instantly, his blood ran cold, panic slowly beginning to course through his toned body.

“ long time no see.” She chided, her voice sickeningly sweet. He didn’t have time for her games. “ where is (y/n) “ he hissed, not even

entertaining her verbal sparring. Karai sighed , obviously not pleased with his answer. Silent for a moment before flipping the camera to you.

There you where, already bruised and bloody, sporting a black eye, a split lip and god knows what else. His mouth physically hung open and his grip on the phone clenched.” I swear - if you hurt them anymore than you already ha-“ there was a deep rumble to his low words, anger shaking his core. Karai cut him off. “ you’ll do what Leonardo? “

He was seething, at this point everyone was standing around him , his brothers , April and Casey, concern all pulling their features taunt. “ look, we can do this the easy way or the hard way , give us the vile of mutagen back or we’ll kill them, simple as that, three am is the meet up time, I’ll text you details. “ and with that she hung up.

Donnie didn’t even hesitate to hand the mutagen back , he was already away gathering it into a transport container before the conditions where finished being spoken. Leonardo was restless, angry, out of focus. He couldn’t think logically, not when it came to you.

Nobody’s words of ease could penetrate the image of you bloodied and bruised out of his head. Of how you where that weak you where being physically held up. He felt like he couldn’t breath.

When the time came around , they all arrived. He didn’t care if it was a trap, he didn’t care if he was offering himself up , as long as he could save you, he didn’t care. His brothers, April and Casey hid in the shadows, ready to jump in at a moments notice.

His breath stuck in his throat and his hands clammed up when he seen you, looking even worse than when he last seen you. Dried blood all over your usually vibrant features. “ karai!” He hissed, she just smiled. Further pressing the katana closer to their back as a word of warning. You were kneeling, waving in and out of consciousness, obviously your adrenaline had worn off hours ago.

“ give them to me, now.” His deep voice rumbled, he commanded such a respect, there was such a fierce timbre to his voice, it was chilling. “ not so fast, give me the mutagen and they are all yours.” She chimed, shrugging. “ how can I trust that .” He hissed. “ you can’t.”

With that he had no choice but to slide the bag across the floor to her, she stopped it with her foot. Nodding to one of her men to check its contents, when satisfied with her haul she grinned. “ was that so hard?”

“ now, do your part, give them back.” He was cautious in his movement, careful , worrying that any fast movement would have the second in command of the foot acting irrationally. He couldn’t afford that with you.

With that karai hummed, looking to you and then back to Leonardo as if contemplating whether or not she was actually going to give you over. His brows depend , casting a dark

Shadow across his eyes. “ karai.” He warned, viscous in his anger.

She took a step back , bag in hand and left. Just like that.

His persona faltered before crumbling away completely as he ran to you, you where shaky on your feet , like bambi on ice, before you fell he caught you. Strong muscle lined arms curing around with such a desperation. The massive mutant pulled you into his chest in a firm Embrace. Upon feeling the familiar safeness , you began to ball your eyes out, sagging against him , curtly he swept you off your feet. Protectively Holding you close to him as you cried like a baby, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear about how you where safe. How he had you. how no one would ever , ever hurt you again.

@thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @mysticboombox @raphslovemuffin80 @fluffytriceratops

#tmnt fanfiction #tmnt #tmnt scenario #teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt x reader #raphael tmnt #tmnt bayverse #bayverse tmnt #tmnt leo

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jtl-fics · 7 months

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 40

The Winter Banquet.

Where the Spring Championship announcements happen for Collegiate Exy. A formal event meant to allow the ERC to showcase how their stars weren’t just brutes on the court. Look at how beautiful and handsome they all were. Look at how they danced together. Look at the smiles and laughter and-

Wait.

No.

Put that down.

Who had the great idea to put the Jackals next to the Terrapins? Things have been tense between the teams since the Captain of the Terrapins stole the Captain of the Jackal’s date during the Fall Banquet!

I thought we all agreed that there would never be any more steak knives! What was the point of paying for all the pre-cut tenderloins if we’re just going to give them steak knives?!

Really gotta find an intern to pin this fiasco on.

Oh great the Foxes are leaving! Did we even get a picture of Kevin Day in his suit? Fuck it’s going to be a two intern firing kind of day isn’t it.

Someone get an eye on the Ravens before they try and grab some hapless idiot and sacrifice him to revive Riko Moriyama. If there’s even one more damn tabloid with a blurry photo of ‘Riko Moriyama’ to prove that his death was faked then heads will roll.

Honestly, the biopic that some Edgar Allan Film student is making about him seems pretty interesting. The ERC just wishes people would stop taking pics of the ‘lead actor’ and sending it to tabloids as proof that the King hadn’t died.

Fuck, the Foxes left before we got any decent pictures.

Well just great.

You’d think that after all these years of the Foxes leaving early they’d have learned that getting pictures as they arrive is the most important thing.

Oh thank god it looks like the Trojans are starting to mediate the fight. You can always count on good ol’ Jeremy.

Fuck.

A Raven got too close to Jean Moreau and now Jeremy Knox has punched a Backliner. Great. The Trojans have formed ranks around Moreau but the kid’s just too damn tall. Someone has hit him in the head with an especially saucy meatball, he’s not injured, just confused. The Trojans are acting like it’s a gunshot he just took to the head.

The refreshment table just seemed to collapse in on itself and god wasn’t that just an allegory for this entire damn evening.

Anita Flores sighs as she watches yet another banquet go down in a riot. Honestly, she doesn’t know why they think these will end up differently. She finds herself often missing when she used to coordinate banquets for football teams.

She sighs and thinks about her least favorite interns.

Alex had been getting a bit too cocky lately. He’d make a good sacrifice.

***

(Three hours earlier)

The Palmetto State Foxes were on their way to the Winter Banquet. From what FF understood it was categorically always a 90% chance of a shitshow. Honestly FF was surprised that the percentage was that low.

There was a general tenseness in the air surrounding it that went beyond the Banquet’s propensity to become a fight.

This year the Winter Banquet was going to be held up at the Binghamton Bearcat’s stadium. The nation knew the story from the news and FF knew the story from both that and from the Foxes themselves who were there at the time in bits and pieces.

Captain Neil had been kidnapped from this stadium and then he’d been tortured. FF hadn’t even been on the team when it had happened and he was anxious about Captain Neil going anywhere near the stadium.

“He was just…he was just gone.” Matt had said, “Neil was gone and Kevin said that he was probably dead when Andrew got back with his phone.” He continued as the two of them sat up late in the living room of the dorm one night back in early October.

“I thought Andrew was going to kill me y’know.” Kevin had said bottle in hand as FF tried to help him up the stairs because apparently he would 100% guarantee vomit if he was in the nausea box. “I thought that maybe I deserved it, since I didn’t help Neil. I just let him walk to his death.” He said and despite assurances that he wouldn’t puke FF’s shoes did not make it through that journey unscathed.

“We called…we called everywhere.” Nicky had stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room, “Andrew was adamant that he was still alive even though Kevin kept saying he was dead and that dead was the nicest thing he could hope for. I thought that was a terrible thing to say.” Nicky curled up closer to him.

“I told you, Andrew dragged me like I was nothing to get to Neil. I don’t think he even noticed the guns.” Wymack said to Abby as the two sat on the back porch during Aras’ going away party. “His eyes were on Neil.” he gestures towards where Andrew was watching Captain Neil wrestle with Matt.

“He looked like shit.” Aaron had said unable to stomach a diagram of different degrees of burn in his medical book. “At least he was alive.” He adds.

“A hero.” Andrew’s voice had been what could be considered teasing from Andrew, “Someone who looks like her.” he had said touching Captain Neil’s burn scars as they drove away from the stadium after coming back to pick FF up.

Captain Neil had come to him the day before they were set to drive out, “Take me somewhere no one will find me for an hour.” FF hadn’t quite understood what Captain Neil meant, he never hid anywhere. People just failed to realize where he was.

“Ok.” he says instead of trying to explain because being unnoticed means no one hid codes from him.

The roof of the Library wasn’t that much different from the roof of the Tower, only that it was taller and bigger. Captain Neil had shut his phone off after texting something, likely to Andrew, and then put it into his pocket.

FF settled on the roof, sat with his back against a heating vent to stay warm. Captain Neil settled next to him and they sat in silence. It felt like back at the start of this where Captain Neil and Andrew would come find him and just sit in silence.

It was nice. He had missed-

“They act like the stadium is the thing that kidnapped me.” Captain Neil says.

Oh okay, quiet time is over apparently.

FF doesn’t say anything, figuring that nothing he could say right now would be the right thing and maybe Captain Neil just needs to talk through some stuff.

“That stadium is where I thought I’d have my last good memory.” Captain Neil explains, “I’m not scared of it and yet Andrew’s acting like I’ll die if I’m left alone for more than 2 seconds while we’re there. Every time we go there they all act like the most important thing in the world is that I get on that bus at the end of the night.” Captain Neil explains.

FF does remember how Andrew had grabbed Captain Neil after their October game up in Binghamton. How Captain Neil had complained bitterly but had gone after looking at Andrew.

“He’s dead!” Captain Neil exclaimed and FF couldn’t help but look over at the entrance and hoped no one heard them. “He’s dead! I watched him get shot! He can’t kidnap me again!” Captain Neil continued to yell and FF couldn’t help but worry that they’d be heard below, or worse bother a student trying to study below.

FF reached out and touched Captain Neil’s arm and bright blue eyes turned to him, “We’re on a library. Don’t yell.” FF said and Captain Neil looked at him incredulously.

Then he laughed. He laughed and laughed and FF was worried that he’d gone and broken his Captain.

He suddenly felt bad about his own bout of hysterical laughter a while back.

“Thanks Smith.” Captain Neil had said with a smile.

They had sat up there until it was dark and Andrew had started calling FF’s phone and Captain Neil took the call to say he was coming back.

Now they’re on the bus, dressed nicely, and on their way up to Binghamton’s stadium. Captain Neil and Andrew are hidden in the far back of the bus with Andrew looking far more like a watchdog than anything else the closer they got to their destination.

Captain Neil had seemed largely resigned to this treatment at this point. Eventually they were at the stadium and shown to their seats. They were sat across from the Trojans and it seemed like the rest of the team was quite pleased with that.

“Smith!” Captain Jeremy Knox is smiling at him, “Nice to see you again bud, nice name change too.” he says.

“It’s nice to see you too, Captain Jeremy.” FF says and doesn’t notice how Captain Neil’s head whips around to look at him.

“You two know each other?” Nicky asks looking between the two of them with excitement.

“Of course! We offered Smith a spot at the USC Trojans.” Captain Jeremy says and FF feels his stomach cramp at the memory.

That had been terrifying.

Coach Rheman and Captain Jeremy wanted to sit down to make their offer with his parents. He was still 17 and unable to sign anything legal without their permission. He’d tried to decline and move past them and Captain Jeremy had put the final nail in the coffin at the time for any thought that he could go to college on the power of his apparent Exy capabilities.

“I saw in your file that you have brothers! USC always gives a second look at student applicants who already have siblings in the university. You could go to school with your brothers!” he had smiled brightly like he wasn’t issuing FF one of the most terrifying threats he’d ever heard in his entire life.

He had given the firmest ‘No thank you, I’m not interested in playing Exy in college.’ he could and was running to his Grandma’s to breath into a bag for twenty minutes.

“I see you changed your mind about playing Exy in college.” Captain Jeremy said with the same smile that still feels like a threat.

“Coach Wymack and Captain Dan were convincing.” he says and looks to see if there’s any way he can move further away from Captain Jeremy’s attention.

“Can I ask what convinced you to be a Fox?” Captain Jeremy asks, “I’m always trying to see what support we should be offering. I found out last year that we missed out on Andrew because we didn’t offer spots to Aaron or Nicky. I thought since you had brothers that’d be the thing that got you.” Captain Jeremy leans across the table but stops when he notices the Foxes all tense. “Whoa, what’s up?” he asks.

Jean Moreau sighs from next to Captain Jeremy, “Not everyone wants to go to college with their family, Jeremy.” Jean says, “Did it not cross your mind that he changed his entire name?” he asks with a raised brow.

Jeremy blinks, “Oh,” he looks at FF, “I guess that wasn’t the right thing to offer.” he says leaning back in his chair.

“I guess I should thank you for offering that?” Nicky says wryly before turning to look at FF, “You look better in orange anyways.” he says.

“Thank you Nicky.” FF returns loyally.

The banquet gets started shortly afterwards. Food is served. The bar is opened. People are talking. FF finds himself relaxing the longer the conversations around him go on. Matt is talking with a backliner on the Trojan line named Todd in good cheer. Captain Neil, Kevin, and Jean are all talking about the latest updates with Ichirou in French with the occasional gesture towards FF. Jean Moreau looks at him with a raised eyebrow but gives him a single nod when Captain Neil explains what happened.

Jeremy is chatting with Jack and even Jack was finding it hard to maintain his usual level of rudeness in the face of such unbridled positive energy. Nicky was talking with Katelyn and Alvarez. Aaron was chatting with a fellow med student college athlete who was an offensive dealer.

It was shaping up to be a good night.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

#Fluent Freshman AU #Jeremy Knox essentially threatening FF on accident #With a huge smile #Fucking kills me #Winter Banquet getting into full swing #Ya'll know where it's heading but not all the parts that happen #Foxes are on high alert #No one likes Neil being in Binghamton #There was definitely an all-hands meeting about how Neil is not allowed to go anywhere alone #That if a security guard approaches Neil you treat that security guard like an active threat #Nicky just thinks it's Andrew wanting an excuse to hold his BF's hand all night #Andrew: “Smith you're on covert operations. Keep an eye out for threats.”#FF: “Aye aye Captain.”#Neil: “OH SO NOW HE'S A CAPTAIN TOO? WHAT'S NEXT?!”#Neil is butt hurt about the whole “Captain Jeremy” thing #He could accept it for Dan #But JEREMY?#Neil's gonna need a lot of TLC to get over this betrayal TBFH #In adult news #My closing is next week Friday!#Wooo #I really speedran the whole owning property thing #Thank you bullshit luck #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #Andreil #Wow 40 parts on this thing #Still wild #Thanks for joining me on this ride

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gavisuntiedboot · 1 year

Text

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 6

Warnings: Some subtle smut!! Dubious consent!!! Please don't read if you're uncomfortable with unclear consent. Crying during intimacy. Profanity!! Swearing!! Ferran and Martin!!!!!!!!!! ESP MARTIN!!! I'm sorry

Word Count: 11.0K

A/N: please be nice about this one. Is it fantastic? I personally don't think so. But the story needs to progress somehow. God I want to be asleep.

Also, I just want to say that I have taken some, ehem, artistic liberties with time and space in this story. Did you guys know that Real Sociedad is like 5 hours from Barcelona? I didn't. So I don't want to hear any "This is unrealistic because-" shhhh. I know there was a WC this year - I'm pretending there wasn't. I know the Ballon D'or ceremony is in October - surprise, now it's at the end of July. I know it doesn't make any sense for Martin to live next to Gavi because his club is based on the other side of Spain, but for this story, they're neighbors because I said so. Just live in imagination now and suspend your disbelief. Please and thank you <3

"You should start sleeping here."

You looked over your shoulder in confusion, still in the process of tying your shoes.

"What?"

You had never expected Martin to proposition you like this. For the first couple months of you relationship, he had been distant, kind of aloof, just happy to be there, but never exerting much effort into you. The relationship was, for lack of better terms, convenient. But something in him changed when you told him that you had been taking Gavi home. Suddenly, he was ready to become a doting boyfriend. He offered to drive you to work, to bring you lunch, to pick you up from games. If you declined these offers, then he was messaging you, sending you pictures, and he always, without fail, called you on your drive home. You had on multiple times asked him to stop this embarrassing behavior, but it had fallen on deaf ears. He would call you to tell you how much he missed you, how much he wanted to hold you, begging you to come over, all while Gavi squirmed uncomfortably in the passenger seat. Whenever you dropped Gavi off, you would get suggestive text messages, detailing all the things Martin wanted to do to you. Whenever you replied that you weren't in the mood, that you would rather just cuddle and go to bed, you always got the same response:

[Martin]: maybe u should just go home then. come over when ur not tired.

You had now driven Gavi home for 15 days, and Martin was getting stranger and stranger with each passing day. And now, he had gone from seeing you maybe once a week to wanting you to spend the night? You knew jealousy when you saw it, and it was getting on your nerves.

"You drive little Gavi home every day, and then you have to go all the way back to your place. I care about you so much, and I don't want you driving that late at night. So when you leave late, like on match days, you should just spend the night here."

You stood up, moving to grab your coat. You liked Martin, you liked spending time with him, but the idea of spending the night at his place weekly made your stomach uneasy, and you were hit with a wave of nausea.

"I don't know Martin. It's a really sweet offer, but I have a lot of things at my house. It would be a hassle to store scrubs and toiletries and makeup here, and-"

He held his hands up in an 'I surrender' motion, cutting you off.

"Listen, Barca has a game at home this week, don't they? Spend the night here after - try it out. If you don't like it, you can stop." He said, looking at you expectantly. A knot formed in your throat. You wanted to protest, but didn't know how. Martin liked you and put up with you. He was nice to you and was now offering to take your relationship to the next level. So how could you tell him that the idea made you want to throw up?

