#old lady thoughts on sunday afternoon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sometimesanalice · 1 year

Text

What’s In a Name?

Summary: Bradley really loves the way you say his name. At the grocery store. At the bar. In his bed.

Warnings: fuff, and so much smut. Minors DNI

Length: 9K

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw X Female Reader

(This is a one-shot for my ‘Like I Can’ series. You don’t need to read it first, but you might want to. It’s pretty cute! You can check it out here!)

Bradley loved hearing you say his name.

He’d gone almost two years without hearing it. Back when he was ‘Rooster’ or ‘Bradshaw’ to you. Back when you weren’t sure how you would fit into the life he had built in San Diego when you had moved there for a promotion. Now he made it a priority to show you just how seamlessly your lives fit together, to remind you just how right you were for each other.

There were times when he still couldn’t believe that he was able to have you so entirely. You went from being just his closest childhood friend to being his everything. And now that he had you there was nothing he liked more than the sound of his name coming from your lips.

He loved hearing it every chance he could.

He’d never come so hard has he had the first time he’d heard you chanting his name over and over again as he’d fucked you in his bed. Your hair had been a riot on his pillow, your lips swollen from the attention he’d given them with his own. He’d just barely gotten you over the edge before he’d followed, so overwhelmed by your sweet voice so needy and breathy in his ear.

BradleyBradleyBradley

He had even changed his contact information in your phone from ‘Rooster’ to ‘Bradley’ one lazy Sunday afternoon when you had been dozing on his chest, adding a little sparkly heart next to it for good measure. In general, he wasn’t much of an emoji user, but he thought you might find it cute when you discovered it. He was very pleased with himself months later when he realized you’d never changed it back, pink sparkly heart and all.

He loved hearing you say his name at the grocery store.

He had gone off to find his favorite brand of protein powder, the store had recently rearranged their health food section and he could never remember where it was stocked. He didn’t want to drag you around on the scavenger hunt, especially when he knew you’d rather be doing anything else than grocery shopping.

Once he had it, he’d tried a few different aisles before finding you standing near the baking things and spices, he would have recognized your curves in those jeans anywhere.

You were chatting away with an elderly woman like you were a pair of old friends. It didn’t surprise him, since you’d always been the type that strangers had gravitated towards, your warm energy apparent to who crossed paths with you.

Walking up to you, he put the powder in the cart with the items you had accumulated while he had been wandering the same three aisles over and over again before he found what he was looking for near the bottom shelf.

“Bradley!” you greeted turning towards him beaming, your smile pure sunshine, before cheerily spinning back to the older woman, “See, I knew he’d find us eventually.”

“And he’s just as handsome as you said,” your new friend replied, giving him the once over.

“Yes, he is. Very handsome and very tall,” you told her with a teasing lilt in your tone, glancing back over your shoulder to send him a wink.

He’d happily be objectified by anyone you wanted, including elderly women wearing fuzzy purple sweaters, just as long as it meant you were bragging about him to them. That they knew he was yours, and you were his.

“How can me and my six-foot-two-inch self be of assistance to you ladies?” he asked, putting on his most winning smile. It couldn’t be said that he wouldn’t commit to a bit when the opportunity was presented.

“Can you reach Ruth a couple of those containers of Hungarian paprika, please?” you asked him while pointing to the red and green tins on the top shelf.

He was glad you had waited for him. They were so pushed back that there’s no way you would have been able to reach them on your own without climbing on the bottom shelf for a boost.

Safety first and all that, but also, he wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see the way your shirt would have ridden up your back. The dimples at the base of your spine were for his eyes only.

“Of course, I am at your service,” he pressed a quick kiss to your temple before stepping around the cart to grab the spice for the older woman.

“Oh, and then maybe one for us too, Bradley. I’ve never tried making Hungarian Goulash before. You’ve made it sound so good, that now I think I have to.”

“If you want to make it, mine is the number one reviewed recipe for the dish on AllRecipes,” Ruth boasted, there was no hiding the pride in her voice.

He hands Ruth the tins he had grabbed, and passes the other one to you to add to the collection in the shopping cart.

“But what I left out is that I always use this specific brand of paprika, and that I make mine with half pork and half beef. I save that tidbit for friends and family, I couldn’t just give all of my secrets away to the internet people.”

That had you laughing, “So sneaky, I love it! Thank you for sharing your secrets with us. Sounds like we know what we’re having for dinner tonight.”

You were already opening pulling the recipe up on your phone for later.

“I’m looking forward to it, especially since we know the tricks of the trade now.”

His eyes catch on the overflowing hand basket resting near the older woman’s worn Birkenstock mules. It looked heavy, almost like she didn’t originally plan on getting as many things as she ended up with.

“Can I carry that for you? Or if you have more shopping to do, I would be happy to go and get a cart for you,” he asks, gesturing to her overloaded basket.

“Oh no, those were the last things on my list,” Ruth replies, waving off his offer, “My youngest daughter is having her 50th birthday and the whole family is having a get together. I thought doubling my recipe would be fine, but I decided last minute to triple it.”

She bends down to reach for it, but he beats her to it. His mom raised him right.

“No, ma’am, I insist.” He’s pretty sure he catches you checking out his ass when he stands back up, “I’ll be right back, sweet girl. Stay out of trouble.”

He holds out his other arm for Ruth to take so he can escort her to the front of the store to pay.

“I don’t find trouble, it always seems to find me,” you joked.

“I believe that,” chimes Ruth.

He turns back to get a look at you, and sees you bringing your hand up to your forehead to mimic a full swoon.

He just smiles and shakes his head at you and your antics. Such a brat.

He helps Ruth at the check-out unloading the basket onto the conveyer belt, and then carries her packed grocery bags to her car getting them settled in her trunk.

Once they’ve parted ways, he heads back inside to find you.

You’re standing in front of the cooler with all the dips and fresh salsas, your head cocked to the side as you deliberate your choices.

What he also notices as he makes his way to you is that you’ve caught the attention of another man, one who should be paying more attention to his bagged lettuce instead of eyeing his girlfriend.

Sneaking up behind you, he wraps his arms around your middle lifting you up off the ground.

“Bradley! Oh my god, seriously?” He can’t help but laugh at how startled you are, he’s pretty sure if you were wearing pearls you’d be clutching them right now.

“Here I thought you were a gentleman, helping sweet Ruth with her groceries. It’s rude to sneak up on innocent and unsuspecting women,” you protest trying to twist out of his arms once he has set you back down.

“Ah, don’t be like that,” he settles his hands on your hips pulling you back to his chest, letting his fingers slide through your belt loops, before lowering his voice, “Unsuspecting, maybe. But innocent? There wasn’t anything innocent the blowjob you gave me in the Bronco outside the Hard Deck last night.”

He knows the shiver that goes through your body isn’t from the cold case you are both standing in front of.

Looking over to his left, he sees the man who was checking you out putting down the bag of spinach in his hands. And he is hit with a feeling of smug satisfaction watching as the guy quickly wheels his empty cart out of the section completely.

“No getting handsy by the hummus, Bradley,” you tut, still set on giving him the cold shoulder, but the way you lean back against him gives you away, “Should we get that lemon beet kind again?”

“Whatever you want, kid,” he murmured against your neck. “Plus, the word on the street is that you think I’m handsome, so that’s got to count for something.”

When you pull away from him this time, he lets you go. Getting a glimpse of the skin above the top of your jeans as you reach up to grab the square container of hummus.

You set it in the cart looking back at him as you toss your hair over your shoulder, before primly stating, “Oh, and Bradley, if you’re going to quote me I do believe I said you were very handsome.”

And with that final word, you push off with the cart meandering to towards the fruit section, the sensual sway of your hips he knows is just for him.

He especially loved the way your voice sounded when you’d just woken up, when his name was one of the first words out of your mouth to start a new day.

There was nothing Bradley liked better than the nights you spent together in the same bed. It didn’t matter if it was his place or yours, just as long as he was able to wake up to find you warm and tucked away under his arm.

“G’morning Bradley,” you’d whisper, voice soft and sleepy, a little raspy from disuse, as you turned to nestle closer burrowing your face in his neck. He knew you liked a gentle wake up, and he was more than happy to trail his fingers along your back until you woke up a bit more.

He was always up before you, his internal alarm clock permanently altered from his time in the Navy. For as much as you claimed to be a morning person, you were always the one snoozing yours in favor for spending a few more minutes in bed. It wasn’t something he’d ever expected to learn about you, and he liked being the one who got to share those intimately domestic moments with you.

The only surefire way to get you out of bed and moving on those mornings was the suggestion of hot coffee-- that or the promise of his mouth.

He loved the way you said his name when you were surprised.

When he’d gone to that furniture store you liked, his only plans were to find a new larger dresser for his bedroom. He had claimed he needed more space for his stuff, but really, he wanted there to be more room for you to keep your things at his place.

The home stylist at the store not only helped him pick out a new dresser he thought you’d approve of, but also convinced him to also purchase the matching king-sized canopy bed frame and set of nightstands.

He was told the mood was “cozy mid-century chic”, whatever that meant.

Bradley knows he runs hot, you’ve told him enough times that he’s like a furnace. So when the stylist showed him the cloudlike and breathable comforter along with the 800-thread count white cotton sheets, he had them add that to his collection too.

You still wouldn’t move in with him, but he was working on it. He knew he’d reel you in soon enough. And if it took a payment plan, so be it.

Although, he could only blame himself for the new lamps and giant rug he also purchased. He’d gotten a little swept up in the salesperson’s enthusiasm.

Hopefully that guy got commission, he deserved every dollar.

It had hurt a bit when he swiped his credit card, but it was worth it to hear the way you said his name when you saw it all for the first time after it had been delivered and assembled.

“Oh my god, Bradley!” you laughed, “I thought you said you were just getting a new dresser. Did you buy the whole store?”

“What can I say? The salesperson was very good at his job, sweet girl,” he was trying to not let his leg bounce as he waited for you to say more. A little nervous now that he’d gone overboard and missed the mark, “Do you like it?”

“It’s absolutely perfect, Bradley,” you gushed as you slowly made your way around the room taking it all in. “It’s warm, it’s classic, it’s cozy. It feels like you. You’re going to have a hard time getting me to leave now, I love it in here.”

That was all he wanted.

He felt all the tension leave his body, grinning as he watched you sit down on the bed running your hand over the soft deep green duvet. It had become his favorite color the second he’d seen you in that green dress the night at the seaside restaurant when he’d told you how he felt about you.

“So, do you want to help me break it in?” he asked, pushing off from where he had been leaning against the doorframe and sauntered towards you.

The way you slowly reclined back on the bed, your lips turned up in a mischievous smile was an answer in itself.

He loved the sound of you saying his name at the Hard Deck.

Your voice was so familiar to him that he could pick it out anywhere. He was so attuned to the way you said his name that he could be in a conversation with someone in the noisy bar, but his ears would perk up if you said his name in a passing comment.

It was like he was hearing his friends talk with one ear, while the other was always listening for you.

He could be with Mav catching up and chatting about the new plane he was working on, until:

“Yeah, I could use another one, let me see if Bradley needs one really quick and then I’ll go up with you.”

And then he would find himself standing next to you at the bar.

He could be playing around of nine-ball with Hangman, until:

“No, you’re kidding me! There’s no way you caught Coyote doing that, has Bradley heard this one before? Oh my god, you have to tell him.”

And then he would find himself abandoning his cue on the pool table.

“What the fuck, Bradshaw? You can’t just quit because I’m kicking your ass,” Jake would shout at him as he made his way towards you.

After all, you’d said his name and now he was curious.

He could be at the jukebox trying to find something better to put on than whatever terrible song Fanboy had picked, until:

“Oh! Bradley knows how to play that one, let’s see if we can bribe him to go perform it. I doubt we’ll have to try very hard, he’s such a little show off.”

And then he would find himself seated at the piano.

To everyone else he was ‘Rooster’, ‘Bradshaw’, ‘Lieutenant’, and soon to be ‘Lieutenant Commander’.

To you he was Bradley.

Seeing Bradley seated at the piano was a normal sight for you.

Since being permanently stationed in San Diego, he’d had all of the things from his storage locker shipped over, including his Dad’s old upright. He liked to play in the evening to decompress after his day and you liked to watch.

There was something about the way his large fingers moved over the keys so gracefully that was always so mesmerizing to you.

You still remembered how embarrassed he would get all those times when your moms would beg him to put on an impromptu piano recital. Usually fueled by a couple too many glasses of Cabernet Sauvignon, you realized later on.

Your mom and Carole had definitely been the “Wine Moms” at the baseball and tennis games they’d sat through in support of you and Bradley.

He would get a little sulky in the way that all self-conscious teens got, but he could never hold out for very long before pulling out the wooden piano bench. Bradley wasn’t one to purposefully disappoint his mom, their relationship special in the way that only a single parent and an only child could understand.

Once he realized it was a good way to get noticed by the girls in high school, he’d been quick to change his tune. And now it was clear he reveled the attention it got him when he sat down and started tapping out a carefree riff before launching into a song, all preening posturing and smug smiles.

You were usually right next to Bradley when he put on a show, an arm wrapped around his shoulder, always one to want a front row seat to see him in action.

Tonight the bar was a bit more packed than usual. It took a little longer to move around, and a little longer for Penny to make your drink since you had opted for something slightly more complicated than a beer.

Slowly, but surely, you wove your way through the crowd. Careful to avoid any stray elbows to avoid jostling your full drink as you made your way back to your friends where they were gathered around the ancient upright. You were nearly there when a burly man stepped around you, giving you a clear view of Bradley playing.

And you were stopped short by the picture in front of you.

The performance he was currently putting on at the Hard Deck was different than anything he did at his own home. His leg bouncing in tempo as he shimmied perched on the piano bench, like it’s a struggle for him to be contained to one spot.

He was captivating in the way that he commanded the room.

Maybe it was the way the way the muscles of his forearms were flexing as his fingers were precisely flying over the discolored keys.

Maybe it was the way the light sheen of sweat was collecting in the hollow of his collarbone.

Or maybe it was the way the veins were standing out against his neck, the way the thick tendon that ran along his throat had you transfixed as he threw his head back to sing at the top of his lungs.

His sunglasses were sliding down his nose as his head bobbed between glancing down at his hands and scanning the room. He smiled when his eyes found yours over the top of his aviators. Your hand tightened around the glass in your hand, the condensation dripping down your wrist as you stood there and watched.

You weren’t sure if it was your imagination or the tequila you’d been sipping on all night, but it seemed like he was working the keys of the piano a little harder, a little faster as he held your gaze.

And then his tongue was slipping out. Just a bit, and just for you.

Thankfully no one could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat over the sound of everyone in the bar singing along. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so turned on.

The intensity of Bradley’s heated gaze, the way his body was moving, the way you wanted to crawl in his lap and lick the taut line of his neck and taste the salt of his skin right there in front of everyone.

You probably looked as desperate as you were feeling, because his easygoing smile turned more knowing every second your eyes stayed locked.

“I’ll be right back,” you said to no one in particular as you abandoned your spicy margarita on the nearest surface to make your escape.

You felt like you were about to vibrate out of your skin.

It was easier to slipping away to the bathroom than had been trying to reach Bradley in front of the stage, needing a moment to yourself out of his heady orbit.

Locking the door behind you, you lean against the worn wood that was littered with stickers that had been collected and brought back from around the world. You try breathing in and out a few times, the way you’ve learned to do at your expensive yoga classes, in an attempt to slow down the rapid pounding in your chest. Actively trying to not think about the way he looked at you.

There was no question in your mind that you suffered from an incurable Bradley kink. Now that you could let yourself revel in all sorts of unfriendly thoughts about him, everything he did was a turn on for you.

You had a sneaking suspicion that he might have one too. His eyes always a got a bit more heated, and his hands would grip you a little tighter when you said it.

You knew that if you were to slip your fingers past the waistband of the dainty lace underwear you had just bought that you would find yourself wet.

And for a moment, you’re tempted to do just that. To let your fingers skim up your thigh, along the scalloped edge of the panties you’d bought specifically with Bradley in mind, to think of him as you slide your fingers inside of yourself.

You’re feeling so high-strung that you know it wouldn’t take long to come. It wouldn’t be the first time you would have used the bathroom at the Hard Deck to get off.

Your hand is halfway under your sundress, when you hear the chanting:

Roo-ster! Roo-ster! Roo-ster!

In your mind’s eye, you can picture him standing behind the piano doing his version of a touchdown dance.

You’ve teased him about it before, calling him a “slutty little songbird”, which he didn’t deny. He thrives off the attention, and you can’t say you mind watching him do that sexy little shimmy he is so fond of.

You also don’t mind helping him find other ways to work off the post-performance high.

Knowing that he will probably be looking for you now that he’s done, you smooth down the skirt of your dress with shaky hands and make your way to the sink.

Standing in front of the dingy mirror, you can see just how much a wreck your appearance actually is. Your cheeks look warm, your lips are slightly swollen from Penny’s special spicy margarita mix, and your eyes have that certain wild gleam in them that only Bradley brings out in you.

You turn the cold tap on, and stick your wrists under the running water. Hoping the cool water on your pulse points will help ease the heat that is spreading under your skin.

While the chanting has stopped now, you can still hear the lively sounds of the packed bar. Figuring it’s alright to leave the safe confines of the tiny bathroom, you turn off the water and dry your hands, determined to not let anyone see just how riled up you were.

You’re barely five steps outside of the bathroom, when a strong arm wraps around your waist.

“Hey, kid.”

And just like that your heart is racing out of control again. His woodsy smell paired with the faint hit of sweat has your brain going fuzzy.

“You doin’ ok?” he rasps against the shell of your ear. He has you pulled against his warm, broad chest and you can feel the echoes of his question reverberate throughout your whole body.

You pull out of his grasp to turn and face him, taking a small step backwards towards the wall.

“Uh-huh, yeah. Everything is fine,” you ramble, nodding your head as you try to avoid looking in his honey brown eyes.

“You sure about that?” he asks taking a step towards you, which has you retreating another one back. “Thought I should check on you since you disappeared there for a bit.”

“Just you know,” you trail off briefly glancing at him and gesturing pathetically towards the bathroom like that explains your clearly unusual behavior.

“Mm-hmm, sure,” he allows, his head tilting to the side as he observes you.

You know the exact moment when he realizes what’s going on by the way his cheek twitches as he tries to control the wolfish smile he is fighting back. And you’re suddenly feeling very much like his prey when he presses forward again. This time when you step back you feel the wall against your back as he crowds into your space.

“We should probably go back,” you stutter out when he cages you in with one hand above your head.

“Maybe,” he muses, tracing his thumb along your lower lip, “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s got you so ruffled?”

The way he is looking at you, the way he feels against you, it’s all too much.

“Bradley.”

You don’t know what you were trying to sound like when you said his name, but there’s no missing the neediness in your voice.

“Yeah, I thought so,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low. He takes your hand in his, guiding you to his zipper, letting you feel him through his jeans. “You got me all worked up too, sweet girl.”

The sound you make is lands somewhere between a wheeze and a whimper.

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he has you leading the way up to the bar, using your body to hide his hard on as he pays. Not even bothering to wave goodbye to your group of friends as he hustles you to the Bronco.

He definitely broke the speed limit and a couple minor traffic laws on the drive back trying to get you home to his place.

You had looked so flushed when he had been pounding away at the keys of the upright at the Hard Deck, and you had dashed away abandoning your freshly made drink. He might have sped up the tempo to wrap it up faster so that he could check on you, worried for a moment that you might have caught a bug or food poisoning or something.

That was until he caught you outside of the bathroom, and saw just how flustered you’d been and he knew.

It took everything in him not to push you back into the tiny bathroom and have his way with you right then and there. He was hit with an image bending you over the sink, and showing you just how good you looked coming around his cock.

However, a hot and dirty quickie at the Hard Deck wouldn’t have been enough for him.

He knew exactly how he wanted you: flustered, flushed, and thoroughly fucked.

So yeah, he floored the gas pedal needing to feel your body under his as soon as possible. And it didn’t hurt that it probably cleared out some of the engine build up in the Bronco along the way either.

He pressed you against the door the second you’d gotten inside, letting you rock your hips against his thigh as he sucked along the curve of your collarbone. Your hands coming up to tug at the curls at the top of his head.

“U-upstairs,” you gasp when he grazes his teeth along the swell of your breast.

You didn’t need to tell him twice.

He lifts you up, and your legs wrap around him immediately. It had taken all of his will power not to slip his hands up your frilly dress at the Hard Deck. He loved any chance to he got to get his hands on your ass.

He almost misses the first step going up the stairs when you drag your hot mouth along his neck.

“Wait, wait,” you pant in his ear, “Put me down.”

“It’s fine, I got you,” he promises as he tightens his grip on you.

You pull away and shake your head at him, “I don’t want either of us to end up in the Emergency Room for a sex related accident. Could you imagine? Jake would never let us live it down, and Nat would be worse.”

“It’d be worth it though,” he winks at you.

“You say that now, until you’re stuck in a neck brace unable to fly or have sex,” you admonish jokingly, stroking the side of his throat with the scars he earned from that night at Jason Cameron’s homecoming party.

“Yeah, but you could still ride me. The way I see it, it’s a win-win either way,” he chuckles at the exasperated way you roll your eyes.

“You’re handsome, but I don’t think even you could pull off the color of those hospital gowns,” you quip with a quick peck to his lips, “Now, hands off the goods.”

Giving your ass one more squeeze, he lets you slide down his body. He may not have his hands on you anymore, but it doesn’t stop him from admiring your figure as you bound up the stairs in front of him.

He stops short at the threshold of his bedroom at the sight of you pulling your dress over your head. Of all your soft skin on display for him.

There were times he still couldn’t believe he got to have you like this.

How did he think it could have ever just been a friendship with you?

He liked how comfortable you were in this space with him, liked how perfectly your things fit in with his.

He liked knowing that one of the pillows on the bed smelled like you.

He liked knowing that if he went in the bathroom he would find your expensive shampoo and conditioner in there next to his.

He liked knowing that if he opened the drawer on one of the nightstands that he would find your lip balm, your lavender lotion, a vibrator from your place that had found a home here, and a notebook and pen in case you needed to remember to do something because you didn’t like having your phone in bed.

What he currently liked most about his bedroom was the way your dress was decorating the floor, and the way you were kneeling on his bed like a vision.

You were wearing a matching pale pink lace set he’d never seen before. Your skin was peeking through the floral embroidery of the sheer mesh in an all too enticing way.

You were his sweet girl.

“Come here,” you beckon, inching closer to the edge of the wooden canopy bed.

He’s not one to deny you, he’d willingly go wherever you wanted. He saunters in towards you slowly, putting on a bit of a show for you as he comes to stand before you.

“I like this, it’s pretty,” he hums as he runs his knuckles slowly over the edge of the embroidered cups, enjoying the way you lean further into him.

Cupping your jaw, he pulls you forward for a lingering kiss. Being this close to you, the smell of your musky floral perfume is intensifying thumping of his pulse.

Your hands slide under his Hawaiian print shirt, helping to ease it off his body and then tossing it somewhere near your dress. You ruck the tank he has underneath up his chest and he reaches down to pull it over his head as your hands run over the ridges of his abs.

His body has been humming for yours since the bar. The hurried encounter at the door barely managed to take any of the edge off, and he was still just as starved for you as he had been when he saw you holding that drink looking at him like he was something to be devoured.

His left hand moves from where it’s been settled on the flare of your hip and up your back to the clasp of your pretty bra.

He’s been letting you take the lead, but you’re not nearly naked enough for him.

“Hands to yourself,” you mutter as you work to get his belt undone, “I’m trying to get you naked you here.”

Part of him wants to take his time with you, to take you apart slowly and see what new sounds he can uncover. The other part of him wants to have you holding onto that rich espresso colored headboard while he shows you just how much he appreciates you wearing this little set just for him.

“You like my hands,” he murmurs against your neck. He is quick to unhook the clasp of your bra with one hand, easing it down your arms and flinging it behind him.

Yet another offering to his bedroom floor.

And then he is trailing his fingers down your soft stomach, dipping them under the band of your matching panties.

He groans when he discovers you’re already wet for him. He finds your clit, and teases you there making gentle figure-eights with his finger, “Got yourself so worked up you couldn’t even stick around for the end of the damn song, huh?”

You’re quick to abandon your crusade against his favorite pair of jeans, leaving him unbuckled and half unzipped, as you circle your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

“God, your fingers feel so much better than mine,” you sigh against his mouth as he licks his lips before bringing them back to yours.

Your full lips soften under his demanding ones, the sensual slide of your lips against his has him desperate for more.

He slips his tongue in your mouth taking advantage of your gasp as his circles against you turn from teasing to purposeful. The kiss turning messy with need. With want.

“I know another part of my body that you like just as much,” he murmurs, as he palms your ass.

Your hand starts moving down his chest, down his stomach.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsks, catching your tricky hand before it has a chance to reach his cock, bringing it back up to rest on his shoulder.

“I want to touch you,” you whisper against the spot below his ear that you know drives him wild.

“I’m getting you off right now,” he says firmly as he speeds up his motions against your clit.

It doesn’t take long before he has you panting against his mouth, your hips rocking against his fingers.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, “Let me give you what you want.”

He knows from the sweet whimpers you’re making that you’re close, he breaks away from your kiss to hold your half-lidded gaze as you come for him.

He will never get tired of watching you fall apart.

He will never get tired of seeing you satisfied and spread across his bed.

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he shucks off his jeans and his briefs, releasing a small groan as his cock springs free. He’s been hard for you since he cornered you by the bathroom at the bar. Sending you a lazy-half smile at the way your eyes take him in standing there above you as he slowly pumps himself.

He knows he looks good, it’s literally his job to keep his body in peak condition.

But you make him feel good.

No one knows him better than you, makes him laugh harder than you, makes him feel as important as you do. Your appreciative gaze of his body is just another bonus to the many ways you make him feel good about himself.

He climbs on the bed, settling between the cradle of your open thighs.

“You gonna tell me what got you so keyed up, sweet girl?” he asks in-between scattering kisses across your cheeks.

“That’s classified,” you retort breathlessly as you wrap your legs around him.

“Is it now?” he grinned, kissing along the delicate line of your jaw. He’ll let you keep your secret for now, he had other more pressing questions he wanted answers to, “Did you touch yourself when you ran off to the bathroom?”

“No,” you whine, as he pulls your nipple into his mouth, laving it with his tongue.

“Did you think about it? Think about me?”

He wanted to know. He needed to know that he drove you just as crazy as you did him.

“Yes,” you gasped out in confession when he moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, “I’m always thinking about you.”

Good.

“Already know how you feel about my fingers,” he rasps as he kisses down your stomach, making sure to place one on the little tattoo near your hipbone. “Should I let you have my mouth too, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you breathe working your hands into the curls at the top of his head, “Please.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he agrees mouthing at the last little bit of lace still on your body.

He pulls off your pretty pink panties and throws them somewhere behind him, probably landing on that overpriced dresser he bought for you.

He loved that he was the one who got to see you like this. Your hair was a mess from his hands, you pupils were blown wide, and your flushed chest rising and falling with rapid shallow breaths.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says reverently before licking a firm stripe parting you open.

It’s not long before his mouth is meticulously working between your thighs, his tongue gliding over your clit, one of your legs thrown over his shoulder.

He’s sliding his finger into you and then another, making room in your body, determined to pull a second orgasm from you.

You’re so wet for him, so soft for him, so sweet for him.

He knows what you like. He’s studied your body just as thoroughly he did the aircraft manuals he was given, if not more so.

“More,” you moan, your hips rolling from the stimulation, “I need more.”

Pulling away from you with one more broad lick of his tongue, he leans his head against the thigh that’s thrown over his shoulder, watching your face as he pushes another finger into you. The way you’re pressing your heel into the muscles of his back has him fighting the urge to grind himself into the bed.

“You look so good like this,” he praises, taking in the way you writhe against the three fingers he has buried deep in you, as he squeezes you hip with his other hand.

He’s seen a lot of unforgettable sights from the cockpit of his plane, but nothing will ever compete with the way you look as you chase your release. Your eyes fighting to say open as you watch him watching you.

“Oh my god,” you exhale when he hits that spot inside of you, your leg starting to tremble with the need, “Please, I’m so close.”

Using his fingers and mouth in tandem, he works you with same pressure, the same pace. He feels you clenching around his fingers a few moments later, your back arching in pleasure as you fly apart for him.

Teasing his lips and mustache along the sensitive skin at the crease of your thigh, as you come down from your high, before kissing his way back up your body. Your greedy hands reaching out for him, pulling him to your mouth. He feeds you his tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

The way you’re whimpering beneath him is making him feel out of control.

“I want you inside me.”

Wrapping his large hand around his cock, he drags it through your folds few times before he finally lines himself up at your center.

And then he’s finally pushing into you, savoring the way you cling to him as he gives you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Rooster,” you say with a sigh against his lips.

He starts to move when your hips start to shift seeking more friction. And then he’s rocking into you with the smooth, deep strokes that never fail to make your toes curl. Once, twice, three times.

