#this is way more interesting than I expected it to be | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cosycryptid · 2 days ago

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Something Real

One movie, one confrontation, and one shared bucket of popcorn makes Eddie start to realise that maybe he never really knew Steve at all—and maybe, just maybe, he wants to. Also on AO3 [Here]

Eddie Munson has been waiting for weeks for this movie to come out.

It’s a low-budget horror flick with a cult following and a killer soundtrack. None of Eddie’s friends were available or particularly interested in going, but that’s fine, he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He’s got his overpriced popcorn, a drink the size of his head, and a seat smack in the middle of the theatre. Perfect.

Or it is up until Steve Harrington walks in.

Eddie notices him immediately. It’s hard not to. He’s got that hair, that walk, the tiny moles on his face that make him look soft and a great body. The subject of Eddie’s most hopeless, pathetic high school crush. And of course, he’s not alone. There’s a girl on his arm, pretty in a polished, too perfect kind of way.

He watches, curious despite himself. Steve’s always been a bit of an enigma. Eddie’s heard the stories. King Steve. Heartbreaker. Every bit the stereotypical leader of the jocks, treating women like objects and everyone else like loyal subjects for him to look down on.

But what Eddie sees now doesn’t match up with those stories at all.

Steve opens the door for the girl with a soft, “After you,” and she brushes past him without a word. When she stumbles on the stairs, he catches her gently by the elbow, murmurs an apology for touching her without warning, and offers his arm for balance the rest of the way.

Eddie blinks. Huh.

They settle into their seats two rows down and directly in front of Eddie.

Of course they do.

The movie doesn’t start for another thirty minutes, not even trailers yet, but Eddie’s already more interested in the Steve Harrington Show than whatever’s going to be on screen. He feels like he’s getting a sneak peek behind the scenes into Steve’s world and it’s nothing like he imagined.

They sit. She shivers under the AC, and Steve immediately shrugs off his jacket and offers it to her. Then he offers to switch seats so she’s not directly under the vent.

Surprisingly, Steve’s the perfect gentleman. He asks about her day, offers her popcorn, and laughs at a joke that leans more mean than funny—though Eddie catches the subtle flicker of discomfort in his posture when she’s not looking.

He compliments her hair and outfit, asks what kind of music she’s into, and even admits to liking '70s rock. It’s something Eddie never expected to hear from him but can’t help respecting. It’s the kind of detail that makes Eddie pause, realizing with a jolt that they might have a few songs in common. And that’s unexpectedly disarming.

Steve even double-checks if she’s sure she’s okay with horror movies, offering to see something else if she’s not.

“Why? Are you scared?” she teases.

“Terrified,” Steve replies with a grin. “But I figured if I screamed, you’d protect me.”

Eddie nearly chokes on a kernel of popcorn.

That was smooth. Like, actually smooth. It wasn’t cocky or rehearsed. It was playful and self-aware. The line showed Steve didn’t take himself too seriously, a refreshing contrast to the image-obsessed popular kids Eddie had grown up resenting. He leans forward slightly, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a tricky riff. That line might’ve even worked on him. He’s always been a sucker for someone who knows how to be a little silly without losing sincerity.

“Huh,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his seat, suddenly more invested in this pre-show than the actual movie he’s paid to see.

But then the girl leans in, voice low and suggestive. “I didn’t expect you to take me on a date like this. When I said we should watch a movie, I thought we’d grab one from the rental store and watch it at your place. Or, you know… somewhere more private.”

She walks her fingers up his chest in a way that makes Eddie want to gag.

Eddie rolls his eyes. Here we go.

He braces for the shift; the moment Steve drops the nice guy act and becomes the player everyone says he is. The moment he starts acting like the stereotypical meathead jock who only cares about getting girls into bed and out again before they get too attached. God forbid a straight guy have actual emotions or care about someone beyond the surface.

But it doesn’t come.

“Oh,” Steve says, shoulders going stiff. He takes hold of her hand and moves it away from his chest but holds onto it gently. “I thought we could spend some time together. Get to know each other. This is just our first date, after all, right?”

“I guess.” The girl shrugs. “I just thought you were supposed to be into showing girls a good time. I’ve heard the rumors.”

Steve laughs, but it’s nervous. Hollow. His eyes flick toward the fire exit like he’s considering a tactical retreat.

“Yeah, uh… you don’t need to worry about that,” he says. “I was kind of a mess in junior year. I’ve learned a lot since then. Hookups were fun, sure, but they never really felt good after. I’d rather have something real now.”

“Hmm,” she says, unimpressed and takes her hand back, turning back to the screen.

Eddie frowns. Something about her tone grates on him. Dismissive. Like Steve just offered her a piece of himself and she tossed it aside without looking.

He shifts again, but this time it’s not out of amusement. His smirk is gone, replaced by a furrowed brow and a faint scowl. He watches Steve fumble through the conversation, trying to be honest and vulnerable and getting nothing but attitude in return.

And it bugs him. More than it should.

Maybe it’s because he’s seen too many guys like Steve get away with being jerks. But here’s Steve, trying to be better, trying to be real, and this girl’s treating him like he’s a joke.

Eddie knows what that feels like. To be misunderstood. To have people assume the worst of you based on old stories and high school gossip. And it sits right on his last nerve to watch it happen to someone else.

The conversation shifts.

Not in a dramatic way. There are no raised voices, no sudden outbursts, just a slow, steady unraveling. It’s like watching a thread being pulled loose from a sweater.

The girl starts interrupting Steve. Not just once, but over and over. She talks over him, cuts him off mid-sentence, contradicts him just to do it. When he mentions liking a certain band, she scoffs and says they’re overrated. When he shares a memory about a summer job, she calls it boring.

Eddie watches it all unfold like a car crash in slow motion.

Steve doesn’t snap. Doesn’t even push back. He just absorbs the impact of it. Smiles tightly. Tries to steer the conversation back to neutral ground. He’s patient, too patient. Like he’s used to this and he’s trying not to make a scene.

Eddie’s scowl deepens.

He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him so much. Maybe it’s because he expected Steve to be the problem. Expected him to be the shallow one. But instead, he’s watching Steve try—really try—to be kind, to connect and make something work. And this girl is steamrolling him like he’s not even there.

It’s uncomfortable. And not in the way Eddie usually enjoys.

The lights dim. A hush falls over the theatre. The trailers are about to start.

And then she speaks again.

“Oh wow, look at that,” she says, pointing down toward one of the lower rows. Her voice is just loud enough to carry. “I bet they think no one can see them because the lights are off.”

Eddie follows her gaze.

Two men. Sitting close. Hands intertwined.

Something drops in his stomach.

“Gross, right?” she laughs, looking at Steve for agreement.

The sound is sharp. Ugly. It cuts through the quiet like a knife.

Eddie freezes.

He doesn’t know those guys. Doesn’t need to. Because he knows that feeling. The one where you let yourself believe, just for a second, that you’re safe. That you can be like the people who are allowed to love their partner openly. That you can feel normal, just for one precious moment.

And then someone like her reminds you of exactly what the world thinks of you.

His jaw clenches. His grip tightens on the armrest. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose and braces himself for the inevitable crushing blow of hearing his straight boy high school crush agree that men who like men are gross.

It doesn’t come.

Eddie cautiously opens his eyes.

Steve doesn’t say anything at first. But Eddie sees the way his shoulders have gone rigid, the way his head has dipped slightly, like he’s trying to disappear into the seat. And that’s when Eddie knows.

This isn’t just secondhand embarrassment. Her comment hit him somewhere deep.

The girl leans in again, not picking up on Steve’s body language silently screaming at her to stop, voice low but still audible. “I mean, it’s just weird, right? Why do they have to do that in public? It’s not like anyone wants to see it.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold.

Steve shifts. His hands curl into fists on his knees. Then, quietly but firmly, he says, “Shut up.”

The girl turns, startled. “Excuse me?”

“I said shut up,” Steve repeats, louder this time. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He watches the girl recoil, stunned, and then scoff like she’s the one who’s been wronged. “What crawled up your ass all of a sudden?”

“They’re just two people who like each other,” Steve says. “They’re trying to enjoy a date. How is that any of your business?”

Eddie’s breath catches.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at the back of Steve Harrington’s head like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

Steve had said something. Not just something, he had stood up - loud and clear and without hesitation - for two strangers. For people like Eddie. Eddie’s heart is pounding, but not from fear this time. It’s something else. Something warmer. Fiercer.

“Because it’s weird.” The girl doubles down,

“You wouldn’t think it was weird if it was those two people over there who were holding hands.” He gestures toward a man and woman sitting together near the front of the theatre.

“That’s different.”

Steve turns to her fully now, eyes sharp. “How?”

“Because it’s two men. It’s wrong. It’s disgusting,” she says. “I’d say the same if it were two women.”

Steve flinches hard, like he’s been physically hit.

There’s a beat of silence. Heavy. Final.

“I’m very close to someone who’s gay. And they’re smarter, kinder, funnier, and better than you’ll ever be,” Steve says, voice low and steady. “This date is over. Don’t bother calling me.” He goes to stand, but the girl shoves him back down and rises from her seat instead.

“You don’t get to walk out on me, I’m walking out on you,” she snaps. “I only came on this stupid date because I was bored, and I thought you’d wanna fool around like you supposedly do with all the other girls anyway. Turns out you’re a disappointment.”

She grabs her purse, mutters something under her breath, and storms out, heels clicking angrily against the floor.

Steve doesn’t watch her go. He just stares straight ahead, jaw tight, hands still clenched on his knees.

Eddie swallows hard.

He wants to say something. ‘Thank you for saying that,’ maybe. Or ‘that was brave’. Or even just ‘hey’. But all he can do is stare, stunned and a little breathless, because Steve Harrington just shattered every expectation Eddie ever had of him. And now Eddie’s sitting here while a laundry detergent commercial plays loudly in the background, heart in his throat, wondering how the hell he ever thought he had this guy figured out.

Steve puts his face in his hands and exhales deeply, like he’s trying to calm himself down. He seems tired now, defeated. Something about that doesn’t sit right with Eddie after what he just witnessed. It spurs him into action. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He just knows he can’t keep sitting there without saying something.

So, he stands. Walks down the steps. And stops at Steve’s row.

Steve hears the footsteps and looks up, startled. His expression flickers—confusion, then recognition, then something like wariness.

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice low. “Mind if I sit?”

His heart is hammering out a beat that would rival the work of the drummers in his favourite metal bands. He’s still mentally preparing himself for this Steve to disappear and be replaced by the jerk that had existed in his brain for the past few years.

Instead, Steve blinks at him, surprised. “Uh… sure? Eddie, right?”

“That’s what all the legends call me,” Eddie confirms, dropping into the seat beside him. There’s a beat of silence. Then he turns to look at Steve and “You okay?”

Steve lets out a breath, a small smile appearing on his face. “Yeah. I mean, not really. But I will be.”

Eddie nods. He doesn’t push. Just lets the quiet settle for a moment. Then he says, “So that was a lot.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Not exactly how I pictured the night going. I assume you heard everything?”

“Yep. She sucked,” Eddie says bluntly.

Steve snorts. “Yeah. She really did.”

Another pause. Eddie shifts, glancing sideways at him. “You didn’t have to say anything,” he says. “But you did.”

Steve shrugs, but there’s tension in his shoulders. “Didn’t feel like a choice.”

“That’s kind of the point, though,” Eddie says. “Most people would’ve just let it slide. Pretended they didn’t hear it. You didn’t.”

Steve’s quiet for a second. Then he says, “I’ve let too much slide before. I’m not doing that anymore.”

Eddie studies him. There’s something in Steve’s voice, something tired, but solid. Like a line’s been drawn and he’s not stepping back from it. And Eddie feels that twist in his chest again. That strange, warm ache.

“I meant every word I said,” Steve adds, softer now. “I have a close friend, more like a platonic soulmate really, who’s gay and the best person I know." He looks wounded. “And hearing someone I put enough trust in to consider dating basically call that person gross and disgusting and wrong... I couldn’t just sit here and listen to that crap.” His fists clench. “It’s one thing if it’s me she’s saying those things about but-”

He turns to face Eddie, his eyes wide and hands shaking as he realises the implications of what he said.

And Eddie knows that feeling.

He’s worn that same expression before. In locker rooms. In hallways. In classrooms where someone said something cruel under their breath and everyone else just laughed. But Steve Harrington? King Steve? He’s not supposed to know what that feels like.

Except he does.

Eddie nods slowly. “It’s okay. I figured.” He admits as casually as possible to try and ease Steve’s panic, although he’s still reeling over the events of the past few minutes. “You’re safe with me,” he promises.

Steve’s tense shoulders deflate, and glances at him curiously. “You?”

Eddie meets his eyes. “Yeah. Me.”

There’s no shock in Steve’s face. No judgment. Just a quiet kind of understanding.

“Cool,” Steve says. And he means it.

Eddie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then he grins, crooked and a little shy.

“You know,” he says, “you’re not what I expected.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re kind of a dork from the bits of conversation I overheard before things went bad.”

Steve laughs, and it’s real this time. “Takes one to know one.”

They sit in silence for a moment longer, their eyes lingering on each other, then Steve fully relaxes into his seat and turns to face the screen. “Well, no sense in wasting my ticket,” he says, then he holds his popcorn bucket out to Eddie, who’s only just realised he left his behind. “Wanna share?”

Eddie grins and grabs a handful. “Thought you’d never ask.”

—————————

It’s the most fun Eddie’s had in a while.

Steve leans into his space every now and then, whispering snarky commentary about the characters’ terrible decisions and even worse fashion choices. He especially tears into the asshole jock character, which catches Eddie off guard in the best way.

Eddie starts leaning in too, throwing in his own jabs, and before long, they’re trading quips like they’ve done this a hundred times before. At one point, one of them says something so ridiculous that they both dissolve into laughter. It’s the kind that’s breathless and uncontrollable.

Someone turns around and shushes them, loud and annoyed.

They immediately straighten, whispering apologies like guilty schoolkids. But the second the person turns back around, they catch each other’s eyes and grin, barely holding back another round of hysterics.

Steve nudges Eddie’s shoulder with his own, playful and warm.

Eddie nudges back.

If the small, friendly gesture sends goosebumps up his arms, well—that’s for Eddie to know and nobody else to find out.

Then, near the end of the film, the tension ramps up. The music swells. Eddie’s leaning forward slightly, eyes narrowed, when a sudden jumpscare hits and Steve gasps. Before Eddie can even register what’s happening, a larger, warmer hand grabs his.

Eddie freezes.

Not because he’s scared of the movie—though the jumpscare was decent—but because Steve Harrington is holding his hand.

Tightly.

Warm fingers wrapped around his own, palm pressed flush against his. It’s instinctive, a reflex, but Steve doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it at first.

Eddie doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. He’s not sure if it’s the shock or the fact that his heart is currently trying to beat its way out of his chest, but he’s rooted to the spot.

Then Steve seems to realize what he’s done. His grip loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he glances sideways, eyes wide, a little sheepish.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Didn’t mean to grab you like that.”

Eddie turns his head slowly, meets his gaze. Steve’s face is flushed, his expression somewhere between embarrassed and apologetic. Eddie could make a joke. He could laugh it off, tease him.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he gives Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You can hold on if you want.”

Steve blinks. His eyes search Eddie’s face for a moment, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s serious. Then he smiles, small, grateful and a little shy. It warms Eddie to his very core.

He doesn’t let go.

They sit like that for the rest of the movie. Their shoulders brushing, hands clasped between them and fingers intertwined, the flickering light from the screen casting soft shadows across their faces. Eddie doesn’t even remember how the movie ends, but he remembers the way Steve’s thumb brushed lightly over his when the final girl shared a kiss with her love interest.

And he knows, without a doubt, that something’s changed and shifted between them. It’s something small, but at the same time monumental.

As the lights come up, Steve sighs. He gives Eddie’s hand one last squeeze before letting go and standing to stretch. Eddie’s hand falls to his lap, suddenly cold, and he stares at it for a second like it might still remember the shape of Steve’s fingers.

He already misses the warmth. The weight. The quiet reassurance of it.

“Did you drive here?” Steve asks suddenly.

Eddie blinks, caught off guard. He expected this to be the end. He expected they would just awkwardly part ways in silence after this, try to lose each other in the small crowd exiting the theatre and then avoid each other for the most part. Maybe they would share a nod or a half-smile the next time he wandered into Family Video, but that’s all Eddie had hoped for.

He hadn’t hoped for this, for Steve waiting for Eddie to stand too, still looking at him like he wants to keep talking.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. “My van’s out back.”

Steve nods. “Cool. I parked a few rows over. You wanna walk out together?”

Eddie’s heart stutters. He stands slowly, trying to play it cool. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

They fall into step as they exit the theatre, the buzz of the credits still echoing faintly behind them. The lobby is mostly empty now, just a few stragglers and the hum of vending machines. Outside, the night air is cool and quiet, the parking lot bathed in soft yellow light.

For a moment, neither of them says anything.

Then Steve glances over, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Thanks for sitting with me. I didn’t expect… well, any of this.”

Eddie shrugs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, me neither. But I’m glad I did.”

Steve smiles back, and it’s that same small, shy one from earlier. It makes Eddie feel like he’s standing too close to a bonfire, especially now with the glow of the streetlights illuminating Steve’s features. They reach the edge of the lot where their cars are parked a few rows apart. Eddie slows, not quite ready to say goodbye.

Steve hesitates too. Then, almost nervously, he says, “Hey, uh… are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, slower this time, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Steve’s face lights up, just a little. “There’s a diner a few blocks from here. It’s not fancy, but they’ve got decent fries and terrible coffee.”

“Sounds perfect. Lead the way, sweetheart.”

The pet name's out before Eddie can stop it.

His brain short-circuits the second it leaves his mouth. His eyes go wide, and he immediately wants to rewind time, shove the word back down his throat, and pretend it never happened.

Shit.

He curses himself silently. Nicknames have always slipped out like second nature around his friends, bandmates, even the occasional stranger. But this? This is Steve. And this moment feels different. More fragile. More real.

He risks a glance at Steve, fully expecting confusion, maybe discomfort.

But Steve’s just looking at him with that same soft smile. A little surprised, sure, but not upset. If anything, he looks… pleased?

“Sweetheart, huh?” Steve says, raising an eyebrow, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

Eddie lets out a breathy, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s a reflex. I swear. I’ve called random people on the street ‘darlin’ and the guy working the counter at the gas station ‘babe’ before now.”

Steve hums, clearly amused. “Didn’t say I minded. But now I’m a little jealous of the guy at the gas station.”

Eddie blinks. “You didn’t? …You are?”

