#this is the second time i'm replying SIX hours after your ask

[r473n]

BLEACH SMUTFEST

DAY 4 : FAVORITE SHIP -> KENMAYU!!

Crash mid-air

I know, shocker.

Anywayz MDNI, TW: Modern AU, Enemies to lovers, high school bully, lots of tropes, you'll be sick of me, trans man Mayuri, smut, oral sex.

6k word count

Link to Ao3

“This is an announcement for passengers on flight number 2245 to London. The flight has been delayed due to adverse weather conditions. New departure time is 9.35 pm. We appreciate your patience and understanding.”

A communal groan reverberated from one tired person to the next in the crowded sitting area at the second delay of the evening.

Sitting alone at the bar, lazily stirring his martini, Mayuri rolled his eyes.

It was predictable. The blizzard could still be heard, strong wind charging against the windows, heavy sleet falling hard on the roof.

What were those people expecting? That they’d magically come up with a way to fly planes through such horrendous weather in the last two hours? Although, if the complaint was about the patronising tone, then he was on board.

“This seat taken?” A man asked him, as he waited to be served.

“No.” He replied, not lifting his gaze from the mesmerising twirl of iridescent liquids of different densities mixing inside his glass.

“All flights are grounded, it’s chaos ain’t it? Blizzard was supposed to be over by now.”

“Predictions of the weather are famously unreliable.” He muttered cuttingly. If there was anything worse than having to wait for a plane to finally take him home after a long week working away, it was having to do it whilst engaging in small talk.

“Yeah.” The man chuckled.

He had a great voice, Mayuri thought, low and husky... very sexy. He surreptitiously glanced at him and had to do a double take - he knew that man... he knew that man very well.

Taller, older, hair much longer now, a nasty scar down the side of his face. Casual outfit of jeans and a shirt that struggled to wrap itself around a thick, muscular chest and broad shoulders. He had changed so much, he was... attractive? Well, he had always been Mayuri’s personal reminder that life just wasn’t fair...

But the issue was - had he recognised him? Mayuri shuffled uncomfortable in his chair. Surely not, he looked nothing like he did at sixteen. He simply needed to inconspicuously slide off his seat and disappear into the multitude.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be as simple as he had hoped, for the man kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye and tapping his fingers nervously on the bar. He was just about to snap at him to mind his own business when the guy stood up, chugged his drink in one go and left. Mayuri let out a slow sigh of relief, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders.

Another hour had gone past and his flight was still no closer to boarding, he was beginning to lose hope that he’d ever leave that cursed airport.

On his fourth martini, down to his waistcoat, sleeves rolled up for comfort, he tried to distract himself by revising the notes from his last case. Akon, his assistant, had done a tremendously good work, he needed to reward him in some subtle way when he got back... wouldn’t want it to get to his head too much.

“Oi, can I get another whiskey? Ain’t looking good for us, is it? You know anything?” The six-foot-seven giant had come back and was now asking the waitress, who shook her head no with a sympathetic smile.

Shit, Mayuri thought, I knew I should have just left this bar.

“Hey...” the guy tapped him on the shoulder! What fresh hell was this?? “I'm sorry to disturb you, but I can’t help myself.”

“Oh, I'm sure you can, make a little effort.” Mayuri retorted in a scathing tone.

“I just... we know each other. Do you not remember me? Not at all?”

Mayuri pierced him with a withering stare. “No.”

“Uh... I'm Kenpachi, Kenpachi Zaraki, we went to high school together.”

“I have my doubts you attended any secondary school at all, let alone my own. The chances of two students from that hellhole meeting in the lobby of a remote international airport are astronomic.”

“Yeah, I know! But we definitely went together.”

“Hmm... be that as it may, high school was full of forgettable faces, I'm afraid.”

“I remember yours.”

“It’s a big world, I'm sure many people look like me. You have me confused with someone else.”

The man let out a chuckle. “Ain’t no way, Kurotsuchi, I know who you are.”

Mayuri clenched his jaw, the jig was up. He peered at him with annoyance. “Very well, we do seem to be acquaintances. Satisfied yet?”

Zaraki slid onto the stool he had precipitously abandoned before, facing him. “Shit... How long has it been? Ten? Twenty years?”

“Eighteen.”

“Yeah... that’s a whole life time.”

“A very short one. Like this conversation.” He began to tidy up his belongings, determined to put an end to that ridiculous charade.

“Wait! Where you going? We're stuck in here, ain’t we?”

“Doesn’t mean we must wait together.”

“No... but we could. Want a refill?”

Mayuri stopped before putting his jacket back on. Zaraki was right, where else was he supposed to go? There was no other bar in the area he was restricted to, and he wasn’t going to wait another however many hours dry...

“Tsk... very well, as long as you’re paying.” He grumbled, annoyed.

“Fair. Not that you need it, I see life treats you well... fancy suit, tailored, big fat Rolex... nice shoes too. Guess you did become a doctor?”

“Lawyer.”

“Huh, not bad!” Zaraki looked truly impressed. He ordered another round before resuming the conversation. “You got a card? Wouldn’t mind some friendly advice if I ever get in trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’d want me in your corner.”

“You gonna tell me you ain’t that good?”

Mayuri stared at him, was he really that oblivious? Did he really not remember? “Conflict of interests.” He responded tersely.

“Oh, yeah, never work for a friend and that, uh?”

“Not how I’d put it.”

The server placed their drinks carefully in front of them. “Did you stay in the country?”

“Moved down south, more money.”

“More expensive too. I still live home, same town, same house. My folks died a few years after graduation, I... uh, never moved out.”

“Can’t say I'm surprised.” Mayuri took a sip of his cocktail and allowed himself to properly look at him. There was something odd, something different. The boy he knew could still be seen in the cheeky smirk, the chipped front tooth, souvenir from one of his many mischievous adventures, the twinkle in his grey eyes. But there was something else now, a maturity, a manliness that went beyond the handsome square jaw, the curly hairs peeking through the loose top buttons of his shirt, the strong hands, gently holding that tiny cup... there was a confidence, a self-assurance, an openness that had Mayuri feeling weirdly relaxed, something he couldn’t have predicted in a million years. “What is surprising is you stepping out of the door, let alone traveling to Europe.”

“Yeah, not my thing really, planes. But I do this trip often.”

“How so?” Why did he feel so curious?

“Oh, uh... I have a daughter. She lives here, with her mum.”

“You got married?” Why did he feel so disappointed?

“Yeah, Retsu Unohana, remember her? She was two years above us.”

“Yes, of course I remember her!” Mayuri worried his lip, Zaraki’s eyes immediately stuck to it, pupils dilating minutely. “Divorced?” he asked on a hunch.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Freshly divorced men riddled with guilt are my speciality.” He grinned irreverently, not expecting Zaraki to catch the double meaning of his words. “Living almost fifteen hundred miles away from each other tipped me off... Plus the way you sheepishly answered the question whilst fidgeting with your wedding ring. It was either that or the prelude to it. I guess it’s recent?”

“Uh, not really... it’s been a few years. I- I should just take it off, to be honest.”

“I see... So, you haven’t moved on. Is it because you’re still as emotionally stunted as you were as a teen, or is it an attempt to manipulate your ex into feeling sorry for you and taking you back?”

Zaraki recoiled and stared at him in shock, a flicker of anger in his eyes. Mayuri gulped hard, internally cursing his tongue. A sudden surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins, readying him to jump out of the way if he lunged, but after a couple of seconds, Zaraki just burst out laughing.

“Fuck me, Kurotsuchi...” he wheezed, banging his fist on the wooden bar. “I forgot how much of a witty bastard you were. Shit, it’s refreshing.” He took the ring off and pocketed it before brushing a stray strand of jet-black air away from his face. “It’s neither, by the way. I have moved on, I'm just used to wearing it, that’s all. Feel kinda naked without it. Plus, it’s easier to avoid being hit on.”

Mayuri let go of the breath he’d been holding and took a swag of alcohol to steady his nerves.

“She’s remarried... to a woman by the way.” Zaraki explained casually. “Can’t blame her, Isane is much prettier than me, less angry too.”

“Kotetsu?” he exclaimed, almost choking on his drink. He grabbed a tiny napkin and dabbed the dribble off his chin.

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t she the one who had a massive crush on professor Ukitake? Always tripping over herself to assist him?”

“Nah, that was the younger one, whatever her name.”

“Oh, yes, Kiyone. Isane was the older one... very quiet, almost blended with the walls. Who would have thought... opposites do attract, I guess.”

“Well, Retsu is much... milder now. She calmed down after we had Yachiru.” Zaraki said, reclining on the bar, closer to him. “They’re quite alike now, if you can believe it.”

“I’m struggling to.” He admitted, feeling a tingle run down his spine at the way Zaraki smiled at him. It was nice... No! What was he thinking? It was reckless and stupid. Like betting your life on a rollercoaster that probably never passed a health and safety check just to obtain a few seconds of intense trepidation, hanging at the highest point, awaiting the imminent drop and wondering if you’d be the unlucky bastard that meets their end when statistics determine that the thing must malfunction.

“But, enough about me, what about you?” Zaraki's interrupted his mental ramblings, “Married? Kids?”

“I... No, to both.” He lied. He wasn’t interested in being quite that honest. “Nothing much has changed for me.”

“Huh, that ain’t true... you’re a dude now...” the brute stated matter-of-factly. “Maybe you always were, but it weren’t as obvious.”

“I suppose something did change.” He admitted, a little stiffly. “My name is Mayuri now.”

“Mayuri...” Zaraki let the name sit on his tongue as if to savour it. “I like it, suits you better.”

Mayuri let out a nervous puff of laughter, unsure what to do with the small silence that came after. Zaraki’s beady eyes were scanning him, watching every little twitch, every micro expression. It was making him feel like a gazelle about to be pounced on by a predator, his hands were clammy, his stomach fluttery.

“You still dye your hair blue, that ain’t changed.” Zaraki pointed out, shifting slightly closer.

“True.” Mayuri looked down, their knees were touching.

“I like the style, sharp, elegant... broads will be all over you.”

“I'm not in...” Mayuri trailed off, unsure if he even wanted to finish the sentence.

“Not into women?”

“I didn’t say that, I'm not into anyone.” His heart was beating savagely, he was sure it might break through his ribcage if Zaraki got any closer.

“Oh, you ace?” the man raised his eyebrows. “So is my kid.”

“No, I’m not ace, I'm just... busy.”

“Uh... you gotta have fun, Kurotsuchi, life ain’t worth much otherwise.”

“My work is fun.” He countered, defensively.

“Hah! Sure, a nerd to the end, uh?” Zaraki smirked, amused by his angry scowl. He patted him on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper, “I'm only joking...”, so close that Mayuri almost swooned.

He smelled so good, sandalwood, cedar, something spicy and warm. Mayuri shook his head, trying to clear it of less than appropriate thoughts and shrugged Zaraki’s hand off.

“What- uh... what do you do for a living?” he asked, hoping to divert the attention from himself.

“Me? Same old, same old – security. Started as a bouncer, then got my old man’s business when he croaked it and made it bigger. Bit boring now, got so many folk working for me I don’t really get much action. They know to call me when the big guns are needed,” he winked, flexing his massive biceps. “When things get serious, ya know? I get bored with the easy stuff. Yumi and Ikkaku work for me, remember them?”

“Clear as day.” Mayuri muttered, eyes still glued to his arm, now resting on his thigh.

“You ever come back? To see your folks or anything?” Zaraki queried, taking a sip of his whiskey.

“Occasionally, not often.”

“Shame... well, if you do, drop by. I'll fire up the barbie, put a few steaks on... you ain’t vegan, are you?”

“No...”

“Good! A few bears... just the guys, it’ll be fun!”

Just the guys... It was extremely bizarre that the man that ruined his teen years, was the first and only person to accept his transition without skipping a beat, so naturally. “Yeah, maybe.” Even more bizarre was the fact that he was considering his offer.

Another charged silence fell around them, time seemed to stand still, until the sound system broadcasted:

“This is a general announcement - all flights are cancelled overnight and until further notice, due to unforeseen weather complications. We apologise for the inconvenience and appreciate your cooperation and understanding.”

“Shit, guess we gotta rough it tonight, uh?” Zaraki turned around, his back against the bar, elbows resting on it, and surveyed the area. “You think we can drag a few of those chairs together? Shitty makeshift bench beats cold floor, right?”

“I made a reservation at the airport hotel when my plane was delayed a second time.” Mayuri informed him, finishing his drink in one gulp and sliding off his stool.

Zaraki let out a husky laugh, “Of course you did. Plan B Kurotsuchi! Always has an ace up his sleeve, always thinking ahead, uh? You were right, you haven’t really changed much.” He put his hand forth for a shake. “Well, it was nice seeing you, catching up.”

Mayuri politely accepted the gesture, a thrill shooting up his arm at the warm touch. “Bye.” he breathed, his voice catching in his throat.

He grabbed his briefcase and made for the escalator, feeling strangely weak at the knees.

-

His room was pleasant enough, on one side a large bed and a door to the en suite, on the other, a small sitting area with a tv, coffee table and two-seater couch. The mattress was comfortable, the room clean, quiet, cool... all the criteria conducive to a good night's sleep. Yet, no matter how much he turned and tossed, he couldn’t doze off. He needed another drink.

-

He expected to find Zaraki’s massive frame curled up in an uncomfortable foetal position, half hanging off a long bench, but instead, he found him exactly where he’d left him.

“May I have a bottle of vodka, please?” He ordered at the bar, startling him.

“Hey, you’re back!” the man locked his phone screen - not before Mayuri caught sight of the logo of his firm’s website - and took off his reading glasses, a little embarrassed.

“I am.”

“Throwing a party?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Yeah, same. Used to be able to fall asleep standing up, you know? Age doesn’t forgive.” He tipped his glasses, pointedly.

“Yeah.” Mayuri frowned his brows, convinced he was going to regret it as soon as the words came out of his mouth. “Would you like to spend the night with me?” Shit, what did I just say???

Zaraki’s mouth fell open.

 “There is a couch!” He rushed to explain, his ears burning. Aren’t I right at predictions! “The- there is a couch in my room, you can use it. It’s far from ideal but it’ll be softer than hard plastic.” He nodded at the chairs.

“You don’t gotta do this. I just like to moan, I'll be fine.”

“Suit yourself, but I wouldn’t offer out of obligation. It doesn’t matter to me, with this...” He gestured at the unopened bottle the server had just pulled down for him. “I’ll be asleep in no time, even if you snore.”

“I actually do, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Great, then my offer stands.”

“Wow, I really appreciate it, I owe you big.”

“Yes, you do.” He grumbled, looking to the side, his cheeks still on fire.

“Ok, let me get this, at least.” Kenpachi offered, taking out his wallet. “Can we have a bottle of whisky too, please? Ta much.”

--

Back in the room, Mayuri did his best to ignore the excited mix of feelings swirling in the pit of his stomach. He had put his Egyptian cotton pyjamas back on and gotten into bed, propped up on some pillows, and was carefully sipping vodka out of a paper cup while he tried to finish Akon’s report. Alas, his brain refused to take in a single word, no matter how many times he re-read the same paragraph.

Why? Oh, that might be one riddle we may never unravel... In a completely unrelated subject, Zaraki had gone for a shower...

He had been singing ‘I feel good’ slightly off key in a low baritone while the water ran, to then come out encased in a puff of mist, still humming merrily and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

Mayuri's eyes kept darting to the round muscles of his back, the coarse hairs peppering his still damp chest, the thick happy trail that descended down the valley of his abs into...

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, his mouth literally watering.

With his back to him, having finished answering whatever messages on his phone, Zaraki untucked the towel and let it crumble in a heap on the floor, giving him an unobstructed view of his perfect, hard ass.

“Zaraki!” Mayuri squealed, covering his eyes – and flushed cheeks - with his hand. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

“What?” the man turned around, oblivious or intentionally, Mayuri couldn’t tell, too busy trying not to have a heart attack. “We’re both dudes, right?”

“Please, tell me you have appropriate nightwear.”

“You’re lucky I even brought these.” He laughed, grabbing a pair of black boxers out of his rucksack and slipping into them.

“You have no decency...”

“I ain’t the one peeking through my fingers.”

Mayuri dropped his hand and gasped, outraged. “How dare you? I wasn’t peeking!”

“Shame, might have enjoyed it...” Zaraki pierced him with a leering stare, still grinning. “Sorry, not everyone can sleep dressed up like Scrooge McDuck.”

“Scrooge Mc- These are just normal pyjamas, there is nothing wrong with them!”

“You are only missing the little top hat.”

Mayuri scoffed with annoyance. “You haven’t changed at all, have you? I should have never shown you kindness.”

“I’m just joking! Man, no wonder kids used to pick on you, it's so easy to rile you up!” he laughed, taking a swig of whisky straight from the bottle.

“Of course, I'm to blame!” So the asshole does remember.

“Well, if you weren’t so stuck up and learnt to take yourself less seriously, you wouldn’t be such easy prey.” Zaraki plopped himself in the middle of the sofa, directly opposite to him, his arms on the headrest, slowly man spreading while smiling like a smug bastard.

“There is absolutely no point in arguing with you.” Mayuri made absolutely certain to keep his eyes trained on Zaraki’s, so they wouldn’t stray to his crotch.

“Huh... Killjoy.”

“Do you think this is fun?”

“Yeah! Don’t ya?”

“No! It's maddening!”

“Tsk, fine.” Zaraki huffed, sliding a cushion over to cover his lap and deflating a little.

“You can’t possibly have thought that your constant teasing was in any way enjoyable for me?”

“I... dunno, I thought we were... you know, reminiscing about the old days.”

“The old days? You mean school? Oh, sure, because we had such great times back then.”

“Yeah, we did! We were always together, laughing, having fun!”

“YOU were having fun, moron, I was miserable!”

“No, you weren’t.” He argued, suddenly angry. “Why did you talk to me before, then? Why did you invite me up if you hate me so much?”

“I don’t know! For a moment I thought you’d maybe grown up and that you were different, mature. Obviously, I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“You're lying.”

Mayuri got out of bed and stomped towards him, gesticulating angrily as he spoke. “When exactly did you think I was enjoying myself? When you and your gang of misfits followed me around making vulgar noises every time I tried to speak? When you hid my homework right before it was due? When you made hurtful jokes about my looks? When you stole my hearing aids and made me beg for them? When you came up with a new nickname, more humiliating than the one before? Huh? Should I go on? Write you a damn list?”

“No, that’s enough.”

Mayuri crossed his arms over his chest, fuming, chewing the inside of his cheek to stop himself ranting any longer - it would only serve to raise his blood pressure, Zaraki was never going to see the error of his ways.

The man had gone silent for so long that Mayuri just turned around, ready to switch off the lights and go to sleep. He couldn’t wait for the night to be over.

“I'm sorry, Kurotsuchi.” Zaraki’s whisper stopped him in his tracks.

“What did you just say?”

“I'm sorry, I didn’t think... I thought we were just messing around... You pranked me too!”

“I exacted revenge, there’s a difference.”

“Huh... so you really hated me?”

“Yes!” He seemed so upset that Mayuri’s rage fizzled a little. “I did... But that’s not relevant anymore, water under the bridge.”

“Yeah... but it ain’t really, is it?” Zaraki sighed wistfully, staring off into the distance. “Shit like that... it fucks you up for life. I'm sorry if I made it worse, if I pushed you into... changing.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, I don’t care about you that much. Transitioning was the best choice I ever made for myself, you don’t get to take that joy and freedom away from me.”

“Good.” Zaraki nodded, looking relieved. “You don’t gotta believe me but I really thought we were friends, I really liked you... I wasn’t smart like you, I didn’t do well in class, I would have never caught your eye otherwise.”

Mayuri scoffed, incredulous. “Oh, bullshit. Do you really want me to believe that you had no clue? I avoided you like the plague yet you targeted me relentlessly.”

“I swear! I was an idiot and clearly went at it the wrong way, but I’m being honest. Ain’t got no need to lie to you, Kurotsuchi.”

The man had a point... and if there was anyone stupid enough to confound bullying with camaraderie it was him. “You are ridiculously dim-witted, you know?”

Zaraki flashed him a lopsided smile, “Yeah... sorry.”

“Stop apologising, it’s pathetic.” He complained, petulantly. He grabbed his vodka bottle and slumped next to him on the couch.

“Huh, this didn’t go the way I imagined it at all.”

“Excuse me?”

“Seeing you again after all them years... Didn’t think for a second that we’d argue so much.”

“What did you think?”

“Thought you’d be happy to see me, for a start. I think about you loads.” Zaraki admitted, brushing an invisible speck of dust off his ‘modesty’ cushion.

“What?”

“No-not in a creepy way!” He quickly explained. “Just, dunno, I wondered where you’d be, what your life would be like, stuff like that.”

“How so? Why the interest?” Mayuri queried impatiently, annoyed at himself for caring so much.

“Guess just... dunno... Think about most folk we went to school with.” He mumbled, a pink blush spreading across his high cheeks.

“Right...” he was being so cagey, it was obvious he was lying, but Mayuri didn’t want to push his luck. Not yet.

Zaraki rummaged inside a small side pocket of his bag before producing a tattered old piece of metal. He brought it to his mouth and blew through it, producing a high pitched, horrible sound.

“Oh, god... what in the name of hell is this?” Mayuri asked, lowering the volume on his hearing aids.

“Harmonica blues.” Zaraki replied casually before resuming the auditory torture.

Mayuri rolled his eyes and took a long sip of vodka, hoping the alcohol would dull his suffering. “You just won’t stop punishing me, will you?”

The first few notes cut the air like a blunt knife, but once he had warmed up, Zaraki seemed to actually be decent at it. He began playing a catchy bluesy riff, his large hands cupping the instrument almost lovingly as he marked the beat tapping his foot on the laminate.

“So, you seeing anyone?” he queried between notes.

“No, told you, I'm a busy man.” Mayuri observed his long fingers move, mesmerised.

“Hmm... You know, there was a rumour that you and Urahara were doing it.” He stared at him and played another bit, a smirk brightening his eyes.

“Oh, really?” Mayuri laughed, amused. “Not in a million years, I hated him.”

“Huh...”

Zaraki’s lips glided side to side over the harmonica, Mayuri couldn’t pull his eyes off of them , beginning to feel a little jealous. “He ended up doing Yoruichi in her dad’s Merc, though.” He mumbled, stupidly.

“Wait, what?” The man stopped suddenly, “I thought her and that tiny dyke... what was her name...”

“Sui-Feng.”

“That’s it! Yeah! Thought they were dating.”

“I didn’t say they weren’t...”

“Ooh...”

“She was unbearable too.”

“Huh... she was loud for how small she was.” Zaraki furrowed his eyebrows and went back to his music, getting lost in the melody for a long minute.

Mayuri found himself starting to miss the gruff sound of his voice. “I heard once that Kuchiki was getting blown in the toilets by Abarai, but I never confirmed it.” He commented, hoping that revelation would keep the conversation going.

But Zaraki didn’t seem impressed. “Yeah, they did that a lot. They are married now.” He muttered quickly, returning his mouth to the harmonica as if there hadn’t been an interruption.

“I hated him too... Byakuya, what a prick.” Mayuri muttered under his breath.

Zaraki chuckled, his chest gently shaking. “You hated a lot of folk, Kurotsuchi, I’m starting to wonder if the issue weren’t us... How d’you know so much stuff if you weren’t friends with anyone?”

“I’m very observant.” 

Zaraki maintained eye contact with him while he finished the song. “What about you then?” he asked inquisitively, setting the small harmonica aside. “Who did you fancy?”

“No one, you all disgusted me.” Mayuri replied sincerely.

“Oh...”

“What about you? Or did you have eyes only for Unohana?”

“Erm... yeah.” Zaraki lowered his gaze, blushing prettily again and stirring Mayuris's predatory instinct.

“Oh... now, this is going to be a juicy piece of goss, isn’t it?” he scooted closer to Zaraki, who hugged the cushion reflexively.

“What?”

“You’re lying, you got flustered... you’re ashamed of something. Oh, yes, this is going to be good!”

“I’m not... Stop looking at me like that.” The man squeezed himself against the back of the couch.

“Come on, I'm a lawyer, there is no way you can lie to me.” He said, licking his lips and leaning closer. “Come on, tell me.”

“I... I can’t.”

“Why? I'll grant you client confidentiality, come on...”

“N-no, you really don’t wanna know, trust me.”

“Yes, I do!” Mayuri exclaimed, losing his patience. He never liked being told no. He got closer still, almost on top of Zaraki’s semi naked form, trying to coax the truth out of him. “Who was it? Why won’t you tell me?”

“I... you won’t believe me anyway.”

“Was it a teacher? Was it Ms Hikifune? You always had a thing for older women... Did you have sex with her and that’s why you can’t say?”

“No! Wasn’t a teacher...”

“Aw, come on, don’t leave me like this, I need to know!” he shook the man by his brawny shoulder, feeling the muscles tense under his fingers.

“Quit it!” Zaraki finally shoved him away. “Geez, you’re annoying!” he peered at Mayuri out of the corner of his eye, calculating. “Fuck it, we ain't ever gonna see each other after this, I guess... But don’t freak out, ok?”

“Sure.” He promised, excitedly.

“It was you. I had a massive crush on you.”

Mayuri blinked twice, stunned into silence and then threw his head back and burst into a mad fit of laughter. “No, you didn’t!” he wheezed, hugging his sides.

“Told ya you wouldn’t believe me.” Zaraki grumbled, clearly irritated.

“You didn’t like me...” He argued between giggles, trying to calm down enough to speak. “You thought I was a weirdo, a freak!”

“Nah, I only said that to piss you off. Always liked your eyes, that honey colour, almost golden... You were real pretty. Smart, too.”

“Oh, well...” Mayuri chuckled breathlessly. “Must have been a disappointment to meet me again after all these years of unbearable yearning... and find I’d changed so much.”

Zaraki simply huffed noncommittally.

“So, all those times you bullied me... to your incredibly slow mind... you were flirting?” Mayuri queried, wiping the tears that had formed at the corner of his eyes.

“Yeah, maybe... Badly.”

“Oh, certainly.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Zaraki spoke again, in a low voice.

“If I hadn’t... you know... would I- would you have- uh... did I ever have a chance?”

“A chance?”

“With you. Would you have considered it?”

“Back then? Absolutely not. You were the most obnoxious boar I ever met.”

“Uh...”

“However, now... I might reconsider.”

Zaraki’s eyes darted to his at the speed of light. “You- you would? Are you messing with me, Kurotsuchi?”

He smirked. “Of course I am.”

“Oh...” he averted his gaze again, deflated.

Mayuri felt electrified, bold, he placed his hand on his chest and caressed it softly, relishing the surprised gasp that escaped the man’s throat. He flung the cushion away and straddled his lap, Zaraki’s hands immediately finding his hips to bring him closer.

“Fuck, Kurotsuchi...”

“Shut up and kiss me before I change my mind.”

Their lips clashed in a steaming-hot, open-mouthed kiss, hands roaming and exploring each other’s bodies. Mayuri began grinding down on him, feeling high at the way Zaraki’s cock quickly filled up with blood.

The over the clothes caresses didn’t last long, Kenpachi tried to undo his top but ended up losing his patience and ripping it open, buttons scattering in all directions. Mayuri couldn’t bring himself to be mad at him, the gesture had been so damn hot he had somehow lost control of his unruly throat. He was now releasing breathy moans as Zaraki mouthed his exposed skin, leaving tingly pecks down the slope of his neck, biting down on his pulse, a hand at the back of his head to keep him in place.

He moved to lie on the couch, bringing Zaraki down on top of him and sneaked his legs around his waist to dry hump him, Kenpachi’s hard cock rubbing all the right spots with perfect precision.

Zaraki kept kissing a trail down his chest, along his faded scars, sucking bruises on his ribs, his hands slowly lowering the hem of his trousers.

“Do you wanna top or bottom?” he murmured against his damp skin.

Mayuri harrumphed, his throat dry from moaning. “I’m... I don’t carry a functional dick with me to work trips, I can’t top you.”

“That’s ok, next time.”

“Isn’t that optimistic of you...”

With a chuckle, Zaraki continued worshipping his body, licking and nibbling the inside of his thighs and calves - as if he had a map of his most sensitive spots - until he had removed the garment completely. He then made his way back, slowly teasing Mayuri into insanity, and settled against his heat, where he was most needed.

Kurotsuchi let out a filthy groan and fisted a handful of his mane without quite pulling yet. The feeling of that scorching tongue lapping at his core, sucking on his Tdick like it was the most delicious treat, was enough to make him almost lose his self-restrain.

It wasn’t until he had turned the lawyer into a moaning, sighing mess, that Zaraki stood up and took his boxers off. Mayuri chewed his lower lip, staring unashamedly at his cock this time - he needed it stuffing each and every one of his holes.

The man stroked himself a few times, spreading the precum gathered at the reddened tip up and down his shaft as he greedily took in the view of Mayuri’s perfect body.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” he questioned.

Whether he was simply obtaining explicit consent or testing the boundaries around Mayuri dysphoria, the answer didn’t change. “Yes!”

“Yes... fuck, ain’t you eager.” he lined himself up with Mayuri’s entrance and slowly drove his hips forwards until he was fully inside him. Both men exhaled in unison, overwhelmed with just how good it felt. Zaraki set up a nice rhythm of slow thrusts, sliding out a few inches before ramming himself back inside him, knocking the air out of his lungs.

Mayuri wasn’t idle himself, he let his needy hands travel up and down that muscular back, digging his manicured nails into it when the pleasure became too much to endure and sucking hard on the flesh of his shoulders, keen to leave his mark somewhere visible.

“Ah... fuck, Kurotsuchi you feel so damn good...”

“So do you, shit I knew you would be big, but not this big- Hmm... oh, yes, right there, don’t move... aaah...”

The pressure in his lower belly tightening into a ball of fire, Mayuri felt himself falling into a spiral of ecstasy, impossibly intense surges of pleasure numbing his mind, turning him blind and deaf to the world outside their little bubble of lust.

“Ah... fuck! You are driving me mad, Kurotsuchi, shit, you’re cumming all over me...” Fighting the urge to follow, Zaraki kept rocking his hips at a steady tempo, trying to prolong Mayuri’s climax for as long as he was able, before slowing down.

The man had an enviable stamina. Once Mayuri had recovered a little, he carried him to the bed, there he flipped him from one position to the next for hours on end, as if wanting to practice the whole book of Kamasutra until he’d turned his brain to mush one orgasm at a time.