“What’d you say?” he asks, as he slows the pace down.

Your hands are in his hair, and you tug on the strands when he pulls away to look at you. Your lips are swollen, but he knows that look in your eye. He can already can guess what you’re going to respond with before your lips have even formed the word.

“R-ooster.”

The word comes out a stutter, as he roughly thrusts into you again.

He doesn’t know why he’s bothered asking, he should have known that you were going to make him work for the one thing he wants to hear.

“Say my name.”

He was so gone for you, he wants you riled up and feeling the same way as him. He wants his neighbors to hear you saying his name. Wants them to know that he’s the one making you feel so good.

“Lieutenant,” you taunt, not bother trying to hide the self-satisfied on your face.

If he wasn’t going to get what he wanted then neither were you.

He pulls out of you completely, flipping you over on the forest green duvet. His hand coming down on your ass, a quick sharp slap.

The sting of it has you gasping into your forearms pillowed underneath your head, and your cunt fluttering around nothing.

Leaning forward, he kisses down the length of your spine admiring the way the goosebumps pebble on your skin now.

“Say my name,” he coaxes again.

He tugs your hips up and licks deeply into you once before pulling away. Watching smugly on his knees at the way your hips tilt up after him, your legs spreading further apart as you offer more of yourself to him.

“Bradshaw,” you counter.

Closer, but still not what he wants to hear.

His open hand connects on the other side of your perfect ass, earning him a sweet moan from you.

Grasping his cock to slide it through your wetness, he stops just short of where he knows you want to feel it the most.

He wants you dazed. He wants you desperate for him.

You’ve always been the type to take a mile when you’re given an inch. And he intends to only let you have exactly eight inches tonight.

“You want this cock?” he rasps.

He knows he’s got you where he wants you when you don’t reply with another bratty remark, only desperately nodding ‘yes’ into the mattress.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You’re slow to lift your head up to look back at him, your eyes are a little glazed over as you take him in. You look as wrecked as he feels. He can only imagine what he looks like through your eyes. He can feel the sweat collecting at his temples, can feel the flush that’s working its way down his neck to his chest.

“You know what I wanna hear, kid.”

That makes you whine.

“Oh, you wanna be my sweet girl now, huh?” he asks, squeezing your hips.

He wants to taste that lower lip, the one that’s pouting prettily at him as you nod for him again. Even now as you writhe against him you’re still trying to get your own way, still trying to get him to break first.

“Well, you know what to do,” he feels like barely hanging on now, “Say. My. Name.”

He punctuates each word with the rock of his hips, his cock just grazing your clit. Enough to keep you on edge, but not enough to give you the stimulation that you want.

“Bradley!” you cry out.

He’s inside of you before you’ve even gotten the second syllable out.

Groaning your name, he throws his head back at the sensation of finally being surrounded by you again.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he tries to ask teasingly, but it comes out more a rumble than anything else. “My sweet girl.”

Your pussy squeezes him harder at the praise as you roll your hips up more to better accept his body in yours. He loved the view he had, loved seeing how wet you were for him, loved seeing just how well he filled you, loved seeing you stretched around him.

He leaned forward a bit, brushing back your hair off your face to see you better. The change in angle making you gasp as you fisted the material beneath you.

“Say it again,” he prompts, smoothing a hand down your back, “I wanna hear you say it again.”

His name.

The only thing he wanted running through your mind.

His name.

The only thing he wants coming from your mouth, other than the sweet whimpers and moans he is pulling from you.

“Bradley,” you indulge, his name sounding something between a plead and a purr.

Without disrupting the pace he’s set, he nudges your knees further apart. Wrapping an arm around your middle to pull you up against his chest, needing to be closer to you.

“Go on, let them hear who is making you feel this good,” he grunts roughly in your ear.

“Brad-ley,” the staccato of his name punctuated by his steady thrusts against you. Your hand digging into his hip.

Interlocking his fingers with yours, he lifts your arm to hook it around the back of his neck, holding you to him there. Turning your head, you greedily mouth at the column of his throat, frenzied and wet.

You were it for him, there was no question about it. And he would happily prove to you in all the ways he could think of that he was it for you too. There’s nothing he wants more than to make you feel good. To please you. To give you the best you’ve ever had.

His other hand slides up from where he had been squeezing your waist to get his hand on your breast. He loves how perfectly you fit in his hand.

He meets you for a kiss, sloppy and perfect, messy and deep.

He can’t control the sounds of satisfaction escaping him as you move together, feeding off of your sighs and moans. Your hands are grabbing onto whatever part of him is in reach: his hair, his thigh, his arm.

Enjoying the drag of his cock as he moves in you, he lets himself get lost in the sensation of being connected with you like this. The room filled with the sounds of labored breathing, of your bodies coming together, of you saying his name over and over again.

You’re starting to tremble in his arms, he’s pretty sure your legs would have given out by now if it were for the way he was holding you against him. Your nails biting into the back of his neck, as he slowly drags a hand down your body to where you’re connected.

“I love this,” you murmur into the base of this throat.

He doesn’t know if you realized you said it out loud, doesn’t know if you meant to say it out loud, but he loves hearing it all the same.

“God, you feel so good,” he can feel the sensation building at the base of his spine, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect.”

The way his circles his fingers against your clit has you gasping into his waiting mouth.

“Bradley, please.”

He’d give you anything. He’d give you everything.

“C’mon then,” he insisted hoarsely, pressing his forehead against the side of your temple, “Say it for me one more time, sweet girl.”

He speeds up his fingers, set on ending you. Working your body with the precision that he handles his sixty-five million dollar aircraft. Determined to give you what you’re so sweetly asking for.

And it’s his name you gasp as you come undone.

Your is head thrown back against his shoulder as you spasm around his cock, your hips rolling as you are lost to the pleasure of your orgasm. He kisses your neck and lightens the pressure of his fingers on your clit, wanting to extend it out for you as much as possible, enjoying the tiny pulsing aftershocks he is drawing from you.

It’s only when he feels you go boneless that he starts to lose his own composure. His breathing going completely ragged and hips snapping erratically against you as he chases his own climax.

A few more powerful strokes later he follows you coming hard with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he spills in you.

Somehow, he manages to get you both sprawled out horizontal on the bed without him completely crushing you.

“Holy shit,” he curses flinging an arm over his eyes, his other reaching out to touch whatever part of you he can find. There’s nothing but the sound of the blood rushing in his ears as he tries to catch his breath.

Time gets away from him as he runs his hand up and down your back. It could have been a few minutes or an hour when he feels the bed move, and you slipping out of his grasp as you get up to use the bathroom.

“No, stay,” he attempts to pull you back to him, feeling the need to have you close again as he tries to settle back into his body. You’re seemingly recovering much quicker than he is at the moment.

“I won’t even be gone two minutes, you can time me.” He can hear the soft affection in your voice.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he grouses halfheartedly lifting up the arm with his watch on. He manages to raise his head up in time to get a glimpse of your naked figure as you close the door behind you.

True to your word, you are back one minute and forty-seven seconds later. He opens his arms to you as you climb back on his bed and drape yourself half over him.

Much better.

He feels you shift yourself up a few moments later to press a kiss to the scar on his shoulder.

“I just want to try something,” you murmur before making your way along the bend of his collarbone.

Up the side of his neck.

He feels his pulse start to kick up again as you work your way up the line of his jaw. He tilts his head away to give you more access to his skin there, basking in the feel of your lips on his body.

“Bradley,” you whisper lightly against the shell of his ear.

The guttural groan that rips through him surprises him. He feels his cock twitch against his thigh, a visceral reaction to you.

And then you’re giggling.

“I knew it,” you get out between fits of laughter, “You’ve got a name kink.”

Your face pure joy at your discovery. He’ll happily let you tease him for the rest of his life as long as you keep looking at him like that.

“Nah, I got a you kink,” he says as he hauls you on top of him.

“I’m already planning on letting you have your way with me again tonight, Bradley,” you proudly declare, propping yourself up on his chest, smiling down at him. “You don’t have to try so hard, I’m a sure thing.”

If he wasn’t already gone for you, the cheeky wink you sent him would have sealed the deal.

He feels himself already starting to get hard again, one of the perks of being a part of the 1%.

“Sweet girl, you’re gonna be the end of me,” he chuckles, running his hands up your back, “And I remember someone once telling me that they give as good as they get, so I won’t be dialing it in anytime soon.”

And then he is pulling you down for a kiss.

Later that night when you’re riding him so good, you get him chanting your name.

Over, and over, and over again.

A couple hours later, he watches you slip away into slumber, satisfied and spent beneath the fluffy comforter on the bed.

His bed. Your bed. Their bed.

It was just as much yours as it was his, regardless of whether you were officially living together yet or not. He bought it for you, after all.

Even on the occasional nights you spent apart, you were still everywhere.

He liked the plants you had picked to fill out the empty spaces in the room. He liked that the right side of the bed was your side of the bed. That those were your books on the nightstand, the bookmarks peeking out waiting for you to pick up where you left off.

There was a trinket tray for your jewelry on top of the dresser right next to the to the leather watch display box that you had gotten him for his birthday. And the drawers of that well-made, but overpriced wooden dresser were filling up with more and more of your things, just like he had hoped for when he got it.

He smiled to himself as he gently stroked your hair. The last time he was at your place, he had accidentally seen the letter from your apartment’s leasing office confirming your decision to not renew your rental agreement and your move out date. He hadn’t told you he knew, he’d rather hear it from you anyways.

You would always be worth the wait.

The packages that were delivered to the door?

His, for now, until you moved in a couple months from now.

The name signed on the lease for the condo?

His, for now, until you were ready to ink yours down on a deed for a new home with him.

The little velvet box tucked away in the back corner of his nightstand?

His, for now, but always meant to be yours.

You can thank @mak-32 and her photo set of Rooster at the piano for this fic!

Also, many many thanks to @gretagerwigsmuse for being my go-to gal! I wouldn’t have been brave enough to post the smut if she hadn’t given me the all-caps go ahead!

Here’s Bradley’s bedroom, if you’re curious!

You can check my other fics out here!

Taglist:

@sehnsuchts-trunken @top-hhun-main @itscheybaby @prettylittlelauraa @startrekfangirl2233 @marantha @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @itsizzythebell @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @boltgirl426 @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @torres-espana @uzumegui @dont-talk-me-down @fandomunite2107 @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pariahsparadise @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @nina-sj @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @misty-inferno @angellwingsss @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @mrsdaamneron @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @melllinaa @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @mandolin22 @imaginecrushes @soleilgrec @keyrani @finelytaylored @phantomxoxo @viridianphtalo @chicomonks @starryeyedstories

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

4K notes · View notes

avastrasposts · 5 months

Text

A Baker's Dozen - Five

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

A surprise early drop of part five! I didn't want this gentleman to be lost among the Christmas cheer on Sunday night so please enjoy him a couple of days early.

This man was the one that most intimidated me to write, and I think that's true for most of us. Luckily my dear friend @morallyinept is an expert on the subject of this particular Pedro boy, and beta read it. Thank you so much Jett, your encouragement makes this a lot less scary!

Please say hello to Pedro boy number five...

Series Master List

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in your bakery. Sometimes, when you have your extra staffer in over the weekend to handle the crowds, you’ve seen him waiting in line. Somehow he always comes in when you’re not at the counter, or dealing with another customer, but when you glance out through the open kitchen door, you spot him. More than once. And he’s always watching you, dark brown eyes, curious, intelligent, carefully watching. It intrigues you, and it scares you.

He’s easy to recognise, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead makes him memorable, if nothing else. But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon. Your eyes meet and he grins, holding up his hand in a nonchalant greeting. You let your eyes glide over him, ignoring his wave as if you didn’t see him, busy looking for a pan or a bowl.

He comes in the next day again, you catch him from the corner of your eye as he steps up to the counter, just as you come out of the fridge. He doesn’t see you this time you think, so you hurry out of sight and go back to measuring flour into the large mixer. Through the door you can hear him talk to the high schooler you’ve got handling the Saturday afternoon rush.

“Afternoon, may I ask after the proprietor of this fine bakery?” the man says, and his southern accent is eloquent in a way that reminds you of old films, theatrical and exaggerated, you can hear the smirk in his tone. In your mind he sweeps an old fashioned hat off his head and bows like the ringmaster at the circus. It puts your teeth on edge and you hope to escape his attention.

“She’s busy right now but I’ll see if she has time,” your highschooler says and you sigh, waving your hand no when they come into the kitchen

“I’m sorry, she’s right in the middle of something, can I take a message?”

“No bother, I’ll stop by later, I have a proposal to the lady that’s best delivered in person.”

You hear him say goodbye and then the door jingles and the hum of the afternoon rush continues as you turn on the big dough mixer, drowning out all else. You wonder what kind of proposal the man could have for you, his response was almost as if he was preparing a sale. The thought calms you and annoys you a little, dealing with insistent sales people was your least favorite activity as a business owner. There was always someone trying to sell you a new mixer or a new oven. You hope he doesn’t come back, but at least you know how to brush off a sales person if needed.

He doesn’t come back until Tuesday, when you’re alone in the bakery, just before closing. The door jingles and you look up, seeing his smile as he steps across the threshold.

“Afternoon,” he says, coming up to the counter, giving you a gallant nod in greeting, “I was hoping to catch you at a more quiet time, seeing as the end of the day draws near. I hope my interference doesn’t disrupt your day too greatly and cause you disturbance.”

His smile sits fixed on his face, as if rehearsed to look polite and genuine, to sell you something.

It’s hard to press back your customer service persona, so you give him a polite smile, internally you’re gearing up to be courteous but dismissive.

“How can I help you?” you ask, and his smile widens into a grin as he tilts his head to the side and looks at you.

“I’m in the market for a special type of treat, one which I hope you’ll indulge me in making,” he holds out his left hand to you, “I’m Ezra, and I really hope you can help me, miss…?”

You take his hand and awkwardly shake it, ignoring his question, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You’d been so certain he’d try to sell you something, you hadn’t considered that he’d be the one asking you to sell him something special even though special requests weren’t a rare thing.

“If it’s doable and I know how to make it, I’m sure we can come up with something,” you reply and he nods his head.

“Oh, I’ll pay, handsomely, of course,”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, and his smile stretches even further, making his teeth show, and you balk, a tinge of unease shooting up your spine. In the back of your mind you’re reminded of the poem; ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly.’ There’s a layer of something underneath that smile that unnerves you.

“A sentimental old favorite of mine, chocolate soufflé,” he says, his eyes suddenly slipping into softness as he seems to look past you, “Light, airy, rich and velvety.”

He waves his hand as if he’s conjuring the dessert out of thin air, a dreamy look on his face that’s quickly replaced by his grin as he turns his attention back to you.

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?”

You give him a scowl, you’ve heard every pet name in the book vaguely related to baking by now and none of them sit well with you.

He catches on to your scowl and chuckles, “Not ‘sugar’ then,” he grins as you put your smallest customer service smile back on.

“I can make soufflé but I won’t be able to sell them here,” you explain, shaking your head. “They’re too delicate and need to be served and eaten straight out of the oven. But I’m sure there’s restaurants who have soufflé on the menu.”

Ezra shakes his head with a rueful look,”I’m afraid I’ve tried that route, but none of the restaurants in town have exactly what I desire on the menu, and they won’t make it as a special order. So my hope lies with you, cookie.”

He chuckles again when he sees the flash of annoyance at the pet name, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile suddenly looking genuine, “If you’d told me your name when I introduced myself I would gladly use that instead of causing an umbridge with my embarrassing choices of guesses.”

You ignore his comment about your name, feeling even less inclined to give it to him, and instead you begin wiping down the counter for the end of the day.

“I’m sorry none of the restaurants have it, but I’m afraid I can’t help you, I can’t make the soufflé and then wait for you to come in, it would be flat and dull and I couldn’t sell you that.”

“I’m sure you observed, because I’ve observed you in turn, several times, that I’ve been studying you,” Ezra says, his eyes narrowing as he gives you a charming smile, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the counter on his left side, watching you run the cloth over the display cases.

“You’re the most talented baker I’ve seen in all my travels, all you sell here, you make with your own gifted hands,” he waves his hand around the bakery, “And I’ve sampled many of your delectable delights, nothing rivals what you can bake, cupcake.”

His words make your cheeks heat up against your will as you glare at the pet name and he smiles back at you. .

“It won’t change the physics of the soufflé though,” you point out, “it will still fall flat if it’s out of the oven waiting for the customer.”

“Well, crumpet, I have a remedy for that, I have thought of it all. You make it for me while I wait, right here, after hours,” he says, leaning forward when he sees your doubtful face. He takes the cloth from your hand, stilling your movement as he wraps his fingers around yours, just tight enough for you not to be able to just yank them away. His eyes closer to yours now, imploring you to hear him out, and you don’t fail to note that his expression shifts into something more innocent, his brown eyes wide open, forehead pulled up as he pleads with you

“Please, truly, it may only be a soufflé to you, but it really does mean an awful lot to me, to be able to have this dessert again, to remind me of better days, happier times.”

His fingers squeeze yours gently while he talks, “I lost my arm, a while back now, in a mining accident,” he says, looking down to his right hand side where you only now notice that his jacket sleeve hangs limp, “I used to love to bake, but I can’t anymore, on account of my…condition.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply politely and Ezra nods again.

“It’s been a while now, I’m getting used to navigating life without it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “But I can’t bake, not like I used to, not something that requires two stable hands.”

He lets go of you and stands up, grabbing the empty sleeve of his jacket and lifts it up, “Imagine if this happened to you,” he says, giving the sleeve a frustrated tug as his voice gains an edge of annoyance, “Imagine if you, from one cursed day to the next, not only lost your ability to do your job, but also your ability to perform the most entertaining of tasks.”

You feel your resolve slipping, he’s turned his eyes back on yours and falls silent, for what feels like for the first time since he stepped into the shop. His hand is on the counter between you, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it and shake on your agreement, and his eyes are imploring, his eyebrows raised.

Like this he looks less like a trickster, the facade has slipped a bit, or maybe he’s pulled a new one up, you feel like you can’t be sure. You glance down at his empty sleeve and make up your mind, you’d be devastated if you couldn’t bake again.

“Ok, I’ll make your soufflé, any way you want it,” you say, taking his hand, and Ezra’s face breaks into a wide smile.

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.”

“Enough with the names,” you give him a small scowl, but you can’t help but smile at the same time, his own smiling, face seems genuine, honestly happy for your service.

“Such a sweet baker lady has to have a name that matches the sweetness of her produce, jelly pie,” he chuckles, “I’ll keep trying them out until I find the one that sticks.”

“If I hear one I like I’ll let you know, just don’t hold your breath,” you reply, but you’re smiling at him now and he seems less wiley with the change of his demeanor, more straightforward, as he runs his hand through his hair and grins at you.

“So when do you want to do this? And what kind of chocolate soufflé do you want?” you ask, pulling out your notebook.

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.”

Something in the way he says the last words, a slight slip in the excitement, a flash of something darker across his face, makes you open your mouth. But you close it again as his eyes brighten, the smile comes back up in place and he looks at you.

“I had to translate the recipe into English of course, and now I have it memorized, from all the times I made it myself.”

“Let me make a list then, and I’ll get the ingredients for next week, how about next Tuesday night? Does that work for you?” you ask and Ezra nods.

“Any day would suit me, shortcake,” he grins and you roll your eyes, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I would prefer an earlier day? Maybe tomorrow even? And I’ll help you make it, as long as you have the ingredients?”

You glance over at your calendar, you have nothing planned for tomorrow night and you’ll have time to get the ingredients into your usual weekly order tonight.

“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it work, if I place the order straight away. Unless there’s something special in the recipe I should have all the ingredients already, eggs, cocoa and chocolate,” you list the items on your fingers, thinking out loud, “oh, I should get some extra cream.”

“This chef used milk instead of cream,” Ezra interjects, “he said it made for a lighter soufflé.”

“Ok, that’s fine, I’ve made them with milk in the past,” you nod, tapping your pen as you think and Ezra studies you, you can feel his eyes on you as his mouth quirks up in a small smile.

“I do enjoy seeing you entranced by baking,” he says, “your attention to detail in the kitchen has kept me captivated while watching you work.”

“I saw you, and I’ve got to say, kinda creepy to be watching people like that,” you reply and his eyebrows immediately pull together in an apologetic frown.

“My apologies, sweet cannoli, but I was truly enwrapped by your work, your skill, I didn’t mean to be unsettling.” He reaches out and puts his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze as he leans forward, finding your eyes and searching them to make sure you accept his apology, “I truly am very sorry.”

“It’s fine, just come in and say hello next time,” you reply, “and never call me ‘cannoli’ again.” The last thing you say with a roll of your eyes and Ezra laughs.

“I didn’t think that one would stick, didn’t have much of a ring to it.”

He gives your hand a last squeeze and lets go of it, raising his own in a wave.

“Until tomorrow then, jelly,” he says and you give him a mock scowl that makes him grin wide, “Not ‘jelly’ either then,” he chuckles, “I’ll think of some new ones for tomorrow.”

“No pet names necessary, Ezra,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, you won’t tell me your name, now I make up my own, I will find the perfect one before we’re done. Until tomorrow, muffin.”

“Absolutely not,” you call after him, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ezra gives you a final grin before he exits and you see him walk off down the street.

He appears again the next day, just before closing like the last time, giving you a polite nod and waiting by the door as you serve your last customer of the day. As the woman leaves, he steps forwards and gives you what feels like a genuine smile, unlike the rehearsed one he’d greeted you with yesterday.

“My sweet cream puff, I have been looking forward to this all day, I’ve been dreaming about finally eating this chocolate soufflé again,” he says, putting his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. His hair looks freshly washed and cut, as does his patchy beard, and he brings a faint smell of cologne into the bakery. With his warm smile and neater appearance, he doesn’t look at all like the unnerving man you’d observed watching you the past few days, and you feel yourself relaxing.

“Cream puff?” you laugh, “Better, but still not acceptable, Ezra.”

“I have all evening to get it right,” he grins and holds up a take out bag, “I thought we could perhaps have dinner and not sustain ourselves only on soufflé, delectable as it may be. If that’s not too forward of me?” He says the last thing with his eyebrows raised in question and you shake your head.

“Not at all, dinner would be nice, I’m getting a little bit hungry already.”

“Then may I suggest dinner first, and then I get to enjoy the evening’s entertainment; watching you make the soufflé?”

“Sounds like a plan, let me get some cutlery and glasses and we can eat out here,” you say. As you walk back into the kitchen, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This strange man is growing on you, his smooth southern drawl makes his flowery language work, and you have to admit, he scrubs up well, with his curls and his bright blonde patch.

When you return with plates and cutlery, Ezra has set the take out on one of the café tables and is struggling with the knot on the plastic bag. You see the annoyance in his face as he tugs at the tight knot, digging his nails into it to get a grip, but failing as the plastic moves under his one hand. The sight fills you with empathy and you’re suddenly very glad you agreed to make him the soufflé.

He hears your footsteps as you approach and he looks up, “It would seem the plastic bag has me beat,” he sighs, “I wanted to have it all laid out for you as you returned, after all, you’re doing all the baking later, the least I could do is lay the table. But not even that is something I can manage these days with…” He jerks his head in annoyance at the empty sleeve of his jacket and sighs.

“It’s no bother,” you say, giving him a warm smile to put him at ease, and it seems to work. He smiles back at you, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and you notice the dimple in his cheek under the patchy beard as he takes a step to the side, letting you put down the plates and cutlery.

“It’s why I agreed to bake the soufflé for you, I’m more than happy to help.” You untie the bag and lift out the containers as Ezra lays the table, taking meticulous care to line up the plates and the cutlery on either side, finding a few napkins and arranging them too. You go behind the counter to get rid of the bag and when you come back, Ezra has pulled out your chair for you and is waiting behind it with a smile.

“I know this is purely a business transaction, but I have to confess, I’m very happy for the chance to spend an evening in the company of someone who shares my passion for baking”, he says.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you smile as you sit down and he slides the chair in, “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what you wanted when I first noticed you looking, but this has turned out a lot nicer than just trying to tell another sales rep that I’m not interested in a new oven.”

Ezra has sat down across from you and now he chuckles, “You thought I was going to sell you a new oven?”

“A new oven, a new fridge, new baking pans,” you sigh, “you name it, the sales reps have been in here trying to convince me to throw out my working equipment and spend money I don’t have, on their new shiny product.”

“Well, I’m glad I could surprise you then,” he replies as he begins to open the take out containers, “But I have another confession, I came into your bakery because what you displayed looked incredible, but….” he trails off, glancing up at you with a small smile before he begins scoop rice onto his plate, “I stayed because the woman who runs the bakery is captivating.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as Ezra looks up at you again and he smiles as he sees your reaction.

“And I don’t just mean that you’re beautiful, although that is certainly no exaggeration. But your talent…your talent….” he chuckles as you give him a bashful grin, “Sweet twinkie, you kept me captivated with your skill as I watched you through the kitchen door. You have such passion for this,” he waves his hand towards the bakery’s display cases, “so much creative talent and skill, I just…” he gives a small laugh, his hand rubbing his cheek as he drops his eyes down to his plate again, his usual confident manner suddenly replaced by an uncharacteristic shyness, “I wanted a chance to talk to you, if you’d let me.”

“You’re very sweet, Ezra,” you smile, trying to contain the wide smile that’s threatening to take over your face at his praise.

“It’s only what you deserve,” he says, smiling back at you and handing you one of the take out boxes, “Please, before it gets cold, I’m letting my mouth run away from me as usual.”

It turns out Ezra had chosen a number of dishes from a local Indian restaurant down the street and you both groan as you pick your way through the selection.

“I have to remember this place,” you moan around a mouthful of korma, “it’s incredible.”

Ezra’s mouth is stuffed full with bhaji and he just nods as he chews, a look of bliss on his face as he swallows.

“The man who runs it, I spoke with him, was most courteous. He recommended his favorites from the menu and I must say, he sure does know how to make people want to return.”

“And there will be leftovers for days,” you say, leaning back in your chair, your belly full but there’s still so much food on the table.

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.”

“I can’t take all this food from you,” you protest but Ezra just shakes his head.

“I have nowhere to keep it.”

“Then keep it here, and come by and have lunch with me,” you suggest, “we can keep talking about baking and you can spend more time in the bakery, maybe we can figure out some things you can still bake.”

During the course of the meal Ezra had asked you about every aspect of your baking, your process behind the recipes, the techniques you used, the ingredients and where you sourced them. It had been a rare deep dive into your favorite subject with someone who shared your passion for the trade. You felt your attraction for him steadily grow while he leaned his head into his hand and kept his eyes on you as you went into the details of how to grow and maintain a healthy sourdough starter.

“You won’t grow bored of my company, moon pie?” he smiled, “And my increasingly desperate names for you?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll grow bored of you,” you smile back at him, “and your names are getting better.”

He laughs at that and pushes back his chair, “Then let me be a useful guest and clear this for us, and then we can get to the highlight of the evening perhaps?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You lead him back into the kitchen and the plates and cutlery are soon in your industrial sized dishwasher in the back room. You get the ingredients out onto the workbench as Ezra wanders around the kitchen, looking at your equipment and making approving noises.

“I was never a professional baker like you, but I’m glad to see you favor the same brands for your pans as I do,” he chuckles, “Makes me feel less like a fraud.”

“I’m sure you’re just as good as I am,” you reply, “your skill didn’t disappear with your arm.”

He comes up to stand next to you, and as you look up at him, you see his smile fade as he shakes his head.

“No, but it might as well have, I held my skill in my right hand, my left just isn’t as steady and sometimes you need two hands.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “I didn’t mean that it would be as easy as before, just that your knowledge of baking is still intact.”

He gives you a small smile, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand seeping through your t-shirt.

“I know, I just get frustrated as I’m reminded of what I used to be able to do.”

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.”

Ezra chuckles and smiles too, his hand slipping from your shoulder. But he doesn’t lift it, instead it drifts down to the small of your back and he leaves it there, as you lean over the notes you’ve made for the recipe. It sits comfortably against the cotton, a small, intimate touch that signals something else building between you, or at least you hope it does. Ezra is a lot more fun to have around than what you thought when you first saw him, and you’re glad he’s proving you wrong.

“Alright, I’m putting you on butter duty, I know you can do that one handed,” you say, giving him a wink as you look up at him, you want to involve him in this as much as possible, to make him feel good about baking again.”The ramekins are up on that shelf and the saucepan over there, you know what to do.”

Ezra grins back at you and gives you a sloppy, left handed, salute, “Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.”

While he gets started you set up the double boiler on your stove and start whisking the ingredients together. Ezra comes over with the saucepan and stands next to you while he melts the butter and you set up a third saucepan for the caramel.

“The whisking is the really hard part,” he says as you begin to combine the ingredients, “And even if I use a stand mixer for most things, whisking while it’s over the double boiler proved too hard, the saucepan just slid all over the place.”

“I wonder if there’s a way to maybe keep the saucepan stable?” you think out loud as you continue to stream the cream into the bowl, “Maybe a non-conductive ring, a silicone mold maybe? It wouldn’t heat up on an induction stove, would it?.”

