#i’ve been working so so so hard lately to actually like myself and put on am appears that i think looks genuinely good !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yourejinx · 1 year

Text

Undeniable Bonds.

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Genre: angst.

Warnings: mostly language.

Words: 3k or so.

Summary: Y/N and Azriel can't stand each other, despite the centuries working together they just don't seem to understand one another. Too many secrets are being kept. But that bond between them keeps pushing, demanding, making it impossible to ignore.

Author note: the summary sucks, I should work on it later.

Chapter One?

I could hardly see anything past the blinding white rage in my vision as I stalked through the streets of Velaris on my way back to the House of Wind. How dare he?!

“Is it business or pleasure?” Azriel purred maliciously, a dark smirk tugging at his lips.

Rhys’s face went pale with stupor but he snapped out of it fast enough to stop me from snatching the Shadow singer’s eyeballs with my bare hands.

He should have let me land that blow. Violet eyes turned soft on my face even as he commanded in all his Mighty High Lord voice for Azriel to get the fuck out.

Fucking miserable Illyrian bastard. Breathing deeply through my nose I measured the distance between myself and the steps of the stairs up to the House, and then started sprinting for it. Maybe the aching of my lungs would numb the rising anger that occupied my thoughts.

The sun was shining brightly in the sky by the time I reached the training zone. Cassian was already at it with a punching bag, hair loose, shirt already discarded and sweat dripping from his forehead. He kept shoving strands of hair that fell into his eyes out of the way in between punches, an exasperated huff leaving his parted lips. A prominent vein popped into his neck as a result of the effort and strength with which he was landing hit after hit, wings tucked in tight, he looked stressed. Tough night for the both of us then.

I approached him as silently as a wraith, not wanting to disturb his session and starting my stretchings.

“You’re late.” He greeted me. He’d probably been up since before dawn.

“You can thank your brother for that.” I replied shifting my weight from one leg to the other. He stopped punching and grinned at me, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Which one?”

I rolled my eyes. “Which one do you think?”.

“Az is giving you a hard time again, huh?”

“Isn’t he always? You know it was supposed to be a quick meeting, we had to report to Rhys about last week, take the new mission and leave. But of course Azriel had to be a huge pain in the ass again by pleading to leave me behind because I “complicate things”, which only means I do put to use my critical thinking and not just blindly follow his every command.”

Cass chuckled at my evident irritation with the Shadowsinger. “You know, Az can be entitled sometimes but he knows what he’s doing…listening to him from time to time can’t be that bad now, can it?”

“I know Cass, he’s Spy Master for a reason, I know he’s a great spy, but so am I. And he doesn’t seem to want to see it. I too have some good ideas, I’ve saved both our asses several times now, but he just won't acknowledge it. It is his way or the hard way every single time, I’m just tired of trying to prove myself to him.”

The rich brown surrounding Cassian’s irises looks like molten chocolate in the late morning as his gaze softens on me. I hate to look vulnerable but I guess if it’s going to be in front of anyone, who better than Cass? This huge scary looking warrior that was actually just a big loving teddy bear. Cassian was my best friend, the one who knows my secrets and fears and desires and has never judged me or pitied me for it. Not once.

"You don't need to prove anything. You've done more than enough time and time again, if he doesn't see it then he's a giant fool."

“Thank gods I’ve got you, who would burst my ego like that if not you, huh?.”

He flashed one of his radiant smiles at me and I motioned for him to come closer. Once he stood in front of me I made him turn and sit at my feet, quickly grabbing hold of his locks and braiding his hair back.

Cassian was one of the first ones to warm up to me and make me feel welcome besides Rhys. It was easy with him, always ready to make me laugh and help ease my process of adjusting to life in Velaris. He quickly became my best friend.

When I first got here I was stuck in the mountains for six whole years with Amren before I could even interact with the rest of the Inner Circle. A safety measure for all, of course, I was unstable in many ways after escaping that hideous place they call the Court of Nightmares. I needed space to heal, and to learn how to control my powers. Rhys came and went very often, he took the time to actually teach me how to put a leash on my power –being quite similar to his– and to bend it to my will, but it wasn’t until years later that I officially met everyone. It was awkward at first, I didn’t know much about socializing given that my only interactions were with the stoic Amren and even before that I’ve only ever met the cruelness of my family; but Mor was excited to see me again when Rhys brought me to Velaris and Cassian greeted me with a big fat grin and open arms. Azriel on the other hand…the spymaster had intrigued me since the very first moment we’d met, lurking in a corner, his shadows hovering over his shoulders and curling up to his head, hiding the lines of his beautiful face. Mesmerizing. He seemed intrigued as well at first, hazel eyes assessing me with intensity. I honestly don’t know when everything went downhill with him, but now we just can’t stand each other.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I said after a couple of heartbeats had passed in silence between us.