"Um, yeah, sure. I can do that. I... I need to go now. I'll see you in a few days?"

"Drive safe, baby. I'll text you when I get back from Madrid." He stood from his seat, walking over to you and pulling you into him, placing a deep kiss onto your lips. You returned the sentiment, trying as much as possible to rekindle the spark you felt for Martin when you first met. It was now a dying ember, but one you were desperately trying to keep alive. As weird as he made you feel at times, anything was better than the days when you were alone, sleeping in a cold bed with only the company of the TV and your house plants.

You closed Martin's front door, walking to your car quickly to avoid the bitter winter chill. As soon as you shut the driver door, you pulled up your contacts, looking for Angelika. If you were honest, Martin's overbearing nature had been causing you extreme bouts of anxiety, preventing you from sleeping, causing you to bite your nails bloody whenever the thought of him saying the L word ever crossed your mind. Would you say it back?

You called Angelika, the dial tone ringing throughout your car as you started to drive. After about 4 rings, the line connected.

"Hey, what's up?" She asked, rushed and out of breath, a hint of irritation in her tone.

"Nothing much," you replied, thrown off by the harsh answer. "Are you okay? You sound annoyed."

"I am annoyed. Our model casting director is so fucking incompetent that he thought he could book models for fucking fashion week the week before. So now, all the girls we usually work with and have the measurements for are booked. Taken by Balenciaga and fucking Paco Rabbane."

"I didn't know Balenciaga still showed at Barcelona fashion week." You replied, deciding to park your car on a side street. You slumped back in your seat.

"They don't. Our equally as incompetent head designer failed to mention we had been invited to show in Paris. So now we have no models, no measurements, and we are showing at Paris Fashion Week. I've been sleeping on the couch in the studio all week remaking and altering garments."

"But it's only November. You don't show in Paris until the end of February."

"You think any of the idiots that work above me are going to work from December 15th until January 15th? I need to get everything approved to be part of the collection before they go on vacation or I'm fucked."

"I'm so sorry Ang," you said softly, frowning slightly at your phone. You resonated with her pain - it was soul-crushing to put your best efforts forward and have it hindered by others more powerful than you. You knew how hard she had worked, and how much of a dream PFW had been - now it was becoming a borderline nightmare.

"It's fine, I'll get through it. Did you call for something? Or just a check-in?" She asked, her voice muffled slightly by the whir of the sewing machine. You brought your nails back to your lips, biting down on the surrounding skin.

"Just checking in," you lied, swallowing back your own frustrations, "I hadn't heard from you in a while, so I wanted to make sure you're okay. We should catch up when everything cools down, yeah?" You spoke softly, scared that if you raised your voice any higher you would cry. You felt like you were drowning, overwhelmed by everything going on in your life, crushed by the thousand feelings going on at once, but that was your burden - not Angelika's. You would deal with it by yourself like you usually did.

You exchanged goodbyes with your friend, hanging up the line and then slamming your head into the steering wheel, not caring about the potential bruise that could be forming as a result. The tears were flowing freely now. Your breath was ragged, coming out in short sobs and hiccups as you let out your frustration. The more you thought about the last two weeks, the more it felt like your throat was closing up. Your vision was completely blurry, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Your memories went back to that God forsaken meeting. The one that followed the last home game at Camp Nou, after Ferran had proclaimed rather loudly that you were creating an uncomfortable situation in the locker room. You had arrived at work at 7:15 that day, unable to sleep the night before, spending over an hour in the shower trying to was Martin's grabby touch off your skin, and staring at the ceiling in fear of your reprimanding. You had looked perfect - hair pulled back, uniform scrubs and shoes immaculately clean. You were expecting to be called into Dr. Gonzalez's office some time around 10am, after the players had already began morning training. Rather, you received a sharp knock on your office door at 7:45. Dr. Gonzalez stood there, stoic as usual, and uttered the most terrifying sentence you had heard in recent memory.

"Mister Xavi wants to see you in his office."

You walked behind him like your legs were made of lead. Several of the players greeted you as they passed, but you returned none of it. Your head was swimming in fear - how bad was it that you needed to be in Xavi's office before morning training. As you knocked on the office door, your mouth had gone dry, and you were shaking like a leaf.

"Enter."

Gavi watched your face pale as you entered the room escorted by Dr. G, and he felt a pit form at the base of his stomach. He knew it wasn't necessarily a positive thing for Ferran to have complained about you, but he never thought that the repercussions would be this severe. A meeting in Xavi's office before morning training often meant a firing. He was frozen in place, unmoving long after the office door had shut, the shove from Pedri being the only thing to make his feet move forward.

You and Dr. Gonzalez were instructed to sit in front of Xavi, one of the assistant coaches leaning on the wall behind him. The crossed hands and deep silence sent a chill through you that you couldn't shake from your bones. You had never been in a position like this before: you were the good kid. The kid who never went to speak to the principal unless it was to receive an award. You had been the perfect teacher's pet, who got along with every authority figure you ever encountered. But now, the face of deep disappointment staring at you was one that you had never encountered before.

"Ms. L/N, I believe you understand why you are in here, but I will explain it plainly. I heard that yesterday before the game, there was a situation in which you were escorted from the locker room because o the complaints of a player. I have spoken with this player, and he has informed me that this is not the first time you have made him uncomfortable. In fact, he attributes his worsening performance to discomfort that you have caused."

Your face was pale. You were holding back tears and vomit. You tried to slow your breathing and heart rate, because the last thing you needed was to have an anxiety attack.

"Obviously, this is not a good look. You are a new hire, and we cannot have the auxiliary staff impacting the players. The assistance coaches, Dr. Gonzalez and I all had an extensive conversation about terminating your program contract."

Your heart beat was in your ears, the bile rising in your throat, suffocating you slowly. This was your dream job, in your hands, and it was quickly slipping through your finger tips because one of the players couldn't stand you refusing to sleep with him. The tears were flowing at this point - it was beyond your control. Everything you had every worked for was disappearing before your very eyes.

"However, Dr. Gonzalez and assistant coach Marco here advised me against it. They instructed me to speak to several players, all who had nothing but glowing praise to say about you. Balde said that he would refuse to play if anything were to happen to your job. So, we have decided to keep you here with us. However, we wanted to take this as an opportunity to remind you: players are the priority. You'll be out of the locker room until further notice. If we get any further complaints about you calling issues, we'll have to consider other people. And your pre-work sessions with Gavi? Those will have to stop. Favoritism doesn't contribute to a positive work environment."

You nodded, tears burning your skin as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure in front of the man keeping your job safe. Dr. Gonzalez stood to leave, and you followed him silently. Xavi called to you before you left his office.

"It's your good work that kept you here. But it won't be enough to keep you here."

You slammed your head against the steering wheel again. What else could you do besides be a had worker? The fact that you could no longer meet with Gavi early in the morning also burned a hole in your very being. Though it would never be admitted out loud, it was the only time you felt like you were genuinely needed. A throbbing pain radiated around your head, blurring your vision further and making it even more difficult to see. Your sobs were loud and desperate, the only way air was entering your lungs.

A sudden knock on your window startled you, causing you to turn in fear towards your left. Through teas, you stared at the figure of a man knocking on the window, saying something to you, but the sound was drowned out.

"Get away from me! Leave me alone! Help!"

You screamed at the top of your lungs. You were fully panicked, as the door began to open, you screamed even louder, kicking at the door and the person on the other side.

"What the fuck, Doctora! Stop screaming and stop kicking me!"

The familiar voice made you stop your movements. The blur from your eyes was rubbed away, and Gavi stood before you, a trash bag in one hand and his phone in the other, speaking inaudibly. The sight of a person had never brought you this much intense relief. Instantly, you were more calm, breathing slowing enough for you to hear what he was saying.

"-not safe out here at this time. Are you even listening to me?"

The glow of street lamp light made Gavi look like an angel. His brown locks were shrouded in a golden haze, light eyes piercing into you. Jaw hanging slack, you just stared back at him, face still burning from the salt water on your cheeks. You bit your lip, staring up with still watery eyes, body shivering from all the energy exerted. The fatigue was settling deep in your bones, and you were sure that you looked like a frightened child. Gavi instructed you to stay put, running to throw his trash away before returning to you.

"Doctora, you should come inside."

It wasn't a question. Gavi was leaning over you, turning off your car and taking the keys. A hand reached out before you, gently and waiting for you to accept the invitation and follow him inwards. You looked up at him, the look of concern foreign on his face. Gavi had never seemed this seriously worried or scared before. You gathered your strength, placing your delicate hand in Pablo's. He gripped you firmly, tugging gently to escort you out of the car. Once it was locked, he turned to you again. There was a tension between the two of you that no one could pinpoint. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, so loud you were sure Gavi could feel the thrum through the skin of your palm. Maybe you should have stayed at Martin's. But something in you whispered that you were so, so happy to be standing here with Gavi.

Moving on their own accord, you pulled your hand away, and your arms wrapped around Gavi, embracing him tightly. The boy tensed, not expecting the sudden display of affection. He stood there for a moment as you clung to him, arms shaking, breath slowing down as he held you. As you calmed, Gavi's heart rate increased steadily. As your friendship continued to grow, the two of you had become more comfortable with things such as fist bumps. But this was entirely new. He brought his arms up and pulled you into him, biceps enveloping you, and chest providing you comfort. As your head rested against the soft fabric of his sweatshirt, you took a deep breath, smelling in the scent of Gavi, showered and faintly fragranced after practice.

You had scared Pablo half to death. All he wanted to do was sit and relax. He had seen you before you went into Xavi's office, face looking like you had seen a ghost. He had worried about you all practice. Normally you were glowing: smiling at everyone in the early morning as you sipped your coffee and finished the notes. Sometimes you even danced through Camp Nou, playlist keeping yo hyped despite the early hours. But recently, it felt like Pablo was watching you wither away. You smiled less, you came in with darker circles, and you looked like you were consistently on the verge of tears. He wanted to blame Martin, but he knew that working with the team played a big part of it.

After Ferran's complaint, he had run to the assistant coaches, trying to figure out what the repercussions could be. He was frazzled in practice, wondering if he and the boys had done enough to prevent you losing your position. Gavi became more aggressive. He starting losing his footing more, slipping and falling more frequently, and pushing the boundaries with his teammates. So what if he broke Ferran's kneecap? It's not like he would be debilitating a phenomenal contributor to the team. Lewy spoke to him multiple times, telling him to take it easy, because the aggression did nothing but make him look bad. Pedri told him that hurting Ferran would not erase his complaint against you. But it didn't matter. Gavi still pushed.

This was the first time he had seen you since you walked into Xavi's office. You had sent him a text telling him to find other arrangements for getting home for the next couple of days. This led to some embarrassing shots of him leaving Camp Nou in a taxi, and Pedri took pity on him, driving him home the following day. All his check-up texts had gotten curt responses, and he felt an ache in his chest that he didn't understand. Ever since his little self-love session, he had slowly but surely come to the realization that he wanted to be more than just friends with you. He had tried to keep this information to himself. Gavi knew what his friends would say: he was just being horny and 18, falling for the first girl that had given him a little attention. But he knew that wasn't the case.

Gavi had been around girls. Growing up, his sister's friends talked to him like a little pet. They let him hang around, allowing him to get closer to a lot of the prettiest girls in the town. The older he got, the easier it was to get girls. I'm in La Masia, I'm on the Barca B team, I play with Pedri. Now it was easier than ever. Models, actresses, singers, and other pretty girls threw themselves at his feet, in person and through DMs. There were hundreds of women willing to give him attention. But you? Oh. You were someone he wanted to chase. Someone who made him excited to wake up in the morning, someone that made electricity dance across his skin every time you touched him. You were ambitious and confident and determined. He didn't just like you. He respected you. He desired you. He craved you.

It had been no easy thing confessing this to Pedri. Gavi looked at his loosened laces the entire time, avoiding Pedri's smirk. He had known for literal months that Pablo wanted you. It was obvious to anyone who had seen the two of you interact. He told Pablo as much, making the younger boy blush and cross his arms over his chest. After the teasing had died down, the serious talk began.

"You can't do anything until she doesn't have a boyfriend anymore."

Gavi had texted you that night about meeting him for an early morning session, inventing a new slew of muscle discomforts.

[Doctora]: Can't do before work meetings anymore. Xavi's orders. Come in at 8am exactly if you're in pain.

To say he was crushed was an understatement. Over the past two weeks that you had been driving him, he had gotten closer to you. He learned about your favorite things to cook, about your relationship with your parents, and about what high school was like for you. He has learned that you frequently stopped at the drive-thru to get a post-practice hot tea and a muffin. He found out that you had given up drinking for good. Over two weeks he had watched the string connecting the two of you grow brighter. Now it was being snipped before his very eyes. It felt like he was losing you.

"Let me know if our little nurse likes fucking in the front or back seat more, Pablito. So I know whether to pick her up from Martin's in the two-seater or the SUV. He said he'd be willing to share with me when she finally gives it up. He'd probably let you get a slice of that ass as well."

Ferran couldn't react before he was slammed up against the locker. The sound reverberated around the room, alerting the two or three other boys who were also slow to change after training. Gavi's forearm was pressed into Ferran's throat, making the older boy go pink in the face and claw at his arm for air.

"If you say one more nasty thing about her, as God is my witness, I will dislocate both of your hips from their sockets regardless of who is watching. I will kick you in the teeth so fucking hard your grandchildren will need extensive dental work. Now shut the fuck up, get changed, and go home and jerk off to your own Instagram selfies."

Now he was standing under the street lamp beside his house holding you in his arms. The string was stronger and brighter than ever, wrapped around the two of you. Seeing you slam your head against the steering wheel concerned him, and having you kick and scream at him made you think you were at the end of your rope, terrifying him. Now he brought you closer to his heart, clutching your shaking frame, breathing in your shampoo and the relief that you were okay. He didn't know if he was capable of letting you go. He swallowed the large knot forming in his throat.

"Did... did you come here to see me?"

You looked up at Gavi, arms still around him, albeit shaking.

"I..." You weren't sure what to say. "I just left Martin's house. I was feeling overwhelmed and I just ... started driving. Guess it was muscle memory that brought me here."

You watched an unknown emotion fill Gavi's eyes. Was he annoyed that you came to his street? The closeness of your bodies registered in your brain, and you took a step back, looking awkwardly at your feet. No matter how comfortable he made you feel, there was a line you shouldn't cross. Not only were you two coworkers, but you had a boyfriend who you knew would not be happy if he ever found out about this "under the street light" 40's movie embrace.

"I should probably go home. Um, sorry to bother you."

"No wait-" Gavi said, grasping your arm once more. He stopped you in your tracks, keeping a firm hold on you. He couldn't let you leave. Not now. Not while you were like this.

"You're obviously distressed. I don't want you to drive home right now."

You shook your head, but made no effort to remove his hand from you.

"No no, I'm fine. I should really-"

Gavi shook his head viscously.

"No I'm serious. You were having a panic attack in your car. At least... At least come inside and eat something. Maybe have some tea? Anything. I just... want to make sure that you're okay before you leave me."

With wide eyes, you looked up at Gavi after this statement. His cheeks burned, realizing he had slipped up.

"Leave my house. Just come inside."

His hand traveled from your bicep to your hand, holding it and tugging you behind him towards the house. You followed him silently, allowing yourself to be pulled into Gavi's orbit. The dim lighting of the house and the sounds from the TV made you feel more at peace. Despite it being a bachelor pad, you felt like you were walking into a home.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." You said softly as you moved to slip off your shoes, stopping mid way. Gavi turned around, raining an eyebrow at you bent over in contemplation as he kicked off his Nikes. Your eyes widened in awe.

"You take your shoes off inside?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I?"

"Martin told me I was weird for taking off my shoes indoors. He said it's not a thing in Spain."

Gavi barked out a dry laugh, walking to his kitchen and switching on the lights.

"So it's a Spanish thing to track mud and dirt into the house? Take off your shoes, Doctora. Make yourself at home."

You smiled to yourself, brushing your hair behind your ear and unlacing your shoes. You watch Gavi pick up a shaker bottle, hopping onto the counter and and taking a sip. It was your turned to be confused.

"A protein shake? At this hour?"

"Yeah. It's my dinner. Want one?"

"Pablo!" The disbelief was evident on your face and in your voice. You had been working with the nutritionists recently to revise the daily calorie intake for all the players. Gavi needed about 4000 a day. There was no way he was drinking all of them in shakes.

"You need to have a proper dinner! No wonder you're always blowing your muscles out. Where is the dietary fiber? Where are the fats? Do you even have food in the fridge?"

He takes another swig of his protein shake, hopping off the counter. You open the fridge, scanning the shelves. He stands behind you, His chest mere inches from your back.

"Yeah, someone drops groceries off every couple of weeks, but I'm a shit cook. But if you want something for dinner, I can try. Wouldn't want you to go hungry."

You turn to face gave, your faces close enough to feel each others' breath. It was ironic that at this time, a thought crossed your mind: Martin, despite bragging about his cooking skills extensively, had never even fried you an egg.

"I'm a pretty good cook. Want to eat something other than protein powder this evening?"