Face down on the bed with Zaraki straddling his legs, his fat cock pounding his insides without mercy, Mayuri came yet again, making an absolute mess of the sheets and muffling his moans against the pillow.

“I’mmmm... n- more... no m-more, please.” He babbled, completely spent.

“Is that it? That all you got, Kurotsuchi?”

“All I got? As... as en-ticing as death by overstimulation may ss-sound, I... I want to live!”

“Tsk... weakling.” Zaraki chuckled.

“How can you last... so damn long?” he panted.

Zaraki’s erection hadn’t faded in the slightest despite the many hours they’d been at it. “I don’t want this to end, you feel too good.” He said, kissing his upper back and slowly pulling out. “Fuck, you have a sexy ass.” He commented, pinching it as he stroked himself, Mayuri’s slick acting as lubrication.

“Hmmm... maybe next time.”

“Oh, really? Next time, uh?” The man kept fondling his ass, gliding his cock between his cheeks to bring himself back to the edge. “Shit, I'm going to cum. Turn around, I want you to watch me.”

Mayuri rolled onto his back with a groan, feeling weak as jelly, but the view was certainly worth it. Zaraki’s hand flying over his length, his chest heaving up and down, beads of sweat adorning his temples. His breaths ragged, his eyes roaming all over Mayuri’s body.

“Come in my mouth, don’t make a mess.”

Shuffling forwards just in time, Zaraki brought the head of his cock to his lips, hissing with pleasure at the contact and immediately losing it, he gushed thick, milky cum into his open mouth, groaning and grunting and twitching with every spurt. “Fuck... you’re so fucking handsome Kurotsuchi, even better looking covered in my cum...”

Mayuri wanted to argue that it wasn’t a very nice compliment, if only to hide the fact that he was hoping to be covered in his cum every day for the rest of his life. But before he could say anything, Zaraki had lunged to kiss him, stealing a taste of himself before collapsing next to him on the bed.

“Fuck me... that was insane.” He muttered breathlessly.

Cleaning himself with the corner of the sheets, Mayuri hummed his agreement. “Tell me the truth... this wasn’t your first time with a trans guy, was it?”

“Nah, why?”

“I knew it! I knew you were a damn chaser. Why else would you pretend to have a crush on me? All that ridiculous nonsense about my eyes and how smart I am...”

“Pretend?” he cut him off, offended. “I ain’t pretending and I ain’t a chaser. Not that it’s any of yer business but with the first guy... I didn’t know about it until I was balls deep inside him. And you... you jumped me!”

Mayuri narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him. “Yeah... be that as it may, I still don’t trust you.”

“Tch, fine!” Zaraki stared vacantly into the distance. “Wanna cuddle?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Holding Mayuri’s thin body snug against his chest was a whole new level of bliss. And when the scientist’s breaths became heavy with sleep, Zaraki began to feel a kind of melancholy he didn’t quite understand. He wanted to stay awake, to talk to him again and figure out a way they could see each other again, but after musing and pondering many scenarios in his head, where Mayuri always scurried away, he fell into a deep stupor.

When soft rays of sun filtering through the blinds roused him, he was completely alone.

He sat up on the bed and looked down at his empty hands. He supposed he should be happy with what life had gifted him, not everyone had a chance to reconnect with their long-lost love interest but he couldn’t help but struggle to focus on the bright side. Mayuri’s absence already felt unbearable and he’d only been awake a few minutes... he didn’t know how he was going to cope with it for the rest of his life.

He walked into the en-suite to splash some cold water on his face and there, stuck on the rim of the mirror, a little frayed around the edges as if the man had been fidgeting with it for a while, was Mayuri’s card, on it three words – call me, maybe.

[currrentfixations]

jealous — park hu-min

based on this request!

pairing: park hu-min (baku) x musicianfem!reader

genre: fluff. bc i didn't want him to be deadass jealous LMAO

word count: 1.3k words

note: not a very creative title but trust it makes sense 🙏 bc i'm loosely basing it off the lyrics of jealous by nick jonas. also sorry if anything music related is wrong, i tried my best 😔

masterlist!

you stood on stage, bright lights shining in your face. the auditorium was completely silent, waiting in anticipation for you and your bandmates to begin performing.

3. 2. 1.

you and ji-woo began to play the electric guitar, whilst the hee-won was playing the drums and mi-ran was singing.

each riff booming through the speakers it was connected to, while your fingers moved across the strings effortlessly, like you were born doing this.

screams began erupting from your audience — full of students who had come from surrounding schools, just to watch your group perform. you could hear bits and pieces of what was being shouted at you and your members.

"you're so beautiful!"

"everything about you is so angelic!"

"be my girlfriend!"

"just one chance please!"

the comments continued to come, but they were difficult to comprehend over your music and the yelling. your eyes surfed the crowd until they landed on your biggest fan — your boyfriend.

park hu-min, your boyfriend and childhood best friend. you locked eyes with him, your grin widening. giving him a subtle wave, you continued to focus on playing.

as your set came to an end, you took out your in-ear monitor, making it easier to hear what was being said.

"___ marry me please!"

"___ i've told my mum about us!"

you playfully rolled your eyes, none of those comments affected you unless they were from your boyfriend. laughing, you and your bandmates thanked everyone for coming and supporting. taking your final bow, you walked offstage.

as you packed your guitar away, you told the girls that you'd be heading out now. a line of moans and groans followed, this had been the second time you were bailing on the dinner after a set. it had been a tradition, from the very first set til now, you'd always went for a celebratory dinner.

you blurted a quick apology, hoping they'd understand.

as you were walking out, you were stopped multiple times. either being complimented — "___ you're so pretty" — or flirted with —"___ i'll treat you so well!".

you appreciated everyone's support, but sometimes the flirting became uncomfortable. many times boys were relentless, not understanding even when you had refused multiple times.

offering polite smiles and rapid 'thank yous', you looked around for hu-min. unable to see your six foot boyfriend anywhere, you headed towards his friend group.

"hey guys!"

"hi ___" the boys replied in a chorus.

"i didn't think you'd still be here ___, i thought you'd be with hu-min" hyun-tak said. that's odd, you hadn't seen him since the end of the set, had he gone backstage to see you?

confused, you told the boys you'd be right back. as you made your way back to backstage, you wondered where hu-min could've gone. upon opening the door, you saw your bandmates who were still packing up and chatting.

"oh hey ___, are you back to join us for dinner?" they asked, their smiles gleaming and hopeful.

"no, sorry —" you said, giving them a sheepish smile. "have you guys seen hu-min, i can't find him?"

after your members denied seeing hu-min, you decided to go back to hyun-tak, si-eun, and jun-tae.

you had noticed that the auditorium was empty, only confetti and streamers decorating the now empty stage and floor.

"hey gotak, thanks for waiting for me —" looking around, you noticed that si-eun and jun-tae had disappeared, "where is everyone else?"

"they had to go, jun-tae got a call from his grandma and si-eun wanted to go to the hospital to see his friend before visiting hours ended."

"oh okay, have you heard from hu-min? maybe he went to the bathroom like that one time during your volunteer work at the museum."

hyun-tak snorted at your statement. while it was something hu-min would do, you couldn't be further from right.

"he went outside while your fanboys were busy crowding you" hyun-tak answered.

"you jerk, why didn't you tell me before" you said playfully slapping his shoulder.

as you stepped outside, you were met with crisp air. the moon and street lamps illuminating your path. you looked around your surroundings — still no sign of hu-min. growing impatient, you took out your phone and shot him a message.

you [8:18pm]: babeeee you [8:18pm]: where are you? delivered — read at 8:18pm

my idiot ❤️ [8:19pm]: by the basketball court delivered — read at 8:19pm

placing your phone in your back pocket and walked towards the basketball count.

as soon as you saw hu-min's silhouette, you ran, engulfing him in a tight hug.

"did you see me tonight!" you said, bursting with excitement.

"mhmm" was all hu-min could manage to say, his words muffled as you squished his cheeks with your hands.

"i blew a kiss to you at the end, did you see!"

you were eager to hear your boyfriends thoughts. to you, they were the only ones that mattered.

"i did baby" hu-min replied.

you could tell something was wrong, he'd never given you such bland replies after your sets. he'd always rambled about how you were amazing and the best.

"what's wrong?" you inquired, was today an important day? had you missed something he did while you were on stage?

"nothing —" you gave him a quizzical look, knowing he wasn't telling the truth.

"you have a lot of fanboys" hu-min pouted, giving in.

taken aback, you couldn't help but giggle at your boyfriends behaviour.

in your, almost, two years of dating, you never seen hu-min act like this. sure, there were times where he'd gotten angry at guys hitting on you — a matter he often took into his own hands — but he'd never ever pouted and acted like a baby.

"any chance you're jealous park hu-min?" you questioned him.

"no" he shot back. god if his friends saw him right now, he'd never live it down.

you raised an eyebrow at his response. while hu-min had never been overbearingly possessive, he was the type to get jealous on more than one occasion.

"you so are, they were just admiring my talent" your smile widened. it was more like you to act like a baby when feeling jealous, not hu-min. but you weren't complaining, you were enjoying it, any chance to baby your boyfriend.

"i'm sure they were but some of them were asking to be given a chance or marry you, that's my job" he huffed, his chest expanding.

you stared at hu-min for a few seconds, admiring him. you felt lucky, lucky that he'd communicate with you, lucky that he understood you — lucky that your first boyfriend was such an amazing person.

you had heard from your friends turned bandmates, their experiences with previous boyfriends. how they'd get jealous, how'd they blame your friends rather than understanding. you were lucky.

"you are so cute when you're jealous" you said, pinching hu-min's cheek.

"not jealous, more like protective" he rebutted.

"well i don't know if you know this, but i don't really care about having admirers. not when i already have the best one"

"oh really? who would that be?" hu-min asked, copying your quizzical look from earlier, only ten times more dramatic.

"this guy who is super funny, insanely talented at basketball, and incredibly handsome, he just so happens to be my boyfriend" you reply in a teasing tone, shrugging like you had no idea who you were talking about.

laughing, hu-min wrapped his arms around you, planting a kiss on your cheek.

"you don't have to be jealous you know? i only have eyes for you" you reassured him.

"i know, i don't know what came over me" he muttered, defeated.

resting your head on hu-min's shoulder, you whispered "so you agree, you were jealous".

laughing in response, hu-min laced his fingers through yours, tracing small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb.

sitting in a comfortable silence, the two of you gazed at the moon and stars. you were glad you came to look for hu-min. you cherished moments like these, moments with him.

feel like this wasn't my best work but i hope you enjoyed still 😭

[roosterforme]

Aim for the Sky Part 34 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Maverick makes time to have a conversation with Bradley, but you've already lost faith in him. Your words hurt him more than anything else could. 

Warnings: Angst, adult language, body image, DILF Roo, pregnancy, jealousy

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Aim for the Sky masterlist. This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order.

When the mattress dipped and you felt the bedding shift around your legs, you opened your eyes to find Bradley climbing out of bed. The room was still dark, but his face was illuminated by his phone screen. The baby was thumping against your tender insides, making you wince, and your husband was playing around on his phone in the middle of the night. Or texting someone.

"What are you doing?" you croaked. Bradley's gaze snapped toward your face, and he leaned down to pull the covers to your shoulder.

"Uh, I need to head to base a little early," he whispered, tracing your cheek with his thumb. "To meet with Mav."

"What time is it?" you asked, rolling toward him to see his phone.

"Almost six," he replied, kissing your forehead as he tipped his screen away. "I love you. Try to get some more sleep."

You swallowed hard, rolling away from him as he started pulling his uniform from the closet. The rustle of fabric set your nerves on edge, and you squeezed your eyes shut as he got dressed. Maybe he thought you fell asleep again, because he didn't say another word before he left the room. But you were pretty sure you heard him stop in Rose's nursery before leaving the house.

Now you were wide awake and alone. Your phone told you it was 5:28 which was completely absurd. Neither you nor Bradley ever got to base before 8:00 unless you were working your ass off on a project.

He used Maverick as his excuse which seemed ridiculous. Bradley wasn't in the middle of training for a special mission which would require extra hours before daylight. And he had to know Maverick would only cover for him for so long.

You sat up and laughed miserably. Your husband was lying to you. And you thought you knew what he was lying about. Tears filled your eyes as your hand rested on your belly where your younger daughter was moving around. Why was Bradley doing this to the three of you? 

It wasn't like you couldn't tell how bad you looked at the moment. You knew it. You were bloated and chunky and broken out, but it was at least half his fault you were pregnant again in the first place. And you would make it a priority to get in shape after she was born. You would.

Your fingers were curled around the sheets, trying to keep yourself on your side of the bed, but you crawled toward Bradley's nightstand anyway. The lamp was too bright, taking your eyes a beat to adjust. You yanked the drawer open which offered almost no insight to anything except his Nugget Notebook with the pink and blue striped cover. But then you saw something underneath it.

You grabbed the second notebook, this one bright pink, and pulled it from the drawer. Only the first few pages were covered in his writing, but you soaked the words up greedily.

To my second daughter, you are the third love of my life. I realize that sounds a little unfair, like you're coming in third place, but I promise that's not that case. It's only because I met your mom and your sister first. You're not even here yet, but I already know I love you just as much as I love them. And I can't wait to meet you, too.

Before I get carried away, let me introduce myself. I'm your dad. It's my job to love you and take care of you. I'm not perfect, but I love you so much, I'll always try my best to be here for anything you need. To be honest, I never expected to have a family at all. And to be extra honest, you were a bit of a surprise. But a very good surprise. My favorite kind of surprise. I can't wait to teach you everything I know, which isn't much, but I do know how to love my three girls. 

"How?" you gasped, dropping the notebook back into the drawer. You sobbed into Bradley's pillow, unable to make sense of this. How was the man who wrote notebook passages to his children the same man who was sneaking around behind your back. With Indigo. It simply did not make sense, but both versions of him seemed to exist at the same time. And somehow you were the one who was more at odds with yourself than he was with himself.

You could feel the love he had for his daughters. It was so obvious. He was so good with Rose, and he seemed excited about having two kids.

You weren't sure if you'd be able to kick him out. You didn't know if you could leave him. If push came to shove, you didn't know if you could be that strong. You wished he wasn't making you consider it at all. 

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

"Oh, God."

Bradley was awake as soon as Maverick replied to his text at five in the morning. He'd barely been able to sleep anyway, but when Maverick told Bradley he was heading to Lemoore in a few hours for a meeting, he begged his godfather to meet with him first.

Now Bradley was sitting in his office in a silent building waiting for any help he could get. As far as he had worked out, Indigo had been devouring his extra attention for weeks for a less savory reason than he originally thought. All the times she invited him out for a drink left him shaking his head while he stared at the wedding photo perched in his desk. 

He never tried to hide the fact that he was married. He fucking flaunted it. You were perfect; why wouldn't he? If someone else thought they had a gorgeous wife? Ha, Bradley could lay it down in spades. Someone else claimed their wife was smart? Well, his was a goddamn genius. Someone wanted to brag about their kids? All he had to do was pull up a photo of Rose, and he had everyone around him swooning.

He found it easier to make small talk about his family than anything else these days, and he was sure Indigo knew he was married before he even left Texas to fly back to San Diego. It still seemed unlikely she wanted to sleep with him, but he wasn't going to deny that Nat was usually right about these things.

"Oh, God," Bradley groaned for probably the tenth time since he woke up. He wanted to rewind and go back to Texas and never select Indigo in the first place. 

But would that have been fair? To leave her behind when she was the best? When she was clearly one of the pilots who should be moving forward with new programs? It wasn't like she ever touched him. Other than persistently inviting him for drinks and showing up for all of his office hours, she never made an advance. But now he was uncomfortable. There was something about the way she always looked at him that.....yeah, Nat was right.

But if Bradley couldn't handle his first assignment in his new position, how was he supposed to prove he could do this going forward?

There was a knock on his already open door, and Maverick stood there looking perplexed. "Bradley? What did you need that couldn't wait until later this week?"

Bradley groaned again as he stood. "Can you shut the door?"

"Sure."

Maverick let it slip from his fingers, and Bradley waited until the echo of the door closing gave way to silence. He could feel his godfather's gaze on his face as his eyes closed. He swallowed hard, not wanting to waste the other man's time, but now that he was here, he felt so stupid. 

"I need your help," Bradley rasped, voice hoarse as his eyes opened. "It's work related."

"Okay," Maverick replied, voice between a statement and a question. "What can I do?"

Bradley's fingers curled around the edge of his desk as he looked down at his phone sitting there. "Uh...Mav, this is embarrassing."

When Maverick took a step closer, he reached across the desk to cuff Bradley on the shoulder. "Just hit me with it."

Bradley took a long breath and let it out slowly. "There's another officer who... well, it's been brought to my attention that she..." He let go of his desk and rubbed his fingertips against his eyes. "There's a chance my wife thinks something's going on between me and another officer on base. One who reports to me."

Maverick's expression gave nothing away, but he shifted his weight from one foot to the other before taking a step away from Bradley. "To be clear, Bradley, are you asking me to help you hide an indiscretion from your wife?"

Bradley's head tilted slightly. "Huh?" he grunted, thoughts already swirling around his mind so rapidly, it took him a few seconds to catch up. "What the fuck, Mav? No!" he gasped. "An indiscretion?" He could barely even say the word as he shook his head. "No. God, no! Nothing happened! Nothing is ever going to happen!"

He realized he was shouting when Maverick's hands flew into the air in surrender. "Okay. Alright. I hear you loud and clear. I just needed to be sure I understand what we're dealing with here. Why don't you have a seat and explain everything to me?"

Bradley was raking his fingers through his hair as he dropped down into his chair. "It's Lieutenant Jeffries. Indigo." Her intense blue eyes filled his mind as he shook his head. "Phoenix and Hangman pointed out that she..." He paused and glanced at the ceiling. "This is so embarrassing, Mav, but they said it seems like she wants to sleep with me."

"Hmm."

When Maverick hummed and went silent, Bradley said, "I know how ridiculous it sounds."

"It doesn't," his godfather replied immediately. "This sort of thing happens sometimes. You said nothing happened? You should keep your distance moving forward, and if she contacts you outside of work or does anything inappropriate, we can write it up."

Bradley groaned miserably, unlocked his phone, and pushed it across the desk with his messages open. "She did text me outside of work."

While Maverick reached for the phone, he said, "Did you give her your number?"

"No. Why would I do that?" he replied. "But honestly, it's not hard to get access to that kind of information. I didn't think much of it the first time."

Maverick shrugged. "Well, what did she text-" His eyes grew wide when he looked down at the phone, his cheeks turning pink as he was surely looking at the photo that had been in Bradley's messages for less than twelve hours.

"Yeah," Bradley croaked. "She sent that last night."

"But she texted you before that. When you never explicitly gave her your number." Maverick looked up at him, shaking his head. "Bradley, what were you thinking? She seems to have some sort of agenda. You should have come to me immediately after the first message."

Bradley stood, stomach lurching. His marriage, career, and reputation were somehow all on the line, and he hadn't even done anything. He couldn't help but think of his parents and the fact that his dad probably never put his mom through this kind of shit when she was seven months postpartum.

"An agenda?" Bradley whispered. "Shit, Mav. This is the kind of thing that happens on carriers. Not on base. I thought this was something men did way more than women when they wanted to cheat."

Maverick handed his phone back across the desk with the photo of Indigo open. Bradley swiped out of the text thread immediately, sick to his stomach. 

"You work in a high stakes field where women routinely outperform men. They are capable of anything you are."

"I know that!" Bradley snapped. "But I'm married! I'm not looking for that shit. I never let on that I was."

"Oh, you sweet summer child," Maverick sighed, checking his watch. "Literally," he added as he dug his own phone from his pocket. "If Lieutenant Jeffries is sending you photos and playing coy, she doesn't care about your wife."

Bradley winced. "Fuck."

"Yeah," Maverick grunted, taking a few steps toward the door. "And your wife is pregnant and vulnerable, and now I'm going to have to tell Admiral Simpson that I'll be late getting to Lemoore. Follow me. And bring your phone."

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

Bradley was late getting home. This was happening almost every night now, and you were hanging on by a thread as Rose screamed in your arms. She was fed, but she always seemed to prefer the way Bradley burped her over your technique.

"He's not here," you said through gritted teeth. "I don't know where he is or when he'll be back. I just need you to burp so you can go to sleep."

Your texts had gone unanswered. You weren't sure if Bradley had been in the cafeteria at lunchtime, because you hid in your office. Dinnertime had come and gone, and his cold plate of food was currently sitting on the kitchen counter.

"I don't know where he is," you repeated to your daughter while her younger sister did somersaults against your bladder. Rose's sobs finally started to taper off as you rubbed your hand firmly against her back. She finally burped, and that seemed to do the trick. Her fists curled up next to her face as she yawned. You barely had enough time to change her into a clean diaper and pajamas before her eyes were closed.

You were mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. You stood in her nursery, watching her sleep while you decided you needed to say something to your husband tonight. There was no way you could keep punishing yourself for not being enough. If he wanted someone else, you deserved to have him say it to your face.

But when you heard him open the front door thirty minutes later, your heart lurched into your stomach at the sight of him. You'd known how handsome he was since the day you met him, and he only seemed to get better looking with age. Each year added more silver to his hair and laugh lines to his face, but he was undeniably sexy.

Today, however, he looked exhausted, and your brain went wild with awful ideas. What had he gotten up to? Why was he so late? The top buttons of his uniform were undone, and his hair was mussed. He was staring down at his phone in his hand while you stood silently at the end of the hallway, terrified of what he was looking at.

Suddenly everything you'd been holding inside for weeks was bubbling up to the surface, and you were done holding it back. You cleared your throat, and his gaze snapped up to your face, phone hanging in his hand by his side.

"Hey, Sweetheart. Is Rosie already asleep?"

You nodded, taking each step slowly until you were standing right in front of him. When he reached for you, his fingers skimmed your shoulder before you pushed his hand away. Those beautiful, brown eyes you loved so much went wide, but he didn't look surprised. Not at all.

"Why are you so late?" you snapped. "And don't feed me some bullshit about office hours, because I know your schedule. Or, at least, I know what they are supposed to be."

Bradley licked his lips, gesturing between the two of you with his phone. "I had to take care of something important with Maverick."

You wanted to laugh in his face. "You're really going to use the same excuse as this morning? Another meeting with Maverick? What, one was at the crack of dawn and the other was after dinnertime? I've been texting you for hours, Bradley."

You watched his Adam's apple bob. "I didn't have my phone with me for part of the day."

"You have it now!" you laughed sardonically, pointing at his hand just in time to see his phone light up. 

It was her. You saw her name there. Indigo. She was texting your husband well after work hours, and you could already feel the tears stinging your eyes.

You grabbed his phone before he seemed to realize what was happening. Your fingers shook as you entered his passcode to find it was still your birthday. He wasn't even trying to hide this from you. He wasn't trying to take his phone back. As you braced yourself for what you were about to see, you whispered, "What the fuck is going on with her?"

His brown eyes were so sincere, and once again, you couldn't understand how this was the same man who wrote journals for his unborn children. "Nothing," he replied, voice taking on a tone of defeated exhaustion. "There's nothing going on."

Your eyes dipped down to his phone to find not one, but two flirtatious selfies. One new one, and one that was sent last night while he was working out in the garage. Indigo's eyes stared back at you from the screen, mocking you, making a fool of your family.

You were crying. You didn't want Bradley to see you cry right now, but you couldn't stop. "This doesn't look like nothing. And you didn't tell her to stop."

Now he looked panicked, eyes wide as he saw the photo on his phone in your hand. "Okay, I know this looks bad, but I reported it, I swear! I've never been alone with her behind closed doors. You can call Mav!"

Violent sobs shook your body, and when Bradley slowly let his hand settle on your arm, you shook him free. "You expect me to believe nothing is going on? When you get home late every day? When she told me that it's no wonder you prefer her since I let myself go?" you gasped, swiping at your tears.

"What?" Bradley barked as you blindly handed his offending phone back to him. "She said that to you?"

You nodded miserably, taking a step away from him. "I don't want to know if you said that to her, or if she formed her own opinion after spending time with you. And I don't want to know if you're fucking her or just considering it. But I want you out of the house."

Bradley looked like you just slapped him. His mouth was hanging open, brow creased while you sobbed. "You want me out?" he whispered, hand going up to rake his fingers through his hair.

"Yes," you squeaked, trying to stay strong not just for yourself, but for your daughters as well. Every word hurt as you forced them out of your mouth, but you had to say them. "Go. Until I can talk to my parents about canceling the sale of their house. I'll transfer to Annapolis. Take the girls with me."

Bradley closed the distance to you, tears already pooling in his eyes as he dropped to his knees. His lips found your belly, and you sobbed harder as he wrapped his hands around your hips. "No. You can't," he said so softly, you could barely hear him. When he looked up at your face, you almost believed he would never be capable of hurting you. "Baby Girl, you can't leave me. I need you. I need my girls."

When you stepped out of his grasp, his arms fell limply to his sides. You'd never seen him look so miserable before, and you had to stand firm instead of reaching for his hands.

"Find somewhere else to sleep."

The implications of your own words stung your heart, and you had to watch him slowly get to his feet. He kissed your forehead, and your eyes blurred with fresh tears when he went down the hallway to Rose's room. Less than a minute passed, but each second felt like a day. You had plenty of time to tell him the truth. That you didn't want him to leave. That you couldn't blame him for wanting someone else, and you still needed him as much as he said he needed you.

When he reappeared, you pressed your lips together even as he kissed your damp cheek. "I love you," he rasped. "I'm never going to stop loving you. I'll figure out some way to make you believe me."

You watched him retreat to the front door with his keys, shoulders sagging as he gave you one last lingering look before slipping out into the darkness.

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

Ouch. Ouch. Okay. I want BG to believe Roo beyond any doubt, and I think I know how to make that happen. Please stay tuned. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 36

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[shurisneakers]

cold hands in warm hands + hand kisses with my beloved bucky

Warnings: swearing, snow??

A/N: I see that you all like those grumpy x grumpy assholes. well here have some more of them

All it takes is one bad decision, and now the two of you are stuck in what has to be a walk-in freezer. Or maybe Siberia. Either way, it’s cold enough to regret every choice you’ve made today.

"You're not getting my jacket."

"Don't need it."

"Glasses are mine too."

"Don't need that either "

"Not givi--"

"I don't need your stuff," Bucky interrupts, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm fine."

You’re too cold to argue, so instead, you stomp off to the corner of the freezer to rummage through empty boxes, hoping to find something remotely helpful. Nothing. Just the sound of Bucky’s boots crunching in the snow behind you, breathing down your neck like some clingy demon.

"You’re really looking for gloves?" he deadpans.

"Some of us don’t come with central heating."

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he’s impervious to the cold. Like this whole thing is a minor inconvenience and not, you know, a potential frostbite situation.

You don't respond, pulling out tins and empty boxes but nothing that can help warm your freezing fingers.

"Give me your hands," he mumbles.

"Get your own."

"You're gonna get frostbite."

"Promise?"

His eye twitches.

Half an hour later, you've turned away from him to hide the fact that you're blowing into your hands for any semblance of warmth.

"Just give me your hands," he sighs, clearly at the end of his patience.

"I’m fine," you grit out.

"You’re an idiot," he says instantly.

You send him the middle finger.

"Gonna be hard to flip me off once your fingers snap off."

You glare at him as he thrusts his flesh hand toward you, clearly daring you to refuse.

Reluctantly, you slap your hands into his, grumbling under your breath the whole time.

"Christ, your hands are fuckin' ice."

"Who's asking you to hold onto them," you snap, trying to tug them away.

"Quit movin'," he mumbles, tightening his grip. "I just said they were cold, nothing else."

Bucky's a space heater in human form. His hand radiates heat, almost immediately warming your fingers. You hate how good it feels. The additional heat the annoyance he provides you with also helps.

"Where'd the metal one go?"

"It's metal," he replies, tone flat. "What d'you think happens to metal in the cold?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Pipe down, Mr Science. You're so fuckin' bitchy."

"Shut up," he groans, "Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for."

Still, he stays where he is. The warmth from his hand is enough to have you regain feeling in your fingers, the sting of thawing making you wince.

"Give it," you demand after a moment.

"What."

You pry one hand loose of his, holding it out expectantly, sending an eyebrow at his metal hand that hung loose over his knee.

"What, one's not enough for you?" he evades.

"It's only fair," you argue.

"Fair? You think this is a democracy?"

"It's called paying it forward, asshole," you retort. "I'm not gonna let your one hand stay cold."

"No."

"It's so funny that you say that, because I don't remember asking."

"You’re cold enough as it is. It’d freeze your hands solid in seconds."

"Good to know you’re selectively useful," you mutter, but your voice is quieter now.

The two of you stare at each other, deadlocked, frost gathering in the air between you.

You pull your hands back.

"Christ alive, what are you? Six?"

"Either both hands are getting warm or neither are," you declare. "Cry about it. You've got both hands free to wipe your tears."

He sighs irritatedly.

You both sit in the cold, arms crossed over your chests.

"Give me your hands," he says, voice low.

"You first."

Finally, with a muttered curse, Bucky thrusts his metal hand at you. "Happy now?"

You clasp both his hands, and the two of you sit in sulky silence as the warmth slowly spreads.

You glance at him after a moment. "We look like we’re auditioning for Les Misérables."

He huffs a laugh, his breath freezing in the air.

Bucky lifts the arm holding his metal hand, and presses a kiss to your open palm, lingering for a second, before letting it down again.

"You argue too damn much," he mumbles.

The tips of your ears feel warm, and you don't think it's from the cold.

You roll your eyes, "You're the one who threw a hissy fit."

Either way, you shuffle closer to him as you wait for someone to come pick you both up.

[mj0702]

Whatever she wants 🔞

Minors do not read - SMUT

Follow up to "Whatever she needs"

“Cari... sit down” Alexia said calmly before she lifted her coffee mug to her lips

“But Ale...” you whined quietly your leg bouncing nervously

“The plane won't land any quicker the more often you race to the arrival board looking at it...” the blonde replied calm “... it's bad enough you made me drive here two hours early”

“But what if...” you started again your eyes flickering to the board with the flights again

“She lands when she lands Cari... calm down... you want a sandwich? Jamon Ibérico?” Alexia kept her whole demeanor calm not to fuel your nervous energy even more

“No...” you said quickly glancing past your blonde girlfriend again

“You haven't eaten all day...” the blonde mused “... what do you think Jenni will say when I tell her that?”