“About what?”

“Uh-uh, not playing dumb with me.”

“Is this what we do now? braid each other’s hair and talk about our problems?” He tried to dismiss the subject by playing funny.

“Well, you’re always pestering me to talk about my problems, so I figured I should do the same” I grinned down at him.

“There was a time when we fixed our issues in other ways,” he said suggestively, waving his eyebrows.

“If you want to get absolutely hammered at Rita’s I may be down to it, but not tonight. If I show up completely pissed tomorrow Azriel’s gonna lose it, and honestly I don’t want to deal with his bullshit for even a minute longer than necessary.” I hissed the last words as a sharp twinge of pain shot through my head.

Cassian’s eyes fixed on my face, worry staining his golden orbs as he stood towering over me. He cupped my chin so that I was looking up at him now, his gaze falling to the dark circles under my eyes.

“The nightmares again,” he stated more than questioned. “They can’t reach you here, dove.” His tone was softer.

“I know, Cass. It wasn’t the nightmares this time, I’ve been…having these dreams of places that I don’t recognize, people that I don’t know and there’s always so much suffering. I wake up feeling drained of energy and totally confused. I don’t know what it means.”

Weird, blurry images of last night’s dream came flooding into my mind. Darkness and smoke, the ashy taste of fire filled my senses and made me dizzy. All I could see were the outlines of white hair and twirling swoops of black ink very similar to the tattoos on Cassian’s chest. An ancient language that I didn’t understand.

“Maybe you should stop reading so many of those weird books of yours,” he smirked, easing the crease of my eyebrows “Have you been eating well?”

I shook out of my trance and stepped back out of his hold, adopting a fighting stance in the middle of the ring. “Enough of me anyways. What 's up with you? you seem stressed, did something happen with Nesta?” I said throwing the first punch, he dodged it.

“No. I got into a fight with Devlon yesterday, he’s been playing us for fools and the females have not been training at all.”

“You went to the Illyrian camps? I thought you were gonna wait for me, you know I love to spook the shit out of that misogynistic pig.” I grinned at him.

“I was but then you had that mission with Az and then the meetings and reports, I just didn’t want to burden you any further. Besides, you’re rarely around these days. You know, for two people who supposedly can’t stand each other you spent an awful amount of time together.” He smirked.

“Yeah well, we work together, it’s not like we have a choice. Though Azriel really puts in the effort to try and get rid of me.”

“What did Rhys say?”

“That I was going on the mission and that was final.”

Cass chuckled and some of the tension was lifted from my shoulders, his mere presence was comforting enough for me to relax a bit. I have had a massive headache all morning, I was barely able to concentrate on what Rhys was saying above the urging desire to bang my head against the nearest wall.

"I can tell when you're not telling me something, you know? It's not just the weird dreams is it?"

I sighed tiredly and dropped my arms to the side, clearly we weren't going to any further in training lest I spilled it all out for him.

"Azriel suggested that I was having an affair with someone from the Hewn City, and while he was at it he also kind of accused me of treason."

The General 's jaw tensed. He knew the Hewn City and anything remotely involved to that nightmare of a place has always been a touchy subject for me, being born as I was — a female with the power of a High Lord — meant an open invitation for challenge and dominance. It had cost me almost everything at a very young age. The mere suggestion that I may hold a secret agenda with the snakes that prowl around the power of the crown made my ire burn like a thousand suns. It also made me nauseous, I sure wasn't as horrible as Azriel made me out to be.

"Someone clearly needs to knock some sense into him." He gave me a look that promised trouble, rolling his toned shoulders and spreading his huge wings wide.

"Forget it Cass, you said it yourself, I don't need to prove anything. Besides, Rhys knows the truth so I'm clear."

He didn’t say anything else and just followed me back to the ring. Good. I have had enough of Azriel anyways.

—----------------------------------------------------------

“I have a lead!” I said bursting through Rhysand’s office at the River House, arms full of maps with annotations. Lucien hot on my heels.

The High Lord turned in his seat to take a look at me, then at Lucien and back at me, one dark eyebrow arched high in question. Mere seconds later I felt a talon slide gently across my mental shield, asking for permission. I granted him access.

“Does Lucien know what this is all about?” his voice sounded in my head.

“Just that I’ve been hunting down a group of slavers. He offered some insight when he saw me looking for connections between Spring and Night Courts.”