“Nope, not at all. And yeah, I am.” Steve starts walking, hands in his pockets, glancing back over his shoulder with an exaggerated pout. “Thought I might’ve been special for a second there.”

Eddie wants to kiss that look right off his face, but he reels that thought in fast. Steve’s probably just joking. Just sharing friendly banter with a guy he knows won’t hurt him for it. Who is Eddie to deny him that experience or make it awkward by assigning a deeper meaning to it?

“What can I say, Steve?” he shrugs. “The man sometimes gives me discounts on my favourite brand of cigarette. How can you compete with that?”

Steve bites his lip, clearly trying to stifle a smile. Eddie’s eyes lock on his mouth.

“I can think of a few ways,” Steve says, voice low, suggestive and just a little nervous as he sways into Eddie’s space. He gets close, so close Eddie’s stomach swoops.

Then a devilish grin curls at the corner of Steve’s lips.

“Last one to the diner pays.”

“Wha—” Eddie starts, dazed.

But Steve’s already taken off running, his laughter echoing behind him.

“Hey! That’s no fucking fair! You’re rich!” Eddie shouts, already breaking into a sprint.

Steve turns, running backward for a second just to flash him a grin. “Better catch up to me then!”

Eddie cackles, wild and breathless, as he chases after him. He sees the moment Steve realizes he’s gaining fast and the flicker of panic that crosses his face. Steve hadn’t counted on the fact that Eddie Munson has years of experience running from trouble.

Trying to push his legs to work faster turns out to be a fruitless effort for Steve because Eddie manages to catch him around the waist and spin him away from the front door of the diner just as he’s about to reach for the handle. They almost end up sprawled on the ground together from the momentum of it, but Steve manages to grasp Eddie’s forearms and fix their footing as the metalhead leans against his back and laughs uncontrollably.

They stand there for a second, tangled up in each other, catching their breath. Eddie leans into him, still chuckling, and Steve can’t help but laugh too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and giddy.

“You’re fast,” Steve says, glancing over his shoulder.

“You’re slow,” Eddie counters, grinning like he’s won the lottery.

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too. “You tackled me.”

“I redirected you,” Eddie says, mock-offended. “With grace.”

Steve turns in his grip, still holding onto Eddie’s arms, and they’re suddenly face to face. Close. Closer than they’ve been all night. The laughter fades into something quieter, softer.

Eddie’s eyes flick to Steve’s mouth for just a second. Steve notices.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moves.

Then the diner door swings open behind them with a loud ding, and a couple walks out, chatting loudly and breaking the moment. Eddie steps back, clearing his throat. “Guess we should, uh… go inside before they run out of terrible coffee.”

Steve nods, still smiling. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

——————��—

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re basically a single parent to six?”

They’re sat in a booth in the back corner, chatting animatedly and occasionally stealing each other’s fries even though they got exactly the same thing. They’d foregone the crappy coffee for milkshakes though, Steve’s strawberry and Eddie’s chocolate.

“Seven if you count Erica, Lucas’ little sister,” Steve corrects him. “But jury’s still out on whether she’s actually a child or whether Lucas is just living with the consequences of feeding a mogwai after midnight.”

“God you are such a nerd,” Eddie laughs, delighted. “’Mogwai’? You didn’t even use the incorrect term - ‘gremlin’ - like most people would. You just went straight in there with ‘mogwai’.”

Steve grins, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I take my pop culture references seriously.”

Eddie leans back in the booth, shaking his head with a smile. “You’re a walking contradiction, Steve. You look like you should be quarterbacking some all-American football team, but you talk like you’ve got the entire catalogue of Family Video memorised.”

Steve sips his milkshake, eyes twinkling. “Maybe I do.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

Steve shrugs, all faux-casual. “You’ll have to hang out with me again to find out.”

Eddie’s caught off guard for a second, not by the words, but by the way Steve says them. Like it’s not a joke. Like he means it. Eddie, who’s spent most of his life waiting for the other shoe to drop, finds himself hoping just a little that maybe this time it won’t.

He smiles, softer now. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, how does King of the jocks and certified lady-killer Steve Harrington become an actually decent and interesting guy with a brood of little lost ducklings?”

Steve leans back in the booth, fingers idly tracing the condensation on his milkshake glass.

“It’s a long story, but I guess I just got tired of pretending I wanted the same things I used to,” he says. “Back in high school, it was all about the image. The parties, the girls, the reputation. I thought that was what I was supposed to want. What everyone expected from me.”

Eddie watches him, the teasing gone from his expression.

“But somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t want to keep chasing something that never really made me feel good. I started figuring out that what I actually want is something that feels real. Something that lasts.”

He glances up, meets Eddie’s eyes. There’s something open in his expression. It’s unguarded, but cautious. Eddie’s heart does something strange in his chest, tightens and softens all at once. He reminds himself that shouldn’t be reading into things; Steve might just be getting used to having someone he can talk to about all this.

He nods slowly, voice quiet. “Yeah. I get that.”

They share a soft, secret smile.

“So,” Steve says. “You like metal, right? I don’t think I’ve ever listened to that before. What do you like about it?”

It’s a hard pivot in the topic of conversation, but Eddie allows it. Mostly because the fact that Steve seems to realise how important music is to Eddie and makes a point to ask him about it. Eddie’s eyes light up at the question, and he sits up a little straighter.

“Oh man, where do I even start?” he says, grinning. “Okay, so it’s loud, it’s chaotic. But it’s also honest. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. It’s raw and messy and emotional, and it doesn’t apologise for any of it.”

Steve watches him, chin propped on one hand, milkshake forgotten for the moment.

Eddie continues, more animated now. “And a lot of the songs are about overcoming adversity. About going through hell and somehow still fighting and persevering. It’s about taking back power when the world is trying to crush you. It makes me feel confident for a change, like I could take on anything. And people complain that it’s just noise but that’s so far from the truth. It takes so much talent and years of dedication and-”

He pauses, his eyes flicking to Steve’s, suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. I’m rambling.”

Steve shakes his head, smiling. “No, I like it. You talk about it like it’s more than just music.”

“It is,” Eddie shrugs, a little sheepish. “It kind of saved my life, y’know? When everything else felt like it was falling apart and I had nowhere I belonged, metal was the one place I could just be and feel accepted. No masks. No pretending.”

Steve’s expression softens. “That makes sense.”

There’s a beat of quiet between them, not awkward, just full. Like the air’s thick with things unsaid but understood. Then Steve leans forward, a playful glint in his eye. “So, if I wanted to dip my toe into the world of metal, where would I start? What’s, like, the gateway drug?”

“Really? You want to give up your metal virginity?”

“Didn’t have to put it like that,” Steve says, his face scrunching up in a way that’s far too cute to do anything good for Eddie’s heart.

“Okay, you’re coming over to my trailer as soon as possible and I’m going to play you some songs. I’m already mentally writing a list. This is gonna be so good.” Eddie laughs ecstatically and rubs his hands together deviously. “We’ll make a metalhead out of you yet, Steve.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Steve replies, his expression so open and honest that it gives Eddie pause.

Eddie’s demeanor turns softer. “You don’t have to like it though, y’know. I won’t be offended.”

“I know,” Steve meets his gaze, steady. “I want to understand the things that matter to you.”

Eddie’s caught off guard again. His heart does that weird fluttery thing, and he has to look away before he says something stupid.

“Cool,” he says, voice a little rough. “Yeah. Cool.”

They go back to their fries, the silence between them now warm and companionable. Outside, the neon sign of the diner flickers softly, casting pink and blue shadows across the table.

——————————

The bell chimes above their heads and a nice, middle-aged lady calls out a, “Thank you for coming, be sure to get home safe,” as Eddie holds the door open for Steve and they step back out into the cold night air.

Steve sidles up next to him. “Thank you for getting the door for me, Sweetheart,” he says, teasing.

Eddie groans loudly. “You are not going to let me forget about that, are you?"

“Never,” Steve beams.

They settle into a comfortable silence as they walk. Their shoulders touch once, then again, and neither of them moves away. Their hands are so close that they constantly brush against each other and it’s driving Eddie mad. All he would have to do is reach out a little and he could be holding Steve’s hand again. He isn’t able to summon the courage for that because he’s still not quite sure if Steve feels anything more than a budding sense of friendship toward him.

They walk in step down the quiet street, the night air crisp and laced with the scent of damp pavement and distant woodsmoke. The town is mostly asleep, windows glowing softly in the distance, the occasional car humming by like a lullaby.

Their hands brush again. This time, Steve doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his fingers linger just a second longer than before. Eddie’s heart stutters.

He swallows. “Hey, uh… you don’t have to say yes or anything, but would you ever want to come to a show sometime, like one of the local gigs I play or even just hang out while I practice? Hear some live music.”

Steve looks over at him, eyes warm. “I’d love that.”

Eddie blinks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I want to see you in your element. I bet you look cool as hell on stage.”

Eddie laughs, a little breathless. “I mean, I do, obviously. But I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

They stop next to Eddie’s van. Neither of them moves to leave just yet.

Steve rocks on his heels. “Thanks for tonight. I had more fun than I probably had in years if I’m being honest.”

Eddie nods, his voice soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a pause. Neither of them moves.

Then Steve clears his throat and pulls one hand free, fishing around in his back pocket. “Before I forget,” He pulls out a pen and the crumpled diner receipt, scribbles something down, and hands it to Eddie. “My number. For whenever you want to hang out or just talk.”

Eddie takes it, fingers brushing Steve’s. He looks down at the messy scrawl of digits, then back up, heart thudding. “Thank you. I’ll definitely call you to set something up soon, and let you know as soon as I know when the next gig’s going to be.”

“Cool, I can’t wait,” Steve smiles.

He hesitates for a second, then steps a little closer, his gaze drifting to Eddie’s lips. “Also, I’ve been thinking about doing this all night.”

Eddie barely has time to process that before Steve leans in and kisses him.

The kiss is soft and tentative at first, like a question asked in a language neither of them is fluent in yet. Steve’s lips brush against Eddie’s with a kind of reverence, like he’s afraid to push too far, too fast. But Eddie’s breath catches, and instinct takes over. He leans in, closing the distance, answering the question with a quiet certainty.

His hands find their way to Steve’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket like they’ve always belonged there. Steve’s hands hover for a moment before settling gently on Eddie’s shoulders, grounding them both.

The world fades. The cold night air, the hum of a distant streetlamp, the faint creak of the van’s metal frame, all of it disappears. It’s just them. Just this.

Steve tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and Eddie feels it like a spark down his spine. It’s still gentle, still careful, but there’s something more now. It’s something that says ‘I see you’ and ‘I want this’. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

When they finally part, it’s slow, reluctant. Steve’s eyes flutter open, and he looks at Eddie like he’s trying to memorize every detail of his face.

“Was that okay?” Steve asks, voice barely above a whisper.

Eddie blinks, dazed, lips tingling, heart pounding. Then he grins, wide and a little breathless. “Yeah. Yeah, that was more than okay.”

Steve lets out a soft laugh, relief blooming across his face. “Good.”

They linger there, close enough to feel each other’s breath in the space between them. Steve leans in again, slower this time, and kisses him once more. It’s just as soft and just as sure. It’s the kind of kiss that says this isn’t a one-time thing.

“I’ll call you,” Eddie says, still smiling as they hesitantly move away from each other. “God, it might even be as soon as I get home after a kiss like that.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Steve replies, stepping back slowly, like he’s reluctant to go.

Eddie watches him walk away, heart pounding, fingers still curled around the scrap of paper like it’s something precious.

Steve turns back to face him and, he’s smiling, nervous, but genuine. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

Eddie’s frozen for a second, then grins, wide and a little dazed. “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

They part ways, both of them feeling a little lighter than before.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #my fics #started writing a minific #got carried away #bon appetit

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honeybeegashii · 2 days ago

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Feral Devotion

⋆˚꩜｡Note: My first time posting something like this. But this fandom needs more Yautja x reader content. Please bear with me as I improve more in the future

Summary: Used as bait for the Elder Hunters. Instead of the intended hunters, you caught a different hunter interest. Despite not understanding each other, the warrior became fiercely protective.

You don’t remember being taken. Not exactly.

Just the after.

Heat like breathing inside a furnace. Metal walls and no windows. A hiss of hydraulics and something moving just out of sight. Bigger than anything on Earth. The air here tastes wrong. Heavy. Wet with ozone and blood.

Your wrists still ache from the way they strung you up, bait on a hook for something ancient and cruel. Tech-slick cuffs, research collars, chemical fog burned into your skin. You were never meant to survive. Just scream loud enough to lure something out of the trees.

Pheromones, they said. You’re appealing. Not because you’re beautiful—but because you’re biologically interesting. Like a scent that sets off alarms in a predator’s skull. You’re the kind of soft that makes instincts break down and violence feel holy.

But it wasn’t the elder hunters that found you.

It was him.

Didn’t expect the Young Blood who found you first. Young, yes. Raw, yes. But deadly. Already decorated in the blood of creatures older and meaner than he had any right surviving.

You remember the scream of something dying. Not yours.

You remember the drip of blood onto the metal floor, the snarl he made when he sliced you down from where you hung.

He didn’t kill you. He should’ve.

But instead, he touched your hair. Strange and clumsy. Just the very tips of his claws. He watched you the way humans watch lightning, awe and danger, like getting too close might kill him. And then, he took you.

Scooped you up in those terrifying arms like you were a prize. A trophy. A thing to be carried off and hidden in the dark corners of a starship.

You were unconscious most of the journey. The air too thin. The gravity too heavy. But sometimes you woke up long enough to see him, kneeling beside you like a shadow, fingers twitching near your face. Like he wanted to touch. Like he didn’t know how.

He doesn’t speak your language. But you feel what he means when he looks at you.

He wraps you in fabric stripped from his own gear. Tucks you into the warm belly of the ship like you’re an egg he means to hatch. He growls at the others who come too close, real warriors, Blooded ones. They snarl back, laughing, until he nearly kills one of them. Over you.

They think he’s gone feral. You think maybe he has too.

He shouldn’t have touched you. Should’ve left you strung up like a carcass. Should’ve let the others take the kill.

But he didn’t. He claimed you.

And now you live in the eye of a hurricane made of muscle and blood and devotion that doesn’t make any sense. Now you sleep on the pelt of some slain beast in the belly of his quarters, under the eye of a warrior who’s too young to know better and too wild to care.

You were bait. Meant to be hunted. But he got to you first.

And gods help you—he won’t let you go.

Next Part

#yautja #predator yautja #yautja predator #Yautja x human #yautja x reader #Predator series #Predator franchise #let me cook #I swear #Yautja oc #honeybeegashii.brainrot #beegashii.writing

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uncuredturkeybacon · 1 day ago

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𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you go to your first basketball game and didn't expect something more

You were exhausted. Not in the tired of life way, just the overwhelmed by glamour kind of way. The Formula 1 movie premiere had been a blur of flashbulbs, champagne flutes, and glimmering gowns. You weren’t a driver, but you may as well have been with the way the cameras hounded you and Charles from the moment you stepped onto the red carpet.

It never really stopped, that attention. Not when you were the younger sister of Charles Leclerc and one of the very few women working as a Formula One race engineer—let alone one who’d made it onto the Ferrari team by twenty-three. People were interested. People always had questions. And your face? Apparently marketable enough for every tabloid to want it next to your brother’s whenever you were in the same city.

So, yeah. You were exhausted.

Which is why the idea of going to a basketball game sounded... almost rebellious in its normalcy.

You leaned your head on Charles’s shoulder as the car rolled through Manhattan traffic, humming under your breath. “I still can’t believe you dragged me into that afterparty last night.”

Charles snorted, relaxed in his seat with Alexandra curled up against his other side. “You say that, but you were the one doing shots with Lando.”

“I did one shot with Lando,” you corrected, “because he said I was too uptight.”

Alex laughed softly. “He also said you should be in front of the camera instead of hiding behind pit walls.”

You groaned. “He says that every time. I fix your telemetry one time during qualifying and suddenly I’m Angelina Jolie.”

Charles grinned and gave your hand a squeeze. “You just hate being famous.”

“I don’t hate it,” you murmured, lips quirking. “I just hate not being able to disappear.”

And that was really it. You hadn’t told anyone outside your inner circle about your plan for today. A quiet trip to the Barclays Center. Just you, Charles, and Alex.

You’d mentioned it in passing after breakfast this morning, still sipping your iced coffee, eyes puffy with sleep.

“I’ve never seen a basketball game in person,” you said, squinting at your phone. “New York Liberty’s playing tonight.”

Charles blinked at you across the kitchen island. “You want to go?”

You shrugged. “Kind of curious. I know nothing about it, but the atmosphere seems cool when I googled it.”

“You google everything,” Alex teased you, whited you just shrugged at.

“Alright.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll text my manager. We’ll sort it.”

And of course, being Charles, he sorted it within half an hour. Three courtside seats. No fanfare or sponsor ties. Just you three, sitting down to watch women throw a ball around and, hopefully, scream at each other with intense athleticism. It sounded oddly soothing.

Now the black SUV pulled up to the Barclays Center and the street buzzed with energy. The pre-game crowd was thicker than you expected. People in teal and sea foam green jerseys stood in clumps on the sidewalk, others in navy and silver.

You read a few of the names on the backs of shirts. Jones. Ionescu. Bueckers. That last one you pronounced in your head like “Buckers” before second-guessing yourself.

As the door opened, Charles stepped out first, always the gentleman, offering a hand to help Alex out next. You slid out after them, a little disoriented by the shift in atmosphere. Less polished than the premiere, but more alive somehow. No tuxedos or gowns—just sneakers, t-shirts, music blasting from speakers along the entryway.

You adjusted your sunglasses, even though it was nearly evening, and tugged your denim jacket tighter around you. The press hadn’t followed. No one here really cared mush about who you were. A few teenagers glanced at Charles—probably Formula 1 fans—but no cameras. No interviews. No one asking how Charles thinks of the season so far, how no one asks you about updates on the cars.

Just... peace.

“Didn’t think there’d be this many people,” you said under your breath as you approached the VIP entrance.

“Basketball’s apparently big here,” Alex replied, brushing her hair over one shoulder. “The Liberty are kind of a big deal.”

You tilted your head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Enough to pretend,” she said with a grin.

“Perfect. I’ll follow your lead.”

Security ushered you in quickly once credentials were checked—Charles’s manager had arranged everything—and the cool of the arena swallowed you whole. Air conditioning, the sharp scent of popcorn and floor polish, and the distant thud of basketballs echoed in your ears.

You followed a staff member through the lower tunnels, emerging out into the blinding brightness of the court.

And just like that, you were courtside.