“She won't like it...” you mumbled ashamed

“So... what would you like to eat?” Alexia looked at you expectantly

“Jenni” you blurted out making the blonde snort into her coffee

“Later Cari... I meant actual food” the blonde smirked amused

“Can we go to La Pepita when Jenni is here?” you asked hopefully

“Cari... you know Pepita doesn't open until 7 at night... it's 1PM now... there's no way I will let you run around without any food until then” Alexia now getting serious

“I'm not hungry” you whined again

“Cariño...” the blonde warned you and you huffed “Either you choose or I'll choose and you'll eat whatever I put in front of you”

“Patatas?” you asked quietly

“They don't have Patatas here...” Alexias voice turned soft again “... pollo o Ibérico?”

“Pollo...” you mumbled feeling like a kid getting scolded by its mother

“Gracias...” the blonde smiled getting up before bending down whispering in your ear “... if your ass leaves this seat I'll make sure you won't be able to sit on it for at least a week”

A few minutes later a chicken sandwich gets put down in front of you a bottle of water with it. You immediately started to start eating now noticing how hungry you in fact were. Alexia just rolled her eyes smiling watching you how you absolutely inhaled that sandwich. Her and Jenni found out quite early in the relationship that you were the perfect sub. You didn't want to have to make decisions – you were happy with whatever they two decided on. It also put some pressure on Alexia and Jenni making sure you were looked after. The only time you didn't need them was when you were on the pitch. If it was for training or at a game didn't matter – you were a beast on the green. You played defense but you could also pass as a midfielder. You looked up to Lucy Bronze your whole career and even to this day a praise from Lucy let you smile light up a whole city. You came to Barcelona before Lucy but at the time the two of you were playing on international level for quite some time – even frustrating the spanish team together with Millie and Rachel. So when the english defender joined you in Barcelona with Keira following too you were ecstatic. Up to the point where Alexia REALLY had to stay calm and not let the jealousy she felt take over making the new signings feel welcome and treat them like everyone else. It was so hard for her – for weeks she only heard “Lucy here” - “Keira there” - “Can't we sign Tooney too?”. Jenni only just laughed when Alexia called her to vent as she was waiting for you to finish training. The moment she saw how you jumped into Lucys arms picking them up (making Alexia pick them up since you lost your license for six month because of speeding) the blonde excuse herself quickly speeddailing Jenni the second she turned around. Of course the Madrista just laughed tears when Alexia ranted about how easily Lucy caught you not even looking just catching you – to Lucys defense.. she had years of training. Alexias mood turned instantly when she learned that Lucy and Keira were dating and you were basically their adopted kid. You helped them settle into the spanish lifestyle and the spanish play. It was mesmerizing to watch the connection Lucy, you and Keira had on the pitch. Lucy pushed you to put yourself more out there on the pitch to make yourself available and get more into plays. Keira tickled that last piece out of you that everyone knew you had in you but were too shy to commit to it. But the second you sit down in Alexias Cupra the door closed behind you you immediately fell back into letting Alexia taking control letting her making decisions like dinner, planning the rest of the day or movie choices.

Just as yo were about to bite into your sandwich Alexias phone pinged with a new message making you look up with a mix of excitement and deer caught in the head light. The blonde on the other Hand decided to take another sip of her coffee before picking her phone up reading the message humming in acknowledgement.

“Jenni here?” you asked your excitement visible in your voice

“Eat Cari…” was the only thing Alexia said after she put her phone back down

“Alexia” you whined not satisfied with her answer

“Cariño” the blonde warned and you begrudgingly took a bite of your chicken sandwich

“You really are a child sometimes” Alexia rolled her eyes smiling as she reached over the table removing some sauce with her thumb from your cheek

“And you are annoying” you shot back your mouth full

“And if YOU don’t watch it Bebé” the blonde raised her eyebrow at you

“Lo siento” you mumbled

“Hm” Alexia hummed again seeing how most of the sandwich was gone now so she decided to let you of the hook

“Jenni landed safely in Barcelona sí” the blonde said calmly knowing the second you would hear her confirmation you would run

Of course she was right. She wasn’t even finishing talking before you shot out of your chair weaseling your way through the tables that were between you and the arrival area before jumping over the cafés rails ducking through the sea of passengers. Alexia huffed lightly as she watched you dodging a group of Asians by basically jumping over their luggage dancing around the people. She knew she’ll find you pressed against the barrier between the luggage claim and arrival area later – if not the police would be her next stop. Wouldn’t be the first time you’d be get picked up by the airport police. The first time Jenni came back from Mexico you jumped over the barrier before Alexia could get a hold on you and you got tackled to the ground resulting in two games on the bench because you got a concussion. Since then you only leaned so far over the rails that you glance inside the baggage claim area whenever the automatic doors opened. Just as she thought Alexia found you standing up on the second rail to get a good glance inside when she finally made it over to you.

“Cari… get down” Alexia scolded you glancing around if anyone noticed you

“But then I can’t see…” you grumbled

“You’ll see her the second she gets out here” the blonde said firmly

“Ale… I’m 1.60… I don’t see shit if I’m not having a higher point of view” you grumbled as your girlfriend gently but firmly pulled on your shirt signaling you to come down again

“I know Bebé…” Alexia chuckled pulling you into her side

You were by far the smallest in the whole squad but that didn’t stop you from being an amazing hotheaded football player. You often used your height to your advantage zooming around the bigger players (Alexia herself including) or simply slipping through their arms (or legs in Jennis or Wendie Renards case). Jenni often teases you by using you as a bar table easily leaning on your head with your standing there huffing and puffing and pouting. You also never backed down from a challenge or a dare. Which mostly resulted in Alexia having to step in and either pull you away from an opponent or get in between you and the ref when you decided to “voice your concerns” once again.

“I think I see her” you exclaimed excited starting to jump and your blonde girlfriend had to step in once again by grabbing your shoulders holding you down as she saw the police glancing over

“Cariño… if you can’t behave I’ll look you in the car” Alexia grumbles not wanting to attract more attention that you already had

Your answer was a low pitiful whimper knowing that Ale would pull through with it. Alexia could feel the excitement radiating off you so she just pulled you flush against her front starting to whisper sweet praises into your ear

“Be good Cari and I promise Jenni and I take care of you later…” she whispered getting you to calm down immediately “… that’s it…. I know it’s hard but you’re such a good girl if you want to be”

After what felt like forever for you you saw that familiar silhouette and black hair of Jenni who had a backpack over her shoulder pulling a suitcase after her. Alexia kept hold of you until Jenni exit the baggage claim area stepping out to the public space. The second you felt the blondes hold loosen you shot forward jumping into the dark haired ones arm koala hugging her while she easily caught you with one arm.

“Missed you” you mumbled into her neck where you pressed your nose into her skin inhaling her sweet scent

“Yo también te extrañé bebé” Jenni chuckled while Alexia followed you gracefully

Jenni let go of her suitcase holding her arm out for the blonde to step into the embrace. Alexia pressed a sweet kiss to the corner of her girlfriends mouth smiling knowingly

“Someone missed you” the blonde smiled letting the older one pulling her into her side

“At least one of you” the lanky spaniard teased kissing Alexia softly feeling how you tighten your hold on her frame

“Didn’t want to spoil you” Alexia smirked “Your ego is big enough as it is”

“Not only my ego” Jenni smirked wriggling her eyebrows making Alexia laugh

“Pervertida” the blonde punched her partner playfully

“Only for you” the older one snorted “Cari… come on… let go so we can go home”

“Nu uh” you sighed into Jennis neck completely happy with where you were

“I can’t…” Jenni started but then just groaned knowing there wasn’t any use in arguing “… fine”

“Softie” Alexia mumbled under her breath as she grabbed the handle of Jennis suitcase pulling it behind her not leaving Jennis side

Getting you to let go of Jenni was a task on it’s own. You fought tooth and nail when you should get in the backseat while Jenni was about to get into the passenger seat. THEN you complained that Alexia got into the drivers seat until the blonde snapped at you that someone HAS to drive but you just quipped up that there were always Taxis. Jenni had a hard time hiding her laughter her body shaking quietly while Alexia and you argued over how to get back home. It got to the point where the dark haired one had to step in seeing how both of her girlfriends got frustrated with each other by just fishing the car keys out of Ales fingers pointing to the back seat where you and the blonde climbed in.

“Cariño” Jenni said once the door was shut behind you three her her voice stern making you flinch “… down”

You immediately sunk to your knees hanging your head low making Alexia turn around in surprise as she was walking in front of you two

“What?” the blonde asked confused

“You really think I would let her behavior slide? Acting like a brat in public” the dark haired one growled as she walked passed you “…. I also won’t let tolerate your behavior… so you better strip and be bend over the bed when I make my way into the bedroom”

With that Jenni was gone. She walked through the living room into the kitchen smirking to herself when she heard Alexia scrambling down the hallway. She made her way back to you a cup of hot tea in her hands

“What should I do with you Cari….” the older one mused “… you know I actually wanted to reward you for being so good and well behaved the last two weeks… Alexia and I share everything you know… a house… a life… you… she told me how good you were doing… that you DESERVE a reward… but you just had to act up again didn’t you…”

She circled your kneeling form while she touched you lightly teasing you trying to get a reaction from you – but you knew better. You knew the second you’d react she’d strike like a King Cobra striking at it’s prey.

“Hm…” Jenni hummed surprised “… nothing to say?”

The lanky one waited three seconds until she spoke again “Vale… you’ll come around at one point – I’ll check in with you once I dealt with Alexia”

You whimpered quietly when you heard Jennis feet padding down the corridor.

The next hours where pure hell for you. You heard everything since Jenni left the bedroom door partly open. You heard how Jennis hand connected with Alexias ass over and over again. How the blondes pained grunts turned into pleasured pants and moans. You heard Jennis quiet murmurs not understanding what she said but just hearing her mumble things to Alexia not you pained you. How the blonde reacted to the older ones words. The quiet moans the louder groans. You heard the handcuffs click shut you heard the harness buckles snap close. You knew what Jenni was doing with and to Alexia. It was the usual re-establishment of Jennis dominance. The dark haired one made sure both of you knew who was calling the shots. Her. Jenni Hermoso. Alexia might be La Reina. You might be called La Duquesa. But Jenni was the one making both of you kneel.

You heard Alexia whimper and whine. You heard her begging for more and for Jenni to stop. It came to the point where you were teething on the edge of it getting too much. You knew you were allowed to make yourself known if it really was getting too much but you weren’t sure how. You knew the second Jenni pushed the head of the strap into Alexia. At the guttural moan that left the blondes throat you even knew WHICH strap the dark haired one used. The way the blonde screamed Jennis name when she came told you it was the last orgasm for the time being for Alexia.

A few minutes later you heard the low squeak of the bedroom door getting opened

“Look at that…” you heard Jennis voice “… looks like you can behave after all”

You still didn’t dare to move a muscle not knowing if the older one was testing you but she got you out of your misery quickly

“With me” the dark haired spaniard said simply already on her way back to the bedroom

“Jenni” you whispered quietly looking up carefully

“Hm?” your girlfriend turned around and eyebrow raised in question

“I think my knees died” you admitted shyly

Jenni needed a second to process the information before she turned around again

“Then crawl” you heard her as you entered the bedroom again and as humiliating as it was – you knew you better get in that room quickly otherwise she’d make you pay for it.

“Took you long enough” Jenni said once you made it inside your shared bedroom “… bed”

You winced slightly your muscles arching from the uncomfortable position she left you in as you ungracefully got on the bed. You didn’t know what to do so you just settled next to Alexia whose body was covered in a thin layer of sweat her hair in a messy bun some of them sticking to her forehead. The blonde had a satisfied smile on her face her breathing still a little bit labored. You could see Jennis marks on her neck her chest even her thighs. You could see that Alexias ass had a nice shade of red and that scared you of what would happen to you.

“Don’t worry Cari…. I know it’s not your thing” Jenni pulled you out of your thoughts like she could read them “… you asked for something the last time we spoke about sex… would that still be something you’d be interested in?”

You looked at her with wide eyes like someone was holding you t gunpoint

“That’s a no then” the black haired woman mumbled

“I just…” you stuttered but then didn’t know how to voice your feelings

“Uncertain? Scared?” Jenni tried to help you out

“Yes… no… yes” you whined getting overwhelmed

“We’ll revisit the topic later…” the older one said calmly starting to pull your shirt over your head unceremoniously “… now… we still have some boundaries to set”

Alexia watched interested how Jenni got you out of your clothes before she push you face forward into the mattress

“Since you love talking back to Alexia so much… use your mouth” Jenni grumbled pushing you towards the blonde again

“I…” you stumbled over your words and before you found yourself in between Alexias legs her glistening pussy centimeters away from your face

“Get to work” your girlfriend growled from above you her hand between your shoulder blades while Alexias hand found the back of your head

You wriggled forward as much as the restraining of your girlfriends let you move so you could press a soft kiss to the blondes pubic bone making her growl

“Stop it and do what you’re supposed to do… didn’t you hear Jenni?” Alexia growled darkly knowing that you find it quite turning on

“Sí La Reina” you mumbled quickly before you started to push your tongue inside her warm wet pussy

“Fucking finally” the blonde moaned and you knew thanks to Jenni it wouldn’t take long to make her come if you did it the right way.

Which meant constant pressure even if your jaw hurt or cramped. You knew you only had a small window of getting it just right otherwise Alexia would get impatient and then you would spend literally hours in this position. What you didn’t expect was that this time Jenni wouldn’t just watch like she usually did. No, this time she decided to get involved too. Her weight still held you down her hand still between your shoulder blades but her OTHER hand – you forgot with your task that both your girlfriends had two hands. So the second you felt Jenni hand in between your legs you jolted forward into Alexias cunt making her groan.

“What Cari … you didn’t forgot about me did you now?” the older one teased you feeling how wet you already became “… so wet…. I presume that’s for me this time?”

You moaned against Alexias middle making her groan deeply her hand tightening in your hair as Jenni started to draw light circles on your outer lips

“That’s my good girl” Jenni smirked “… make Alexia come – then I’ll decide if and how often you’ll come”

“Jenni” you heard Alexia keen above you feeling how close she was – tasting how close she was

“It’s okay Ale…” Jenni said softly “… come”

Alexias nails digged into your scalp holding you in place as she rocked harshly against your face. You held still and let the blonde use your tongue making herself come on it.

“Bona noia” Jenni praised Alexia softly and even you could hear the Madrid accent when she spoke catalan “… was she good to you? Does she deserve the reward we talked about?”

“Sí” the blonde panted out

“Bueno… you’re lucky Cari” the dark haired smirked “Don’t you want to thank her?”

You didn’t know what Jenni expected from you so you just stayed still while she continued to gently tease your entrance. Alexia was the one showing pity on you in the end pulling your face away from her cunt gently coaxing you upwards so you laid on top of her as she kissed you gently

“You trust Jenni and I sí?” she asked you softly in between kisses

“Mhm” you confirmed enjoying the change of pace

“Bueno…” the catalan smiled “… I promise you’ll enjoy it”

Alexia distracted you just long enough that Jenni could strap up again know kneeling behind you her large Hand on the small of your back

“First you gonna come on my strap Bebé…” Jenni said her voice low “… you still acted like a spoiled brat… so you’ll just take it”

Jenni saw and Alexia felt how you immediately tensed up. The catalan started to kiss you again trying to sooth your anxiety while the Madrista started to gently stroke over your back

“You can take it Cariño” the lanky one said softly “… I wouldn’t even consider it if I had any doubts… if you feel too overwhelmed – you remember your safe word sí?”

“Mhm…” you nodded breaking the kiss to lean your head against Alexias collarbone

“Words Cari…” Jenni urged you

“Pine” you mumbled

“Good girl” the older one said leaning down pressing a kiss to your spine “… what if you need a break?”

“Dallas” you whimpered your mind already started racing again

“You can take it Bebé” the Madrista said gently caressing your back pushing her hips forward nudging the tip of the strap inside your tight heat

You whimpered trying to move forward and away but Alexia held you in place by your hips not letting you get away

“If you need to…” Jenni smirked finding the blondes eyes over your shoulder “… just bite Alexia”

The blonde quickly flipped her girlfriend off before she started to praise you while the dark haired spaniard pushed steadily forward stretching you to the point where you were about to break when Jenni finally bottomed out

“Mierda Alexia…” Jenni groaned her voice dark with lust “… fuck she looks so good… so so good”

Alexia was more occupied with making sure you were okay pressing kisses to your temple as Jenni stroked over your back giving you a minute to adjust. The second the older one felt your muscles relax under her hands she started to move. Pull out. Thrusting back into you. This was the Jenni you loved. The Jenni who used you to her satisfaction but still was looking out for your well-being and your satisfaction. In the beginning her thrusts were slow but powerful. The more she felt you relax, the more you accepted her the faster and harder her trusts became. With each thrust Jenni pushed you forward to the point where Alexia basically got fucked through you the whole bed moving. The Madrista lost herself in the sensation even more when even Alexia started to moan while you just tried to hold on somehow.

“Jenni” you begged feeling your orgasm approaching

“First me…” Jenni growled “… then you”

“Por favor” you begged pitifully

“First ME” the dark haired one growled darkly

“Ale” you cried out

“Ssssshhhh Cari….” the blonde tried to sooth you “… you can hold it… you did it for me… you can do it for Jenni too”

“I can’t…” you’re voice breaking “… I can’t… I can’t… I…”

Suddenly Jenni stopped. You were so close and she just… stopped

“Oh so you can for her but not for me?” Jenni asked her voice on the edge of angry

“I…” you tried to get some air into your lungs

“Cari…?” the Madrista asked now concerned

“Jenni….” you panted gripping blindly onto anything trying to ground yourself

“Come” Jenni demanded searching for solution to your misery

“Ale…” you begged

“Come Cariño…” the blonde said softly kissing every inch of your face she could reach

With the permission and the extra trust Jenni provided you with you came. You came hard. Not the black out squirting hard – that Jenni and Alexia definitely could provide – but hard.

“Buena chica” the older one said gently seeing your body trembling between hers and Alexias

“Jenni” your blonde girlfriend said lowly “… you really want to…”

“Let’s try it…” the black haired spaniard answered just as quietly “… she let go… she got all the bottled up feelings out”

“Are you sure?” Alexia asked again

“Yes… lets give her a minute” Jenni said calmly before carefully pulling out making you subconsciously groan

You came back came to it feeling Alexia draw lazy circles on your back

“Hi” you mumbled against her skin

“Hola” the blonde chuckled “Back with us?”

“That felt really good” you murmured and sighed deeply

“Hm…” Alexia hummed “… we noticed”

“How long…?” you asked ashamed

“A few minutes… Jenni’s still in the bathroom cleaning up” the catalan answered softly “… do you want to try anal Cari?”

“I’m not sure…” you mumbled

“What makes you question yourself?” Alexia asked trying to see if it was something solvable or if you just weren’t ready

“What if I don’t like it?” you started to get uneasy

“Then we stop…” the blonde answered easily “… anal isn’t something you get… used to… either you like it and explore it more or you don’t like it”

“You like it…” you said as a matter of fact

“Not always… I enjoy it some days and in general yes…” Alexia answered honestly “… but there are times where I’m just not in the mood”

“Can you…?” you asked carefully

“You don’t trust Jenni with it?” the catalan asked surprised having spotted Jenni already leaning in the doorframe

“I do…” you said quickly

“But…” the blonde pressed the matter a little bit

“You… know how it feels” you admitted

“You think Jenni doesn’t?” Alexia chuckled after a minute

“No?” you looked confused

“Cari…. Believe me… she knows” the blonde pressed a loving kiss to your forehead smiling against your skin

“What… how…. What?” you got even more confused

“You think I don’t enjoy some experiences as well?” now Jenni made herself known smirking

“You never let…” you stuttered

“You just don’t pay enough attention Cari…” the older one snorted “… I don’t particularly enjoy getting fucked but I do enjoy some anal play”

“Oh…” you said embarrassed hiding your face

“If you don’t like it we stop okay Bebé” Jenni said gently after she laid down next to Alexia and you pulling you in between the two

This time it started out slow and sensual. Both of them wanted to make sure you were completely relaxed and comfortable. Four hands started to explore your body again. Soft strokes. Gentle kisses. You felt yourself falling deeper into this completely relaxed state of body and mind. That was until you felt Jenni grab your ass cheek not roughly but firmly

“Relax Cariño” Alexia whispered against your lips “Trust us”

You sagged back against Jenni silently confirming that you indeed trust them . Again the Madrista grabbed your ass cheek and this time you flinched a little but didn’t jump like before. Jenni kissed and nipped at you shoulder blade letting her hand wander around inching closer to were she wanted to be since the moment you brought it up. She gathered some of your juices up gently spreading it around your virgin hole. She repeated the action over and over again until she felt you relax under her hands.

“Ready Cari?” Jenni mumbled against your back Alexia claiming the front of your body

“I think so…” you said in awe half coherent state

“Ale…” the older one murmured and immediately the blonde pulled your leg over her hip holding it there opening you up for the Madrista

“Relax Cariño” Jenni pressed kisses to your skin while she gently but firmly pushed her index finger into your tight hole

You grunted when you first felt Jennis finger breach your tight muscle ring not knowing if you liked it or not

“Ssssshhhh… you’re doing so good Bebé” the dark haired one hushed you gently pushing her finger further into your tight asshole

“Feels weird” you grunted

“That’s normal Cari…” Alexia smiled softly “… but still okay sí?”

“Sí” you confirmed

“Bueno” the blonde kissed you again still holding your leg over her waist

You felt Jenni pull her finger back a little bit before she pushed back in every time a little deeper. After a while you felt how you started to enjoy the things that your girlfriends did to and with you so you let yourself fall letting them take care of you

“There we go…” Jenni whispered the praise into your ear feeling how you relaxed

She tried a second finger when she felt you getting lose but quickly decided against it feeling you tense immediately. You let your girlfriends manipulate your body into a deep state of white mind that at some point you were so far gone that Alexia stopped Jenni convincing her to just let them enjoy the moment. You floated on the cloud of submission that wasn’t new to you but it was extremely rare that you reached that level.

Jenni and Alexia made sure you could enjoy that state for as long as possible. The transition from your submissive state to sleep was blurred and your girlfriends decided to just let you sleep instead waking you up to talk about the new experience. You just slept through the night just feeling happy and save in between your girlfriends.

[livingdxadwriter]

After Hours

DI!SingleDad!Leon S. Kennedy X F!Teacher!Reader

Summary: You really shouldn't fuck your student's dad. You shouldn't. No matter how hot you think he is. You shouldn't. Right?

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), choking, hair pulling, creampie, soft!dom leon, praising, Leon has a mouth on him, the s stands for slut, parent teacher dynamic, foul language

WC: 8.2k I am so sorry

A/N: guess who just watched death island and guess who wants to fuck di Leon. Yes, this whore. The things that man does to me. Man definitely gave me girl dad vibes in di so I wrote it lol enjoy the Leon filth

Note: this story was inspired by @konigbabe own dad!leon x teacher fic. Hers is definitely way better than mine and definitely recommend checking it out! (Sorry for not mentioning before it was extremely late last night🙃)

Universe Masterlist

You've been teaching second graders for a very long time, and you've never been more in awe and intrigued by a child at the same time. When you met this little girl you knew she would grow on you. But you didn't think she would be so complicated too. 

"Mhm, and she said— Izzy?" You were standing in your designated area during recess duty, talking to the other second grade teacher when one of your students, Isabella, was dragged to your side along with an older boy by another teacher. 

The boy had a scraped up arm, and Izzy was holding her hands together in front of herself and staring at the ground as the teacher held her by her shirt. You stared in confusion for a second before you looked at the teacher. 

"Ms. Miller, what's going on? Why are you dragging Izzy and who is this boy?" You asked, head tilted with confusion. 

"Is this Isabella Kennedy? She wouldn't answer when I asked her." The older lady asked, shooting the brunette girl a nasty look. You frowned, but nodded slowly, replying with a short yes. She continued. "She pushed one of my kids and he's bleeding. You need to take her to the Principal's office and call her parents right now." 

Your eyes widened in shock and your mouth fell open, baffled. You blinked a couple times in disbelief as you looked at Izzy. This girl was a sweetheart, quiet, but kind, she would never hurt another student. 

"Izzy, come baby, we're gonna go sit in my classroom while I call your daddy, mkay?" You shot Ms. Miller a glare that made her let go of Izzy, and you quietly extended your hand to the girl. She took it, quietly following you. 

Maybe today was the day you would finally meet Isabella Kennedy's father. 

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

It took five phone calls, three emails, and a good three hours before anyone came for Izzy. It was well past the end of the school day. You had been sitting outside the Principal's office with Izzy for about an hour when a man, tall, close to six feet tall, with a leather jacket and brown hair that fell over his eyes walked down the hall. He had the same intense blue eyes as Izzy. He had a pretty annoyed look on his face too. 

Leon Kennedy.

"Izzy." He called out when he saw her, his low baritone filling the otherwise quiet hall. The little girl lifted her head, blue eyes instantly lighting up at the sight of her dad. 

She instantly got up from her chair and ran to him. He picked her up without hesitation and a frown plastered on his face when she hid her face on his neck with guilt. 

"I'm sorry daddy." 

"Oh, what's wrong? Why are you sorry?" He asked, rubbing her back soothingly, but before she could bust out into tears, you stepped in. 

"Hi. Hey, uhm. I'm Isabella's teacher. Are you Mr. Kennedy?" You felt stupid for asking, he made you feel even more so when he narrowed his eyes at you with this 'seriously?' look in his eyes. 

"Yeah. What's going on? I saw you left me a million voicemails. Is Izzy alright?" He asked, understandably concerned, instinctively checking his daughter for any injuries or marks. 

"Yes she's alright but uhm.. Something happened earlier and I think it'd be good if we spoke in private before you speak with the principal." You bit your lip, watching as his face scrunched up with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. 

"What— y'know what, alright. Just make it quick please." He sighed, saying something to Izzy that you couldn't quite hear before he set her down on her feet. 

"I'm gonna go talk to your daddy for a minute okay? You can go finish that drawing, yeah?" You said to the little girl with a smile. She rubbed her eye but nodded regardless. 

You led Leon to your classroom. You sat on your desk as he sat on the chair you had left for him in case he did show up. He leaned back, arms folded over his chest and legs spread. That man hadn't even said a word yet and you were already sweating. He was full of self assurance and confidence, like he didn't need to say a word for his presence to be the center of attention. And it made you nervous. 

"So uhm, I called you because Isabella got into some trouble today during recess." You started, leaning your elbows on your desk. His face never changed. He had the same stoic expression. 

Seriously?

"Okay." 

"She pushed a fourth grader on the playground, and the kid scraped up his arm." You finished, hoping that would get some kind of reaction. It did. But not the one you were expecting. 

"Oh. Wow, okay." There was a tiny curve on the corner of his lips. You could swear it looked like a smile. "Is she in trouble or something?" 

"Uhm, yes, of course she's in trouble. Our anti-bullying policy is very strict here Mr. Kennedy. She could get suspended for this." 

He rolled his eyes. The motherfucker rolled his eyes. 

"That's not bullying. The kid probably deserved it." He scoffed softly, leaning further back into the chair. He had his eyebrows furrowed, and he was staring you down, pale blue eyes making you want to crawl into your own skin. "Izzy isn't the type to just hurt someone. She's a good kid. Did you even ask why she did it? 

"Well uhm.. Yes, she said the fourth grade boy was bothering her and her friend, he shoved her friend so Izzy, uh, shoved him back, much harder." You cleared your throat, knowing your answer wasn't any better. You didn't want Izzy to get in trouble, but you had to do your job.

"Are you serious?" He had this blank expression on his face, and when you nodded, he gave you a laugh that was this mixture between pride and irritation. "This is ridiculous. A nine year-old boy bullies my seven year-old daughter and her friend, but my daughter is the one that gets in trouble for standing up for herself?" 

You stared at him, lips parted as you tried to come up with an answer. You ran your tongue over your dry lips, no answer actually coming out. He scoffed. 

"Was that all then? This conversation could've been a phone call." He sat up, seemingly getting ready to stand up. You shook your head. 

"No, Mr. Kennedy. There's something else I wanted to discuss with you." 

"It's just Leon, please. I'm not that old." He chuckled, leaning back into the seat. 

Your eyes fell to his chest, slightly exposed by the undone buttons of his shirt. Your words were lost for a second as you imagined what it would be like to see under that shirt, to feel— No. That's inappropriate. Focus. 

"Uhm, I understand you must be busy with your job, Izzy talks about it all the time but I think she would benefit from more involvement from a parent in her academics and activities." You started, leaning forward on your arms. 

"Meaning what? I'm involved plenty." 

"I'm sorry but, I've had your daughter for a semester and a half, and this is the first time I've met you. We've had two parent-teachers conferences so far. I never saw you there. She performed at the winter concert, I don't recall seeing you there either." You explained with a small frown, remembering all the times you had to cheer her up because she was upset about her dad not being there for a school event. "All I'm saying is that if your job doesn't allow it, maybe Izzy's mom can—" 

"No, not an option. It's just me." He cut you off quickly, sitting up quickly as his shoulders tensed. 

You weren't a behavior analyst, but knew that tone. That defensiveness and resentment at the same time, you had seen it time and time again from single parents. It explained a lot. 

"Then she really needs you. You're the only support she has. So be there for your daughter."

"I am. It's just that my job—" 

"With all due respect, your job is not more important than your daughter. Listen, the spring concert is in two weeks. She's performing there with a few other girls. I just ask that you be there for her. Trust me it will do her good. And knowing her dad is there for her will stop her from acting out like this again." 

Leon bit his lip in thought, you could see the gears turning in his head, the way he tapped his index finger on his bicep in thought, but he ultimately sighed. 

"An elementary school concert, is that really necessary? Can't I just take you to dinner instead and we can call it even?" He said it so smoothly you didn't realize his flirtation at first. It took a second for your brain to register he was flirting with you and the tiny smirk on his face made heat rush to your face in an instant. 

"Mr. Kennedy, that is not appropriate." You tried hiding your embarrassment behind a soft laugh, but the way you avoided his eyes said enough. 

"I told you, it's Leon." He corrected you again, grin still on his face, "Alright fine, I'll see what I can do. Can I take Izzy home now?" 

"Yes. I'll email you the RSVP." You finally met his eyes with a small smile of your own as you waved your hand, signaling that he could leave. He nodded, standing up, but before he left you added, "And please look at your emails this time." 