“Maybe, that’s not a bad idea actually…” he says thoughtfully and you smile up at him.

“I can hear the cogs in your head turning, Ezra,” you laugh and he laughs with you.

“Yeah, you got me thinking there, I’ve got silicone oven mitts at home, I need to try with them first and then figure out where to get a ring shaped piece of silicone. But it’s a really good idea, thank you!”

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and it catches you by surprise, looking up at him and he smiles back.

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.”

He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.”

“Keep trying, Ezra,” you laugh, you can’t maintain your fake look of exasperation when he’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and looking at you with such a mischievous grin.

“Oh I’ll keep trying, biscuit,” he winks, “I’ll win you over soon enough.”

He steps away to grab a pastry brush, and as you whisk the batter you watch him coat the inside of the ramekins with melted butter. He struggles a bit at first when the first ramekin starts sliding across the workbench, but you quickly grab a kitchen towel, wetting it under the tap before spreading it out on the counter for him to put the ramekins on.

“You’re just full of bright ideas, pumpkin,” he smiles gratefully as you go back to the double boiler.

“I have my moments,” you chuckle and you feel his eyes on you as you continue to whisk the batter.

“You have more than a few moments, I think you have everything,” he says after a little while, his voice low and sincere. It’s ladened with something deeper and it makes you take your eyes off the batter and look up at him. He’s looking back at you, smiling, but there’s another layer to his eyes, like he’s smiling through a memory. A strange mix of regret and sadness flashes across his face, gone, as quickly as it appeared, and his smile grows wider, you realize it’s not reaching his eyes this time. But as you open your mouth to say something, he speaks first, turning back to the ramekins.

“What’s the next step, boss?” he asks, his voice back to the same cheerful tone he had just a few moments ago, and you’re certain you can see the mask come up this time. But you don’t challenge him, he’s hiding something, or at least there’s something he doesn’t want to share. So you consult your notes and point him to the egg whites.

“Use the Husqvarna and make the meringue while I chop the chocolate.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and gets to work, the whisking made easy this time with the help of the mixer.

You continue preparing the chocolate batter and when Ezra is done with the meringue, you fold it into the airy egg whites, bringing them together into a light fluffy mixture. Ezra watches you as you drizzle a layer of caramel into the ramekins he’s prepared, leaving him to sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt before you scoop the soufflé batter on top, finishing with him sprinkling another few flakes on the chocolate.

“Done,” you say, "we make a good team, Ezra.”

“We do, and you’ve made this one handed fool very happy, letting him finally get to taste these soufflés again,” he says as you laugh and shake your head.

“No early victories, please! We still have to bake them and you know how fickle soufflés are.” You take the oven tray you’ve placed the ramekins on and carefully move them into the oven, turning down the heat.

“With this team?” Ezra chuckles, “I have all the faith in the world, cherry pie.”

“Better,” you smile at him as you watch him wipe down the workbench and then turn to jump up to sit on it.

“Better?” His eyebrows quirk up as he grins and holds out his hand for you, “Am I getting warm with my names?”

You jump up on the workbench and sit next to him, shaking your head, “No, I just find the man using them more agreeable.”

Ezra smiles, his dark eyes glinting as he turns to you, “You didn’t find me agreeable when I first arrived at your bakery?”

“Not…un-agreeable,” you say, thinking out loud and studying his face, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead curling with the heat in the kitchen, as are the unruly strands of hair around his neck, patchy beard over his jaw and cheeks, his mouth twitching up in a smile as he waits for you to continue.

“Just…hard for me to place? What you wanted. And why you were always looking at me,” you say and Ezra’s smile softens.

“I looked, because you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, no flourish, no fanfare or exaggeration. Just a statement as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, no smile, no grin, just his face, quietly scanning yours for a reaction.

You lift your hand and lightly touch his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw, the short hairs of his beard, tickling under your caress as he slowly exhales.

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch.

A quiet hum escapes him as he tilts his head and lets your hand slip over his jaw and back to his neck. The curls are soft, wayward, and wrap easily around your fingers as you lean forward. The plush swell of his bottom lip is irresistible and you press your mouth carefully against it.

Ezra’s eyes fly open as your lips meet, his eyes dark and smiling. His hand comes up and gently mirrors your own, cupping your cheek as he presses his lips against yours in return. As you close your eyes, you feel his warm palm hold you steady and you part your lips, the tip of his tongue meeting yours, tasting him. His touch is soft, both his hand and his lips, making warmth spread through your body as he pulls you closer.

He kisses you like he’s trying to learn how to read you, studying your reaction to how his lips mold against yours as he tastes your tongue under his. Each moan he pulls from you makes him come back to pull it from you again, running his tongue over the same spot, nipping on your bottom lip with a gentle tug. You realize you started the kissing, but Ezra quickly takes control, his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you steady as your own hands caress his back, feeling the bunched muscles under his thin shirt, the warmth of his body heating your palms. You can feel his heartbeat against you, your own pulse thrumming under his fingertips as he pulls another moan from you when his hand slips into your hair.

He groans into your mouth and scoots off the workbench, pulling you with him so that he gains extra height on you. The change in angle lets him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer, pressing his lips to yours as your hands slide down his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants, finding the warm skin just under the edge.

With a groan, he pulls back, his hand still curled around the back of your neck, your arms still around his waist. You look up at him but his eyes are closed and he leans down, letting his nose run along yours, caressing your cheek, down your jaw, breathing hot over your skin, while he nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Like chocolate,” he mutters, “and caramel. What I wouldn’t give…”

He falls silent, his lips pressing against your neck in a searing kiss that makes heat rush through your body, before he pulls back and stands up.

“I’d tell you your kisses are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in this bakery, but I don’t think even I could get away with that comment,” he smiles and you roll your eyes with a giggle.

“Not even you, Ezra,” you say, “although I’d say it’s a nice effort and that your kisses are just as sweet.”

“We make a good team,” he smiles, letting his thumb caress your cheek again as you nod. His eyes are still on you and you feel him studying you again, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time, just…breathtaking. Your breath hitches as his eyes slip over your lips, his thoughts clear on his face as the tip of his tongue peaks out. He’s the one who leans in this time, watching you close your eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumb and finger catching your chin. When he pulls away a fraction, you open your eyes again and he’s smiling at you. The oven timer is beeping in the background and you hadn’t even noticed, his soft lips distracting you both from the insistent sound.

“I’ll get the timer, you get the soufflés,” he whispers and you nod slowly as he smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips.

“Now, my sweet cherry pie, or we’ll have a very flat dessert.”

You smile back at him and grab the oven mitts and follow him to the oven.

This next step is crucial, carefully you open the door and slide out the tray. They’ve risen perfectly but as soon as they’re out of the oven they start cooling down and soon they’ll sink. You set the tray down on the workbench and Ezra brings over two dessert spoons. His face is beaming at the sight of the soufflés, sniffing as the warm chocolate scent fills the kitchen.

“They smell even better than the ones I made,” he grins as you slide a ramekin over to him.

“A team effort, Ezra,” you smile, “your recipe, our skill.”

“Your hands, luckily,” he replies, holding up his first spoonful of soufflé as if he’s toasting you, and you clink your spoon against his before you both have your first taste.

The flavor is rich in your mouth but the texture is light and airy, a small hint of sal de mer hitting your tongue as you hum around the taste. Ezra’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back as he sucks on the spoon, a low rumble coming from his chest as he savors the chocolate.

“My sweet soufflé,” he smiles, looking down at you through half closed eyelids, “this…this…is heaven.”

He digs his spoon in, and gets some of the caramel too, taking another mouthful as he groans again. You copy him and make sure to get both caramel and soufflé on your spoon for your next bite, and Ezra was right, the combination is flawless. You sigh around your spoon, slowly sucking the caramel off it as the chocolate melts in your mouth. Ezra is watching you with dark eyes and a small smile, his own spoon forgotten in his hand.

“I’d bake for you every day, no matter how much I’d struggle, if I could hear you make that sound again,” he says and it makes you laugh, giggling as he grins. He takes another spoonful of soufflé, smiling as he eats it, some of it catching on his mustache and you point at it.

“You got some chocolate on your beard there.”

Ezra removes the spoon from his mouth and gives you a sly smirk, “I’m sure I won’t be able to reach it with my tongue, why don’t you help me?”.

The tone of his voice, the mischief it promises, makes hot energy shoot through your nerves, your skin tingling as you put down your spoon and step closer to him. He’s looking down at you, his eyes full of mirth as you take his chin between your thumb and finger, tilting his head down towards you. He comes willingly, a small smile still lingering, and he’s so close, his hand finding its way to your waist.

“Can you reach it,” he asks in a low voice and you nod, locking eyes with him. They’re the same rich brown as the soufflé, just as warm and soft right now, as you lean in and run your tongue over the corner of his mouth, finding the errant smudge of chocolate. Catching the edge of his mouth between your lips, you lap at the sweet taste. His hand bunches up your shirt and as you run your tongue over the seam of his mouth, he parts it easily, letting you in. He tastes of the dessert and you know he can taste the same on you.

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

“I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses.

“You take such good care of me, honey.”

“That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.”

He chuckles, his lips pulling up in a grin under yours as he kisses you again, “But it’s too ordinary, for such an extraordinary woman.”

“I like it, especially when it comes from you, you’re extraordinary enough for the both of us.”

Ezra tugs you closer, making you sigh into him as he buries his face against your neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin before he rests his head on your shoulder.

“What am I going to do with you,” he says, more a statement than a question, his hand caressing your back, sliding up into your hair, cupping around your neck, “What am I going to do with myself.”

He slowly begins to sway, moving you back and forth in a slow dance without music.

“I need to leave soon, but I don’t want to,” he mumbles, gently spinning you around as you let your hand rest on his shoulder, the one missing his arm, “I have to leave this warm kitchen, your tender kisses, this sweet nest you’ve built for us.”

He spins you again, moving your body slowly with his own.

“This home you’ve created for someone like me.”

Before you can ask what he means he steps back, taking your hand in his, and with a flourish and bow, he kisses the back of it, making you smile.

“I am afraid, my sweet baker girl, that it is time for my departure, I will steal no more hours from you,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking his coat from the hook by the kitchen door, shrugging it back on, the empty sleeve hanging limp by his side. The other arm he hooks around your waist and leads you back out to the shop, towards the door.

“Ezra, it’s pouring outside,” you say, seeing the rain slick street outside, the asphalt shining black under the streetlights, “Let me at least give you a lift home, you’ll get soaked. Where do you live?”

“No, it’s no trouble, honey pie, my car is parked just a block away. And unlike you, my sweet thing, I am not made of sugar, a little rain won’t melt me,” he grins.

A twinge of regret hits your heart as you see the mask so clearly come up over his face again, the dark eyes shifting into something less open, the softness fading away even as he smiles at you.

“Do you have to leave?” you ask as he opens the door, and he turns, resting his back against the frame of the door.

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time.

“What does that mean, Ezra?” you ask but he just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours.

“Take care of my soufflé recipe, sweet girl,” he mumbles, pulling back and giving you a crooked smile. Then he turns and hurries across the street, the rain splashing around his shoes as he pulls his collar up and disappears into the darkness between the streetlights.

…

The bell of the front door jingles just as you’re sweeping the floor, and as you look up, you spot Barbara from the dry cleaner across the street stepping into the shop.

“Hi, you’re still open this late?” she asks, shaking out her platinum blonde box dye curls and you internally sigh, Barbara is the neighborhood chatterbox and you just want to go home, it’s been a long day. But you put on a smile and continue sweeping.

“I’m just getting ready to leave, what’s up?”

“I meant to come earlier but I’ve been so busy. I just wanted to warn you in case he comes by here too,” she says, eyes scanning your bakery as if she’s looking for someone.

“Who?” you ask and she turns back to you.

“There’s a man, you’ve probably seen him, shifty looking guy, he only has one arm, and a weird blonde patch in his hair. He’s been around to all the shops in this neighborhood. I saw him outside your place earlier today.”

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice neutral as you duck down and wipe a shelf that’s already been cleaned, hiding your face.

“He’s been conning business into giving him free stuff all week, food, clothes, shoes,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very nerve of asking for something for free. “Mr. Mason even gave him a haircut and trimmed his beard, how he dared to do that I don’t even know. I wouldn’t even let him into the dry cleaners, you can’t trust people like that.”

You’re listening, your hand cleaning the same spot over and over as lead settles in your stomach.

“H-how do you know that?” you ask, moving to the coffee machine, rubbing it down with your back to her.

“Mrs. Levinson told me that Fanny, you know Fanny, in the flower shop?”

“Yeah, I know here, what did she say?” you ask impatiently, yanking at the milk nozzle, and you hear Barbara scoff behind you.

“Well, apparently, this man, he told Mr. Olson at the hardware store, that he lost his arm in a construction accident, but Mrs.Saqib’s husband works at the hospital and he said this guy came in last year with a gunshot wound, all infected and nasty. And that’s how he lost his arm,” she snorts, cackling to herself.

You continue to clean the machine, the heavy weight in your stomach turning to nausea, trying to keep your breathing steady as Ezra’s warm smile floats up inside your mind.

“He told the police he got shot at a poker game and it was an accident but I reckon he’s lying,” Barbara continues, “men like that, you never know what they get up to, a real nasty piece of work I think.”

“Thanks Barbara,” you snap, “I really need to close up and get home, thanks for telling me, I’ll be careful if I see him.”

You usher her to the door as she huffs at the abrupt interruption to her gossip session but you can’t get her out fast enough, slamming the door harder than necessary and giving her a strained smile through the window as she waves.

You hurry back to the kitchen, the ramekins still on the workbench and Ezra’s spoon next to them, just where he’d put it before he kissed you no more than a little while ago. You can’t even look at it, pulling your coat off the hook, you rush out through the back door and into the rain.

Early next morning, long before the rest of the world is awake, you’re back at the bakery after a sleepless night. No matter how little rest you got, the bakery has to open, and for it to open, you need to bake. Familiar motions of the early hours, a chance to stop your mind from spinning, it feels like a small relief today. The thoughts of Ezra in your tired mind won’t let your head relax and as you walk up to the back steps you almost miss the envelope pushed under the door.

You unlock the door and slip out the note inside while you step inside. The piece of paper is folded in an uneven line and as you smooth it out you see the unsteady handwriting of someone who’s writing with the wrong hand.

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.

I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true.

Always yours,

Ezra

Part Six

Two links this time, one to the NYT recipe and one to the wonderful Claire Saffitz's making the souffles if you want to attempt them yourselves. I've added the caramel and sea salt though, as an extra layer of Ezra ☺

youtube

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

#Youtube

148 notes · View notes

mulberrysilk · 1 year

Text

Lavender Haze

Urahara Kisuke x f!succubusreader

Summary: The vacant house next to Urahara's shop no longer remained empty as a pretty girl moves in. Was he obsessed with the girl next door? Maybe. But how could anyone blame him when you looked so delectable? Plus, he made sure to keep an eye on you, something about your reiatsu was different too...He's just being a good neighbor, that's it! He didn't expect to find out that you were more than just his beautiful neigbour...

cw: eventual smut, inspired by that line in the Chainsaw Man scene, low-key Urahara is stalkery, reader is a succubus, unprotected seggs, reader has succubus form which is small horns, wings and tail, oral(male receiving), creampie, Urahara is in love with his succubus lover, talks of reiatsu you know bleach stuff

wc: 8.2k ( she’s a long one y’all)

a/n: thought this was gonna be normal nasty smut with the normal girl next door. Turns out I made she's a succubus. ADHD brain go bRRRr.

Easily he recalled the Summer when he first met you. He had woken up past the eleventh morning hour, just in time for Tessai to return with items to stock in the store. It was the 4th Sunday of the month. The date where they routinely stocked the store with not only shinigami goods but snacks, drinks, and other convenience store items. He had wondered why there was a moving truck parked in front of the small humble house that neighbored his shop. For years it has been empty. The last owner was this little old lady who sadly passed some time ago. He was used to it being empty so it was only normal that he got curious about who would be living right beside him and his dear employees.

Opening his fan, he cooled himself from the coming afternoon heat and casually stood by the fence, the branches of the trees and their leaves, concealed his wandering eyes. Fanning himself and keeping his eyes hidden by his bucket hat, he searched for the person who was going to be his neighbor.

Out from the back of the truck in a baby pink tank top, denim shorts, and white sneakers, you appeared like those girls in the movies. The girl next door. He really thought those things were just a thing in the fictional world of movies, he didn't expect it to be happening right in front of his eyes. Was he in a movie right now? He pushed the ridiculous thought away and focused on you. He watched as you unloaded the truck with cardboard boxes that contained your belongings and shamelessly ogled the skin revealed to him due to the summer heat.

From your side profile, he could tell just how pretty you were. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat and your skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, making your tank top cling to your body even more, hugging your curves and reminding him of those models in summer magazines. Was he dreaming?

He didn't even know how long he had been staring but he remembered you went in and out of the front door twice, and the heap of cardboard boxes by the pavement doesn't seem to have lessened.

“You know, if you want to make advances toward her, my tip is for you to offer to help her move the boxes.” Tessai’s deep voice sounded behind him, startling the former shinigami.

“Tessai! When did you—advances? I’m merely…looking.” He brought his fan to cover the lower half of his face, a little flustered to be caught. He was so distracted he didn’t notice his friend’s presence.

“You look like a stalker.” A haughty younger voice commented.

Urahara flicked Jinta on the forehead, who was actually looking at you too.

Meanwhile, little Ururu approached you and politely asked if you needed help. The three males hid behind the safety of the concrete fence watching as she talked to you. You smiled at the young girl and their hearts fluttered. Ururu then pointed in their direction and your eyes followed where she was pointing. Squinting your eyes, you could make out two tall figures and a smaller one.

The three of them froze, caught like a deer in headlights.

You waved prettily in their direction as a short greeting before Ururu and you moved your stuff inside.

“You like her.” Jinta teased Urahara.

“Nonsense. I know nothing about her.” He played it off coolly, fanning himself.

“You know that she’s your neighbor now and that she’s attractive.” Tessai backed up the kid, Urahara mocked an expression of betrayal as his friend took Jinta’s side.

“We shall be good neighbors to her and nothing more.” Urahara snapped his fan shut before returning to the air-conditioned confines of his shop. Although he said what he did, he was sure he was going to see a lot of you, and should the opportunity arise that he could flirt.

Just harmless flirting. He told himself.

If only he could take back his words.

As the summer progressed, you settled into your little home and he caught you most of the time when you were coming home from wherever you’ve been but on the weekends, he would have a full view of you in your backyard, tending to the herbs and vegetables you grew at home. With the heat, you’d be in shorts most of the time and it was paired with either a tank top or a sports bra. The two of you only ever acknowledged one another silently, not having the chance to speak to each other formally but he wasn’t going to rush things. Sometimes he thinks it’s better off this way. To just look and don’t touch. It was painful in certain ways for him because, like other men, he too had his own needs and desires.

One afternoon changed everything.

It had been so hot, the air conditioning in his shop wasn’t enough to fight the heat. He had brought out extra fans to make it better and the more he stared at the frozen items box, the more he wanted to just stick his face inside to feel relief.

The door to his shop slid open and in you came. Your back was against the light that shined as you entered and it made you glow. He felt a hint of warmth collect in his abdomen when you smiled softly at him. Your shoulders and collarbones were exposed as you wore a sundress with thin straps. It was shorter than most sundresses, it came up to your mid-thigh, not that he was complaining. It cinched perfectly at your waist and the fabric of the skirt flowed and swished with every movement. God, you were absolutely delectable today.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my new neighbor. How may I help you?” He plastered on his shopkeeper facade.

“I was hoping to find ice cream.” You clasped your hands behind you and raised your shoulders in a cute way. “It’s too hot these days and I’m working from home, so I thought, ice cream would be nice.”

“Good for you, I do have ice cream and an assortment of sweets if that’s to your fancy.” He gestured to the freezer.

“Thank you.” You grinned before going to make your ice cream selection. “So…um…I know I just moved in. I’ve met Ururu who told me she works here and I feel a little rude that I haven’t introduced myself to you yet.” You made small talk, eying the variety of ice cream flavours.

“Oh?”

You introduced yourself properly, telling him your name, and extended your thanks to him for how Ururu helped you move in.

“She’s really strong for her age.” You said, finally choosing an ice cream flavour. Strawberry.

“That she is. Would you be so kind as to also get me a piece?” He asked before you made your way to the counter.

“Oh, sure. What flavour?”

“Same as yours.”

At the counter, you reached inside your little purse to pay but he spoke. “It’s on the house this time, cutie.”

Your heart jumped at the nickname. Heat collected in your cheeks and you murmured your thanks. Somehow instead of leaving, you found yourself sitting next to him in the air-conditioned living room of his house, eating ice cream and having a pleasant conversation. His company was nice and you had to admit you were proud to have made a friend out of your neighbour….attractive neighbour.

Kisuke felt the same too but he had felt the need to keep you around because he was surprised by the spiritual pressure a human like yourself had. He was curious to know if you were some special being or merely a human who will bait hollows and other entities your way. He wouldn’t be surprised if you were some special being with how endearing and magnetic you were. But if you were merely a human with such energy…well, he felt the need to protect you. It didn’t help that he was so willing because he had developed a crush, obsession? Whatever people these days called it. He just knew he wanted you in every way possible but of course, he had to be a gentleman.

“What brought you to Karakura?”

“Was looking at listings and this place was up for rent at a really good price, plus it’s an easy commute to the city and it’s quiet.” You replied, suckling at the strawberry popsicle.

“Quiet? You running away from a boyfriend or something?” He playfully suggested, sneakily asking if you were taken or not. Not that it would be a problem.

“Something like that.” You murmured and his eyes widened a little but then you broke into a smile. “I’m just kidding!”You laughed. “Have you always been a shop owner?”

“Nope.” He answered you truthfully and you tilted your head.

“Oh?”

“It’s complicated but basically, I was expelled from my past occupation.”

“Expelled? Did you do something bad?” Your gaze never left him.

“To them, yes but in my eyes, I failed at what I had to do. So I came here and decided to be a shopkeeper.” He grinned at you, making light of the topic and you gave him a small smile.

“Quite the interesting man you are.” You giggled before having another taste of your ice cream, unaware of the eyes that clouded like a storm at the way your lips wrapped at the tip of the pink iced treat. Taking a bite of his treat, he couldn’t help but wonder how soft your lips might be against his skin, his lips, or his—

“Oi! Urahara!” The shoji door slid open, the cool air from the air conditioning escaping the confines of the living room. Urahara internally sighed at his disrupted thoughts.

Your head casually turned to the unfamiliar voice and stood by the door was someone you’ve never met before. He stared at you and you stared at him, your brows furrowed as he continued to stare for quite some time. His teddy bear brown eyes looked you up and down, taking in the view of an attractive stranger with an ice lolly between her lips and the pretty summer dress she wore. Pink dusted his cheeks before he turned his attention to the man seated not too far from you.

“I-I need to talk to you!” Orange haired boy demanded, masking his fluster.

“Kurosaki-kun, as you can see I have a visitor,” Kisuke responded and you waved your hand.

“It’s okay. I can go.” You told the two men, the urgency in Kurosaki’s eyes told you that it was important and something not to be shared with others. It’s not your problem nor did you care to know what it was.

“Thanks for the ice cream, Kisuke.” You chimed happily, sending a wink his way, and it felt like an arrow went straight into his heart. “I’ll see you around.”

So cute. He thought to himself, a little disappointed you had to go but he must admit watching you walk past Ichigo on your way out, was a pretty view that made up for your leaving. He thanked whatever designer made your dress at such a perfect length. One that wasn’t too short to explicitly tempt and not too long to bore. It was just the right length that created tension, that made Urahara wonder how pretty it would be to bunch the fabric up to reveal more of your thighs.

Once the front door shut telling them of your departure, Ichigo turned to the man still sitting and halfway done with his ice cream.

“Who was that?”

“My neighbor.” Urahara sighed with a smile that Ichigo couldn’t read but made him narrow his eyes at the playfully crafty man. “So, what is it that you need to tell me so badly that you disturbed my precious time with my pretty neighbor?”

Urahara wouldn't say he was a stalker. Maybe if anyone did see him, they'd think that's what he was doing. But he was merely watching you from the comfort of his home. It wasn't his fault his bedroom upstairs looked directly into your bedroom. He'd like to think fate was tempting him, giving him signs that your paths were meant to constantly cross.

It was definitely a game of fate because there were times the curtains were closed and days when they were left drawn apart. It’s not like he waits for you to show up or anything, there were just some instances where he’d see you going to bed in those cute pyjamas of yours. He liked in particular the pink ones or the white and pink shorts ensemble.

Tonight though, he could see you again. Lying on your stomach with a bunny plushie cradling your chin while you read a book, your legs swung in the air, the air conditioner in full blast with how hot the weather had been. This lovely night's choice of sleepwear was a white cotton tank top paired with white frilly shorts. His eyes ran along the length of your legs, wondering how smooth your thighs might be.

Your presence in his life was constant and honestly was a breath of fresh air from all the hollow and shinigami issues that come and go. He would even say you two had become close friends. Small exchanges became him coming over to fix stuff when you need it or you going over to the shop with sweets or pastries from the city. If you had a watermelon to beat the heat, you’d share it with him.

Despite this blooming friendship, Urahara was plagued with thoughts that made his stomach warm and crave you like a wolf hungry for prey. It didn’t help that you had also become the subject of his wet dreams that had always made him wake up in a mess, sweating and he even felt like he didn’t get enough sleep….was he being a bad neighbour?

And could you blame him for the shock and dumbfounded look on his face when you, one searing hot afternoon, asked him? “So do you wanna do it?”

Your voice was soft as your head lay against the pillow of your bed, the two of you had escaped to your room after he had helped you hook the sound system to the tv. The air conditioner was on full blast and the cold air being pushed out was the only sound in the silence between you two.

Urahara sucked in a breath, and doing so made the overwhelmingly sweet scent of your sheets, of you, too much. Pheromones was it? “Do what?” He calmly grinned, not letting his composure falter.

You shifted in your position, stretching a little then leaned your head on your extended arm, locks of your hair cascading over your face and that delicate curve of your neck. Your eyes appeared sleepy as if you had some sake to drink and had gotten tipsy, it was alluring, it was…seducing. Was he dreaming again?

The summer sun glared at him and his eyes adjusted and searched for your face, finding first your glossed pink lips. “Fuck.”

Now he really was at a loss for words. He felt like who he used to be over a hundred years ago when he had become Captain. Easily flustered, nervous, and unsure of himself. “W-what?”

The sun got into his eyes again.

When they adjusted this time, your hands rested on either side of his head and you were looking down at him, meeting his gaze as your hair fell around you. The warm orange hue of the sun kissed your skin and made you and your hair glow. He could even feel the warmth of your skin as you leaned over him, so close.

“I think you heard what I said.” You purred, throwing a leg over his hip. Urahara swallowed the lump in his throat again. Was he dreaming? Oh, god, was he dreaming?! His dreams even felt as real as this. It was hard to tell.

He didn’t dare move a finger scared that if he touched you, you’d disappear. Even when you straddled him with your cool palms against his chest. He laid still.

Your eyes never left him and he wondered if he had imagined the pink glow that flashed in your irises when you batted your lashes and pushed apart the lapels of his samue.

A finger traced along his center, from the crevice between his two collarbones down his chest and to his abdomen. “What’s wrong?”You leaned forward, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you cooed sickeningly sweet. “Why are you so still?” You toyed with the strings of his pants. He swore to himself. Blood was rushing down to his groin and it didn’t help that your ass was pressed against it. There was no way you couldn’t feel him harden against you.

You raised your head a little, pushing his bucket hat up in the process to remove the shadow he hid behind. His eyes couldn’t stay in one place. It jumped from your eyes, the gentle tempting smile of your lips and the sight of your cleavage as your shirt dipped low, soft breasts in their lacy bra cups,

“Y/N-chan….” He sounded as if he was warning you.

“I’m not playing any games with you, Kisuke.” You said, sliding your hands from his shoulders and then to his hands, guiding them to your waist. “Am I?”

“I think you are playing a dangerous game,” he spoke, feeling your waist, internally groaning at the fact he was touching you, really touching you.

“Awe,” you cooed, pouting your lips mockingly. “Are you nervous?” You were teasing him now, cradling his wrists and sliding them higher til they cupped your breasts.

“Aren’t you?” He managed to say, fighting the urge to squeeze your breasts through your shirt, he could already feel just how soft they were.

You shook your head, your resting smile unfaltering as you continued to splay your fingers on his exposed chest, running them up and down sensually slow you could feel the goosebumps on his skin form.

You cupped his face, caressing his cheekbone with your thumb. Each contact made a shivering delightful feeling bloom on his skin and the intensity of your gaze melted him further and further as if it was pulling him under a spell.

The feeling intensified when you leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his cheek, then his jaw, and god, his neck. Urahara moaned softly, the heat of your lips and the slight nibble of your teeth on his sensitive skin was like another sip of exquisite saké.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” He lowered his hands to your hips, grabbing the flesh as he rolled his hips upwards for so much needed friction. The feeling made you giggle. That sound was like a siren song.