It was... closer than you expected.

You could see the lights glaring off the court. Hear the rubber of sneakers squeaking with warmup drills. Players darted up and down the court, long-limbed and agile, even just jogging. You didn’t know who was who, but one team was in blue warm-ups and the other in black.

Someone was shooting three-pointers with precision. Another sprinted from baseline to half court and back, ponytail whipping behind her like a comet trail.

“Bloody hell,” Charles muttered beside you, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re fast.”

“Mmhm,” you said, barely hearing him.

One of the players jogged past, close enough to see the tiny bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face. She didn’t look over, too focused on her footwork. Her jersey read BUECKERS in crisp blue letters across the back.

You blinked.

Oh. That name again.

You leaned toward Alex. “Is that... Buckers? Like the jersey we saw outside?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah. She’s really famous, I think. Played for UConn. Supposed to be a big deal for the Wings this year.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “How do you know that?”

“Google is a wonderful tool, hermana.”

You studied the woman as she slowed to a jog near the bench, catching a water bottle and tipping it up with ease. Blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, pale skin, strong arms that flexed easily with every movement. She had a kind of presence. Not in the way F1 drivers did—loud, cocky—but... quietly intense.

You tilted your head. “She looks like she could stare through someone’s soul.”

Charles chuckled. “Don’t let her stare at you like that. You’ll explode.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it.

The arena began to fill. The crowd’s energy ramped up with every minute closer to tip-off. Announcers boomed over the speakers. Lights dimmed, and spotlights painted patterns across the hardwood.

You settled into your seat, tucking one ankle over your knee and balancing a bottle of water between your palms. The back of your neck buzzed with anticipation, though you couldn’t say why. Maybe it was just the unknown—this whole world of sport you knew nothing about. Maybe it was the air conditioning. Or maybe it was the fact that Bueckers, whoever she really was, had just glanced toward your row like she knew exactly who you were.

But she didn’t. Did she?

It started with a tap.

A quiet one, like the soft thud of a butterfly wing against your skin. You were distracted by the sweep of pregame lights moving across the ceiling, the slight back and forth between Charles and Alex beside you and by the rhythmic sound of basketballs echoing like thunder on the court.

You didn’t notice the two players breaking away from warmups at first, not until you caught a shift in the atmosphere. Like energy moving in a new direction.

And then, there it was. A gentle, almost tentative voice near your shoulder.

“Hi. Um. Are you—are you Charles’s sister?”

You turned and blinked.

It was her.

Bueckers. The name you’d only just learned a few minutes ago. She was taller than you’d expected up close, but not by much. Her cheeks were flushed from warmups, blonde hair tied in a tight ponytail. Her jersey was still partially tucked in, and she was holding her water bottle in both hands like it might anchor her to the moment.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your mouth. “Depends who’s asking.”

She let out a soft breath, something between a chuckle and a sigh of relief. “Just a fan.”

That surprised you. “You’re a fan of me?”

Paige shook her head, then immediately nodded, then looked like she regretted both. “No, I mean—yes. Not like in a weird way. Just... I’ve seen you on the screen sometimes during races. You always looked beaut—uh, I mean—focused and serious.”

You blinked again. “You follow Formula 1?”

“Arike’s girlfriend is obsessed,” Paige replied, glancing quickly over her shoulder. “She’s a huge Ferrari fan. So Arike’s always hearing about your brother. And I guess I kind of got sucked up in it once I moved to Dallas.”

You glanced past her. Sure enough, one of her teammates—the one with the wicked jumper during warmups, now confirmed as Arike—was enthusiastically talking to Charles. She looked slightly overwhelmed, and very excited, holding her phone in one hand as she grinned up at him like he’d just won her a car.

Your eyebrows lifted. “Wow. That’s not something I expected today.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, and when you turned back to her, she was already looking at you again. “Me neither.”

You didn’t know what it was, exactly. Maybe the nerves in her voice, maybe the way she rocked slightly on her feet like she was resisting the urge to bolt—but it made you soften.

You held out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

Her smile grew. “Paige.”

You nodded. “Ah, Paige. It’s nice to finally know the first name.”

She laughed. “You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” you said, tipping your head. “Just kept seeing Buckers jerseys everywhere.”

Paige’s ears went a little pink, and she tucked a loose piece of hair behind one ear, fingers fidgeting with the elastic of her jersey. “Um, it’s Bueckers actually. The ‘u’ is silent.”

“Bueckers. I apologize,” you said.

“It’s okay,” she gave a shy smile. “You, um. You’re really here for a game?”

You glance back out to the court, where the rest of the Wings and Liberty were still running drills. “First one ever. Thought I’d see what all the hype is about.”

She grinned. “You picked a good one. Liberty versus Wings is never boring.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said lightly. “I’ve never watched basketball before. Been surrounded by race cars all my life.”

Paige laughed again, lighter this time. “That’s okay. I know nothing about racing except that I can’t even go-kart without spinning out.”

You smiled. “Maybe we can teach each other.”

The words hung in the air, light but charged. Paige’s eyes flickered to your mouth before quickly darting away again. You didn’t miss it.

“So,” you said, shifting in your seat so you were angled slightly more toward her, “are you just saying hi, or are you here on official wingwoman duty for Arike?”

She groaned softly, but she was smiling. “She begged me to come over. She got too nervous and didn’t want to go alone.”

“Too nervous?” you asked, genuinely curious. “Charles is like... a walking golden retriever. He’s the least intimidating person I know.”

“I think that’s why she’s nervous,” Paige said, leaning slightly closer. “She wants to make a good impression. Her girlfriend’s always saying how cool he is. Especially his girlfriend. Plus, Arike’s not great with... subtlety.”

You snorted. “I can tell. She’s practically vibrating.”

Paige’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer before she pulled back slightly, clearing her throat. “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be bothering you before the game.”

“You’re not bothering me,” you said easily. “I feel like I’m the one that’s bothering you. But this is already more fun than I expected.”

She grinned. “What did you expect?”

You shrugged. “To sit here awkwardly while everyone screamed around me. To not understand what was happening. To check my phone halfway through the second quarter.”

“And now?”

You looked at her, really looked, and smiled softly. “Now I kind of want to stay until the very end.”

Her blush returned, stronger this time.

The crowd began to rise in volume as the clock above the court ticked closer to tip-off. Music pulsed through the speakers. A Liberty player dunked during layup lines and the crowd roared. Paige glanced toward the bench.

“I should probably get back,” she said, sounding reluctant.

You tilted your head. “Are you starting?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “But I’ll—um. I’ll try not to trip in front of you.”

You smirked. “No promises from me. I might cheer for the other team just to keep you on your toes.”

Her mouth parted like she didn’t know whether to laugh or challenge you. “You wouldn’t.”

You lifted a brow. “Wouldn’t I?”

She bit her lip. “Well... if you change your mind, I’ll be number five. Wings jersey. You know. Just in case you decide you want to cheer for the right side.”

You leaned back, eyes gleaming. “We’ll see how you play.”

She took a few steps back, still facing you, then finally turned around just as Arike finished her impromptu photo with Charles and bounded after her.

You watched her go—watched the easy way she moved, the subtle glance she cast over her shoulder before disappearing behind the bench.

Alex elbowed you gently. “So. That was a very long conversation for someone who only came over because of Arike.”

You tried for casual. “She was being polite.”

Charles snorted. “Mon dieu. She was flirting and she was terrible at it.”

“She was sweet,” you corrected, still smiling faintly.

Alex leaned in. “And you liked it.”

You didn’t say anything. Just sipped your water, eyes trailing back to where Paige now stood with her teammates, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, gaze already scanning the court—but every now and then, flickering right back to you.

And each time it did, your heart fluttered a little faster than it had on any starting grid.

It wasn’t obvious at first.

You weren’t sure what to watch during a basketball game—when to focus on the ball, when to look at the off-ball movement or when to just follow the flow of the players gliding across the court like it was muscle memory. The speed surprised you. The precision. The sheer athleticism of it all.

But what surprised you most was how often your eyes were drawn back to her.

She moved like she didn’t need to think, like the court was just an extension of her breath. One second, she was at the top of the arc calling for the ball, the next, she was slashing into the paint, drawing a defender with her before dishing out a no-look pass that made the crowd gasp and a teammate drain a three.

You leaned forward unconsciously. “She’s really good,” you murmured.

Charles glanced sideways. “You mean Paige?”

“Mhm,” you said without looking away. “She plays like she’s solving a puzzle no one else can solve.”

“She has vision,” Alex added. “Like a driver who sees the apex before the turn.”

You nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as Paige picked off a lazy pass and darted up court in transition. She didn’t rush, didn’t force anything—just read the defender’s body language and timed her steps perfectly before finishing with a layup that rolled off her fingers like silk.

The scoreboard ticked up in the Wings’ favor.

And Paige—oh, Paige—jogged back on defense with a half-smirk tugging at her mouth. Her eyes scanned the front row, just briefly, but when they landed on yours, they didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Her gaze lingered a second too long. She gave the smallest shrug of her shoulders—barely noticeable—but it said everything. That one was for you.

You blinked. A beat passed. And you smiled, just a little.

Timeout.

The coaches called for a break, and both teams huddled by their benches. Paige wiped her face with her towel, bouncing on her toes, sipping from her water bottle, listening with half an ear to what her coach was saying.

But her eyes found you again.

You didn’t pretend not to notice.

She raised a hand and waved—quick, subtle, a flick of fingers from low by her waist like she didn’t want anyone else to see.

You lifted your brows, amused.

She smiled again—shy, still—but different now. Confident in a way that felt like a quiet dare.

“She’s waving at you,” Charles said, practically choking on his soda.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, thank you, Cha.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, grinning like an idiot. “You’re distracting a professional athlete in the middle of a game. That’s impressive.”

“I’m not trying to distract her,” you muttered.

Alex smirked. “You’re not not trying.”

You crossed one leg over the other, resting your elbow on the armrest between you and Charles. Paige was back in the game now, standing on the wing waiting for the inbound pass. She glanced toward you again.

You didn’t wave, didn’t smile. You just raised one brow and tilted your head like Alright, Bueckers. Show me something.

And she did.

She moved off the ball like she was built for it—cutting, darting, changing direction so fast the Liberty defender couldn’t keep up. She caught the pass mid-motion, turned, and let it fly from just beyond the arc.

Swish.

The net barely moved.

Half the crowd screamed.

The Wings bench stood up, cheering.

And Paige? She jogged back, biting her bottom lip like she was trying to hide a grin—but didn’t try that hard. Her eyes met yours again, and this time she winked.

Winked.

You could feel Charles and Alex practically vibrating next to you.

“Ay dios mío” Alex said under her breath. “You’re in so deep already.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly. “I just met her. I didn’t even know how to say her last name.”

“You know,” Charles said, “I always imagined you’d fall for someone complicated. Mysterious. Dangerous.”

“She plays basketball,” you said flatly.

“She’s clearly dangerous to your self-control.”

You ignored him. Sort of.

Because you were watching her again. Watching the way she locked in when she played. The way her teammates looked to her instinctively. The way she trusted her first move—no hesitation, no overthinking. Paige Bueckers played basketball the way you did data analysis mid-race… fast, decisive, and like the margin for error was nonexistent.

And every time she made a big play, her eyes flicked back to you.

Like she wanted to know if you’d seen.

Like she needed you to.

By halftime, your heart was pounding harder than it had in any garage on race day.

You’d come here for something simple. A distraction. A break from being Charles Leclerc’s little sister or Ferrari’s engineering prodigy. Monaco’s Princess.

Instead, you got Paige Bueckers.

And every time she looked at you, it felt like she saw right through the noise.

The final buzzer sounded like a sigh.

The game had been close—closer than anyone had predicted from what you gathered in the crowd chatter around you. Liberty fans were loud, but by the fourth quarter, you started to hear more Wings chants pick up momentum. You didn’t understand every foul or call or play, but you understood Paige.

You understood how her team trusted her. You understood how she handled pressure like it was gravity. You understood how, after every big moment, her eyes found you.

And now, it was over. Scoreboard locked. Jerseys drenched in sweat. Fans buzzing in that familiar post-sport high.

You stayed seated as most of the arena stood to leave. Charles was scrolling through his phone, nodding occasionally at a fan who called his name but otherwise keeping low-key. Alex sipped the last of her drink, curled comfortably against his arm, while you just… watched.

The court was still alive.

Paige was surrounded—first by teammates, then reporters, then fans pressed against the rails. She was gracious with each person, smiling wide in photos, laughing at something a little girl said, holding her sharpie with care as she signed the backs of posters, jerseys, and phones.

“She’s got that same energy you do after a podium,” Alex said gently.

You glanced at her. “Huh?”

Alex nodded toward Paige. “A little exhausted, a little adrenaline high, kind of glowing but pretending not to notice.”

You looked back. Paige was crouched to take a photo with a kid in a Wings jersey two sizes too big for him. She gave the camera a thumbs up. Her pony was messy now, strands of blonde hair falling loose around her face.

She glanced toward you. Saw you still there.

And smiled like it meant something.

You felt it like a pull.

Paige whispered something to a staffer and took a final photo, then jogged toward the bench. Her teammates were heading back to the locker room, but she lingered. You stood as she approached, not sure what you were expecting.

“Hey,” she said, a little breathless. “You’re still here.”

You smiled. “I said I’d stay until the end.”

Her eyes flicked to Charles and Alex, who were now standing just behind you, watching quietly. Paige’s cheeks flushed, but she held her ground.

“I, uh—I have to do post-game interviews,” she said, almost apologetically. “Media stuff. Probably fifteen, twenty minutes. But I was wondering…” She shifted, bouncing slightly on her toes. Her voice was softer now, meant only for you. “Would you wait?”

You blinked. “Wait for you?”

She nodded. “I just— I’d really like to talk more. If you want. I don’t know if you’re going somewhere after or flying out soon or—”

“I’m here tonight,” you said, cutting gently through her nerves. “We’re in New York for another day.”

“Oh. Good. Okay.” Her smile was so honest it made your chest feel warm. “So... would you?”

You could feel Charles and Alex still watching, but they didn’t say a word. You tucked your hands in your jacket pockets and tilted your head.

“You want me to wait around in an empty arena just so you can talk to me again?”

Paige met your gaze. Didn’t back down. “Yes.”

The answer was so simple it made you grin.

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll wait.”

Relief bloomed across her face. “Cool. I won’t be long. Promise.”

She started to turn, paused, then hesitated before glancing at Charles.

“I’m a big fan of yours, by the way,” she added quickly, cheeks turning red. “Both of you. You guys looked really good in Monaco.”

Charles lit up. “Merci. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear most of that conversation earlier.”

Paige laughed nervously. “Noted.” Then she looked back at you. “Be right back.”

You watched her disappear into the tunnel, every bit of her confidence lingering behind in the way she glanced at you over her shoulder one last time.

When she was gone, Charles bumped his shoulder lightly into yours.

“Does she always look at people like that?”

You raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing.”

You shrugged. “Maybe she just appreciates a challenge.”

Alex grinned. “You’re such a liar. You’re already gone for her.”

You didn’t answer. Just sat back down and stared at the empty court where she’d just been.

And waited.

It was quiet by the time she returned.

The kind of quiet that only settles in after the world has exhaled. Most of the crowd had gone home. Security lingered by the exits, sweeping the rows. Staffers rolled carts of used towels and half-empty water bottles down the tunnel. The court was bare now. Just the hushed hum of the arena winding down.

You were still there. Sitting courtside. Jacket draped over your shoulders, fingers absently spinning the cap of your water bottle. Charles and Alex had wandered off somewhere to give you space. You hadn’t asked, but they just knew.

And then you heard footsteps again—softer now, not game shoes. Slides against the polished concrete.

You looked up.

There she was.

She was fresh from the locker room, face clean, blonde hair damp and tied loosely now. A W hoodie, oversized, sleeves pulled down over her hands. She wore simple black shorts and Nike socks pushed halfway down her ankles.

She looked like herself in a way that tugged at you—like all the edges were finally rounded off now that the lights were dim and the cameras were gone.

“You waited,” she said, quiet.

You gave her a small smile. “I said I would.”

She sat beside you, one seat in-between, giving you space but close enough for your knees to brush if you shifted.

Neither of you moved.

For a while, you just sat there like that. Silence stretching between you like a breath held, but not tense. Not awkward. Just... present.

She finally spoke. “So… be honest. What’d you think?”

You looked at her. “Of the game?”

Paige nodded.

You took your time. “It was like hearing a language I don’t speak, but still knowing exactly what everyone meant.”

She blinked at that. “That’s... really poetic.”

You shrugged. “I’m around fast cars all day. I don’t get to be poetic very often.”

Paige smiled to herself. “You said you’d never seen a basketball game before?”

“Never.” You glanced out at the now-empty court. “I came in expecting to get bored halfway through. I thought I’d be checking my notes on my phone by the second quarter.”

“And instead?”

“I forgot I even had a phone.”

She turned her head toward you, expression soft. “Because of the game, or...”

You looked back at her. “Do I need to answer that?”

She didn’t blush this time. But her eyes dropped for a second, and when they lifted again, they held something steadier. More certain.

“I’m glad you came,” she said.

You studied her. “You mean that?”

“Yeah. I—” she hesitated, exhaling through her nose. “I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes when you play so many games, they all blur together. It becomes muscle memory. You forget what it feels like to want someone in the crowd to see you. Like, actually see you.”

You didn’t speak, not right away. Because that hit somewhere you weren’t ready for.

“Does it get lonely?” you asked softly.

Paige blinked. “What?”

You looked down at your hands. “Being known. By everyone. But not really known by anyone who isn’t part of the circle.”

She was quiet. You risked a glance at her. She was already watching you.

“It does,” she said. “It really does.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“I figured you would.” She shifted in her seat, angling toward you more. “You know what it felt like tonight?”

“What?”

She paused. “It felt like you weren’t here for the show. You weren’t waiting to be impressed. You were just... there. Watching. Like it was already enough.”

You held her gaze. “That’s because it was.”

You saw the breath catch in her chest before she tried to play it off with a quiet laugh. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

“Because I said something kind?”

“No. Because you meant it.”

That silenced you both for a long moment. You let it happen. Let the silence linger and swell and settle. Eventually, Paige leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, looking out at the court.

“Do you think you’ll come to another game?” she asked.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you mirrored her posture, your shoulders touching ever so slightly. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you’ll be there.”

She let out a small breath of a laugh, low and fond. “God, you’re gonna wreck me.”

You smiled. “That’s not my intention.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why it’s worse.”