He flashed you a small smile, "Sure Miss." 

~~~~~~~~~~

"Aw Izzy, you look so pretty. Did your daddy help you get ready?" You asked the little girl, her hair neatly pulled back into a bun, glitter scattered on her hair and blue sparkly eyeshadow matched the shades of blue in her outfit. She looked like a princess. 

"Nooo. Daddy doesn't know how to do makeup. Aunt Claire did." She said excitedly and smiled with glee.

Huh, that must be the woman that sometimes picked her up. For the longest time you thought it was her mom. But not after Leon had told you about her mom not being in the picture. Still, you thought maybe you'd get more out of her than her dad. 

"Oh she did a really good job!" You smiled at her as you stood with her, waiting for her turn to perform. "Is your daddy coming?" 

"Yes. He said he would." Good. 

"And your mommy? Is she coming too?" You squinted an eye, knowing you probably shouldn't push your luck, but kids usually never lied, and you wanted to know for sure.

"Oh, I don't have a mommy. Just daddy and Aunt Claire. Oh and Uncle Chris. But he's not around much." She said it so blankly it reminded you of her dad. 

It made your heart sink, to think her mom had abandoned her. Which you had the feeling was the case based on the defensive and almost resentful way Leon spoke about it when you met. But somehow it didn't seem to bother Izzy. 

"Well I'm sure your daddy will love to see you perform tonight. It's almost your turn, go find the other girls, I'll be right here." 

She gave you an eager nod and a smile as she ran to her friends, their names getting introduced by the principal a minute later. You stayed in a corner mostly out of sight, but enough where you could see the stage. At one point, you looked towards the far end of the gym, at the top of the stairs. You saw a familiar leather jacket, the man leaning against the wall with his arms folded over his chest as he watched the stage. You couldn't really see from your distance, but you had a feeling he was smiling. But you were definitely smiling when his eyes found yours. 

"Oh my God you did so good! I can't believe you learned that in a few months!" You said to Izzy, her tiny hand in yours as you walked her through the gym to find Leon.

As you walked out to the hallway, you caught a couple moms whispering not so quietly about the unknown man in a leather jacket that was standing by himself and it almost made you laugh. 

"Hey, is Isabella's dad here? I see she's still attached to your hip." Your friend, Emily walked your way, eyeing the little girl, then you. You raised an eyebrow at her, knowing she just wanted to see who was the mysterious hot single dad she kept hearing about. 

"Mmmm, yeah he's here. He's—" You looked around for a bit, quickly spotting him by himself. You smiled to yourself when your eyes met. "Izzy, your daddy is over there, go. I'll be there in a sec." 

She nodded and ran to her dad. She jumped as soon as she was in front of him and he lifted her in his arms in a heartbeat. You heard her giggles as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he sat her on his hip, hugging her. 

"He's hot. Like really hot." Emily spoke, making you look at her. Your eyes widened and you snorted quietly. "What? He is. He totally gives biker vibes. I wonder if he has a motorcycle. You should ask him to take you on a ride sometime." 

"Emily." You scolded her with a laugh. 

"I'm serious! You should go out with him. Or I will." 

"I'm leaving now, I don't not want to get written up for sexual harassment of a parent. Goodbye Ms. Robinson." You laughed, waving your hand at her dismissively as you walked towards Leon and Izzy. So you could say goodbye to Izzy. Or so you told yourself. 

"Miss! Look what my daddy gave me." Izzy showed you a beautiful white carnation. 

You smiled in awe, both at the flower but also at the sweet gesture. Leon definitely didn't seem the type to give gifts. Maybe you were wrong. 

"Oh wow, that's such a pretty flower! It's almost as pretty as you Izzy. But you're prettier." You giggled with the little girl, who nuzzled further into Leon's chest in a fit of giggles. He thought you weren't looking, but you definitely caught the tiny smile on his face. 

"But you're prettier, Miss! At school we call her Miss Pretty. Cause she's really pretty all the time, right daddy? You were saying that Miss looked really pretty the other day." Izzy lifted her head to look at her dad with her big blue eyes. 

His own eyes grew a bit and a dust of pink covered his otherwise pale face. 

"Isabella." Leon said her name sternly, but the girl just giggled even more. He rolled his eyes and looked at you, a tiny grin on his lips and that same air of confidence that never seemed to falter, even if he was embarrassed. "Okay, say bye to your friends so we can go home. And say bye to Miss Pretty." 

Now it was your turn to be fluttered. 

"Okay. Bye Miss, I'll see you on Monday!" Izzy hugged your waist as soon as Leon put her on her feet. You smiled, crouching down to embrace her properly. 

"I'll see you on Monday Izzy." You smiled, watching as she took off to find her friends. You stood up slowly, eyes meeting with Leon's. "I'm glad you came. She was really happy." 

"Mhmm, I'm glad I came too." His eyes lingered on you. 

God, you were pretty. He took in the way your hair was done differently, maybe for the occasion. Your makeup was different too, nothing too glamorous, but some shimmer on your eyelids and a lipstick that matched. And your dress, it suited you perfectly. But he'd be lying if he said he wouldn't prefer to see it on his floor instead. 

"And thank you for talking your way out of her suspension. She's a good kid, I wouldn't want something like that on her file."

"Of course. I adore Izzy, and I've seen first hand she's a sweet kid. Off the record, I didn't want her to get suspended for standing up for herself. You taught her well." You smiled, trying to ignore the blood rushing to your face. 

"Yeah well, I try."

"But I hope this isn't a one time thing though. It'd be good for Izzy if you came around more often." You bit your lip softly, feeling his deep gaze burn into your skin. He nodded, leaning ever so slightly closer. Nothing any prying eyes would notice, but you definitely did. 

"I'll be around, but in the meantime," He bit his lip, eyes darting around for a second before he leaned down to your ear for a split second, saying, "Dinner is still on the table." 

"Mr—" 

"I swear to God if you call me Mr. Kennedy one more time." 

You leaned back, a smile threatening to pull around your lips. And you nodded, digging into your purse for a second before you pulled out a piece of paper and shoved it into his palm. 

"I'll be seeing you around, Leon." 

He watched you as you walked with a smile on your face. He furrowed his eyebrows curiously but it quickly turned into a grin when he saw what you had written on the post-it note. 

Juat say when. I actually answer my phone. —Miss

"Fuck me." He sighed quietly to himself, shaking his head as he shoved the piece of paper into his pocket and rubbed a hand over his freshly trimmed jaw before calling Izzy. "Izzy, c'mon." 

"You, you evil child are in so much trouble," he chuckled, taking his daughter's hand in his, "You can't be telling daddy's secrets like that, bee. You're gonna get me in trouble." 

"But she's really pretty! And nice. And she makes really good brownies. I like her a lot." She giggled, looking up at Leon with a smile that reminded him that not everything in this world was pain and misery. "You should take her on a date!"

"I asked if she wanted to, actually." 

"Oh my God really? Did she say yes?" 

Leon looked at his little girl with narrowed eyes and smiled, "Since when are you so nosy? Hmph." 

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

You didn't think Leon would be the chivalrous type to come pick you at your door for your date. But there he was, leaning on his Jeep Wrangler as he waited for you to come down. And when you did, fuck, it made him want to take you right then and there. 

"Woah… You look.." He blew out a small breath and his lips curved up. You nodded, biting your lip softly. 

"Thank you. You look good too." 

"So uh, is Italian alright? I know a really good place downtown." 

The food was great, amazing even, but this, oh this was better than any fancy restaurant. Leon pressed your back against the door, his own body pressing you further into it, preventing from moving. Not that you wanted to. He had one of your wrists pinned above your head as he kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth to savor the faint wine you had earlier. He used his other hand to hoist you up around his waist, a moan slipping past your throat when his belt brushed against your clothed clit. 

You swore you never had sex on the first date. But for Leon you would be the biggest whore if that’s what he wanted. 

“Mmm Leon,” You panted softly, he hummed as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses. “Izzy. Is she—”

“Not here. She’s at my friend’s for the night.” He answered in between kisses.

“You have a friend that watches your kid while you get laid? Aren’t you lucky?”

“Can we not talk about my babysitting arraignments right now?" He muttered out in between kisses, his breath hot against your skin. 

A soft giggle fell past your lips and you nodded, grabbing the back of his head to kiss his lips again. A satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he moved his lips with yours, keeping one hand on your ass and the other found the back of your neck as he moved you off the door. He was walking, somewhere, you assumed his bedroom. He parted from your lips to half watch where he was going and you took that opportunity to drag your lips along his jaw. You could tell he hadn't shaved in a few days, but you liked the tingle it gave.  

Leon let out a breathy hum at the feeling of your lips roaming freely along his skin. He bit his lips softly as he fumbled with the doorknob, he eventually got it open. He didn't bother closing it and his feet took him straight to his bed. 

He grabbed the back of your head and pressed another hard kiss to your lips before your back hit his bed. Soft duvets pooled around you as he laid you down, pulling your bottom lip with him as he moved back. 

"Fuck, I knew you'd look so pretty on my bed." He breathed out as he watched you, hair pooling around your head, and makeup already a mess. 

You gave him a shy smile as you sat up on your elbows. His eyes stayed on you as he sunk his weight on one knee, a knee he placed right in between your thighs. And his eyes never left you as he slowly undid the buttons of his navy blue dress shirt. His leather jacket was long gone by the time you had stepped foot inside his apartment.

You watched him with big eyes as he shrugged off the piece of clothing, leaving his muscular chest of full display. And fuck, if he looked huge under layers of clothing, he looked massive now. Your eyes took him all in, an arrangement of scars covered his otherwise pale skin. Scars and all, he was still the most attractive man you had ever met. 

"You look so pretty when you look at me like that." He chuckled softly, his fingers coming up under your chin to make you look up at him, clearly noticing the way you were staring at him, with those eyes and your lips parted.

"You think I'm pretty? Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?" You responded without thinking, the words coming out with a breath. 

A smile formed on his lips and he shook his head, watching with amusement as your shaky hands touched his belt. You ran your tongue over your lips as you unbuckled his belt with shaky hands. Leon watched you carefully, his breath picking up when your fingers itched closer to his cock as it strained against his boxer briefs. But when you sat up fully, about to move your knees he grabbed your hands, making you stop. Your eyes shot up to his face with alarm, afraid you had made him uncomfortable. 

"Next time baby," He said with restraint. It wasn't that he didn't want to feel your mouth around him. He'd kill for that. But he could be selfish another time. "Lemme take care of you tonight, yeah?" 

You breathed out shakily, the panic leaving you as soon as the words left his mouth, and a pool of arousal replaced your uneasiness. You nodded. 

"Yeah, okay." 

He gave you a smile that made you ache and he gestured to you to lie down. 

"Lay down for me." He coaxed with a voice so smooth it almost made you whine. He eased a hand up your bare thighs as you did as he told you. 

Your back touched his soft covers again as you took in a sharp breath. You closed your eyes in anticipation as you heard him move around for a second. You gasped when you felt him drag you to the end of the bed by your ankle. You lifted your head and fuck, you could've come right there and there at the sight of Leon, on his knees, with his head between your legs. 

"Leon.." You whined almost desperately, the ache between your legs starting to become unbearable. 

A soft smirk tugged at his lips at the whine of his name and he lifted his head to look at you with feign innocence. 

"What's that pretty girl?" He sneaked a hand under your dress, his thumb barely grazing your clit through your panties. You twitched, a sharp gasp leaving your lips. 

"Please." A weak plea was all you could say. 

"What? Want my mouth on you? Want me to finger you open? Make you come all over my tongue?" He spoke with arrogance, with that same arrogance he always fucking wore. And you hated just how much it turned you on. 

"Yes! Yes! Yes, just please, touch me." You were so pathetic but you didn't care. 

"Oh trust me baby, I'm gonna do so much more than just touch you. You think you can handle me?" He tugged down your panties with such ease and so casually you didn't even realize he did, you were more focused on his question. 

"I… Yes I— Of course I can handle you." 

Leon chuckled at how fast you responded to his question and he bit his bottom lip as he scrunched up your dress up to your hips with his free hand, his eyes lingering on your cunt for a second before he met your gaze again. 

"Tap me twice if it's too much, yeah? A sweet elementary teacher like yourself might not be used to.. Well, me." 

You scrunched up your face a bit at his comment, shooting him a glare that made him chuckle. 

"I won't break Leon." 

A malicious smirk fell on his lips, "That's the point." 

He didn't give you time to reply with another witty remark when he decided he was done talking. He sunk his head between your thighs and his tongue dragged along your clit without a warning. You jolted with a shudder, a loud gasp leaving your lips when you felt his mouth on your already sensitive clit. 

"Oh my—" Your mouth fell open, your eyes slightly fluttering as he circled his tongue over your clit. "Oooh fuck." 

Your head fell back against the mattress as he continued to work you with his tongue. He drew circles around your clit before he moved down to your wet entrance then back up to your clit. Over and over until you were writhing on the bed. 

"Shit— Leon—!" The sound that left your mouth was pathetic, a mixture between a cry and a whimper when he slipped two of his long fingers into you. 

He groaned against you, lapping at your pussy as he slid his fingers in and out with ease. And you couldn't help the way you were grinding back against his face. It had been a long fucking time since a guy had even bothered to eat you out, let alone like this. He didn't mind it, but the way you kept sliding up the bed every time he curled up his fingers against that one spot was annoying him. With his free hand he grabbed your hip with a tight grip and slid your body back down, holding you against his face. And he held you there, with his fingers deep inside your pussy, his mouth lapping at your clit and both of your legs thrown over his shoulders. You had nowhere to go and he was more than pleased about that. 

"Fuck fuck— Shit Leon please—" You eyes were rolled into the back of your head, head thrown back as you writhed against his face. "Please— I'm so close please, please don't stop." 

Fuck, you sounded so pretty when you pleaded to him like that. He could feel his cock strain harder against his pants just at the sound. He hummed, closing his lips around your clit and suckled. You didn't mean to, but your hand fell to the back of his hair and you pulled. And my God you pulled hard. 

Leon growled at the feeling of your fingers tangling and tugging at his hair. The vibrations made you whine and you did it again. But this time he pulled back enough to speak. 

"Pull my hair one more time, I swear to God." He grunted the words. But he wasn't angry. God, he wasn't angry in the slightest. But he knew he only had so much self control left in his body.

You didn't reply, you simply loosened your grip on his honey brown strands, but you kept your hand on the back of his head and his lips found your clit again. And you did your best to not latch on to his hair again, but fuck it was so hard when his fingers hit so deep and his tongue felt so good. You were so fucking close, you couldn't help it. 

"Mhmm yeah that's it, I know you wanna come. Yeah, you wanna come don't you sweet girl?" He grunted, spitting on your clit as he scissored you open, the palm of his hand rutting against your clit. "I know you do, c'mon, come for me." 

When you felt his tongue on your clit again you couldn't help it. Your mouth fell wide open as your heels dug into his shoulders. Your eyes were squeezed shut as your mind went blank and you couldn't help yourself, your fingers dug so deep into his hair as you held his face against you he actually grunted in pain. 

But he didn't stop, he lapped at your juices as you convulsed under him, the lewd sound of his palm against your wet cunt shooting straight to his cock. 

He didn't stop sucking at your clit until you were twitching with aftershock and you were weakly pulling his head back by the ends of his hair. Only then his fingers left you and he was pulling back. He watched you through narrowed eyes as you panted, your hands now on your face as you tried to come back down to earth. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he rose his feet. 

He fumbled with his pants as he climbed on the bed and before you even realized it, he grabbed you, hands under your armpits to drag you up the bed. You stammered at the sudden manhandling. 

"Leon—" He didn't even let you finish before he was flipping you on your stomach, his bare back pressing you down on the mattress. 

"What did I say about pulling my hair, hm?" He breathed out into your ear, harshly tugging down his boxer briefs enough to pull out his cock. 

"I— I'm sorry—" You gasped as he not to gently unzipped your dress and pulled it over your head. 

He didn't let you sit up though. With a large hand in between your shoulders, he sat up enough to sit back on his knees, his cock in his hand as he pumped himself a few times. 

"No you're not." He sighed out, eyes closing for a split second as he dragged his cock between your wet folds. He heard you whine against his pillows, but you made no effort to move from where he held you. "Move that pretty little ass of yours up here. Need you to stay down though." 

With a soft whimper, you stuck your ass up in the air, meeting his hips. His eyes fell on your ass, lips slightly parted he slowly sank himself into you. He watched as his cock disappeared inside your tight walls until only a little bit of him was left. But he didn't want to push you too hard, you couldn't fit all of him. 

Leon sat still for what felt like years, but in reality it was merely a minute or so. His eyes were closed as he dragged a hand up and down your back, easing you until he knew he could move. It took you some time to adjust to his size, your eyes were squeezed shut as you fists clenched his sheets. But it wasn't long before you were begging him to fuck you. 

"Leon— Please. Need you to fuck me, please." You muttered into the sheets as you turned your head to the side so that your cheek was pressed into the mattress. 

"Mhmmm, 'course you do." Fuck, he was going to ruin you. 

He dragged his cock out slowly, slow enough for you to feel every inch of him, until you were nothing but pathetic noises. He was almost all the way out when he slammed in again, making your body slide up the mattress. He did the same again, and again, fucking your body into the mattress like no one you had ever been with before. This man was going to be the death of you. Your student's dad. There were so many things wrong with what you were doing, but fuck, you couldn't list a single one of those things that could ever top this. 

You were brought back to this reality by the feeling of his lips dragging up your bare spine. You felt a cold shudder run through your whole body as he leaned over you, his bare back pressed against yours and his hips rutting against your ass, so much so you could feel the rough material of his pants brush against your ass and the sound of his belt rattling with each snap of his hips. But that only made it better. To think he was so eager to fuck you he couldn't be bothered to take his pants off. That idea alone made you see white.

With your mind on a different planet entirely, you didn't realize the grip he had on your hair. Until you felt him pull your head back by your hair. His fingers were tangled to the root as he pressed his lips to your ear. 

"You like how that feels, hm?" You had a feeling his question was rhetorical, that you weren't supposed to enjoy the forcefulness of his actions, because he was clearly punishing you for what you did earlier. But you would be lying if you said it didn't make you even wetter. He definitely felt the way you clenched around him and he laughed. "Oh? So you do huh? Pretty Miss Teacher likes it when I'm rough with her?" 

You were nodding against his grip, as best as you could anyway, a soft cry being a pretty good sign that you did, indeed liked it. You should be ashamed of how much you wanted this man to ruin you, to use you as he pleased. But the way he was buried deep inside your cunt felt way too good to feel any shame. 

"Yes! Yes, please be rough with me." You managed to choke out. You heard the groan that rumbled in his chest at your words. 

Leon was flipping you on your back and slamming back into you before you even had time to protest. You instantly wrapped your legs around his torso as he resumed his pace, only that this time, his hips snapped much harshly with each thrust he gave you. His lips found your neck as one of his hands rested on the column of your neck, he didn't squeeze or touch your throat, he simply held you down as he fucked you into the mattress. 

His fingers twitched, the urge to wrap them around your throat making his cock throb, but he otherwise decided against it, not wanting to push you too hard on your first night together. So to avoid giving in to his urges he itched to move his hand beside your head instead. You felt his hand leave your neck and something deep within your core didn't want him to, so your hand flew to catch his wrist. 

"Choke me." You blurted out, so heated that you didn't even think of how embarrassed you normally would be to ask such a thing. 

Leon lifted his head enough to look at your face, his lips parted as he panted softly, strands of his hair falling over his eyes but he could see you clearly. He heard you loud and clear, too. 

"Shit baby," He groaned out, lips crashing against yours in a messy kiss before he returned his hand to your neck, but this time, he actually wrapped his fingers around your throat. "You're gonna be the fucking death of me. Such a pretty thing, sweet to everyone, with those pretty dresses of yours and that beautiful smile of yours. And you're asking me to choke you. Fuck." 

He squeezed ever so slightly, just enough to make you feel a bit dizzy, but in the best way possible. You were so close, you could feel the burning ache in the pit of your stomach, and with the way his cock hit your most sensitive spot with every thrust, you knew you wouldn't last long. 

"Ah— Shit— Leon—" Your sounds were choked out, barely audible, but he heard the way you were begging, the way you said his name, it drove him fucking insane. "I wanna—" 

"Mhmm, I know baby. You wanna come all over my cock, hm? Yeah you do," He dug his teeth into his already red lip as he sneaked his free hand in between your bodies and began rubbing harsh circles around your clit, making your hips jerk. "Yeah that's it— Fuck, atta girl. Lemme feel you fall apart for me." 

He didn't even have to tell you, you were seeing white the second his thumb touched your clit. You dug your nails into his skin, surely leaving a few marks to find in the morning. But he couldn't care less. He couldn't help but moan at the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock. He held you down to the mattress as he drilled into you, his own release not too far now. 

"Yeah— yeah that's it. Good girl. You're such a good girl." He dragged through pants, his fingers squeezing your throat tightly. "Fuck— Fuck I'm gonna— Shit." 

He was about to pull himself out, so as to not finish inside you, but you held him tight, legs securely wrapped around his torso. He looked you through half lidded eyes as you nodded at him. 

"Please." You couldn't say much, with his hand on your throat and all, but he understood what you meant and the idea of you letting him come inside you made him lose the little control he still had left. 

"Oh fuck— fuck that's a good girl— Ah—" His head fell to your neck as he cradled your head with the hand not your neck and he squeezed his eyes shut as he fell still, holding you down on his cock as he came with a throaty moan. "Mhmmm. Just like that. Take it just like that." 

His hand slowly released your throat, and you gasped softly as your head spun with adrenaline. Your eyes fluttered shut as you held him, arms lazily thrown over his shoulders as your fingers lightly threaded his hair. You felt his breath hot on your neck as he panted. Your own breathing was as hard and fast as his for a minute or so. But he didn't mind holding until you both calmed down. It was a while before you felt him move, probably when he got tired of holding his weight. He left a kiss on your jaw before he moved to lay on his back beside you. 

Leon turned his head to look at you and he couldn't help but smile to himself, face glistening with sweat, makeup absolutely ruined and hair tousled and pooled around your head. And even like that you were still the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. 

"I wasn't too rough on you, was I?" He asked quietly, knowing he sometimes could be a bot too much.

You turned your head to look at him, and you found those pale blue eyes staring at you with concern, you gave him a tired smile. 

"Of course not. I… I liked it. I don't think anyone's ever made me come like that before." You admitted with a dry laugh. His eyebrows shot up a bit with surprise, but that surprise quickly turned into pride. 

"Well, I do like to be the exception." 

"Oh shut up." You playfully smacked his arm and he chuckled. 

You couldn't help but smile, but your expression fell a bit when you thought he probably would want you to go home. That's usually how that was, right? I mean he had a daughter, he probably didn't want his daughter's teacher— who he had just fucked senseless, to stay the night. Right? Probably not. You sighed softly as you moved your hair away from your face and sat up. You missed the confused look Leon gave you. 

"You leaving or something?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows as he sat up, watching the way you were reaching over the edge of the bed to grab your dress from the floor. But you quickly sat back to look at him, also confused. 

"I mean… I'm supposed to, right?" 

Leon scrunched up his face with confusion and slightly tilted his head, "You're supposed to?" 

"Well. Uh… Yeah. I mean, Izzy—" He cut you off right then and there. 

"Hey no, it isn't like that. I don't… I don't do that." You frowned at him, confused by what he meant. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, getting the strands out of his face. "I wasn't going to fuck you then ask you to leave. I'm not like that. It's late, and I drove you. Izzy isn't coming home tonight. You can stay. If you want of course, if not I can drive you home, I just—" 

Now it was your turn to cut him off. He gasped in surprise when you crashed your lips against his. His lips curved up into a smile as he held your face. He kissed you much softly now. 

"I wouldn't mind staying." You finally said, smiling against his lips. 

"I wouldn't mind either." 

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

You weren't exactly sure when, but you had fallen asleep, with Leon's arms wrapped around you as he held you to his chest. But rays of sunlight were hitting your face now as they slipped through the open curtains he probably forgot to close the night prior. You scrunched up your nose, squinting your eyes as you pressed your face further into the pillow. But it was too late now, you were awake and there was no way to fall back asleep. As much as you would love to just cuddle up to Leon and sleep some more. Speaking of, as you peeled your eyes open you saw him, still sleeping peacefully next to you. 

He laid on his stomach, the covers pooled around his waist as his face was buried deep into his pillow. His honey brown hair was tousled from sleep and from your doing the night prior, and loose strands hung over the side of his face. God, he looked absolutely gorgeous. You really should've felt guilty for sleeping with one of your classroom parents. But when you woke up to a sight like that? You regretted nothing. 

You debated on staying in bed with him, at least until he woke up and decided to take you home, but you really needed a bathroom. So you carefully maneuvered your way out of his bed, dressed yourself in the first thing you found— his dress shirt from last night and tip toed out of his bedroom. You felt so weird walking around his house without his permission, but he hadn't exactly given you a tour last night. So you ventured until you found a bathroom. By the time you were done Leon still hadn't left his bedroom so you decided to find his kitchen for a glass of water at least. You looked around on your way to the kitchen. He wasn't much of a decorator. It was definitely the apartment of a single man. But as soon as you walked to the kitchen you saw countless drawings and pictures hanging from the fridge. 

Your heart warmed as you walked to see the drawings up close. There were definitely Izzy's. You smiled to yourself at the photo you saw next to one of the drawings, one of Leon, a few years younger, holding a baby in a hospital blanket. All of the other photos you saw were similar. It was only Leon and Isabella in all of them. Not a single one of Izzy's mom. 

Did she never want to be a part of her life? Was she truly never around? 

"You tried to run away last night, and when I wake up you're gone, too? Was I that bad?" You jumped at the sound of Leon's voice in the kitchen. 

You cursed loudly, holding a hand to your rapidly beating heart as you glared at him, making him laugh. 

"Asshole. I wanted to use the bathroom, and you were still asleep." You shrugged your shoulders, eyeing him carefully. Still no shirt, but he was wearing a pair of plaid pajamas pants now. He had his phone in his hand and was scratching the back of his head, attempting to smooth down his bedhead. 

"You look pretty with my shirt. Looks better on you actually." He hummed as he padded through the kitchen to stand in front of you.

He stood in front of you, watching you intently for a few seconds before he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. 

You giggled against his lips, happily kissing him. You threw your arms over his shoulders and he rested his hands on your hips. 

"Mmm, you hungry?" He asked, brushing his nose against yours and his lips were curled up into a grin. You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Me too." 

You gasped when he hoisted you up on the kitchen island. You gripped his shoulders as you watched him with wide eyes. But he said nothing as he nudged your legs open with his knee and stood in between them. 

"What? I said I was hungry." He smirked as he captured your lips with his own one more time before he dropped to his knees in front of you. 

Without taking his eyes off from you, he threw one of your ankles over his shoulder and pressed his lips to the inside of your knee. Slowly, his lips itched closer and closer to your already dripping core. You held your breath with anticipation as he nibbled on your inner thigh. His lips were so close to where you needed him the most. His head got lost between your thighs and your hand instinctively fell on the back of his hair. His breath fanned hot against your clit and—

You jumped, your ass nearly slipping right off the counter, but Leon steadied you with a quick sturdy hand on your thigh. He was also startled by the sound of his phone ringing next to you. He closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. 

You took a deep breath, inhaling sharply as you looked beside you at his phone screen. 

"It says Claire." 

Leon shot up to his feet in a split second when you said that and he was answering the call almost frantically. 

"Hey. What's up? Everything alright?" He said into the phone, still standing between your parted legs. You frowned softly with concern, your hand resting on his chest as he listened to the woman on the line. "Shit, really?" 

He said nothing for a few seconds, just humming and nodding to himself before he pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed out an exasperated sigh. 

"No, you're okay, thanks for calling, Claire. Just give her some cereal, play her a Disney movie or something while I get there." He finally spoke, finally looking at you. And his blue eyes looked apologetic. "Yeah, I'll be there in fifteen. Yeah. See you soon." 

Leon placed his phone on the counter beside you and sighed. You looked up at him, eyes big with worry. 

"It's Izzy. I left her at my friend’s and apparently she woke up fuzzy. She's been crying all morning asking for me, so, gotta go pick her up." He explained, the corner of his lip curving up into an apologetic smile. You exhaled softly, the anxiety leaving your chest. 

You gave him a smile and pressed a kiss to his lips, "I get it. Don't worry. I'll get dressed so you can pick her up. I'm sorry I kept you from picking her up last night." 

"Oh, no sweetheart, don't say that. Last night was incredible. She just gets… Clingy I suppose." He sighed as he helped you down from the counter. 

"You're her only parent. It's normal. I should know." You gave him a smile as you started to head to his bedroom to get your clothes, but he grabbed your wrist, tugging you to his chest before you could. 

"Hey, I still owe you breakfast. Can I take you out again sometime?" 

The smile on your face was so wide you probably wouldn't be able to hide it even if you tried. 

"Yeah, I'll be around." 

[pomelace]

amber liquid

pairing: frank langdon x afab! reader

content warnings: not proofread, no physical desciptors used for reader, implied age gap (about 11 years), takes place after s1 of the pitt, mention of breakup & divorce, alcohol consumption, intoxication, emotional vulnerability, flirting, kissing, mild smut (nothing to graphic, I can't write smut to save my life). as always let me know if I missed anything!

magui speaks! : this legit came to me at 2 a.m. when I should've been sleeping, but honestly, when you have a good idea, you have to write it. I wanted to try writing smut but gave up — I legit can't do it; all props to those who can. let me know if you guys want more fics like this! I really enjoyed writing it and stepping outside of the usual hospital setting. as always, I hope you enjoy, and requests are open! (someone pls request)

word count: 3504

Maybe you should’ve seen it coming. Maybe you should’ve guessed he wasn’t ready. And maybe—just maybe—a small part of you wasn’t either.

But guessing that he didn’t want to be together anymore?

That had never even crossed your mind.

Six years together. Six years of laughter, of holidays spent hand-in-hand, of whispered promises in the dark. You thought you were happy. You were sure he was too.

So what went wrong?

You don’t have an answer as you sit hunched at the bar of the restaurant—the same restaurant where, less than an hour ago, your boyfriend dumped you.

It was supposed to be date night. A special night. You had curled your hair, slipped into your best dress, painted your lips the shade he said he loved. You had even dared to hope he might propose.

Instead, he gave you a goodbye.

Now, you sit at the bar, your hair slipping loose from its carefully pinned bun, staring blankly ahead as the waiter slides a shot of tequila toward you.

You toss it back without hesitation, the liquor scorching your throat, leaving a burn that barely registers. Another. And another. You drink until the line between anger and sadness blurs, until your own misery drums in your ears louder than the soft music playing overhead.

It’s a slow night. Quiet. You barely notice when someone slides into the seat beside you.

You keep your eyes down, tracing the rim of your empty glass.

“What are you drinking?” a voice asks—a man’s voice, low and easy.

“Tequila,” you reply, your voice quick, almost defensive. You glance up—and meet his gaze.

He’s older than you. Not ancient, not graying, but maybe a decade your senior. His blue eyes catch the warm light above the bar, sparking just a little.