“Maybe.” You said with a smile he could feel against his skin before you continued to kiss along his neck. A sensual roll of your hips and his eyes shut momentarily at the feeling. “I can tell you’re enjoying this.”

He was. He was thoroughly enjoying this, the heavy petting, the kissing, and the closeness of your bodies. This experience was different. He felt all too consumed in your aura, your presence, and your touch. It was intoxicating. He wondered if this was normal. If the dreams, the way you took up all his thoughts and now your very touch, were all still of the human world.

Before he could even question and remind himself of your spiritual energy, your lips stopped their delicious kisses and you straightened your back. You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it over your head, your hair tousled by the removal. Staring at you felt surreal. It was almost psychedelic. Your body was the only figure that was clear while everything else other than you was fuzzy and blurred.

“I’m gonna ask you again, Kisuke.” Your voice traveled smoothly in both his ears, echoing in his head. He swore there were pink symbols in your irises right now. His eyes were locked on yours, there was no denying it. “Do you…” you pressed your naked breasts against his chest, their softness against his muscles making him painfully hard. “…want…”. You kissed his cheek. “…to…” then the corner of his lips, so dangerously close. He gripped your hips, hard enough to leave marks. You were driving him crazy. You hovered your lips over his, barely touching. “…fuck?”

You didn’t have to ask him again.

A rough hand grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you down to finally, finally, kiss you.

Oh, he tasted sweet. So sweet. You could feel his beautiful spiritual energy seep under your skin. You were right to have chosen him. Even though you moved here to start anew, you didn’t expect to meet someone like him. You didn’t know what he was exactly but his spiritual energy had you weak in your knees. It flowed bountifully like a waterfall. It was strong too which meant you wouldn’t need much to keep your capabilities base level.

You were giddy and thrilled to have found him.

This was not normal. Urahara thought as he kissed you with such hunger. His lips moved in tandem with yours, fighting for dominance and easily winning it. He thought your touch was intoxicating? Your lips were far more dangerous. They were downright hallucinogenic. It was as if they were laced with a poison that seeped immediately into his system that made the depraved lust he had for you, increase a thousandfold.

This was definitely not normal.

Your spiritual energy was increasing too, it felt like a weighted velvet blanket on his body, getting heavier and heavier. Not heavy, almost, joining with his? How was this possible?

Thinking wasn’t easy, not when he had the beautiful neighbour he’s been dreaming and fantasising of on top of him. His hands moved on their own, feeling and tracing your curves, cupping your soft breasts, and feeling their weight against his palms. This was better than he imagined you felt. It couldn’t compare.

Urahara pulled away to catch his breath. His chest rose and fell quickly while you kissed the spot on his neck that you had marked before and lowered yourself, leaving kisses along his chest and his abdomen. His breath hitched when he felt your chin brush the hem of his pants. His eyes snapped open to look down and were met with dark clouded eyes staring prettily up at him, lashes fluttering with each blink.

“Watching me from your bedroom isn’t enough is it?”

You knew? Fuck. For how long?

“You caught me,” he chuckled, petting your head adoringly. “No point in lying to you, is there?”

You shook your head with a sly, cheeky smile. “You don’t have to lie to me, Kisuke.” You untie the strings to his pants, the hem loosening easily. “Have you thought about this?”

His breath got caught in his throat. Your hand pressed against his erection through the fabric. “Y-yes. C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t tease me. I thought you weren’t playing any games with me?”

“I’m not.” You shimmied his pants down along with his boxers, cock springing freely from the constraints of the fabric.

Urahara hissed when the cool air kissed the leaking head of his cock. Was he always this sensitive? Before he could say anything, your tongue licked a stripe along his length, dreamy eyes staring up at him with lust. You enjoyed his reactions. He looked so pretty like this, cheeks flushed, eyes droopy with desire, and hair all tousled. You continued your ministrations, running your tongue once more at his perfectly sized length before kissing the cute pink head of his cock, the precum already making your senses vibrate crazily.

Like you had suckled on the strawberry popsicle the first time he had you over, your lips wrapped prettily around him, your tongue hot against his cock as you swirled it over his sensitive head.

“Keep going, sweetheart. F-fuck,” he softly moaned out. His words encouraged you and the gentle brush of his thumb along your brow made you happily take him deeper. His fingers tighten in your hair as he groaned in bliss. He was hot and heavy against your tongue, and the natural condition of your entity enjoyed the musky taste of him.

Urahara’s fantasies were incomparable to this. He was already losing his mind at the hot warmth of your mouth and the rhythmic bobbing of your head along his cock. A sharp delightful shiver ran up and down his spine when he felt his tip touch the back of your throat, you gagged cutely and he looked down at you to make sure you were okay. He was brought immediately closer to the edge when he drank in the sight of your glossy eyes staring up at him with an adorable furrow of your brows. This was far better than he imagined.

His moans left him freely, and his hand on your head continued to pet you as he felt the tension in his spine tighten. You could feel yourself get wetter just at the sight of him. Touching him and finally pleasuring him, was heightening your sensitivity. The ache in your core was painfully sweet and you couldn’t help but moan around his length, completely aware of how the vibrations affected him.

Urahara swore under his breath, unable to hold back the following thrusts of his hips as his orgasm bursts through his body. He felt as if broke through the cottony haze he had been under, only to sink right back in and further down once more. He could feel the way your tongue moved as he remained still inside, and the movement of your throat as you swallowed his cum with your eyes shut in bliss. What an obscene picture.

He felt your spiritual energy increase again. The little clarity he was able to gather after climaxing helped give his brain enough time to form full thoughts and assess the situation.

Watching you pull back, you detached yourself, cock slipping from your lips with a soft pop. You licked along your lips with a satisfied smile, like a cat who just got the cream. Which you kinda …did. The way you glowed intensified, and your aura had completely changed.

“You’re not human aren’t you?” He caught his breath, analysing his senses. It wasn’t a question that he needed an answer to.

“You’re not human too.” You simply answered back, climbing on top of him. His cock, half hard, slotting between your warm slit.

“You’re feeding off my reiatsu.”

“Something like that,” you smiled, intertwining your fingers with his. “I can’t exactly feed off just any kind of reiatsu.” You slowly rocked back and forth, Urahara feeling the wetness of your pussy coating him. His hands gripped yours, his eyes rolling back at the heat of your folds. God, he wanted to be inside you.

“Sexual reiatsu then?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, gasping when the tip of his cock caught at your entrance. You lifted your hips a little higher. “S-something like tha—.” You cut off with a moan as you sunk down a little, taking in the head of his length. He felt better than you could ever imagine.

Urahara felt that at this moment, he had more control than you did. Your fingers were squeezing him, your thighs were quivering with need and your face, your pretty face, was trying so hard to focus. You looked as if you were losing all resolve, completely crumbling apart with lust. He watched you intently, refusing to miss a single thing as you sank down on him, taking him into your tight, velvety heat that‘s got him aching hard again.

Bottomed out, your head fell forward. You took a couple of breaths as you allowed yourself time to adjust. It has been a while since you’ve laid with anyone, you almost hated yourself for tearing away the euphoric feeling of connecting your body to someone. Even so, with him, it was different. You didn’t just want to have him once and leave it at that. You wanted to have him. Completely. God, his reiatsu feeding yours was overwhelming. You could cry at how good he feels.

His voice pierced through the rapturous screaming of your body. He said your name so sweetly. That gentle and teasing coo of your name that had you weak in the knees.

“Look at me.”

Without a second thought, you did as he said. His larger hands squeezed yours in a reassuring manner and you felt as if your heart was going to burst at that action. You met his gaze, the once dwindling remnants of your energy almost fully replenished after months. Urahara was met with the pink pattern in your irises in full glow. Everything but you was a blur of colours. The effect your being had on him was akin to a drug that heightened every pleasurable sensation and kept you and him in a haze of warm lavender.

If his assumptions were correct, then he was one lucky and unfortunate bastard.

“Show me who you really are.” He untangled one hand to caress your cheek, the soft touch making you lean into his palm.

How could you not give him everything he wanted? His reiatsu was sweet, warm, and enveloping. It was delicious. You felt intoxicated by it and ever since your skin touched his, you knew you drew him into your web.

Urahara moaned when you rolled your hips, his cock hugged by your velvety walls, and he cussed when you took his thumb into your pretty little mouth. He blinked a couple of times, fighting the urge to rock into you as he wanted to see your true form. Your kind was rare, very rare. In fact, many shinigami believed your kind to be just a myth and a fantasy of depraved men.

The sun had begun to set and the golden hour illuminated your skin. Its rays glared at his eyes once more and when his eyes adjusted again, he caught the shape of two horns curling by the side of your head like a crown and stretched wide behind you were the most majestic set of wings, a shade of deep purple. Your eyes were shut as his thumb swiped your lower lip. Were you embarrassed?

“Didn’t I tell you to look at me?” He chuckled and you adorably blinked your eyes open, lashes fluttering. God, you were so cute. He can’t hold himself back anymore.

Gently with his strength, he switched your positions. Your back landed on the soft mattress of your bed, taking you by surprise that your wings had contracted into themselves. His hands held your hips as he hoisted them onto his thighs, lifting them up. You stared at him, eyes wide. His thumb spread apart your puffy lips, humming satisfactorily at how it glistened with slick. When he returned his gaze to your face only to find it hidden behind your hands, he found it endearing that you were being shy especially since it was in your nature…

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rubbing his length between your folds, collecting your slick before guiding his head to your entrance, merely kissing with the tip. You whined into your hands at the feeling, hips wriggling for more. “Talk to me, Y/N-channn.”

“I-I have never shown anyone…” you peaked through your fingers, his ash blonde hair prettily a mess over his eyes as he looked at you with such a gentle look, a contrast to your former lover from a hundred years ago whose face had contorted in horror in a rare blood moon. “…shown anyone at will…”

“You hide this cute form of yours?” He pushed the head of his cock in, turned on by the way your back arched at just him entering you.

He sighed out in bliss, sinking slowly, inch by inch feeling the warmth of your walls hug him. It was heavenly. God, he was never going to get enough of you. There’s so much he wanted to do to you. This was just the tip of the iceberg.

“K-kisuke,” you whimpered, not satisfied with him just remaining still inside you. You needed more.

"What's gotten you so submissive, hm?" He teased, taking his thumb and massaging your clit. The pressure made you moan. "You were the one who started all this." He drew his hip back a little to shallowly rock in and out of you. His own moan accompanied yours, your walls contracting needily around him.

He was right. You were the one who started this but now you were melting in his touch, helplessly needing his touch. You believed it was the strength of his reiatsu. It was stronger than any human you've played with to just get enough energy to keep your powers available to you. His sexual reiatsu, unlike humans, felt as if you had no way of depleting it, it was making your senses and your lustful need increase a thousandfold.

"P-please, I need you." You whimpered, your hands no longer hiding your face. They fell to your side as you gripped your sheets, the slow rocking of his hips, the slow sensation of his cock scraping your walls, was driving you insane. You wanted it in full force, not like this, this was torture. If it had been just another human, you would've maintained full control. He was different.

"You beg just as cute as I thought." He smiled at you, hands gripping your hips tight. "I still have questions." Though he was stalling from giving you what you want, enjoying the obscene sight of your body shivering and aching for pleasure, and your cute lewd face, he was using everything in him to not just fuck you senseless in your bed.

"I'll answer anything you ask after!" You cried out, the burning ache in your core too much. You needed the sweet burst of relief to wrack your body, you needed the vulgar rapture of fucking to ruin you. "Just, please, please, use me as you wish." You never begged any of your victims like this.

The sweet sound of your voice pleading him like that deepened his desire for you. He'll show you just how much he's been wanting you all this time.

He drew his hips back, almost leaving the velvet heat of your walls. You were about to whine, thinking he was going to tease you to no end but no. Like a man starved, like a dog in heat, he drove back into you, fully sheathing himself again, and regulated a rough and fast pace.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, that tingling and electrifying feeling you’ve deprived yourself of in the full flux of your energy for years, sent strong, crashing waves of pleasure throughout your body. It was euphoric. Each deep stroke had your toes curling and your eyes shutting in pure bliss. Every nerve receptor was on overdrive and made the right coiling feeling in your tummy contract further.

You didn’t care about the lewd moans that left your lips or the obscene sound of skin slapping on skin and the wet squelching of your pussy as Urahara pounded into you. That burning ache within you was being scratched and god, why did his cock feel so good.

Urahara was relentless. He drew his hips back and drove them back in in a crazed frenzy, chasing his own high and addicted to the warm plush walls of your pussy squeezing him. His own groans and pleasurable moans melded with yours, the two of you a hot sticky mess of sex.

Even in the daze of carnal lust, he made sure to enjoy the pornographic sight of you on his bed, puffy pussy lips split apart by his cock and tits bouncing with each collision of his hips against yours. You were so out of it too. Your cute little tongue poked out just a bit between your lips and your eyes couldn’t even stay open, you were just spiraling in pure pleasure.

He brought one of your legs over his shoulder, angling himself in a way he could rut in you deeper. “K-Kisuke!” You screamed his name out so sweetly, his cock head kissing your g-spot repeatedly. You were just a mess of arousal. He could feel how wet you were by the way you coat his cock and even drip over his thighs and the bed. It was downright dirty. And it was all for him.

“F-fuck,” he swore to himself, thrusting endlessly, feeling a tightness in the base of his spine. He was dangerously close and it didn’t help that you were too. Your walls were hugging him tighter and you messily continued to get wetter, his cock scraping your walls over and over emitting sloppy wet sounds.

You could feel him get harder inside you and you bit your lip at how delicious that felt. He looked so pretty when he fucked you. His cheeks were pink and his skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. Your release was growing nearer and nearer. Sweet refrains of his name continued to leave your lips, begging and pleading for more, and telling him how good he felt which encouraged him to fuck you harder.

His hand caressed your lower tummy, pressing his palm against where his cock was inside of you. The pressure made you keen, your fingers gripping the sheets now.

Urahara was completely focused on the beautiful creature you were, wanting nothing more than to make you his and be the only one to hear your sweet moans. To be the one who would make those cute lewd expressions form on your pretty face. The only one to see just how beautiful you are.

His thumb finds your throbbing pearl and massaged it in circular motions. You cried out in pleasure, the added stimulation making you tip over the edge. Your walls gripped his cock tight making it almost impossible to pull out as your body convulsed. Your lips were parted and your eyes were shut as pleasure shot through you like electricity. Your hips were shaking as you came all over him, your sweet honey spilling forth as he shallowly thrusts, his balls tightening.

“F-fuck, tell me where to cum, sweetheart.” He tried to control the quick rhythm of his hips that was moving desperately to empty himself into you.

Urahara searched for your face through the curtain of his blond hair over his eyes. Your hair was strewn over your face as you panted, hips shaking and soft breasts bouncing with his movement. He needed your answer and he hoped it was the one he wanted.

“I-inside.” You sighed dreamily, watching him through heavy lidded eyes. You moved your leg over his shoulder to join the other in wrapping around his waist, trapping him in place to uphold your answer.

The symbol in your irises was glowing pink. You held out your arms, inviting him into them and he leaned forward, crashing his lips into yours as he did. He kissed you deeply, driving his cock hard and fast, focused on the hot grip of your pussy around his throbbing and aching cock. Your arms were wrapped around him as you kissed him back, moving your lips in perfect tandem with his.

Your body was still electrified from your orgasm and the continuous sensation of his cock rocking in and out of you was sending you into overdrive. You wouldn’t be truly satisfied til you had his seed anywhere on you and even better inside of you.

With a couple more thrusts and giving it all in his final one, the tightness in the base of his spine, exploded. You moaned into his mouth as you felt heat shoot inside of your womb, it made your eyes roll back in ecstasy. Urahara kept himself hoisted up as he emptied his balls, groaning as he felt your walls milk his cock. How salacious your pussy was, he had thought. You were going to drive him crazy. He remained still inside of you, relishing in the sweet victorious sensation of fulfilling one of his dirty fantasies.

He peppered kisses along your neck as your bodies remained pressed against one another. This wasn’t anything he’d experienced before. It was definitely out of this world.

“You feel so good, Kisuke.” You hummed sweetly, petting his head as the two of you laid side by side now on your bed.

He rested his head on the pillow of your breasts, his arms draped over your abdomen as yours and his legs remained tangled with one another. The climax of both your highs lingered longer than expected and you two cuddled as you both recovered from the raw mindless fucking you two indulged in.

“The things you do to me, woman.” He let out a sigh, though a little tired, his cock twitched to life wanting to bury itself inside you once more.

You giggled. “You can ask me anything you like. I did. promise you.” You lovingly pet him, your heart tied to this man.

“You’re no normal cutie neighbor that’s for sure,” he concluded, light-heartedly. He caressed your side. “How long have you starved yourself?”

You didn’t expect that…he almost sounded pained to have asked that.

“A while…”

“Myths say your kind needs semen to survive.” He couldn’t help but think of how he came inside of you as he said that.

“That myth is partially wrong.” You ran your fingers through his hair. “We don’t need it to survive. We feed off sexual reiatsu that is emitted when we engage in any kind of sexual activity with a man. The semen is the most potent form of a man’s sexual reiatsu.”

“Which means?” He was honestly curious. He adjusted his position so he could comfortably look at you as you spoke while still holding you close.

“To put it simply, to us, it’s like an energy shot. A very addicting, delicious, energy shot that our bodies happily respond to.” You explained, your cheeks warm. You couldn’t help but be flushed by him. He was gazing up at you as you spoke to him about the ways of your kind. It was unnatural and you expected a far more negative reaction, not this sweet adoration in his eyes.

“How come I’m not depleted of my reiatsu ?”

“B-because…I don’t want to.” Your voice trailed off, getting softer.

“How long have you abstained?”

“For quite sometime now. I didn’t want to continue feeding off humans…they will...have deteriorated if they kept relations with me.”

Urahara could hear the pain in your voice. You found your very being to be a curse. He assumed you had stopped because of your soft heart but that was dangerous of you to do to yourself.

Silence fell before the two of you, there was a far-off look in your eyes and he wondered about how lonely you must’ve been. You’ve probably never had the chance to really have a relationship with a human man. To be in love.

Oh, the thought made his heart ache. Luck for you, he wasn’t a human. He could fulfill all your needs if you asked him to.

“What happens if you keep continuing to…um…see… the same man? Besides deterioration.” He asked, breaking you away from your trance.

You knew what he insinuated.

“O-oh…well…I would form a bond with him but in the past, I'd always chose not to feed off the same man twice. So I never bonded with any of them. ”

“And how will you know if this bond has formed?”

He was asking very specific questions but you didn’t think much of it. Though you haven’t even formed a bond yet, you felt your heart was chained to him. You wanted him all to yourself.

“A very special mark would show up right here,” you took his hand and placed it a couple of centimetres below your navel, low and close to the apex of your mound.

Urahara followed your hand and stared at the smooth, unmarked skin.

“Kisuke…”

He’ll never get tired of you saying his name.

“Yes?” He looked at you once more. His pretty little goddess.

“What are you really? Your reiatsu is different from a human. It’s stronger and there’s so much of it.” You cupped his cheek. “You’re no ordinary shopkeeper.”

He didn’t feel the need to hide the truth from you. You had shown him your true form, which he didn’t understand why you were ashamed of. To him, it was cute and sexy. Every man’s sick fantasy.

The playful and aloof facade he always wore, faded. His eyes were serious now but still gazed at you gently. The tone of his voice was no longer in the usual happy melodious tune he took. “I was once a soul reaper, my dear.”

You blinked, surprised at the revelation that explained his reitasu being different from anyone you’ve ever met. You knew of shinigami , you see them in Karakura town both in their true form where other humans can’t see them, and in their gigai . You didn’t expect your handsome, cute but pervy, neighbour to be one.

“I see.” Was all you said, still holding the man in your arms who comfortably remained in your warm embrace, his own limbs draped over your own.

Your brows furrowed when you felt him slip away, sitting up beside you, his broad muscular back flexing as he did.

“Kisuke?” You sat up too, on your knees.

He glanced at the call of your name and shuddered at the cute sight before him. Naked skin glimmering, cute eyes staring at him, little cute horns curled on each side of your head and your wings relaxed behind you, had him enchanted by you once again. He was down bad. Very, very bad.

He sighed, turned to face you, and inched close. His surroundings were clear of that haze your energy created. The entirety of your room was clear and no longer blurry, yet this invisible glowing halo on you still remained.

“The sun has set.”

Was he leaving? Your heart cracked at the thought. You didn’t want to use your powers to keep him, you wanted him but you wanted him to want you for you of his own volition. “Y-yes it has.”

“We shouldn’t…” He looked down, his hair falling over his eyes.

You understood. A little ashamed, dejected even, you slowly brought the sheets up to your chest, covering yourself as you bit your trembling lip, waiting for words that would feel like a knife pierced your chest.

“We shouldn’t waste any time then.” Urahara nodded, as he came to a decision about whatever he thought.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

In a flash, you found yourself, torso down on the bed with a pillow underneath you to keep you comfy while his hands firmly gripped your hips, hoisting it up. You yelped at the sudden position, feeling the remnants of Urahara’s seed unloaded into you that didn’t fit in your womb anymore, leaked out of your messy slicked hole.

“Oh wow, how messy.” He teased and then blinked. “You didn’t tell me you had this cute tail!” From the base of your spine and extended was a slender black serpentine tail.

His reiatsu was insane. One encounter with him replenished your powers and awakened your true form. No one ever had this effect on you. And he thought this form, horns, wings, and tail were cute?!

"Ah!" A ticklish shudder ran up and down your spine. The sound that left you was a mix between a moan and a yelp. "D-don't do that." You whimpered, legs shaking.

"Do what?" He played innocently, fingers trailing over where your tail connected to your spine. He was enjoying having you under his control. Then repeated what he did again, watching the way your thighs shook and your cute pink pussy pulse.

"Don't pull at it!" You whined, feeling embarrassed. You've never, ever, dared to be seen in your true form. You buried your face into the pillow and Urahara was screaming internally at how adorable you were.

"Awe, I'm sorry." He pouted, caressing gently the base of your spine. "Why are you hiding?"

"I-I'm just not used to being seen like this."

"But you're sooo cute, like this." He replied, pressing himself against you, slowly rubbing his hardening length between your folds making you mewl.

"Y-you want to..." you panted, losing yourself at the friction of his cock rubbing your clit. You wanted him again and more if he was able. You didn't want to tire him out. "...again?"

"I told you didn't I?" He popped the head of his cock into your pussy once more, slowly filling you up inch by inch. "We shouldn't waste any time." Urahara groaned, balls deep inside you once more with the gorgeous view of your back curved with your plush ass against him.

You squealed into the pillow, unashamedly pushing your hips further back to feel him deeper.

"By the end of the night, Y/N-chan," he huskily spoke, gently tugging at your tail. The action made you squeeze around him deliciously, arousal tickling your whole body. "We're gonna make sure I leave that mark."

if you enjoyed my works and you’re feeling generous, you can tip me on ko-fi!

#urahara kisuke smut #urahara kisuke x reader #urahara smut #bleach smut #bleach fanfiction #bleach one shot #urahara kisuke one shot #bleach anime smut #kisuke urahara smut #kisuke urahara x reader #bleach.smut

649 notes · View notes

eddiemunsons80sbaby · 6 months

Text

Everybody Hurts

Chapter 13

Pairing: EddieMunsonxReader

Summary: You needed to escape, escape from your life, your messy divorce, and all the pitying looks. Looks you couldn't ignore when everyone in town had known you and Cam, had known your shame and failure. So, you took the first job you could get, teaching third grade in a town called Hawkins. Little did you know, you were walking right into another messy situation, a messy situation with big brown eyes and long dark waves. But he's resistant, at times unbearable and you start getting curious about the town's past, his past, especially when things don't start adding up.

18+ Only for eventual smut

Next chapter: 11/22

Word Count: 7.2K

Masterlist

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Sunday came and went and you never heard a word from Eddie, not so much as a phone call. You tried to tell yourself that he was just with his uncle. He was just too busy to call. It didn’t mean he was blowing you off or that he was ignoring you. It didn’t mean that he’d wished you’d never done what you did last night. It didn’t mean he’d just used you and discarded you. Right?

You spent the day busying yourself by doing little things around the house like pulling weeds and wiping down every inch of your kitchen. As afternoon came, you walked into town to the local hardware store to look at possible paint colors for your porch. Then you’d popped into Melvald’s for some light bulbs and met Will’s mother, who was also apparently the Chief’s wife.

She was kind and friendly, pulling you in for a hug, telling you how nice it was to meet you, welcoming you to Hawkins. A big smile stretched her face but she had the same haunted look in her eyes that the others did, a look of someone who’d almost been completely broken by life and was trying hard to keep the pieces together. You couldn’t imagine what that sweet woman must have gone through when she thought Will was dead. No mother should have to experience that kind of trauma, even if it turned out to be false in the end. Joyce had insisted that you should join them for dinner at their house sometime. Apparently all the kids came over once a month. You told her of course, finding yourself unable to disappoint this lady who was so welcoming within seconds of meeting you.

When darkness fell and the late hour reminded you that you had to wake up early in the morning to teach a bunch of eight year olds, you fell into bed, deceiving yourself, holding onto the thought that he’d just been busy and he would call tomorrow. But an annoying voice in the back of your head kept whispering that you’d been an idiot to trust him, to believe him. You’d made a rash decision after your divorce and now you were going to pay for it.

Monday came as it always did, far too early, whether you wanted it to or not. Your mind stayed fairly occupied at work, as long as you were busy, and that wasn’t a problem when the students were in the room with you. Between watching Lance like a hawk, having to explain to two heart eyed children that there was no kissing in third grade, and Jeremiah announcing to the entire class that his mom had hit the neighbor’s car yesterday but it was a secret, your mind had stayed plenty busy. But your planning period had found you blinking back tears at your desk as you tried to work on interventions for a couple of kids who were behind a grade level in Reading. Your lunch hit the trash can even though you’d barely touched it when your stomach revolted against it.

The meeting with Lance and Charlie’s parents had gone just about as awful as you’d expected. Mr. Johnson and Gareth, as he’d requested you call him, had wound up going toe to toe. The meeting got heated very quickly when Mr. Johnson said his son had done nothing wrong and Charlie shouldn’t dress like a freak if he didn’t want to be treated like one. Both men were up and in each other’s faces within ten minutes, chests heaving, eyes hard and hateful.

Principal Washington had wound up calling it over after forty-five minutes that was getting no one anywhere, telling both men to go cool off. So, you were stuck in the same position you’d been in prior to the meeting, no resolution to the issue between the boys and now a bigger issue between the parents.

You’d thought about stopping by Eddie’s after work to confront him but quickly realized you had no idea where he lived. He’d always shown up at your work or house or you’d seen him at Nancy’s or the bonfire. For a minute, you considered calling Nancy or Robin to ask but how would you explain why you needed to know without telling them what had happened? And you couldn’t do that. You imagined them sighing, pitying the dumb girl who’d allowed Eddie Munson into her bed. So you didn’t and by the time you went to bed that night, you’d cried silently into your pillow, hating yourself for believing anything that had come out of his mouth.

Tuesday, you struggled to make it through your day. You lost track of where you were, couldn’t remember what you were teaching, stumbled over your words. At one point you passed out a paper on common and proper nouns when you were supposed to be working on division. The kids noticed, asking you if you were okay and you knew you had to do something about this.

You couldn’t keep going on like this. If he was going to treat you like some cheap one-night stand then you had to just get over it. There was nothing you were going to do about it and chasing after him just made you pathetic. It had clearly meant nothing to him so why were you allowing it to consume you so much? Lots of people had one-night stands even if you never had. You were freshly divorced. Shouldn’t that be the kind of thing you should be doing? Relishing your freedom, making up for all the things you’d never experienced? Maybe it was just a good time and great sex and you needed to leave it at that.

After work, you headed to the bakery to grab a coffee, needing a pick-me-up after two sleepless nights and a really stressful meeting. Millie glanced up from behind the counter with a smile, took one look at your face, and the smile dropped as her eyes went wide.

“Uh-oh, honey, do I need to pack up some extra sweets for you? You look downright miserable.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, shaking your head. “Just needed a little coffee to get me through the rest of the day. It’s been a really long week already and it’s only Tuesday.”

“Uh-huh…” the old woman replied, clearly skeptical. Her hand came down on the counter as she leaned in toward you. “Well, if those swollen eyes and frown are any indication, you’re lying through your teeth. Sadness is leaking out of you like steam from a hot kettle.”

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to say much more. Your sadness was like a rain cloud hanging over you, threatening to break open and release your sorrow at any moment. And when it did fall, it would come pouring down in a flood of tears and anguish. You would be right back where you’d been months ago. You weren't ready to let that happen and certainly not in this coffee shop in front of this woman who’d been nothing but kind to you. You were trying so hard to just let it go.

Millie came around the counter faster than you would have expected her to be able to. Her arm slid around your shoulders, guiding you to a small table off to the side. You obeyed when instructed to sit down, the kind woman taking the chair across from you.