It wasn’t entirely a lie, we have been investigating the disappearance of fae females for the past year now, I had first noticed it one night when I was sneaking some of them out of the Hewn City to a Shelter in the outskirts of Velaris. Only Rhys and I knew about it. I just couldn’t leave those poor women to suffer as I had in that horrible place, but it was too risky, and as much as Rhys has been doing some political changes concerning the Night Court, it still was a very complex matter. So we investigated thoroughly about whom we would be bringing to our home. Just a few at a time, Rhys had said, we can’t risk bringing spying eyes here, and a large group of females vanishing into the night will certainly attract Kier’s attention back to us.

A couple of months ago, the group I was supposed to escort out went missing. There wasn’t a whisper of them in the entirety of the Court of Nightmares, and the female servants were too afraid to speak. I just knew someone had been watching me, it had been a warning and a message. Stay out of our business.

He nodded, then spoke out loud. “What did you find?”

“Well I think they may be using the remnants of the Spring Court as some sort of Warehouse or… storage.”

The thought alone of what those faeries may be enduring down there had my hands curling into fists, knuckles going white. “Since Tamlin’s left there aren't really many rules standing, his people have been barely subsisting; it is not that uncommon that in times of need people tend to turn against their own.”

Lucien’s face was grim, probably remembering what had happened and his role in it. He blinked twice, then said, “they could be using the rivers and the caves to get in and out without being noticed” he offered; “just like I used to do to get out of Autumn. I marked the rivers that flow closest to the caves and the closest villages. People may know something, maybe they'll turn their eyes from it if it’s convenient for them.”

Rhysand leaned forward, studying the maps and annotations closely. “Good work, Y/N, Lucien. This is a start. We need to investigate this further and put a stop to it before more fae are taken.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of determination settle within me. We couldn't let this go on any longer. No more innocent lives taken or families torn apart.

I knew I was taking some risks with this, but I also knew that we couldn't let fear stop us from doing what was right. I would do whatever it takes to end this.

“We need to find out everything we can about this operation and shut it down. I can gain some time and winnow there tonight, for some ground recognition.”

Rhysand stood up from his desk, tired and with a look of wariness written on his face, “ I would wait until Azriel returns from his meeting, then you can go together.”

“I can very well do this on my own, Rhys. I’m not stupid and I’m very capable of taking care of myself.” I argued back.

He looked reluctant at first, but he loosened a breath and said “I know you can. Lay low, gather whatever information you can but do not engage until Azriel arrives, understood? I’ll be sending him tomorrow morning.”

“Fine” I said, rolling my eyes. But he went on, in that brotherly voice that always got me following his commands.

“And be careful, we don't know what kind of forces we're dealing with here.”

I nodded and gave him a small smile. As we left the office, I couldn't help but think about Azriel. He would be on this mission with me, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. But, for the sake of the mission and the fae that had been taken, we had to put our differences aside and work together.

“Thank you, Lucien” I said, fully facing the Autumn male, “I know you wouldn’t reveal information that could be used against your friend or his court. So thank you, for trusting me with this.”

He seemed rather surprised for a second, eyes shining in the dim light, but then a smirk cut on his lips. “I trust you, little raven, I thought I’ve made that clear.”

I smiled back at him. “Well yeah, but thank you anyways, I know you don’t get to hear those words around here very often.” I teared my gaze away from him into the open night beyond. I should leave soon.

“I won’t keep you from your duties much longer” He said, shoving back a few strands of that auburn hair that had loosened from where he had pinned them to the side. “Stay safe Y/N, and if you thank me again you better start bowing next time” Lucien flashed a foxy grin as he started walking towards the house.

I couldn’t help the chuckle from leaving my lips. “As you wish, good night Prince Charming.”

I heard his breathy laugh even as I winnowed out of the city.

—----------------------------------------------------------

The morning sun was rising over the horizon, casting a warm glow over the lush greenery of the Spring Court border. I was standing just outside the small inn I booked for the night, waiting for Azriel to arrive. I hadn’t found anything particularly shady last night, yet I couldn't help but feel uneasy about it. The whole village felt out of place.

Azriel arrived on his shadow wings, landing gracefully in front of me. His black wings contrasted sharply with the bright blue sky, making him look even more intimidating than usual. "Let's go," he said curtly, motioning for me to follow him.

“Good morning to you too” I murmured under my breath; if he heard it or not he didn’t tell.

We flew over the sprawling countryside, searching for any sign of the illegal trade. After hours of fruitless searching, we landed in a small village. The villagers looked tired and scared, their faces etched with worry lines. I made to approach one of the villagers and ask if they knew anything about people going missing these days.

The villager shook his head. "We don't know anything about it. Our High Lord abandoned us a few months ago, and we've been struggling to survive ever since. Some have left for other courts, it is not unusual to find this place so quiet."