Gavi looked into your eyes, noticing the redness that lingered from crying. He nodded his head slowly, then looked at your forehead. There was a red spot that had formed with a slight bump from where you hit the wheel. He brought one hand up, caressing the spot with his thumb. It sent a shock through your system. Why was Gavi's touch having such an effect on you?

You spent the next half and hour cooking, with Gavi sitting on the counter, making idle conversation. He loved watching the way you moved, the way that your eyes narrowed in concentration. When you were finished, you picked up both the plates and moved in front of the TV. He followed you like a puppy, watching as you sat on the couch with your feet beneath you. You rubbed your arms together, trying to create some sort of warmth. The exhaustion of working and cooking (with a breakdown in the middle) had set in, causing a chill to wash over you. As he moved to take a bite of the arroz con pollo that you had cooked up, he looked over at you, watching you shiver slightly.

Your eyes followed Gavi as he put the plate down, running to his bedroom, re-emerging with a black hoodie.

"Here, put this on. I don't want you freezing in my home."

You took the garment from him and looked at it. The material was soft in your hands, the smell of Gavi making its way to you. You slipped it over your head, feeling warmth instantly, both internally and externally. It wasn't much - just a hoodie. Any decent friend would have given you one in the cold. But it was more than that. It was that Gavi wanted you to be safe and fed and warm. It was that he was always looking over at you, noticing things without you asking. Maybe this was close friendship, something you were lacking at the present moment. But something felt different. None of your other friends made you feel this way. You never felt a longing to see them like you did with Gavi. You never felt a hold in your chest and an emptiness in your life when they weren't around. So what was it about Gavi.

The two of you ate in silence, watching the show that Gavi had playing on the TV. It was an old Spanish telenovela, something from the early 90s, where a girl from the farmlands moves to the city, and she is caught in a love triangle between her childhood friend and the CEO of a major company in the city.

"Is this show not a little... feminine for you?"

Gavi rolled his eyes at your teasing. "It's the only thing on when I'm home. It's so predictable that it doesn't matter if I miss an episode, because I already basically know the whole show plot."

"Oh really mister psychic? What's going to happen in the show then?"

You placed your plate on the coffee table, leaning back onto the couch, pulling Gavi's hoodie tighter around you. He grabbed a blanket from beside him, draping it over the two of you.

"She thinks that she's not good enough for Xavier, the CEO, so she's going to go back to farm boy Matthias and be with him. But she's going to realize that she's not happy with Matthias because he wants her to be this woman that she's not. So she's going to run from the farm back into Xavier's arms and kiss him, telling him that he accepts her for who she really is."

Your jaw dropped slightly, looking at Gavi in awe. You had never seen a teenage boy so invested in a TV romance. He looked over at you, suddenly shy under your gaze.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because... how do you know that's what's going to happen?"

"Besides the fact that this telenovela has been out for like 20 years and it's cliche as fuck? Because it's obvious. Matthias keeps making all these little comments and asking Dorinda to change all these things about herself. A relationship can never survive if they don't like you for you, ya know?"

You muttered out a slight 'mhm' before pulling the blanket higher up and turning back to the TV. Gavi sat back as well, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence, you curled up in a ball, him with his arms draped over the back of the couch, distance just big enough between the two of you to be respectful. As you waited for the next episode to begin, Gavi shifted to look at you.

"So... are we going to talk about the breakdown you had in your car? Or we can pretend it never happened. That also works."

You looked at Gavi, who stared at you with genuine concern and sympathy. His features were soft, eyes scanning you with concern.

"I don't want to burden you with my woes, Pablo. I was just having a moment. I'll get over it eventually."

"You could never be a burden, doctora. Now that we're friends, we get to talk to each other about stuff besides my tight hamstrings. What's going on? You've been... different lately. Ever since your meeting with Xavi."

Gavi watched you bite your lip, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. You took a deep breath before recounting what occurred during the meeting. You watched Gavi grow more and more angry, the heat radiating from his body.

"I just..." The tightness in your chest was so overwhelming. You were done holding back everything you had been feeling. You look up at Gavi, eyes wide and desperate and watery.

"I have been told my whole life that I had to work hard and I would get what I wanted. Just study hard in school and do well in university and do your job well and you'll get everything you dreamed of. But it's not true. I worked my ass off in school and university, and still they only wanted me to intern with the women's teams. I kill myself at this job every day, balancing this with my schoolwork to get my license, and do I get any recognition? No. I get mocked and harassed. I get called a nurse. And my boyfriend..."

You trailed off, and Gavi waited for you to continue. He didn't want any of this to weigh on you any longer. With a sigh you kept going.

"My boyfriend is telling me I'm delusional for being upset. On the rare occasions that he lets me complain to him, he tells me it's my fault. My scrubs are too tight, so Ferran has every right to grab my ass."

"Wait, he's been touching you? I'm going to kill him."

Gavi made a move to get up, but you leaned over, crossing your arm across his chest and keeping him seated.

"You don't have to protect me Gavi. I can handle it."

"How? How can you handle it? One word from fucking Ferran almost got you fired! How are you supposed to get him to stop groping you. And more importantly, why is that your job? You have a man in your life who is supposed to protect you and make sure no harm comes to you. But your sorry sack of shit boyfriend is too busy sucking Ferran's microdick to take care of his girl." He said, face red as he leaned back on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest.

"It's okay, Pablo. I can take care of myself." A tear finally rolled down your cheek.

"I know you can, Doctora. I know you could take on the world if you wanted to. But you shouldn't have to. You deserve to be loved and spoiled. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

You couldn't say anything. No one had ever spoken to you the way Pablo did. No one - not your family, not your friends, not your boyfriend - had ever taken the time to remind you that you were worth of love. The warmth in your chest you had felt all night started spreading through your veins, making its way through your whole body. You felt safe. You didn't trust yourself to speak, so you got up from your seat on the couch and walked to Pablo, leaning over and hugging him. This time he reacted much quicker, welcoming the embrace, rubbing your back softly. You separated and sat next to him again, this time much closer. Close enough for him to pull you into his side if he wanted. His left arm erupted in goosebumps as he resisted the urge.

The silence remained comfortable as you two watched the telenovela, four or five inches all that separated Gavi from your touch. As the night dragged on, your eyelids felt heavier, and your blinks got longer as sleep overtook you. You didn't even feel it when you dozed off, your body slumping sideways. But Gavi felt it as you fell onto his shoulder, breathing deeply. He spoke your name quietly, gaging your consciousness. When you didn't respond, he made a move to look at you, but your soft groan made him sit back. You were asleep on his shoulder.

The weight on his shoulder felt like nothing as he watched you sleep. The TV light was illuminating your features, bathing you in a soft ethereal light. Your hair fell in front of your face, and he moved it gently out of your way to make sure you weren't bothered in your sleep. You snuggled deeper into him, and in doing so, resting your head by his neck. Gavi tried to breathe softly, his whole body tense as to not disturb your sleep.

He tried to convince himself all week that you were just hot. You were just good looking and he wanted you physically - nothing more. But he couldn't because when the thought of you, it was rarely in a sexual manner. He was always imagining situations like this: you cooking with him, cuddling with him on the couch while watching TV, taking naps with him. He was imagining the domestic bliss that all his teammates gushed about. He was imagining waking up to you in the morning and kissing the sleep from your eyes. He dreamed of brushing his teeth beside you as you both messed around before bed. He wanted to look by the stands and point to you, letting you and the whole world know that everything, all of it, it was all for you.

An hour later, when he was sure you were asleep, Gavi tried to shift you slightly. His shoulder began to ache, and he wanted you to get a decent night's sleep. He lifted your head gently, but you stirred in your sleep.

"Pablo... are you leaving?" You mutter, eyes still closed.

His heart felt like it could burst. You looked so small and innocent, so helpless, that Gavi wanted to pick you up in his arms and protect you from the entire world. He never wanted to let anything or anyone, not Ferran or Martin or even Xavi, come near you again.

"Of course not, doctora. I'll always be here for you."

You groaned again before laying down, this time draping yourself across Gavi's lap and cuddling into his thigh. Gavi surrendered, understanding that he would be sleeping on the couch with you on his lap, because in all honesty, it was the only place on Earth that he wanted to be. He set an alarm for 5:30am, and then laid back, one hand rubbing your back as he prepared to dream about you.

You woke to the sound of a phone alarm. The warmth all around you was inviting you to stay asleep, but you opened your eyes nonetheless, coming face to face with a pair of Barca shorts. You shot straight up, looking at Gavi, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning."

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water. You had fallen asleep in Gavi's house. In Gavi's clothes. On Gavi's lap.

"I have to go. I'll see you at work."

You grabbed your phone and keys and ran for the door, not even waiting for his response. You drove to your house, going to jump in the shower to reset before work. This had happened before. You had slept next to Martin, coming home the next day and scrubbing your skin off in the shower, wanting to rid yourself of the night before. But as you looked down to strip, you saw Gavi's black hoodie, which you had been too rushed to give back, and you didn't want to take it off. It felt like warmth and safety and something else that you couldn't name. But you removed the garment carefully, folding it on your bed, and treating your skin gently, like a thing to be preserved.

~~~

You wore Gavi's hoodie for the rest of the week. You put it on before you left the house, and left it in your car before walking into work. You put it on once again when you got back to the car. Gavi mocked you for it on the first day, teasing about how you couldn't live without him. You just looked away in embarrassment, unable to admit that, now that your morning sessions were gone, wearing his hoodie on your drives made you feel connected to him in a different way. It secretly made Gavi swell with pride. It scratched the possessive part of his brain, the one that wanted you to just be his. You always made sure to hide it before driving over to Martin's. You had been bickering more recently, and you didn't want to do anything else to set him off, because you knew he would never even attempt to understand that you wearing Gavi's clothes wasn't a romantic gesture.

It was match day at Camp Nou, which usually brought you excitement, but not today. No, today was the fated day that you would have to choose between your team and your boyfriend: It was Barca vs Real Sociedad day. You had been anxious since the previous evening, wondering how it would be for Martin and Gavi to be on the field together after their falling out many weeks ago. The nerves had shaken you so much that your (Gavi's) black player hoodie remained on. You ran around all morning, doing muscle and flexibility tests, and setting up your station on the side of the field. As the players lined up in the tunnel, you walked through, making sure that everyone was taken care of. You approached the front where Gavi stood, but before you could say anything to him, a voice called out to you.

"Baby! What're you doing in the tunnel? Shouldn't you be in a clinic somewhere?"

Despite him trying to put on a cute tone, you couldn't help but be offended by Martin's words. He was essentially calling you a nurse once again, this time in front of two major La Liga teams. The snickers were not lost to you. You turned around and smiled softly at Martin, greeting him. He tried to pull you in for a kiss, but you flinched away.

"Martin, not here, carino. I'm at work." You tried to leave, but he grabs your wrist, stopping you. His fingers dug into your wrist, causing pain to shoot through your arm. You turned to look at him, unable to tug your arm away.

"Not going to wish me good luck, sexy? Maybe after watching them practice you don't think I need it."

"He who talks shit first, eats shit first." Gavi's voice said behind you. You leaned into Martin, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and wishing him good luck. He pulls on your hoodie, which you had forgotten you were wearing until it's between his fingers.

"What's this? Isn't this for players? Why are you wearing this?" He asked, eyes dark with anger. He looked at the pocket and noticed the '6' embroidered into the fabric.

"Oh, they had a few made for the staff as well. I need to go and set up by the field." You scurried away from Martin, trying to avoid the stares of everyone around you. You needed to focus on doing your job, not on your relationship drama.

Despite your exit, drama was still bubbling in the tunnel. Martin and Ferran stood next to each other, talking rather loudly to Gavi's dismay. They recapped their boring and alcohol-fueled lives, and Gavi tried to tune them out, getting in the headspace for the game, until they mentioned you.

"You hit yet? Come on, hermano. She sleeps next to you all the time. What are you waiting for?"

"I'm trying. I think I'm going to seal it tonight - no matter what I have to do. She doesn't do booze anymore, so it's been harder than usual. If we win tonight, it's going to be the icing on the cake."

Gavi felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to face Pedri, who looked at him disapprovingly.

"Whatever you do, don't get a fucking red. We play Madrid soon."

The game began, and it was rough from the first whistle. Sociedad was playing extremely rough, getting 17 fouls in the first half alone. They were not being merciful in the slightest. Martin and Gavi were on each other on the front left wing, slamming into each other at every opportunity. You rushed on the field for a few head collisions, but otherwise, you spent the game on the sidelines. In the 78th minute, the score was 1-0 to Barca, and they were about to take a corner kick. Martin was on Gavi, with Ferran occupying close space in the box.

"Get out of the way Pablito, the big boys are playing." Martin taunted in his ear. Gavi shrugged off the comment, tracking the movements of Frenkie, who was about to take the kick. That was until he felt himself be shoved in the neck. He turned to Martin, who was staring at him smugly, before shoving him back. Hard. Sociedad and Barca players start to crowd around the two, who are up in each other's faces, inches away from blows. The teams are trying to hold their star players back.

"What the fuck is your problem, cabron? Can't score a fucking goal, so now you want to wrestle?"

Martin breaks free from his teammates, grabbing Gavi by the neck. Ferran watches the two, not interfering as the referee ran towards them, blowing his whistle like crazy. You watch from the sideline, biting your nails to the beds.

"I want you to fuck off and stop eye-fucking my girlfriend. She won't touch your baby dick, Pablito."

The ref is the one to pull Martin off Gavi's neck, presenting him with a red card and sending him off.

"I'm never going to hit you on the field Zubimendi. So you better avoid me when we're not on grass, because I'll knock your fucking teeth out."

Gavi turned to Ferran, who was still watching the interaction. "You've got no fucking loyalty, Torres. And it will bite you in the ass one day. Soon."

~~~

Your drive home with Martin was silent. You didn't know what to say to him. You were terrified to utter Gavi's name, because you knew it would open up the topic of the hoodie again, and you weren't ready to be yelled at. At the end of the game, you kissed Martin on the cheek. You looked past him and saw Gavi, celebrating with the rest of the boys with faint bruises on his neck. You wanted to run over and apologize, but you couldn't, because the man you should be caring about was dragging you off the field.

You unpack your things from your car as Martin walks into the house, not bothering to wait for you. He is eager to get in the shower and wash away the humiliating 3-0 loss he just suffered at the hands of his 'enemy' Gavi no less. You entered the house, staring at the cold, eggshell walls with posters of Martin hanging on them, and a chill ran down your spine. There was something hostile and uninviting about the house. You always wanted to run away, like it was haunted by the spirit of something pushing you out. You changed your clothes, sitting in bed and waiting for Martin to join you. Scrolling through Instagram, you liked all the victory posts on your feed, wanting to support your team, even if you were sleeping with the enemy.

[Gavi]: Hey

[Gavi]: I saw u leave w martin ... hope ur ok

[Gavi]: sorry about fighting on the field

You smiled as you opened the messages from Gavi. Despite their fight, he was still putting aside his hatred of the man to make sure you were okay. Before you could answer, the bathroom door opened, causing you to hastily lock your phone and throw it to the bedside table.

[Doctora]: Read - 11:07pm

Martin approached you in just his towel, still slightly damp. He opened the drawer next to you, pulling out a travel shot of Fireball and throwing it back quickly. He then got on the bed, moving to straddle you, trapping you under his body weight.

"Bonita... you know we've been dating for months now and you still haven't asked me to fuck you?" He said, voice low and sultry. You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. You looked up at him through long lashes.

"I have to ask for you to fuck me? I thought you would be the one to ask if you wanted to do it."

"You don't want to baby?"

You were unsure how to reply. You had never looked at Martin and had the carnal urge to strip him down and have him take you, but sex was supposed to be a normal part of relationships. Maybe you had been unfairly denying Martin of essentially his right.

"I'm... too shy to ask for something like that."

Martin grinned from ear to ear. He licked his lips, bending down and capturing yours in a wet kiss. He was rough and fast, not wanting to waste any time. He tore off the blankets that surrounded you, slowly unbuttoning your shirt. This was the farthest the two of you had gone. He allowed his towel to drop, leaning back to let you admire his already hard cock. You looked at it for a moment before remembering that you should be impressed. You widened your eyes and parted your lips, making a comment about how big it was, and you watched him throb. He stripped you out of the rest of your clothes, kissing your skin roughly. You reciprocated, closing your eyes and sucking on his neck. He moved away, grabbing your chin.

"No markings, baby. You know better."

Gavi sat on his couch at home, TV playing in the background as he stared at the dent beside him. Your imprint was there, although faint. He thought back to that night - the closeness he felt to you, both physically and emotionally. He knew he should have kissed you, confessed his feelings, told you to forget Martin ever existed and be happy with a Barca boyfriend. But he couldn't. He couldn't form the words to tell you that you were the very light that brightened his days, and the cool breeze that soothed him to sleep. He couldn't tell you that every moment he wasn't focused on a ball, he was thinking about you. About the way you laughed and spoke and moved. About the curve of your lips he was desperate to trace with the tip of his tongue. About the way your hair felt beneath his fingertips as he played with it while you slept. He couldn't do it. So he stared at your spot on the couch, glancing over at his phone regularly, waiting for the 'Read' to turn into three typing dots that turned into a little gray bubble filled with your words to him. Just for him.