“Alright, I am going to need you to eat this first and then tell me what is going on,” Millie demanded, sliding a warm chocolate chip across the table toward you. When you didn’t make a move for it, she nudged it even closer. “Come on. Nothing makes the bitterness of life better than a little sweetness. Besides, the sugar will be good for you. Bring a little color back to your cheeks.”

You broke off a small piece, placing it in your mouth, allowing your senses to be flooded with the baked good. The chocolate chips were rich and creamy, the cookie was tender and chewy, and the combination just melted in your mouth. It felt like a hug, like comfort wrapped up in butter and sugar.

“There you go,” smiled Millie, tapping the table with her hand, clearly satisfied now that you had enjoyed your cookie. “Now, what’s got my girl looking like a four year old who just dropped her ice cream cone on the ground?”

You looked up at this woman, this woman you barely knew but who already felt like an old friend, someone you could trust anything to. Millie had been the first friendly face you’d met in Hawkins. She’d welcomed you with open arms from the moment you met as if she’d known you all her life. If you couldn’t talk about it with your new friends and weren't willing to admit to your sister that you’d been fooled by a man once again, then who else could you tell?

“I slept with Eddie,” you groaned, your forehead dropping onto the wooden table with a thunk.

“Oh…oh my…okay.” You lifted your head to find Millie sitting, one hand covering the smile that was obviously beneath it, deep lines creasing in the corners of her eyes.

“This is not even slightly amusing,” you huffed, frustrated at the woman’s smile. She had no idea. No idea how infuriating this was, how confused you were, how much you despised yourself for allowing it to happen.

“Sorry. I’m sorry but it is. I called it. If you remember, just a couple weeks ago I told you that the two of you would wind up here getting your coffee together. I could see that look on your face. That look was like fireworks on the Fourth of July, honey. I knew it was only a matter of time before something happened. Look, this is not a bad thing. I know what all these idiots in town have to say but Eddie is actually a very good guy. It’s not the end of the world. Honestly, I think the two of you could be exactly what the other needs.”

“Except not. We slept together Saturday night and he raced out of there like he couldn’t wait to get away and I have not heard one word from him since.” Your cheeks hollowed as you blew out a long breath, sitting back in your chair. “I am pretty sure I let some guy screw me over again, this time literally. He said all these lovely things and I, in all my desperate neediness after my divorce, believed him and I was nothing but a one night stand. He just wanted to screw the new girl. He’s probably out bragging about it to all of his friends.”

Millie’s face settled into a look of disbelief, “No. That can’t be right. I don’t believe that for one minute. Eddie can be…difficult and sometimes dense, but he wouldn’t do something like that. I just can’t believe that he would do that to you.”

“I know you think he’s some wonderful guy because he jumped your car and helped with your gutters, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a dog when it comes to women. He’s in a band. You know how guys like that are. They think they’re God’s gift to women or something and women throw themselves at them. He’s probably had more one night stands than he’s had your cookies. I don’t know why I didn’t think all this through. He just…god, he’s had me in some kind of chokehold from the moment we met and I don’t know why. He’s so annoying. He’s infuriating, really. He’s just…god, he’s so beautiful and…” You swallowed, picking off another piece of cookie but simply holding it between your fingers, staring at it. “I thought there was something more there. I really thought there was a decent guy underneath all that hostility. But honestly, what did I think? I’ve only known him a few weeks and we’ve only been getting along for a couple of days. Jesus, I am so stupid.”

Millie’s hand covered yours, her skin feeling thin and papery but warm and comforting, “You are not. I don’t know why he’s acting like some playboy. There’s no excuse for a man not to at least call after a night like that. I have half a mind to go over to his house, drag that boy out by his ear, and give him what for. He clearly needs it. I don’t care how old he is. Wayne would have his head if he knew he was treating a woman like that. What you need to do is confront him because there has to be some explanation for why he’s acting like this.”

You snorted, “How? I thought about showing up at his house but I have no idea where he lives. I know he’s a mechanic at the garage but I don’t know his work schedule and I am not just going to keep showing up there like a lost puppy. I don’t know. I think I’m just going to let it go. It is what it is. He obviously got what he wanted from me and he’s done. I was already dumb enough to fall for it. I don’t need to be the pathetic girl chasing him around. Thirty years old and I just had my first one night stand. I never saw myself as that kind of girl.”

“You’ve never…really?” Millie asked doubtfully.

“No. I’ve only ever been with one guy,” you admitted softly. “My ex-husband and I met in our sophomore year of high school. He was my first and I always thought he would be my last. Obviously, I was wrong about him too.”

“Oh honey,” Millie sighed. “No wonder you’re taking this so hard. Eddie was your first after your husband and only the second guy you’ve ever been with?”

You shrugged, “Yeah. Maybe I should just swear off of men for a while. That was the original plan anyway. I even thought about maybe getting myself some cats. Just really lean into the whole spinster vibe, you know? I was supposed to be focusing on me and then this stupidly gorgeous guy came along and I forgot to follow my own rules.”

“I hate to break it to you, honey, but there are no rules when it comes to the heart. And our hearts can make us do things that our brains would never agree to. They just take over the operation completely. Alright, here’s what you’re going to do. Eddie and his band play tonight at The Hideout. They do it every single Tuesday. You go down there and when his set is over, you corner that man. You demand some answers and you tell him what a shit he is for treating you like this. Don’t let him get away with this. His behavior is unacceptable.”

“I don’t know. Like I said, I don’t want to chase after someone who doesn’t want me. I already came off as pathetic practically begging him to spend the night. Showing up at his show, that’s just mortifying.”

“You’re not chasing after him. You’re just getting the answers you deserve and telling him what a jerk he is. He needs to hear it so he doesn’t do this to another poor girl. I really thought he was better than that. And don’t you swear off men. You are a beautiful, sweet girl who is far too young to spend the rest of your life alone. You will find someone. If you need to take your time, heal for a little bit, that’s okay but don’t close that door for good. One day the right guy is going to come and sweep you off your feet. I just know it.”

“I’m not sure I believe that. I’m not sure I believe good guys even exist.”

“Oh, they do. Know how I know? I’m married to one. My Roy is as good as they come. He spoils the hell out of me, treats me like a queen, and he would never cheat on me. Could be because he knows I would slice his balls right off, but…” Millie laughed, shrugging.

You laughed, the sound loud and foreign to your own ears, a sound you hadn’t made in a few days. But hearing this sweet old woman say balls was sending you into hysterics, the words so shocking. Millie’s palm patted your cheek gently.

“Be brave honey because you’re worth far more than this. Don’t let that man treat you like this and get away with it. You go to that show and give that boy shit. Make him regret ever deciding to do that to you.”

Your spine straightened, your resolve hardening. Millie was right. Eddie had treated you like shit from the very beginning. He’d been so rude and mean and just when he started being nice, it had all been a ruse to get you into bed. He didn’t get to use you and discard you like trash along the side of the road. You were sick of people in your life thinking it was okay to treat you like nothing, like you didn’t matter, like you were an idiot.

“You know what? I will,” you stated.

Millie smiled, “That’s my girl.”

____________________________________________________________

You pushed open the door of The Hideout that night to be greeted with a cloud of smoke. The inside of this place was exactly what you expected from a little hole in the wall bar in a small town. The floors were sticky under your feet and the tabletops were chipped and stained from past drinks. The furniture looked old and weathered and it didn’t look like anyone had given this place a good cleaning in far too long. The atmosphere was loud and rowdy, the place packed full of people laughing and drinking. This was clearly the kind of establishment that people went to in order to forget their problems for a while. But you were coming here to step right into yours.

You’d battled yourself for the last few hours, trying to decide if you were going to follow through or not and now that you were here, you wanted nothing more than to turn and leave. Your chest tightened, the thought of confronting Eddie like a heavy weight pressing on it, keeping you from moving forward.

This was so stupid. What was the point of this? Nothing you said was going to change a damn thing. Eddie wouldn’t care. You couldn’t be the first girl he’d done this to. You meant nothing to him. Your fantasies of causing him pain like he’d caused you, of seeing regret on his face were just that, fantasies. If he’d cared at all, he would have called you once in the past three days.

Just as you turned to the door, ready to head back out and go home, put on your sweats and forget all about this ridiculous idea, you heard someone yelling your name. You turned to find Robin waving her arm high over her head to make sure she was seen through the dim lighting and smog being created by the dozens of cigarettes lit up around the place. She sat at a table with Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and Max.

You groaned, closing your eyes for a moment, knowing there would be no easy escape now. If you walked out, they would want to know why you’d ignored them and you really did not want to explain what had transpired within the last few days with Eddie. So you slowly made your way over to the table as Steve was grabbing a chair and pulling it between him and Dustin for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, dropping down into it, mortified to find that they were right in front of the stage where Eddie would definitely not be able to miss you.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight!” exclaimed Nancy with a grin.

“Yeah, neither did I. It was kind of a last minute decision,” you shrugged awkwardly. Jesus, this was going to lead to more questions. You and Eddie had done nothing but argue in front of all of them so of course they had to be wondering why you’d be here.

Max’s head tilted slightly, those sunglasses keeping you from being able to read her reaction very well, “You and Eddie must be getting along if he asked you to come to his show.”

“Argyle told me you two came into his place to get pizza together yesterday,” Jonathan smirked, clearly thinking he knew more than the rest of them but not knowing near what he thought he did.

Nancy’s mouth formed a perfect little ‘o’, like Jonathan hadn’t already told her, “Really? Well, that is interesting. Pray tell, why were you and Eddie out to dinner together?”

“Are you two…are you two dating?” asked Dustin. “Damn it. Why am I always the last to know everything?”

“Because you have a big mouth,” snorted Max, receiving a middle finger from Dustin in response.

“There’s nothing to know. We are not dating. It was nothing really,” you insisted, shaking your head. “He’s helping me with the car I bought off of his uncle. I have to buy the parts and he’s going to fix it for me. So, we went to the junkyard to look for stuff because he was trying to save me some money and then we were hungry. We just grabbed some pizza. That’s all.”

“Hmm…” Robin mused, her tongue slipping between her teeth, mouth curved in amusement. “I suppose at least you two are getting along well enough to spend time together and both come out alive.”

“Yeah. I thought I was going to have to referee at the roller rink,” chuckled Steve. “You looked ready to clock him in the jaw.”

“I tried to call you on Monday,” Nancy accused, saving you from responding to Steve’s comment, swirling her straw through her drink. “I left a message but you never called me back.”

“Yeah. I heard your message. I’m sorry about that,” you mumbled, pulling the ketchup bottle toward you, peeling the label anxiously. “I had that meeting yesterday with Lance and Charlie’s parents. It didn’t go well. I got home late and I was just exhausted, completely wiped. I wound up going to bed early,” you lied, growing concerned at how easily not being truthful was coming to you these days.

“I could have told you that wouldn’t end well,” snorted Dustin. “Andy’s a dick.”

“What happened?” asked Lucas.

“I tried to calmly explain to Mr. Johnson that his son’s behavior was unacceptable and cruel. He wouldn’t hear it, saying the kid was asking for it by choosing to be different. What did he expect to happen when he walked into school looking like that? That got Gareth very upset, as you can expect, and he accused Mr. Johnson of raising his son to be a bully just like him. Mr. Johnson then said he shouldn’t be raising a freak if he didn’t want him to get bullied. Gareth said better a freak than an asshole. Then Mr. Johnson said Charlie would turn out to be a low-life criminal psychopath just like Eddie and before I knew it the two men were squared off, looking like they were ready to have an all out brawl in my classroom. My principal tried to calm everybody down but the meeting was going nowhere fast so she eventually just told both of them to go home and cool off. I don’t think the issues between the boys will ever get resolved because the issues between the men never have.”

“Trust me, those issues will never be resolved,” Lucas told you. “That bad blood runs deep in their veins. Andy was a member of the cronies who came after Corroded Coffin when they were looking for Eddie. Jason almost busted Gareth’s hand which would have made it very hard to play drums. And Andy, he almost broke my little sister’s arm. They were horrible.”

“Why were they looking for Eddie?” you asked. “Were they part of the vigilante crowd who was hunting him?”

“How do you know about that?” asked Nancy.

“Me,” Jonathan answered, raising his hand with an apologetic smile. “I told her how the people in town were out hunting him down, assuming he was guilty. Yeah, they were part of that. In fact, they were leading the charge. When Chrissy died, Jason lost his mind. He got the whole town riled up at the town hall meeting and he and his basketball crew were out with weapons looking for Eddie.”

“Did they find him?”you asked, wondering if those scars weren’t from raccoons after all but a bunch of cruel boys hunting down a man they’d falsely accused based on how he looked and what he enjoyed. Could that have been what he meant when he started to say that he almost died? You’d been sure that was how he was going to finish that statement. The very thought made your stomach turn sour. Eddie being horribly attacked by a bunch of cruel bastards was enough to make you want to lose your dinner.

“No. They didn’t,” answered Lucas, pointing around the table. “These guys were able to help him stay hidden until he was proved innocent by the chief. I gave them a heads up because I was on the basketball team. I was with Jason and them after it all happened. So, once I knew they were coming for Eddie and it wasn’t just to talk, I let everyone know so we could keep him safe.”

“Wow…he was lucky to have friends like you. There’s not a lot of people who would put themselves in that position, helping a wanted man, placing themselves in the line of danger. That was really brave of all of you.”

“Or really stupid,” Steve shrugged, laughing. “But Eddie was innocent and he didn’t deserve all that bullshit and luckily, it all worked out in the end.”

You were pleased to finally have some answers. At least they hadn’t all shut down on you this time. But just as you were getting ready to take advantage of their giving nature, the owner of the bar came on stage to introduce Corroded Coffin. The entire bar lost their shit, screaming and clapping, letting you know these guys were pretty much local celebrities. It made sense if they’d been playing here for so long but it was a testament to how talented they must be that people kept coming back week after week.

The guys came onto the stage, Eddie stepping out last and the minute you caught sight of him, your breath rushed from your body. How did that man still have the capacity to incapacitate your most basic functions when you hated him so much? Two conflicting emotions, hatred and desire, battling for dominance within you.

It didn’t help that he looked so goddamn sexy right now. His hair was covered by a black bandana, those lean arms exposed in a cut-off tee bearing his band’s name, pale scars shimmering brightly under the lights of the stage. He opened his mouth to yell to the crowd and then snapped it shut just as quickly when his eyes found yours sitting a mere six feet from him.

Brown eyes, glowing like an ember in the spotlight, widened in surprise. Yeah, you were sure he was surprised to see you, probably startled and appalled that you hadn’t gotten the message and left him alone. Was he nervous you’d call him out in the middle of the bar in front of all his friends? Well, he didn’t have to worry about that. You had no intention of allowing any of them to know what a fool he’d made of you, what a fool you’d allowed him to make you. But you couldn’t resist the smug smile that crossed your lips at how you’d thrown him off kilter for a moment.

Eddie shook his head, blinking, clearing his throat. “Hawkins, are you ready to have a good time?” he yelled into the microphone, pulling his eyes from yours, awkward moment forgotten, pushed to the side as rockstar mode slid firmly back in place.

As the show went on, you couldn’t help but be pulled in, completely mesmerized by him. He commanded the stage with confidence and charisma, his presence felt throughout the entire bar. He was a man consumed by his music. His fingers danced and flowed over the strings, seeming to have a mind of their own. His body moved to the beat. Eddie was a ball of energy, racing from one end of the small stage to the other, sweat dripping down his face, long waves plastered to his skin. He had frontman energy in spades.

The music was loud and aggressive, intense and powerful. It was everything heavy metal should be. The whole crowd was caught up in the show, an experience that wouldn’t soon be forgotten, an experience they would all be eager to have again next week. You understood now why the people kept coming back. He was absolutely electrifying, a rock god entertaining his people, providing them a release from the realities of life.

You had never seen him more at peace, more in his element than he was up there on that stage. There were no signs of the usual haunting sadness or the bitter resentment on his face when he was playing and singing. His eyes were closed, his mouth open as that growling, seductive voice sang, but his tone did not match the softness in his features, appearing completely at peace.

He grinned as the last chords were played on their closing song, his tongue slipping out and running over his bottom lip, those coffee-hued eyes exuding joy that was entirely captivating. So captivating that you leapt to your feet, screaming and clapping along with everyone else before you realized what you were doing. Eddie glanced down at you in surprise and then his lips curved into a smile that let you know he was pleased with himself. You quickly looked down at your feet, bringing your hands to your sides, annoyed that he’d caused your body to act without your permission once again.

“They’re amazing, huh?” asked Dustin, his grin wide and goofy, hero worship rolling off him in waves.

“Yeah,” you agreed, grabbing your purse. “That was great. I’m just…I’m going to get going, okay?”

You had to get out of here, escape before Eddie and his bandmates made their way out. You had thought you could do this, be strong and brave, tell him off for treating you like some cheap whore but you couldn’t. You couldn’t face him. You weren't brave. You were weak. Wasn’t that obvious? Cam had known it too. He’d cheated on you knowing you would be too dumb to realize what was happening. You were going to do what you always did when things got too hard, run and hide.

“What? No!” argued Steve, tossing his hands up. “Come on! The show just ended. The guys are going to come out soon. We’ll all have a drink.”

“Yeah, don’t rush out,” Max added. “Eddie will be so happy you came.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” you countered, shaking your head. “Look, just tell him I said they were amazing, okay? I’ll…”

“Amazing, huh? That’s awfully high praise coming from the Queen herself.”

Dread doused you, ice cold water creeping through your veins at the sound of that voice behind you. You glanced toward the exit, wondering how ridiculous it would be if you just raced for the door. But no, you couldn’t give any of them an indication of what had happened. So, swallowing down the lump in your throat, you slowly turned to face him.

Fuck. Why did he have to be so beautiful? He stood, wiping his face down with a towel. Close up like this, you could see black eyeliner rimming his lower lash line, only making his eyes that much more swoon worthy. You rolled your shoulders back. No. You would not be swooning. Eddie Munson was not worth swooning over. He was a jerk, you reminded yourself, an asshole who’d taken advantage of you and then ditched you.

“I mean, Gareth was incredible on drums and the bass player, damn. Really amazing musicians,” you spat, refusing to compliment him in any way.

“My guys are pretty fucking amazing,” Eddie agreed, chuckling in amusement before thanking a bartender as they handed him a bottle of beer. Your eyebrows raised and he shrugged, taking a long pull. “Perks of performing. Drinks are on the house.”

“Speaking of drinks, who wants?” asked Jonathan. “I got the first round.”

“Me,” you said quickly, thinking you were going to require something stiff and strong to make it through any more conversation tonight. “Can I get a bourbon on the rocks?”

“Well shit, our little school teacher likes the hard stuff,” Eddie commented with a low whistle.

“Bourbon, really?” asked Robin. “That’s an odd choice.”

“My dad likes it. It was the first thing I ever got drunk on,” you replied as Jonathan and Steve headed up to the bar. “Cassie and I drank half the bottle and then tried filling it with water but he drank it straight so he knew the minute he poured it. Not to mention the color was all wrong. I don’t know how we thought we wouldn’t get caught. I was grounded for two weeks after that.”

“My first time getting drunk was on some punch at a party, pure fuel,” Nancy said with a gag. “Oh, I was so sick. It was awful. Steve can attest to it. I was rather bitchy that night or so I’m told. I don’t actually remember any of it.”

“Well, you were going through a lot at the time,” Steve interjected. “You were just trying to forget…everything.”

“Including you,” snorted Robin, bumping him with her elbow and he placed a large hand on her face, pushing her. She shoved him back. “It was vodka for me, but the cheap stuff. It was like drinking gasoline.”

“My uncle’s whiskey and he drinks the good shit so he was pissed as hell when he found his bottle gone,” Eddie laughed. “I got my ear chewed off for that one.”

“Beer,” shrugged Dustin.

“Me too,” Lucas nodded. “It was me, Mike, and Dustin. Will was there but he didn’t drink. We snuck it from Mike’s dad but that guy is so oblivious he never said anything. He probably didn’t even notice, thought he’d drunk it and forgot.”

Max sighed, “I’ve never. I actually don't drink. My mom developed a drinking problem after my step-brother died and my step-dad took off. I just never cared enough to find out if I inherited that particular fun family trait.”

“That’s very impressive,” you told her and it was. For her to recognize the potential problem and choose to avoid it rather than risk following that same path. Most people couldn’t do that. They continued the pattern instead of breaking it.

“Here we are,” Jonathan announced, him and Steve arriving with an array of drinks carefully balanced, passing them around.

“Hey teach!”

You smiled when you saw Charlie’s dad approaching with his other two bandmates. The meeting may have ended badly but you’d liked Charlie’s dad from the moment you’d met him at Open House. He was kind and obviously adored his son. The meeting going poorly hadn’t been his fault but the fault of Lance’s dad who was openly hostile from the moment he’d walked in.

“Hey there.” You glanced down at the drink in your hand and cringed.

Gareth caught her look, “No worries. I won’t tell anyone you have an actual life outside of the classroom. Whatever you do on your own time is your own business. You’ve been wonderful to my kid and that’s all that matters to me. Besides, having to deal with Andy is enough to drive anyone to drink.”

“Thanks.”

You knew you were a human who was allowed to do adult things outside of work but it always felt weird when a parent spotted you doing so. You’d had parents in the past who’d looked at you funny or made comments if you had a drink in your hand. Or hell, the one time a parent had questioned you wearing a bathing suit to the pool, saying it was inappropriate for someone who worked with children to be showing that much skin. What were you supposed to swim in? Jeans and a shirt?

“You teach Charlie?” asked Eddie and you realized that because you’d been trying to keep him from hearing what had been said about him, that particular topic had never come up.

“Yeah, man. You didn’t know that?” asked Gareth. “Charlie adores her. She’s been looking out for him. Andy’s kid has been an absolute douche to him. Like father, like son, but Ms. Campbell here has been on him. You should have heard her with Andy in our meeting yesterday, letting him know exactly what kind of kid he was raising.”

“Well, I…I thought I was being gentle about it.”

“No, you were. That was what was so awesome. You basically let him know his kid was a dickhead but without saying those words. You made it all professional and shit with the words you chose. ‘Lance’s behavior with Charlie has been unacceptable, mean, and downright cruel. I fear if it continues then Lance could become alienated from the other children.’ You basically said, your child is an asshole that no one is going to want to be around if you don’t step up and be a dad but still managed to be nice about it. It was amazing.”

“Well, thanks,” you smiled. “I’m trying but his father doesn’t seem very receptive.”

Eddie snorted, “Of course not. Andy’s a massive douchebag. He’s probably proud that his son is an asshole just like him. Probably teaching him to go after any kid who doesn’t fit into his nice little box of what is normal.”

“You would be correct,” Jonathan huffed. “He told his kid all about you.”

“What do you mean?” questioned Eddie, spine rigid and there went that muscle in his jaw again. He definitely did not hide agitation very well.

“He told his kid that you were responsible for those murders.”

“How do you know that?” the metalhead demanded, his eyes moving from Jonathan to you, narrowing. “How would he know that? I didn’t think Jonathan knew Andy’s kid.”

“Shit…” Jonathan muttered, cringing as he looked at you apologetically. “Look, the kid was running his mouth to her when she told him to stop being a little jerk to Charlie. He told her he was going after him because he was making sure that he knew his place and didn’t hurt people like you had. He told her you’d killed people and gotten away with it. She was confused so she came over to our place and asked me what he meant.”

“Oh, I see, it was so easy for you to assume that I was some sadistic killer like everyone else in this town?” Eddie grumbled, his tone hard, cold, angry. Those eyes challenged you, terrified you, the darkness apparent in them causing you to take a step back. “So, you went and asked my friends about it? What? Didn’t have the balls to just come and ask me? Were you too scared to be alone with me? Afraid I might summon Satan and complete some dark ritual on you. Too bad you’re not a virgin, sweetheart. Kind of a prerequisite for any Satanic shit. So no worries. You’re safe.”

Tears burned your eyes and you battled them back. Jesus, what had you ever done to make him treat you so badly? This was precisely why you hadn’t gone to him because you knew he would just find a way to villainize you for it. Like it was your fault that Andy was spreading lies about him, that his kid had told you.

“How was I supposed to ask you? You’d been so nasty to me and I knew asking you that would only make it worse. I didn’t assume shit. I couldn’t see you hurting anyone. I was confused to find out some guy I’d just met had been accused of murder. Excuse me for asking for clarification.”

“Clarification?” he scoffed. “Please. You’ve painted me as a villain from the moment you met me.”

“I didn’t have to paint you as anything! You’ve done that all yourself!” you yelled. “You’ve played the part pretty damn well, being an asshole to me from the moment we met.”

“Whoa…uh guys…” Dustin stepped between them, trying to intervene but Eddie placed his hand on his chest and pushed him to the side.

“I’m only playing the part you cast me in. You say I’ve been nasty. Well, you’ve not exactly been sunshine and rainbows, darling.”

“Hey, let’s just calm down,” Steve called out, glancing nervously between the two of you. “It was a misunderstanding, that’s all.”

You ignored him. You couldn’t stop yourself now if you tried, your body practically vibrating with anger, sick and tired of him treating you like shit. “I don’t know what the hell happened to you to make you such a bitter, awful person. I thought I wanted to know. I thought maybe I could be someone who could help you…”

“I don’t need or want your help.”

“That’s fine because I really don’t give a fuck anymore.”

Eddie laughed, “And you think I do? You think I care whether you like me or not?”

“You sure seemed to Saturday night,” you spat, stepping into him, that bravery you didn’t think you had suddenly appeared and you didn’t care anymore what any of them thought about you. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about much at the moment other than the ugly urge within you to gut him the way he’d gutted you.

“Oh honey, I’m just a good actor,” he grinned, any trace of the man you’d spent Saturday with gone, replaced with this cruel monster who was enjoying digging that knife in just a bit deeper.

“Maybe you are. Sure didn’t seem like you were acting when you were fucking me.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot to his forehead as a collective gasp erupted from your friends. His eyes slipped closed, hand running down his face as he groaned loudly. He’d clearly not expected you to divulge that particular piece of information and you found you felt justified. It was childish but it felt damn good.

“Did she just say…?” you heard Robin whisper.

Max wheezed, “Holy shit.”

Nancy choked on her drink, “Didn’t see that coming…”

“Seriously, always the last to know,” grumbled Dustin.

You ignored them all. “You’re pathetic, Eddie. You walk around putting on this front to the world. You act the part everyone expects you to because you never want to let anyone in, never want to let anyone close, to let anyone see you. I wanted to try. I thought maybe there was something there, something worthwhile. But now, all you are is one giant fucking mistake. One I won’t be making again.”

And with that, you turned and stormed out of the bar, leaving him speechless once again as everyone else broke out in a rumble of question and exclamations.

Chapter 14

Taglist

@tlclick73 @bebe07011 @eddiesguitarskills @witchwolflea @nailbatanddungeon @emilyslutface @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @corrodedcoffincumslut @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @katethetank @paleidiot

91 notes · View notes

alavestineneas · 1 year

Text

Alive

pairing: Johanna Mason x fem!reader

summary: Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

warnings: mentions of ptsd, trauma, panic attacks

District 7 slowly was coming alive—people returned to their work, children started roaming the streets again, and even the forest gradually became green. It seemed like the only one to stay grieving was Johanna. She never thought she was going to get better; the wounds were deeply engraved in her mind. But time passed, and they turned into annoying scratches—almost healed but still bleeding.

She had a new house now—the one the government gave her. Its bricked walls weren't overly hospitable, but Johanna had seen far worse than that. The house wasn't big, but it was close to the market and, more importantly, the hospital, so Johanna was fine with it. Here, her cherished isolation was disrupted by only one human being.

Mac was the loudest child Johanna had ever met. The boy, who was not older than ten, lived two houses away. On a mostly calm street, he raised hell every day with his old red bike. Sure, the little devil helped the old Ms. Lane get the milk from the market or get the letter to the post office quickly, but something about his loud laughter in the evening annoyed Johanna to no end.

Not Y/N, though. Johanna wondered how such vastly different people could live under the same roof. Ms. Lane called her ''Lovely Y/N'' and Johanna had to agree with the old lady for once. Y/N worked as a nurse; Johanna often saw her in the white halls of the hospital. She was just what Johanna loved about her District the most: someone with a big heart and working hands.

This type of people sang old songs in pubs after a day in the sawmill or chatted with their neighbours over a cup of tea on Sunday afternoons. The people Johanna remembered from her childhood, the people her parents and brothers once were. Y/N was just the type—she smiled more often than she frowned and laughed more than she argued.

It seemed distant to Johanna, like a tune she'd heard before but couldn't recall the words of. She doesn't belong among those people anymore. Not after all she went through. And every time Y/N appeared on the porch of Johanna's house with a warm smile, Johanna was reminded of that.

"Good evening, Miss Mason."

Y/N stands in front of her once again. She came right after work, a worn bag over her shoulder, a deep blue coat a size larger, hurriedly buttoned up. The little devil is also here; now, the boy shyly hides behind the woman, hiding his gaze.