The lights overhead dimmed a little more as the staff shut down sections row by row. A janitor passed with a sweeping broom. You didn’t care. You had nowhere else to be. Not in that moment.

She looked at you again. “Can I give you my number?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That was inevitable.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” she said, grinning now, eyes crinkling. “You could’ve been not interested. Or just—”

“Paige,” you cut in gently. “I waited for you.”

She smiled slowly.

You reached into your jacket and pulled out your phone, unlocking it and holding it out. She entered her number carefully, then hesitated before handing it back.

“What?” you asked.

She looked slightly sheepish. “Just thought my contact name should pay tribute to our first interaction to each other.”

You checked it.

Buckers

You laughed. “Wow. You’re not gonna let that go, huh?”

“Nope. It’s part of you now. You gonna change it?”

You didn’t. You saved it as is.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s us.”

You both stood when security finally made a quiet gesture that the arena was closing up. Paige stretched her arms above her head and gave you a look like she didn’t quite want to leave.

You didn’t either.

“Hey,” she said, more serious now. “Can I call you tomorrow? Or tonight? Or whenever it’s not weird? I just... I’d like to talk more. Without a clock running.”

You nodded, heart softening. “I’d like that.”

And then you leaned in—just slightly—and kissed her cheek. Slow. Intentional. Close enough that your lips brushed the corner of her mouth.

She froze. Exhaling softly.

When you pulled back, her face was pink, her eyes shining.

You whispered, “I’ll be waiting for that call.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #pb5 #paige bueckers uconn #paige bueckers fanfic #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige x reader #paige buckets #uconn women’s basketball #uconn wbb #dallas wings #wnba x reader #wlw #lesbian #wuh luh wuh

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unnounblr · 10 hours ago

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...Thinking about it, I feel like the only way Leed could know about Laios's obsession with monsters and monster anatomy (and how that could translate to him being gross about orcs, and "orc sweat") is if Zon told her.

Literally the only time she meets Laios herself, he's unconscious almost the whole time. When he wakes up, he and Chilchuck have an earnest conversation about returning to the surface. She's also present when Laios and company theorize about how to defeat the demon, but they don't interact, and Laios isn't being that weird.

Like. He shows up wearing a walking mushroom costume, but. So are Izutsumi, Chilchuck and Senshi, and it's presented as a strategy, to blend in with the monster hordes.

Laios mentions eating monsters, but she doesn't even judge the party for that earlier. When Chilchuck mentions eating the Red Dragon, she compliments them for it, says they deserved to for being stronger than it, for being victorious over it. It's a very "might makes right" sort of culture. And the orcs did threaten to eat the party earlier during the first meeting when they make bread.

Zon is kind of a shitty brother. Convincing her that she needs to marry a guy for the sake of their people, and also that the guy is a gross weirdo and a freak.

...Like, to a degree that isn't untrue. I could imagine Laios being weird to her the way he is about wanting to count Izutsumi's nipples.

But the key there is that there isn't much if any genuine sexual interest or desire. And I don't think he'd pressure her into sex, whether it's expected of them after marriage or not.

Honestly, it's hard to tell what Laios's actual sexual interests are. Like, his comment in the extra about orc breasts and bottoms. Could just be him talking about what's conventionally attractive, and not his own interests.

On the other hand, the succubus that looks like Marcille. Kisses him on the mouth. The succubi aren't just about sexual desire, Izutsumi is basically confirmed ace, and hers looks like her mom (or at least, the one for her human soul, it seems like the one for her animal soul is meant to appeal sexually, given her comment about the soul having good taste) but.

The succubus for Laios has multiple components, about turning into a monster, about his friends accepting him and his love for monsters and turning into monsters themselves, but. Even though the fake Marcille says she can turn anyone by biting them, anywhere. She still gets him with a kiss. So I can't quite tell what that's about.

Insofar as there's any shipping in the idea I have. I think, given the Orc propensity for polygamy, I think Leed could assume that Marcille is going to be Laios's other wife, or already is.

And I personally actually ship Falin and Marcille more, but also that they aren't in a relationship yet by the time of the series and have to figure things out afterwards, and. Like, Leed is very emotionally intelligent when dealing with Chilchuck, but. I think, insofar as she should be involved in any relationship drama, being as young as she is. I think it would be extremely funny for anyone to be dropped into that situation, without any context, and have to live in a building with those people while all that's going on.

She thinks she's going to be a child bride, and ends up becoming a relationship counselor slash military strategist. That's the funniest idea, to me.

Leed is a Minor!!

“I suppose she would be around her third year in middle school.”

This comment from Daydream Hour is the only info we have for her age/maturity, or orcs' age of maturity in general.

The whole "Bride of Laois" thing doesn't automatically mean that she is mature, it means that orc culture mirrors plenty of real-world cultures that also let women marry at 14/15.

She must be protected at all costs!

#Dunmeshi #Dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon

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jbbuckybarnes · 24 hours ago

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Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

#lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #lando norris fanfic #f1 fanfic #soulmate au #papaya boys #mine

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vamplvs · 2 days ago

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I WANT SOMEONE BADLY

INCLUDES -> bradley "rooster" bradshaw x fem!reader WARNINGS -> jealousy, pining, alcohol, bradley is an idiot (lovingly) WORD COUNT -> 4.7k SUMMARY -> bradley has long since been the designated performer for the daggers, and that's no different when he's jealous, pining, and well past tipsy.

NOTES -> i've been sitting on this for so long but here she finally is <3 it's a little corny, and a little trope-y, but i had a blast writing it. the songs are "layla" by derek & the dominos and "i want someone badly" by jeff buckley! originally the first song was going to be "slow hand" by the pointer sisters if anyone wants to give that one a listen, too. as always: comments & rbs are much appreciated, and my asks are open!

it's been a year now since the mission from hell, and everyone is scattered across the continent. hangman and coyote are stationed out in the midwest, bob and phoenix are in south carolina, and everyone else has found a new crew.

you and bradley have been lucky enough to stay stationed in san diego. bradley, of course, is still flying with the navy, while you spend your days teaching at top gun. safe to say, the two of you have stayed close between the occasional movie night, brunches with mav, and beach days—when you have a day off anyways. when you don't, bradley finds a way to visit you at top gun despite it.

it isn't easy to coordinate yearly leave among the rest of the crew, but when they finally manage it during the dead of summer, the hard deck is already full of life. people crowd around the bar and the tables, chatting and laughing over the music.

bradley catches the wide grins on mav and penny's faces when they see the daggers walking in, ready to wreak havoc. their smiles only grow wider when the group pulls mav into a group hug, bradley leading the charge.

it's the first time in a long time that they're all in the same place at the same time, and hell if it isn't making people nostalgic. there's some classic rock song from mav's old piloting days ringing through the jukebox. hangman has, predictably, started up a betting pool around the billiards table, dragging mickey, javy, and a reluctant bob with him. the others hover in their own circles, leaving you, natasha, and bradley to catch up at one of the high tops.

it's been exciting talking to her again after so many months have passed. she and bob have been stationed out in south carolina, and it comes with story after story about the antics that the two of them get up to—well, more like the ones natasha pulls bob into.

by the time you decide to get more drinks for the three of you, your stomach is aching from laughter.

bradley just watches as you wander up to the bar. he takes in the sway of your hips, your easy confidence, all of it.

"still haven't done anything about that, then?" natasha asks, leveling a deeply accusatory look at him.

"about what?"

"rooster, you can't be serious." when he looks at her incredulously, she bursts into laughter. "oh, come on, you two have been dancing around each other for a year now! we all see it."

his ears go pink. "that's not-"

"oh, don't you deny it. i have eyes."

"i am serious!" bradley is sure you have no interest. it's been a year—more than that if you include your time at top gun together and a few sparse meetings between that and the big reunion last year—and he's been quietly pining all the while. if there was even a chance with you, he would have taken it by now.

"whatever you say," she replies, her head turning to you.

and when bradley follows suit, he sees you standing all-too close to a man at the bar. he's tall, classically handsome—all in all, the kind of guy you'd expect to see in a rom-com—and he stands so close that his arm is nearly brushing yours. you laugh and smile at something he says, and the hand he puts on your arm sends a chill through bradley. it sinks like a pit in his stomach, churning through the several beers he's had and their subsequent buzz.

the chill turns into a sickening haze when he sees the man pass you a napkin that surely has his number on it.

"told you so," bradley mutters, turning away to face the game of eight-ball that jake is still running. the clattering of the balls and the cheers are more than enough to drown out the pulse roaring in his ears.

he entirely misses your polite rejection, the way you nod your head back to the team, and the hop in your step when you finally turn to bring the drinks back.

"ugh, sorry i took so long. poor penny is still teaching mav to make cocktails," you say with a laugh when you return. you hand them their beers with little ceremony, before following bradley's eye line. "bagman still running the betting pool?"

"you know it," bradley replies, keeping his eyes locked ahead of him. the thought of seeing that man's number in your hand makes his palms sweat.

"you'd think he'd learn that bob kicks his ass every time." that makes bradley and natasha laugh. "his entire job is aiming a laser at a tiny pinprick, pool is no big deal."

"and yet, he insists on betting against him," nat sighs.

the night continues with more drinks, more pool, and more stories from their deployments. jake tells some story about his greatest exploits—which javy quickly interrupts by informing the entire team just how spectacularly jake fumbled only a week later. the team laughs, and it's back to business as usual.

eventually, javy and jake push bradley to the piano, insisting he play something good—citing the first time they were all at the hard deck together. nostalgia is one hell of a drug after a few beers. he warms up, hammering down a few notes and a glissando into an opening chord.

the bar's attention is caught on him and the piano. a handful of older couples immediately recognize the song, standing to dance—which would include penny and mav if they weren't manning the bar. but they sway to the song, mav against penny's back with his arms around her waist. he whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh.

"what'll you do when you get lonely and nobody's waiting by your side?"

your eyes are stuck on bradley, too. his glasses sit comfortably on the end of his nose, his standard patterned button up is open, and he bleeds a confidence so easy that it's impossible to take your eyes off him. he looks good doing what he loves, and he knows it. and maybe there's some self-satisfied part of him deep down that's pleased to see how he's stolen you're attention.

"you've been running and hiding much too long you know it's just your foolish pride."

as he ramps up to the chorus, the bar is ready to sing along with him. "layla," they all cheer, you included.

"you've got me on my knees"

his eyes drift over to yours for just a fraction of a second, his wide grin splitting even wider before he flits his gaze away to where natasha, bob, and mickey are all shouting the lyrics. well, natasha and mickey shout the lyrics at bob, while he sort of mumbles them quietly, embarrassed by the attention.

it's only a few minutes of bradley performing, but with the pressure of your eyes on him, it feels like an eternity. he's not sure he's ever been more aware of who he's looking at when he sings. there's a woman who has sidled up to the piano, singing every lyric with tequila on her breath, and it takes everything in him not to roll his eyes at her and find yours in the crowd.

he finishes the song with one final, dramatic chord, and the bar erupts into cheers. his eyes lock onto yours and you tip your drink toward him like a salute, whooping along with the rest of the bar. you gesture to the space next to him with a raised brow, and he turns to see the same woman from before leaning against the piano with a nearly empty cocktail glass in her hand.

she introduces herself, but bradley's mind is elsewhere. his eyes scan the space you were just in to find you gone. were you really playing wingman just now? the woman is saying something about his hands, but bradley can't care less, not with your apparent disappearing act. he excuses himself politely, ignoring her pout and the way her friends urge her to find another guy to hit on.

people are packed tightly around him, patting him on the back and clapping for him. he smiles politely in return. the longer he searches for you the more concerned he gets. you aren't by the bar or with the rest of the team by the pool table. hell, he doesn't even find you by the jukebox despite the ever changing cycle of music it goes through.

when he finally takes a step outside, he sees you sitting at the stairs leading down to the beach. it's a lot quieter outside, with the chaos and noise of the hard deck trapped within its walls. you're mindlessly twirling your drink in your glass.

"nice playing in there," you say with a glance over your shoulder.

"thanks," he says simply, taking a seat next to you. his glasses hang from the neckline of his old, white tank. the silence between you is thick, and right when he's going to break it by saying something that'll probably be stupid, you interrupt.

"no luck with that girl?" bradley is taken aback.

"what?" your eyes stay focused on the beach in front of you. the crash of every wave is steady and familiar.

"she spent the entire song singing at you, rooster," you tap your shoulder against his in what's supposed to be a playful gesture, but it falls flat.

"oh, yeah," he responds dumbly, "dunno, she's not really my type." he nearly winces as he hears himself say it.

you fall silent again, and bradley joins you in it. it's not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it's heavy. there's so much more he wants to say. that she's not his type because you are, because he's spent a year looking into your eyes, laughing at your jokes, going warm when your hands touch him. that he's spent a year wishing he could say something to you without messing what you have up.

it took ages for you two to get to where you are with the easy banter and the quiet movie nights. the two of you have spent long enough laughing about your almost-rivalry back in your top gun days that he knows you care about this friendship just as much as he does. and the last thing he wants to do is lose that by running his mouth.

"i should get going," you say. "i have to prep for next week's classes."

bradley watches as you leave for a second time that night, mumbling a quiet goodbye after you.

on leave, the team spends time exploring san diego again. they go to wine and beer tastings, try new cafes and restaurants, and even find the time to hike through the torrey pines natural reserve—that one is bob's request, and boy, does it deliver. it has the entire team winded by the end of it—except, miraculously, for bob, who brought a camera to take pictures with.

but bradley's favorite, of course, is the afternoon they spend at the beach in front of the hard deck. dogfight football is up and running the minute people put their bags down. jake just can’t resist the urge to goad people on, so bradley gets wrapped up in the competition, too. initially, it's shirts versus skins, but with the hot san diego sun beating down, everyone is stripped to their trunks pretty quickly, not that it does much to dissuade the heat from tearing through them.

all the while, you're trapped at top gun teaching classes until later in the day. bradley's not even sure you'll be able to make it with the way things have been going with the new class of pilots. so, he puts you out of his mind, focusing on the game at hand—and how badly he wants to knock jake down on his ass just to teach him a lesson about talking shit.

when penny brings out lemonade for everyone, the sun is still bright overhead and unbearably hot. bradley's skin is sticky with sweat, and he holds the icy glass to his cheek with a sigh. sitting on his towel with the drink in his hand is easily the best decision he’s made all day. natasha takes no time in jogging over to him with a smug grin.

"saw you chase the love of your life outside after layla the other night," she sips on her lemonade like it proves something.

"she's not the love of my life-"

"oh, yeah? then why do you follow her around like a lost puppy?" he doesn't have a response for that and clears his throat, trying to pretend that his ears aren't burning. "she totally dug it."

"nat, she tried to set me up with another girl. i got wing-manned." the memory of your raised eyebrow and the way you asked if he had any luck with her make his stomach churn.

natasha snorts. "oh, please, if she was actually wing-manning you, she wouldn't have run outside to avoid the aftermath." bradley tries to formulate some kind of intelligent response, but gets cut off by natasha perking up. "speak of the devil!"

bradley turns to see you walking over with your towel in hand. he tries not to stare, god, he tries. but you're wearing a button up you borrowed from him months ago, and it's open over your bathing suit. there's something about that and the shorts you're wearing that makes the blush spread from his ears to his cheeks and down his neck. you look unfairly good in his clothes.

"all good things i hope!" you reply with a smile so bright bradley swears you've stolen the sun for yourself. natasha is quick to pull you into a hug—one that you're ready to reciprocate.

"rooster was just telling me how much he misses you," she nudges him, and he has to fight the urge to strangle natasha.

"it's only been a week, bradshaw, missing me that bad already?" you toss down your beach towel and sit next to him, still laughing at her words.

he tries to play it off with a shrug. "what can i say? i've been spoiled." natasha gives you a cryptic look that he can't decipher. as a matter of fact, he doesn't even get the chance to try before jake is calling everyone to the shoreline for a rematch. half the beach groans, complaining about the heat, and the other half start up their goading once more.

“c’mon, rooster, afraid of getting your ass handed to you?” jake calls, tossing the football in the air in a way so cocky only he could manage it.

you laugh when natasha drags him over to jake, already placing a pair of sunglasses over your eyes to sit and watch from afar. he shrugs apologetically at you. "get his ass, bradshaw!" you cheer.

the game only officially ends when the sun starts to set. it's been on and off for the rest of the afternoon, with people taking breaks to swim and cool off throughout. somehow, you and bradley never quite end up in the same place at the same time. it isn't until everyone is packed back into the hard deck that you get the chance to talk properly.

the two of you sit at a high top by the end of the pool table, drinks in hand once more as the team's usual chaos unfolds around you. it’s like a do-over of the week before: the betting pool going strong around the billiards table, the same old rock songs playing through the jukebox, and you and bradley tucked into a corner of your own.

"i thought you said you weren't going to make it today," he prompts, looking at you over his beer.

"that was before the admiral interrupted with some group punishment for breaking the hard deck," you say with a laugh.

"oh, you've got a maverick, then?" he nods his head over to where mav is desperately trying to wipe down a spill on the bar top that he no doubt caused.

"something like that," you reply, "there's always some kind of rivalry at top gun, but these two..." bradley laughs at your grimace.

"no worse than us, i hope." he taps his bottle against your glass in a mock toast.

"bradley, they are so much worse." he watches you launch into some story about your students, your smile echoed on his face.

and so conversation flows along with the drinks, the two of you wrapped up in your own world until jake—being the bastard he is—interrupts to drag bradley away to the billiards table. for a second time that day, bradley is pulled away from you against his will.

he is going to tear jake to shreds for this, beers be damned.

he relishes in your cheers whenever he knocks the stripes into the pockets. until your attention is taken from him, that is.

somehow, between his turn and the next, the same man from the weekend before has found his way to the table bradley left you at. he's taken up bradley's seat and is apparently content to just chat you up without any care for the rest of the crew observing this newcomer to their night out. even bob is prickling at his presence.

and if bradley breaks when the next game starts with a little more force than strictly necessary, no one says anything about it. if he plays a little harder, if he's a little snappier, every time he looks over and that man is closer to you, then quite frankly, it isn't anyone's business but his.

he drops his cue on the table and marches off to get another drink when he sees you lean in to hear the guy better. he hears jake call after him, but he pays him no heed. god, he needs another beer if he's going to put up with this tonight, too.

mav gets bradley a drink with a raised eyebrow. "trouble with the girl?" mav asks, nodding over to where you're sitting.

"how'd you-"

"bradley, i've known you since you were a kid," he responds like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "just say something."

"it's not that simple, mav, she's..." bradley trails off. perfect? is that what he means? unattainable? uninterested? he takes a long swig from his beer, a comfortable buzz settling in his chest. whether that's the beer or the thought of you, he's not sure.