You lay before Martin completely naked, eyes glued shut. You tried to focus on the feeling more than the person. You let our little moans when he kissed your breasts, trying to encourage him as much as possible so that he would go faster and be done quicker. You heard the sound of a wrapper ripping, and he rolled it on while speaking to you.

"Ready baby?" "Yeah, I think so."

He slipped inside you quickly, groaning into your neck about how warm and tight you were. You kept your eyes shut. You had flashbacks to the couch in the basement. The tears started to prick and burn at your eyes, and you let one fall. He licked it off of you, laughing in satisfaction.

"Is this cock too much for you baby? You crying cause I'm too big? Fuck that's so hot." He said, as he continued thrusting in with no pace or rhythm. You brought your legs up around him, pushing him closer to you, hoping to make him bust quick so that you could go to bed. With eyes still shut, you saw someone else. You saw hazel eyes shining in artificial yellow light, and you clenched around your boyfriend.

"Ugh yeah baby just like that."

The eyes were now replaced by lips, soft and pink, separating into the most captivating smile.

"I'm close baby, so close."

You wished Martin was one of those men who was silent in bed. You wanted to shush him, tell him that the sexy lips in your imagination were about to speak, but you just continued rocking your hips to the makeshift rhythm. The lips parted, a tongue poking out to wet them, before they spoke to you.

"Doctora."

You clenched hard around your boyfriend, pressing him deep inside you, and that was it. He let out a high pitched groan as he came into the condom. He collapsed on top of you, and you allowed your eyes to open, another tear falling, which was quickly wiped away by Martin.

"That was great, baby. Totally worth the wait. Never knew it could be so hot watching you cry."

He rolled off of you and went to sleep, but you were wide awake.

[Doctora]: sorry for the late response

[Doctora]: phone died :(

[Doctora]: yeah im fine

[Doctora]: hope martin didnt hurt u too bad... Sweet dreams Pablo

[Gavi]: Same to u doctora <3

You didn't sleep that night. You watched the clock tick on until 5am, getting in your car and driving to your place. You stripped, throwing everything martin had touched in the hamper. If they weren't your work clothes, they would be in a donation bin. You stepping into the shower and began your hour long scrub. As you moved closer to your upper thighs, tears began welling up again. You didn't regret having sex with Martin, because that's what couples do. But you cried anyways. You cried because you had felt light a fleshlight the way he pumped and dumped in 2 minutes. You cried because he couldn't even ask 'Did you cum?' like some sleazy frat boy who rubbed your left lip vigorously for 15 seconds. You cried because you had sex with your committed boyfriend, and the only way to enjoy it was to close your eyes and think of the boy at your job. You scrubbed your skin raw, pinpricks of blood appearing on your upper thighs.

~~~

Over the next two weeks, you had sex with Martin three more times. Every time, it was the same result. He entered you, you teared up, you closed your eyes and pictured Gavi, and Martin came in under 3 minutes. It had made interacting with Gavi awkward to say the least. When driving him home, you did you best to focus only on the road, trying not to look at his hands or his thighs or his God forsaken lips. After the last game you attended, you were determined not to look at him at all while he was in the car, until he discovered that was your last game before the break.

"You're not coming to our game against Sevilla? Why not? It's the last one before the Christmas and international break."

You had to look at him at this point, but you wished you hadn't. He looked so adorable and pouty, eyes wide with longing. Gavi wouldn't get to see you after this if you weren't at the next game, seeing as he would be going directly from Barca training to Spain National team training.

"My last exam conflicts with it. I'll be able to catch the second half on TV, but there's no way for me to actually go."

"So this is it then? Until January?" He asked, voice low and sad-sounding. He didn't want to let you go. He didn't want to spend the next month away from you. He didn't want to think about the fact that you would be in Martin's arms for the entirety of that break.

"Try not to miss me too much, Pablo. I'll be back before you know it. Kick ass on Tuesday."

He leaned over the dash, hugging you tightly to his chest. You closed your eyes, making sure that you racing heart could not be felt by the boy hugging you tight. Gavi hoped that you would not notice how shaky he was. He didn't want you to know how nervous he was to be initiating a hug with you.

"Oh, before I forget, here you go." You said, reaching into the back and handing him his hoodie. Gavi felt his heart break. For a month you had worn his hoodie almost daily. Why would you return it now? Every time he felt he was getting closer to you, something was snapping the string between you and pulling you away. Did you not want to associate with him anymore?

"I feel bad, keeping your hoodie when it was never given to me. So I wanted to return it to its owner."

Gavi looked at you and smiled. You were so fucking cute. He took the hoodie from you, then reached into his bag, pulling out his body spray. He drenched the hoodie, then folded it back up and held it in front of you.

"I am officially giving you this hoodie. I hope it brings you comfort and warmth. And makes you think of me." He ends with a wink, and you giggle. He leaves your car, sparing you once last glance before waving you off. You left Gavi with butterflies in your stomach.

This is how you found yourself sitting at home, in underwear, tube socks, and Gavi's hoodie, watching the Barca match. You got out of your exam 15 minutes early, giving you enough time to get home and change. You loved watching the games on TV - the announcers made it much more entertaining. You weren't sure if you were hyper-focused on him or the camera just loved Gavi today, but he seemed to be the subject of every zoom-in. He looked so much better from this angle: thick arms wrapped in the tight sleeves of his shirt, sweat dripping from his forehead, hair slicked back and showing off his sculpted face. You pulled up his sweater, breathing in the smell deeply, and subconsciously bringing your thighs together.

The longer you watched the match, the more turned on you became. You started scrolling through Instagram during the game, looking at the fan accounts who posted pictures of Gavi. You stopped on one post in particular. It was a looping video, which showed Gavi on his knees on the field. He lifts his shirt to wipe his face, exposing his V-line. You thought that was the end, almost scrolling before you see it. Gavi runs his tongue across the inside of his mouth, and then proceeds to spit on the field. it was not uncommon for players to spit on the grass, but this was different. The fat glob of Gavi's saliva created a trail from his lips.

You watched the video again. And again. And again and again. You couldn't stop. Your hand traveled down your torso, toying with your nipples, until you reached the hem of your panties. As the video started again, you dipped your fingers past the waistband, feeling instantly how slick you were. Your cheeks burned with guilt - Gavi was your friend. He was someone you worked he. He was several years younger than you. And yet, you moved your fingers against your clit watching him spit on the grass. Your eyes fluttered shut, as you remembered the feel of hugging Pablo, the feel of him against your chest. The beat of his heart. The sound of his voice calling out your name. His raspy 'Good morning'. Would he sound like that when he was struggling to remain in control? You moved faster, soft moans leaving your lips as you worked yourself into a frenzy. You were getting closer, hearing Gavi in your head, until..

Incoming Call: Gavi

You wretched your hand away, embarrassed with yourself for getting off to the thought of your friend, while you had a boyfriend nonetheless. You took a deep breath, wiping your face with your clean hand, and picked up the call.

"Hello?"

"Doctora!! did you see the game? Are you home? How was the exam?"

"Uh... what do I answer first?"

"Actually, you can tell me when you see me. You need to come to Camp Nou."

This made you sit up straight. "I need to what?"

"I need some... emergency care. You need to get here as soon as possible."

You arrived to the stadium frantic, in Gavi's hoodie, some sneakers, and some sweats. You burst into Dr. Gonzalez's office, seeing three doctors all crowded around Gavi. When they parted, you gasped. He had a black eye, dried blood in a streak beneath his eye.

"What the fuck did you do?" You asked, putting on gloves so that you could get cleaning.

"I took a header that was, uhm... kind of low."

You started cleaning with an alcohol wipe, eliciting a hiss from Gavi.

"How low? The grass?"

Gavi went silent, and you groaned and rolled your eyes. You turned to look at the other doctors present.

"Did you guys call me in on my day off to clean up some dried blood and apply a bandage?"

Turns out, you were the only person on staff that could make sure he didn't have any orbital or internal bleeding in his skull. You allowed the rest of the medical staff to take off as you ran tests on Gavi and his swollen eye.

"So, doctora, any plans for the break?"

"I'm probably going to spend it with Martin, since he will be free for all of it."

Gavi scoffed at this. "Right, because he didn't get called for the national team. He gets a month long vacation now."

"He plays the same position as you, Gavi. I knew he would never get chosen over you. You're Spain's golden boy."

Gavi crossed his arms over his chest in satisfaction.

"Damn straight."

~~~

You drove Gavi home, blasting some of your favorite music from college through your car's speakers. You wanted to roll the windows down, but Gavi reminded you that December in Barcelona was not the best time for that.

"LISTEN BABY THIS A LAMBOURGHINI NOT A BENZ, I DON'T EVEN GET THE TIME TO FUCK YOU ON THE WEEKEND-"

"Alright I'm going inside my house I can't stand the yelling," Gavi laughs out as he exits your car. You lower the volume and exit the car as well. You walk over to Gavi, giving him a tight hug. Neither of you wanted to let go.

"Good luck, Pablo. You're going to do amazing. When do you go to Switzerland?" You asked, looking at the pavement rather than into his eyes. You were still embarrassed from your earlier activities regarding picturing Gavi's face.

"We leave in three days, so you don't need to start missing me until Friday night. Until then, you know where I live if you start going through Gavi withdrawals." You both laughed lightly, an awkward silence settling between you two. He was the first to move, lifting a hand to wave and he began walking towards the door. You got back in your car, trying to call Martin. He didn't respond, but you had his location. He was at home according to Find my Friends. You decided to go to his place and surprise him, starting the break together with him. Maybe the two of you could go out and celebrate - him the halfway mark of the season, and you the end of exams.

Gavi sighed when he cam back into his house, slumping onto his couch. He looked once again at the spot where you slept. There was that fucking ache again. He felt a gnawing at his soul when you weren't around - something akin to guilt. It's like the universe was asking him 'why'. Why didn't you tell her that her boyfriend is hot garbage and you could be everything that she needed? Why didn't you kiss her the thousand times you had a chance? He felt a pang from his eye - the ibuprofen must be wearing off. He reached into his bag to find the bottle and pop another, when he feels an envelope. He was instantly curious - when did someone have access to his bag to slip this in?

To Pablo, From Dr <3

He ripped open the top, and out came a letter and a printed photo. It was a picture that someone from the media team had taken when you first started working there, right after the summer international break. Gavi was stretched on the table, with you behind him, helping him stretch out. You both wore deep scowls, your distain for each other evident then. The note was short, and read:

To Pablo G,

Happy Holidays and Happy Break! My salary can't buy you a better gift than you can buy yourself, so here is a picture from the beginning days of our dynamic friendship duo. Maybe we should go back to hating each other - we both look really hot when we frown.

Love, your favorite Physio <3

Gavi, the teenager that he still was, hugged the photo and letter to his chest, his smile so wide it hurt his face. You were thinking about him. You thought about him enough to find a gift, get it for him, and slip it into his bag during his eye exam. Fuck, what should he get you?

His train of thought was cut off by screaming and banging on his door.

"Pablo! Let me in! Get the fuck away from me!"

It was your voice. You were screaming at the top of your lungs, your voice hoarse - like you had been sobbing. Gavi leaped off his couch, running to the door and flinging it open. He felt the wait of you fall into his chest, your body wracked with sobs. Your legs weren't strong enough to keep you standing, so he held up your weight. He clutched you tightly, wanting to keep you safe. He looked up, and he saw who it was you were running screaming from: Martin.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Hey y'all!! Hope you enjoy part 6!! Maybe I shouldn't say this because I made y'all wait for so long, but I don't think this part is as good as the last one. Part 7 gonna be a Banger tho. Anyways, please let me know your comments, thoughts, feedback, and theories in the replies or in my ask box!!! I love reading everything you guys think about this series!! Also, I love when people find little details/ easter eggs in the writing, so do w that info what you will. Next part won't take nearly as long. Have a great night y'all see u soooooon <<<<33333

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9 @lavie3nrose @ge0rg1ewaa @i8yul @lovefordilfs271 @remuslupinluver @thattaylorswiftobsessedbitch @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @kaismybabe @notanenthucutlet @fullsun9890 @venomwh0re @renaissancewhxre @gaviandgrizisgirl

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

Text

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 1)

part 2

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 ; 12.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of infidelity; mentions of vomit; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics; one mention of suic*de but it's not a plot point; age gap

note: uhm... i blacked out. idk either. part 2 should be out eventually, which of course means that i haven't even started writing it yet. there will probably be several mistakes in here regarding the navy, etc. so i'm sorry about that i'm just dumb :-(

sol. sunderlust. crab. bestie... i love you forever, what would i ever do without you?

When you’re fourteen, sitting on a floral couch in one of the nondescript, army-commissioned houses you’ve been moving to every few months since you were old enough to remember, your mother turns on Cocktail with Tom Cruise, and you decide that, once you’re grown up, you’re going to be a bartender. You’re going to do just what Tom does - get a job in some dive, work your way up, learn the bottle slinging and the shot pouring and the flirting, and then you’re going to franchise the whole thing and take it national. It’s going to be just like TGI Fridays, except your drinks will actually be good instead of whatever watered-down punch they serve.

Of course, you’re fourteen, and you don’t even know what alcohol tastes like yet. Years later, you’re going to take a shot of Tequila at a bar, you’re going to splutter and cough and think you might choke, and it’ll leave you wondering if maybe you’ve made a mistake. But for now, you’ve got a dream, and you’ve got a plan, and not a smidge of doubt that you’ll make it all come true.

You’re going to do just as Tom Cruise does - minus the best friend’s suicide from the movie and the real-life Scientology thing and all that. But you’re going to be successful. You know it.

So this, then. This is not part of your plan at all.

Behind you, there’s a bang, and then the back door is ripped open. The buttery light of the bar spills in a rectangle across the beaten path, but it doesn’t reach your little corner. You hear the muffled thud of footsteps, a curse, followed by a shout of your name.

“Yeah?” you call back, hope you don’t sound like you’re balancing on the edge of a mental breakdown. Hope you don’t sound like you feel.

“Your shift’s about to start. I really need you in there cutting up some limes, please,” Jerry, your co-worker, says. Thank God he doesn’t walk over to investigate just what you’re doing huddled in the sand behind the bar.

“Okay,” you answer, voice a little wobbly, “I’ll be in in a sec.”

You wait until you hear the door shut behind Jerry, then you unfold yourself, get your shaky legs underneath your weight. You feel like somebody hit you over the head with one of those huge hammers they use to knock down walls. The nausea is back, too, something queasy and watery that shifts through your stomach.

Inside the bar, everything is like it always is. The chatter of the customers, the drawl of the music, the smell of beer, and the Ocean Breeze scented cleaner you use to wipe the floors. Far below it, the scent of the real ocean breeze drifting in through the opened windows. It seems wrong for the Hard Deck to be unchanged, unaltered, untouched when your own life has gone so completely off the rails.

You sneak in a quick, discreet bathroom break to swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, to dab at it with some damp toilet paper, to hope nobody will notice the obvious signs of tears still clinging to you. To stare at your reflection in the mirror for a moment, try not to think about that stupid test you buried at the bottom of the trashcan. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth.

You don’t look any different - same nose, same hair, same eyes - but something has irrevocably shifted inside of you.

Behind the counter, you cut up the limes you promised Jerry. The scent clings to your fingers, the juice settles in the calluses. The steady sound as the knife meets the cutting board and the familiar motion of your hands help to ground you a little.

“Could we get a refill?”

You lift your head and then immediately lower it again, shoulders going up, turning to the side in an attempt to hide your face. If there are two people you don’t want to see tonight, then…

“Oh my god.” Natasha’s face pushes into your line of vision, her eyebrows crinkled, her mouth pursed. “Have you been crying?”

Waving her words of concern away with one hand, you grab for their empty glasses with the other.

“Allergies,” you lie. “I’ve got two on tap here, which one did you guys have? The German or the…”

“You don’t have allergies,” Bradley points out. You’d made it a point not to look at him, but now your gaze snaps in his direction. He stands with his eyes narrowed, with his hands on the polished wood of the bar top. Concern flutters across his face.

There’s something about Bradley Bradshaw. You like to think of it as a gravitational pull. Something with force, something that makes people look at him. Something that grounds them, too, though, gives them a tether.

Ever since he first walked into this bar a little over a year ago, it’s like he’s become a fixture in your life, even if you only see him once or twice a week, even if it’s just a quick exchange of words over a countertop. Bradley Bradshaw makes for a good North Star.

He shrugs, and there’s something almost sheepish to it. “It was part of your list of reasons why you’re better than Hangman last month.”

You pause, still holding the glasses, and stare at him. He looks right back.

“That’s beside the point,” Natasha pipes up. She’s balancing both her elbows on the bartop, pulling herself closer. “Why were you crying?”

That sort of shifts reality back into focus. What are you supposed to say? I let a guy who isn’t even really my boyfriend but also not really not my boyfriend knock me up, and now I have no idea what the fuck to do? To two people who are little more than glorified acquaintances?

You shrug and decide they look like they’d enjoy the new craft beer Penny got on tap. It has notes of vanilla and apple, and you’re not much of a beer person, but even you like it. Or at least you used to.