''My name is Johanna.'' she clears. Johanna hates that she can't hold a civil conversation for once; her words definitely didn't sound polite.

''Yes, sorry. Johanna, I am so sorry about your flowerpot. Mac?"

''I'm sorry, Miss Johanna. It won't happen again.'' the boy mumbles, his head bowed in deep shame.

Oh, yes. This dumbass broke a flowerpot with his annoying ball this afternoon. To be fair, Johanna couldn't care less about that thing; it was empty anyway. Besides, she had a stupid habit of breaking everything in her house when angry, so sooner or later, the flowerpot would meet its fate.

''Don't worry about it,'' she mumbles, almost embarrassed to see Y/N's warm smile appear on her tired face once again.

''I thought we should buy you a new one, but I didn't know which one to choose. How about we go to the market on Sunday together, and I'll buy the one you want?''

Johanna freezes. The idea of going to the market on Sunday terrifies her. Then, most of the District gathers there. But if she doesn't agree, Y/N will think she hates her. Johanna can't allow it—the nurse is the only thing close to a friend that she has. Mason can't help but think how damn stupid it is not to be able to buy herself a pot. So, the choice is obvious.

''Sounds good!'' Johanna squeezes out. Her voice is harsh, but Y/N still nods.

''Great! At the corner at ten then.''

Y/N is already there when Johanna comes, and Mason feels at ease, distracted from anxious thoughts by a pleasant conversation. That is until they enter the square. It is noisy and too fast for her to keep up, and Johanna almost thinks of running away, but Y/N places a hand on her back.

''First, let's look at Greg's. They changed the aisle; it is closer to vegetables now.''

Johanna might feel like throwing up, but she still got her stupid pot and made Y/N laugh a couple of times, so, in her book, it is a win. Y/N seems to think so too. She takes two pieces of candy out of the bag.

''Would you like some? I stole it from Mac.''

''Do I look like a kid to you?'' Johanna resents.

She still takes it, of course. It's chocolate, for God's sake.

It is Friday; Y/N's shift ends fifteen minutes after Johanna's appointment with the doctor, so they walk home together. Y/N says she doesn't like walking alone, and Johanna almost believes her; after each session with a doctor, Mason leaves the room with bloodshot eyes. Of course, Y/N notices them too.

Johanna waits for her near a small shop on the corner, as she usually does. What is unusual are a few wet patches on the pavement. Johanna feels her heart drop. Its racing beat rings loud in her ears. Suddenly, the air doesn't want to enter her lungs anymore; Johanna grasps it again and again, feeling her knees weaken. Water drops had already found her head and shoulders, each one burning her skin.

That's how she is going to die, she thinks. The water slowly covers small holes in the road; Johanna's hands begin to tremble, chills covering them. She already can't feel her legs. Water, then electricity. Snow fucking got her. She can't escape him.

A pair of colorful shoes blocks the view of the road. Then, concerned eyes appeared in front of Johanna's. It's Y/N, Mason thinks; her figure is a slight blur. She says something, but it is quite hard to understand—the water is pouring down her face.

Johanna shakes her head. "I don't," she stutters, "I can't."

She loses Y/N's face again but feels her presence near. The woman places something cold in Johanna's hands, her voice ringing loudly in Mason's head.

"Breathe.''

And she does. In and out, in and out, until her vision isn't so clouded anymore and she can finally feel her sore legs. The rain doesn't stop, but it doesn't hit her anymore. Y/N is sitting beside her, holding an umbrella.

''Can you walk?'' she asks, her hair and clothes soaked.

Johanna only nods, feeling the usual sleepiness returning.

''Let's get you out of here then.''

Johanna sits on the old chair in the smallest kitchen she has ever seen. They are at Y/N's house. She is in a horrendous dress that Y/N made her change into; she can't remember the last time she wore one.

The owner of the house, if you could call it that, was nowhere to be found. Y/N claimed to go searching for the blanket, but it was highly suspicious—the house was too small for anything to get lost. Johanna wonders if she is calling the doctors now, or hiding in the bathroom with a knife in her trembling hands—the thought brings a smile to her face.

Still, she is not alone in the room—a pair of curious eyes watch her very carefully.

''Are you going to hide there all day?" she asks, annoyed.

The little devil leaves his not-so-well-thought-out hiding spot with a loud sigh. ''Y/N told me to leave you alone,'' he reveals. ''But you are at my house, so...''

The boy looks very confident in himself. He grabs a pear from the nearest bowl and slides onto the chair next to her. ''Why are you here?''

Johanna eyes him up and down. ''Your mom dragged me here, and I didn't have the heart to argue with such a beauty'', she shrugs.

''Mum?'' he exclaims, making a disgusted face. ''Ew! Y/N is my sister, you moron!''

''MAC!'' Y/N roars, returning to the room with a spare blanket. ''What did I say just two minutes ago?''

The boy rolls his eyes. ''Don't bother the guest.''

''And?'' Y/N looks at him sternly.

"And don't you fucking swear." Mac grins, stealing one more pear from the bowl before dodging the rag thrown at him.

Johanna snorts. "A lovely kid you have here."

Y/N sighs. ''He's a pain in the ass sometimes. But I can't really blame him. ''

Mason watches the woman place a kettle on the stove. She changed her wet clothes, but her hair is still damp. Y/N looks relaxed like this, even with a near maniac in her kitchen.

''Why are you raising him?'' Johanna looks at her curiously.

''Well, my parents were executed for supporting the rebellion. So there was not much of a choice.''

''I'm sorry.'' Johanna frowns.

She never thought about how much the revolution affected the people around her. Sure, the District was burned and bombed, but how many people lost their families as Y/N did? Like she did years ago?

''I like to think they were happy to die fighting.'' Y/N watches the droplet of water hit the window. ''You can stay for the night. I am leaving early, but Mac will be home.''

Johanna wants to argue, but frankly, Y/N is right. She can't even bring herself to look at the rain, let alone set foot outside.

''Thank you.''

Y/N nods. She doesn't talk anymore, deep in her thoughts. Johanna wonders what she has also missed.

''I had brothers too, you know. Two. Snow killed them after I won.'' Johanna bites her cheek, feeling her eyes water.

She had never told anyone before. None of the survivors

know where her family is, except for the doctor, but it wasn't really her choice to tell him.

''I miss them.''

''I do too.'' Y/N's eyes mirror hers - something in them makes Johanna's heart squeeze. ''Sometimes I think it should've been me. Mac would've been much happier without a sister than without parents.''

''Don't say that.'' Johanna scowls. ''You help a lot of people.''

Y/N chuckles. ''I don't do much. I am not a doctor.''

It's not what she meant, Johanna thinks but keeps her mouth shut. What did she mean by that anyway?

Johanna cleans for the first time in forever. It's refreshing, although she will never admit it. The weather is pleasant enough to keep the windows open, and Johanna thinks the sky is finally starting to clear. That's when she hears loud bangs on the door. There is only one person who knocks this loudly.

''What do you want, Mac?'' she asks, opening the door only to find a boy completely out of breath.

''Miss Mason, Y/N wondered if you could help us chop the wood?''

Johanna frowns. ''Is this why you were running here?''

''Yes.'' the boy nods.

Something doesn't add up, but Johanna has absolutely no wish to dig deeper; it's easier to say when Mac doesn't have something going on.

''Well, let me grab my axe.''

Johanna doesn't understand why the little devil keeps rushing her. Their house seems fine, with no fire or explosion in sight. When they approach, however, Johanna hears a familiar voice speak louder than usual.

''Mister Pitforest, I'm afraid I can't. I am working at that hour.''

''Oh, Y/N. Are you going to deny me the pleasure of your company? You know, my darling, it gets lonely these days without someone by my side.''

''I am very sorry to hear that, but I have to put food on the table.''

''Sweetheart, you don't have to worry about that. I will take good care of you and your brother—that's what old friends are for, right? So, what do you say?''

Johanna watches Mac's hands turn into fists when the man touches Y/N's shoulder. He is at least twice her age, if not older, and she is clearly uneasy.

''I believe she said no.''

Y/N turns to her, surprised. Johanna knows she probably looks like a mad woman with an axe in her hand and Mac hiding behind her. The axe feels natural in her grip - she still remembers how to use it properly.

''Y/N, don't tell me you know '', he motions toward Johanna, "her.''

''I do. Is there a problem?'' Y/N's face is stone cold, and Johanna can't help but think it was much more intimidating than a weapon in her hands.

''A problem? Y/N, she is a child killer! What would your poor father say to that?''

''And what would my father say to his friend trying to sleep with his daughter?"

The man's face grows red. ''I was trying to help you, ungrateful bitch.''

''One more word,'' Johanna warns.

The man throws a glance at her axe before quickly getting into the car. He is rich, Johanna thinks—not a lot of people can afford cars here. She watches the auto disappear in the next turn before turning to Y/N.

''You should've told me he was bothering you sooner.''

''He was a family friend.'' She shrugs. ''And a dick, apparently.''

Johanna chuckles. ''So, where's the wood?''

Y/N looks at her, confused. ''In the forest, I assume?''

''Mac told me you need help cutting it.''

Y/N laughs. ''That little shit.''

Johanna can't help but notice how pretty she looks like that.

''You don't look bad yourself, with an axe and everything. It suits you.''

Mason feels her legs take a step closer to Y/N, their eyes meeting.

''Can I?'' she asks, but Y/N is quicker; she presses her lips to hers.

It's calm. For the first time in years, Johanna feels calm. They pull away after a few moments, Y/N's arms still intertwined with hers—the one without an axe, of course.

''I haven't been hugged in years,'' Johanna admits.

''Well, that should feel nice then.''

They stay like this, just holding each other - as much as Johanna doesn't want to admit it, it does feel nice.

''Are you finished eating each other's faces?'' Mac asks, his eyes purposefully shut.

Johanna feels Y/N giggle in her chest. ''Tell him he has five seconds to run as far as he can.''

She smiles too, watching the boy vanish into the house. Maybe, just maybe, being alive has its perks.

#johanna mason #johanna mason x reader #johanna mason x you #johanna mason x y/n #thg #hunger games #wlw #imagine #ilovejohannasomuchandiwanthertobehappyforonce

350 notes · View notes

cecilysass · 1 month

Text

Shine On (5/16)

Read on AO3 | Tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter 5: Lady of Sorrows

Our Lady of Sorrows Hospital Arlington, Virginia February 22, 2015

She’s preparing for a conference call that starts in twenty minutes when she hears the buzz of her phone. When she sees his name, she presses her eyes shut and ignores it.

She knows he’ll call back, and of course he does.

What do you want, Mulder? she texts him in frustration.

He responds right away, which surprises her. He has fewer reasons to use his phone than she does, so he is sometimes still a little baffled by texts. Which is one reason she sends them when she wants to put him off.

We need to talk. It’s important.

She shakes her head with huffy disbelief. Puts down her phone. Takes a drink of her coffee. Picks up her phone again.

I don’t think that’s a very good idea.

His response once again comes fast.

It’s important.

There’s still so much for her to do before this conference call. She wanted to go through yesterday’s results again and make more annotations. She wanted to crosscheck with the Amsterdam study. She doesn’t have time for this.

Fine. I’ll call you this afternoon.

There. Done. She should get back to work now, but instead she stares at the phone, waiting for his response.

Needs to be in person. Can you come to the house?

He has so much nerve. As much arrogance as ever, expecting her to be at his beck and call. She can feel her jaw clenching.

I’m busy, Mulder. I’m at work.

Sorry, it’s Sunday, didn’t realize.

Why do we need to talk?

The three dots appear, then disappear. He seems to be grappling with an answer.

After a moment, she adds: If this is about apologizing - not necessary.

The three dots pop up again on her screen.

Not an apology. Not about the other day. Something else. Important.

He adds a second message: Can I come to you? This afternoon?

She lets out a long, extended exhale, putting her head in her hands. After the conference call, she had been hoping to go home and enjoy a relaxing Sunday afternoon. Maybe go to yoga. Maybe take a bath. Seeing Mulder would almost certainly mean more emotional upheaval. The very opposite of the relaxation she needs.

But she’s always had such a hard time saying no to him.

Meet me at 3 at the cafe across from the hospital.

There’s a pause before he responds.

Okay. At 3.

Scully shoves the phone out of her sight, turning her attention back to her laptop. There’s still enough time to get ready. Her mind reviews her to-do list. Annotations, crosscheck with Amsterdam study, and then a quick overview of all of her notes.

But now her mind is distracted, wondering what Mulder wants.

Staring at the spreadsheet in front of her, full of all of the data she should be going through, she thinks a dangerous thought—one that will almost certainly come back to betray her.

Maybe he wants to give her a birthday present. Maybe he wants to do something nice for her birthday.

It’s so stupid of her. So adolescent. So ridiculous to even consider. It will only disappoint her later. Why would he do that? They’re not together anymore. And she knows he’s still struggling with their break-up, and she knows she should help give him space, so that he can recover and get better, get healthy. Even the idea is selfish.

She just can’t help but to imagine that kind of pleasant surprise. Like the old days. Maybe he has a present. A book, chosen just for her. A little bracelet, something exactly her tastes. A card he’s written tenderly for her.

The fantasy is irresistible because no one on earth has ever known her mind, known her heart, known her body like Mulder has. Being known to your core like that is a heady feeling, utterly addictive. She will never, ever stop wanting to experience it again.

She doubts she will. She can’t imagine any of the smarmy visiting surgeons who ask her out ever really knowing her like that.

Another idea pops into her mind, an even more foolish idea that reaches even further into her past.

Maybe he’s coming to her with a good old-fashioned slide show. With some bizarre monster to hunt, a spooky lead to track down, a haunted mystery to solve. Maybe he’s going to try to convince her to come with him on some wild goose chase.

That idea shouldn’t thrill her, it really shouldn’t, but it does. She longs for it in places she typically represses.

To be in some rental car with him, side by side, headed out to face grim small towns and sticky-table top diners and buzzing-sign motels. Her and him against the world. Partners against the darkness, ever and always.

She laughs softly, bitterly at herself. Jesus, she knows so much better than this.

These Mulders she’s longing for—the Mulder who remembers her birthday and painstakingly selects the perfect gift, the Mulder who gets caught up in the excitement of a case and coaxes his partner to be at his side—those versions of Mulder don’t exist any more.

Those versions of Mulder haven’t existed for a while, and that’s exactly why she had to leave.

She looks away from her laptop, massaging her forehead with a single fingertip, and takes another big drink of her coffee. Just take a break for five minutes, she tells herself. Get yourself together.

Her eyes drift back to her phone. She brushes past Mulder’s last message, and goes to scroll through the day’s headlines for the distraction.

Politics, entertainment, local news: she swipes through quickly. The phone offers so much convenience, but it brings something frenetic into her life, too. She sometimes misses the simple, tangible delight of having her hands on a paper Washington Post. Maybe she’ll pick one up today to read in the bathtub, if seeing Mulder doesn’t throw her too much for a loop.

There’s a national news story that catches her attention because of the words “Eighth grader” in the headline. This year, Scully’s attention is grabbed by anything mentioning eighth graders. Last year, it was seventh graders. Next year, it will be ninth graders, which makes her heart ache. High school. So old. He’s very possibly taller than her now.

This particular headline is rather upsetting: “Wyoming Eighth Grader Who Allegedly Shot Parents Still At Large.” Scully clicks on it and looks at the accompanying picture, a smiling school photo of a sweet-faced brown-haired boy who doesn’t look at all like a killer, which she knows from experience means exactly nothing. She decides not to read the story. Stories about killer eighth grade boys will upset her, and there’s no cause to upset herself.

The detour into the news is enough of a reset, though, for her to stop thinking about Mulder.

She turns back to the spreadsheet, her focus back. Only twelve minutes left now until her call. Scully lets herself shut the doors to everything but work.

***

Farrs Corner, Virginia February 22, 2015

“You ready?” Mulder says. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat, peering out the open passenger door with a too-bright smile.

Jackson climbs reluctantly in, reaching for his seatbelt. “I look stupid.”

“Not true.” Mulder says encouragingly. “You look like a kid who is being smart about not being recognized.”

News stories with Jackson’s photo have been making the rounds on the cable news stations, so Mulder has decided they can’t take risks. It seems like a long shot that someone would identify him on the roads of rural Virginia, but Jackson supposes it’s better safe than sorry.

So he’s wearing a worn old Yankees cap and a pair of dated oversized sunglasses. In Jackson’s opinion, the sunglasses make him more obvious, because no one under forty would ever wear sunglasses like that if they were not trying to disguise their identity.

The clothes he’d been wearing before were getting a little overripe, so Mulder has also made him borrow a pair of jeans and a black sweater. Like the sunglasses, they are really old—“vintage,” jokes Mulder—-and apparently from when he was a smaller size. But they’re still way too big for Jackson, who is skinnier and shorter. They hang off of him, even with the cuffs of the jeans rolled up and the sleeves of the sweater pushed back.

He looks like a kid playing dress up. Mulder is trying not to look at him. I hope he didn’t hear me think that. Jackson sighs a long, loud drawn-out sigh to let the man know he did.

They’ve now spent a full day together, him and Mulder, waiting for the DNA results to come back. It’s gone okay. Strange, but okay.

Yesterday morning, Mulder made him swab his mouth and drove the sample to drop off with some friend in the FBI. While Mulder was gone, Jackson snooped around, picking up every framed picture, opening drawers and cupboards. He didn’t find anything too interesting, except for a lot of evidence that Mulder didn’t clean up much.

By the time Mulder had returned, Jackson had decided to try to put all those piles of books back on his shelves, attempting to organize them by section. Mulder watched him in fascination for a moment and then joined in. It took them three hours to finish that project, mostly because Mulder kept going on tangents to tell him things about different books.

This book, which describes a fascinating incident with a wendigo, helped me solve a case once… I bought this paperback from a professional shaman in Brooklyn in 1989… This is a theoretical physics text about the practicalities of space travel Scully bought me as a joke.

Jackson didn’t hate it. Mulder was funny, mostly. And smart. He was definitely really smart. But he was intense, too, so eager to show Jackson things, so eager to impress him. Jackson’s shine wearied after a while.

That evening, they tried to watch TV, but turned it off when they saw a snippet of a news story with Jackson’s face. After that, they played chess. Mulder pointed out that telepaths had an unfair advantage in chess, but Jackson promised not to use it, and he really didn’t. Mulder won.

This morning, Mulder got the call about the DNA test, and while he didn’t say it in so many words, Jackson didn’t even need his shine to read the result from the man’s glowing face: it’s a match. You’re the daddy, like the talk shows say. Mulder obviously considers this great news.

Which means, of course, that it’s time to meet the other half of Jackson’s genetic equation.

“Okay,” Jackson mutters, clicking his seatbelt in place. “You said we’re going to a Starbucks or something?”

Mulder starts the engine. “We’re supposed to meet her at a cafe,” he says, maneuvering the car up the drive. “I’m not sure I like having you in public right now though, even master of disguise that you are. So we’ll convince her to talk elsewhere.”

“Hmm,” nods Jackson, the hat slipping over his face a little. He pushes it back. He feels Mulder stealing looks at him, and he wonders if Mulder has any idea how anxious he feels about meeting Scully. He makes a point of looking out the window, trying to make things seem more casual. “You know I could appear as someone else, right? If you want me to.”

“That might be useful,” Mulder says. “But I want Scully to see you as you are. Don’t you?”

Jackson doesn’t answer, keeping his gaze out the window. “On our way, are we going to drive by anywhere interesting? Like the White House or the Washington Monument?”

“Unfortunately, today we’re not leaving Virginia,” Mulder says. “But I promise, not too long from now I’ll take you to D.C. and show you the sights.”

Jackson lowers his stupid sunglasses and gives him a dubious look.

“What? I will.” Mulder protests. “Wait, hold on.” Mulder puts the car in park and hops out to open the gate. Jackson’s eyes follow him closely over the top of the sunglasses as he unlatches the gate and then slides back in.

“A lot of security,” comments Jackson. It seems like a pain in the ass to open and close the gate every time you leave. He wonders how often Mulder does leave. “This is because of those people you and Scully worked with?”

“More or less, yeah,” agrees Mulder, steering the car through the gate, then putting it in park again with a little jerk. He scrambles to hop out again, jogging back to close and latch the gate up.

At least, Jackson thinks, he didn’t grow up having to worry about all of this. He can’t imagine doing this all the time. Although, he thinks with a sudden sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, maybe he should have. Maybe if he and his parents had done all this, they would still be alive.

Mulder slides back in the car again. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” Jackson manages.

Mulder nods without expression and drives the car onto the road. “Want to turn on some music?”

“That’s okay.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

Jackson smirks. “Do you really think you’ll have heard of it?”

“That depends,” Mulder says. “If you say you like Prince, or the Stones, or the Clash, then sure.”

“I like those,” Jackson says coolly. “I’m really into Bring Me the Horizon and Fall Out Boy?”

“Nope.”

Jackson gives him a withering “I told you so” look. He turns to face the front windshield, thinking about his mom singing along to When Doves Cry as she unloaded the dishwasher.

“What kind of music does Scully like?” he wonders.

“Oh,” Mulder sounds surprised. “Well, when she was young, she went through a rebellious phase. She liked punk, New Wave. All the music that would annoy her parents.”

“She didn’t get along with her parents?”

“No,” Mulder says. “She did, actually. She still does — her mom is still around. It was just teenage identity stuff. You know how it goes.”

Jackson nods seriously, making note of the existence of a living biological grandparent.

“Now, I think she still likes all that eighties music from when she was young,” Mulder says. “And sixties and seventies hits, too. She listens to that whenever she’s working out or doing something high energy. But she also likes classical music. She listens to a lot of classical music.”

“Is she, like, good at music? Does she sing or play an instrument?” Jackson and Louis had been talking about starting a band, and Jackson had been trying to learn guitar.

“No,” Mulder says. “Not really.” He smiles apologetically. “She’s really, really good at all kinds of other shit though, Jackson. Like being a scientist and a doctor and an F.B.I. agent.”

“She’s pretty, too,” comments Jackson.

“You can read my thoughts, so I assume you know how I feel about that,” Mulder says dryly. “I’m trying not to feel weird about it.”

“I don’t read every thought,” Jackson replies defensively. “I’ve been doing this my whole life, so I have a good idea when I am about to see something permanently damaging.”

Mulder laughs, but looks at him curiously. “What about at school, though? Teachers? Other kids? Girls—or guys—you might have a crush on? It must be tempting, huh?”

Jackson tries to think about how to explain it. “It’s not as tempting as you would think. It’s usually more trouble than it’s worth. You find out things you wish you didn’t. You see people think things about you that make you feel embarrassed or upset. You know information that’s hard to pretend you don’t know, and sometimes you mess up. I mostly don’t want to use my shine, if I can avoid it.”

“Your shine?”

“Oh yeah.” Jackson reddens. He’s only used the word with one other person before. “That’s what I call it. I call it ‘using my shine.’ I guess I mean like a light?”

“Okay,” Mulder says, nodding. “Interesting. Like the psychic boy in Stephen King? The Shining?”

Jackson frowns. “I haven’t seen it. Is there a shine in that?”

He doesn’t even know what I’m talking about. Jackson's mind tunes into Mulder’s thoughts like a radio. Don’t tell him. Too disturbing.

Instead, Mulder throws him a playful look. “Or like ‘Shine on, you crazy diamond.’ That’s an old Pink Floyd song.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of that,” Jackson says with a little tolerant nod. “But … yeah. It can make me feel weird to use it for no good reason. I mean, I’m not saying I have never tried to see answers inside a teacher’s head or anything like that. But mostly I just want to feel normal talking to other people. You know?”

“You do seem to be able to control your shine considerably better than other people I’ve known with this kind of ability,” Mulder comments. “It’s the kind of thing I would have been really interested in, back when I worked on the X-files.”

“You’ve known other people with this ability?”

“Oh yeah,” Mulder says. “Several people. I even… well, I don’t want to get into it all now. But I can talk to you about this in detail whenever you want to.”

Jackson is quiet. “I wish when I was little I knew that there were other people with these abilities. It would have been easier. Made me feel better.”

“I’m sure,” Mulder says quietly. “I wish I could have told you.”

There is a heavy pause.

“I go to therapy for anxiety and depression,” Jackson tells him.

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “What about you?”

“No,” Mulder says. He gives him a strange look. “But maybe I should?”

“Yeah,” Jackson agrees, thinking of several details he’s observed. “Maybe you should.”

“You’re in a position to see, I guess,” Mulder muses. He's silent for a beat.

“I read an article about how sometimes a baby, when they’re still in their mom’s womb, can sort of soak up her stress and trauma and then grow up to have problems with anxiety,” Jackson says. “Do you think something like that might have happened to me?”

“You read an article like that?” Mulder asks, scowling. “Why?”

“That’s the kind of article kids with closed adoptions read,” Jackson says, lowering the sunglasses again, an edge of dark humor. “If you're a big nerd like me, anyway. You sort of wonder about everything.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows. Then he seems to consider Jackson’s question.

“I mean, it’s possible,” Mulder says heavily. “It’s possible something like that happened to you when you were in utero. It’s also possible you have anxiety and depression because, each year since 2000, the number of children and teens diagnosed with anxiety and depression has gone up, and you’re just one of those kids.”

Jackson makes an impressed face. “You just happened to know that?”

“Scully read an article about it,” Mulder says. “The kind of article birth mothers with closed adoptions of kids born after 2000 read. If they’re big nerds like Scully, anyway.” He pauses. “It’s also possible you have anxiety and depression for any other number of reasons that have nothing to do with any of that. Like having these abilities you have to hide and deal with, for one.”

“Yeah,” admits Jackson.

“Hey, do me a favor, and please don’t mention reading your ‘anxiety forming in utero’ article to Scully. Okay? Never.”

Jackson’s brow furrows. Not having met Scully, it’s an easy promise to make. “Yeah, okay.” He looks over at Mulder. “Is that something that would bother her?”

Mulder nods emphatically. “Let me put it like this. You know how some families like to have Scrabble competitions? Or fantasy football? In this family we like to compete in feeling guilty for how we’ve hurt people we love.”

“Oh good,” Jackson deadpans. “I’ve been training for that.”

Mulder chuckles bitterly. “You really don’t understand your competition.”

Jackson hadn't even been aware his shine was active, but suddenly he's overcome: a painful onslaught of incoming information. There’s a rapid-fire series of images from Mulder’s mind, so fast Jackson feels his head thump back dramatically against the headrest, closing his eyes. He gasps loud enough that Mulder looks over.

“Whoa, whoa. You okay there?”

“Yeah,” Jackson says breathily, opening his eyes. “I just…” He feels like he got kicked.

“Feeling dizzy?”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Did you drink water today?”

“It wasn’t dehydration," Jackson murmurs.

Mulder’s face changes. Jackson sees that he has realized.

“Oh,” he says. "It was me, wasn't it?" A pause. “God, Jackson, I’m sorry about that.”

“Not really your fault.”

“You… what did you see?”

Jackson scrunches up his eyes to try to remember each detail. “I didn’t understand much of it,” he says. “There was a little girl, brown braids, bright light?” He looks over at Mulder, and Mulder nods tightly. “All these different people crying because they’ve lost someone, mostly people I don’t know. But Scully lots of times. Scully crying again and again and again.” Mulder presses his lips together tightly. “A baby crying in a crib. Me?”

“Yep,” Mulder says. “You.”

“You feel guilty about me?”

“Yep,” Mulder says. He doesn’t add any more detail.

Jackson takes that information in. He’s tempted to use his shine again, to add some context and see why, exactly, but again it seems a little too much for him to cope with. Better to take all of this information in in tiny bite-sized chunks.

He thinks of something else he’s kind of been wanting to ask instead.

“Am I the only kid you guys ever had? Or did you have others?”

“Just you,” Mulder says, his voice melancholy now. “You weren’t supposed to be possible. She wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant at all. We thought you were a miracle.”

Jackson chews on that thought, staring out the window at the passing late winter Virginia landscape.

***

#xfiles fanfic #the x files #x files fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #x files #xf fanfic #msr #jackson van de kamp

38 notes · View notes

jerzwriter · 4 months

Text

Different Destinations

I know I said tomorrow, @juudaimes-true-form, but I couldn't sleep anyway, so I did it now! Thanks so much for the three-word prompt: Jackie, Casey, Postcard. I did have to add Tobias to go in the direction I wanted to with this; I hope you don't mind. 😊

Book: Open Heart (Post Series) Featuring: Tobias x Casey Carrick, Jackie Varma Rating: Teen Words: 1,040 Summary: Casey & Jackie are spending a Sunday afternoon together; it's just like their roomie days - but then again, it's not. A/N: For those unfamiliar with my Tobias x Casey HC - Tobias comes from an extremely wealthy background on his father's side, whereas Casey's family really struggled financially. Per canon, Jackie had a childhood more in line with Casey's. This story takes place Post Book 3, about a year after their daughter's birth. @choicesjanuary2024 Day 7 - Reflection

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and it felt like old times. Casey and Jackie were lounging on the couch with a spread of snacks that both would have advised patients against eating laid out before them. That and wine... copious amounts of wine. They spent an hour catching up and laughing, and then they began the painful process of selecting a movie. They had to resort to a flip of a coin, and Jackie groaned when Casey's choices won. Another freaking romcom. Yep, it was just like old times... until a rustling noise from the corner of the room served as a reminder. It wasn't old times, Casey had a husband now.