"if you want to keep pining, that's on you." mav shrugs. "but take it from me, doing something about it is better than nothing."

"now you're playing wingman?" mav scoffs at that, but it doesn't have any heat.

"i'm trying to play dad, but whatever works for you, kid."

bradley goes quiet and lets mav get to the other patrons asking for drinks—which he is almost certainly going to ask penny for help with. he watches as they dance around each other gracefully, like despite mav's inexperience behind a bar, he knows exactly where penny's going to move. he watches the gentle hand that mav puts on her waist, and christ, he's in deep. all he can think about is you.

he thinks back to that movie night you had a few months ago. the two of you maneuvered around your small kitchen making popcorn and hot chocolate. he had pulled the same stunt—a hand on your waist to guide you out of his way. a hand that you hadn't pulled away from. he remembers the warmth of you next to him and your smile when you finally got to curl up on the couch with a warm mug and an oversized bowl of popcorn between you.

he thinks about the brunches you've had with mav and penny, and how they almost felt like dates. you had made a joke about getting introduced to the parents so soon, and the tips of bradley's ears had gone warm. if he were introducing you as his girlfriend, it would have gone spectacularly. you hit it off with mav immediately, somehow. even though you technically had met him before at top gun, there was a difference between captain pete “maverick” mitchell and mav, the closest thing bradley has to a father—even if he’d never outright say it to mav’s face. but getting that man friendly outside of a plane-related situation was a feat he could have kissed you for.

he thinks to last week. the grin on your face when he looked at you while he was playing, while he sang at you—no, sang to you.

and that's precisely where the too-loud, too-tipsy, only slightly jealous part of bradley's mind kicks straight into overdrive. he slams back the rest of his beer and takes a glance over his shoulder to where you're sitting. the man still sits across from you, but like you sense him looking, your eyes meet his with a concerned furrow to your brow. he's not sure how long he's been standing at the bar, but based on the look you give him, it's been long enough.

he turns and marches over to the jukebox, unplugging it unceremoniously. the bar lurches into a chorus of groans until bradley takes a seat at the piano.

"now i-" he starts, his voice ringing into the near silent bar.

"i want someone badly"

the first chord he strikes on the piano summons a round of whoops from the pool table.

"got a girl here tonight, want someone new"

he pretends not to notice the way your attention is focused on him again, pretends that the heat on his face is from beer and beer alone. his head is down, intent on staring holes into the piano keys. couples around the bar are starting to sway together, and he dreads the thought of you getting up with the guy you've found. he's sure that the man is offering you a hand right about now, that you'll take it, and bradley will have to walk off to drown his wounds with another drink.

"'cause i, i cry all over madly don't do anything, do it for me."

the daggers have found themselves by the piano, arms thrown over shoulders and swaying. they sing along and it's a small comfort in a sea of strangers. he hears natasha's voice above all, singing the lyrics with a passion that she always carries with her when he does this.

"i wanna know am i sure that i have your love?"

and that's when bradley figures it's a good idea to look out into the crowd that's around him. it's cruel how easily he can find your eyes amongst the throng. you stand a ways away from him, alone and glowing under the warm lights of the hard deck. your mouth is slightly parted, but he can't figure out if its shock or something else. and then there's that look in your eye. he'd almost believe you're in love with him.

or maybe bradley's just drunk.

"if you're leaving, just make sure it's right now i want someone badly"

the crowd cheers when he hits a high note, but his eyes are locked on the way your jaw clamps shut.

"could it be true that someone is you?"

the final chord rings out along with varied forms of praise from those around him. natasha asks him a question, but he's already on his way outside before he can hear it properly. adrenaline is crackling through him viciously, bringing a shake to his hand that he hasn't felt since he first started training in the flight sims.

he sits on the steps of the hard deck with a thud. the porch is blessedly empty, leaving him to process exactly what he just did. the cool ocean breeze is doing wonders to sober him up. or maybe that's the dread pooling in his stomach. he can't tell anymore.

did he seriously just fucking serenade you? what kind of rom-com bullshit-

"you um, you played really well in there." your voice, gentle and soothing, pulls him from his spiral, and his head whips around to face you.

"thanks," he replies shortly, and his tone makes himself wince. there’s a distinct sense of deja-vu that hits bradley suddenly, like he’s entered some fucked up kind of parallel universe. the two of you stand awkwardly on opposite ends of the deck. your hands fidget, and tomorrow, bradley will surely blame the beers on the way his eyes linger on them.

it takes you another moment to move toward him, taking a seat by his side. you're so close that he can smell your perfume over the breeze, and isn't that just the cruelest trick yet? that he can't reach over to you and kiss you breathless, that he can't hold your hand in his. instead, he just sits miserably next to you, reliving his own stupid idea to play jeff buckley in the hard deck.

man, if he's thinking like this, he must really be gone.

"was that-" your voice cracks, "nat said i should come out and talk to you."

"of course she did." he picks at the corners of his nails.

"she said that was for me." your voice is indecipherable, and bradley's not sure he can stomach looking you in the eye right now.

he sighs, running a hand down his face. it's too hot out, now. the cool breeze from before has been sucked away by your presence.

"i just didn't want to see you with him, anymore," he mutters. there's another horrible, tense silence between you, and it's not one that he's in any rush to break.

"was that what this was? jealousy?" your voice is impossibly small.

"no, i-" jealousy made it sound like he had any kind of claim over you. jealousy sounded like he thought he had a chance at keeping the careful balance of his sanity and your friendship.

"so you sing that for all the girls in there, then?" you press, and in a world where he isn't head over heels for you, it would have been infuriating.

it still is infuriating, and bradley can't help but laugh.

"no, god, no." his laugh is shaky and a little dejected. he finally turns to face you, trying his damnedest to suck in every anxiety he has about this. he thinks, quite possibly, that this is the only time tonight he's been grateful for the alcohol.

that same heavy silence fills the air between you.

your eyes are wide when he looks at you, filled with something unreadable and maybe a bit of hope. his eyes flit between yours, and maybe, just for a moment, they linger on how your lips are upturned ever so slightly.

"just kiss me already, bradley."

and he does. by god, he does, and it's like a breath of fresh air. your lips are soft against his, and if it's a little clumsy, he doesn't mind. not when his hand is on your cheek, and yours is in his hair, and you taste like heaven on earth. the kiss lasts a lifetime, or it feels that way to bradley, anyways. it's the entire year he's spent wishing to be by your side wrapped into one small moment.

when you finally pull away from him, the two of you are panting. your foreheads rest against each other, and bradley can't seem to get his hands off you. the same one stays on your cheek and rubs small circles while the other is tentative against your waist. he's nearly giddy at holding you so close.

"you have any idea how long i've been waiting for you to do that?" you ask.

"probably about as long as i have," he replies with a hoarse voice.

"didn't think you were interested." you give him an incredulous look when he starts laughing, but that only makes him laugh harder.

"i should've listened to natasha so long ago." at that, you join him, head tilted back, and laugh into the sky. it's a long moment where the two of you giggle like schoolgirls outside the hard deck, and bradley wouldn't change it for the world. "think anyone will notice if we leave?"

you think for a moment and reply, "nat definitely will."

"she'll consider it a win." and that sends another round of laughs through you both.

the next morning, the team makes a plan to get brunch at a little cafe nearby, and if they notice that you and bradley arrive together and sit just a bit too close, no one says anything about it.

no one except for natasha, that is.

she finally catches a moment with bradley alone when people are saying their goodbyes.

"you finally did something about your pining?" she asks, a grin already spreading across her face.

bradley shrugs, but the smile he dons is telling, and the gentle kiss he places against your temple when you walk over to him, even more so.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #top gun x reader #top gun maverick x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #rooster x you #top gun x you #bradley bradshaw headcanon #rooster headcanon #top gun headcanons #top gun maverick headcanons #miles teller x reader

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heartsiebyul · 3 days ago

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hai hello!! i dunno if ur reqs r open but id like to ask for a leona x male reader in which leona rejected reader BRUTALLY so this lead to reader avoiding him for a couple of months— but then leona started getting an itchy feeling in his brain whenever he sees reader interacting w malleus n stuff….. if its not too much trouble!! feel free to ignore the ask if ever though!!! ty!!!!!

╰─▸ ❝ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Pride Before the Fall

featuring — Savanaclaw : Leona Kingscholar x male reader!

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It had been five months since you confessed to Leona.

You could still hear it clearly, the sharp scoff, the way his eyes narrowed like you were nothing more than an annoyance, a bothersome fly buzzing near his ear.

You don't expect Leona to return your feelings at all. You hoped, foolishly. You always known how cold he could be, how prideful. But that didn’t stop your heart from lurching every time he smiled that lazy, dangerous smirk. It didn’t stop the confession that slipped from your lips one afternoon in the botanical garden.

You had barely finished saying, “I like you,” when—

“You? Seriously?” he said, stretching lazily on the ground under the sun. “Don’t mistake a few friendly words for interest. I don’t need some lovesick puppy trailing after me. Go bark up another tree.”

You didn’t cry, not in front of him. You laughed. Said, “Fair enough,” like it didn’t feel like your chest had cracked.

You just stood there for a moment, then quietly turned and walked away.

And then, you stayed away.

No more lunch breaks near the botanical gardens. No more lingering in the field after class to talk. No more jokes, no casual teasing. You stopped approaching him, stopped looking in his direction.

You weren’t bitter. You were just… healing.

You started spending time near Malleus Draconia, of all people, which surprised everyone. The two of you didn’t seem like an obvious match, but Malleus seemed to enjoy your company, and you? You smiled again. Even laughed.

And Leona noticed. Sevens, did he notice.

It started as a small itch in his brain. The first time he saw you with Malleus, just talking under the apple tree in the courtyard, something in his chest twinged. He brushed it off. Must’ve been because of the presence of the lizard.

Then he saw you walking with Malleus again. Laughing. The itch got worse. A low throb behind his temples.

The worst was during the Spelldrive match. Leona caught sight of you in the stands, Malleus sitting beside you, his head leaned closer as you whispered something to him. Leona missed a pass. Leona never misses passes.

He growled under his breath the rest of the match.

Now, he found himself looking for you. His eyes scanned the courtyard out of instinct. If he saw you with Ace or Ruggie, nothing stirred. But if it was Malleus, standing too close to you? That damn itch turned into a burn.

He hated it

He hated the way you looked better than you did months ago, unbothered and radiant in a way he never got to see.

He hated the way Malleus looked at you like you were some rare treasure he was slowly winning over.

And the realization slammed into him late one night when Ruggie said,

“If you didn’t want him, you should’ve just let him go. But don’t act surprised someone else picked up what you threw away.”

He hated that he had the chance and threw it away.

One afternoon, the itch became unbearable.

He found you near the Hall of Mirrors, alone for once. Probably waiting for Malleus.

“You still chasing dragons now?” he drawled as he approached, voice laced with mockery, but it wavered at the end.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at him. “I don’t chase anymore. I learned my lesson.”

Leona clenched his jaw. “Tch. What, too good for me now?”

You finally turned. “You made it clear I wasn’t good enough then, remember?”

Your voice was calm, but your eyes? Cold. Distant. Like you’d buried the pain and moved on and that pissed him off more than it should have.

“I was stupid,” he muttered, fingers twitching at his side. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“Too bad,” you said simply. “Because I did mean what I said to you back then.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. The itch had turned into a dull ache in his chest.

You took a step past him, brushing shoulders briefly. He felt the ghost of your warmth.

“Wait,” Leona said, voice cracking just barely. “Are you… with him?”

You paused. “And what if I am?”

That silence spoke louder than anything.

And Leona? For the first time, the King of Beasts didn’t have an answer. Just an unbearable weight in his chest and the bitter taste of regret on his tongue.

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want a continuation where Leona tries to win you back or nah?

#heartsie જ #twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst disney #twisted wonderland x male reader #male reader #leona kingscholar #leona x male

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fresne999 · 1 day ago

Text

Pulling out of the tags since it's relevant to a project.

Some backstory (and this will loop back evenually), the day / day after the June 14 No Kings protests, alt nat parks was posting there were 12 million protesters, which in the moment "yay!" but then after there some folks going um...really.

So, while my bias is that media under-reports protests, to be a person interested in facts is to acknowlege bias and then get data to prove / disprove said bias.

To wit, We Dissent has been running a count (as well as a fine set of protest maps) of the various mass protests. You can add values here, or see the running total here and the list of protests here.

At the time, they only had about 40% of the list filled in, and a quick glance told me they didn't have a lot of the mid-sized cities and large towns. So I got their list of events, did a comparison to what they had and started looking up location by location protests they didn't have data for. I realize there are actual organizations that do this kind of thing, but it's also not data that most of us have access to. So, having this resource updated will help in future protests to go, "hmmm...the protest I went to was x% larger than the last one, and there are y more protests, so I'd kind of expect that the total # will fall into x-y range, and if someone says "OMG ZZZ people showed up," I'll know it's a wild exageration.

Now being a completist means that I didn't want to skew the number by skipping the small very local protests happening in the small towns, which often don't have town newspapers.

A moment for the loss of local small town media.

But there is a rich source of data out there. Social media. But looking at FB means I'm also seeing the posts by the MAGA folks. Which to a fault always say, "There were only 10 people there." or "They looked so miserable," the occasional "bet they were paid" and then some often genuinely worrying threats toward those folks safety. On continued digging, the next 5-10s posts would be images of 50, 100, 200 people having a grand time with color signs.

Its a really interesting contrast between what is actually going on, versus what's actually going on. Though, at the time of writing this, their list is 64% of the way filled in. Which is better than 40%.

Germaine to all of that, a fascinating video that ties into the above about why gutting bureaucracy results in short lived empires.

youtube

I appreciate that Andor and Rogue One showed us that the bad guys aren't having a good time. Oppression is unimaginative, dull, shallow, reductive. The lies required to sustain it chafe against the moral conscience. And every scheming military officer working for the glory of the Empire is one misstep away from being tossed into the destructive machine they helped create - and they know it.

#us politics #star wars andor #Youtube

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r3starttt · 3 days ago

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DONT LEAVE PLEASEE WHY IS EVERYONE LEAVING

UGHHH SO MANY REASONSSS

I genuinely enjoy writing and want to create more than just smut, I wanna do cute or angsty fics, longer stories, or series even (my main goal rn is to try smaus) but those usually flop. Most people only engage with short, sexual content, and it’s discouraging at one point :( Writers rarely get feedback like comments or reblogs. And once again, when we try something different, it often goes unnoticed. Requests are always for the same stuff, and if we don’t write that, people lose interest. Writing for characters like Caitlyn or Abby gets way less love than Ellie or Vi, and even when you do write for x characters, people complain if your take doesn’t match their expectations. It sucks to feel this pressure when engagement is so low. For example, I have 3k followers and barely get 100 likes now, when I used to get 1k. It makes me wonder if it’s even worth it sometimes 😞 mostly cs I miss anon interactions and comments and reblogs and moots, and seeing none of that is like... am I even doing this right? like does people even enjoy what I write anymore????

#answers ✶.ᐟ #caitlyn x vi #caitlyn x reader #vi x caitlyn #vi x reader #abby x reader #ellie x reader

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amarguerite · 1 day ago

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Other Emily of New Moon thoughts-- I'm very fascinated by what LM Montgomery was trying to do re: all of Emily's many suitors. Some kind of vague thoughts under the cut:

Now, ever since there have been professional women writers in the Western canon, they have been reflecting on and writing about what it means to be a person your society categorizes as a woman and as a professional writer, since the two are not a natural mix socially-speaking. Hell, even today there's a lot of genre-writers who identity as or who are assigned as female who get denigrated for it in unthinking and weird ways, i.e. the devaluation of romance as a genre, fantasy/SFF writers automatically getting described as YA writers even when they aren't, clearly documented and demonstrated gaps in book advances, weird interview questions about 'having it all' or 'balancing home life and creative life' that men don't get. A lot of 19th century/ early 20th century female authors write a lot about what seems to be a sometimes mutually exclusive drive between marriage and authorship. This is strange and interesting to me because I don't see as much debate about it these days since I think... it's very rare these days in the US for two married people not to both work, and though the strict social divide between male public sphere and female private sphere isn't as prevalent. Even trad wife content pushing for it involves this weird public exploitation of so-called 'private' work-- like how private, how unemployed are you, when you are a literal content creator for the public for money? That's not to say that household work, childrearing, caretaking etc does not fall disproportionately on women but it isn't expected that a woman give up public life upon marriage, and that in many circles (most?) the major issue is not a question of propriety but of domestic labor or day job labor impeding creative work.

I could be misreading this-- maybe the question is not competing social categories, but a question purely of labor, and the difficulty of being a professional woman writer AND running a household, instead of, Austen-like, being a spinster with other female relations who run the household.

However, if we do just think about 'wife' vs 'writer' as discrete social categories, I think all the beaux Emily has are a really interesting way to disprove a then-prevelant stereotype that a female author becomes an old maid through lack of other options. Her choice of profession, or the personality that drove her to it, alienates the men around her, or makes her ineligible in some way. The basic lived reality is entirely different. It's less that writing extinguishes the more conventional passion, it's just that it can be SUCH a passion with people that anything that does not rise to that level of... emotion, or interest, or what have you, feels fundamentally incompatible with the times where you feel most alive, i.e. writing. I don't think I've ever felt more uncomfortably seen as a writer (one who is always trying to figure out, Emily-like, if I have or can ever earn the title of 'professional' with all my magazine work-- and good God, it's depressing that the pay rates are still EXACTLY THE SAME), when Emily miserably confesses that writing is a compulsion. She can't not do it. There is no choice for her but the alpine path. It is a miserable one. She is often in bleak despair about all the rejections she gets and the reviews that contradict each other, but she can't NOT climb it. She can't get off it for anyone, even a Japanese prince or for the man who almost successfully groomed her (Jesus Christ Dean Priest. That's another post.) It's one of the most... real to me. Like, yes there are other options but... are there really? When you are that called to a specific kind of work, you just can't stop it, any more than you can stop breathing or being allergic to peanuts. Why do I keep slamming myself head-first into the wall of rejections? I have no idea. I just can't not do it.