Before you can say another word, he lifts a hand to the bartender.

“Another shot for her,” he says, smooth and sure.

You manage a small smile—your first real one tonight—as the fresh shot slides in front of you. You raise the glass, clink it lightly against his, and down it in one quick swallow.

He mirrors you—less gracefully—coughing once as the burn hits him harder than expected.

“Celebrating something?” he manages between coughs, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“More like mourning,” you murmur, your fingertip circling the rim of your glass.

He coughs again, this time from surprise, struggling to find the right words.

“I’m sorry... I’m sorry for your loss,” he says finally, voice soft, almost tangible in the way it wraps around you.

You laugh—a sharp, unexpected sound. He looks confused until you set the record straight.

“No one died,” you say. “My boyfriend broke up with me.”

For a second, Frank just looks at you—then relief floods his face, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh. Well... in that case,” he says, shifting to face you fully, “the guy’s a goddamn idiot.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between a laugh and a scoff.

“Smooth,” you say, dry.

He shrugs, utterly unapologetic.

“Hey, I'm not here to win points. I'm just telling the truth.”

For a moment, you just look at him. The easy way he smiles, the unbothered tilt of his shoulders, like nothing in the world could hit him too hard. It’s a little annoying. A little comforting, too.

“I'm Frank, by the way,” he adds, tapping his chest like you might’ve been dying to know.

You glance up, eyeing him with a bit of suspicion.

“Well, Frank, are you always this charming, or is it just the tequila talking?”

He shrugs with a grin, clearly unfazed.

“Maybe a little of both. But I assure you, the charm’s mostly natural.”

You snort. “Natural, huh? More like 'forced'.”

“Hey, I'm not the one drowning tequila like it’s water,” he points out, raising an eyebrow as he gestures to your empty glass.

“I think you’ve got your own coping mechanism.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips.

“Touché. So, what, you just come to bars to offer unsolicited life advice and overpriced shots?”

“Nah,” Frank says, leaning in slightly with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’m here to save you from a night of self-pity. A public service, really.”

You stare at him for a beat, then shake your head with a quiet laugh.

“God, you're a piece of work.”

He grins, unrepentant. “You’re welcome.”

You set your glass down with a soft clink, taking in the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Alright, Frank Langdon. You’re buying the next round, right? Or am I supposed to keep drowning my feelings while you play bartender?”

He lifts his hand in a quick motion, signaling the bartender.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this. I’m here for the long haul. Just don’t expect me to let you drink your problems away.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what, you think one more round of tequila will fix it?”

He leans back, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Maybe not, but it’ll definitely make it more interesting.”

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

By the fifth shot, the tequila had softened the sharp edges of reality.

The hollow ache you'd carried has dulled, replaced by something lighter—something dangerously close to joy. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the stranger at your side, but for the first time all night, you feel a little less alone.

Tipsy now, you and Frank lean against the bar like old friends, shoulders brushing, each too stubborn to admit just how much easier the night feels with the other there.

He’s in the middle of telling you a story about the time he stitched up his own hand in med school—because he was, in his words, “too stubborn and too drunk to admit it hurt”—and you’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your drink.

“You’re such an idiot,” you gasp, clutching your stomach.

“Certified,” Frank says proudly, slamming his shot glass down. "Got a degree and everything."

You shake your head, grinning. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose a finger.”

He holds up his hand and wiggles his fingers dramatically. “All ten. Still sexy.”

You snort into your glass. “Debatable.”

Laughing, he flips his hand over, showing you a faint scar that cuts across the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger. Your eyes catch on the mark—small but jagged, like the story behind it—and for a second, you're almost charmed by the ridiculousness of it all.

Almost.

Because that’s when you notice it.

The thin silver band, sitting there plain as day on the fourth finger of his left hand.

You blink, the drunken haze clearing just enough to register what that means.

He’s married, you think, the realization landing with an uncomfortable thud in your chest.

You sit back a little, the weight of what you’ve just seen settling heavier than any amount of tequila.

Frank doesn’t notice at first—still grinning like an idiot, clutching his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. You watch him, every instinct firing warning shots in your head.

“You wound me, sweetheart,” he says dramatically, tapping a hand over his heart. That cocky, lopsided smile is back—the one you’re starting to realize isn’t an act. It’s just him.

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” you say, your smile fading clean off your face.

He catches the shift instantly, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eye.

“What should I call you, then?” His voice drops a little, playful but not heavy, the kind of flirting that feels easy, harmless—if not for the ring still sitting heavy on his finger.

You open your mouth, ready to fire back something sharp—but all that comes out is a scoff. Your brain is too clouded with tequila and the sudden, sour taste of disappointment.

That’s when he notices. The coldness he hadn’t seen before. Confusion flashes across his face, and he leans in again, trying to catch your eye.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, his voice quieter now, genuinely concerned, as if he has no idea what he's wearing.

You tilt your head, voice sharper than you mean it to be: “Does your wife know you’re out here handing out pity shots to heartbroken strangers?”

His smile slips, just a little. A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face before he sits back in his stool, schooling his features into something easy again.

“No wife,” he says. “Not anymore.”

You arch a skeptical brow.

He huffs a low, humorless laugh, reaching for his glass and twisting the ring around his finger.

“Divorced,” he clarifies. “Signed the papers six months ago. Just... haven't taken it off yet, I guess.”

You study him now, properly. The easy charm, the quick wit—it’s still there. But underneath it, you can see the cracks. The exhaustion. The way some people carry their hurt like it’s stitched into their skin.

“Why keep it on?” you ask before you can think better of it.

Frank shrugs, the barest lift of one shoulder.

“Habit. Guilt. Laziness. Pick your poison.”

You don't have an answer to that. So you just nod and reach for your drink, letting the silence stretch out between you, strangely easy, strangely human.

Frank’s eyes stay on you, a little too intense now, like he’s not quite sure whether to keep poking the fire or step back.

He leans in slightly, his grin returning, though it’s more of a soft, knowing smile now—like he’s trying to find the right words, but not quite sure how to approach it.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low but playful, “I could’ve been a counselor, right? Deep stuff, just me and a couple of shots of tequila. I’d charge you, but I’ll give you a free session for tonight.”

You snort, trying to fight the grin threatening to tug at your lips.

“Uh-huh. What’s your rate, then?”

He gives you an exaggerated, thoughtful look.

“Well, it’s a sliding scale. But for you? Free. For now. We’ll work out the details after you pay with a drink.”

You roll your eyes, but the laughter slips out anyway.

“You’re ridiculous. What else do you charge for? Self-pity sessions?”

“Of course,” Frank says with a deadpan expression.

“I’m a pro at helping people feel bad about themselves while simultaneously offering unsolicited life advice. It’s a talent.”

You chuckle, shaking your head.

“I think you’re selling yourself short. You could really make a business out of that.”

“Hey, it’s a full-time gig,” he grins, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s all about commitment to the cause.”

You shake your head, feeling the liquor starting to work its way through you, loosening your muscles, softening the edges of the night.

“I guess I should be grateful. I was about to start feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I get a free therapy session.”

“Least I could do,” Frank says, his voice taking on a quieter tone.

“But don’t expect any miracles. I’m no miracle worker.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, and something shifts between you two. He isn’t joking anymore. There’s a sincerity to the way he watches you, like he can see something in you that maybe you’re trying not to acknowledge.

The silence lingers just a beat too long, and you can’t help but feel a tug in your chest.

You glance away first, clearing your throat as you take a long sip from your glass.

“Guess we’ll see if the tequila does its magic, huh?” you say, trying to brush it off.

Frank nods, but his eyes stay locked on you, searching, like he’s trying to figure out what’s behind your smile.

“I think it’s already doing its job,” he says softly, his gaze lingering.

“But maybe not in the way you think.”

You meet his eyes, and for a moment, it feels like the air is charged, a quiet tension settling between you two. The playful edge from before has softened, replaced by something more unspoken, more intimate.

For a second, you almost wish you could just forget the world outside of this conversation, forget the hurt that brought you here, forget the ring on Frank’s finger that keeps reminding him of the reality he lives in now.

But the weight of it all presses down, and you break the silence with a soft laugh, the sound forced but somehow real.

𐔌 ﹒ ⋆ ꩜ ⋆ 𓂃 ₊ ⊹

Frank had insisted he take you home, by that, he meant riding a cab with you. You two were far too drunk to get behind the wheel, and to walk straight without stumbling.

The cab pulls up in front of your house, the engine humming to a slow stop as the late-night air wraps around you like a cool blanket. For a moment, you just sit there, staring out at the dark, quiet street.

The lights from the porch are soft and welcoming, but the weight of the night presses in on you like a fog.

The door opens, and Frank is the first to step out. He moves with that same easy confidence, like everything in the world is exactly where it should be. He stands outside the cab, waiting for you to follow.

You hesitate for a second, your mind buzzing with a mix of tequila and too many unanswered questions. The cool breeze hits your face, clearing some of the fog in your head. Frank turns back toward you, catching your hesitation, and gives you a playful grin.

“You know,” he says, his voice teasing but with an edge of something softer, “I’m not gonna carry you to the door if that’s what you’re waiting for. I’m already pushing my luck by not falling over on the sidewalk.”

You laugh lightly, the sound a little more genuine than you expected. You push the door open and step out, the ground under your feet feeling a little less solid than it should.

“Good thing I can walk myself,” you say, brushing past him.

He hands the cab driver some money and asks him to wait as he follows you at a leisurely pace, matching your steps but keeping his distance—just enough to give you space, but close enough that his presene is felt.

As you approach your door, the key feels heavier in your hand than it should. You fumble with it, trying to fit it in the lock, and Frank steps up beside you, leaning slightly against the doorframe as if he's been here a thousand times before.

“You need help with that?” he asks, his voice a little quieter now. The playfulness has faded, replaced with something that feels almost... careful.

You shake your head, finally getting the key to turn. The door clicks open.

“Thanks for making sure I got here,” you say, your voice quieter now, more serious.

“I probably would've ended up face-down in a bush if I tried it alone.”

Frank chuckles, a low sound that rumbles in his chest, easy and warm.

“Of course,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

As you reach for the handle and push the door open, you almost stumble, your balance slipping for a second.

Frank moves instinctively, a hand shooting out to catch you, but you tighten your grip on the handle just in time, steadying yourself with a small, breathless laugh.

You turn back to him, lingering in the doorway, the porch light throwing a soft halo around the two of you.

“I want to say I'll see you around,” you murmur, sincere and soft, "but we probably won't."

Frank’s smile falters, the grin fading into something smaller, more real. He scratches the back of his neck, looking suddenly, painfully sober.

“Who knows,” he says, a thread of hope weaving through his voice.

For a long moment, neither of you moves. Then you offer him a small smile — the kind that feels like a goodbye and a maybe all at once.

Before you can turn away fully, Frank shifts his weight, like he’s fighting with himself. His hand brushes lightly against the doorframe, hesitating.

“You’re not the only one who needed tonight,” he says, voice low, almost rough.

You freeze, heart catching somewhere between your ribs. The air between you stretches, electric and fragile. For a moment, neither of you breathes.

Then you’re moving — or maybe he is — it doesn’t matter, because the next thing you know, you’re reaching for him, pulling him by the collar of his jacket.

Your mouths collide in a kiss that's messy and desperate, all teeth and heat and aching need. His hands find your waist like he’s done it a thousand times before, anchoring you against him.

The cab outside gives an impatient beep beep — a harsh reminder of the real world waiting just beyond your front porch. Frank breaks the kiss for half a second, glancing back toward the street — then without a word, he guides you inside and kicks the door shut behind him, the soft thud echoing through the quiet house.

And then he's on you again — gripping your hips, your back hitting the inside of the door with a soft thump. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, kissing you harder, hands sliding up under the hem of your dress like he can't get close enough.

Clothes, decisions, consequences — they all fall away, unimportant in the face of this electric, reckless need.

Frank lifts you with startling ease, and you wrap your legs around his waist without thinking, your arms tightening around his neck.

He carries you a few steps deeper into the house, bumping blindly into a wall, laughing quietly against your mouth like he can’t quite believe any of this is happening.

You break apart just long enough to catch a breath, your foreheads pressed together, both of you panting. His hands skim down your thighs, rough and reverent all at once, as if grounding himself to reality through you.

“Bedroom?” he murmurs, voice wrecked and breathless.

You nod, dazed, and point down the hall.

Frank doesn’t hesitate — just turns, still holding you close, and starts down the hallway, kissing you between every few steps like he physically can't stop himself.

The world narrows to the feel of his mouth on yours, the strength of his hands on your skin, the way he murmurs your name like a secret he’s afraid to lose.

When he finally finds the door, he shoulders it open and stumbles inside, both of you laughing breathlessly through the haze of want.

He drops you onto the bed with a gentleness that doesn't match the wildness in his eyes, then crawls over you, kissing you again — slower now, deeper — like he’s determined to memorize every inch of you.

You thread your fingers into his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, down the line of your throat. He lingers there, breathing you in, his hands splaying wide across your ribs like he’s trying to steady himself.

“God, you’re...” he starts, voice breaking like he can’t even find the words. He kisses you again before he can try.

Clothes become an afterthought — a barrier that both of you work to strip away with frantic hands, punctuated by soft gasps and half-laughed curses when fabric gets stubborn or tangled.

Frank pauses every few seconds, checking your eyes, searching for any hint of hesitation. But you just pull him closer, giving him your answer without a word.

When there’s nothing left between you but heat and skin, he looks at you like he’s seeing something he doesn’t think he deserves. His thumb traces the line of your cheek, gentle, reverent.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he says, rough and honest.

And then he’s kissing you again — slower, more deliberate now, like he's savoring every second, like he’s afraid it’ll be ripped away.

His hands map your body with careful, aching thoroughness, every touch setting your nerves on fire.

His hand roams down the curve of your sternum, slow and sure, until he cups one breast in his palm. You gasp, the sound spilling from your lips before you can catch it, your back arching into his touch.

He strokes his thumb lightly over your skin, reverent, almost awed, as if he’s memorizing you one careful inch at a time.

He touches you with such aching tenderness, like you're something precious — fragile, irreplaceable — something he’s terrified to hurt or lose.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your collarbone, his voice so low it’s almost a prayer.

You shake your head, threading your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer.

“Don't stop,” you whisper, barely audible, but it’s all he needs. His mouth finds yours again, a little more desperate this time, his hands mapping every curve of your body like he’s trying to brand the memory of you into his skin.

You cling to him just as fiercely, drowning in the way he feels, the way he makes you feel — alive, needed, wanted.

Tonight, you’re not thinking about tomorrow.

Tonight, you’re just feeling.

©pomelace 2025

[minyoongisnewthing]

Han river lullaby chapter two | myg

chapter one chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, exs to lovers, eventual smut, idol!au, co parents, second chance romance

Chapter two content warning: mention of corporate manipulation/control, emotional confrontation, mild swearing

word count: 5.6k approximately

Authors notes: thank you sincerely for the love and support you have shown this story so far it has meant so much to me, it was a much needed confidence boost. Apologies to my boy Namjoon you don’t get paid enough to be readers and Yoongi’s therapists. Please feel free to drop any feedback in the comments

A few days later marked the start of your much-needed week long break after working twelve grueling days in a row. 

You woke up with Han wrapped around your arm, his little body sleeping and warm against yours as he snored softly. 

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across his features. 

Smiling, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead before carefully slipping out of bed, making sure not to wake him.

Downstairs, you set to work making pancakes, knowing that the scent would lure him down in minutes. 

The familiar routine helped calm your nerves about what you planned to do today - the conversation you could no longer put off. 

Sure enough, just as you plated the first stack, you heard the telltale sound of small feet padding across the floor.

"Morning, bubba," you greeted him with a smile, turning just in time to see him rubbing sleep from his eyes, his hair an adorable mess of soft curls that reminded you so much of Yoongi's bed head.

"Morning," he mumbled back, still groggy but clearly intrigued by breakfast. You lifted him up and placed him in his chair before setting a small plate of cut-up pancakes in front of him.

"What do you want to do today? Before you go to auntie Mya’s house?" you asked as you poured some syrup over his food, trying to keep your voice steady despite the anxiety churning in your stomach.

Han barely took a moment to think before his face lit up. "Can we go to the park!" he exclaimed, his excitement muffled by a mouthful of pancake.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Chew your food, Han," you reminded gently, wiping syrup off his chin. 

The simple gesture made your heart clench - how many moments like this had Yoongi missed?

"Sorry," he said, swallowing quickly before grinning at you - that gummy smile so like his father's it almost took your breath away.

The idea of the park sounded good, a chance to give Han one last carefree morning before everything changed. 

After breakfast, you both bundled up in coats and beanies and set off down the street. Han immediately took off running the moment you arrived, joining a few other kids in the playground. 

You settled onto a bench, watching him with a fond smile that didn't quite mask the weight in your chest. Despite the warmth in your heart at seeing your son so happy, a familiar guilt pressed down on you. 

You knew what you had to do. What you'd promised yourself - and Namjoon - you would do today. No more waiting, no more stalling.

Pulling out your phone, you opened your chat with Yoongi before you could talk yourself out of it.

Y/N: Are you resting like the doctor ordered?

You hit send, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Yoongi: Don't worry, Hobi and Namjoon made sure I am. Why the check-up? Don't believe I'd follow orders?

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head before replying.

Y/N: Was thinking of stopping by, if you're up for a visit?

A few moments passed, each second stretching like an eternity as you watched the typing bubble appear and disappear, the reappear only to disappear again, finally.

Yoongi: What, you visit all your patients after hours?

Y/N: Only the stubborn ones who need extra monitoring.

Yoongi: I'm wounded. But yeah, I'm at home with Namjoon, still being good and resting like ordered.

Y/N: Perfect, do you actually mind if I stop by?

Yoongi: [Address] - Hannam-dong. Door code: 0923

You stared at the screen, barely believing it. He was letting you in - literally and figuratively - and you were about to change everything.

That's how you found yourself standing in front of Yoongi's apartment after dropping Han off with Mya, your favorite nurse and close friend. Your palms were sweating as you tried to work up the courage to knock, the weight of Han's excited "Bye, Eomma!" still echoing in your ears. 

This was it. You were about to lay everything out, every painful truth, and you had no idea how he would react. Taking a deep breath, you finally knocked.

A moment later, the door opened, revealing Namjoon. His blonde hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it while working - a habit he'd never broken. 

His brows furrowed in quiet surprise as he took in the sight of you standing there, though you could see in his deep brown eyes he'd been expecting this. He leaned against the doorframe, his tall frame somehow both imposing and gentle at once.

"You're finally doing this?" he asked, voice careful, his dimples appearing briefly despite the seriousness of the moment.

You nodded, fingers twisting together nervously. "Yeah. You're right, for both of them, I have to."

Namjoon studied you for a second before stepping aside. "He's upstairs in his room. Do you want me to stay?"

You swallowed, nodding hard. "Please, Joon. I feel like I'm about to have a heart attack."

He gave you a reassuring nod. "You can do this, Y/N. I'll be here, for both of you."

You followed him through the apartment, the space as calm and minimalistic as you'd imagined Yoongi's home would be. The walls were lined with awards and platinum records, reminders of everything he'd achieved.

Namjoon led you to the bedroom door before pausing.

"I'll be close," he said softly before stepping back.

Gathering every ounce of courage you had left, you knocked.

“Yeah?” came Yoongi’s voice from inside.

Slowly, you pushed the door open and poked your head in. He was sitting up in bed, lounging comfortably in a dark shirt and grey sweatpants, the ever-present silver chain around his neck.

His dark hair falling over his forehead in careless waves. His feline eyes met yours the moment you stepped inside, sharpening with something unreadable—intense, unwavering, and just a little too knowing.

"Hey, Yoongi," you said hesitantly, the words barely above a whisper.

His expression softened—just a little. "Hey yourself." But even as he said it, you could see it in his gaze: curiosity, the ghost of warmth… but most of all, confusion.

You moved toward him, your hands twisting together as you sat at the edge of his bed. The room felt too quiet, the air too thick with something unspoken. Your stomach churned, the weight of what you were about to say pressing heavily against your ribs.

"Look, Yoongi… we need to talk."

The small, familiar smile on his lips faltered. His eyes sharpened with cautious tension, his body going still. "Okay…."

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady yourself, but nothing could have prepared you for this moment. Your fingers found the edge of his blanket, needing something to ground you.

"Just… just know that I never wanted to hurt you."

His shoulders stiffened, his jaw tightening. "Y/N." His voice was lower now, edged with something dangerous. "What's going on?"

Your fingers clenched together, nails biting into your skin. There was no easy way to say it.

"Around a month after I left, I… I found out I was pregnant."

Yoongi stilled.

The breath he'd been about to take caught in his throat, his body going rigid as if you had physically struck him. 

The room suddenly felt smaller, suffocating. You saw it—the moment your words reached him, the precise second his world cracked open.

You forced yourself to keep going.

"I gave birth to a little boy," you whispered, your voice unsteady. "His name is Han and… and, fuck, Yoongi, he has your smile. Your eyes. Even your damn nose."

Silence. A silence heavier than anything you'd ever known stretched between you.

Yoongi’s hands, which had been resting in his lap, curled into fists over the blanket, his knuckles white. The veins along the backs of his hands stood out, a stark contrast against the smooth, pale skin. His long, slender fingers twitched slightly, as if resisting the urge to move. 

His breathing was uneven, like he was struggling to remember how. His voice, when it finally came, was barely a whisper.

"I have a son?"

It was the break in his voice that shattered something inside you.

Your throat burned as you nodded. "Yes."

He exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with an unsteady breath. He dragged a trembling hand through his dark hair, gripping it tightly like he was holding himself together by sheer force. 

When he finally looked at you, his gaze was dark, unreadable—but the hurt in them was unmistakable.

"You—" His voice wavered, raw with disbelief. "You kept my son from me?"

You swallowed hard, guilt clawing at your ribs. "I thought I was doing the best thing for both of us—"

"The best thing?" His voice cut through yours like a blade, sharp and filled with something frighteningly close to betrayal. "For both of us?"

You flinched, gripping the edge of the bed as the weight of his anger crashed into you.

"I know you're angry—"

"Damn fucking right I'm angry." His voice shook under the weight of his emotions. His hands pressed against his forehead as he exhaled harshly. He shook his head, still trying to process. When he looked at you again, there was something raw, something broken in his expression.

"You kept my son from me."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't even an accusation—it was a wound laid bare.

You flinched but refused to look away. "I thought I was doing what was best—"

"So you said," his voice rose, something sharp laced within it. "But for who, Y/N? For me? For you? Because it sure as hell wasn't what was best for him."

Your breath caught, guilt twisting like a knife in your ribs. "I—"

He cut in, his tone almost hollow. "I reconciled with the fact I was the only one who lost something when we walked away." His eyes burned into yours, dark and unreadable. "But the whole time, you had my son."

His voice cracked on the last word, and it shattered something inside you.

"Yoongi…" You swallowed hard, trying to find steady ground, but there was none. "I wanted to tell you. I swear, I did. But after everything, I—"

"You what?" he demanded, leaning forward. "You decided for me? You thought I didn't deserve to know?"

You let out a shaky breath, eyes stinging. "You left first."

Yoongi stilled.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of those three words settled between you like an open wound, bleeding and raw.

And then he laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that sent a chill down your spine.

"So that's what this is," he muttered, shaking his head. "Punishment."

Your heart clenched. "That's not—"

"You wanted me to hurt like you did," he said, voice dropping into something quieter, dangerous. "Well, congratulations, Y/N. You fucking achieved it didn’t you."

His words knocked the breath out of you.

"Do you think it was easy for me?" Your voice cracked through the room, your own anger rising like a flame catching air. "Do you think I didn't hurt too? That I didn't spend nights staring at my phone, wanting to call you, to tell you? To break down and beg you to come see me."

Yoongi’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the force of your words. The dark irises, usually guarded and unreadable, flickered with something unspoken, their depth momentarily exposed. 

A faint crease formed between his brows, his smooth, pale skin taut with tension. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words, the muscles in his jaw tightened, a subtle but telling sign of restraint.

"You stopped reaching out first," you continued, your voice thick with pain and accusation. "You never truly fought for us, Yoongi. You just—let go. So I thought that meant I had to let go too."

Yoongi's jaw clenched, his hands curling tighter at his sides. His laugh was sharp, disbelieving, barely contained between clenched teeth. 

"It wasn't that simple, Y/N," he bit out. "The company—their rules—I couldn't. Not if I wanted to keep my career, to keep you safe!." 

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "I thought…" 

His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw it. Regret. The weight of what he'd done too. The hurt he didn’t even consider he’d caused. 

"I thought letting you go was the best thing I could do for you. To protect you."

You stared at him, realization washing over you like ice water. The silence. The distance. It hadn't been indifference. It had been sacrifice. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

You let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "The fucking company," you spat. "That's rich. Enjoying the view from that fucking high horse, Min?" The visceral hurt ripped open, the years of heartache spilling out like poison in your veins. 

"You decided that for me. Just like I decided for you. You didn't even give me a choice, Yoongi. You just walked away."

His nostrils flared, his breath unsteady. "My view's just the same as yours, on your own high horse, sweetheart." He hissed the old term of endearment, sounding like venom on his lips.

"You did the same fucking thing, didn't you?" His voice was low, dangerous now. "You took my son from me. His first cries, his first steps, his first fucking words!"

Your vision blurred with unshed tears.

"You should have told me," he snapped, his voice breaking slightly on the words. "You should have fucking told me."

Your chin trembled, the fight leaving you, making way for the only emotion you had left: exhaustion. 

"You're right, Yoongi. I can't change my choice, I wish I could. But maybe when we're both less heated, you'll understand why I did, help me understand your choices now." Your tears begin to slide down your cheek.

Yoongi's expression cracked, something devastated flickering in his eyes. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his voice raw when he finally spoke.

"I was scared, Y/N," he admitted, the confession shaking. "Just like you were. Scared of losing everything I'd worked for. Scared of losing you."

"Fucking terrified of the pressure we were suddenly under, the conditions we had to live in." His eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You don't think I thought about you every day?" His voice rose slightly, sounding on the edge of mania. 

"Do you know how many times I got caught sneaking off just to try and call you? How many nights I wanted to just throw it all away and come see you?" 

His breathing turned ragged. "Do you have any fucking idea how much it took for me to let you walk out of that apartment that morning? To smile at you like I was okay?"

He took a deep shuddering breath, trying to recenter himself. "It took everything in me not to chase after you, not to beg you to stay."

The memory of that morning flooded your mind, as vivid as if it were yesterday...

The early morning light painted Yoongi's small apartment in soft golden hues, making everything feel dreamlike and fragile. 

Your bags sat by the door - simple things that somehow held the weight of your entire world shifting.

In these last precious moments before your taxi arrived, you stood wrapped in each other's arms, whispering promises, promises of making the distance work, of visits when time allowed, into the quiet morning air.

"You sure you don't want me to drop you at the airport?" Yoongi murmured into your hair, his arms tightening around you as if trying to memorize how you felt against him.

"I'm sure, Yoon," you managed a smile, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "You'll be late for dance practice, and I'm not having Hobi mad at me because your ass is late."

His chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, but it held a note of something fragile, something breaking. You snuggled closer, breathing in his familiar scent - coffee and cologne and something uniquely Yoongi that had become home to you.

"I'll call you every chance I can, okay?" he promised, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I know," you whispered, looking up to meet his gaze. The love and fear you saw there mirrored your own.

You shared one final, devastating kiss before your phone buzzed - your taxi was here.

Your breath caught in your throat as the memory faded, bringing you back to the present moment.

"But in the end..." His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with years of regret. "I lost you anyway."

Tears burned at your eyes.

"I didn't come here to fight with you, Yoon," you finally admitted, voice tired and aching. "We both fucked up. We both made mistakes. And now here we are. Hurt. Angry. And too late."

Yoongi's gaze met yours, something shattered in the way he looked at you.

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice hollow. "Too late."

He nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. His voice trembled when he finally asked, "Can I meet him?"

Your chest clenched painfully.

"Of course you can," you replied instantly, your voice soft, careful. "Would... would you like to see a photo of him now?"

He nodded, and with trembling fingers, you reached for your phone. You pulled up a photo taken just that morning—Han in the park, beaming, his dark eyes crinkling just like Yoongi's when he laughed.

Yoongi took the phone from you carefully, as if afraid the moment might shatter in his hands. He stared at the screen, and you watched as something in him completely unraveled.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice breaking.

His pale fingers hovered over the screen, tracing Han's face without touching it, his expression torn between awe and devastation.

"Mother Nature really did one hell of a copy-paste job on him, didn't she?"

Despite everything, a choked laugh escaped you.

Yoongi's eyes flickered back up to you, searching, uncertain. "Y/N..." His voice was quieter now, filled with something fragile. "I would've made it work."

You closed your eyes briefly, exhaling shakily.

Finally, he exhaled slowly. "I... I need to see him, to know him beyond just a picture," he said, determination laced with vulnerability.

"I have the next few days free," you say gently, watching Yoongi carefully. "I can bring him over whenever you're ready."

There's a beat of silence before you add, "Also, that bloody chain—let me fix it. It's annoying me."

Yoongi lets out an unexpected laugh, the warm sound catching you off guard. You raise an eyebrow at him in question.

"You never could keep your hands off me. Don't lie," he quips, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The familiarity of his teasing makes something in your chest loosen. It doesn't erase the pain of the past, but it's something—something small, something hopeful.

"Fuck off," you chuckle, shaking your head as you step closer, fingers carefully adjusting it to sit properly against his shirt. He stays still, letting you work, his eyes watching you with something unreadable.