"Babe," she said, stretching her neck over the couch. "Whatcha doing?"

"I told you, I'm going to go through my storage boxes in the basement. I want to make that area into a play space for Samantha, so I need to clear it out."

"12.5 rooms in this townhome, and you choose to do that in the one we're in?" Jackie quipped.

Tobias replied with a bright grin. "Aw, Jackie... you know I can never stay far away from you. Besides, I thought you might want to see some of my childhood memorabilia."

Jackie rolled her eyes as Casey assured him she'd love to see his trinkets, but they were watching a movie right now. Jackie's eyes flicked toward the screen, and she realized she found her salvation. One last look at Sandra Bullock, and she grabbed the remote.

"You know what, Tobias, this is the perfect opportunity to get to know you better!" She smiled.

"You see!" Tobias replied enthusiastically. "You see Casey! Jackie's making a valiant effort here!"

"Tobias," Casey sighed. "She’s trying to get out of watching The Proposal again.”

Tobias leaned in toward Jackie with a smirk. “Shit, we can bond over that, too.”

Casey threw a pillow his way. “I can hear you! So, now that you two have interrupted my movie I’ll never know what happened to Sandra and Ryan....”

“Like you haven't seen this twenty times,” Jackie injected.

“... as I was saying, since you interrupted my movie, let’s see what you’ve got there.”

“Well, there’s this,” he grinned, holding up a small, green felt teddy bear that had seen better days.

“Please tell me that has sentimental value," Jackie said, tossing the object to Casey. "Because if it doesn't, and that’s what you’ve chosen to hold on to, I'm going to judge you."

“It does! That’s the first stuffed animal anyone ever won for me at a carnival.”

“Oh, really!” Casey teased. “And who won this for you, dear?”

Tobias sat back, cupping his hands behind his head. “Annabelle Worthington. We were in fifth grade.”

“Wait, shouldn’t you have won it for her?” Jackie mocked.

“We don’t do that sexist shit in this house, Jackie. Besides, I offered to let her keep it, and she said no. I was a hot commodity even then, ladies!"

Both of the women groaned and grabbed their glasses of wine.

“You know, I think we should go back to the movie,” Jackie suggested. “It may be better than your husband.”

Jackie and Casey’s conversation turned back to a patient as Tobias continued to scavenge through the box, soon after, he interrupted them once more.

“Holy shit! Look at this!” He gushed. “I haven’t seen this in forever.”

“What is it?” Casey asked.

Tobias handed them a stack of old postcards and stood over their shoulders to tell them about each one.

“That's when we went to Disney World when I was five. My brother wasn’t around yet, so I got all the attention.”

“Ah, so that's where it began,” Casey jested.

Ignoring her, Tobias tapped on the postcard Jackie was holding.

“And that’s Hawaii. We went to that resort every year. My parents made it a holiday tradition to avoid half our relatives,” he chuckled. “I didn’t realize that last part until I was older.”

“Where is this one from?” Casey asked.

“That’s Tanzania,” he said enthusiastically. “When we went on a safari for my twelfth birthday! Damn, I have to go find the pictures from that trip!”

After a few more, Tobias gathered the cards and tucked them away in the box. “So what about you guys? Do you have any postcards from your vacation spots growing up?”

Casey and Jackie exchanged a look, eyes glimmering mischievously, they knew what they were about to do.

“Well, I don’t know?” Casey hummed. “But I'll call my mother. I’m sure she saved some. They're probably tucked away in our summer home. What about you, Jackie?”

“Me? Nah, they couldn't possibly be in any of our homes. After all, there were too many! But they may be in our family archives."

“All right...” Tobias said, slightly abashed. But they weren't done with him yet.

“Where did you go most frequently?” Casey asked.

“Me? Usually, the water park... you know... I was lucky because it was right down the street from me. It was open every summer, well... until the firefighters arrived and insisted on recapping the hydrants. Then all the fun was over."

“Oh, yes! We had a waterpark like that in Philly, too! Did you ever go to that location?”

“Nope, can’t say I did! But there was that special year when we went camping... to rough it.”

“Really, and where did you go? The Adirondacks? Jackson Hole?"

“My living room... the gas and electricity was shut off for a few days... that's why we were roughing it.”

"Damn! And you don't have a postcard of that?"

“All right, all right!” Tobias insisted. “I'm sorry. Sometimes, I forget that everyone wasn't an entitled ass like I was."

“Was?” Jackie smirked.

“Really, I’m sorry. I'm an idiot."

“Yeah," Casey grinned, reaching over to pat his but. "But you’re a cute idiot."

“Speak for yourself on that!" Jackie stated as she stuffed Cheeto in her mouth.

“Will you forgive me if I make you ladies homemade pizza for dinner?"

“That would be a start,” Casey nodded. “If you go get us ice cream for dessert, I think I can let it go.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jackie kidded. “I’m not forgiving him until he takes me to Tanzania!”

Tobias scurried out of the room, and Casey flipped the TV back on to Jackie’s great disappointment.

“You know, he’s really not an ass,” Casey insisted. “But every now and then, he forgets we weren’t all to the manor born.”

“Oh, I know,” Jackie shrugged. “But I hope he says something stupid like that every time I come over."

“Really? Why?”

“Because the man makes a great homemade pizza."

Thanks so much for reading! :)

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#choices fanfic #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #jackie varma #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfic #tobias x casey #playchoices fanfic

33 notes · View notes

archduchessofnowhere · 7 months

Text

Archduke Franz Josef goes to Bavaria

I was some days ago years old when I discovered that Franz Josef I's childhood diary is available in the Projekt Gutenberg. I'd been busy lately studying for upcoming exams and dreading for the future of my country, so I haven't had the time to look much into it, but for the little I've read it isn't that interesting - just short entries summarizing what he did on the day, with little to no personal thoughts. But even so I came across some entries that I thought might be of interest for you so I quickly put this post together, since I feel bad having this blog a bit abandoned as of lately.

At the beginning of September of 1843 the thirteen-years-old Archduke Franz Josef went with his mother to visit their Bavarian family in Munich. While "Franzi" (frustratingly to us) dedicates more words to describe what kind of animals he hunt that day than to his relatives, this somewhat dull entries still contain a very interesting piece of information: the earliest recorded meeting between him and his future wife, Duchess Elisabeth in Bavaria. So without further delay, here are the entries from September 2 and 3, which correspond to the first two days of the Archduke's visit to Munich (as always mandatory disclaimer that these are machine translations and therefore there may be/are some mistakes):

2. From Wasserburg we travelled to Munich, the beautiful dear Munich, where we saw the magnificent Festbau, the Basilica, the Ludwigskirche, the staircase of the library, the huge Bavaria by Stiegelmayer and the All Saints' Chapel.

We dined at Palais Leuchtenberg at half past four. Sad memories when we saw the lords, ladies and servants of poor Grandmama [Queen Caroline of Bavaria, who passed away in 1841]. I met the Crown Prince [Oscar] and Crown Princess [Josephine] of Sweden there.

We left Munich at 7 o'clock and arrived at Possenhofen at quarter past ten. We found there the Duke Max and all his children except Louis [Duke Ludwig Wilhelm], who is in Switzerland.

3 Sunday. We breakfasted with Aunt Louise [Duchess Ludovika], Helene, Elise [Elisabeth] and the very nice but almost spoilt Karl [Theodor]. At 10 o'clock we went into the dull chapel to hear mass, where I felt so sick that I had to be carried out of the chapel to an open window, where I got well again; then I lay down on the bed. At 12 o'clock I and Count Bombelles fished with Duke Max, where we caught 20 birch and white fish. I dined at my place with Count Bombelles and, because of my earlier habits, I only ate a plate of bouillons and an artichoke. In the afternoon we all went, even little Karl, to the king's castle on the opposite shore of the lake, where we had a snack. When we got home, I went straight to my room where I ate soup and then went to bed.

The Palais Leuchtenberg was the residence of Franz Josef's aunt Princess Auguste of Bavaria, the widow of Eugène de Beauharnais. Crown Princess Josephine was Auguste's and Eugène's eldest child, and therefore the future emperor's first cousin. I found this mention interesting because, even though they were closely related, the meetings between Franz Josef and the Bernadottes seem to have been rare, and I don't even know if he ever saw Josephine again when they were monarchs.

Meanwhile, Possenhofen was the summer residence of Duke Max in Bavaria's family (the Duke also had his own bachelor residence in which he spent most of his time, away from his family). Curiously FJ doesn't call him "uncle", though I don't know if this was for a particular reason or if he just didn't refer to the husbands of his aunts as uncles in general. At the time of this visit "Aunt Louise" was heavily pregnant with her seventh child, Mathilde, who would be born the 30th of that same month. His cousins Helene, Elisabeth (still called "Elise" by her relatives, the nickname "Sisi" would only appear in 1853) and Karl (whom apparently hadn't earned his nickname "Gackl" yet) were nine, five and four-years-old respectively. I have no idea why the twelve-years-old Louis, the eldest son the Ducal couple that FJ notes was missing, was in Switzerland. As for the youngest child of the couple - the still not two-years-old Marie - I suppose she was in the nursery, busy being a toddler, and that's why her cousin didn't saw her. Also it seems that passing out during Mass was really just A Thing That Happened, the place being so crowded and the incense being so strong, which may explain why Franz Josef is so casual about it in his writing.

Franz Josef and his mother stayed in Munich until September 6, so this was really a brief visit. The rest of the entries are just as exciting as the first two (ha!): visits to Possenhofen, the Palais Leuchtenberg and the Palais Max (the Ducal family's main residence in Munich), tea with Aunt Louise, family dinners, fishing and hunting (FJ feels the need to tells us exactly how many and what kind of birds did he shot, because obviously he knew the future historian would be dying to know that and not what he thought of his Bavarian relatives). There are two more things, however, that I would like to highlight from his entries. First, that despite having a reputation as a man uninterested in art, FJ deemed important to mention the many paintings and sculptures he saw in Munich; and second, this surprisingly poetic description of the lake Starnberg:

The wind whistled coldly across the lake, and the boat danced on the rolling waves of foam; it was a very beautiful sight; I thought I was on the sea, for towards the end of the lake the mountains were covered with clouds, and on this side one saw nothing but water, sky and a church tower illuminated by the sun.

And I have to give it to him, if he wanted, he could write more than short and dry descriptions.

#the fact that only gackl gets a description out of. literally everyone he saw in munich #franz josef i of austria #empress elisabeth of austria #ludovika of bavaria duchess in bavaria #maximilian duke in bavaria #karl theodor duke in bavaria #helene in bavaria hereditary princess of thurn und taxis #queen josephine of sweden #oscar i of sweden

34 notes · View notes

konigsprinzessin · 9 months

Text

donnerkeil. part four, yandere!könig x reader

hi! i’m back! please like and reblog! also this was only edited once so if there’s any mistakes let me knowwwwww!

it was unfortunate that everything was closed. he offered kindly to take you out that afternoon to learn more about each other although the realization that it was sunday made him feel like an idiot. his plan to continue the rest of the day with you was interrupted as quite literally- nothing was open. the shops and restaurants closed. he wasn’t going to invite you into his apartment yet, he didn’t want you to think he was insane and/or trying to prey upon you.

he didn’t think he was insane. just someone with a lot of emotions.

maybe.

he held your basket in his hands walking by your side yet slightly trailing behind you, following your lead. you were making you way back to your apartment, knowing the tall man was following beside you. you were deciding whether or not to invite the man you just met not more than an hour ago into your living space, into your space, into your apartment. the fact that you couldn’t make your mind was eating you up with stress and anxiety.

he seemed kind enough but you were from a place were the meaning of “stranger danger” was more severe and realistic compared to the small austrian countryside. everyone knew each other here and looked after each other, both the young and the old. walking besides you was the behemoth of a man. you could only imagine the looks on the little old ladies’ faces as your small frame was accompanied by the almost 7 foot giant, especially with how sweet and lovingly he was treating you. as well as him holding your little basket filled with fruits and other items from the market.

“are you here for work?” he questioned.

“school. i go to university of vienna.” you chirped. a certain “bounce” in the tone of your voice.

“and what will you study?” he inquired. you were unable to see the smile forming on his scarred lips.

“i’m not too sure yet, i’m thinking something with science or health. for a while i wanted to be a teacher.” you giggled, letting a sigh escape from your parted lips.

“wow, you’re so smart then.” you felt a light blush cast over your cheeks because of his compliment.

“and you? which university do you go to” you asked, turning your head to look up at him. könig was such a fitting name for him. you were still in belief over his height yet his calm and nice personality. he was soft spoken around you, in his line of work he would bark orders at men not that much older than you and slaughter men with guns twice your size.

“uh i’m not a student anymore. i’m apart of the police? i think is how you say it?” he laughed in embarrassment, his voice was higher pitched clearly manipulating his voice to make it seem like his english skills were much more duller than what they actually were. könig had men deployed from america and other english speaking countries and put just as much fear into them as what he did the native german speaking recruits. you were too perfect to find out he was a colonel, a military man, a murderer.

“oh my, what type of policework do you do? i know its a lot different from what the policework is like back home. but i’ve never met an officer before.”

“nothing happens here but if a fight happens or if there’s loud music i deal with that. nothing too crazy.” he followed as you turned right on the cobblestone sidewalk, he let you walk on the slightly elevated sidewalk while he trailed right besides you on the side of the road. by no means was it a busy street so there was no reason to be worried about speeding cars. you saw your terracotta coloured apartment and stopped outside the brown oak door. könig quickly caught on that the door behind you was yours, and that led to your house. you led him to it without a second thought, no doubts in your mind that he could be dangerous at all- to you he was a gentle giant. you had let him right to the place you felt most safe in. all he had to do was wait for you to open that door and he could rush you. throw that stupid fucking basket on the floor. hold his hand over your mouth, threaten you and tell you that you’re coming with him. tell you that you’re never going to see that room again and you’d drop out of school as soon as you were settled in his apartment. which wasn’t too far for someone who was familiar with the area but it was far enough for a foreigner to get lost.

“ah.” he trailed, handing you the basket. you held the straw handle within your fingers. his hand quickly brushed upon yours but that didn’t make him falter- not yet at least. he decided then it wouldn’t be the best time to attack you in mid-morning plus you needed to gain his trust just a little bit more.

funny how within those few hours he figured that you’d make the perfect wife for him. all you need is him and all he needs is you.

“i’m sorry, i would invite you in but my flat is a mess.” you laughed, rubbing your arm in shame. “i can give you my number though! if you want it that is.” you looked back up at him with the most angelic smile könig had ever seen. he is the reason why you were smiling so wide. you were too perfect for this cruel world, too innocent to know what he does for work and too precious to know the thoughts and fantasies crowding his mind.

#konig #konig x reader #konig x you #konig mw2 #konig cod #MW2 #mw2 x reader #yandere!konig #yandere!konig x reader

40 notes · View notes

strawbrygashez · 1 year

Text

Fem!Reader x Postal 1 Dude

Haircut

I noticed there is no fics of p1 Dude getting the p2 hair cut so 😱😱 I thought I would fix that!!!!!!!! UhhmmMM kinda of a au I guess where p1 didn’t go postal and he is trying to better himself :,0c tw for talking about religion uHH and scars

The fic gets a little silly towards the end :,)

————————————————————————

As you swept the floors of the old hair salon for what felt like the hundredth time tonight, all you could think about was how much you wanted to quit. Since yet again, you’d been left alone to handle customer after customer all afternoon because all of your co-workers had came up with some reason or another to ditch early.

You hadn’t minded it the first couple times to be honest. You had initially thought maybe things just ran a bit differently here since all the workers seemed so tight-knit, which well, was the truth but you also quickly caught onto the fact that they all treated you differently since you were the younger newbie while they were all older ladies that for some reason acted like they had reasons to think they were all better than you and you had all the time in the world to work while they ‘needed’ to go out and do god knows what. You were sure having all this extra work dumped onto you recently breaks some kinda law or something somehow, but each night you came home, you were too exhausted to dig into it all since you felt like you couldn’t do much else other than have a quick meal and pass out for the night each night.

You sighed as you sat the broom back up against the wall and told yourself you’d have to remember to look up labor laws when you would finally wake up whenever you did tomorrow. Thank god it was Sunday tomorrow. It was the only day the salon was closed all day since your co-workers were die hard Christians who attended church.

While they were all going to be out worshiping some man in the sky, you were going to be sleeping in and eventually trying out that new game you bought and maybe listen to that album that you hadn’t had time recently to go through. Man once you left this place and joined a more stable and less stress inducing environment-

The sound of the loud ding from the bell above the front door cut your thoughts off as you jumped in surprise. You forgot there had been one more name put in for today since it had became dark out and things had slowed down and gotten quiet.

Quickly turning your head towards the front door you were met with a sight you really hadn’t expected. There, standing in front of the door was that one man you’ve seen a couple times acting strangely around town. It was really hard not to notice him to be honest since he was so tall, large, ginger and imposing. He also dressed somewhat odd for the current season and had shaggy long hair.

You’d been curious about him for some time now to be honest. He stood out so much and you had always loved and admired that in a person but right now you couldn’t help feeling at least a little nervous at the fact he was just…standing there and looking at you like a deer in headlights but since this was the last customer for the night and you could go home after this… maybe you could just speed this along or somehow kindly get him to leave if he was still freaking you out so you gave him the best smile you could muster up before you made your way up towards the old busted up computer near the front to check for his appointment information.

“Hi there! Are you uhm….” You refreshed the page the computer always sat on and looked at the name put in. Dude? Oh yeah.. you remember seeing that name added earlier on in the day and honestly thought it had been some kinda weird prank to just mess with someone’s schedule but he was here at the same time the appointment was set up for. “Uh- Dude?” You asked before looking up towards him again. He only stood there for a moment longer before making his way up toward you with a nod as he looked towards the ground. “Oh.” You smiled as he stood awkwardly in front of you and rung his hands together slightly. “Is that a nickname or something?”

The man glanced up at you and shrugged. “I just go by Dude.” He mumbled out. Oh wow.. his voice was a lot more different than you’d imagined it being. For some reason since he gave off loner vibes you were thinking he’d sound kinda nerd-ish but this man could make tons of money doing audiobooks if he wanted, but something told you he wouldn’t be willing to do that. He really should though with that deep, smooth voice. “Oh okay. I see. I thought it was just someone pulling a prank.. we get crazy names sent in sometimes yknow?” You explained still grinning. Dude didn’t do much though other than nod again and put his hands into his pockets while looking at you.

“Yeah.. anyways. Come with me if you wanna get started or if you need a little time to decide-” he shook his head in the negative. “Ah ok. Follow me then.” You said as you motioned over and led him towards the only booth still opened. You spun the chair towards his direction and he took a seat though he did so somewhat awkwardly. You could just tell he was anxious with the way he seemed so tense with almost every move and all you could really figure was he wasn’t used to both talking to people and going to places like this often. He probably hasn’t had his hair professionally cut in years by the looks of it. Not that it looked particularly bad, just his hair was super long with some choppy parts that weren’t probably put in there on purpose.

And from the looks of it, it didn’t seem like he didn’t keep good care of it either since you could already see a tangle you’d have to probably fight with. “So..what were you looking to get done today sir?” You asked as you went ahead and grabbed a cape and began to put it around him. “Just a trim.. I guess.” He mumbled again.

You hummed and once the cape was secure, you began to move his hair out of his face from behind as you looked at him in the mirror in front of you both and that’s when you noticed, with the booths light shining brightly and just feeling the hair itself, that his hair was pretty greasy. You weren’t going to judge him for it of course, you’ve seen much worse from much ruder customers so all you did for a moment was just mess with his hair a bit longer before deciding to do a little something extra for him.

“Dude?”

“Hm?”

“Since I’m the only one here and I’m closing up shop after you leave.. I wouldn’t mind washing you hair a bit. I think it could help out with how your hair will come out.” You offered with another grin. Honestly you’ve always felt a little bad for the guy since it seemed like he probably didnt or couldn’t practice self care often. “Can’t afford it.” He replied blankly.

“Oh- No! I mean like I’ll do it for free. I don’t mind and I think your hair will turn out really nice after a rinse.. and well I kinda like playing with longer hair anyways.” You said, hoping the last bit will get him to agree. He was silent for a minute as though he was weighing his options before he answered. “If it won’t be much of a issue I guess that’s fine..”

“It won’t be at all!” You assured him. “But would you mind taking off the sunglasses? It might make things a little difficult.” You added in.

He gave a little nod before taking off his sunglasses and sat them down on the little counter table before he rubbed his eyes, trying to get adjusted to the brightness of the room (you supposed) and once he moved his hands and finally opened his eyes, you really couldn’t help but to let out a “oh my god..” since the man’s eyes were such a vibrant green that you’d never seen before in your life. It almost seemed unnatural how bright his eyes and hair are. He was honestly a pretty handsome guy with all of his unique features and traits.

He looked kinda anxious though at you after you said that and kinda frowned while looking away. “What?”

“Sorry it’s just- your eyes. They are so fucking bright. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours before..it’s really cool Dude!” You explained to him as you watched him look off. Noticing his face going a little red, you couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in your heart. Though he was pretty intimating on the outside, you were quickly learning he’s probably always this nervous. He said a quiet thanks while still not looking towards you.

You only stood there a moment longer before deciding to go ahead and prepare to get things set up over at the hair washing area, grabbing a shampoo and conditioner before calling him over to you once you’d gotten settled. “Ah, before you sit down maybe you should take your leather coat off. I would hate for it to get messed up with all the water and stuff.” You walked up towards him as you continued “Here let me help take the cape o-”

“N-no I got it. I can just take it off with it on.” He assured you before shimmying the jacket off and tossing it to a empty chair nearby. You couldn’t help but notice what looked like older scars all up and down his arms since he was wearing a t-shirt underneath but of course you didn’t say anything. You had your own scars you didn’t want someone else asking about so you just nodded. “Alright. Well, sit down if that’s everything and you’re ready.” You said as you made your way back to your spot as he listened. “And lean back.”

Once he did so and you’d started the process, you reminded him to tell you if the water was too hot or cold which he replied to with “it’s fine right now”, and with that knowledge you finally set to work.

You never really got to mess around much with mens hair. Most guys that came in or just lived around town in general had boring, short hair that you couldn’t ever do much with, which was another reason you’d wanted to know more about the man. He seemed to be the only other alternative person in this town other than yourself. So it was great you finally were maybe getting to know him some and being able to run your fingers through such bright red hair that you’d been curious about for a bit. You’d honestly thought maybe he had it dyed the first time you seen him but nah, this close you could see Dudes freckles, and those eyes proved he’s just 100% ginger through and through. Had you ever met a ginger before actually? You’d met some people with dyed red hair before in your old town but that was like.. red red this is red and-

Shit. Since you were lost in your thoughts, you knocked over the bottle of conditioner you had set on the other side of Dudes head which had startled him. “Ah fuck. Sorry about that Dude. I think I really need to get some sleep soon, huh?” You joked as you leaned over him to set the bottle back up. When you were sitting it back up you heard him make a strange sound however and once you gave him a quick look- yeah. You had your tits basically right in his face and he was redder than his own goddamn hair. It really didn’t help you’d had only a tank top on for a shirt since you’d gotten hot while cleaning around the salon earlier. “Oh- I uh-” you muttered out as you felt your own face getting hot since he was looking at you with those dumb green eyes, wide opened.

He held his hands together under his chest and quickly just tried to shift his gaze up at the ceiling, probably just hoping you’d ignore what just happened. Which, yeah what the hell were you going to say? ‘Sorry for putting my boobs in your face?’ Augh, god how embarrassing..You’d had it happen before where a guy was checking..those out while you were washing his hair but you felt more pissed off than embarrassed back then. Dude over here looked like he was trying to remember everything he’d ever learned at church about being a good christian boy which was honestly kinda cute despite the fact you both just wanted to hide from each other right now.

You just sucked it up though and tried to carry on with washing his hair and he helped a bit by settling to close his eyes while you continued and at least near the end, he looked more relaxed while his eyes were closed than they’d been ‘fighting every demon in his mind’ forced closed earlier.

Soon you had him back over at the original chair you had him in, currently brushing his hair. “So, are you sure you wanna do this big guy?” You asked as you got his hair finally ready to cut. “Yeah. Just uh-, not too much. Just a trim remember?” He asked as he stared at himself and you in the mirror. “Yep. Just going to fix it up a bit.” You said as you went ahead and cut a particular piece of his hair that had been bugging you with how janky it had been cut. “Do you usually cut your hair yourself? Or do you get it cut somewhere else?” You asked.

“Cut it myself. I went here once uh..maybe three years ago and I got yelled at to leave by some lady.”

“Why? What did ya do?”

“Nothing. She said something about devil worship or something. Which was funny since I was wearing the same necklace I’m wearing right now back then.” He replied. His gaze now mostly focused on only you in the mirror. You rolled your eyes at the fact one of your co-workers actually said that. “Damn. Sorry. I couldn’t even tell you who it was that probably said that since they are all like that.”

He gave you the first grin ever since he’d gotten here though only for a moment. “Yeah. Thought I would maybe get lucky and get someone less crazy this time around. All the other places that cut hair are too long of a walk or drive to get to.”

You nodded. “Mhm. That’s the only reason I’m working at this dump. My place isn’t too far from here. I’m not really into all the Christianity stuff..” Remembering the cross necklace he wore, you quickly added in, “No offense.” And then, oh boy did he do the most attractive chuckle you’ve ever heard. It was oddly dark which was.. very hot. “None taken. I uhm. Kinda have a weird relationship with religion. I won’t tell anyone what to do with their life. I wanted people help people see the ‘good’ before but-…….” His slight grin faltered back into a blank expression. “Eh uh. Nevermind.”

Deciding to ignore that last part for now thought it was a little odd.. you agreed. “I don’t have the time to even worry about that stuff. All I ever do it work or sleep. Well maybe I could dream about Jesus and whatever in my sleep but eh.”

“Nah. Just do what feels natural to you if it’s healthy of course. I think at least.. but uh- anyways. I’m glad I got you today. You seem really cool. A lot better than those old ladies.”

“Well that’s not much of a competition but thanks.” You joked with a grin. He grinned also again at that. His smile was something you were beginning to cherish since it just gave him this sort of glow.. “You seem cool too. I’ve seen you around and wanted to know you to be honest.”

Dude was silent as he just listened to more of his hair get snipped off. “Oh really? Well that’s nice.. I’m usually in my own head so much I don’t really notice who’s around.” He replied honestly. “I see. I know I’m not a rememberable lady. You don’t gotta lie.” You joked again to which he rolled his eyes to with a grin.

Soon enough you finished with his hair and both of you were extremely happy with the results. It looked way more healthy with all those dead ends and tangles gone. Once you were showing it off to him, he’d smiled wider than you’d seen him smile all night which again tugged at your heart. You knew he just needed that extra push to see how great you can feel when you take care of yourself.

Another tug to your heart came around the time he’d paid and was getting ready to leave, knowing that he probably wouldn’t come back again for a while and you’d just have to go back to cranky Karens wanting their hair cut once work started back up. You really wanted to spend a lot more time with him and get to know him even more and what his story was..maybe you could ask if he’s busy-

“Anyways. Thanks for the haircut y/n. I really like it. I’ll see you around?” He asked, interrupting your thoughts like he’d done when you first met him. “Oh uh- yeah! Next time I see you in public I’ll try to say hi!” You smiled. He nodded with a grin also and after a couple more words, he left just like that. Damn. Well at least he knew of your existence now. That’s something at least.

And what do you know?! A couple weeks later Dude reappeared to your surprise! He didn’t put in a appointment this time which annoyed one of your annoying co-workers but you honestly couldn’t give a damn. Since you had no one else specifically booked for you today you happily took him and cut his hair way shorter than last time per his request. Apparently he found having even semi shorter hair helped him feel better about himself so why not try something new and see how he’d like something way shorter. And in his words it would be easier to take care of so (though with a slightly heavy heart since you liked his long hair) you gave him what he wanted and not surprisingly, he looked damn handsome. You were sure so many people would be jealous of how he could rock both short and long hair, you know you were at least.

He had that big smile again and wouldn’t stop touching it and going on about how nice it felt to not have all that hair, making you giggle a little as you took the cape off him. “You look great Dude. The only thing I don’t like is all this damn hair I’m gonna have to clean up off the ground now.” You joked, ignoring the side eye you got from the worker walking past you for ‘swearing.’

Dude ran his hand through his hair one more time before turning the chair around towards your direction, his smile not leaving as he reached into the inside of his trench coat. “I’m glad you like it also because I was wondering..” he trailed off until he found whatever it was he was looking for, which turned out to be a random fake rose. “I should have asked before I left last time but uh- I would like to get to know you better and they are playing this one horror movie at the theater tonight’s so.. I was wondering if you’d like to come with?”