And though I don't entirely think she succeeded (in large part because we don't see enough to Teddy and understand why he's so great in the last book), I do think it's very telling that LM Montgomery points out that for this specific kind of personality, the role of 'wife' can only be a good fit when the role of 'husband' is taken on by someone who ALSO has this artistic compulsion and knows that it does require long hours of work at odd times, and a certain withdrawing from domestic concerns to get into the right flow state. Dean was a poor fit for a lot of reasons, but the primary one was that he crushed Emily's artistic spirit and impeded the real journey of her life because he wanted to BE her whole life-- Teddy was the right fit because, having been in a similar relationship with his mother, I don't think he's someone who will insist he became Emily's whole life. He's probably happier that they can both go into their creative flow states, and do their own work as they wish without the other feeling abandoned or unhappy. It just becomes parallel play. It's Art Time in the Kent Household, where we don't talk to each other for the next six hours and stay holed up in our separate rooms and we're both extremely happy with that-- that kind of a thing.

tl; dr-- I'm very compelled by how Montgomery puts her own spin on the old, old Western canon debate of wife vs writer and how she reconciles the two, even if I don't think she entirely succeeded in the execution of it.

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lila-lou · 1 day ago

Text

✨Twenty-One - 1/4✨

Summary: You thought this trip was just a chance to unwind — until the door opened and Jensen Ackles was standing there, larger than life and way too real. Now you're spending your birthday week in his house, trying not to lose your mind over your childhood crush who, somehow, keeps looking at you like you’re not just some kid anymore.

-requested-

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, kinda immoral

Word Count: 6636

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

AJ grinned as she rang the doorbell, clearly excited about your reaction to this trip. You, on the other hand, felt your stomach twist into knots. It wasn’t every day you were about to meet Jensen Ackles—a man you had grown up admiring, crushing on, and now, somehow, about to spend time with in the flesh.

The door swung open faster than you expected, and there he was.

Jensen Ackles stood in the doorway, casual yet effortlessly attractive in a plain t-shirt and jeans, his green eyes warm but curious as they landed on you. His light brown hair was slightly messy, like he’d just run his hand through it.

“Hey, kiddo”, he greeted AJ with a grin, pulling her into a quick hug before turning his attention to you. “And you must be Y/N. Heard a lot about you”.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. He heard about you? You barely managed to return his smile without looking like a total idiot.

“Uh—yeah. That’s me. Y/N”, you said awkwardly, cursing yourself immediately for sounding like a socially inept robot.

AJ laughed and nudged your side. “She’s just nervous. Big fan and all”.

Your eyes widened as you turned to glare at her, mentally screaming. She wasn’t supposed to say that! That was the last thing you wanted him to know.

Jensen chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Oh yeah?”, he teased, clearly amused. “Supernatural fan?”.

You swallowed hard. “Uhm—yeah. I mean—kinda”.

His smirk deepened, and you knew he knew. “Well, that’s good. At least you won’t be completely freaked out staying here for the week”.

You blinked. Wait, what?

AJ turned to you with a wide grin. “Yeah, forgot to mention that part. We´re staying here. Dad’s got plenty of space, and this way, we don’t have to waste money on a hotel”.

Your mouth went dry. A whole week… in Jensen Ackles’ house?

Jensen patted your shoulder lightly, the simple touch making your skin tingle. “Make yourself at home, Y/N”, he said, his voice smooth and warm. “It’s gonna be fun”.

And just like that, your already dangerous crush on him? It just got a hundred times worse.

As AJ disappeared into the kitchen, already rummaging through the fridge like she owned the place—which, to be fair, she kind of did—you found yourself alone with Jensen.

He smiled down at you, his green eyes studying you with an easy warmth. “So, you and AJ met at the shelter, huh?”, he asked, leading you through the house at a relaxed pace.

You nodded, still feeling slightly on edge just being here. “Yeah, about a year ago. I worked there while studying, and AJ came in for her internship”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “That sounds like her. Always wanting to do a little bit of everything”. His voice was deep and smooth, the kind of voice that could make reading a grocery list sound interesting.

“Yeah”, you agreed softly. “She’s… definitely a lot more outgoing than me”.

He glanced at you, his expression turning thoughtful. “Not a bad thing”, he said, stopping at the base of the staircase. “Sometimes, the quiet ones have the most to say. Just takes the right person to listen”.

Your stomach flipped at his words. Did he just say something that deep… about you? Before you could even think of a response, he motioned toward the stairs. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying”.

You followed him up, trying your best not to let your eyes wander, except that was nearly impossible. The man was built like a damn Greek god. Broad shoulders, muscular back, those strong arms… it should’ve been illegal for someone to look that good in just a t-shirt.

“This is you”, Jensen said, pushing open a door at the end of the hall. The room was spacious but cozy, with a queen-sized bed, a soft gray comforter, and a window that overlooked the backyard.

“Wow”, you breathed, stepping inside. “This is… really nice”.

Jensen leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. “Good. I want you to feel comfortable here. And if AJ gets too annoying, you can always escape in here”.

You smiled at that, your nerves easing slightly. “Thanks. That’s… really nice of you”.

He tilted his head, watching you. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, right?”.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Uh—yeah. How’d you know?”.

Jensen smirked. “AJ’s been talking about it for weeks”. He pushed off the doorframe, his presence effortlessly commanding even in such a relaxed stance. “We’ll have to do something special”.

Your heart skipped a beat. Jensen Ackles wanted to do something for your birthday?

Before you could embarrass yourself by overthinking, AJ’s voice called from downstairs. “Dad! You seriously have nothing good to eat! What kind of house is this?”.

Jensen sighed, shaking his head as he turned. “Guess I need to feed the gremlin before she starves”.

You let out a soft laugh, watching as he walked away. As soon as he was gone, you flopped onto the bed, face-first, groaning into the pillow.

A whole week here. With him. You were so screwed.

You had barely kicked off your shoes and sat up when Jensen’s deep voice echoed from downstairs. “Y/N! What do you want to eat?”.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. He was asking you? Like, personally? Not just assuming you’d go along with whatever AJ wanted?

You scrambled to the doorway, hesitating before calling back, “Uh—whatever’s fine! I’m not picky!”.

There was a pause, then his voice came again, closer this time. “That’s not an answer, kid”.

Your stomach flipped at the nickname. Not that it was unusual, he probably called people around AJ´s age “kid” all the time, but coming from him? It did something to you.

You took a deep breath, stepping out of your room and heading toward the stairs. “Um… pizza?”.

Jensen appeared at the bottom of the staircase, looking up at you with an amused smirk. “There. Was that so hard?”.

Your face burned as you shrugged. “I just—didn’t want to be a bother”.

He scoffed. “You’re staying in my house, Y/N. You better tell me what you want to eat. I don’t need you passing out on me”.

AJ suddenly popped out from behind him, a bag of chips in hand. “Yeah, trust me, Dad. Y/N gets all quiet when she’s hungry. It’s creepy”.

You rolled your eyes. “I do not”.

“She totally does”, AJ confirmed, shoving a chip in her mouth. “She’s like a little sad puppy until she eats”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled his phone out. “Alright, pizza it is. Any topping requests?”.

You hesitated for half a second, but AJ was already answering for you. “She loves pepperoni and extra cheese”.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. “That true?”.

You nodded, feeling oddly exposed by how well AJ knew you. “Yeah”.

Jensen grinned, nodding as he scrolled on his phone. “Good choice. You and I are gonna get along just fine, Y/N”.

You swallowed hard at that, ignoring the way your heart did a weird little flip. Get it together. He was just being nice. Like a dad.

AJ, of course, wasn’t about to let you off the hook. “She’s also a total freak about garlic bread”.

Jensen looked up, amused. “Oh yeah?”.

AJ nodded, grinning like she had just exposed your deepest secret. “Like, I swear she’d marry a loaf of it if she could”.

You groaned, covering your face. “AJ, shut up”.

Jensen just chuckled, already adding it to the order. “Alright, garlic bread for the birthday girl”.

Your stomach twisted. Oh. Right. He knew.

It wasn’t that you hated birthdays, but growing up, they were never big for you. No extravagant parties, no expensive gifts, just a simple cake, maybe a dinner if money allowed. So hearing Jensen Ackles, the man you had crushed on for years, say it so casually? It felt… weird.

Nice. But weird.

“AJ mentioned you’re turning 21”, Jensen said, locking his phone and glancing at you. “Big milestone. We should do something fun”.

AJ perked up. “Oh! Can we take her out?”.

You froze. “Wait, what?”.

AJ turned to you, practically vibrating with excitement. “Dude, it’s your 21st birthday. We have to do something! A bar, a club, something!”.

Jensen smirked, crossing his arms. “You’re still eighteen, AJ. You’re not going anywhere”.

AJ groaned dramatically. “Ugh, technicalities”.

You, on the other hand, were too focused on the part where Jensen was apparently planning your birthday now. “I—I don’t know”, you stammered, suddenly nervous. “I hadn’t really planned anything. It’s not a big deal”.

Jensen scoffed. “Yeah, not happening. You only turn 21 once”.

AJ gasped, her eyes lighting up. “Ooooh, Dad, you should take her out!”.

Your entire body went stiff. “What?!”.

Jensen just raised an eyebrow at his daughter’s enthusiasm. “Uh…”.

AJ clapped her hands together, already hyping herself up. “Yes! Think about it. You know all the cool places, she’s never been to LA before, and she needs to live a little! It’s perfect”.

You opened your mouth to protest, because what the hell was she even suggesting?!, but Jensen only chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… guess I don’t mind playing chaperone for the night”.

AJ grinned at you. “See? Perfect”.

You stared at her, absolutely betrayed. “AJ, what are you doing?”, you whispered, mentally panicking.

She just smirked. “Giving you the best birthday ever, duh”.

Jensen stretched, cracking his neck. “Alright, pizza should be here soon. You two go set the table or something”.

You barely registered his words. Your brain was too busy spiraling. Because tomorrow night? You were going out. With Jensen Ackles.

You grabbed a couple of napkins, setting them next to the paper plates while AJ plopped down on the couch, watching you with a mischievous grin. “We need to doll you up”, she declared, tossing a napkin onto the table.

You groaned, already knowing where this was going. “AJ—”

“I’m serious!”, she cut in, sitting up and pointing at you. “You’re so pretty, but you always dress so… lamely”.

Your face heated up. “I do not”.

AJ gave you a look. “Y/N, I love you, but your entire wardrobe is, like, neutral colors and jeans. Do you even own a dress?”.

You hesitated. “…Maybe”.

AJ gasped dramatically. “Oh my God, maybe?!”.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Not all of us have unlimited shopping sprees, AJ”.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Money has nothing to do with it! You just need to, like… embrace your hotness”.

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”.

AJ grinned. “Dude, you’re gorgeous. But you hide behind all these boring clothes and oversized hoodies”. She wiggled her eyebrows. “And since you’re spending your birthday night out with my dad, we need to upgrade your look”.

You froze. “AJ, it’s not like that—”.

“Oh, please”, She smirked. “Dad’s gonna be in full ‘protective mode’, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look hot”.

Your face felt like it was on fire. “AJ, I am not dressing up just to—”.

“Too late”, she sang, already pulling out her phone. “We’re raiding my closet after dinner. I have so many things that’ll look amazing on you”.

You sighed, knowing there was no way out of this. “You’re really set on this, huh?”.

AJ grinned. “Absolutely”.

Before you could protest again, the doorbell rang.

“Pizza’s here!”, Jensen’s voice came from the hallway.

AJ clapped her hands, jumping up. “Saved by the pizza. But don’t think I’m letting this go”.

You groaned, running a hand down your face as she skipped off to the door. Tomorrow night was going to be a disaster.

Dinner had been surprisingly easygoing. A lot of small talk, mostly AJ dominating the conversation while you and Jensen occasionally chimed in. He was easy to talk to—casual, funny, even a little sarcastic—but still, every time he looked at you, you felt hyperaware of yourself. Like he could see right through your nervous energy.

But then, once the pizza was mostly gone, Jensen leaned back in his chair, stretching a little before fixing you with a serious look. “Alright, birthday girl”, he started, “if we’re going out tomorrow, we gotta set some ground rules”.

You straightened slightly, feeling weirdly like a teenager getting lectured by a parent. “Rules?”.

Jensen nodded. “Yeah. First off, no posting about it online. I’m not super hounded by paparazzi, but I also don’t need some rando snapping pics of me in a club with a 21-year-old and spinning it into some weird-ass headline”.

That… made sense. You hadn’t even thought about that. You nodded. “Yeah, of course”.

“Second”, he continued, taking a sip of his beer, “I’m picking the club. I know a few spots that are discreet. Last thing you need is to deal with a bunch of drunk superfans losing their minds because they recognize me”.

You swallowed. Right. Because he was Jensen freaking Ackles. Just because he was so casual about it didn’t change the fact that millions of people worshipped him.

“And third…”. He hesitated for a second, then smirked slightly. “Look, I know you’re young, but just—don’t do anything stupid. Don’t disappear, don’t take drinks from strangers, and for the love of God, don’t hook up with some dude in the club bathroom”.

You nearly choked on your drink. “Jensen!”.

AJ screamed from across the couch, doubling over in laughter. “OH MY GOSH. AS IF”, She was gasping between giggles. “Dad, she’s—she’s the biggest virgin ever”.

Your eyes widened in horror. “AJ, what the hell?!”.

Jensen, to his credit, just raised an eyebrow, looking highly amused. “That so?”, he mused, taking another sip of beer.

You covered your face with both hands. This was not happening.

AJ was still cackling. “I swear! She’s like, scared of flirting. It’s adorable”.

You groaned, wanting to sink into the floor. “Oh my God, can we not talk about this?”.

Jensen smirked. “Alright, alright. No judgment, kid”.

The way he said it, so damn casually, made your stomach do something stupid. Like he wasn’t laughing at you, just… observing.

AJ wiped tears from her eyes, still giggling. “I love this. This is the best day ever”.

You glared at her. “You’re the worst”.

She just grinned. “And yet, you love me”.

Jensen shook his head, still looking entertained. “Alright, enough embarrassing Y/N for one night”. He pushed up from his chair, stretching. “I’m heading to bed. You two don’t stay up all night”.

AJ saluted dramatically. “Yes, Dad”.

You were still burning with embarrassment as Jensen walked past, clapping your shoulder lightly. “Don’t let her bully you too much, kid”. And with that, he was gone, leaving you a mess on the couch while AJ kept laughing.

The next day passed in a blur. You had tried to distract yourself, watching movies with AJ, helping clean up the kitchen, and avoiding thinking too hard about the fact that tonight, you’d be going out with Jensen.

But, of course, AJ had other plans. “Alright, birthday girl”, she announced, throwing open her closet doors dramatically. “Time for your transformation”.

You sighed, standing near the doorway. “I don’t need a transformation, AJ”.

She turned to you, hands on her hips, like a mom about to scold her child. “Yes, you do. You’re turning twenty-one. You’re going out for the first time. You are not—I repeat, NOT—going in your usual boring outfit”.

You huffed. “It’s not boring. It’s just comfortable”.

AJ gave you a look. “We are not prioritizing comfort tonight. We are prioritizing hotness”.

You groaned. “AJ…”.

She ignored you, already digging through hangers, tossing options onto her bed. “We need something sexy but not too much. Hot, but classy. Like… ‘Oops, I didn’t mean to be this attractive, but here we are’”.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s… weirdly specific”.

AJ gasped suddenly, pulling out a sleek, form-fitting black dress. “This. This is it”.

Your eyes widened. “AJ, that’s… tiny”.

She scoffed. “It’s not tiny, it’s perfect. Try it on”.

You hesitated, but one look at AJ’s dead serious expression told you there was no way out of this. Fine. You grabbed the dress and disappeared into the bathroom. When you slipped it on, you barely recognized yourself. It hugged your body in all the right ways, the hem stopping mid-thigh, the neckline just low enough to be dangerous. You stared at your reflection, heart pounding. Was this really you?

“Are you done yet?!”, AJ’s voice called impatiently.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out.

AJ’s jaw dropped. “FUCKING. SHIT”.

Your face burned. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”.

AJ shook her head so fast you thought she might get whiplash. “Too much?! No, this is—this is perfect. Like, I almost want to cry. My little Y/N is finally embracing her hotness”.

You groaned. “Please stop talking”.

She ignored you, circling around like she was inspecting her masterpiece. “You’ve been hiding this under your oversized hoodies all this time?”. She gasped.

Before you could argue, a knock sounded on the bedroom door. Jensen’s voice came through. “You two ready yet?”.

Your stomach twisted into a knot at the sound of Jensen’s voice. Ready? That was debatable. AJ, of course, had no hesitation. She threw open the door, revealing Jensen standing in the hallway, dressed in a fitted black button-up with the sleeves rolled up just enough to ruin your life.

His gaze landed on you—and froze.

For the briefest second, you swore you saw his breath hitch. His eyes flickered down, taking in the dress, the way it hugged your figure, and then just as quickly, he cleared his throat, looking away.

“Well, damn”, he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “You clean up nice”.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to act normal. “Uh… thanks”.

AJ, meanwhile, was beaming like she had just won the lottery. “Told you she looked hot”.

Jensen shot her a look. “Alright, that’s enough”.

AJ just laughed, linking her arm with yours and dragging you down the hallway. “Come on, let’s eat. You can’t party on an empty stomach”.

Dinner was surprisingly… nice.

Jensen took you both to a quiet restaurant, low lighting, a cozy atmosphere, nothing too fancy, but still nice. AJ did most of the talking (as always), but you couldn’t help but notice the way Jensen would glance at you every now and then.

Little things—making sure you liked your food, refilling your drink before you even realized it was low. It wasn’t anything obvious, but it made your stomach flutter all the same.

When dinner wrapped up, Jensen tossed his credit card on the table before you or AJ could even pretend to argue.

AJ stretched dramatically. “Alright, time to go. Birthday girl has a club to get to”. You paused. Right. The plan. Jensen was dropping AJ off at home first, then… then it was just you and him. Alone. In a club.

By the time you pulled up to AJ’s house, she was already half-asleep in the backseat.

Jensen shifted the car into park and looked back at her. “Alright, kiddo, inside you go”.

AJ blinked groggily. “Ugh. Fine”. Then she turned to you, smirking just enough to let you know she was still AJ. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do”.

You rolled your eyes. “Which is…?”.

She grinned. “Nothing. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do”.

Jensen groaned. “Out. Now”.

AJ laughed, hopping out of the car. “Love you both! Don’t be lame!”.

And just like that, it was just you and Jensen. The car was suddenly too quiet.

Jensen exhaled, gripping the wheel for a second before looking over at you. “You ready for this?”.

You nodded, though your heart was pounding. “Yeah. You?”.

He smirked, shifting the car into drive. “Let’s find out”.

The drive to the club was quiet, but not exactly uncomfortable. Just… charged.

Jensen had one hand on the wheel, his other resting casually on the gear shift, his fingers tapping lightly as he drove. The streetlights cast quick flashes of gold across his face, highlighting his sharp jawline, the slight crease in his brow.