“It’s nothing,” you say, drawing the first glass. It ends up perfect - amber liquid topped with just the right amount of foam, the little bobbles popping as you push it across the counter toward Natasha. Your life might be a mess, but at least you still know how to draw a damn good glass of beer from the tap. “Don’t worry about it.”

Natasha’s eyes narrow, but then she lets it go. “You know I’ll beat a guy up for you, right?”

You don’t doubt it. If there’s anybody in this bar you wouldn’t want to cross, it’s Natasha, and not just because of whatever training the Navy put her through. You’re convinced she came into the world knowing how to take a guy out.

“Yeah,” you agree and are surprised to find you mean it. Realistically, you’re not particularly close to any of the pilots. You chit-chat sometimes, have had a few drunken conversations after everybody else has filtered out of the Hard Deck while wiping down tables or collecting shot glasses, but that’s not really enough to support a true friendship. Still. If you asked, you have no doubt Natasha would go to bat for you. “It’s okay, though. I’m fine. I’ll put this on your tab, yeah?”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but then decides to let it go. Sighs, “Okay.”

As Natasha pushes off the bar to rejoin her group of friends toward the back of the bar, Bradley takes a step closer instead. You make it a point not to look at him, but the yellow and white of his Hawaiian shirt flashes in your periphery despite your best efforts.

He places a large hand on the countertop, palm down, and you should be looking busy, but all you can do is stare as his fingers starfish across the wood.

“You can talk to me, yeah?” he asks, and his voice is soft enough that it almost disappears in the din of this Saturday night. “Whatever it is.”

You do look up then. Bradley has brown eyes, round and big and deep. There’s something about them that makes you want to trust him, trust his words, trust the sincerity. It almost makes you start crying again.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Thank you.”

Then somebody’s shouting an order at you, and you’re pushing a coaster under a sweating Cuba Libre, you’re pouring a Tequila shot, you’re looking for the maraschino cherries, you’re passing out salt shakers, and you don’t notice as he disappears and you don’t think about anything for a short, blissful, beautiful time.

Two months ago, you met Luke halfway through the door of a bar you’d seen on Instagram, something with low lights and neon signs and booths cushioned in lush, ruby velvet. They had this signature cocktail there, something with rum and gold foil and a lot of smoke that drifted up in sweet-smelling plumes.

Luke was charming and laughed a lot, and when he put his hand on your waist, when he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat or two. And still, the first thing you told Penny about at work the next day was the cocktail and not the guy.

You’re almost entirely sure you’re not in love with him, but you’re excited about the idea that maybe someday you could be. Luke is a nice guy. He works in finance somewhere in San Diego, takes you to expensive seafront restaurants, and once or twice, he even bought you expensive lingerie. Luke likes the same movies as you do, likes putting on Jazz music when you go down on him in his car, and that always manages to make you feel strangely sophisticated even with a dick in your mouth. He’s older, and he has a real, grown-up job, completely unlike you with your singles soaked in beer.

He’s a stead-fast, reliable guy. If you have to be in this situation with anyone, you figure it’s better to be in it with him than some twenty-something surfer dude who couldn’t even find the word responsible in a dictionary.

The anxiety has been gnawing at you since last night, has been chipping away your composure and your calm. Has reduced you into a jittery, terrified, chafing shell of your former self. All day you were fumbling - burning your hand on the heated water kettle in the morning, almost running a red light, cutting your finger deep enough it didn’t stop bleeding for a whole five minutes.

Earlier today, you took a last, desperate stand. Propelled by the sort of hope that exists against all better judgment, you went on a CVS run and returned with three more pregnancy tests. You left them back at your tiny apartment, right on the counter where you put them out in the first place, those three tiny, horrible, life-altering plus signs laughing right in your face.

And that was it then. Your fate decided. Your luck run out.

Since you were fourteen, sitting on that floral couch, the course of your life had seemed so clear to you. You’d been so sure of where you wanted to go, so sure of how to get there. And yeah, okay, maybe you used to think you’d get there sooner, but that’s never deterred you before. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what you used to think.

Now, ten years later, everything is muddled. You can’t see an inch ahead in the fog of all this.

To add insult to injury, those tests were fucking expensive. The next time you check your bank account, you might start crying.

So you spent a good fifteen minutes curled up on your bathroom tiles, staring at your shower curtain, blinking away tears you never shed. You spent a good fifteen minutes trying to figure it out, trying to untangle it, trying to make sense of how you could fuck up so completely.

And then you finally picked yourself up, massaged the grid pattern of the tiles off your cheek, and shot Luke a text asking if he was free tonight.

He drops by at the end of your shift.

“Hi, babe.” Luke grins as he slides into one of the bar stools. “You good?”

You nod, then pause. “Not really?”

You’re wiping down the bartop, dumping an ashtray you collected from the smoking zone outside into the trash. The Hard Deck is empty now, even the last stragglers filed out. Bob selected a song on the jukebox before he left, something slow and decidedly country. Your hands shake when you go to wet the rag again.

Luke frowns and leans across the bar to look at you closely. “What happened?”

“I have to tell you something,” you say and run the tap. The water hits the chrome of the sink with a splatter.

Luke raises an eyebrow, grins. “Illicit confession?”

Under any other circumstances, you would have laughed. But your stomach is coiled up in knots so tight you wonder if they’ll ever untangle again. Like the earphones you fish from the bottom of a purse.

You just so manage a half-hearted chuckle, a sad, pathetic little sound that has Luke’s eyebrow climbing even higher.

He pushes a brown paper bag across the counter. “I brought your favorite take-out… Would that cheer you up?”

Almost immediately, your stomach growls in answer. You’ve been so hungry the past few days that you can’t even manage to be embarrassed. “Mexican?” you ask, something like excitement in your voice for the first time in over 24 hours.

“Ah...” Luke bites his lower lip. “No, uhm… I got something from that one place we went to. The fusion kitchen?”

“Oh…” The excitement dampens immediately, and you force a smile. “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

“Sorry… you did say you liked it when we went.”

He’s right. You did say that.

Luke likes experimental food, things like that cocktail with the gold foil. Things that look much better than they end up tasting. He takes pictures of them and posts them on his Instagram, and he always makes sure not to get your hand in, your purse, your foot. He doesn’t even follow you back, and you want to not care about trivial things like social media so very badly that you never ask him about it.

He looks genuinely apologetic, though, so you resolve to forgive him. You smile and say, “I did! This is great. Thanks, Luke.”

His satisfied smile puts you at ease.

“So, what did you want to talk about?”

It’s a bit like a bucket of ice water. The ease slips away as quickly as it came. You start wiping almost furiously at a stain on the bartop, then give up. Stare at your fingers gone wrinkly with the sudsy water.

You open your mouth, and then you say, “I’m pregnant.”

It’s not what you meant to say. You meant to ease into this, make it sound… less final, somehow. As if that’s at all possible. As if that isn’t exactly what it is. Final.

You’re never going back from this, you realize suddenly. No matter what happens from here on out, there’s never going to be another moment where this hasn’t happened. Where you weren’t pregnant, where you didn’t mess it all up. The plan, the dream, the life.

Tears aren’t enough anymore. You’re going to run headfirst into the ocean and scream until the saltwater fills your lungs.

Luke laughs. You stare at him.

It takes a moment, but slowly he realizes that you’re not joking. That this is serious. The smile slides sideways off his face.

“Oh,” he says, and you can’t look at him anymore. So you let your eyes wander, down towards the lapels of his white dress shirt. He’s still wearing his suit and tie, and the realization that he’s come straight from the office touches you more than it should. At the same time, guilt settles in your stomach. You’re doing this to him, you’re altering his life, you…

The rational part of yourself scoffs, takes over the reins. It takes two to tango, you remind yourself. This is as much his fault as it is yours.

But that doesn’t get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth.

“Why…” Luke pauses. “Why are you telling me this?”

When you look up at his face again, his expression is carefully blank.

“Uh…”

“Shouldn’t you be telling the father?”

You blink. The cogs of your mind turn slowly like somebody slapped gum between them. “I am,” you say, wondering what the hell he’s on about.

“I’m not the father,” Luke says, very matter-of-factly. “You don’t need to lie about it.”

“I’m not lying.” You’re too stunned to even be insulted by the insinuation.

“It’s alright.” He shrugs his shoulders, his expensive suit in the tacky, glossy fabric catching the light. “It’s not like we’re exclusive. I don’t mind if you slept with somebody else.”

“Not exclusive,” you repeat lamely. Maybe that part shouldn’t catch you as off guard as it does. You’ve never discussed it with him in as many words, never sat down to have the whole boyfriend/girlfriend talk, but you’ve been seeing each other semi-regularly for two months now, and you’d just sort of assumed…

“Sure.” Luke nods. “Don’t blame this one on me, then.”

Oh. Your heart clenches, and suddenly it feels like you can’t breathe.

“I didn’t sleep with anybody else,” you say, but your voice sounds far away.

Luke shrugs. “Well, it can’t be mine.”

You don’t even know what to say to this. You’re in desperate, burning need of a shot, and the realization that you can’t have one zaps through you like a pain.

“We always used a condom,” Luke is saying, and his words drift to you through a fog, through a mist, through a thicket of fear and anxiety and ice-cold panic. “I made damn sure of that.”

“It’s not….” You clear your throat. “They’re only like… 98 percent safe. Condoms, I mean.”

“What, so you’re saying we’re those two percent?”

He looks like he’s about to start laughing again, and suddenly you barely recognize him. You’ve always known that Luke wasn’t the love of your life, but that was fine. Love hadn’t been part of the plan anyway, that was for later, much later, after you’d gone international and gotten rich off Mojitos and Pina Coladas and the occasional Old Fashioned. But Luke had been… well, he’d been nice. Always. He’d been someone to laugh with, had been long walks on the beach, and quick tumbles in his backseat. He’d been fun and nice and…

And you’d been stupid enough to hope. Hope for more, hope for better, hope for something.

“I can’t have a baby with you,” he says. His voice rings with finality.

What are you supposed to say to that? With those three positive pregnancy tests back home on your bathroom counter. With the knowledge that you haven’t slept with anyone else.

“Well,” you whisper, and the words come out softer than you want them to, “you are.”

Luke is very quiet for a moment. He’s looking right at you, the blue eyes you used to think were open, inviting, now slitted and probing. Like a snake.

“Jesus,” he says finally, draws back to run his fingers through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. His voice has lost some of its calm. “What do you want from me?”

You wonder if you look as dazed as you feel. “I don’t… I don’t want anything from you.”

That’s not true. You’d like him to hug you. You’d like him to tell you it’s going to be okay, even if that might be a lie. You’d like him to be nice to you.

Instead, Luke, who looks increasingly distressed, jerks his head and says, “If it’s a family you’re after… I can’t give you that.”

Everything has happened so quickly - the toppling of your plans, the chaos of your life. You haven’t really had time to think about how you want him to react. Not like this, though.

“Why not?” you ask and regret the question the moment it’s out of your mouth. You sound like a child - lost, confused.

Luke sighs. He rakes a palm over his face and shakes his head. When he finally looks at you again, there’s something almost guilty on his face. You can’t tear your eyes away, can’t help but feel your stomach plummeting down down down toward the ground. It’s like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper, feeling what the fall might be like even with both feet firmly planted.

“I can’t give you that,” he says, “because I already have a family.”

Beneath you, the ground seems to quiver.

“What?”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, then reaches into his pocket and produces a shiny, golden wedding band. When he slips it back onto its original place on his finger, you watch the patch of pale skin, several shades lighter than the rest, disappear.

Your breath gets stuck somewhere in your chest.

“You’re… married?”

“Going on five years,” he says, and you think he sounds sad, but maybe that’s just your hope getting the better of you again.

You don’t know what to say. For a moment, you just stand there with the rag still in your hand, listening to the sad, sad voice of some wanna-be cowboy drawling from the speakers. Hear the phantom thud of the cues hitting pool balls. Turn your head to where the pilots were having fun earlier, back when things weren’t all jumbled up.

The whole world moves far, far away from you. Like something you watch on TV screens, something intangible, something fake. It’s not something that happens to people like you. It’s not something that happens to real people.

“It’s… you didn’t tell me that,” you say, and it’s like your voice echoes through a long, long tunnel, bounces off the walls like a tennis ball. “I didn’t know.”

And then you think back on it. Think of whispered phone calls in the dead of night, think of erratic work schedules, think of his insistence to come here instead of going to San Diego. Think of how little you know of his life, how firmly he kept you locked out of it.

Suddenly you’re not so sure if you didn’t know or if you just didn’t want to know. If you closed your eyes to what was right in front of you.

Guilt and anger and confusion flash through you in rapid succession. You feel sick to your stomach.

“I’ll give you money,” Luke says. It’s a peculiar thing - you see his mouth move before the words ever reach your ears, like a movie that’s gone out of sync with the audio.

“Money,” you repeat, very slowly. Or maybe not slowly at all. You just feel like you got stuck in molasses, like the whole world has been dipped in something sticky.

“Well. You’re getting rid of it.”

It’s not a question. He says it like it’s a fact, like it’s something that’s already been decided. Like it’s something you don’t get a say in.

You stiffen, fingers sinking into the wet rag. Soapy water drips over the lacquered wood of the bartop.

“No,” you say. “No, I’m not.”

About five minutes ago, you hadn’t even made your mind up about it yet. Hadn’t decided whether to keep it or not. Had still been weighing the pros and cons in your mind, turning them over like a Rosetta Stone that might help you decipher the encrypted, tangled mess of your thoughts.

And now that he’s said it, now that the option is right there in the open, suddenly you know that’s not the way you want it to happen.

“What,” Luke says, “you wanna have it?”

“Yes,” you answer, and you know it’s the truth.

Maybe it’s stupid. You’re twenty-four. You’re broke. You pick up shifts at a bar to pour tequila shots for other people. You live off the guys you flirt with long enough they decide you’re worth a tip. All those plans of grandeur, of franchises and cocktails and Park Avenue apartments, are dead-ends. You’ve been walking a cul-de-sac your whole life.

And still… something about it feels right to you.

You’ve been thinking about the whole thing in theory - the theoretical truth of that test, the theoretical reaction of Luke, the theoretical existence of that baby, the theoretical impact on your life. But it’s not a theory. It’s real.

There’s a baby growing in you.

It’s the most terrifying thought of your life. You’ve never experienced something so wonderful. Even as the fear eats away at you, even as your stomach churns and your head spins, some part of you feels illuminated with light.

Luke laughs. “Babe… no offense, but that’s a horrible idea.”

You clench your teeth and grit out, “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

He shrugs. “Well, you’re gonna get it. You really think you could raise a kid?”

“I don’t know,” you say, truthfully, and wonder where all this calm is coming from. “But I want to try.”

Luke stares at you as if you’re growing a spare set of ears right in front of him. Then he laughs again, shakes his head. You can’t see what’s so funny about any of this.

“Babe,” he says, “this isn’t some new Cocktail recipe. This is an actual child you’re talking about.”

If you weren’t so goddamn tired, it would make you angry. Set fire to you like a fuse. But you’re drained, empty, hollow. You want to go home, want to curl up in bed, want to cry. You want to go back two weeks in time, back when you were still just a failing waitress with a big dream. Back before the responsibility of it all hunched you over.

“I’m doing it,” you say, and hope he understands the decision is final. Hope your voice is firm.

Luke exhales. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, as he turns half away from you.

Finally, after an eternity, he says, “I can’t be involved in this.”

For your part, you understand that decision is final too.

You nod, grab onto the bartop to keep yourself from toppling over. The ground beneath you is a gaping, beckoning abyss. It’s going to swallow you whole.

“Fine,” you whisper. “I’ll do it alone then.”

For a moment, Luke looks almost surprised. As if he was sure you’d fold eventually, see reason. Listen to him.

You wonder if that’s how it’s been before - him pushing and you giving in. Rearranging your life to fit his schedule, his plans, his wants. Shrinking yourself to make room for him. And you didn’t even notice.

You straighten your spine.

“For what it’s worth,” Luke says as he slides off his chair, “I’m sorry.”

And then he does what men do best: He leaves. Walks away from you and the baby growing inside of you. Walks away from the mess he made, the dream he shattered, without a care or a thought. Without looking back.

You watch his retreating form, watch the set of his shoulders, the spring in his step, watch as he bounds down the steps onto the gravel of the parking lot, watch as the shadows eventually blot out the sight of him.

Good riddance, you want to say, but you can’t even form words.

With your heart torn to shreds, with your fear clawing a bloody path up your throat, you sink down onto the floor, press a hand to your mouth, and you sob.

Twenty minutes later, Bradley Bradshaw finds you in the exact same position.

You know it’s been twenty minutes because you’re staring at the digital clock of the dishwasher, counting down the wash cycle. The neon red of the numbers blurs through the veil of your tears.

It’s like somebody’s cut your chest open. Scooped you clean like taking a spoon to a tub of ice cream. Behind your ribcage, you feel hollow in a way that aches down to your bones. That spiderwebs through your veins.

Bradley pauses in the doorway, silhouetted by the outdoor lighting you still haven’t turned off. Like this, with your vision blurred, he looks like a drawing of the Virgin Mary on one of those cheap, tacky candles. Descending on a flurry of clouds and light and doves. Only this Virgin Mary wears Hawaiian shirts, apparently. It almost makes you laugh.