You stood frozen a bit though you could feel your face get a little warm which wasn’t helped by the customer next to you both covering her mouth all ‘happy shocked’ for you both (and again, you ignored all the side eyes of your co-workers) as you took the ‘rose’ from Dude and grinned. “Of course Dude! I was hoping you’d ask to be honest.” He grinned and stood up. “Great! I’ll see you at eight?” He asked.

You looked around at the old, saggy, mean ladies you were supposed to call ‘family’ and smiled. “Eh fuck it. Let’s go hang out right now. They can handle this place without me. Can’t you ladies?” You grinned with a goodbye wave as you took Dudes hand and left.

#postal dude #postal fic #postal 1 #postal dude x reader #sorry for any mistakes!!

50 notes · View notes

derpylittlenico · 7 months

Text

the following brought to you by Shower Thoughts tm tm tm

a "whump but not actually" not-fic? fic idea? whatever.

...

ok, so.

we know stiles is a pending accident on long legs. this isn't a secret.

but what if some member of the pack (maybe a mother henning Scott? or curious Allison? hell, maybe goddamn Isaac being a nosy bitch) accidentally catches a glimpse of a shirtless Stiles, and. just. bruises. bruises all over. from nip to goddamn hip.

cue...whoever...losing their shit via mass text to everyone else in the pack, because??? je m'fuhkin escuse? thu fucc??

I mean they are understandably Worried, bc those are so not lacrosse bruises. they would have seen that shit happen, and definitely heard about it too, because Stiles is unafraid to whine loudly, at great volume...well, unless he's actually hurt. so the fact that he's said nothing?

they are totally having guilt spirals, wondering is Grumpy Brows was right about wolves being too rough to be safe around humans, and is that why didn't he say anything??? bc he's spiteful and didn't want have to admit maybe Derek was right? bc omg, he'd totally not mention deep tissue bruising just to spite Derek.

(cue lots of Scott hand wringing and worried frowns. maybe even Derek staring melodramatically out of windows too dusty for even him to see out of bc he's Like That)

only?

......yeah, no, that's not what's going on, at all.

bc, see, Stiles is friends with the ladies from the Jungle. They are his best bitches, and he's learned not to bitch about a few minor bruises after hanging around people who routinely put on staggeringly tight compression tights and five inch high heels. Never mind the plucking and waxing.

It only took one Amateur Drag Night for him to learn to "suck it up, buttercup."

but anyway. they are his besties from other people's testes, and so drag his happy ass into shenanigans as often as possible.

...which includes pole classes at the local rec center, Thurs afternoons and every other Sunday evening.

and yeah, the bribe of free food following a two hour Lady Guhgah boogy sesh in short shorts is a nice bribe, but he doesn't really need to be bribed to hang out with them. They're a fuhkin blast to hang out with, and have some Stories.

(and also don't ignore him when he asks if they think he could be attractive to gay guys)

and ofc, though he only came for the good music and better company, he'd still put his entire ass into it and get really good at it. bc, as the queens have taught him, if he's not serving absolute cunt when the opportunity arises, why even bother.

but before all that, while he's still learning?

he'd bruise.

a lot. like? a lot a lot a lot.

bc the thing tv and movies don't tell you about pole dancing is that part of the trick is training your skin to kinda...stick? suction on? to the pole like Cameron Diaz stuck to the car windshield in That One Scene in The Counselor.

(but he doesn't talk about that movie. or that scene. bc some things just need to be forgotten.)

tl, dr?

in those early days, while he was still clenching more than clinging, in between getting dumped on his dump-truck, he admittedly looks like he's been PvPing the Hulk for funsies. Or picking fights with Creepy Grandpa Argent. Or just, like, generally slamming himself into walls.

so yeah.

"whump but not," bc the pack is scrambling to find a way to have an intervention over Stiles hiding injuries, bc he forgot to mention he and Jizz Taylor and Gloria Hole and Bicurious Georgia have decided to learn pole technique alongside Natalie Martin, a few bikers from the local biker bar, and Stiles' 55 yr old neighbor.

#teen wolf meta #stiles stilinski #the jungle drag queens (teen wolf)#brotp queelinski #the mchale pack #not fic #i wanted to make this stargent or steter bc i am trash but it got away from me #i g it can be there if you squint

21 notes · View notes

beautifulbuckys · 2 years

Text

Rumor Has It (40′s!Bucky Barnes x Reader)

FIC PINTEREST BOARD

Summary: As a local bartender, you’d heard a thing or two about James Barnes.

Warnings: Nazi mention, war mentions, a little bit of language

A/N: AHHHH tiktok gave me some of this dialogue and I nEEDED to write with it!

You’d heard about James Barnes.

He was a legend in your line of work. Rumor had it that he’d been to every lounge in Brooklyn. Many bartenders had spoken of serving him and the lady he’d selected for the evening. A lounge was his go-to date spot. We played music, served drinks, and had a pleasant atmosphere. The lounges in the area were always dark and easy to hide in. He’s courted a lot of different women. God forbid a past girl catches him with his newest woman. It hasn’t happened yet, so you’ve heard.

However, you have never met him. He has yet to stop by your lounge. He has yet to bring a date. You can’t blame him, your location was on the edge of town and kind of hard to get to. The narrow, unlit roads were daunting to those looking for a good time. A dark alleyway didn’t exactly scream ‘come visit!’.

The fact that he had been in the army didn’t exactly help. His long stint of courting a randomized girl every night got interrupted when America involved itself in the war. He was quickly shipped off, practically disappearing. His existence was ghost-like. Many mentioned him, both men and women alike. The gentlemen he’d done laboring with during long, grueling New York summers were speaking of him like an old friend. His name seemed like a memory on some of the female bar-goer’s lips. It seemed like he had never left. Even though you had never met him, all the stories you’d heard made it seem like you did. Many customers you met had known him. Simply, it became obvious he befriended a lot of people in the area. Nobody you’d met had something negative to say about the man. Since he left for war, many who stayed behind gained more respect for him.

Rumor has it he’s back.

Tuesday afternoon you were working a shift for a sick bartender when someone uttered interesting words.

“Bucky and Steve are back, they’re going on some victory tour or something. I heard Rogers got handsome while overseas, apparently, all the women in Europe have been swooning. My husband wrote me all about it!” A young woman sitting across the bar whisper-yelled. She couldn’t disguise her excitement for the news. However, it was hard to tell what she was more excited about, whether James and Steve are home or her husband had sent a letter.

You’d seen pictures of James. You could admit, he was an attractive man. You totally understood why he had women at his feet left and right. Usually, though, that meant they had an ego. You already dealt with that during your shifts at the lounge. You didn’t have time to entertain a cocky man that found himself to be king of the world. It just wasn’t in the cards.

As the afternoon melted into the evening, the lounge became a bit busier. Typically, Friday through Sunday was the busy days. Every now and again, it would pick up a little during the weekdays. However, this wasn’t a “picking up on a Tuesday” kind of busy. Something was going on, you thought. And then it all made sense.

James Barnes had waltzed into the creaky wooden door. He was wearing his brown Army uniform. A tan cap covered his brown hair, which has gotten a little longer since the most recent picture you’d seen. He also looked tired, the bottom of his eyes had sunken in and his eyelids were now permanently half-lidded. He didn’t look an ounce less handsome, though.

The moment he walked through the door, the volume of the lounge increased dramatically. Every single customer that could stand on their own two feet was loudly welcoming the solider home. James received many pats on the back from men playing billiards; who seemed to respect him for her service. He also had been on the receiving end of many hugs from women old to young. His grateful smile never faltered. He spoke to everyone that gave him the time of day. Never once did he seem annoyed or appalled at the sudden attention. All eyes were on him. Yet, he never shied away. He seemed like the same man you’d heard stories about.

Once he could get away from the welcome wagon, he dragged his feet towards the bar. The farther he got away from the crowd, the more his smile fell. If he was an actor, that would’ve been an award-winning performance.

“Sergeant Barnes, you’re shorter than I anticipated,” You said once he reached the bartop. Now that he was closer, you noticed the small cuts and scabs littered his face. The bridge of his nose housed a nasty gash, which was obvious from a puffy scar that now replaced it.

His tired eyes locked with yours, smiling at you. “That’s no way to welcome home a soldier,” His Brooklynn accent came poking through. It was thick, something that you’d mock to your friends the next time you see them.

“I’m afraid we’ve never met,”

“I’d remember if we did. I’d never forget a face like that,”

“Is that what you say to all the girls?” His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. You’d rendered the quippy James Barnes speechless. Not many can say that based on the tales you’d heard. From the stories, you could tell he was part of the talkative bunch. He had a reputation to talk anyone’s ear off if he was given the chance. “What can I get you, James?”

He chuckled, sitting at a barstool. “Please, call my Bucky,”

“That’s not what I asked you,”

“Bourbon,”

You smile, “You like your gums feeling tingly?” You proceeded to carefully pour him some of the house bourbon, choosing to pour it into a short glass. It was wider than a shot glass, but a similar height. It was perfect for his larger hands to hold. He wouldn’t be able to drop it unless he did so purposefully.

Bucky took the glass as you slid it across the counter and instantly took a sip. After swallowing, he exhaled loudly. “You know, you’re the first person to not kiss my ass since getting home,”

“That’s not very gentleman-like language, Barnes,”

“Well I am a soldier, never claimed to have the mouth of an angel,”

You decided to leave him alone for a moment, choosing to tend to the other customers at the bar. You’d poured a few refills of water or whiskey, and made a few martinis. Every now and again, you’d steal a glance at James. He sat on his barstool in his lonesome. In fact, it’s the first time you’ve ever heard nor seen the man alone in a place like this. He always brought a date. His elbows laid on the stained bartop, leaning into his arms. He seemed slightly tired, more reserved than the James you’d always heard of. Besides his arrival, you hadn’t seen him speak to anyone. A few people tried to spark some conversation. Their attempts always consisted of questions about the war or his friend Steve Rogers.

You’d heard rumors about Steve Rogers too.

Steve and James were a package plan. You couldn’t get one without also getting the other. Since they were young, they’d been attached at the hip. Steve had a dream of joining the army when the war began. His father was a soldier, and he wanted nothing more than to follow in those footsteps. However, he was skinny and sick. He got denied time and time again. When Bucky left, it was difficult for him. Not soon after, Steve was getting escorted by military officials around the city of New York. Many figured he finally got caught lying on his enlistment forms. Then one day, he’s in the paper 150 pounds heavier and with more muscle than you had seen in your entire life.

And now the man is a war hero. He’s a symbol of an American victory.

And James Barnes is still just James Barnes. Suddenly the outgoing, all eyes on him, ladies man was cowering behind the shadow of his best friend. Since they got home, he’d been avoiding all questions about Steve. Avoiding any Captain America-related questions.

“Pretty damn quiet over here, Barnes,” You mutter, leaning onto the bartop. He flashes a small smile your way, sitting up at your presence.

“Not much people want to talk about besides killing nazis. I’m kind of tired of acting like some hero, though. I’m not this high and mighty guy everyone acts like I am. The only difference between me and them is the uniform. I’m no hero, I’m just a man in a tan uniform acting like something I’m not,” Bucky spoke quietly, staring at his hands that were folded in front of him. His small smile had turned into a sad one, reflecting his tone of voice.

“Incredibly untrue, Sargent. See Tommy over there? The one with the red billiards stick. His Momma forced him to enlist. He lied on his forms and said he had asthma and a past with pneumonia so he wouldn't get through. Then he went back and told his Momma they rejected him so he couldn’t fight. He really just wanted to stay behind and keep smokin’ those damn cigars with his pals,” The story you told was true. It was again, just a rumor you’d heard, but once you served his sister a few too many imported wine glasses and she got to talking. By 10 p.m you knew all the family’s deepest darkest secrets. You’d never tell them, though. Unless, of course, it was to cheer up a handsome pouty soldier on a Tuesday night.

“Is that true?”

“Truer than the sky being blue,” You held out your pinky to the man, suggesting a pinky promise. He held out his finger with a smile, wrapping his around yours enthusiastically. “There is a difference between you and him. He didn’t want to fight because he was selfish. You fought and saved a hell of a lot of people in the process. You have a good heart, James. Don’t undervalue yourself,”

His sad smile was long gone, a simple memory. His laugh replaced his once somber, hushed voice.

“You feel like an old friend,”

“A lot of people say that when I give them booze,” You manage to laugh. He laughs right along with you. When he laughs, his eyebrows raise up and cause some wrinkles on his forehead. His hairline seems to raise up along with his brows which is entertaining to watch.

He smiles, “Not like that. I feel like I’ve known you. I know I’ve never met you as I said, I’d never forget a face like that. You just seem so familiar. Like I’ve known you for a lifetime and then some,”

“Are you calling me old, Barnes?”

“I’d never dare to talk about a beautiful dames age!” James chuckled at your insinuation. He knew you were joking, it was obvious that it was just how you were. He could tell you had thick skin by the banter you kept up.

“With all this talk about my looks, I’m starting to think I’m the next on the ‘girl’s I’d like to take dancing’ list,” You joked. Without him even asking, you decided to pour him more of his drink. Usually, you’d have to charge for a refill. Hell, you forgot to even charge him for the first drink. Yet, he’s a soldier returning home. If your manager gave you hell for it, you’d explain the special circumstance.

All the rumors you’d heard of this man seemed to be drifting away. You’d been told gossip; not truths. This man wasn’t just some womanizer with no regard for feelings. James Barnes was far from a man that didn’t believe love existed, only beauty. James Barnes wanted to be loved. He didn’t want to be held on a pedestal for all to worship and speak about. He wanted his flaws to be just as cherished as his perfections.

“I can add you to the list if you’d like. You would be the only occupant and I’m willing to take you dancing as soon as possible,”

“See you tomorrow at 6?” You took the bait. The more you two talked, the more interested in him you became. He bantered back and forth with you and didn’t get offended at your silly comments. He never once made an offensive comment towards you, which was something you were used to as a bartender. And it would be a crime not to take note of his beautiful eyes and charming smile.

He smiled.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,”

And to think, a few rumors was the start of this all.

248 notes · View notes

theretirementstory · 3 months

Text

Greetings from a cloudy Bar sur Aube, where it’s 7c at the moment. We are due a maximum of 10c so it’s not going to be that much warmer. It has rained a lot but we have had some high ish temperatures along with a weak sun but it’s the rain you remember especially when it’s a very heavy downpour and you are soaked!

I did smile when I saw the Drappier Champagne van at the Gendarmerie, the Drappier driver wasn’t delivering so I wonder if he had been speeding or worse still “drunk in charge of the champagne van”.

Anie messaged on Sunday afternoon to say could she come visit me, of course, I produced mince pies and coffee cake along with one of the new teas Monique had bought me for Xmas. She stayed for about an hour, it was enough really, I am finding it hard to concentrate on hearing French for longer than that. She always brings some gift and this time it was a small jar of the herb sariette and a jar of marmalade. I baked a batch of cheese scones yesterday, I added some sariette and herbes de Provence, they were really lovely.

Monique has been in touch keeping me up to date with her blood tests, appointments etc.

My fortnightly blood test was due and the nurse arrived promptly. The results are not coming back as quickly as previously but perhaps it’s the tests requested that make the results arrive later.

The plumber came to install the new boiler, amazing all finished in 3.5 hours! Oh the luxury have having lovely hot water “on tap”. You don’t miss something until it is taken away from you.

My grandchildren are with “The Photographer” this weekend and then it’s “the big adventure”, they are going to London from Monday to Thursday to go to the Zoo and the Natural History museum.

“The Ex-Graduate” will be starting her final week at the bar, where she worked part-time while studying and full time since her studying finished. She starts her new job in a couple of weeks so she will be given a new title on here too 😊.

“The Trainee Solicitor” is working his socks off and will be looking forward to a little break away from home for a few days. Next week will be busy at work as two staff members are on holiday but you can only do as much as you can do in the hours you are at work so just keep that in mind!

So let’s have a look at my music choices this week. I don’t know how I hadn’t thought of this one before now. I have no idea what makes a good guitarist I just know that some music just gets to you. Here is one of the guitar greats doing what he does best! The song was released in 1999 😳, it is “Smooth” by Santana featuring Rob Thomas. Well if that doesn’t get you moving I am not sure what will!

The second song is one that always makes me “feel good”, I want to get up and leap around. We go way back to 1970 for this hit from George Harrison, the song is “What is Life”. Enjoy listening to these tracks today.

So today was the day I had been looking forward to, the day of the visit to the gorgeous “La Belvedere” restaurant for lunch. I was disappointed when Maud messaged to say she had had bronchitis and was still coughing so thought it best to cancel the restaurant. Oh well until the next time 😉. I am going to make myself something “tasty” for lunch 🤞and if I get out of bed now, I may be able to prepare a super dessert too.

It was the knitting group on Friday and I must say we were a little depleted! The 92/93 year old lady is suffering with her back so was unable to attend. The newest member of the group had previously been into hospital for an operation and therefore didn’t arrive until about 4pm. Helene, a lady who suffers from some neurological problem couldn’t come as she was unwell and her husband (who brings her) was also unwell. It was just as well I had decided to go! I was only going to stay for a couple of hours and forego the cake and drink, however, I brought the “tarte” home with me and enjoyed it after my evening meal. We were discussing the best things to make to sell at the markets. It was suggested that we tried key fobs, I produced a pattern for some pendants and earrings and will photocopy the pattern to take back in a fortnight. The ladies were impressed with my little cardigan . It has been decided that from now on a receipt needs to be produced to show the cost of materials, I guess that puts paid to a refund for me, as the wool I have had for years, so no longer have the receipt. Oh well does it matter, it gets the wool used up 😊.

Now I am going to “put my best foot forward” (wish I knew which one it was 😂) .

I think this photo should be called “house on the hill”.

I wish you all a good week until next week.

#barsuraube #trees #nature #photography #crafts #baking #70’s music #90’s music #friends #family

5 notes · View notes

backtothestart02 · 10 months

Text

Swimming Lessons - 2/2 | westallen family fanfiction

A/N: Enjoy!

...

Chapter 2 -

It was about an hour’s drive out to the old Allen cabin on a lake. Luckily, it was also a Friday, so the West-Allen family decided to make a weekend vacation out of it and packed enough to last till late Sunday afternoon. Nora complained about the wait to get there, but both Barry and Iris were cheerful as could be when they answered ‘almost’ to nearly every ‘are we there yet’ their daughter delivered.

When they arrived, Nora raced out of the SUV and skirted to a stop on the back porch of the cabin overlooking the lake.

“Daddy, this is so cool! How come you never took us here before?”

Barry swallowed, a moment of silence for the memories he’d had here with parents that only now lived in his heart. Iris squeezed his hand and answered for him.

“We actually did bring you here when you were really little.”

Nora folded her arms and raised an eyebrow.

“How little?”

Iris tugged on her braids as she approached her.

“What does that matter?”

“I was in your belly, wasn’t I?”

Iris laughed and turned to Barry who was back to his old self and lifting their bags from the SUV.

“This one’s too smart for her own good, isn’t she?”

Barry smirked.

“Oh, definitely.”

Nora rolled her eyes.

“Can someone please unlock the door, so I can change into my swimsuit?”

“A bit demanding for someone who never wanted to swim again as long as she lived,” Iris pointed out, and Nora sobered up.

“I did say please,” she informed her mother.

“You did.” She chuckled, then turned to face her husband. “Bear?”

“On my way!”

He struggled with the luggage all the way to the front door and then dropped it promptly.

“You know, little lady, you could’ve at least carried your purple teddy bear that’s as big as you are, I think.”

Nora pouted as she walked to where her dad was.

“I thought I was your little princess who could do no wrong.”

Iris laughed.

“She got you there, hun.”

Barry muttered something under his breath, then got the door open before either of the women he so adored could ask for clarification.

“Whoa! This place is so cool!” Nora declared, immediately running inside and inspecting every room. “Which room is mine?” she asked after zipping out of the master bedroom.

“Not that one,” Barry and Iris both said without looking, to which Nora slumped her shoulders and went into the smaller bedroom across the hall. “I guess this one’s good too.”

Barry and Iris shared a look.

“Though I could do without the rocketship blankets…” Nora scrunched up her nose.

Barry cleared his throat and headed for his daughter after dropping the bags in the middle of the living room.

“Those would be mine,” he said, leaning against the door.

Nora spun around.

“Yours? Like when you were my age?” Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open.

He nodded. “Just about. I used to come out here with my mom and dad every summer.”

And that’s when Nora grew quiet.

She knew the stories. She’d been told when she asked why she didn’t have two sets of grandparents like most kids the previous year that her daddy’s mom and dad had died before she was born. She wasn’t told how, and she hadn’t asked at the time, but she suspected it was something really sad because she could see how her dad changed when they were brought up. Whatever he said, the memory of his parents still made him sad because they couldn’t be here now.

Nora did the only thing she could think of to do. She walked up to her dad and hugged him around his legs.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, Princess.”

He bent down and hugged her more fully.

“Can we change into our swimsuits now?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

He chuckled.

“You bet. You want to grab your suitcase?”

She groaned, and he grinned.

“Hey, I brought it most of the way. And it’s not even that big.”

“Yeah, because you wouldn’t let me overstuff it like last time we went on vacation.”

“When the zipper broke, you mean?”

Nora glared but grudgingly stomped into the living room in her purple, fuzzy, unicorn flip-flops and grabbed her bag that matched, trudging back into her dad’s old bedroom and giving her parents a moment alone while she changed.

“You alright?” Iris asked, running her hand down her husband’s arm to soothe him from whatever memories still plagued him. He’d told her time and again that he’d healed from the death of his parents the night Nora was born, but she knew it still had to hurt that his parents weren’t here to watch their kids grow up.

It helped that Joan and Jay, who had no intention of starting a family at their age, had started coming around more and integrating with their family, but it wasn’t exactly the same. And nothing would be. So checking in with her sensitive husband was still a must, and she didn’t mind it one bit.

“Yeah.” He nodded.

“You sure?”

He smiled faintly and leaned down to kiss her.

“Positive.”

He moved away from her to find his swimsuit, and then he found her maternity bikini she’d insisted on bringing.

“You sure you don’t want to stick with the pretty summer dress you’ve got on? It’s not like there’s a railing or anything for you to hold onto.”

Iris frowned.

“You know, now that you mention it, I think I will stick with this for now. Maybe you and I can do some swimming after we put her to bed later though. Then you can be my railing.”

He smirked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“AHEM.”

They both turned to see their little girl standing at the front of the hallway in her lilac-colored sparkly one-piece swimsuit and bright pink floaties on her arms.

“Those are coming off today, young lady.”

Nora’s eyes widened, and she noticeably panicked, looking to her mom for help.

“Not right away though, honey.” She looked to her husband. “Right, Daddy?”

He softened.

“Of course not. Baby steps.”

Nora relaxed and then almost immediately stomped her foot.

“Why aren’t you dressed yet, Dad?”

“Oh, I’m just ‘dad’ now, am I?”

“Until further notice.” She tipped up her nose to the ceiling and walked through the cabin till she reached the back door.

Barry shook his head, and Iris chuckled.

“Take your time, Babe. I’ll keep her occupied.”

“Thanks.”

And yet, in a jiffy, he had run to the bedroom, changed into his swim trunks, and zipped past the two of them down to the beach.

“Daddy, wait for me!” She let go of her mother’s hand and chased after him. Luckily, Iris was near a cushioned wooden chair on the front deck and eased into it just in time to lose physical contact with her daughter. She had a water bottle with her too, so she knew she’d be good for a while.

Barry stopped and grinned, waiting for the seven-year-old to catch up to him.

Heaving and looking annoyed, Nora stopped when she reached him, hands on her hips, head tilted up and glared in his direction.

Barry only chuckled and held out his hand to her.

“Come on.”

She let him lead her up until she realized they weren’t going straight for the lapping water but for the dock meant for boats.

“Oh, Daddy, I dunno…”

He picked her up and held her in his arms the rest of the way.

“There are some rocks right at the shoreline, Princess. I don’t want you to hurt your feet. Down by the dock, it’s sandier, and you can swim freely.”

She gulped and clutched his shoulders tightly.

“If you say so.”

Iris watched them cautiously as Nora turned to look at her from over her dad’s shoulder, looking a bit panicked. She waved to her enthusiastically though, unsure if that made things better or worse. But she trusted Barry, and she trusted him with their child. She knew it would be okay.

“Alright, you stay here,” he said, setting Nora down on the edge of the dock. “I’ll go in first. Then, when I say, you jump into my arms, and we’ll begin.”

She gulped.

“O-Okay, Daddy.”

He got down on her level and gripped her chin.

“Don’t you worry, honey. Everything’s gonna be okay. And I won’t make you take your floaties off until you’re ready, okay?”

She took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay.”

She watched then as her dad jumped down into the water. The water barely came up to his waist, so she knew it wasn’t that deep. Still, it was deep enough to be over her head, so she was glad she had her floaties on.

“Okay, your turn,” he encouraged, holding out his dripping arms.

Nora looked down at her reflection in the water.

“Is it cold?”

Barry gathered two handfuls of water and held it up to her for her to dip her finger into.

“Not too bad,” he assured.

“It’s freezing!” Nora countered.

“Not once you get in, I promise.”

“I dunno…” She hesitated. “What if there are sharks?”

“Sharks are only in oceans. This is a lake. And it’s just you and me, and your floaties. Plus, look at your mom.” Nora turned back to look at her mother. “She’s being a look-out. If she sees anything suspicious, she’ll let us know.” He craned his neck to look at his wife. “Isn’t that right, Iris!”

“Yep!” She called back, even though she hadn’t heard a word he’d been saying to Nora.

“See?” He looked back at his daughter. Then he held out his hands. “Trust me.”

Nora took a deep breath, then nodded.

“Okay.”

“Great!”

He grinned and took one step back. He kept his arms raised and watched as little Nora plugged her nose with one hand, shut her eyes, and jumped into the air and into his arms.

Water covered her little legs but only splashed onto both their upper halves, and soon enough Nora realized she’d had no need to plug her nose at all.

“Well?” Barry asked. “What’s the verdict?”

“It’s…it’s not bad,” she admitted.

He chuckled.

“Didn’t think so. Now, come with me.”

Slowly, he released her so she was solely supported by her floaties, but he held onto her fingertips, so he wasn’t very far away and together they floated out a little further into the lake. When they were at chest level for Barry, they stopped.

“Why are we stopping?” Nora asked, frowning.

“Because I want to make sure the water is above my head before you can really swim on your own. There’s a dip not far away, and we can’t both be in danger.”

“Right,” she squeaked.

“Which we’re not,” he soothed her. “Now come on, kick your little legs for me. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

And so they moved across about 10 feet in the lake swimming back and forth, Nora kicking as hard as she could under the surface and Barry tugging lightly on her hands to make her go even faster. Then he showed her again how to tread water, what she had to do with her arms and legs, how to float without floating, laying all the way back on her back and lying still, and how using her arms could make her swim fast too.

He showed her all that while keeping her floaties on, and then they came in closer to the shore so the water was at Barry’s hips. Then he asked if she wanted to try it without her floaties.

Nora’s eyes widened with panic.

“You don’t have to, Nora. I’m asking if you want to.”

She swallowed.

“Can we go in a little closer to where I can stand?” she asked. “Then maybe I can try it and see if it works.”

“Sure.”

And so they got closer to shore, luckily before the rocks really started showing up, and Nora was able to stand with the water at her waist.

“Okay, here you go.”

She took the floaties off daintily, and he tossed them ashore, making sure to lock eyes with Iris and nod, so she’d know he knew what he was doing. Then, he looked back at Nora and nodded too.

“You ready?”

She licked her lips and gave a quick nod.

“Yes.”

She pushed off the ground, started kicking madly beneath the surface, and even used her arms!

“You’re doing it! You’re doing it!”

“I’m doing it?!”

“Yes!” He laughed. “Keep going!”

And so, she did, though she was careful not to stray too far into the lake, and at one point when she got a little nervous, Barry was right there beside her, gripping his hands around her waist, and eventually encouraging her to climb onto his back and hold on as he swam with her a little deeper.

“I feel safe with you, Daddy,” she said, laying her cheek on top of his head.

“I’m glad, Princess.”

“But uh…I think I want my floaties back. Just for a little bit.”

He smiled softly.

“You got it. We can try more without them tomorrow.”

“Deal.”

And so, he swam back to the dock and helped her climb onto it. Then he followed suit, and they got her floaties back on, and he got some snacks for his very pregnant wife and growing daughter. Then after a while, Barry and Nora got back in again and swam some more. This time she kept her floaties on the whole time, but first thing the next morning she wanted to swim without them, and by the time the party came around a few weeks later – after returning to the cabin each weekend following to practice, she was ready to go and accepted the invitation.

Barry and Iris overheard Nora telling little Lia one day when she was over, and Lia asked what had changed.

“I learned how to swim,” Nora said confidently. “My daddy taught me.”

#westallen #westallen family #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #swimming lessons #chapter 2

8 notes · View notes