You, on the other hand, were trying not to lose your mind.

It wasn’t like this was a date, not even close, but the fact that you were alone with Jensen Ackles, dressed like this, going out for your birthday… it felt like something you shouldn’t even allow yourself to overthink.

But, of course, you were overthinking it anyway. After a moment, Jensen glanced over at you. “You good?”.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… haven’t really done this before”.

He smirked, eyes flicking back to the road. “First time clubbing?”.

You exhaled. “Yeah. Not exactly my scene”.

Jensen let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, figured as much”.

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”.

He shrugged, lips twitching. “You just seem… more like the ‘cozy night in’ type. Movie marathons, takeout, that kind of thing”.

Your heart skipped. He had known you for barely two days and somehow already had you pegged. “…Not wrong”, you muttered, crossing your arms.

Jensen smirked. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll make sure you survive”.

You swallowed. Kid. That damn nickname. You weren’t sure why it bothered you tonight. Maybe because you didn’t feel like a kid. Not in this dress, not sitting next to him like this, not with the way his voice sounded so smooth and effortless.

You needed a distraction. “So, why are you even doing this?”, you asked, shifting in your seat. “Taking me out, I mean”.

Jensen hummed, considering for a moment. “Well, AJ was very insistent”.

You huffed. “Yeah, that sounds like her”.

He glanced at you again. “And… you only turn twenty-one once. Figured you deserved a proper night out”.

Something about the way he said it—calm, certain—sent a shiver down your spine.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You do this often?”.

Jensen chuckled. “What, take barely legal girls to clubs?”.

Your face burned. “Oh my God—that’s not what I meant”.

He just laughed, shaking his head. “Relax, kid. I know”. Then, after a beat, he added, “And no. Haven’t really gone out much lately. Not my scene either, honestly”.

That surprised you. “Then why—?”.

He smirked. “Told you. Birthday rule. Plus, if I don’t do it, AJ will never let me hear the end of it”.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “She really does have you wrapped around her finger”.

Jensen sighed dramatically. “Tell me about it”.

The car slowed as he pulled onto a side street, the bright neon lights of the club flickering in the distance. He put the car in park, then turned to you, his expression suddenly more serious.

“Alright, some more ground rules”.

You straightened, nodding. “Okay”.

Jensen held up a finger. “One—stay where I can see you. I’m not dealing with you disappearing on me”.

You swallowed. “Got it”.

“Two—if any guy gives you trouble, you come find me”.

Your breath caught slightly. “Uh… okay”.

“And three—”. He leaned back, giving you a smirk. “Try to have some fun”.

You exhaled a laugh. “I’ll… do my best”.

Jensen grinned, then unbuckled his seatbelt. “Let’s go, birthday girl”.

Your stomach twisted as you stepped out of the car, the music from inside the club already thumping through the pavement. You weren’t sure if it was the nerves or the excitement making your heart race. But either way… there was no turning back now.

The bass from the club pulsed through the pavement as you followed Jensen toward the entrance. The neon lights cast an electric glow over everything, and for a moment, you wondered what the hell you were doing.

This wasn’t your scene. Not even close. But somehow, being here with him made it feel a little less terrifying.

Jensen walked up to the bouncer like he’d done this a hundred times before. The guy at the door barely glanced at him before unhooking the velvet rope. “Good to see you again, man”, the bouncer said, nodding.

Jensen smirked. “Appreciate it”.

You blinked. Wait.

“You know the bouncer?”, you asked as you followed him inside.

Jensen shrugged. “Told you, I picked a place that’s… familiar”.

You stared at him. “What does that even mean?”.

But Jensen just grinned. “Come on, let’s get a drink”.

The club was packed. Music blasted from the speakers, the air thick with heat and the scent of alcohol. Colorful strobe lights cut through the haze, illuminating the crowd of bodies moving in sync with the beat. Jensen led you through the mass of people, his hand hovering near the small of your back—not touching, but just close enough that you felt completely hyper-aware of his presence.

When you reached the bar, he turned to you. “What’s your poison?”.

You hesitated. “Uh… I don’t really know”.

Jensen chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. First time and all”. He turned to the bartender. “Two whiskey sours”.

Your brows lifted. “Oh, we’re starting with whiskey?”.

Jensen smirked. “Trust me”.

The drinks arrived quickly. You took a cautious sip, the mix of citrus and smooth burn of whiskey hitting your tongue. “Okay”, you admitted. “Not bad”.

Jensen raised his glass. “Happy birthday, kid”.

You huffed. “Still with the ‘kid’ thing?”.

He smirked, taking a sip. “Force of habit”.

You rolled your eyes but clinked your glass against his anyway. As you drank, you let yourself take it all in. The music, the lights, the fact that you were here, in a club, drinking with Jensen Ackles. The absurdity of it all made you laugh under your breath.

Jensen arched a brow. “What?”.

You shook your head, smiling. “Just… this isn’t how I thought I’d spend my twenty-first birthday”.

Jensen leaned against the bar, smirking. “Better or worse?”.

Your stomach flipped. You licked your lips, setting your drink down. “Still deciding”.

He chuckled. “Well, we’ve got the whole night. Let’s see if I can change your mind”.

Before you could respond, the music shifted—something fast, infectious.

Jensen tilted his head toward the dance floor. “You gonna dance?”.

Your eyes widened. “Oh, uh… I don’t really—”.

“Bullshit”. He smirked. “Come on. Let’s see what you got”.

Your pulse skyrocketed. “Wait—you mean… with you?”.

Jensen just grinned and held out a hand. You stared at it, heart hammering. This was so not a good idea. And yet… You took his hand.

Jensen’s hand was warm, his grip firm but easy, like this wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t dragging you onto the dance floor in the middle of a crowded club. Your brain screamed at you to protest, to tell him you weren’t much of a dancer, that this was dangerous territory.

But you didn’t. Because the second he pulled you into the crowd, the music swallowed you whole. The bass thrummed through your chest, the lights flashing in shades of blue and red, bodies moving all around you in time with the rhythm. You barely had time to catch your breath before Jensen turned to face you, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Relax”, he said over the music. “It’s just dancing”.

Just dancing. You exhaled sharply, trying to convince yourself of that. But then Jensen moved. He didn’t go all-in right away. Just a casual sway, easy and effortless, his body rolling with the beat like it was second nature. His hands stayed at his sides, giving you space, but his eyes? They were right on you. He was watching. Waiting.

Your pulse skyrocketed. Okay. Fine. You could do this. You started slow, mirroring his movements, testing the rhythm. It wasn’t that you couldn’t dance, it was just that you never had, at least not like this. Not with him.

Jensen grinned when he saw you loosen up. “There you go”.

The music picked up, and without thinking, you let your body move. The alcohol in your system helped, making you just a little bolder, a little less aware of your own awkwardness.

And then, Jensen stepped closer. Not too close. Not inappropriate. But close enough. Close enough that when the beat dropped, and you turned slightly, his hand found your waist, just for a second, just barely there. Your breath hitched.

He leaned in, his voice low, just above your ear. “See? Not so bad”.

You swallowed. “Not bad”, you managed, but it didn’t sound nearly as casual as you wanted it to.

Jensen smirked, his fingers brushing your waist again, so light, so subtle, you almost could have imagined it. But you didn’t. Because when your eyes met his, there was something different there. Something that made your whole body hum with awareness.

The song shifted again, something slower, heavier. Jensen didn’t move away. Neither did you. And just like that, the air between you changed. It was no longer just dancing. It was something else. Something neither of you had expected.

Your pulse was out of control. You barely thought as you grabbed your drink, tipping it back in one go, the alcohol burning its way down your throat.

Jensen watched, his smirk deepening. “Damn, kid”.

You ignored the way that nickname made your stomach flip, setting the empty glass onto the nearest table. When you turned back, Jensen was still right there, his green eyes glinting under the flashing club lights.

Then, before you could process what was happening, he reached for your hand. And spun you. A quick, fluid motion—his fingers barely grazing yours—until suddenly, your back was against his chest.

He wasn’t touching you—not fully—but he was close. Close enough that you felt the heat of him, the warmth of his breath as it fanned across your shoulder.

And now? Now, you were really dancing.

The beat pulsed through your veins, your body moving with the rhythm. The hesitation you’d had before? Gone. The alcohol, the music, the way Jensen’s presence wrapped around you like a second skin, it was all too much, and at the same time, not enough.

You let your hands lift slightly, swaying to the beat, and that’s when it happened. Jensen’s fingers, just barely, brushed against your hip. It wasn’t much. The lightest touch. But it sent a sharp jolt through your spine.

You swallowed hard, hyper-aware of him now. The way his body moved so easily behind you. The way he still wasn’t touching you fully, like he was waiting. Testing. Like he was seeing how far this could go.

And you? You weren’t stopping him.

Another beat, another sway. His fingers pressed—firmer, deliberate—just at the curve of your hip. Your stomach tightened.

“Still with me?”. His voice was low, rough, right against your ear.

Your breath stuttered. “Yeah”.

Jensen hummed, a sound that rumbled through your back. “Good”.

You didn’t know how long you danced. Didn’t care. Because for the first time in your life, you weren’t overthinking. You were just feeling. And damn, did it feel good.

Hours had passed in a blur of music, lights, and the heat of Jensen’s presence. You had danced longer than you ever thought possible, had another drink (or two, who was counting?), and somewhere along the way, you had lost every ounce of hesitation.

Now, however, reality was hitting you all at once.

You weren’t wasted, but you were definitely buzzed—that loose, giggly kind of drunk that made the world tilt just slightly when you walked.

And Jensen? He was handling you. Not in an overbearing way. Not in a “let’s go, you’re done” way.

No. He was calm. Collected. Like this wasn’t the first time he had to lead a tipsy twenty-one-year-old out of a club.

His hand rested firmly at your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, his grip steady whenever you swayed too much. “You’re lucky you’re a fun drunk”, he murmured as he pulled open the club’s side door, letting in the crisp night air.

You giggled, feeling way too warm. “What’s a not fun drunk?”.

Jensen smirked, keeping his pace slow as you walked toward the parking lot. “The crying ones. The aggressive ones. The ones who throw up in my car”.

You gasped dramatically. “I would never”.

Jensen huffed a laugh, unlocking the car. “Yeah, well, let’s keep it that way”.

You felt light. Giddy. Like this whole night was floating around you in some hazy, surreal dream. When you reached the passenger door, you turned, swaying slightly. “You know…”, you started, tilting your head. “You’re really good at this”.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, amused. “At what?”.

You blinked slowly, trying to find your words. “Taking care of people”.

His smirk softened just a little. “Comes with the territory”.

You hummed. “Yeah… you’re like… a responsible, sexy bodyguard”.

Jensen froze. Your own brain stalled. Did you—did you just say that out loud? A beat of silence.

Then, Jensen smirked. “Sexy, huh?”.

Oh. My. God. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide. “Forget that. That wasn’t—that was nothing—”.

Jensen laughed. Like, full-on laughed. “Alright, lightweight, let’s get you in the car before you start confessing more things”, he teased, opening the passenger door.

You groaned, hiding your face. “I hate myself”.

Jensen nudged you toward the seat, still smirking. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ll let that one slide”.

You huffed as you slid into the car, your face on fire. Jensen shut the door, walking around to the driver’s side. You exhaled deeply. You needed sleep. Water. A new identity, maybe. Because fucking shit. You just called him sexy.

The second Jensen started driving, you knew you were in trouble. Your head was still spinning, your body warm from the alcohol, the dancing, and—let’s be honest—him.

You couldn’t just sit here in awkward silence after what you’d said. You had to fix it. “I just meant”, you started, turning toward him in the dim glow of the dashboard lights, “you’re, like, objectively attractive”.

Jensen’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Oh no.

“Like—like, obviously. People would agree”, you continued, rambling. “You’ve got, you know, the whole… thing going on”.

He raised an eyebrow. “The thing?”.

You gestured vaguely. “Yeah. The voice, the muscles, the face. You know”.

Jensen exhaled sharply through his nose. “Shit, (Y/N)”.

You panicked. “But not, like, in a weird way! I just mean you’re, like… manly. Like, rugged. You’ve got that whole strong, protective, could-break-someone-in-half vibe”.

Jensen’s jaw flexed. His grip on the wheel went white-knuckle tight. You were making this worse. You gulped. “Like—not that I’d want to be broken in half, obviously—”.

Jensen let out a rough breath, shifting slightly in his seat. You had no idea that your innocent, drunk little rant was currently making his dick twitch. But it was. Because all he could think about now was you—dressed like that, pressed against him on the dance floor, moving without hesitation. And now, sitting in his car, talking like this. About him.

His jaw was tight. “Y/N”.

You perked up. “Yeah?”.

Jensen huffed. “Stop talking”.

Your mouth snapped shut. For a second, you swore the air in the car felt different. Heavy. Charged. You glanced at him, blinking. “Did I—did I say something wrong?”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “No. You just… need to stop before you dig yourself in deeper”.

The rest of the drive was tense, but not because of any argument or discomfort. No, the tension was something else. Something thicker, heavier. Something Jensen should not have been feeling.

You sat there, legs crossed, fiddling with the hem of your dress, clearly buzzed and completely oblivious to what you had just done to him. To be fair, you didn’t know any better. You were young. Inexperienced. Completely innocent in ways you didn’t even realize.

And Jensen was not. That was the problem. That was why his grip was too tight on the steering wheel. That was why his jaw clenched every time your soft little voice rambled about how manly and strong he was.

Because you didn’t even realize what you were saying. Didn’t realize that any other man your age would’ve jumped at the chance to take advantage of the fact that you were sitting here, flushed and tipsy, calling him sexy without a second thought.

Didn’t realize that the words could break someone in half had sent a sharp, unwelcome pulse straight through him. Because he could. And that was the worst part—because you? You were so damn soft. So untouched. So sweet and nervous and trying so hard to make things right.

And here he was, a man nearly twice your age, trying not to think about how warm you’d felt against him hours ago. How easily you had melted into him when he’d spun you on the dance floor. How your breath had hitched when he touched your waist.

And now, you were sitting there, cheeks pink, babbling in that innocent little voice, so damn unaware of the effect you were having on him.

Jensen swallowed hard. This was not good. Not at all.

Then, your voice cut through the silence. “Are you mad at me?”.

He glanced over, blinking. “What?”.

You bit your lip. “I just… I didn’t mean to make things weird”.

Fuck. That lip.

He forced himself to focus. Shook his head. “You didn’t”.

You still looked guilty, your fingers twisting in your lap. “I just—sometimes I don’t know when to shut up”.

Jensen huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. I noticed”.

You made a little sound of protest, smacking his arm lightly. “Hey!”.

He smirked, glancing at you again, this time, really looking. You were so young. Too young to be in his car like this, looking at him like that, trusting him completely. And he needed to get his shit together. Fast.

Jensen exhaled. “Relax, kid. I’m not mad”.

You softened. “Promise?”.

His fingers flexed against the wheel. Fuck, you had no idea. But still, he nodded. “Promise”.

And when you smiled, looking relieved, Jensen knew. He had no business feeling the way he did. Because no matter how much your words had messed him up tonight… You were off-limits.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen x reader #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles the boys #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jackles #spn cast

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wordssoonforgotten · 1 day ago

Note

I was wondering if you could do a jinx x either piltie reader or a reader that works for silco too where jinx falls HARD for this girl but readers oblivious so jinx has to make it very very obvious just some cutesyness

Jinx x Piltoveran!reader. Hope you like! Honestly one of my favorite things I’ve written so far. No content warnings. 735 words.

Jinx is so over Piltoverans.

In all honestly, she'd been over them since birth. It was simply the Zaunite way; but there was one she simply couldn't manage to hate lithe rest. You were like a guilty pleasure, except there was no guilt concerning how she felt at all. The pleasure you gave her was more rebellious than anything. However, that doesn't mean you didn't get on every single one of her nerves.

Jinx has been sneaking to see you for a year. It started as cat-like curiosity turned infatuation, but now, every time you so much as look at her a certain way, she feels herself teetering closer and closer to the edge; dangerously close to falling in love. It's new, exciting, and gives her that rush she thought was only possible from watching something explode. (It almost makes her wants to jump right off, just to see if you catch her.) Much to her annoyance, she wasn't sure if you felt the same way she did.

She likes to think she's making it stupid obvious; laying it on thick every time she comes to see you. With the way you just laugh at her, or simply don't pick up what she puts down, she's beginning to think she's not so good at all. It's either that, or you're infuriatingly slow for someone so smart.

For the second time this week, Jinx has weaseled her way through your window and made herself comfortable in your silky sheets. The two of you sit closely together on the bed as you recount every event of your day to her. You speak so softly that your voice almost gets lost with the wind. She uses it as an excuse to lean closer. Every few sentences, your eyes drift to your bedroom door, as if you expect someone to knocking it down any moment. Despite how long the two of you have gotten away with your late-night-rendezvous, you still get nervous. She tilts her mischievously. Her fingers crawl up shoulder and stop on your chin, turning your head to face her. You blush; but continue talking like normal.

That was her very last straw. She deserved more than simple a blush.

"Soooo….princess. Still not seeing anyone?" She keeps her voice light. Like she doesn't care about the answer at all. You raise your eyebrow at the seemingly out-of-the-blue question. "Not currently. Why?" Jinx smiles with false nonchalance

"Just kinda seemed like you would be by now."

"…Well I'm not."

"Are you interested in seeing someone?"

You snort and shrug your shoulders hopelessly. "Who would I even see?"

"Me." She answers immediately. Your brain short circuits and you just stare at her. For a second she thinks she's broken you, but then you very hesitantly narrow your eyes. "Are you..serious?" She barely manages to hold back a loud snort, but she nods quickly. "Very serious. Most serious I've ever been, actually." You nod slowly as if you're still processing her words so she continues. "I've been serious for a while now, you've just been too dense to notice." Playful frustration fills her tone as you suddenly become more alert. "A while!? How long is a while!?" She doesn't stop the chortle that erupts from her.

"Months."

"Months?!" You shout before quickly covering your mouth and glancing at the door. Once You're sure no one heard, you turn a fierce glare at her. "Why didn't you say anything?!" Now her brain short circuits. She looks at you in hysterical exasperation, shaking her head so quickly you're scared she'll get dizzy. "I've been very-obviously flirting for—this whole time!" You roll your eyes as your face begins to heat up. "Well you should've been clearer."

"I couldn't have been any clearer without tattooing it on my forehead!" She scoffs. "Typical dense, unaware pilties. Never noticing the extremely obvious truths right in front of their dumb faces—" She's cut off by your lips crashing into hers mid Piltover hating tirade. It doesn't take much for her to lean into it, her hands coming up to grip your hair. After a full minute of all but inhaling each other, she comes up for air. "Guess that means the feelings' mutual, huh?" You huff and give her a cheeky smirk.