As you step away again, the conversation drifts to Han—his little quirks, the way he scrunches his nose when he's thinking, his stubborn streak that's so clearly inherited from both of you.

"He's so smart," you say with a proud smile, your heart swelling just talking about him. "He loves music already - always dancing and humming little tunes he makes up."

Yoongi hums, glancing down at the photo of Han still open on your phone. "Of course he’s smart. He has Min DNA after all." he says matter-of-factly.

You barely contain the scoff that leaves you, but there's no real annoyance—just an old, familiar fondness creeping in.

"He's obsessed with the piano at my friend's house," you continue softly. "Can't keep him away from it. And he has this habit of staying up late, no matter what I do - just like someone else I know."

Yoongi's expression softens, a mix of pride and pain crossing his features. "What else?" he asks, shuffling forward towards you, voice barely above a whisper, like he's trying to drink in every detail.

"He's incredibly stubborn when he wants to be. Especially when he’s over tired," you say with a small laugh. "But he's also so gentle. So caring. He notices when anyone's sad and tries to make them feel better. Just yesterday, he gave his favorite toy to a crying kid at the park."

You watch as Yoongi absorbs each detail, his fingers still hovering over the photo on your phone. "Does he..." he hesitates, swallowing hard. "Does he ever ask about me?"

Your heart clenches. "Yeah, he does. More and more, He sees other kids with their parents and gets curious. I've told him… that while his appa loves him very much, grown-ups sometimes have complicated situations."

Yoongi's breath catches, and he nods slowly, processing. 

After you agree to bring Han by tomorrow, you tell Yoongi you need to go pick him up. He nods, still looking lost in thought, but there's a softness in his gaze that wasn't there before.

As you step into the lounge, you find Namjoon sitting on the couch, book in hand. He looks up as you enter, a small smirk forming.

"I got worried for a moment there when all the yelling stopped," he teases, dimples on full display.

You scoff but smile back. "We called a temporary truce."

"Progress," he nods approvingly.

"We have organised for me to bring Han by tomorrow," you tell him. "If you wanna be here to supervise the visit." You say it lightly, but there's an underlying truth to it—you don't know how emotional tomorrow will be.

Namjoon closes his book and stretches. "I'll be here," he assures you, voice steady.

Leaning against the wall, you sigh. "How did we get here, Joon?" you whisper, voice barely audible over the soft hum of the city below. "How did we let it get this bad?"

Namjoon sighs, putting the book down beside him. "You mean you and Yoongi?"

You nod, your fingers gripping your knees. "We loved each other." Your voice cracks on the last word, and you shake your head as if trying to make sense of it.

"So how the hell did we end up as two people who just walked away? Who let everything go and ended up like... this—with so much pain and miscommunication between us?"

Namjoon is quiet for a long moment. Then he sighs.

"Because it was never just you two," he murmurs.

You frown, looking at him. "What do you mean?"

Namjoon exhaled through his nose, leaning back against the chair. His expression was unreadable, but there was something haunted in his eyes.

"The company, it wasn't just an excuse, Y/N," he said. "You knew they had rules about dating, but you don't know the extent of it. The control, the manipulation—it wasn't just a policy. It was a constant, looming, very real threat."

You swallowed, uneasy. "I knew it was strict, but..."

Namjoon let out a humorless chuckle. "Strict? Y/N, we used to have random phone checks. Random room checks. Managers would come in, take our devices, search our belongings all without warning, and comb through everything. Texts, call logs, even our search history."

He shook his head, blonde hair falling into his eyes as he continued.

"If they found anything suspicious, anything that hinted at a relationship, it wasn't just a scolding—it was a warning. And that's the tip of the iceberg honestly."

Your stomach turned. You knew about the company's grip, but hearing the details made your blood run cold.

"They used to tell us, over and over, that everything we had could be taken away in an instant. Our careers, our reputations. All of it, gone." 

Namjoon glanced at you, his gaze heavy. "And Yoongi? He was already seen as the difficult one. The cold one, the one most likely to push back against that control."

"If they had even a hint of something that could be spun as 'unprofessional'—especially a relationship—he knew they wouldn't hesitate to make an example out of him."

You blinked rapidly, your chest tightening. "They really had that much control over everything?"

Namjoon's lips pressed into a thin line. "You have no idea." He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "We weren't just scared of losing our jobs, Y/N. We were scared of losing everything. They had us believing that if we stepped out of line, we'd be ripped apart—no second chances."

You swallowed hard, trying to process it all. "He told me it was because he was afraid?"

Namjoon nodded. "Not just afraid. Convinced. Convinced that staying with you would ruin you both. And Yoongi..." He hesitated before continuing, voice softer now. 

"He's always been the type to shoulder things alone. To suffer in silence if he thinks it'll protect the people he loves."

Your throat tightened. "He thought leaving me was protecting me. Just like I was protecting him."

Namjoon's expression was pained. "Yeah."

You exhaled shakily, rubbing your temples. "I hate that I understand it. I hate that I can see why he did it, why I did what I did, and it still doesn't make any of this hurt any less."

Namjoon looked at you, his eyes showing wisdom beyond his years. "Because understanding the past doesn't erase the damage it left behind. You both made choices based on fear. And now, you're left with the consequences."

Tears burned at the back of your eyes, and you laughed bitterly. "So what do we do now, Joon?"

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "That's up to you and Yoongi.”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, your mind spinning with everything Namjoon had just told you. The weight of it pressed down on your chest—everything Yoongi had gone through, the suffocating grip they had on him. On all of them.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You wanna know how bad it got?"

You looked at him warily. "I think I already do."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "You don't." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His voice was quieter now, heavy with something distant, something painful.

"There was one time—about two months after you left—when Yoongi got caught trying to contact you, after he had already gotten in shit for doing it the times before."

Your breath hitched. "What?"

Namjoon nodded. "It was after a long schedule, late as hell. We were back at the dorm, overworked and beyond hungry, I walked past his room, saw the light on under his door. I didn't think much of it at first—until I heard his voice."

You swallowed hard. "He was calling me?"

Namjoon gave you a pointed look. "Trying to." 

He exhaled. "I don't know what happened. Maybe one of the managers was already suspicious, maybe they were just being extra paranoid that night. Either way, someone must've been watching him, because before he could even get through, the door slammed open."

Your stomach twisted.

"They took his phone. Took all our phones, actually, under the excuse of a 'security check.' But they already knew. They already saw."

You couldn't breathe. "What did they do?"

Namjoon hesitated, then said, "They pulled him into a meeting the next day. I don't know exactly what was said, but when he came back, he looked..." 

He trailed off, jaw tightening. "Defeated. Like they'd ripped something out of him. He barely spoke for days after that. Just threw himself into work, into writing. It was like he was trying to drown himself in anything that wasn't you."

Your hands trembled as you hugged yourself, nausea creeping into your throat.

"They threatened him, didn't they?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Namjoon nodded slowly. "Probably, with everything in their arsenal designed to hurt him."

A sharp sob threatened to rise in your chest, but you forced it down, biting the inside of your cheek.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, staring down at your hands as Namjoon's words settled deep into your chest, heavy and unshakable.

A memory surfaced, unbidden.

"I remember that day," you murmured, voice distant. "I was in the middle of a finals exam. My phone was on silent, stuffed in my bag. When I finished, I checked and saw a few missed calls from him. I thought it was my shot to tell him about Han, about how much I missed him. I thought if he's finally got time after a few weeks, I'll take it!"

Namjoon watched you carefully, his expression unreadable.

"I called back," you whispered, feeling the ache of that moment as if it had just happened. "But he didn't answer." You let out a shaky breath. "I tried again. And again. But nothing."

You lifted your gaze to Namjoon, your eyes stinging. "Now I guess I know why."

His face softened with something like understanding, but he said nothing.

That night, you had sat on the edge of your bed, gripping your phone, staring at Yoongi's name on the screen, wondering what had changed. Wondering why, after a few weeks of silence, he had reached out—only to disappear again. 

You had told yourself it didn't matter. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he had come to his senses and realized there was nothing left to say. That the relationship had run its natural course.

But now...

Now you know the truth. Yoongi had tried, tried more than you knew. And they had taken that from him. From both of you.

You sucked in a deep breath, forcing yourself to keep it together, but Namjoon's next words cut through to your heart.

"You spent all this time thinking he didn't care enough," he said quietly. "And he spent all this time thinking he had no choice but to let you go."

A bitter laugh bubbled up in your throat, thick with disbelief and regret. "What a fucking mess we made, huh."

Namjoon gave you a wry, knowing look. "Yeah. But that doesn't mean you can't fix it."

Your breath came out unsteady. "Why didn't he ever tell me?"

Namjoon gave you a small, sad smile. "Because he didn't want you to know what he went through. He didn't want you to carry that weight."

Tears blurred your vision.

"I thought he just gave up on me," you admitted, voice breaking.

Namjoon shook his head. "Yoongi never gave up on you, Y/N. He just didn't know how to hold on without hurting you."

You wiped at your eyes quickly, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. "And now? Now that we've both hurt each other?"

Namjoon sighed, leaning back against the couch. "That's the thing about love, isn't it? It's not about never hurting each other. It's about what you do after."

Silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words.

Finally, you whispered, "I don't know how to fix this, Joon."

He gave you a small smile. "You don't have to figure it all out right now." His gaze was steady, reassuring. "Just start with tomorrow. Start with being good co-parents to Han."

Tomorrow. When Yoongi would meet his son for the first time.

You exhaled shakily, nodding. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

Later that night, after dinner and a bath, you sit Han on your lap, brushing a hand through his soft hair. The weight of him against you feels both comforting and terrifying, knowing how much his world is about to change.

"Han, baby," you say gently, drawing his attention. "Remember when you told Eomma you thought about your appa?"

He nods, big, curious eyes watching you, looking up at you with such innocent trust.

"How would you like to meet him tomorrow?"

There's a beat of silence as his little brain processes your words. Then, his eyes go wide with excitement.

"Yes, please!" he exclaims, bouncing slightly in your lap. "Really, Eomma? Really?"

Your heart swells, relief washing over you. If there was ever a sign that you were making the right decision, this was it. You hug Han close, kissing his temple.

"Okay, baby," you whisper, holding him just a little tighter. "Tomorrow, you'll meet your appa."

That night, as you watch Han sleep, your mind drifts to another lazy night, years ago...

The soft strumming of guitar strings filled your small apartment, mixing with the soft moonlight streaming through the windows. You were sprawled across your couch, textbooks scattered around you, but your attention kept drifting to Yoongi.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, an old guitar in his lap, dark hair falling into his eyes as he worked through a melody. He was wearing one of his oversized hoodies, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, that silver chain glinting at his neck.

"You're staring again," he murmured without looking up, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Am not," you protested, even as you continued watching his fingers move across the strings. "I'm studying."

"Oh yeah?" He glanced up then, eyes twinkling. "What chapter are you on?"

The memory fades as you brush Han's hair from his forehead, seeing so much of Yoongi in his peaceful sleeping face. Tomorrow would change everything for him, but looking at your son now, you know it's worth whatever pain might come.

Because Han deserves to know his father. And Yoongi deserves to know his son.

As you drift off to sleep, you can almost hear the echo of that old guitar, mixing with the sound of your son's steady breathing, creating a melody of what was and what could be.

Tomorrow would be the beginning of something new—something scary and uncertain, but necessary. For all of you.

tag list: @busanbby-jjk @jajabro @kam9404 @yoongiiuu93 @julseka07 @tea4sykes @marihoneywk @maryhopemei @sanarin @misschelliejeon @boraluv @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne, @hyuninslutbbgirl , @Granataepfelchen

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER SIX

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @xxloveralways14 @patscorner @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @makethemhoesmad @authentic-girl03

warnings infidelity, some sexual content

kalena speakss 🪽! this is easily my favorite chapter so far (for reasons that will become obvious towards the end) don’t expect another back to back update bc it’s not happening 😭 maybe thursday or friday at the earliest, i still have priorities!

June 2025 — Crypto.com Arena, Los Angeles, California 

“Paige, your shot wasn’t falling tonight like we are used to seeing from you. What was different tonight for you than either nights?”

It’s this that I’m not quite yet used to. The post lost pressers. It was different in college, where the team had way more wins for every one loss, but right now we’re at .500 and each time a loss follows a win and they ask me the same variation of the same question I get irritated.

But I’m media trained, which means I just answer the question no matter how dumb I feel it is. The real answer is that I played like shit tonight, forcing shots and getting into my head. Instead, I’m forced to say:

“We’re playing a team that has the reigning defensive player of the year and was just in the finals. It was gonna be a dog fight, for us to get settled against a defense like that, and they simply out performed us.” I look down at the stat sheet in front of me, I had 5 turnovers to my 4 assists, and I fucking hate turning the ball over. 

“Kayla McBride is a dog, she guarded me well tonight, forced me into some bad shots and got a few turnovers from me. But I gotta take all that and learn from it, it’s still too early in the season to stress out over things that are fixable.”

I'm the only one sitting at the podium tonight, Rickea and Dearica doing theirs together and Zia who had just gone before me. I knew what the gist of the questions would be, turnovers, defense, and the most gruesome: injuries.

“We saw you roll your ankle pretty bad tonight. Even though you finished the game, can you tell us a bit about the seriousness of it?” It’s a different reporter now, one that I recognize from our win the other night.

I shake my head. My ankle was fine up until he just mentioned it. Now, it stung bad. I had some extra tape around it, it was only sore, while I was sitting but walking and running full speed on the court made that shit hurt like no other. 

“It’s not serious.” I reply honestly. “We got two days off before the next game at home so I’m not worried. I’m gonna treat it like any other tweak and just follow what the trainers got for me, and hopefully we have a better night against Minnesota on Friday.”

It seems like that is a sufficient answer for the rest of the reporters in the room when I hear that wonderful “no more questions.” I stand up gingerly from my seat. They don’t miss my slight limp, but after a few steps the pain shakes off and it just feels uncomfortable. 

When I get back to the locker room it’s damn near empty except for Cameron and Rae. I give them both curt nods before heading over to my locker.

They don’t speak to me, which I’m silently grateful for because I might snap at them unintentionally. Losing is one thing, playing like dog shit is another, but my ankle really put the nail in the coffin.

I attempt to clean up my locker a bit, making life a little bit easier for the ladies who’re gonna come in and clean up when we leave. I throw my jersey and shorts in the growing pile of towels and warm ups and all other gear before reaching for my phone in the bag. 

just saw the injury on tv, pray it’s not too bad ❤️‍🩹

That’s the second most recent text in my phone, from about an hour ago from Maraye. It just briefly brings a smile to my face that I can’t even fight. It’s crazy to me that even when I’m at my grumpiest she finds a way to make me forget about it all.

I scroll through the rest of my notifications before tapping on her contact. I see that she texted me multiple times tonight throughout different parts of the game.

don’t fuck up my parlay tonight. jk good luck fav! 7:09pm

OKAY BLOCKKK GET UP THEN 7:20pm

omg the cross over??? don’t do her like that p 😮‍💨  8:03pm

I laugh fights through my lips, she told me in Atlanta she would start live texting me during games, I didn’t think she was serious. Nevertheless, I find it adorable. Maraye, throughout the busyness that is her schedule, turned on my game and watched the whole thing, keeping me posted on all her thoughts throughout the night.

I’m so beyond saving.

My thumb scrolls back down to the bottom of the thread. I can’t deny the way my heartbeat quickens in my chest at the choice of heart emoji. It’s not quite a red heart, but it’s enough to let me know she cares. I can’t believe that I’m sitting here like I’m in high school again, psycho analyzing her texts and gushing over them until my face is red.

“You headin’ out?” I look up and Cam is getting ready to leave. She’s going to be fully cleared to play this week, probably not playing with us until right before All-star. I’m excited for her, and I can tell that she is too because it’s practically beaming off of her.

I nod. “Yeah, inna minute. I’ll catch you in the morning.” Cameron takes that answer and walks out alongside Rae. I grab my back shortly after them, getting up and leaving the locker room. The arena is quiet, so is the parking garage as I make my way out there. The chirp of my car alerts me to it. I drop my bag in the trunk before sitting down in my seat.

The cushion practically eats me alive, I haven’t been this physically exhausted in months. 

Then I’m reminded that Maraye and I’d thread is still open on my phone. When I glance at the time I realize it’s not that late, I know that if I go home, I’ll just fall into the rabbit hole of watching film all night.

Instead I reach for the phone heavy in my sweatpants pocket. My thumbs begin typing away before sending Maraye a text back.

Nah it’s not all that bad 

You busy? Or can I slide?

I make sure my phone is connected to the speakers. When He’s Not There by Kehlani plays through the car while I get settled. Following that, I place my phone on its spot on the center console. It isn’t until Maraye’s name flashes on my carplay screen that I finally pull out of the parking garage.

yes please, come see meee

—

Paige sits comfortably to my left on my couch. Her leg propped on my coffee table with a bag of ice resting on her swollen ankle. 

It’s her first time at my apartment, but even then she navigates the place like she’s been here countless of times. It feels so similar to our friendship, just comfortable. 

Her arm is draped over my shoulder as I nestle into her side. When she first came over, I sat on the other side of the couch, so far away from her you would think we were fighting. And then she started talking, pulling me closer with her words until I sat right next to her. My body is leaning into her warmth.

An NBA finals game plays on the TV. Knicks versus the Thunder, it’s in the last few minutes of overtime, a high intensity game that Paige swore she couldn’t miss a second of.

“He’s so fine.” I chirp jokingly, Shai Gilgeous Alexander is on the screen, about to shoot game tying free throws.

Paige pulls her arm off of me, looking down at me incredulously before reaching for my remote. She lowers the volume on the TV, reducing Mike Breen’s commentating to a whisper.

“Who, Shai?”

“Yeah. You don’t think so?” I ask, looking up at her with a grin.

“I’m like a raging homosexual, but if you like it I love it?”

I laugh at that, pushing her hair away from my view. It cascades down her shoulders in soft bright strands that tickle my face. 

“You can never just laugh at my jokes.”

“Your jokes aren’t funny.” Paige says. The face she makes reacts to her own statement like it’s obvious, when we both know I could make her laugh until she cried if I wanted to. “And Shai isn’t your type.”

I move from my spot next to her, jumping up and turning my attention to her face, while hers are stuck to the game. The way she is seated briefly makes me forget my train of thought. Her legs are spread comfortably and she leans back on the couch with her arms against the back of the couch. She looks like a fuckboy, and in any other scenario I would make fun of her for it, but the TV glow shines on her face just right and her cologne in my nose nearly makes me go blind.

I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s my type then, Paige?”

A commercial cuts on and Paige finally draws her eyes away from the screen. “What, Julian’s lightskin ass wasn’t the giveaway?” She laughs at her own joke, it’s stupid, but I love that laugh. So uniquely her. “Or y’want me to say you like six foot blonde girls.”

I roll my eyes, and when my vision clears up again, Paige is grinning at me.

“C’mon it was funny!”

“I don’t like women, idiot.”

“You like me.”

“I do not. I don’t even know why I let you hang out around me.” My body turns and my back hits the couch with a soft thud. Just to annoy her I sit further away from her body.

“Yeah okay, ma. You keep tellin’ yourself that.” Paige’s voice is low, a deep and raspy tone that I have never heard from her before. With Julian that had always been a given— he’s a man with a deep voice, that’s obvious. But when I hear it from Paige, I don’t know. It’s different.

My body just barely reacts to the pet name, but it’s there. The glob of saliva that pushes down my dry throat. And my legs just slightly press together. Paige reaches for the pocket of my striped shorts, tugging me back to my original spot in the curve of her body. 

“You’ve really never done anything with a girl before?”

“Paige—”

“No, not to be annoying. I’m just wondering.” She shrugs. Her hand reaches over to flick the bag of ice off her ankle and brings her leg down to my carpet. She looks down at me slowly, a lick of her lips and scan of my face lets me know she’s listening, waiting for my response.

I return her gaze. “Yes, I’ve really never done anything with a girl before.”

“Why? We’re much better. Better than whatever Julian is doing for you, I can tell you that much.” Paige’s voice is smug, teasing almost. I don’t know if she’s trying to rile me up between my legs or in my heart so I defend Julian. Either way it’s working, my heartbeat quickening in my chest.

“You seem sure about that.”

She nods. “I am. I think you forget how often you complain to me about that guy.” She says with a laugh.

The game in front of us is dying down, a three point lead for the Knicks with 40 seconds left in overtime, Oklahoma just now calling a timeout. I know she’s into the game, way more than me, but still she looks at me with an intensity that makes it feel like we’re the only two things in the world.

“Doesn’t mean a girl could do it better.”

Her eyes darted from my eyes to my lips, I’m expecting them to move. To look back at my eyes or even at the TV but she doesn’t. Just me.

“Y’believe that?” Paige asks me.

“Uh huh.” 

I’m going to lose. Whatever is going on with Paige and I, what has been going on for the last few weeks. The banter, the tension, the constant touching, it’s all a fight. Her and I are going back and forth like a fucking tennis match and she’s about to win. She’s about to make me lose whatever is left of my composure and grab the collar of her Hopkins High School t-shirt and kiss her until there’s no more breath in my lungs.

“Yeah? Ion know, can’t knock it till you try it.” She says, leaning into me for all of 5 milliseconds before sitting back in her seat and looking at the screen. The volume raises on my TV the cheers and commentary bouncing off the walls of my home.

Paige has left me frozen. Stuck there, in the exact position that she left me in. My eyes staring into the side of her perfect skin, burning holes there if I had the capability. I need her. My thighs are damn near glued together to keep me from dripping down my couch. 

I adjust my position some, sitting uncomfortably on my heels but with the way Paige is manspreading, it gives me just enough to be an inch taller than her. She looks at me, eyes trailing from my thighs past my covered stomach and chest, suddenly I’m hyper aware of how close my tits are from falling out of my Skims top.

“There some’ you wanna tell me, angel?” She asks. I hate the way that nickname makes me feel. She’s the only one that calls me that, the only one who makes me feel so small with just a single word. “Or you jus’ gonna keep lookin’ at me?”

The words just barely die in the air before I’m leaning into her, pressing my lips to hers. 

It starts off soft, so soft. Her body hesitates, like she knows better than to kiss me back but she does so anyway, tilting her head further and deepening the kiss. Paige hums against me, her arms still pressed against the back of the couch as if she has to avoid touching me. As if the second her hands touch my body then it’s game over. 

She bites my bottom lip, making me moan against her. I further into the kiss, cupping her cheek and then it really is game over. Paige reaches for my hips, lifting my body onto her lap and settling my thighs on the outside of hers.

Her tongue is entering my mouth, warm and tasting like candy. They’re clashing, messy and sticky and so damn hot. Now that I’ve gotten a taste of her I’m not sure I want to give it up. 

Paige roams my body with fervor. Trailing just a bit further to grab at my ass, kneading it in her large and veiny hands. I pull back from her breathlessly. Her hair is messy, lips so swollen and pink. It leaves me soaked as a response.

“This is doin’ so much damage. Y’know that?” She asks. Her hand travel back up my body to the back of my neck. I know it’s wrong, but still I let her pull me back into her. 

“Mmm, Ion wanna— stop.” I speak against her lips, letting her kiss me as she pleases. Grope me as she pleases. Talk to me as nasty as she wants to. I miss it, the feeling of being so vulgar with another person. Paige is on a different level and I want so much more. More of her, more than anyone has ever given me but for whatever reason I know that she can.

My phone starts ringing. I try to pull back to answer it but she pulls me right back, navigating my mouth with her tongue.

“Don’t.” She mumbles.

“I gotta.” I tell her pulling back with such force that I’m almost falling off the couch. I need to. Because if I don’t stop, I’m gonna let her see me in my most vulnerable state and even I know how wrong that would be. 

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, swiping to answer the call before I can even see who it is.

“Hello?” My voice is wheezy, and I’m huffing and puffing into the speaker.

“Hey, baby. You home?” 

It’s Julian. Of course it is. Of course God would let this man call me in the middle of making out with Paige just to make me feel guilty. Like the asshole I so obviously am right now.

“N— yeah. Yeah, but I’m busy. Sorry.” I stutter. “Paige is over right now.” I tell him honestly. But still, my breath hitches at my mention of her name. She rubs my thighs while I speak, looking at me like I’m a piece of meat. 

Her hand travels to her mouth, holding up one finger to her lips with a snide glare. I reach to slap her hand away, barely listening to what Julian says to me on the other line. 

Blah blah blah I miss you blah blah blah needa start hanging out with me blah blah less Paige. It’s gibberish. And I don't care.

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight Ju.” I tell him, bothered by his continued talking and wanting to occupy myself with something else. Namely, the pink lips in front of me that look so fucking pretty and the gorgeous face just inches away from mine.

I toss my phone on the couch after Julian responds and hangs up.

“You fuckin’ like me.”

“And don’t.” Just when I’m about to hop off of her lap, the TV blares loudly.

“Bang! Bang! Shai Gilgeous-Alexander takes us into double overtime!” Mike Breen’s cheers echo into my ears. Paige looks past me, obviously upset that she missed the shot.

“Damn. He’s good and fine?”

“Dont get fucked up, Raye.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

It's Commander, Sergeant

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army-FBI!reader

Summary: After years of thinking about Tim Bradford, you meet him again during a riot in Los Angeles. When he learns you outrank him, he falls... hard.

Warnings: incorrect Army terminology and actions, depiction of riots, fluff! a couple Call of Duty references. Also, I grew up ten minutes from Fort Rucker, so I'm allowed to trash talk it.

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

When you joined the Army immediately after graduation, you didn’t expect it to become a career. What surprised you more was meeting Tim Bradford. You only met him once, but he stayed with you, a firm and commanding yet protective and loyal personality that was impossible to forget. Now, years later, you continue to think about him occasionally, hoping he’s doing well and happy. He inspired you to work through the ranks and do something more meaningful than just obeying as you’re told. Not that being a soldier and taking orders is unimportant, as you’ve explained to the troops you are now Master Sergeant of. Personally, you felt a calling to do more.

“Master Sergeant, Sergeant Major Riley is here to see you,” a soldier says, standing at attention in your doorway.

“I’ll be right out to meet him. Thank you, Private,” you reply kindly.

You are a different kind of Master Sergeant, unwilling to act higher than the men and women who answer to you. Your respect for others, regardless of rank, has made you a favorite on base.

“No need. Is now a good time?” Riley asks, taking the Private’s place.

“Of course. What can I do for you, Sergeant Major Riley?”

“There’s a developing situation in Los Angeles. If you and your team are up for it, I’d like to send you in to help.”

“Los Angeles? Who has jurisdiction?”

Riley chuckles, shaking his head, as he says, “I knew that would be your first question. Not ‘what’s the situation?’ because that’s boring, right?”

“Something like that, sir.”

“The LAPD called in military reinforcements for an out-of-control rioting issue.”

“When do we leave?”

“1700 hours. Tell your troops.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s everyone enjoying US Army Garrison Italy?” you ask your team, composed of twenty of the best soldiers.

“The men- the view is beautiful, Master Sergeant,” one of the female soldiers says.

“I’d have to agree. But we’re heading back to the States. There’s a riot issue in Los Angeles and they’ve called for the best to come in and help.”

“Riot control? Now, we’re talkin’, ma’am!”

“Los Angeles, California?” someone asks.

“What other Los Angeles is there, man?” a second voice replies.

You clear your throat, and everyone in the room snaps to attention. Smiling, you nod and confirm that your destination is Los Angeles, California.

“We leave at 1700 sharp. Helos are standing by. And before you ask, no, I don’t know when or if we’ll be back. LAPD is running point on this - listen closely, we are assisting. This is about the safety of US citizens. Not proving grounds or a test to become a Ranger. They’re calling the shots, but you still answer to me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” your team yells together.

“Then let’s get out there and protect our home.”

As you leave, someone whispers, “I’m gonna miss Italy.”

You agree, but your job is about more than the view from the base. As you pack to return to California, you wonder if you’ll ever be back to Italy.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Master Sergeant. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am Sergeant Wade Grey, I’m Watch Commander of the LAPD Mid-Wilshire division,” Grey introduces, shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Tell us where you need us, and we’ll be there.”

“We’ve got six teams out there right now, covering what we consider the biggest targets, but I’ll get you in touch with my lead Sergeant.”

“Is he in the field? We’d be happy to meet him where he is and take his direction from there.”

Wade sighs, a relieved smile appearing on his face. “You’re the best person in the state right now, Master Sergeant. He’s at the Wilshire Federal Building, the intersection of Wilshire and the 405. We’re running short on equipment, but we can get you transport.”

“Oh, we’ve got a ride. And, Sergeant Grey, feel free to drop the formalities,” you offer before telling him your first name.

“Only if you call me Wade,” he replies. “Wait- don’t tell me you have an APC parked outside my station.”

“We don’t. We have an M113 APC, a light tank, and six more vehicles waiting for a destination. You called for riot control, and we’re going to control some riots.”

“If you ever get tired of the Army, the LAPD would be happy to have you.”

“Unless you can offer me a station in Italy and as many armored vehicles as I can drive, I think I’m happy where I am.”

“Fort Irwin is scenic.”

You walk backward as you exit the office, tilting your head to the side as you consider. “Italian oceanside or California desert. Guess which I’m picking?”

“Good luck out there.”

“Thank you, sir- Wade.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The moment you jump off the side of the APC, two LAPD officers rush to you and your group of four soldiers. Splitting your team into five groups and sending one to join each of the LAPD squadrons seemed to be the best option. One of your team members introduces you to an officer, who nods and ushers you to follow him.

“Master Sergeant, this is LAPD Sergeant-“

“Bradford?”

Tim tilts his chin, his eyes the only part of his face you can see past his helmet and shield. You’d know him anywhere after countless nights of thinking of him and being inspired by him.

“Have we met, Master Sergeant?” he asks, his voice raised over the crowd gathering on Wilshire Boulevard.

Someone throws a flaming bottle of alcohol toward the steps of the building, and you motion for your team to push the crowd back.

“Later, Sergeant Bradford. Care to tell me what’s going on?” you ask.

“LA courts decided to take a bunch of cases back to trial, deal with overcrowding, standard procedures. But… you get it.”

“Don’t want ‘em out or want to make sure they do get out. Yeah, I know the answer, though I’ve never understood the thought process behind it.”

“You and me both. What are we supposed to do to show them this won’t change anything?”

Glancing at the crowd, you weigh the options. “Realistically, getting violent is only going to make this worse. I’m not suggesting a negotiation, but… what if we try stopping?”

“We’re not setting down our arms and opening the gates for them to storm the Wilshire Federal Building!” Tim yells.

“Then what would you like to do? Stand here until the trials are done?”

“That’s not-“

“Look, I don’t want to pull rank but if you’re just going to stand here and argue with me, I will, Sergeant Bradford,” you reply. His jaw clenches beneath his helmet, and you offer, “Half of your men lower their shields, a show of good faith. Then we go from there.”

Tim lowers his shield, stepping toward you to threaten, “If anything happens to my men, it is on your hands. This isn’t your home, but it’s mine.”

“I understand how this works, Sergeant Bradford. And I’m not telling you to do it alone.”