He casts his eyes over the room, a slight furrow dipping between his brows. It takes you a moment to understand he hasn’t seen you yet, not with how you’re crouching by the crates of Corona.

Part of you wants to hide, wants to crawl under the jutting canopy of the bar. Wants to pretend you’re not here, fold yourself into a tiny pocket square of a person until he leaves again.

“Hello?” Bradley asks, genuine confusion laced with the word, and you know you can’t do that.

“Hi,” you call back, and your voice sounds tiny. Miserable. You push up on your knees to preserve a bit of your dignity. The room goes spinning in a whirlwind, and you catch yourself with both hands on the wood, lifting up to peek at him over the edge of the bar. “I’m down here.”

For a moment, Bradley just stares at you. He takes in the scene, the smeared mascara, the swollen eyes, the fresh tears leaving tracks down your cheeks like you’re drawing rivers on a map.

Then he snaps into action. He’s crossing the room before you can even really come to terms with the fact that he’s here in the first place, pushing through the hip-high swinging door that separates the oval space hugged by the bar from the rest of the room and falling to his knees by your side.

“What happened?” Bradley asks, something hard to his voice. But when he goes to touch the side of your face, carefully as if you’re injured, as if you’re made of porcelain that’ll break at the slightest jostle, his brown eyes show nothing but genuine concern.

It makes you cry harder.

“Nothing,” you say, which is a ridiculous lie, all things considered. You’re crouching on the floor of your workplace, over an hour after your shift has ended, crying your eyes out. Clearly, there’s something wrong. “I’m fine.”

Bradley sits cross-legged on the hardwood floors, his knee close enough to graze against yours. He looks decidedly out of his depth, almost uncomfortable. Helpless. His mustache quivers as he opens his mouth, then closes it again.

But he doesn’t push. Doesn’t try to get you to explain it, doesn’t ask again. He just sits there with you, elbows on his thighs, and lets you cry.

It’s nice not to be alone. To have somebody with you, even if he doesn’t know you. Even if he has no idea what it is that has you on the brink of a complete crisis.

You do your best not to think about it. Not about the baby, not about the guy who just dumped you. Not about gold foil and Instagram posts and wedding bands. Not about how he’s made you a homewrecker, and you didn’t even know.

Maybe this is karma. The universe punishing you for your sins. Something like that.

Maybe it’s just really, really bad luck.

“What are you doing here?” you ask when you’ve finally calmed yourself enough the sobbing has subsided to sniffles.

Bradley jerks his head noncommittally. “I forgot my wallet.”

“Oh.” You try to get up, but your legs won’t cooperate. “I’ll help you look.”

He shakes his head, pulls you back onto the floor by the elbow. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll look for it later. What happened?”

There’s something about his tone that tells you this time he won’t let you get away with a half-assed lie. Which doesn’t stop you from trying.

“Just… rough day.”

Bradley looks at you, then pulls his knees up, lets his arms dangle between them. “You don’t have to tell me,” he says, and his voice is very gentle. “But if you want to… I can listen.”

This is the thing about Bradley Bradshaw. He has the kind of face that makes you want to tell him things. Makes you want to spill your secrets to him, pour them into his space. He’s steady, reliable, calm. It would be so easy to trust him.

That’s dangerous.

But you’re so tired, and you’re so broken, and you’re so terribly, horribly lonely. With Luke gone, with your parents out of the picture, with nobody to help and no one to hold you, the loneliness is like an ache, like a stain, like something that festers and spreads and unfurls inside of you.

You just want to pretend you don’t have to do it alone. Just for a moment.

So you say, “I think I did something stupid.”

Bradley’s eyes are very brown. A soft shade of brown, like milk chocolate. When you look at him, you feel warm all over.

“Alright,” he says, and there isn’t an ounce of judgment in it. It’s just a gentle, careful nudge for you to continue.

“I…” You exhale shakily, look down to the floor, twist the bracelet around your wrist. It’s so much harder to form the words the second time around. “I’m pregnant.”

Saying it to Bradley, who is practically a stranger, saying it to someone outside of whatever little bubble, whatever vacuum two people playing at love built around themselves, makes it real in a way it wasn’t before.

You’re pregnant. In a few months, your belly is going to grow to the size of a watermelon. You’re going to get ultrasounds and wear maternity clothes and buy a crib. You’re going to hold a baby in your arms, a baby that will become a toddler, will become a child, will become a teenager, will become an adult. They’re never going to leave again.

I’m pregnant.

One moment - and in it the rest of your life.

It’s a skyscraper, it’s a monument, it’s a mountain. It dwarves you. How can you ever be enough for the path that lies ahead?

The panic jumps you. It rattles you. Suddenly you’re panting, you’re shaking, you can’t think, your head spinning circles around the enormity of it all.

“Oh,” Bradley says. He sounds like he expected you to say just about anything except that. “Congratulations.”

You stare at him, and he backtracks.

“Unless you don’t want me to congratulate you? Sorry, I shouldn’t just….”

“No,” you stop him, your voice a tiny, trembling thing. “It’s okay. Thank you.”

You wonder what it might be like if you were older, if you were married, if you weren’t such a fuck-up. Would people beam at you, hug you, shake your hand? Would they share the joy they must assume you feel?

Neither one of you says anything for a while. Through the opened windows, the sound of the ocean drifts in, of the waves crashing against the shore. The chrome of the fridge you’re leaning against is cold even through the layers of your shirt. You count the wooden tiles on the floor.

After half an eternity, Bradley says, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

It’s like a knife to the heart, it slices right through you, stabs you between the ribs. And you’re not even angry, don’t even feel betrayed… it just hurts. The kind of pain that stays with you. The kind of pain that leaves phantom traces even after the wounds have healed.

“I don’t,” you say finally.

Beside you, Bradley shifts his weight. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m really putting my foot in it today, aren’t I?”

It’s almost enough to make you laugh. “It’s okay,” you say, even though it isn’t. This whole thing isn’t okay. “I’ll be fine.”

Without hesitating, Bradley says, “I know you will be.”

There’s such conviction in his voice that it baffles you. You stare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“He’s… have you told him, though? Or are you guys not in contact?”

Still trying to recover, you shrug. “Yeah,” you whisper, drawing your shoulders almost all the way up to your ears, “I told him.”

You can tell he wants to ask more, but he gives you a second before his next question. “And you… you guys are gonna try co-parenting? Or is he… are you going to get married?”

That makes you frown. You say, “What is this, the 1950s?”

“I just think….” Bradley clears his throat. “I just think if you get a girl pregnant, you should step up. Take responsibility.”

Of course he’d think that. You’re not even surprised.

There’s always been something traditional about Bradley Bradshaw, like he’s one of those men written by women people rave about all over TikTok. If he takes a girl out on a date, he probably holds open car doors and pulls out chairs for her, hands her his jacket if she gets cold.

Distantly, you wonder what that would be like.

“I don’t want somebody to marry me out of responsibility,” you say. “I can take care of myself.”

Bradley scrambles. “I know that!” he says quickly, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift his weight forward, elbows resting on his thighs. “Of course, I know that. I just thought… I just thought you shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it almost bowls you over. You turn your head to the side, press your face into your shirt sleeve and dig your fingernails deep into the skin of your shins.

Bradley watches you, eyes intent, and then he probes carefully, “Are you… are you going to keep it?”

You sink your teeth into your lower lip, blink against the sudden dampness. Keep your face turned away from him. The shame of it all, of the situation you’re in, of him seeing you like this, overwhelms you. Your vision blurs.

“I think…” You swallow around the lump in your throat. “I always used to think if I ever got in this situation, I’d just get an abortion but now… I don’t… I just don’t think it’s the right thing for me.”

Slowly, he nods. “You want to have the baby,” he says, and it’s not really a question, but you answer anyway.

“Yes. I mean… I don’t know, it’s just… I want this. I don’t know why or how, but I… it feels like I have to do this.”

“Yeah,” Bradley says, completely sincere. “Your body, your choice.”

Now you do snort. “What, are we at a rally?”

“I follow a few Instagram accounts,” he admits. His voice has gone almost sheepish. “Abortion rights should be everybody’s concern. Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.”

It’s endearing in a strange way because there’s nothing performative about it. It’s just bumbling and awkward and peculiarly genuine.

“You sound like you spend too much time on Twitter,” you say softly, and it makes him laugh. Bradley’s got a nice laugh, one that starts in his belly and seems to end at the back of his throat, punches out into the air from back there.

After things have gone quiet again, the anxiety sets back in. Or maybe it’s been there all along, chomping at the bit, and you just didn’t notice.

“You must think I’m crazy,” you say finally, a self-deprecating chuckle loosening from your throat.

But when you glance up at him from beneath lowered lashes, stomach tight with anticipation, Bradley doesn’t look judgmental at all. Instead, his face is wide open, his eyes clear, the corners of his lips still curled upward with the remnants of his smile.

Luke laughed at you, but Bradley is looking at you with something like admiration, and it takes your breath away.

“No,” he says. “I think you’re really, really brave.”

And then you’re crying again.

You’re surprised there are any tears left in you after your earlier session, but they burst forth now, in a sudden eruption of all the fear and all the pain. And Bradley is so nice. So goddamn kind even though he doesn’t know you, not really, even though this isn’t even his problem. Sits there on the floor of the Hard Deck with you at half past one am on a Sunday night, and doesn’t complain, doesn’t sigh. He just listens.

You don’t feel brave. You feel terrified, you feel overwhelmed, you feel… you feel… you feel like the whole world has toppled over. You feel like Atlas crashing down, buried beneath the weight of his burden. You feel tiny. Inadequate. You feel scared, scared, scared.

“I don’t know what to do,” you confess, choke it out between sobs. Wonder why you’re telling him this. When you don’t know him.

Funny how it is so much easier at times to be honest with strangers than it is to be honest with the people we love the most.

“I’m so… I’m so scared, Bradley.”

He moves as if to touch you, then seems to think better of it and slumps back into himself. The expression on his face is unreadable, his eyebrows furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“He’s not gonna… the father isn’t going to help you out?”

It makes you realize you never really answered his earlier question. And you don’t know why, can’t explain it rationally, but for some reason, this, too, makes embarrassment well up at the back of your throat.

What is Bradley going to think? The poor, little, stupid girl who got herself knocked up by a guy who won’t even stay? Is that what everybody’s going to think now? Is that all you’ll be?

It’s a life sentence, this whole thing.

You shrug, pause. Shake your head. “No,” you say finally. “He’s not going to be involved.”

You know it’s true. Luke won’t come back, not now, not in ten years, not in twenty. There was something final about that exchange, something permanent. Something that can’t be undone.

Suddenly, you think of that tiny, unborn child inside of you. Abandoned before it ever came into the world.

It’s just you and me now, baby, you think to yourself, and it goes through you like a current, sweeps you under like a wave. We’re all alone. All we have is each other.

“What about your parents? Your dad’s in the Navy, too, right?”

If you could, you’d run away. Fold yourself to invisibility. Slip into the pockets between moments and become something other, something that exists out of sight.

You think of your parents. Floral couches and polished hardwood floors. Tom Cruise on the television as your mother scrubbed every part of the house like she was getting rid of an illness, wiping away a disease, perpetually finding another stain or another cobweb or another wrinkle to smooth over. Think of your father, rigid and strict and absent. Always on some mission, always thinking of a greater good that definitely didn’t involve you, always looking through you even as he looked at you. You don’t know if you have a single memory of him smiling.

You haven’t spoken to them once since you gave up a perfectly fine full-ride scholarship to college.

“My parents,” you say, and as the words spill from you, you realize they’re the truth, “would probably kill me if they found out I got pregnant out of wedlock. Maybe if I were married, they’d give me back my trust fund or something, but… No, I don’t think they’d help me out.”

A muscle in Bradley’s jaw jumps, then he’s looking away. Turning to the side so you’re knee to knee again. You stare at his profile, at the curl of his ears, the cut of his jaw. The jagged edges of his scars blur through the fog of your tears.

“So, how are you… do you have a plan?”

You had one. You had Mojitos and Daiquiris and Cosmopolitans. You had a slew of business classes at a community college. You had a dream and a set of tools to achieve it, and when you close your eyes, you can almost see it right there in front of you.

But now it’s been swept up in a hurricane. Swallowed by a tsunami.

“No,” you admit, and your voice trembles. “I have no idea what to do.”

Bradley’s jaw moves as he chews on his lower lip. He swallows, and his throat unudlates with it, and then he’s shifting, shuffling forward a bit.

“I…” He clears his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks nervous. “I may have an idea.”

“An idea?” you repeat slowly.

You think he’s going to tell you about some friend who’s looking to hire someone, looking to rent out a very cheap apartment, works at a doctor’s office and is going to treat you for free. Something like that, maybe.

Instead, Bradley takes a deep breath and says, “Marry me.”

It takes a while for the words to register. At first, you think you’ve misheard, then you wonder if maybe the romantic parts of your mind cooked that up. If he even said it at all.

But Bradley is looking at you expectantly, the only indicator of nerves the slightest glimmer in his brown eyes.

And you can’t help yourself. You laugh, even through your tears. It’s a sound that rips from you unconsciously, unstoppably, because surely he’s joking. It’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Good one,” you say, and wonder just how big of a mess you look like. You wipe at your cheeks, your nose with your sleeves and sniffle once, twice.

Bradley’s lips twitch into the pathetic half of a smile, then he’s serious again, avoiding your eyes.

And that, finally, is when you realize that he isn’t joking at all.

“I…” You pause, mind whirring, head spinning. “What?”

“It’s just….” Bradley shrugs, then explains, “It’s only a suggestion. But you said your family might consider supporting you again if you were married. It might be an option.”

You don’t know what to say. You feel like you’re in a low-budget Hallmark movie.

Bradley pushes on, “It wouldn’t be permanent. We could get a divorce quickie in a year or two, just stay together long enough for you to get settled with the baby and everything. Plus, you’d get free healthcare.” He glances at you, and the blank expression on your face must light a panic in him. Now his words come faster. “I wouldn’t expect anything from you, of course I wouldn’t. It would just be… keeping up appearances. Just for a while….”

Finally, he trails off. The silence stretches between you like a palpable thing, thick and dense like summer heat.

When you were twelve, sitting in the back of the car as your parents argued up front, the woods of Washington flying past in rapid ribbons of black and blue and green, the moon a disk of silver in the sky, a deer ran out into the road. You remember the screeching of the tires as your dad did what you’re not supposed to and brought the car to a sudden, abrupt stillstand. You remember the wide eyes of the animal, the muscles locked in its state of catatonic horror. You remember the flanks rising and falling quickly beneath the matted fur.

For a second, you feel like that deer. Frozen. Caught completely off guard. Vulnerable.

Then you think you might be a little overdramatic.

You say, “What the fuck, Bradley?”

Part of you expects him to backtrack immediately, laugh, and tell you that he was joking after all. But Bradley stands his ground, even as he still won’t look right at you.

“I probably wouldn’t even be home much anyway. I leave for work all the time,” he says, brows drawn into a straight line above his eyes as he stares intently at his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of his arm. “But I could babysit, and then you could go back to work. I really wouldn’t mind. I’m good with kids, you know?”

You’re not entertaining the whole thing, not really, but you can’t help yourself. Your curiosity takes the upper hand.

“Why would you… why would you ever offer this? You barely know me.”

Bradley seems to think about it for a long moment, his face unreadbale. Then finally, he says, “There’d be something in it for me, too, you know? I’ve been meaning to get assigned to North Island permanently, do a relocation. But those spots tend to go to the guys with family, so…” He shrugs, but the gesture seems forced. “I could help you out, you could help me out. Win-win.”

“That’s all?” you ask, and you don’t know why there’s something like disappointment in your voice.

Bradley looks like he wants to say something else, and for a moment his face is vulnerable. But then it shutters again, and he nods. “That’s all.”

For a second, just a second, you let yourself imagine it: Imagine saying yes to this mad, insane, incredible proposal. Imagine marrying Bradley, someone soft and warm and responsible, someone completely opposite to Luke. Imagine him in a tux and you in a white dress, imagine his mustache tickling against your cheek as he leans in to kiss you. You imagine one of the quaint little houses you grew up in, but one that would belong to you, at least for a while. You imagine a toddler running through it, imagine Bradley bending down to scoop them into his arms. You imagine a life without this aching, shifting loneliness. You imagine a life with Bradley.

When you finally shake your head, when you let go of that ghost, it feels like it takes a piece of you with it.

“No,” you say softly, and it breaks you open in ways you can’t describe. “I can’t let you do that, Bradley.”

It’s just too insane. Too far out there. It wouldn’t be fair to him, when you’d be getting so much more out of that arrangement.

And besides. I don’t want someone to marry me out of responsibility. That’s what you told Bradley earlier, and you meant it.

When you do marry, when you walk down that aisle, you want it to be for love. And people can call you delusional, naive, whatever. You don’t care. You just know you want the big thing, the real thing, True Love, capital t, capital l. You want the hurricane of romance, the monsoon of love. You want to fly into it.

Bradley’s quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Okay. But if you… change your mind, yeah? I’ll be here.”

And he means it. Bradley carries his heart on his sleeve, you’ve learned this much. He tries to hide it, but he’s no good at it. Eventually, his emotions always get the better of him, burst forth like fountains. It’s part of his charm.