"See how I made that obvious?"

She flips you off before pulling you back into another, harder kiss.

"I'll work on it."

#jinx clocking Piltover’s tea even if she’s desperately in love with one iktr🤏🏾🤏🏾#jinx x y/n #jinx x female reader #jinx #jinx fluff #jinx x black!fem!reader #jinx x kiramman!reader #jinx x black!reader #jinx x femme!reader #jinx x fem!reader #jinx x reader #jinx x you #arcane x black!fem!reader #arcane x female reader #arcane x black reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane jinx #jinx arcane

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bradshawed · 1 day ago

Text

His & Hers

summary — one-sided rival pilots idiots to lovers

warnings — idiots, grief, fluff, soft gooey shit, more idiots, jake being helpful?, multiple references to carole & goose, slight reference to nightmares/lack of eating, brad brad wooing the crowd *swoons dramatically*, no use of y/n, gender neutral, questionable timeline, not proofread, therapy mentions, no clear ending, voldemort references

note — i was replying to the original post, clicked save to drafts and then it went poof for some silly reason so i’m starting it again. the original post was for one-sided rivals to lovers with bradley bradshaw where he was so incredibly smitten with you, falling in love whenever you got angry, “she’s so cute when she’s mad”. hope i did it justice and sorry for the long wait @charliedaltonsgfsblog!!!!! massive thank u to ml @bruisedboys for motivating me to finally finish this, i love u <3 tempted to give this a pt. 2 hehe lmk if anyone's interested!

word count — 961 words

masterlist & tgm minilist!

...

"Give her my ring-"

"Ma-"

"She’s the one for you baby, keep it, you’ll know when it’s time."

That was one of Carole's last wishes among the others for their home, his reconciliation with Mav, and the promise that she'll be okay, finally with the love of her life, watching and protecting her baby bird every step of the way.

That was the first time you let your guard down. Bradley had been missing from classes all week, and you were getting worried. You were both notoriously known for being stuck at the him. Wherever you went, Bradley followed, with a cloud of sexual tension bickering surrounding you both. Rivals. Academic and in every other sense of the word, but the silence was getting to you, as well as the constant glares and questions from nosy students "concerned" for their star athlete.

Game day was the worst and your fuse blew. You marched over to the little cottage where the Bradshaw's resided, fists clenched and speech prepared, but the sight of your rival crying on the floor clutching a stuffed goose toy wasn’t what you’d expected.

"It'll pass", you told him. "Stay", he begged.

And you did, you never left his side for a single moment. By now, you'd seen it all, the hollow eyes, life drained from his soul, the concerning weight loss, and more. You supported Bradley through it all, developing a routine. You brought him notes from the classes he'd missed and you'd work on homework together, cooking one of Carole's famous recipes. You helped him sort through everything, holding your baby bird through the tears and the nightmares, gladly cursing up a storm about Maverick when he finally got the courage to apply to the academy. You did it all... together.

But then just like that, a switch flipped when he was back on his feet. Your walls came back up. Bradley remembers how quick you'd switch from a concerned friend to rivals. Funny how that works. It's still the worst form of whiplash he's ever experienced. But he understood, he always has, you wanted something familiar and you were scared that it could be something more, so he went along with it.

Four years later and Bradley was busy touching the heavens. You followed him, naturally. So it's safe to say you were chasing your sun this time, but he just didn't know it. That's where you met Jake Seresin, at flyboy academy.

Bradley watched as you fell head over cowboy boots for Jake. It only made sense since you were two sides of the same coin, but Jake knew, he always had. He was your best friend but it never became anything more, as much as he wished it was. Jake Seresin broke up with you, even if he says it was the other way around, not that you'll ever understand why. The blonde helped you get into therapy, knocking a whole load of sense into you. Sure, maybe it didn't cure your mean streak, but now you weren't so afraid all thanks to a fellow flyboy.

Years passed and you were both stuck to the hip, where possible. More often than not, you were flown around the world for some sort of disciplinary action and Bradley tried to keep in touch. You both managed as much as you could, but it was hard. Then you were both called back to Top Gun. Same time, same place... but not for the same reason.

You weren't good enough. Or at least that's what you heard when they told you that Bradley, Jake and the others were back for some special detachment of some sort and you were just here to teach (they figured it would help with your insubordination). Pissed would be an understatement.

So, while they were busy with their fancy flying shit that you weren't even considered for, you flew yourself in circles realising you needed to get your shit together because as good as you were, you couldn't spend your career flying like he-who-must-not-be-named simply because you weren't a man and didn't have a guardian angel (technically by extension you did but you refused his help). Maybe this post was good for you...

Weeks flew by and your baby bird had returned with a few new scars, and a plan to reunite with his evil godfather? "Promise me you won't call him he-who-must-not-be-named to his face tonight." You glanced up at your handsome aviator with a mischievous grin, replying with a noncommittal shrug before patting his chest and sauntering off towards the devil in Ray-Ban's talking to Penny. Fuck that was more solid than you expected it to be.

You'd both been talking for an hour or so, the long part over and now enjoying a beer, when some sailor boy almost collided into you slurring, "Heyyy pretty, why don't ya ditch the old man and come home with me, we could 'ave some funn?" The whole of the Hard Deck held it's breath, Mav ready to unleash hell when you replied, "How about you take your filthy hands off of me or I'll shove this beer up your ass. Better yet, take ten steps back out of this lovely establishment and piss off, this old man is better company than you and your friends over there could ever dream to be." You smirked as he scurried back towards his friends, Mav letting out a satisfied whistle, raising his beer to the sound of the bell.

You raised your beer in thanks to Penny, chuckling as your fellow daredevil pointed out the lovestruck expression on Bradley's face, "you've got him wrapped around your finger". You smiled, "he just doesn't know it yet".

"Oh he does."

*Cue Mav sharing a conspiratorial look with Jake*

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rainrot4me · 3 days ago

Note

NOW THE OPPOSITE

what are the creeps turn offs when it comes to a partner? a huge no or red flag

ANGIE!!!!!!

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer

Someone who treats violence like a joke or a trend.

Jeff is unhinged, yes. But there’s a difference between someone who kills because they’ve lost their mind—and someone who glamorizes it like a trend. If a partner tried to be “edgy” for clout or treated killing like cosplay, he’d immediately lose interest. There’s nothing showy or fun about killing because you can’t stop yourself.

“You think blood makes you cool? You ever watch a guy cry while you twist his eyeball out? Nah? Then shut the hell up.”

✦ . ticci toby

Mocking his tics or trauma—even as a “joke.”

Toby might play the fool, but the moment someone mocks his stutter, his scars, or anything related to his neurological condition, he’s gone. He’s heard enough cruel laughter in his life to know when someone means it. He won’t fight you. Won’t scream. Just disappears. You’ll never see him again.

“Heard that t-tone before. Not stickin’ around to hear it again.”

✦ . eyeless jack

Lack of boundaries or pushing into private matters without consent.

Jack is a highly guarded, private man. If someone constantly pushes him to unmask, probes into his past without care, or oversteps emotional or physical boundaries, it’ll break all trust.

“If I haven’t told you something, it’s because I’m not going to. Pushing won’t get you closer.”

✦ . masky (tim wright)

Emotional manipulation or passive-aggression.

Tim has been gaslit and manipulated by the Operator for years—he knows the signs. If a partner plays mind games, guilt-trips him, or uses emotional weaponry to get their way, he’ll shut down completely.

“Say what you mean. Don’t twist your words and expect me to read your mind.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas)

Someone who refuses to self-reflect or acknowledge faults.

Brian is observant and deeply introspective. If someone constantly blames others, refuses accountability, or dismisses emotional growth, he sees it as a dead-end.

“We’re all messed up, but if you can’t admit it—you’ll never get better.”

✦ . kate the chaser

People who play the victim after starting the fire.

Kate has no tolerance for manipulative victims—people who start shit and then cry when they get called out. That’s her trigger. That’s her past. She’ll cut ties fast.

“You lit the match. Don’t act shocked when the fire spreads.”

✦ . ben drowned

Controlling behavior or possessiveness masked as ‘caring’.

Ben doesn’t want a babysitter. If someone tries to dictate his life—who he talks to, what he does, how he acts—it hits a nerve. He’s lived under control before (literally, as a haunted game). Never again.

“Don’t love me like I’m a problem to fix. Love me like a person who knows what they’re doing.”

✦ . clockwork

Dismissive of emotions or mocking vulnerability.

If someone laughs when she opens up or uses her trauma against her in arguments, she’ll harden instantly. Her softness is earned, not owed. And once you cross the line? You’re out.

“I’m not your punching bag for when you feel small. Try that shit again, and we’ll see where we stand.”

✦ . laughing jack

Cruelty toward animals or children.

Jack is chaotic, yes—but if you show unnecessary cruelty to things smaller or more helpless than you, it’s over. He can’t stand people who punch down. It robs him of all amusement.

“You’re not edgy. You’re pathetic. Kick a dog again and see what I do.”

✦ . slenderman

Disrespect for knowledge, history, or the metaphysical.

Slender sees existence through an ancient, almost cosmic lens. If someone is proudly ignorant, refuses to learn, or mocks the concept of deeper thought or reality, he loses all interest.

“Fools who scoff at the unknown often find themselves consumed by it.”

꩜ .ᐟ

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burrythebusy · 3 days ago

Text

Hello hrkg nation...

So, I was on the htk tag (as one is) and someone posted this screenshot from the novel when Kagiura is saying the room feels a lot emptier without Hirano and... shout out to OP because that literally changed my brain chemistry. Idk why but it literally clicked a switch in my head despite me reading the novel before and that specific part numerous times.

Not to overanalyze but this brings up a greater point in my years of being obsessed with HtK that reminds me that these two already destroyed one of the obligatory boundaries of being in a senpai/kouhai arrangement, moreso hirano though, by foregoing the expectation of "im supposed to help my kouhai become acclimated and fostering a friendly environment between us so that you can rely on me when needed (while also maintaining a respectable distance between he and I so that he can grow independently and do the same thing to a kouhai next year)" by becoming addicted to the feeling of spoiling him and being spoiled in return with honesty, genuine gratitude and happiness.

And what makes me bring this up is, its not unusual to become close to someone in a semester or to even begin to really like someone in that time. What always gets me though is that the level of sincerity never wavered. The feelings were never surface level. They have a deep and crucial understanding of each other that I wouldn't hesitate to call love. This doesn't apply to just Kagiura though, but Hirano. Now I might be reaching HEAVY and im not sure exactly what I might be saying with this, and this is gonna be a hashtag Flaming Hot Take bc some people dont see it this way and that is A-Okay 0 hard feelings. But im so convinced (and almost always have been) that Hirano has been in love with Kagiura for just as long as Kagiura has veen in love with him. Let me preface that it is no more meaningful if this is the case but this is just something I've been sitting on for literal years and I fear it only took me this sentence to decide to believe it wholeheartedly.

(Screenshot from my e-novel)

Kagiura saying the dorm feels empty without Hirano (affectionate), and this being Hirano's (equally affectionate) reaction.

So, I've actually noticed this pattern with Hirano: when affection is expressed between him and Kagiura, his verbal reaction is something along the lines of "tiredness". As in, Hirano will give or receive affection to/from Kagiura and tiredness is deemed the reason. Now, i dont recall this ever being done with his friends so thats why im extrapolating this phenomenon to hirakagi only (if im wrong lmk). Anyway, here are the examples, other than the one listed. And there are actually more than i thought

Exhibit A: Volume 6 Extra

I think this is the first one we see at all, and its comedic and hes being kind of aggressive about it PLUS we wouldn't think much of it at all because Kagiura literally did NOT sleep since Hirano accidentally slept in his bed. But just note that Kagiura is basically getting a kick out of seeing Hirano embarrassed (which to me. Is affection because. This is Hirano and Kagiura) and Hirano is just like "get your ass to bed." This example is probably less of one than the next ones but 100% worth talking about since this is post Kagiura confession (not sure where in the timeline though) and it still follows the theme of affection/tiredness, as Hirano is recognizing it and deeming tiredness to be the factor making him say what hes saying. Just like in the screenshot.

Exhibit B: Volume 9 Extra (1)

(Definitely in a relationship here LOLLL) And for some reason Kagiura decides that Hirano is acting spacey, and Hirano AGREES. Like, to be fair, Hirano was acting pretty gay this whole extra but its interesting to me that Kagiura is all abashed by Hirano being all suave and congratulating him and his first reaction is, "So... you really ARE tired" (re: Hirano using him as a pick-me-up in the first place). Why. Is it because Hirano is being affectionate? I MEAN, YEAH kagiura clearly took it as such hence the blushing and acting all embarrassed and then proceeding to be like "you must be tired. Anyway youre not being confessed to are you."

What stumps me more is how Hirano agrees with him. We know Hirano will get defensive at stuff Kagiura says (throwback to "them's fightin' words, asshole") and idk the exact wording in japanese but the idea that Hirano just casually agrees to kagiura ascribing his behavior to being spacey and he has nothing to say to it... interesting.

Exhibit C: Volume 9 Extra (2)

Mere moments later on the train when Hirano says "you can be stinky with me bae 😍", Kagiura is embarrassed by this clear sign of affection and what does Hirano say? "Man, am I tired" Okay we GET it. Again hes making a point to emphasize his tiredness and for what? To excuse that hes saying crazy shit? Mkay

Exhibit D: Whatever the hell this is

This... this whole page. Man i don't even know where to begin. Hirano is straight up unabashedly giving Kagiura googoo eyes. I had a violent reaction to seeing this extra. The point here is that Kagiura looked at him, got caught off guard by this absolutely unmistakable "im gonna take a bite out of you in the next ten seconds" look and his question is "are you sleepy". And its like. Okay sure hirano looks a little drunk (in love) yes but. He also looks wide awake. But he does say "a little".

Okay hold on I have to add that I'm genuinely tweaking out over this extra like YES I've seen it before but after volume five and just. Everything i am genuinely aghast at how obvious this is. Like oh my god. Hes practically drooling. Im loosing the plot so bad. What i would do to have this voice acted. Yoshitsugu Matsuoka you absolute legend i KNOW you'd cook for this

Anyway so yeah. I also noticed with two of these examples that its Kagiura mentioning the tiredness and its Hirano agreeing, and with one its Hirano saying it himself, and with two its Hirano saying it to Kagiura. Idk if what im saying makes sense but here's kinda what im getting at (again this extra genuinely made me lose my train of thought happy pride i guess damn): for Hirano, maybe its some sort of code, or something hes experienced from someone else, or maybe its just embarrassment covered up that has become an inside joke, im genuinely not sure, but Hirano will disguse affection as him being tired, or Kagiura's affection as him being tired, and Kagiura recognizes this too.

Why this stuck out to me with the novel is that, so early on, so soon in their relationship with each other, Hirano is already recognizing this affection hes receiving from his roommate, one that is in the general sense no different than his usual honesty and sincerity when it comes to Hirano, and Kagiura himself at this point hasnt quite come to terms with being in love with Hirano at all, just that he HAS deep affection for him. And yet Hirano picks up this DISTINCT affection in a way we've so far only ever seen referenced post-confession AND when theyre in a relationship, that makes him say, "You must be tired".

In other words, we see Hirano, far before Kagiura admits his own feelings or even realizes the extent of them and far before Hirano can even consider his own feelings LOVE, use a phrase that we've only so far seen used in contexts in which the two are being obviously romantic in their affection (the only POSSIBLE exception being Exhibit A but the whole reason that whole thing happened the way it did was because of the romantic context to this otherwise embarrassing but negligible occurrence) and he doesnt even REALIZE it. Even if Kagiura was actually sleepy (and he was), and even if hes just being a little shy, the idea that Hirano's first thought was "dodge" and that dodging is something we see come up in such a specific, familiar way in such specific circumstances following what we would brush off as insignificant in the scheme of things just has me tapping my chin and then going EUREKA! Because Hirano loves him and has and its that simple. Hirano has always associated whatever feeling he had at that moment from receiving a particular flavor of affection with tiredness, with sleepiness, with someone saying those things because theyre not all there right now, they wouldnt USUALLY do that because if they did, it wouldnt make me feel this way, so here is a reasonable explanation. That same principle is then applied to himself; if im saying things that make me feel this way, that are a reflection of how i feel, in such a way that i would never actually do but here it is, just slipping out of me, I must be tired, I must not be all there, otherwise this wouldn't happen, I wouldnt say it.

Hirano loves him, and even if it’s not as AGGRESSIVELY as current Hirano, I think this was at LEAST the beginning of it. Hirano already killed the boundaries of their relationship in order to achieve a comfortable dorm life for both of them, and by doing so he created this situation between the two of them in which there is a very unique sense of closeness and understanding, and bond brought about because they are who they are individually and then with each other. Kagiura is honest about how he feels and before now he wasnt necessarily hiding his affection for Hirano, not in a way that matters. And then he tells Hirano that "Without you, it felt lonely" (with you, things feel whole, and right. if i had to choose, i would rather be with you (i wanna be with you (more than anyone in the world))) and Hirano feels this affection in such a way that creates a pattern in his behavior that he repeats in the future when he knows too that Kagiura is the person he wants to be with more than anyone in the world, where he gets to have that spot beside him, right where he wants to be, right where Kagiura wants him to be, and he says it now. "You must be sleepy." (Because it must be you, Kagiura—so earnest and honest, so much more so when you're tired that you would say such embarrassing things that no one would ever say to me—and not me, who feels each syllable in my chest and remembers the feeling each moment I spend with you in a future I do not yet know I had been wanting).

Also ignore every typo i am so sleepy and im gonna reread this tomorrow and go "burry was onto nothing 🔥🔥" but for right now we will Pretend

#huge reach but #i couldnt not think it #and again ive always thought it #and also again this does not add any significance #to the story's overall narrative #to think that Hirano has loved him all this time #honestly im very sure he has #we can argue what “love” it was but #love as a concept i think #its pretty irrefutable #but what im saying is #hirano loves kagiura #and ill say it forever #and hes such a freak about it too #notice all the future extras hes being freaky deaky #the bedroom eyes #im so serious yall i was gripping my hair and dropping my phone thinking about it #who does that #ANYWAY #hirano to kagiura #kagihira #hirakagi #hirano taiga #kagiura akira #burryisbusy #also kagiura knowing him so well that he repeats tgis rhetoric #or rather its implied hirano excuses his gay behavior with being tired often so nowits a Thing

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