You push past him, leading two soldiers to the front line, dropping your shield, and raising your hands. The crowd members closest to you stop, looking at you curiously.

“There is a court schedule available online!” you yell. “If you have a loved one that you would like to advocate for, call the courts, call their defenders, and tell them why someone is worthy of freedom at the proper time and place! But don’t risk your own freedom, don’t take the lives of your neighbors or your peace officers in the process!”

You signal for all of the officers to raise their shields again. As the crowd storms forward, you rush into the fray, letting your training take over as you disarm the citizens around you.

“Down on the ground!” you yell, panting as the tank approaches behind you.

At the sight of the tank, the men and women standing in the road begin kneeling, lowering their weapons, and raising their hands. The LAPD rush forward, doing their jobs as you send your team to give your orders to the other soldiers you brought back to the States.

“That shouldn’t have worked,” Tim says, approaching from behind you.

Turning toward him, you sigh and remove your helmet. “Lots of things shouldn’t work, Sergeant Bradford.”

“You know my name; care to tell me why?”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you walk past him, calling over your shoulder to say, “Never expected I’d have a higher ranking than you, Sarge!”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Is the Master Sergeant here?” Tim asks as he enters the bullpen.

“She’s with her team, briefing their superiors.” Wade smiles before asking, “Why would you like to know?”

“She knew my name. I can’t place her though.”

“She’s Army, you were Army… think about it, Tim.”

“I met hundreds of people in the Army, Wade-“

“Not all of them stay in the Army and work their way through the rankings because you inspired them,” you say, standing in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem,” Wade says, adding your first name while looking toward Tim.

Tim looks past you, clearly trying to place your name.

“I met you my first year, we were only in the same room for a few minutes and didn’t say more than a few words to each other. But you inspired me. You were a good soldier, a better leader, and I wanted to do what you did.”

“And now you’re a sergeant?”

Smiling, you correct, “It’s Master Sergeant, Sergeant.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You got a little drool right there,” Angela jokes, pointing to the corner of Tim’s mouth. “What’s so special about her?”

“She outranks me,” Tim answers.

“Okay. Lots of people do.”

“Yeah,” Wade adds from Tim’s other side. “You don’t look at me like that.”

“No offense, Wade, but you’re not as pretty,” Angela replies.

Tim shushes them suddenly, nodding when you turn and see him. You smile at him, yet again drawn in by Tim Bradford’s presence and leadership. His not trusting you at first, yelling at you, was somewhat unexpected, but you’ve been in his place before. Trusting people as soon as you meet them is difficult, often impossible in your profession, but Tim’s quick change makes you smile. You’re a good leader, like him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We’ve got a problem,” Wade calls, ending a phone call. “There’s another riot at Cal State Prison. LAPD and Lancaster PD can’t handle it alone.”

“We can never make it there in time,” Nolan responds. “It’s nearly 2 hours without traffic.”

“Now would be a good time to get a private jet or something, Thorsen,” Angela calls.

You pull your phone from your pocket, typing quickly before nodding. “I need Bradford,” you tell Wade. “And your landing pad.”

“What did you do?” Tim asks.

“Sikorsky X2 is five minutes out. We can get there and drop in 20 or less.” You raise a finger to point to everyone in the room. “This stays here. I’m not supposed to know the Army has one stateside.”

“Has a what?” Aaron asks.

“Good answer.”

“It only holds two crew members, but I’ve got a team out there that can ride in a cargo area. We’re going to need backup, so if you can get airships or anything, Sergeant Grey, please do. Let’s roll.”

Tim follows you quickly, jogging to catch up with you. “How’d you pull this off?”

“Somebody owed me a favor.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I inspired you to stay in the Army, to get here.”

“Oh.” You push open a door and begin climbing the stairs quickly. Stepping onto the roof, you look at Tim and say, “Ask me again when this is over.”

Tim waits until you turn away to smile. He can’t believe he forgot you, but your sacrificial, mutually beneficial leadership style, kindness, and abilities, not to mention that you outrank him, have him practically wrapped around your finger.

✯✯✯✯✯

Standing in the back of a helicopter and hooked to a rail, you lean out against the whipping air and feel weightless. The pain and concern of the day are wearing off, and as the sun sets, you’re glad you were asked to come to LA. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath.

Tim taps your side, and when he has your attention, he points West. The ocean is now visible, and the light ripples over the water, reflecting the pastel colors painting the sky. You smile at the view before looking back to Tim. Reaching up, you adjust the channel dial on his headset. He doesn’t even flinch at your sudden movement, and your smile grows as he leans toward you.

Looking at the soldiers behind you, you say, “If I think any of you can hear me, I’ll have you transferred to the worst base I can think of.”

No one except for Tim reacts, and he chuckles quietly.

“Okay, ask me again,” you request into your microphone.

“Did you really stay in the Army because of me?”

“Yes. You showed me what was possible, but your kindness toward me made me think I could do it too.”

“You could’ve done it without me.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Easy, Sergeant.”

“It’s-“

“Master Sergeant… when this illegally obtained helicopter lands, would you go to dinner with me?”

A soldier to your left moves, and you shake your head. “After this illegally obtained helo lands, and I have Henderson transferred to hot and humid Fort Rucker, Alabama, I would love to go to dinner with you.”

“Since you outrank me, surely you get paid better, so it’s on you?”

You lean toward Tim, pausing when your headset hits his. “I could also go back to Italy and see if anyone there is willing to take me to dinner.”

“Fine,” Tim groans. “I’ll pay, but only if you stay in town long enough to show me how much my inspiration paid off.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The dinner date does not go as planned. When you enter the police station, Sergeant Major Riley awaits you. He takes you into Wade’s office to talk, and Tim stands outside waiting for you.

Being a soldier means being sent to different places with only a moment’s notice, but being at your level makes things far more difficult and irregular. Tim may have missed his chance.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Tim asks Wade.

“No clue.”

You exit a moment later, your previous smile now absent. Tim tries to hide his disappointment, but he should have known getting into a relationship with a younger, yet higher ranking, soldier would never work.

“I blame you,” you tell Wade, stopping before him and Tim.

“What did I do?” he asks incredulously.

“You said there was an opening at Irwin, but you didn’t say that you only knew that because my Sergeant Major told you.”

“He may have mentioned it.”

“Anyone want to loop me in?” Tim asks tiredly.

“I’m moving to California. Leaving Italy behind to lead a new force,” you answer sadly. “No more authentic pasta for me.”

“Wait- you’re moving to California? Irwin, which is three hours from here?” Tim interjects.

“It’s your fault too,” you remember. “I let you inspire me to be a good leader and a good teacher, but now I’m paying for it.”

Riley calls your name, beckoning you back into the office. The second time you exit, you seem a bit more pleased.

“Is the offer for that date still on the table?” you ask Tim. “Looks like my team is going to be in LA county for a few days before I can get discharged.”

"Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about? You're getting out?" Tim asks, raising his hands in question.

"I'm receiving another raise in rank," you tell Tim, grabbing his extended wrist and pulling him toward the door. "But not in the Army."

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯ 1 Year Later ✯✯

“Your form needs some work, but there’s potential,” you say.

“My, uh, my recruiter said that you take potential and make talent,” the recruit before you says.

Standing, you smile. “I like to think so. But I can’t do anything without your effort. So, are you willing to put in the work to do your best?”

“Yes, ma’am, Commander.”

“Then I only have one more question. Why do you want to join FBI special operations?”

“Commander,” someone scoffs from the doorway. “It’s like you take pride in increasing the divide between our ranks.”

Glancing over, you make a “shoo” gesture before finishing the recruit’s evaluation.

“Let’s go,” you tell Tim, gathering your things. “It’s been almost a year, and we still haven’t had an uninterrupted dinner date.”

“I’m not sure we ever will, Sarge.”

You move your hands to Tim’s shoulders, brushing your lips over his before whispering, “It’s Commander, Sergeant.”

[whousestypewriters]

──── ୨ৎ HARD LAUNCH? — GRAYSON HAWTHORNE + READER ‧₊˚

a/n: (SLEEP DEPRIVED EMMA CAME OUT IN THIS ONE GUYS SORRY DONT ASK) just a warning nothing makes sense in this AT ALL NOTHING. also lets pretend grayson's texts are all capitalised and have proper grammar i was too lazy to bother with that lmao i made grayson go to therapy guys

[part one] i'm a fan [part two] the book club [part three] red was the carpet [part four] the restaurant

grayson was an idiot.

that was what he had decided when he got home that night. who in their right mind just blurts out that they have a wife to a stranger? he could have chosen a thousand other things to say and yet he decided on "my wife."

real smart.

now he's staring at his phone after sending two texts off to the poor person who got caught in the middle of everything. the first was was extremely creepy, so he had followed up with a clarification text. both of which you have read, neither of which you have replied to. he couldn't blame you either, he wouldn't respond if he were you.

apparently my wife: we probably should talk

don't ask about the contact name, xander got ahold of his phone.

surprise lights inside of him and he quickly shoots off another text before deciding to change your contact name and add a contact picture for you, quickly scouring the internet for one.

what? he liked his phone to be organised. was it his fault that the first photo he saw was the one from tonight? yes, he had stalked your instagram during his panic. no.

–

–

grayson couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face. he would have to talk to alisa in the morning and start to solve this whole situation - which he caused - but for now he could just relax and re-live the night.

which when you think about it, doing something this stupid isn't exactly something you can relax thinking about. but thats what re-imagining is for, what would've happened if he had said something else.

it was really quite juvenile of him to be doing this instead of actually doing something. but if the hours of therapy he has suffered through have taught him anything its that; he is allowed to relax.

–

you were up at an ungodly hour the next morning. courtesy of alya, who has been jumping, literally jumping on your bed, screeching about how today is the day all of her evil plans come together and that you and grayson are going to get married and run off into the sunset.

"alya i will pay you six hundred dollars to leave right now," you groan the harsh overhead lighting practically attacking you right now.

"no amount of money will ever get me to abandon my plans of you and grayson."

"what about a beating? cause you're about three point five seconds away from getting an ass whooping."

"not even threats of violence can stop-" she cuts off abruptly when you hurl a pillow at her causing her to tumble off the bed. "come get me when its an appropriate time."

"fine," she huffs and leaves the room sulking.

–

alya.green

liked by yn.books, maxine.liu.loo, pheobethereader, kirasbooknook, graysonhawthorne and 6, 642, 898 others

alya.green i was banished from the house :((

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user1 wine this early in the morning??

alya.green its never too early for wine (its pink lemonade i wanted to feel boujee)

user2 give us updates on grayson and y/n

user3 please

user4 i am waiting (im)patiently for updates bc ur the only one who actually tells the truth

alya.green all in good time my child

yn.books you woke me up at 3AM 3AM YOU AWFUL HUMAN BEING

alya.green my plans are falling into place

–

"so after all that, what do we do?" you ask the lawyer - who was introduced as alisa - on the video call. you all (and by all you mean alya has been lurking in the background) had been talking with grayson and alisa for the better part of an hour.

"you'll have a fake marriage it until it blows over, and then have a mutual divorce and go your seperate ways," does that sound like something you can do?" she looks to the screen. "you would only need to meet up a few times for photos, then we'll hard launch. after that you'll be 'long distance' and will need to make a few public appearances to keep up with the story."

yeah ok sure that seemed simple enough, because who doesn't know how to fake a marriage? its clearly something that happens on a daily basis.

alya's grin relfects on the screen, and you can see how extremely large it is behind you. alisa genuinely looks concerned, "is your friend okay?"

you turn over your shoulder to look at her, "yeah she just has... problems."

you all talk for a while longer alisa arranging some dates for 'wedding photos' before you leave texas, before promising to call both of you later on today with more information. she leaves the call and its just you and grayson (and alya) left.

"i guess i'll see you in a few days," grayson says his voice crackling through the speakers. "i'll arrange for transport to pick you up."

"thank you," you smile and roll your eyes when alya lets out a screech behind you. "i promise the the dork behind me wont be there."

a quiet laugh comes from grayson and his eyes crinkle with laughter. "i'll see you soon y/n"

"see you grayson."

–

you felt ethereal.

literally this was the most gorgeous wedding gown you'd ever seen in your life and you were wearing it.

how had your life come to this?

a bang sounds from the doorway and grayson strides into the room looking like the god that he is in his suit. he's sporting a smile and greeted you and a determined looking alisa.

"how is everyone this afternoon?" he asks, looking at you.

"good, a little nervous but good," you answere back.

"alright, lets get started on these photos, we only have a certain amount of time before the sun sets and this is the only day your schedules align before y/n leaves," alisa says setting things in motion.

five minutes later you're standing in a garden on the edge of a fountain with grayson hawthorne's hands wrapped around your waist as he stares up at you.

ten minutes later you're in another dress - this one even more beautiful - standing atop a small hill being dipped by grayson hawthorne while he whispers jokes in your ear to make it less awkward.

fifteen minutes later you're standing on the steps of the castle esque building with you and grayson underneath your veil still joking trying to diffuse the tension. you had caught him looking at you a few times when you were focused on other things.

thirty five minutes later you're about to kiss grayson hawthorne for the very first time.

"are you alright?" he asks for probably the thousandth time as the photographer and alisa go over last second details, arguing over where you should be standing.

"yeah, i think so," you whisper.

"if you're uncomfortable, we stop, you know that?"

"yes."

"good."

"ok lovebirds," alisa calls out to you. "its time, we'll only do this once or twice so no need to panic."

grayson turns to you again and waits for your small nod before he gently presses his lips to yours.

the kiss is simple, soft and almost caring, nothing big, but also... its nothing small either. you're kissing grayson hawthorne.

grayson hawthorne.

you pull back from the kiss in a bit of a daze, grayson seems to be in one too. he's staring at you like you're a rare jewel, its a look you could get used to if you're honest. neither of you move for a moment simply standing there looking at each other, the sunset causing grayson to literally glow, he looks beautiful in the sunlight.

"that was perfect guys," the photographer says breaking your moment, looking down at the camera. alisa is watching you with interest, her eyes lightly creased. "really it look amazing."

grayson clears his throat and looks away from you - he only just looked away? "are we all finished?"

–

yn.books

liked by alya.green, maxine.liu.loo, thehawthorneheiress, graysonhawthorne, and 7, 892, 000 others

yn.books so we've been keeping a secret.....

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user1 I AM UNWELL

user2 SO ITS TRUE?????

graysonhawthorne 🤍

yn.books 🤍

user3 they're replying to each other omgomgomg

alya.green mother and father

user4 I LOVE HER SO MUCH

user5 give me six million posts like this

ticking.time.bomb welcome to the family....

–

graysonhawthorne

liked by alya.green, maxine.liu.loo, thehawthorneheiress, ticking.time.bomb, and 9, 428, 642 others

graysonhawthorne so we've been keeping a secret.....

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user1 so he's officially off the market huh

user2 the way he didnt post one of just himself

user3 NOPE NUH UH I WILL NEVER BE OKAY

alya.green you hurt her i cut your balls off

user4 the queen behaviour i support

user5 literally angels i need them to stay forever together

yn.books 🤍

graysonhawthorne 🤍

user6 im obsessed with them your honour

–

three weeks later

"the hawthorne gala is coming up soon and i want you and grayson to make an appearance," alisa's voice says through the phone. "i'll fly you out and arrange for you to stay at the house because of the paparazzi etcetera, etcetera." you pause and sit down on the couch absorbing her words.

this is all moving very fast.

"does your schedule align with that?"

"yes, it does."

"wonderful, i'll keep in contact, in the meantime you should talk with grayson nearly everyday to get comfortable with each other okay?"

"yeah okay..."

a/n II: hehehehe i literally have no clue what was happening here but enjoy anyway the next part will be out soon !! (knowing me soon could actually be a month but shh)

𐔌 . ⋮ 🏷️ tags .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

@arqbella, @midiosaamor, @maybxlle @reminiscentreader, @sweetreveriee

@elysianwayy77 @tornqdowarnings, @catapparently, @zenikswaffleshop, @thelov3lybookworm,

@anotherwriternamedclara, @goldi-1-graysons-version, @valeriaemerald, @that-daughter-of-hephaestus, @sheisntyou,

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 20 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley gets the update he's been waiting for. You get something you weren't expecting. Neither of you can tell the other how you're feeling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, romantic Bradley, 18+

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

You drove Bradley's Bronco back to his house, dragged yourself back inside, and climbed back in bed. You cried so hard when you watched him carry his duffle bag into the airport, you had painful hiccups for twenty minutes afterwards. Now you were emotionally drained and on the cusp of a headache, and this was only the first day.

With your cheek on Bradley's pillow, you pulled the covers over your head and took a few deep breaths. He didn't know much about his deployment, but the communication blackout was designed to keep you from learning anything. If something happened to him, it might be weeks before you heard about it. Your heart ached as you thought about how lonely he was going to feel after he made it a point to tell you how much he loved getting mail from your class last time.

You felt your phone vibrate in your pocket, and you scrambled to get it out.

About to take off. I love you, Gorgeous. I'll let you know when I land.

Well, you had about six hours to kill until you would hear from him again, which felt bad enough. Then seven full weeks after that. You typed back to him with fresh tears in your eyes, and then you tried to sleep, but the hiccups came back. When you moved to the couch, it felt too cold. You were tempted to call Natasha, but if you couldn't even make it a handful of hours without Bradley, you didn't think she would be able to help you.

It would start to get better. It would have to. When your winter break ended, you'd be back in your classroom with your students. You could dive into your lesson plans for the new year. You could focus on teaching. You could do this. Because if you found out the hard way that you couldn't, then you had no business being with Bradley.

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

Bradley was given a tiny room in the barracks on base in Norfolk, and he spent the entire night talking to you on the phone. Literally six hours straight before he passed out, sound asleep, hanging halfway off the bed with his phone connected to the charger. One of the last things he remembered you saying was, "As soon as you know if it's San Diego or Norfolk, let me know. I love you."

The following morning, he was so exhausted, he was practically dizzy as he met with his commanding officer, Admiral Walker, for this new special deployment. Even his arm felt heavy as he saluted Walker in his office. It was barely seven o'clock which equated to four in the morning in San Diego, and he knew it would take him a few days to get caught back up on sleep at this point. But every second of talking to you was worth it.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw. Welcome back to the Atlantic Fleet," Walker told him, gesturing to the empty chair in the office. 

"Thank you, Sir," he replied, even though he was far less than thrilled to be back in Virginia at all. The prospect of a change of station could not have come at a worse time when he spent the flight from California looking at engagement rings on his phone.

As Bradley sat down, the older man said, "We never wanted to lose you to the Pacific in the first place, so I'm sure you can understand why you'll be staying on the east coast after your seven weeks on the Gerald R. Ford is complete."

His heart sank to his feet, and he felt like he was going to throw up. "Sir?" Bradley asked. "That's it? There's no chance of me returning to North Island?"

When the response he got was a raised eyebrow, Bradley pressed his lips into a line. This man wasn't going to give a shit that he owned a house in Coronado or that he was in love with the most beautiful woman in the world who happened to work in Mira Mesa. Something told him that keeping his mouth shut was the better option right now, even though he felt like punching a hole in the wall and flipping the desk.

Walker shuffled some papers on his desk. "Plans still need to be finalized, but it is our goal, and the goal of the US Navy, to change your station to Norfolk."

The words echoed in Bradley's mind. He couldn't decide if he should tell you about this yet. It wasn't like he had signed paperwork in his hand. Until he did, as far as he was concerned, he was going back to Top Gun and the love of his life. He knew you were stressed and concerned enough as it was, and he didn't want you to have to dwell on this unless it was finalized. 

"Once aboard the carrier, mission details will become available to you and the other aviators," Walker informed him. "I have a folder with your bunk assignment and some more information that you can take with you right now. You'll have access to your phone for about another hour, but as soon as you report to the carrier, it will need to be shut down and locked up. Are we clear, Lieutenant?"

Before Bradley could even respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Walker heaved a weary sigh as his gaze left Bradley's face, and he barked, "Come in."

Of all the faces he knew from North Island, Bradley wasn't exactly sure if it was a friendly one, but when the door opened, Admiral Simpson came strolling inside in his service khakis. He couldn't fathom why his meeting was being interrupted by Cyclone, but he sat quietly with the folder in his hands. 

"Admiral Walker," Beau Cyclone greeted, voice as stern as ever. "You never returned my calls, and red eye flights the week of Christmas are not something I find endearing."

Walker stood behind his desk with all of his accolades hanging on the wall behind him, and Bradley jumped to his feet as well. "Admiral Simpson," Walker replied, voice dripping with disdain. "There was no need for you to fly out in person to release your pilot to my fleet."

Bradley could hear Cyclone's knuckles crack as he watched his eye twitch. He was somehow caught in the middle of this, but it looked like the Top Gun admiral was in no mood to be outmaneuvered and lose a member of his team. Bradley silently goaded him on while he stood there completely still.

"I'm not releasing anyone to you. That's not how this works," Cyclone barked. "If you can't manage your fleet, you don't get to poach from mine."

The admirals seemed to be in a competition to see whose face could get redder. "Admiral Simpson, I'm sure you'll find my rank alone is reason enough for-"

"You do not outrank me," Cyclone interrupted, voice loud but calm. Then he turned toward Bradley with his jaw clenched and said, "Lieutenant Bradshaw. You are dismissed. Please board the USS Gerald R. Ford on time for your deployment."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, saluting both men before walking back out into the hallway on slightly unsteady legs. He paused, hoping to hear some more of their conversation or an outright blow up that would give him a clue as to what the fuck was going on, but instead he walked the rest of the way to the barracks to collect his duffle and head to the docks. 

With his phone in his hand once again and his bag slung over his shoulder, Bradley called you. He knew it was early and he'd be waking you up, but time was tight now. And your voice was the only thing that would keep him sane at the moment. 

"Bradley," you sighed a second later, and he pressed his phone tighter to his ear. 

"Baby, I miss you so much," he promised, heart aching. He swallowed hard and decided not to bring up anything that was going on since he didn't have a completely clear understanding of it himself. "I'm about to board the carrier."

He could hear you crying, and he wanted to kick himself. "Just come back safely. That's all I want. As long as you're safe, that's all that matters to me, okay?"

He was having a hard time keeping his own tears at bay. "Me, too. We'll figure out the rest of it later, Gorgeous. Take care of yourself. Write in the journal. And don't forget to check the mail."

"I love you, Bradley!"

"I love you so much."

As soon as he ended the call and turned off his phone, he had to walk through a small building for security screening. It was there that his bag and phone were taken from him. When he exited the other side, his duffle was handed back to him, but his phone was not.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," the petty officer told him with a shrug when he glared. "I'll tag it for you and return it when you get back to Norfolk. At least it's not a long deployment."

Bradley couldn't even argue with that. It wasn't that long in the grand scheme of things. He'd been overseas for a full twelve months at a time when he was younger. This should have felt like nothing, but he knew it would feel like the worst one. He hefted his bag higher on his shoulder and started to head for the bunk that would be his for the duration. There was no sense in standing on deck when there was nobody who would be looking for him to see him off.

He made it down two hallways before a loud voice echoed off the walls around him. "Lieutenant Bradshaw." When he turned, Admiral Simpson was heading his way, face so red it was almost purple. Bradley's heart sank.

"Yes, sir?"

The other man pulled his composure together, sighing like an angry bull. "While you will be under the command of Admiral Walker for this deployment, you will fly directly back to San Diego when you return to port in Norfolk. You'll be presented with the paperwork today."

Bradley's jaw dropped open. "I'm returning to the Pacific Fleet, Sir?"

He got one firm nod in response. "I told you last week that I would do what I could to retain you."

This was honestly the best case scenario, and Bradley could feel some of his tension melt away. "You weren't kidding," he mumbled before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Sir. Being in San Diego is important to me."

"Fly safely, Lieutenant. See you in seven weeks," Cyclone barked before turning on his heel and walking toward the ramp back down to the dock.

Bradley pumped his fist in the air. "Fuck, yeah," he whispered, spinning on the spot. He would get to go back to the station he preferred in North Island as well as his friends, but most importantly, he would get to return to you. There would be no stress of packing and moving and hoping you were still willing to come with him. He could stay in Coronado.

When he slid his hand into his pocket to get his phone out to call you back, he froze. "God damn it."

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

If waiting for emails and letters was bad before, this was torture. The early days of getting to know Bradley through written notes left you with constant butterflies in your tummy, but now it felt like you were walking around with a lead weight instead. You constantly caught yourself reaching for your phone to text him before setting it back down in frustration. 

You hadn't heard from him since before he stepped onto the aircraft carrier, and that was four days ago. Today was New Year's Eve, and at least you had the wine bar with Natasha to look forward to. While you got dressed and ready to go, you couldn't help but put in just the bare minimum amount of effort. What was the point when your boyfriend wasn't even here to give you kisses along your neck and call you Gorgeous? You pouted at your reflection in the bathroom mirror and put the cap on your lip gloss before even using it.

"You look nice," Nat said as you climbed in the front seat of her car. You turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm wearing Bradley's old sweatshirt with a pair of leggings that are starting to get a hole in the crotch."

She started cackling as she pulled away from the curb. "Well, you still look nice."

"Thanks," you said softly, watching the houses go by. 

As Nat turned toward the highway to head up to Oceanside, she asked, "How are you making out?"

You pressed your lips together for a few seconds, trying to make sure you weren't going to cry. "I'm just having a hard time being off from work while he's gone. It's... harder than I thought it would be. I can't wait to return to my classroom in a few days."

"I'm sure that will make it easier," she agreed. "You'll be so busy, time will start to fly by. Oh, I forgot to ask if you got any interesting mail at Bradley's house since he left?"

You shook your head. "I barely remember to check the mailbox most days. Why?"

"Don't worry about it," she replied smoothly. "You'll be back to work in a few days, but in the meantime, we've got merlot and chardonnay to keep your mind occupied."

"Sounds like you're talking about two hot French men," you said with a laugh.

"I could be! You don't even know!"

Now both of you were laughing. And you were still laughing when you actually did order a glass of merlot and a glass of chardonnay. You and Nat enjoyed some wine flights and cheese platters, and she regaled you with stories about Bradley from flight school.

"When he was twenty-two, he probably weighed a hundred and twenty pounds," she said with a smirk. "He was such a nerd, too. God, it was so bad." You were trying to stifle your laughter as she added, "Once he really started working out and grew the mustache, he thought he was hot shit. He's still a fucking nerd."

"He kind of is," you agreed through your giggles.

"But he's a good one," she promised. "Wears his heart on his sleeve too often, but I don't think he has to worry about you breaking it."

You ran your hand along the sleeve of his sweatshirt. "Never."

Once the two of you were filled with cheese and sober enough to get back in the car, you paid for your adventure with the gift card Bradley gave you, only to find out it had five hundred dollars on it.

"Natasha! We need to come back like four more times," you said as you signed the slip.

"I don't see any issue with that," she muttered, leaving cash for a tip. "I think I'll write Bradley an email and thank him for funding girls' day so he can read it when he gets back to Norfolk."

"I think he'd like that."

You started thinking about the journal sitting on the nightstand in his bedroom. Every night before you fell asleep, you'd been pouring your heart and thoughts out into the thing, but even the mention of the word Norfolk had you fretting again. You managed to keep up the conversation with Bradley's best friend as she drove you back to Coronado, but perhaps you should keep most of your things packed after you moved your stuff to his house. What if you had to move to Virginia when the school year ended?

"Thanks for driving," you told her when she pulled up to Bradley's driveway to let you out.

"Anytime," she said, waving you off. "We'll go back up again soon." When you leaned in to give her a hug, she told you, "Don't forget to check the mail."

"Okay."

You weren't sure exactly what her deal was since Bradley couldn't send you anything, but if she wanted you to, then you would. You already promised your boyfriend you'd keep an eye on anything unusual that arrived, so as you walked up to the front door, you took a peek inside the mailbox. Empty. Just like the house. You curled up on the couch with the journal and started to write your daily entry.

I heard from a very reliable source (Natasha) that you were and still are a nerd. I'm going to need to see some pre-stache photos of you when you get home. Your best friend is a wealth of information when you get some wine in her, and I had a great time with her today. 

But I miss you. So much. Sometimes it knocks the breath out of my lungs. Your house is too cold and quiet without you here, hogging the couch and eating snacks. I'm looking forward to school starting up in a few days. It'll be a little less lonely when I have eighteen kids telling me what they got for holiday gifts. Of course I'll have to tell them they won't get a visit from their favorite aviator for a while. We'll just be nineteen sad pen pals.

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

On January second, you were working on your lesson plans while wearing Bradley's gym shorts and eating potato chips. Tomorrow you'd get back into a routine with work, but first you were going to allow yourself one last day of being kind of pitiful. You bit off more than you could chew with Bradley, and now you were paying the price. 

You sporadically started crying at random times throughout the day, and it was only made worse by the overwhelming feeling of being alone. If you could barely make it a week without hearing from him, how were you going to make random deployments with no communication your lifestyle? Why did you even think you could?

While you were crunching your way through some potato chips, you heard something thump on the front porch. The sound made you jump on the couch, and you set your snack down on the table and crept to the front door. When you peeked outside, there was nobody there, but when you cracked the door open, you saw a box. A fairly large box. Addressed to you.

"Oh my god," you gasped. It was from Bradley. According to the date stamped next to your name, he somehow sent a box from the post office in San Diego last week. "Oh my god!"

You grabbed it and kicked the door shut, almost tripping on your way back to the coffee table. When you tried to claw at the tape, you almost broke your nails. "Scissors," you shouted, running for the kitchen drawer by the sink where your boyfriend kept a random assortment of junk. Then you walked quickly back to the couch and started to cut into the box.

Natasha had to be behind the arrival of the box, but you couldn't fathom what could possibly be inside. If Bradley wanted you to have something, he could have simply given it to you before he left. Your heart was pounding as you set the scissors down and looked inside.

"Bradley," you gasped, tears filling your eyes as those familiar butterflies zoomed and swooped around in your belly. You'd been so upset about missing out on his letters, he sent you a whole box of them. There were dozens of envelopes and little treats filling the box nearly to the top, but a neon orange envelope with OPEN ME FIRST written on it caught your eye. You pulled it out of the box and tore into it.

Hey, Gorgeous,

I'm thinking about you right now. Guaranteed. It doesn't matter when you get this box or when you read this note, I'm thinking about how much I love you. And if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming about us eating Thai food on the beach in front of a sunset that is nowhere near as beautiful as you.