“What,” you say, “right here on the Hard Deck’s floors?”

It’s a sad attempt at a joke, but Bradley is nice enough to laugh anyway. “Sure thing. You guys have the cleanest floors in all of North Island, did you know that?”

You hum. “Sure. I’m the one who cleans them.”

Finally, you get up off the floor, unfold yourself from the bundle of misery you’ve crumbled into. Your legs ache, your back hurts, your chest still feels hollow. All the crying has left a dull pain pulsating behind your left brow.

The two of you look for Bradley’s wallet together, finally find it over by the pool table. You pretend like you’re not still reeling from his proposal, like it’s not suddenly become impossible to do so much as look at him without your heart flopping around like a fish finding its sad end on dry land.

“Can I give you a ride home?” Bradley asks as he watches you lock up. The Hard Deck has an old lock that gets jammed whenever the slightest bit of dampness creeps into the air. You have to hang onto the doorknob with all your weight while simultaneously turning the key to get it to lock.

“I drove here,” you say, casting your eyes about for the tiny tin can you call your car. You can’t even remember where you parked earlier.

“You okay to drive?” Bradley asks.

You glance at him. With the lights off, the parking lot is almost covered in a thick blanket of darkness. The headlights of a few passing cars winding their path along the coastal highway illuminate patches of gravel now and then. Moonlight spills silver and dim across his shoulders, like fingers caressing him. He looks concerned, examining the state of you.

The truth is that you’re tired. Bone tired. Dead tired. So tired you could probably go to sleep where you stand if you put your mind to it. But you don’t want to bother Bradley anymore, have already stolen enough of his time.

So you’re about to decline, but it seems you hesitated too long.

“I’ll take you home,” Bradley says decidedly, “and you can come get your car tomorrow, okay? I don’t think you should be driving like this.”

“You don’t have to do that, you….”

“I know,” he interrupts you, a smile spreading on his face. “But I’ll feel better knowing you got home safe.”

That makes your insides clench in a way they shouldn’t. Your chest feels tight, and you look away just in case you start crying again.

Is it too soon in your pregnancy to start blaming raging hormones?

Wordlessly, you let Bradley lead you across the parking lot toward his monstrosity of a car. His hand hovers at the small of your back, incredibly close yet never touching. He’s big behind you, bulking, and you try not to think about it. When he opens the door for you and waits until you’re buckled in to close it, you feel like your head’s going to explode.

The ride home is quiet, as is the town around you on this Sunday night. An old Killers song plays on the radio, and you think of deer stepping out into streets, then press your eyes closed and will the thought away.

In Bradley’s car, with the windows rolled down, with the Californian night breeze whipping your hair into your eyes and clearing the fog from your head, for a short, blissful while, nothing seems real. It’s one of those liminal moments, a not-time, when reality feels like a dream and even the sharpest knives don’t cut deep enough to hurt.

It ends quicker than expected because time always goes the fastest when you want it to go slow. Then you’re thanking him, saying goodbye, both of you pretending he didn’t just propose some strange, fake marriage to you behind a bar counter not even thirty minutes ago.

Bradley waits until you’re inside the building before he starts the engine again. You hear the roar of it as you climb the stairs up to the second floor.

In your bedroom, you don’t even bother getting undressed. You just slip under the covers, pull them up over your head, bury in the sticky, stale air beneath them, close your eyes, and fall asleep within seconds.

The first time you told your parents about your bartending dreams, your father yelled at you for forty-five minutes. He hurled words at you that hurt, that left scars, that made you wonder and kept you second-guessing yourself for years, that stayed with you. Your mother didn’t say anything.

Somehow, that was worse.

You call her on the landline at five pm on a Tuesday, just before your dad gets back home, and she answers after the third ring. You’re so sure she’s going to acknowledge the four-year gap in contact, the crumbling of the relationship, the fall-out of screaming and crying, and your dad kicking you out of the house.

What you get, instead, is a ten-minute spiel about who brought what to last week’s church potluck and which laundry detergent your father’s contact allergies don’t act up with.

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, your digital alarm clock counting down the time in radioactive green. Outside, you hear the sounds of jets roaring through the sky. In your tiny kitchen unit, the faucet is leaking.

Finally, five minutes into a lecture on the advantages of pre-chopped garlic, you interrupt, “Mom?”

You wonder if she hears the shift in your voice, the slight tremble of it. Something makes her go very quiet on the other end of the line, no sound but her breath.

Drip-drip-drip goes your faucet.

When she doesn’t acknowledge you, you push on, your heart beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage, “I might… I think I might need some help.”

She doesn’t answer for so long you think you might have lost connection. Then you hear shuffling, imagine her walking through her empty house the way she sometimes does - like a phantom, like a specter.

“With what?” she asks after an eternity.

It’s all you can do to keep yourself from hyperventilating. Years of pain and fear clog up your chest, settle like goosebumps on your skin. You close your eyes and let your head drop back against your pillow.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

And then you can feel it through the phone, like something physical. What you’ve always known deep down. The disapproval and the disappointment, and the complete lack of understanding.

You’ve never been who your parents wanted you to be, and they’ve always punished you for it like it was a crime.

When your mother says your name, it’s so plain. That she can’t understand what you’re doing, with your cocktails and your late nights. That she doesn’t see why you’d ever choose something like that over a real education and a real job. That she cannot fathom how it could come to this now - you, broke, young, alone, pregnant.

It’s like being five again, trying to get somebody to look at the picture you drew. It’s like being ten again and being overlooked. It’s like being fifteen again, still vying for the attention you’ll never really get.

Your mother is a stubborn woman, set in her ways. She knows what she wants from people, more specifically, what she wants for them. And you’re no exception. Nobody’s ever asked her a question whose answer she couldn’t find in the bible.

More than wanting you to go to college, wanting you to work in an office, your mother has always wanted you to get married. To fit yourself into the picture-perfect stencil of white picket fence and smiling husband she cut herself. For you to let some guy put a ring on you, put a kid in you, buy you a house and a porch swing and a family van.

It’s pathetic, but it doesn’t matter how much time passes. How much older you get. At the end of the day, you still want her approval, just once, even if you have to lie to get it.

So, like a child, like you’re five again, like you’re ten again, like you’re fifteen again, you say, “I’m getting married.”

“Oh?” your mother asks, and there’s so much hope in the one word it hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Yeah,” you confirm, and then the lies just burst out of you, and you hate yourself, hate yourself so much it’s like bile on your tongue, “yeah, we’ve been engaged for a while, and now with the baby and all… It’s been long overdue.”

Your mother almost sounds excited. Sure, she’d probably prefer for you to have been married before getting knocked up, but all of this must still seem better than the last plan you presented to her four years ago. “What’s his name? What’s he do?”

You squeeze your eyes closed. If your mother knew you at all, if you hadn’t spent the past few years not speaking, you’d like to think she would have heard the shame in your voice when you say, “Bradley. He’s a Naval aviator.”

It might be the worst thing you’ve done in your life: Dragging poor, kind Bradley Bradshaw into the mess you’ve made of your life. Nevermind that he offered. It doesn’t matter.

Your mother starts babbling, the way she only does when she’s actually pleased about something. She’s talking about how happy your dad will be that you’re getting married to a fellow army guy, but you barely hear it. Now that you’ve gotten the approval, it doesn’t feel at all like you thought it would.

It just hurts.

For a while, you just let her keep talking as you blink away the tears, as you stare at your bedroom wall, as your mind spins and spins and spins in circles. Then you promise to send her an invite, say your goodbyes, and hang up.

It’s like you’re numb all over. You stay on your bed for another five minutes, and then another, and you feel just as empty as you did after your last conversation with Luke.

What has your life become? How could it crumble as quickly as it did, going from okay to horrible in less than a week?

Even when you weren’t speaking to your parents, you never felt this distant from them, this far removed. A chasm you’ll never be able to breach. An ocean you’re never going to bridge. The only way you’ve ever gotten your mother to be happy with a decision you’ve made is when you lied to her.

The loneliness is everywhere, then. In your chest, in your bed, in your veins. Crawling like a shadow that swallows you whole.

And then the panic sets in, ice cold in your veins, and with it comes the guilt. Your stomach rolls with it.

What have I done? you wonder. What have I done to myself, to Bradley? How will I ever get out of this?

You scramble. Blindly reach for a dress to slip into, for a pair of flip-flops, for your car keys. It’s a miracle you don’t crash on your way to the Hard Deck. Your heart works itself up into a frenzy, and the guilt gnaws at you, slashes at you, paws at you. All these emotions are tearing you apart.

In the back, Bradley and Bob are playing Pacman on one of the retro machines. They’re pretty loud, too, and from what you gather in your mad dash through your workplace, Bradley seems to be disproportionally competitive about the whole thing.

Figures. Nobody gets into Top Gun without a cutthroat streak and a mean penchant for ambition.

“Bradley,” you say, and when he looks up, his eyes sparkling, the smile slides right off his face. “Can I talk to you?”

He seems stunned for a second, then nods and deposits his beer on a nearby table. “Sure thing.”

You lead him out the back. Out of the corner of your eyes, you spot the exact corner you huddled in a few days back, agonizing over the positive pregnancy test, the decline of your life, the decay of your dreams. Don’t look, you tell yourself, and then do it anyway.

The sun hasn’t set yet, but twilight is descending on the world rapidly. Everything is washed into soft pastels, the sand and the last surfers shaking salt water from their hair. Bradley’s shirt and the honey gold of his skin.

You can’t look at him. It’s a shame that grows in the pit of your stomach, that settles there, heavy like a stone. How can you do this to him?

You’ve never felt worse about yourself, and still… The fear is too big.

Since you decided to give up on the scholarship, since you walked out of your parents house four years ago, you’ve been on your own. You’ve been footing your own bills and renting your own apartment and paying for insurance on your car. You were alone the time you got a cold so bad you couldn’t get out of bed for two days. You were alone when your tire popped on the highway and you almost hit another car. You were alone when you got rejection after rejection from the big San Diego bars, the ones that end up featured on TV and in magazines.

And that was fine. You’re strong, you know you are. Any issue that came your way, you managed to figure out eventually. You’ve been doing fine without any help.

But this, here, now. This… You just can’t do it on your own. Not when it’s about a baby. Your baby.

So you take a deep breath and ask, “Is the offer still on the table?”

Bradley exhales. You watch as he takes a step closer to you, as his shoes move in the field of your vision, grains of sand crunching beneath the soles. When he speaks, a cadence of insecurity has snuck into his voice, “The marriage?”

You nod because you can’t say it. Your mouth just won’t form the words.

“If…” Bradley clears his throat. “If you want it… yeah.”

When you look up at him, there’s something strange on his face. Something that looks less like surprise and more like awe.

His eyes are so brown, and your heart beats so fast, and you’re dizzy like you just got off a rollercoaster.

“I…” You pause to collect your thoughts, and then you rush it all out at once, scared that if you don’t say it now, you never will. “If I were to say yes, like, hypothetically… I’d need to know that you’re not just doing it for me. That there’s something in it for you, too, so….”

He’s nodding before you’ve finished. “I told you. I wanna stay here. I’m sick of getting sent around the country all the time, so… It’s good. It’s an opportunity.”

An opportunity. That sounds like business, sounds like a transaction, sounds rational and level-headed and reasonable, and you latch onto the idea. Maybe if you try to take the emotion out of the equation, it’ll be easier.

Bradley seems relaxed about the whole thing, much more relaxed than he should be given the absurdity of the situation, but you feel like you need to make things clear anyway, if only to put yourself at ease. That’s what people do before singing contracts, right? Put all the cards out on the table?

So you go on, “And I wouldn’t, like… Like you’d still get to do anything you want. I wouldn’t expect you to help with the baby or anything. And you could keep dating, of course, you could, I won’t mind. I promise. It’d just be for show, right?”

Bradley hesitates, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something. But then he just shrugs, nods, says, “That’s fine. Yeah. Whatever you want.”

For a moment, you both just look at each other.

“This is insane,” you say because it is, and you don’t know what else to say.

And Bradley just chuckles and agrees smoothly, “Yeah, it’s nuts, isn’t it?”

As you look at him, here in this pastel lighting, here on the verge of something monumental, there’s something so reassuring about him. Something so steady and reliable and constant. Something that makes you think, with him, maybe it could be okay, no matter how insane the whole idea is. An opportunity. An investment that just might pay off.

North star, you remind yourself. Bradley Bradshaw is the North Star.

At the very least, you won’t be alone.

“So is that….” Bradley shifts, scratches the back of his neck. “You saying yes, then?”

There’s a lump in your throat like you’ve swallowed a pebble. It almost chokes you.

“Yeah,” you agree finally, and can’t believe you’re saying this, doing this, can’t believe you’re this mad and this selfish and this desperate. “I guess I am.”

It’s awkward after that. You both just stand there, you with your arms around your own ribcage, Bradley with his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. Space and silence stretches far and gaping and glaring between you.

Then he says, “Can I hug you?”

That’s sort of the last thing you expected him to say.

You blink at him. “Uhm… sure?”

When Bradley pulls you into his arms, when he holds you against his chest loosely, carefully, giving you room to pull away at any moment, the whole thing almost bowls you over. It’s the first time anybody’s hugged you since you found out you’re pregnant, since your entire world came crashing down, and you can’t help yourself. It’s a visceral reaction. You cling to him, wrap your arms around his neck, press your face into his shoulder and your chest against his and squeeze your eyes shut, and stay there for longer than you planned to, longer than you should. Let him hold you tight enough that for a moment, for a while, it almost feels like you’re whole again. Like you’re not alone.

For the first time in a week, for the first time since that positive test, things feel real. You feel real. Only with his hands on you. The thoughts that have been echoing through your head constantly, loud enough to drown out everything else, quiet.

You could get addicted to it, could get greedy and selfish and never-satisfied. Could eat it raw.

Bradley smells like sunscreen and sandalwood. You try to commit that scent to memory, try to ingrain it into your brain and your body. Something to remember the next time the loneliness sets in.

Finally, he pulls away, and his smile is gentle. You feel every inch of separation like an ache in your bones, like an echo, like a reverberation.

You can’t cry again. You’ve been doing it so much recently that you just won’t allow it again. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be a mother and a wife, in whatever capacity, you’ll have to be strong. No matter how hard that will be.

“I don’t even have a ring for you,” Bradley says, a frown etching itself into his forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” You’re shaking your head quickly, vehemently. “No, Bradley, that’s fine, you don’t need to….”

“I think you should have something, though. I want to give you something,” he interrupts you. “I just don’t know….”

And then he seems to think of something. The epiphany is practically written all over his face, and for a moment, he looks so much younger. Rosy cheeks and all.

Bradley reaches into his wifebeater and pulls his dog tags from beneath the fabric. Before you know what’s happening, he’s tugging the thin silver chain down over your head, moving your hair out of the way carefully. It settles against the skin of your neck, warmed by his body heat.

You stare down at the metal dangling over your dress, the letters of his name etched into it. Bradley Bradshaw.

Your heart seizes.

When you were younger, much younger, you used to dream of this. You used to imagine what being proposed to would feel like, what it would be like. A fancy restaurant, an expensive glass of champagne, and a diamond ring at the bottom of the flute. Something flashy, something extravagant, something beautiful. The man in your fantasy was faceless at first, and then he looked like Robert Pattinson, and then he looked like your first crush, and then he went back to being faceless again.

He never had a mustache. He was never a stranger. Your dreams were never this: Rushed and fake and no ring at all. You, pregnant with somebody else’s baby, and Bradley, marrying you to get assigned to a base of his choosing. None of it real. No True Love, no capital t, no capital l. Not even lowercase. Nothing but madness and guilt and business between you.

And still you want it, want it so bad it swells inside you, pushes against your ribcage with enough pressure to crack bones - you want to be wanted.

You wonder what Bradley dreamed of. Not you, probably. So much younger than him, so naive, so gullible, falling for married men and getting yourself into situations you can’t climb out of yourself. Making him do this when he deserves better, more, deserves something true and real.

It makes you sick to your stomach. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to ask Bradley to hug you again, so you can forget, just for another second, just for another moment.

Instead, you say, voice barely a whisper, “Thank you.”

Bradley shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, and he sounds so genuine you have to avert your eyes. “We’re friends, right?”

Friends. This man you barely know. This man who is doing something unfathomable for you.

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Friends.”

And then later, in the bar, as Bradley’s friends discuss some new Star Wars show you haven’t seen, as they order round after round of beer you can’t drink, as the sky goes from pastels to blues to blacks, you’ll pretend you don’t see Natasha staring at the dog tags around your neck, pretend you don’t wish you could hold Bradley’s hand, pretend you don’t feel like you’re falling apart, like you’re capsizing where you sit, like you're kicking water miles and miles and miles below the surface.

Beneath the table, you put a hand on your stomach, fingers spreading out, close your eyes, and let the current drag you under.

part 2

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

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lalal-99 · 2 months

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of new friendship {h.j.} | track 3

Han Jisung x afab!reader | trope: slice of life, coming of age | word count: 3.8k

Synopsis: The one where you go to a Jackson Wang party.