I hope you realize there was no way you weren't going to get some letters from me while I'm deployed. I would never let that happen. Somehow, you fell in love with me this way in the first place, and more than anything, I want you to feel as loved as I do. So I filled this box with little notes and long, rambling love letters and things I thought you might like. When you read the individual envelopes, you'll know what to do.

Please fill that journal up for me. I can't wait to read it in seven weeks. I'm missing you like crazy, and I selfishly hope you're missing me just as much. I love you.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

With shaking hands, you set the note down on the orange envelope and swiped at your tears. You never dreamed you would meet a man this romantic, but somehow you did, and he became your boyfriend. "Oh, Bradley," you whispered, picking up a stack of envelopes and reading what was written on each one.

Open me when you've had a bad day

Open me when you really want some coffee

Open me when you need a laugh

Open me when you're in bed

Open me when you need a girls' night

Open me with your class

You flopped down onto the couch and kicked your feet in the air. "Bradley!" you shrieked, voice breaking as you started to cry. You hugged the letters to your chest and let the warm feeling of being loved wash over you and fill your heart. He was unbelievable. He was perfect. He was everything you wanted. And somehow you loved him a little more and missed him a little less with this box on the coffee table.

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

He's so romantic. He's taking care of Gorgeous from afar! He's coming home to San Diego, but she doesn't even know it! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls and @daggerspare-standingby

PART 21

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[swtnerry]

A-Lister - part 1

summary: inspired by romy mars's song, she didn’t want to be there, but something about him made her stay through the night.

warnings: mention of alcohol. no capital letters (intentionally)

she knew the game, the rehearsed smiles, the calculated conversations, the pretenses. so she kept her guard up, expecting the usual scripted charm. y/n didn’t enjoy these events, and she was already in the limousine, wrapped in a flawless versace dress when she started thinking about returning home. then she reminded herself she had promised madelyn she would accompany her that night.

after a while, they entered the salon looking for a table, but as madelyn had warned her a couple of hours ago, nearly all were full. on their way to get drinks, she nudged her and pointed toward the far corner of the bar.

"oh my god! it’s drew! i haven’t seen him in sooo long, like, since the last OBX event! let’s say hi!". y/n barely had time to react before madelyn was already dragging her over.

of course that she knew who he was. she had seen the pictures madelyn posted on insta and knew he had been friends with her for a long time.

drew looked up as they approached, his expression shifting from relaxed to pleasantly surprised. his smile was different, not the polished kind she was used to seeing at events like this. it was effortless, warm, and just a little crooked, like he genuinely liked seeing mads.

"hi! you must be y/n," he said, voice smooth but casual, like he wasn’t caught up in the usual social games. "madelyn told me you two were coming together. have you been here long?"

"we just arrived," she replied, short and to the point. it wasn’t exactly welcoming, but it was automatic. madelyn hated when she got like this, but y/n couldn’t help it, she wished she was in her cozy bed watching some old audrey hepburn movie.

madelyn shot her a knowing look. "i'm gonna get us drinks, babe," she said before leaning in and whispering, "be nice." y/n sighed as madelyn disappeared into the crowd.

drew raised a brow, amused. "so, what’s with the face?" that damn smirk again, lazy, a little teasing, like he saw right through her defenses but wasn’t judging her for it.

"i just hate this kind of events" she admitted, crossing her arms. "too many people, awful music, someone’s stepped on my dress six times already, should i go on?"

drew chuckled, tilting his head slightly, like he was taking her in for the first time. "i hadn’t noticed all that until you pointed it out," he said, a spark of humor in his tone. "now the spotlight is starting to feel unbearable, thanks to you."

y/n let out a small laugh before she could stop herself. there was something easy about him, something unforced. his eyes lingered on hers for just a second longer than necessary.

"sorry," she said, her tone warmer now. "i love going out with mads, but this isn’t the kind of party i’m used to."

"don’t worry, i get it," he replied, his voice easygoing. "but now i’m curious, you will have to tell me how different could your kind of parties be from this one?"

she huffed a small laugh, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "the kind where i don’t have to suffer in heels all night." she gestured toward her feet, exhaling dramatically. he looked her up and down, taking in the way her dress hugged her frame perfectly. his gaze lingered just long enough to make her self-conscious.

"well you actually look like a movie star," he said, his voice dipping into something almost seductive. she rolled her eyes. "dont make fun of me, i'm not in the mood." "i'm not, i swear," he said with a small smile. "you look beautiful."

"thank you,"she said, feeling her cheeks heat up, the air suddenly heavier between them.

he noticed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he wanted to say something else, but before he could, madelyn appeared, slipping between them with two drinks in hand.

"whats this?" she asked, eyes bouncing between them. "were you talking about me? or were you just talking about y/n’s tragic inability to tolerate a party?"

she scoffed, taking the drink from her friend. "i am perfectly capable of tolerating a party."

"mmm, sure," madelyn mused, taking a sip. "well, either way, you both look suspiciously. should i be concerned, or can we go take pictures now?"

"we were just mentioning the absolute nightmare that was traffic earlier," y/n said, her tone casual. "all thanks to you taking forever to get ready." she joked.

madelyn gasped, dramatically clutching her drink. "excuse me? that was your fault!" she elbowed y/n lightly." actually, it was those ridiculous oversized cars outside the building. i hate these people so much."

drew chuckled. "oh, we’ve got a real hater here."

madelyn smirked. "wait until she sees your car. you’ll definitely earn another spot on her hate list." y/n narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "don’t tell me you own one of those."

drew grinned. "a big red one."madelyn and y/n exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. for the first time that night, y/n felt at ease, actually enjoying the party. and, maybe, the company too.

my first work, i hope you like it <3, requests are OPEN.

part 2

[thepartyresponsible]

prompt fill! someone asked for jason todd and truth serum. this was also supposed to fill the request for "who did this to you?" with phil/jason, but i didn't make it to "who did this to you?" part. sorry! i'm trying to keep these under 1k.

anyway, this one's a bit bleak, but educational. here, jason learns an important life lesson: if you go undercover as a criminal, sometimes people believe you. and phil learns to reorder his interrogation questions.

warnings for drugging people without their consent. the drug in question is a fictional truth serum.

- - -

Using this particular drug on a nonconsenting person is a crime in most of the world. A recent amendment to the Geneva Convention marked its use on prisoners of war as a war crime. There’s a blanket ban on its production and use in the European Union. In the United States, administration by law enforcement personnel was ruled a violation of the Fifth and Eighth Amendments.

But SHIELD is not at war. Nor is it a law enforcement agency. And Phil Coulson is not in territory controlled by the United States or the European Union. The man in SHIELD custody undoubtedly has rights of some kind, but the extent of those rights – and who might be obligated to protect them – is currently unknown.

“It’s messy,” he says, to Fury.

“It’s a mess,” Fury replies. “Clean it up.”

- - -

He’s younger than Phil expected. But he has no right to judge anyone for sending their young to die. After all, he looks older than Natasha, possibly older than Clint.

And Natasha and Clint might be dead. In some ways, SHIELD’s no better.

“Your name, please,” Phil says.

“Jason,” the man says, a slow, sleepy mumble, and then his eyes open, and the panic hits.

Phil’s grown familiar with panic. He’s seen it in civilians and soldiers, in diplomats and dictators. He’s seen it every time he’s encountered this drug.

When it was first developed, early adopters trotted out the old lie: if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear. But everyone has something to hide. Everyone has a secret they would swallow their own tongue to protect, and here’s a substance that takes that choice away, a wonder drug that retains awareness while negating will. A life-saving torture device.

“Fuck you,” the man says, which is far more spirit than most manage.

“Jason,” Phil says, “my agents are missing.”

“Fuck you,” Jason says, again. “That’s what happens.” He’s double-blinking, struggling to focus. Phil’s done this six times. No one's ever managed this level of control. Usually, they’re drooling by now, spilling secrets and saliva into the collar of their shirts.

Something’s wrong.

“You’ll have to excuse me,” Phil says. “We must have miscalculated your dosage.”

- - -

Medical reports back half an hour later. There was no miscalculation. The man has a tolerance they assure him should not be possible.

“We gave him a second dose. He should be amenable now,” the doctor says. “If he doesn’t stop breathing.”

Amenable, Phil thinks. He explores the hollow inside him where the horror should’ve been. It’s a terrible thing they’re doing. He knows that.

But his agents are missing.

“Thank you,” he says. And he goes back to work.

- - -

“You know,” Jason tells him, glassy-eyed, barely looking Phil’s direction, “if you ask the wrong questions, I have to kill you."

It’s an interesting threat from a man who cannot lie.

“And what are you afraid you’ll tell me?” Phil asks.

“Identities,” he answers, chest rising slower than a sleeper’s.

“Ah,” Phil says. “Yes, we’ll get to that.”

“Batman,” he adds, unexpectedly. “Nightwing.” He swallows, clumsily. When he breathes in, he chokes. Phil watches him almost drown for a moment and then he reaches across the table and tugs Jason’s head forward so he can breathe.

He barely has the coordination to breathe, but the contact makes him flinch hard enough to shake the table. Phil wonders who made a creature like him.

“Who do you work for?” he asks.

“Nobody.” And then, almost smiling, voice dropping into a guttural growl, “Justice.”

Which could be good news. Killers with a mission are predictable, once you understand their cause. “And who decides justice? Who gives you orders?”

“Nobody.”

Interesting. Most freelancers don’t work at this level, and the ones who do should have extensive SHIELD files. “Who’s been signing your checks lately?”

“Checks,” Jason says, and laughs. “Fucking checks.”

He’s been thoroughly dosed with a drug designed to make him highly suggestible and meekly compliant. Phil’s starting to understand why capturing him was such a costly undertaking.

“Whose money is in your accounts right now?”

Jason makes a noise, some gusty grumble of complaint, and then lists off a dozen or so of the very worst people alive. The most interesting names are the ones Phil doesn’t recognize, but he’ll have to get to those later. The window is short; his time is running out.

A single dose is risky. Some people never fully recover their independence. They’re rendered permanently docile, suffering from a kind of chemical lobotomy that good people across the globe have outlawed. A second dose doubles the odds of permanent damage. After the third, some people won't even breathe without orders.

They’ve given him two already.

“These people who’ve been paying you,” Phil says, “which of them is paying you right now?”

Jason sighs. “Nobody pays me. I stole that money.”

“You---” Phil pauses, looks at his notes. He re-reads the names, marvels at the insanity of stealing from any of them. “You stole from those people?”

“Stole from ‘em,” he says, “killed ‘em. Well, killed some. Gonna kill the others. It’s, you know. A to-do list. I’ve been busy.”

Phil wonders if he’s been wasting his time, if he’s drugged a delusional man. “You don’t steal from people like that before you kill them.”

Jason tilts his head so he can look up him, furrows his brow in something that is almost a coherent expression of disdain. “You never have any fun, huh?”

Phil might be dealing with someone far more dangerous than he’d predicted. “You do this for fun?”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “And for justice.”

Justice, right. Of course. “And who taught you about justice?”

“My dad,” Jason says.

Which is good. Which might be helpful. Truth has its uses, but, in Phil’s experience, leverage gets more accomplished.

“And who,” Phil says, “is your father?”

Jason’s eyes track his direction but don’t quite land. His mouth closes and then opens again. “Batman,” he says.

“Oh,” Phil says. “Shit.”

[jayflrt]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 34. in too deep

WHEN YOON JEONGHAN TAPPED JAY'S SHOULDER, HIS BRAIN WAS TOO MUDDLED TO EVEN THINK PROPERLY.

He underestimated how casual the gesture of tapping someone to get their attention was, and it was evident when he was looking back at Jeonghan with a confused gaze. Jay had spent the entire day freaking out over whether he was going to get a seat in the Order, and now that he was face-to-face with one of their members, he couldn't even grasp that he was being offered a spot.

Jay was in the middle of reading your frantic texts about getting a seat from Sungjin, sitting at an empty booth in the library so that he could charge his laptop. The very thought of Sunghoon being left behind had him so baffled that he could only gawk at Jeonghan for a few seconds. The senior only seemed amused, hardly even realizing that Jay had far more weighing on his mind than being tapped.

"Congratulations, Jay," Jeonghan said with a broad grin stretching across his face, "welcome to the Order."

Every word he could have used to finish his sentence died on Jay's tongue, and instead he croaked out, "I—huh?"

"Yeah, I'm not sure how else to dumb it down for you."

He wasn't sure what snapped him back into reality—maybe it was the whistle of the wind in his ear, or perhaps it was the fear that Jeonghan must have thought he was a crazy person—but Jay immediately straightened up and let out a forced cough.

"Sorry," he got out immediately. "Thanks. I just thought—"

"That you wouldn't get in?" Jeonghan finished for him. "Yeah, I thought so, too. We were debating between you and Kazuha for nearly an hour. It took a lot of manipulation to convince them that Kazuha wasn't the right choice."

The corner of Jay's mouth picked up in a grin. "Manipulation?"

"Let's just keep that between us." Jeonghan gave him a wry smile and handed over a thin, black folder with a few sheets of papers tucked neatly inside. "You can open that later. It's just a welcome letter and a notice about sending us details so we can coordinate your initiation night."

"Huh..." Jay trailed off; his mind was still stuck on his bid rather than the folder in his hands. "I didn't think I'd get in after that interview."

"Are you kidding? They loved your answers, especially when you said you'd punch Sunghoon."

"But—I didn't even know the answer to whatever seven-eight-six meant, though."

"That's the whole point," Jeonghan said. "You're not supposed to know everything! What we believe is that it's valuable to admit that there are answers you haven't found yet, but you also did your best to draw a conclusion with the little information you had."

"So... what does it mean?"

"We don't know."

"What?"

"We don't know," he echoed with a shrug. "We think the founder chose it to represent us because he claimed to have decided eighteen of the characters on the Kryptos sculpture himself—on top of the ones that're already deciphered."

"Interesting," Jay replied with an inquisitive hum. He then gave Jeonghan a strange look. "Are you supposed to be telling me this, by the way?"

"Sungjin didn't want us talking with you guys too much, actually. We're supposed to just tap you on the shoulder, hand you the file, and leave." He scratched the back of his neck aimlessly. "I have to stay on campus until my next class, though, so I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"If they ask, I'll let them know that you were very, very mysterious."

"See? I told them that was what the Order needed: loyalty."

Jay felt his stomach twist. He was probably the worst example of that, but seeing that Jeonghan held him in such high regard, he couldn't bring himself to object. Instead, he brushed off the senior's words with a shy grin.

Jeonghan continued, "I swear, they were deliberating for so long that I—"

"Jeonghan—wait, Jay?"

To Jay's relief, you walked up behind his table, looking between the two men several times before you seemed to piece together what was going on. The determination that had darkened your eyes seconds prior started to melt away.

"You got a seat?" you breathed out, and before Jay could nod, you were shooing him further down the cushioned bench so that you could sit next to him. Your gaze immediately landed on the black folder in Jay's hands. "Oh!"

There was an awkward pause. You looked up at him for a brief moment, and it looked like you had a lot more to say instead of opening and closing your mouth over and over again. Jay's throat felt tight. Your sideways look at Jeonghan made Jay wonder what your true reaction would've been if you two were alone.

Since you clearly hadn't anchored yourself back into reality, Jay slapped his folder onto the table to take Jeonghan's attention away from how distracted you had gotten.

"What? You didn't think I'd make it in or something?" he teased you, although he was quite aware that that wasn't your intention.

"No," you insisted with a scoff, kicking Jay's shin under the table.

Jay hissed through his teeth, nudging your leg back with his shoe. Unbeknownst to Jeonghan, you two were in an intense battle of trying to kick the other; your attempts were always stronger than his.

"Oh, that's fucked up," Jeonghan joined in, leaning forward onto his elbows. "Were you hoping someone else would get in over Jay?"

He rolled his eyes, realizing that Jeonghan was just hungry for a morsel of gossip. However, anticipation was swirling in Jay's chest as he prepared himself for whatever your answer would be. After your text about Sunghoon's situation, he wouldn't have been surprised if you were more concerned about your ex-boyfriend.

You huffed. "No, I think Jay deserves it out of anyone who interviewed."

His heartbeat was somehow quicker. More intense. Jay couldn't understand why your words left little electric currents running under his skin, but he was just grateful that you couldn't see how much of a mess his head was.

"But what the hell, Jeonghan?" you continued, sharper. "Why did Sungjin give me his seat?"

Jeonghan let out a dry laugh before shaking his head. "Can't give you our reasonings."

"Weren't you just talking about mine?" Jay cut in since he was equally curious about where Sunghoon's predicament was going.

"Well, that's—" The senior cut himself off and screwed up his eyes as he processed his next words. "Okay, you're technically right, but I gave you my seat, Jay. I didn't give Y/N my seat, so I can't tell her why she was chosen by Sungjin."

You and Jay stared blankly at Jeonghan for a moment, who was slowly losing his resolve to keep quiet.

"Okay, fine." Jeonghan sighed heavily. "Tell anyone about this, though, and you two won't be having a fun initiation process." As Jay swallowed thickly at the thought of being hazed, Jeonghan leaned over the table and lowered his voice to say, "I don't know much because we don't really question Number One, but he just said that he didn't want to extend his seat to his brother anymore. Something about wanting Sunghoon to make it on his own."

Jay frowned. "Number One?"

"That's what we call our president," he replied. "Only the members of the Order know about Number One's identity for the duration of their office."

"You're really a loudmouth, Jeonghan," you sneered.

Jeonghan held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Then did Sunghoon get a seat or not?" Jay asked. "He had to have gotten a tap, right? It'd be ridiculous if he didn't."

Jeonghan only shrugged in response. "The finalized list of our new members will be emailed out tonight. You'll find out then."

You and Jay exchanged uneasy looks. Waiting to hear back from Sunghoon appeared to be their only option, and it only made Jay feel more at war with his head and heart.

For one, Sunghoon was a crucial part of the mission. Something happening to him would definitely affect you, and although that made Jay feel a twinge of bitterness, he recognized that you two had a previous connection that he couldn't get between.

On the other hand, he felt that he was in too deep—so deep that he wasn't sure how he would pull himself out when this was all over. Jay remembered it every time he turned white-knuckled when he would text his client; every time he laughed around Heeseung; every time he had to take a few seconds for his rage to simmer around Sunghoon; and every time he looked into your eyes and felt some semblance of peace.

And it made him feel terrified.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

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[atimeofyourlife]

A family Thanksgiving

This was supposed to be up yesterday, but it took on a mind of its own and instead of the few hundred words it was supposed to be, its nearly 3k. Happy belated Thanksgiving to anyone who celebrates! rated: t | wc: 2847 | cw: period typical homophobia, Steve's asshole parents

The offers from everyone to have him over for Thanksgiving had been great, any other year he would have loved such a choice, but for the first time in a long time, he was spending the day with family.

"But you hate your family." Dustin pointed out when Steve had told everyone about his holiday plans.

"No, I hate my parents. It's my grandma that asked me to go, and I want to see her and my cousins that I haven't seen in like five years. I'm driving myself to Chicago, so I won't be stuck in a car with my parents for hours on end." Steve explained.

"But you're working a late the day before, and I'm not going to cover you so you can drive up early" Robin replied.

"I'm planning on leaving by six on Thanksgiving morning. It's less than four hours to drive, so I'll be there before ten, well nine because of the timezone change. I took the late shift the day before so I had an excuse to drive myself, and my parents wouldn't have any reason to come by Hawkins before. And I drive home either the Friday or the Saturday, ready for our Sunday shift."

Come Thanksgiving day, Steve was somewhat regretting his decision. It had been nearly midnight before he'd gotten home, after a number of people came in just before closing insistent on needing a selection of movies ready for the next day. Then hadn't been happy when the movies they wanted weren't in stock, so they left the place a total mess, causing Steve to stay late to tidy up ready for the opener the next day. Then having to get up around five, so he could get ready and be on track to leave as planned. In an attempt to wake up, he was mostly surviving on a large cup of incredibly strong coffee. He was just counting down the minutes until he could get there.

When he walked in the door, he was immediately wrapped up in a hug from his grandma. "Stevie, it's so good to see you."

"It's great to see you too, Grandma." He returned the hug, melting into it a little. Exactly what he needed after the year it had been.

"Let me take a look at you." She stepped back slightly, giving him a once over. Her hand came up to trace the scar still on his neck from where he had been strangled by the bats and vines. "What happened here?"

"I. It's nothing. It looks a lot worse than it is." Steve replied, trying to get out of the awkwardness of the conversation.

"Oh, if you're sure. If you want to help with dinner, you can join us in the kitchen. But if you just want to rest, anyone who's watching football is in the living room, and the Macy's parade is on in the den."

"It's been a long drive, and I had a late finish last night, so I think I'm going to take a bit of a break. I might come out and help a bit later." He offered.

"Oh, honey. If you don't feel up to it, you don't need to help at all. Take it easy, and we'll call you once everything is ready." She kissed Steve on the cheek, before going back to the kitchen.

Steve made his way through the house, glancing into the living room as he passed. He could see his dad in one of the recliners, and decided against joining them. Wanting to delay the inevitable "you're a disappointment" lecture. He knew his mom would likely be in the kitchen, not actually helping, just drinking wine and gossiping. He moved on to the den, where most of his cousins were. He hovered in the doorway for a second, unsure what to say. So much had changed since the last time he had seen any of them.

"Wait, Stevie?" One of them, Lizzie, said as she looked up to see him.

"Uh, hey?" Steve replied, a little unsure, before he was being swamped in a group hug.

"Jesus Christ, when did this happen? Last time I saw you, you were like a little kid. Now you're a whole grown adult." Another, Mark, said.

After a long catch up, bringing Steve up to date on everyone else's lives, and him giving an abridged highlights of his last few years, they then got into more serious topics.

"Was everything okay after the earthquakes? I tried calling a few times, but I don't know if I had the wrong number because it never went through." Alice, the oldest of his cousins, asked.

"The phones were down across the whole town for a while after, then it was patchy for weeks after that. It was hard to get five or ten minutes without it dropping out. It took me like two weeks before I was able to get hold of mom and dad to let them know that the house was still standing, and that I was still alive." Steve explained.

"Wait, they weren't in Hawkins for the earthquakes?" Harry cut in.

"No, they've not been in Hawkins since February? Like over a month before it happened."

"Oh. They were telling us last night about how awful and hard it had been during the earthquakes, and how they were scared for their lives." Alice replied.

"That's such bullshit. They weren't in the country when it happened, they were in London. They didn't even know that it was Hawkins that was affected until I called them, because all they'd seen on the news was a freak earthquake hitting the Midwest. It hadn't even specified the state. And then they didn't care how I was, if I was hurt or anything, all they were interested in was if there was damage to the house, and how the earthquake could affect the resale value."

"Okay, I call dibs about bringing that up over dinner. I just want to see what shade of purple Uncle Dick can turn." Becca, the closest cousin to Steve in age, piped up. "But were you hurt?"

"Uh, minor injuries. Nothing serious." Steve lied, not wanting to worry anyone. "I was able to start volunteering within a couple of days. You know, helping out at the relief center, helping search for missing people. And when everything calmed down I was helping rebuild and stuff. Just trying to do my bit. But I'm fine now."

"That's good. But thinking of Uncle Dick turning purple, who gets to bring up Fuck Reagan?" Mark asked.

"Stevie's been through the most, I think he should get the chance." Alice replied.

"Uh, I think that would go down about as well as if I told him that my best friend is a dyke and I've spent most of my free time in the last six months sucking off the local drug dealer, who was accused of being a cult leader and murdering three people." Steve said quickly, unsure if he wanted anyone else to pick up what he'd said.

"Was that for drugs, or for fun, or what? Like a hook up?" Harry asked.

"He's my boyfriend. I mean, it helps that I get free weed out of him, but I'd do it anyway." Steve admitted.

"That is something you missed out of your round up. But I love that all of us are some variation of queer."

Dinner was...interesting, to say the least. After saying Grace, they went round the table to say what they were thankful for that year. Steve had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing as his parents waxed on and on about how they were thankful for their lives and being able to escape the earthquake unscathed. He couldn't keep from laughing when Becca spoke up against them.

"Really? Because Alice asked Steve how he found it after the earthquakes, and he said that he couldn't reach you for two weeks after it happened because the phones were down and you were in London. And you didn't even know that it had hit Hawkins until he called you."

"Steven, why are you telling lies about us?" His mother demanded.

"I wasn't? You weren't in Hawkins when the earthquake hit. You've not been there since February. When I was finally able to call you, you only cared about how the house was, not if I was hurt. And you were pissed that I hadn't called you sooner, despite the fact the phone lines were down for the whole town. I could have died or been injured in hospital, and you wouldn't have known."

"How dare-" His father started, only to be cut off by Steve's grandmother.

"Settle down. There's no need for arguing. I am inclined to believe Steve, because I do remember you telling me that you were going to be spending a few months in Europe at the start of this year."

Both of Steve's parents were visibly unhappy, but they didn't push it any further, allowing the rest of the family to talk about what they were thankful for.

Many small conversations broke out over the table, Steve loving the feeling of being surrounded by family for the first time in a long time. He got pulled into talking to different people, but he did his best to avoid his parents' eye. Not wanting to get trapped by them telling him all the ways he had bothered them since he'd last seen them. But he knew they were up to something, when his father got up before dessert was served.

"Before we have anything else, we do have a big announcement about the future of our family." He said, using the voice he always used when talking to the most important clients.

"You've sucked enough political dick to get what ever tax exemption you were after?" Lizzie asked, before anyone could take it too seriously.

Steve's dad just spluttered in anger as a call of "Elizabeth." Came from at least four different people around the table.

"Ignoring that horrible interruption. What I was going to tell everyone is about Steven's imminent engagement. He is going to be proposing to Melissa Downey, the daughter of my business partner, at Christmas, they've been seeing each other for nearly eighteen months now, and it is going to mean big things for our family."

Steve couldn't respond, processing what had just been said, as everyone started speaking, some offering congratulations, others in confusion.

"That's news to me." Steve said loudly, to get over everyone's voices, once he could form the words. "I'm not planning on proposing to anyone."

"Well, Arthur and I have been discussing it, and it is the only thing that makes sense now, the two of you have been together for long enough, the logical next step is engagement."

"I'm not dating Melissa. We went on one date over a year ago, just after I graduated. It was awful, all she was interested in was if I made enough money to bankroll her spending addiction. I made up a fake emergency to get out of it, and I would rather stick forks in my eyes than suffer through that again." Steve got to his feet, bracing his hands on the table. Knowing he'd been right not to be optimistic that the holiday could pass without incident.

"You will if you know what's good for you. If you don't, it could destroy our business. You wouldn't want to be the reason we go broke, would you? You could end up homeless. Where would you live?"

"First, I have plenty of friends who would be happy to take me in if I had nowhere else to go. It's something we talked about after the earthquake, because some people I know did have damage caused to their homes and I let them stay with me until they could move back in. Second, I don't really care about whether or not you go broke. You don't provide any money to me. You haven't since I started working at Scoops. I pay for all my food, gas, clothes. If you go broke, my financial position won't change at all. And third, I can't propose to her. I'm in a relationship, and we're both very happy."

"Is it that Buckley girl? Or did you somehow manage to convince that Wheeler girl that you're actually worth something? Because I can tell you now, you are going to break up with whatever little slut-"

"His name is Eddie." Steve shouted before he could think it through, and a silence fell across the room. "That's right. Your son is one of those awful queers that you keep campaigning against, to keep them illegal and get them locked up. And you know what? He's easily the best sex I've ever had. Especially when we get high first."

"Why you-" His father roared, his face turning a dark red in anger. "How dare you do this to us? After everything we have done for you. You'd better hope that those friends of yours would be willing to take you in, because you are not living under my roof any longer. You will have until the end of the weekend to collect your belongings, anything left will be burned."

"Except, it isn't your roof, is it Richard? If I remember correctly, I was the one who paid the mortgage. My name is the one on the deed to the property in Hawkins. I just allowed you to live there, rent-free might I add, because it made sense for you to live somewhere close to Indianapolis when your business was taking off. I had been planning to sell up. So I think maybe you should be the one to collect your belongings from that house, because I'm not sure if I want you living under my roof any longer. It sounds life you're almost never there, anyway." Steve's grandma replied.

"But, mother-" His father started.

"But nothing, Richard. I don't know where you learnt your hateful attitude, because I know I did not raise you to be the sort of man that would kick your own son out over something as minor as who he loves. I really thought you were a better man than that."

"It's disgusting." Steve's mother added. "So unnatural, and that disease."

"What is disgusting is your bigotry. I think I want you both out from under my roof, now. So, if you would both kindly leave. And I expect you to move your belongings from the house in Hawkins, as that is now Steve's house, not yours. And you better not touch anything that isn't yours, or cause any damage, because I will take legal advice." Steve's grandmother stood up, anger radiating from her tiny five foot frame. "And, unless you change and apologize for your outdated beliefs, you can forget any inheritance. I will not have any of my money going to support hatred."

"Mother,"

"Leave, Richard. Now. I'm not afraid to get the police involved here."

Steve's parents looked at him with their faces filled with utter disgust, before they turned and left. His grandmother escorting them off the property.

"Are you okay, Stevie?" His grandmother asked after the end of the meal.

"I. I think so. I think I need to make a couple of phone calls." He replied.

"Use any of the phones, dear. Maybe if you know someone who can keep an eye on the house."

"Yeah. I babysit for the chief of police sometimes, so I might call him. He'll make sure nothing happens."

"Good. And, if you're talking to that boy of yours, tell him that he's got to come up here for Christmas. I want to meet him, and make sure he's good enough for you."

"Grandma." Steve protested.

"I'm just saying." She replied before walking away.

Steve shut himself in one of the bedrooms, for a little privacy from the still crowded house while he made the calls. The call to Hopper was quick, just outlining what was going on, and Hopper agreed to keep a check on the house until Steve was back in Hawkins. Then it was the call to Eddie.

"Baby, I wasn't expecting you to call. How's your Thanksgiving?"

"Interesting. My parents decided to announce that I was going to propose to dad's business partner's daughter. They wouldn't accept that I wasn't interested in her so I accidentally came out."

"Shit, I hope that didn't go too bad?"

"Uh, it could have gone worse? Somehow me coming out got my parents removed from the will and kicked out of the house. Because my grandma wasn't happy with them being assholes about it."

"Oh, badass grandma. I kinda want to meet her now."

"I was hoping you would say something like that. Because she has told me that you have to come here for Christmas. She wants to make sure that you're good enough." Steve couldn't help smiling as he talked, somehow the day had gone so much better than he'd ever hoped.