Check Chapter Overview for complete list of warnings

Note: As promised, this chapter is much shorter than the last. The next will, again, have 6k, but after that, chapters will be shorter (I think). Also, I wrote the most angsty and heartbreaking chapter yesterday and I can't wait to post it when it's due. Hope you enjoy this :)

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You couldn’t remember the last party you had been to.

A real party, with crates of alcohol, loud music, and drunk people, that was.

Throughout your early teen years it had been a regular part of your week. Getting drunk, befriending strangers and making mistakes. You left no party within reach unattended, no matter the people or their willingness to provide alcohol to minors. You had figured out ways to always get what you wanted in the end. And what you wanted at that time was to drink away any and every one of your brain cells.

With a little luck it would be the very one that made you remember the grief of losing a parent.

Whenever you told people about those days, it was as an explanation to why you rarely drank now. Most people also thought Jisung had helped you overcome that part of your life. It would have fit right into their version of a romantic love story—girl sad, girl meets boy, boy fixes girl. Happy end.

Most people couldn’t have been more wrong.

Jisung, like yourself, was plagued by his very own share of suffocating pain. And he too wanted to forget, desperately. In meeting you, he found someone who was right as troubled, maybe even more so. Thus, a toxic relationship formed, the two of you soon becoming the life of every party you attended.

Any party you went to, you became the centre of. Be it a friend’s party, a friend’s sibling’s party, or a stranger’s party one of your mutual friends had heard about god-knows-where. Surrounded by a crowd of people, both your age and older, you became the main source of entertainment. Making people laugh and providing them with memories they wouldn’t forget. Because which other two 14-year-olds could keg-stand and funnel like grown-ups?

You weren’t proud of it, but at the same time, it was as much part of your story as everything before and after. The darkest part, filled with pain, rage, and the simple desire to forget, yes. But a part never less.

Those times were long gone; life had caught up to you at some point.

Despite your party-animal-past, a shiver ran down your back when the frat house appeared on the horizon.

People gathered on the porch, on the stairs leading up to it, and on the lawn, smoking, drinking, and making out. Whatever stereotypical frat-party scenario you could have come up with played out right in front of your eyes.

You lingered for a moment, watching the scene unfold. Unsure how to approach the evening or if you even still wanted to. Hadn’t it been for Yuqi taking matters into her own two hands and dragging you inside... Well, you would have turned around and chosen the safety of your room instead.

Your partying days sure had passed.

When you entered the house, a thick veil of warmth and sweat hit you, a breath of nausea taking over your being. A sea of people was stumbling from room to room, up the stairs or towards you, in a desperate search for fresh air. If you planned on staying here for the next few hours, you’d need a drink. Or five.

Yuqi turned towards you, excitement evident on her face, “Wanna look for Jisung?”

“Drinks first!” you yelled back, her nod telling you she had understood. Surprising, seeing someone had cranked the bass right up to 11.

With your hand in hers, Yuqi pulled you through the crowd until you reached the kitchen. It was less crowded than the rest of the house, meaning you had a safe haven you could come to if things got too much. Judging from the tension in your back not even five minutes in, you’d need it at some point.

You didn’t pay too much attention to the people around you. The couple making out on the counter or the group chatting on the other side of the room. Instead, your gaze focused on the beers in the ice-filled sink. A sigh of relief escaped you as the cold, bitter liquid ran down your throat. The first half of the bottle, you emptied in that initial gulp.

You must have needed this more than you noticed.

“Impressive,” Yuqi praised you, her lips wrapping around her own bottle for a less eager sip. “Remind me never to face you in a drink-off.”

“Trust me, my drink-off days are far behind me.”

Your voice startled one of the people standing by the side, a familiar face snapping towards you. “Y/N?”

You found Hwasa leaning against the counter, a surprised expression taking over her features.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Your roomie had told you she’d be going out tonight too. Although you hadn’t expected her to be at the same party you had been dragged into. Pulling you into a hug, a few of her locks tickled your nose. “Jisung got invited by an old friend.”

“And you brought my new favourite person! Hi!” Hwasa greeted Yuqi with another bone-crushing hug. To an outsider, it must have looked like you hadn’t seen each other for years rather than yesterday.

“Don’t call me your favourite person, or I will cry.”

The smile on Yuqi’s face spread from one ear to the other as she let go of your roommate. After a few shorts hours spent with her, she had opened up to you about how difficult it usually was for her to make friends. Similar to Jisung, her quirky persona more times than not scared people off. Befriending not one but two people within the first week on campus, her happiness was understandable.

“So, who’s the mystery friend that invited you here? Wait, don’t tell me! I’m gonna guess. Is it Chris? He knows, like, everyone.” You shook your head, never having heard that name in your life. Scratching her chin with two perfectly manicured fingernails, Hwasa pondered. “Matthew? He’s been around for a while.” Again, you didn’t know who she was talking about.

This game could have taken forever. There were about 300 people who could have invited you, judging from the crowd inside this house. Though the fun was cut short when the door to the kitchen opened, and a familiar face entered the scene. Just like you remembered, he was followed by a crowd of eager people. Ever the centre of everything.

“No way! Am I dreaming? Y/N! I can’t believe you came.”

You startled when he pulled you into a hug, wrapping your arms around him with reluctance. You hadn’t seen him in over two years, and this was how he decided to greet you? A hug? Thinking about it, you had probably hugged him only a handful of times in your lifetime. Your birthday, maybe. Or Christmas.

“Hi, Jackson.”

He let go of you, momentarily staying in your proximity before stepping back.

He looked good, face clean-shaven and hair pulled back by a baseball cap. His clothes told the same story they always did. Rich guy with swagger, Gucci earrings somehow accentuating his baggy clothing. Jackson, for all you remembered, had always dressed like this. Drenching his aura in handsome.

“How is everyone? How’s the fam?”

“Everyone is perfect. Healthy, happy.”

Despite your best efforts to sound nonchalant, you couldn’t help the undertone of spite. Jackson seemed to understand the secret message, nodding as his lips pressed into a thin line.

You wanted to be nice to him as you were aware he was a good person at heart. But after everything, you couldn’t help being a little bitter still.

Hwasa—oblivious to a fault—interrupted the awkward shift this conversation had taken and you silently thanked the heavens. “You know each other?”

“What? You do, too?” Jackson replied, pointing between the two of you, ever the Spiderman-meme. “How?”

“We’re roommates.”

Emptying your first bottle, you pulled a second one out of the sink, opening it on the marble of the kitchen island. A party trick from back in your heyday you never quite unlearned.

“What? That’s crazy!” Jackson seemed genuinely surprised. He pulled his baseball cap off his head and repositioned it over a few loose strands. “Small world.”

“How about you?” you threw the question back to them.

“We’re—” Jackson cut himself off, eyes meeting Hwasa’s as they toasted their bottles. A quick wink, and he finished his contextually unbelievable description of their relationship. “Friends.”

Hwasa choked on her drink, laughing at his words as if it was the funniest thing she had heard all year. “That’s the understatement of the year.”

You remembered Yuqi, who was leaning against the counter beside you, perfectly quiet as she listened. Probably the quietest you had seen her since you met her. And that included the courses you visited together.

“Fine. We used to hook up. Happy?” Jackson corrected his previous statement. The wink he had sent Hwasa made way more sense now.

“Almost. You seem to have forgotten the part in which you fell hopelessly in love with me.”

Your eyes focused on the two of them. Could Hwasa be the girl? No way! That would have been too big of a coincidence.

“Okay, you are blowing that way out of proportion.” Chuckling at her words, Jackson positioned himself so that he was now facing her. “I had a little crush on you.”

“Exactly. What I said.”

Huffing, Jackson shook his head, pulling Hwasa into a side hug of sorts. Good thing Wheein wasn’t around to witness this flirtatious moment. Her absence explained why Hwasa even let someone come close to her like this. Her girlfriend’s presence seemed to put her a little on edge. Like Hwasa was in constant hope she wouldn’t do something to offend Wheein. Or, God forbid, make her think she was anything but faithful.

“We broke things off, and now—”

“We’re besties,” Hwasa ended his statement, patting his chest as they smiled at each other.

It couldn’t have been silent for more than five seconds before Jackson unwrapped his arm from his bestie. He fetched himself a fresh bottle out of the sink.

“Anyways,” throwing you and Yuqi a kind smile, Jackson turned to his friends. They were still gathered behind him, talking over each other with loud laughter. “It was nice seeing you again. I hope you and Sungie have a great night. Let me know if you need anything.”

Making his way out of the room, he left you to yourselves, sipping on your bottle like you hadn’t just emptied the last one. “Good luck finding him if you need anything. Jackson won’t be in the same room for longer than a minute.”

There was no need to tell you that.

At every party he had ever thrown, Jackson had always been nowhere and everywhere, all at once. You distinctly remembered searching for an hour once before eventually finding him where you had started. How he did it, no idea, but he sure was a pro at it.

“Let me get back to my friends. I’ll see you later?”

Nodding, you turned towards Yuqi, who had about 100 questions dancing on the tip of her tongue. The second you were on your own, she erupted like a waterfall.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” As if she would buy that. There was no way you didn’t know what she was talking about. Your body language had been very see-through throughout that whole interaction. Arms crossed, lips tight, brows cocked.

“Don’t play me, bitch!” A term of endearment, you had learned. “There was so much tension, I thought I was in Riverdale for a sec.”

You laughed at her words, shaking your head. “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Alright.” Yuqi accepted, but not before getting at least one last statement out in the open. “He’s smoking hot, but whatever he did to you, I would not want to be him.”

The two of you left the kitchen on a seemingly impossible quest to find your boyfriend. You forced your way through the crowd until you reached a less dense section of the room. Only then you noticed a group of people a little further back, right by a window.

You motioned for Yuqi to follow you as you approached the couches. Your boyfriend’s mop of brown hair remained the centre of your vision.

Jisung was deep in conversation with a boy beside him while Felix listened to them. Apart from them, a handful of other boys spread over the couches. The ones that didn’t fit, sat comfortable on chairs. Seeing Jisung in a sea of people he didn’t know, talking like it’s all he was born to do, you almost didn’t want to intrude.

“Bro! Babe Alert!”

The boy next to Jisung was the first to notice you approaching. It took a lot in you to push your amusement at his obliviousness down.

As Jisung’s head followed his friend’s gaze, he gasped out a loud “Yah!” before giving the boy next to him a slap against the bulky arm.

“Dude, that’s my girlfriend.”

“Oops.”

All eyes were on you as you waved at the group. You introduced yourself while sitting on the armrest beside your boyfriend. Yuqi joined your other side, and introduced herself before leaning against you.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Jisung confessed, hand coming to your thigh, squeezing it in adoration.

“You are?”

When you looked at Jisung, you noticed the guy beside him, eyes threatening to bulk out of their sockets. Staring at Yuqi, no less. After a few seconds, he realised he’d been caught and blushed. By pulling Felix into a conversation, he hoped to cover up his interest in your friend.

The girl in question was too deep in her interaction with one of the boys on the chairs to notice. He soon offered her half of his seat, which she accepted while discussing his choice of—footwear? She really seemed to know her way around the closet.

“Yes. Because someone didn’t believe you were real.” Jisung’s eyes darted towards a boy on the other couch whose blonde tresses were pulled into a loose ponytail. “What do you say now, Hyunjin? My hot girlfriend is real.”

“That’s how you describe me to people? Hot?” You didn’t know whether to be mad or flattered.

“Just so we’re clear,” the boy, Hyunjin, chimed in, “it wasn’t the hot part I didn’t believe. It was the whole concept of a girlfriend I was questioning. But you are real, apparently. So I owe Felix ten bucks.”

Laughing at Hyunjin’s cluelessness, your boyfriend couldn’t hide his amusement. “Felix already met her, stupid! You got pranked good, dude.”

Hyunjin’s jaw was on the floor at the new discovery, gaze dramatically cutting to the boy in question.

As the two of them exchanged money and ridicule, you caressed Jisung’s thigh in adoration. A sense of pride filled you at how he had somehow already found a way out of his shell. University seemed to have a positive impact on him, the first week progressing smoother than you had anticipated. Regardless of how he made so many friends this early on, you were glad he did.

“So, who are your friends?”

Gaze wandering through the circle, Jisung introduced the boys one after another. Starting from the one sitting next to Yuqi.

“That’s Seungmin. He’s an English major.”

The boy conversed with Yuqi as though they had known each other for years. He had puppy-brown hair, parted in the middle and cut even on all sides in a fashionable bowl-cut. Two strands of light-blonde framed his face, rounding off an otherwise innocent appearance. His clothes were simple, t-shirt and cargo pants hanging loose on his lean shape.

“Next to him is Jeongin. He’s studying to become—something biology. Honestly, I didn’t understand what he does. It’s all about mitochondria and other boring stuff.”

A little more on the shy side, Jeongin followed Seungmin and Yuqi’s dialogue instead of creating his own. Like Seungmin, he clothed casual. Standing out was his thick pink hair, which contrasted his initial timid demeanour. A something-biology student with pink hair? Very eye-catching.

“On the couch, that’s Hyunjin, Minho and Chris. Hyunjin is studying art history, and Minho majors in dancing. Chris is a Music major.”

Hyunjin, the one who got pranked out of ten bucks—by Felix, out of all people—was clad in a more fashionable outfit. His grey jeans he had paired with a white button-up, a multitude of jewellery decorating his fingers and neck. Minho wore his hair in a lavender tone, a tight-fitting shirt and black leather pants. Showing off his very toned legs—a dancer, indeed. And Chris. Well, he liked his arms the size of logs, apparently. They were an unexpected contrast to his cutesy laugh, nose scrunching up as he joked with Minho.

“And the boy who can’t keep his eyes off Yuqi, that’s Changbin. Sports major. If you tell him your weight, he will send you a video of him benching it.”

“Yah, I don’t do that for just anyone. Consider yourself lucky,” Changbin interjected. Thankfully, he had only overheard the second part of Jisung’s description.

Ignoring his friend’s words, Jisung concluded his introductory round. “And you already know Felix. He’s studying to become the best teacher in the whole wide world.”

Felix ignored the mocking tone in his friend’s voice, only one of the reasons rendering him perfect for a teaching position. He stood calm whenever needed, not a word taken out of proportion. That much you had already learned from hanging out with him a handful of times. It wasn’t hard to believe, he handled children the same way he did his drunk friends.

“I’m glad you have so many friends with majors now. Maybe, they can help you decide on yours.”

Rolling his eyes at the subject you somehow couldn’t let go, Jisung pulled you from the armrest onto his lap. A tiny yelp escaped your throat, his action surprising. The two of you usually didn’t exchange PDA like that. His advances, therefore, you understood as a sign of the amount of alcohol he had already consumed.

“You will never let this go, will you?”

“Not until I know you’re not just going to university because I’m going.”

You had been gifted with so much drive to go to uni, study, become a manager. Sometimes, you forgot that some people weren’t as lucky to know what they wanted to do with their lives. Your boyfriend was one of those people.

Sure Jisung had hobbies like singing, sports and the occasional guitar session. But other than that, he was pretty clueless about his future. The two of you used to joke about it. Kidding how all the ambition and focus had gone to his sister and once he was born, there was nothing left of it. An innocent joke for as long as it hadn’t been reality.

Now that you were here and for the months leading up to your move, the joke was underlined with more seriousness.

For the longest time, Jisung hadn’t been sure he even wanted to go to university. He had debated going to work right away. Learn something handy, like electric work or nursing. That he didn’t even know a direction to go in didn’t make the decision any easier. In the end, he figured that while you were studying to go into management, he might as well join you. If anything, it could potentially give him an overview of possible fields of work.

After many discussions about your joined future and his role in it, he seemed to be over it. He wanted to explore his options—that’s what he had told you when you two enrolled. And yes, you were proud of him for getting his grades up in the last year of High School. Even if only to share this adventure with you. Though you still needed him to be a little more serious about it. Otherwise, university was four years of him exploring, ending in no degree. Four years wasted, in your eyes.

“I just want to make sure you’re thinking about it.”

“Right now, the only thing I’m thinking about, is taking you to one of the empty bedrooms upstairs.”

His breath fanned over your neck as he whispered into your ear. Goosebumps rose all over your skin, his fingers gracing over your exposed hip. You hadn’t even noticed how your shirt had ridden up before his careful touch. Repositioning yourself to sit sideways on his lap, you bit your lip at his suggestion. Your hand came around his neck, fingers running through the hair at the back of it.

“We just got here,” you chuckled as his arms wrapped around your thighs.

“So?”

“Let’s enjoy the party for a bit, yeah?” Jisung knew a final decision when he heard one, a pout overtaking his face. Good thing you had already taken measures to soften the blow. Years of being with each other gave you the confidence to play your plan as you intended. “I might know a way to make the wait worth our while.”

You smirked as you retrieved a round object from your pocket and pushed it into Jisung’s hand on your thigh. A kiss to his cheek concealed your action, his eyes widening once he realised what you had handed him. A remote control. And not just any old remote control. Connecting the dots, Jisung soon understood that it controlled the matching vibrator inside you. The very same one you had bought for his most recent birthday.

Happy Birthday, indeed, and to both of you.

Judging from his expression, you figured your plan to make his patience worthwhile erected the awaited reaction. Then again, that could have also been him pocking you from below.

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