That was a fact, I had spotted caravans moving across Prythian as I traveled through the courts. Entire families leaving their homeland behind in search of a better chance at survival. This place once full of life was really starting to look like an abandoned graveyard, drying lands and growing thorn bushes taking place. Where the hell had Tamlin gone?

Azriel's face darkened with anger. "This was a waste of time," he muttered. "We should never have come here."

A twinge of guilt crept up my spine. I knew it was a blind shot to try and find them here, but other than the utter state of abandonment of this court, I still had the feeling that something was off. There was this wrongness in the air.

I dared another look in the direction of the villager but he was already gone. Weird. If Azriel wanted to leave then fine, I’ll investigate further on my own.

Hours later as I walked through the village, I noticed a pair of eyes staring at me, following me around in the shadows. At first I thought Azriel had sent his shadows after me but…it didn’t feel like him. I neared the edge of a dense wood and turned to approach those watching cold eyes, my right hand flying to the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh. They seemed to narrow in silent mockery and as I stepped through the bushes I was met with nothing but a lingering darkness. What in hell had that been?

I returned to the village, searching for Azriel, to tell him what I had seen. "There's definitely something going on here."

Azriel sighed, “I’ll tell you what’s going on here” he started coolly, “Their fucking coward of a High Lord bailed on his own people and now they’re trying to survive with the little they have left still standing, there are probably shadow markets functioning across the court for those who still remain and try to sell their goods for food. They don’t need two Night Court scouts snooping around their business so no one here is going to talk. That's what is happening here. No signs of your supposed “group of slavers”. People leave on their own accord to avoid starvation.”

He stared down his nose at me “Are you done playing your stupid game here? I told you we should have headed for Autumn. Now let’s go, we need to report back to Rhysand; I’ll love to hear how you will explain to him that you wasted both our time and his resources on a hunch.”

I didn’t want to show him that his words had sting, that it still affected me how little trust he had in me, in my capability, but my mouth went faster than my gathering thoughts:

"Why do you have to be such an asshole to me all the time?", my temper quickly rising to the surface, undoubtedly twisting my face in anger, sliping past my usual mask of boredness.

“Someone has to tell you the truth to your face at last.”

“What does that mean?” I said almost snarling at his cocky face.

“It means you’re not as good as you think you are, and no one seems to want to acknowledge it. I think Rhys spoils you too much. He handles everything on a silver platter for you and you rejoice in the riches of it like you’ve earned it. You're not his fucking sister! No one can ever replace her, what you're doing it's just awful. And he's so damn blind to it.”

Every word felt like a dagger to my heart. I've rather had him skin me alive than to hear those words again. Of course I wasn't Rhys's sister, although I do love him like a brother, but I hadn't meant in any way to come off as a replacement for her. It just felt right, to be a part of a family for once that I hadn't thought twice about my relationship with Rhysand. Does he feel like he needs to cover my needs just because he couldn’t do it with her before? Because he feels guilty? Has he been giving tasks just to excuse the amount of money he pays me?

I stumbled one step, two steps back away from him. From his space, so dense and thick with loathing it was suffocating. I leashed my anger, spiraling down into that pit of numbness I was so familiar with as I said, with a face as blank and unreadable as his own, “I’ll give him the full report. And don’t worry, I’ll pay him back every last copper that I know I owe to him if it means I’ll never have to see you again.”

It was the venom laced in her voice that had Azriel backing off this time, a twinge of pain and guilt flashing in his eyes but she had already winnowed away.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fandom #acotar series #acotar fanfiction #fantasy #acomaf

649 notes · View notes

fortheloveofwonderland · 10 days

Text

Midnight | Chapter 19 | SR

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

A/N - a slight jump forward in time here. For the sake of this, Spencer’s mom lives back in Vegas.

Chapter Summary - after finding a new place to settle down, things finally seem like they might be looking up for you and Spencer. Meanwhile Luke refuses to rest while he continues searching for you.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - cleaning up a crime scene, burying bodies, fingering, handjob, swearing, vomit, brief mention of depression, penetrative, unprotected sex, lying.

WC - 5.7k

Chapter 19 - Stitch Me Up

Two Months Later

The desert city of Twentynine Palms, California was located in the Mojave Desert and sat on the northern side of the Joshua Tree National Park and promoted the motto “a beautiful desert oasis”.

It wasn’t small but it was huge either, with a population of around twenty five thousand, making it a great place for two people to hide in plain sight. And given its desert location, the temperature this time of year was over one hundred and five, a stark contrast from tiny little Colorado mountain towns.

Samuel and Violet Truman of Arizona had moved out west and rented themselves a little fully furnished three bed, single storey home on Chia Avenue in a quiet suburb of Twentynine Palms. They arrived two weeks ago after spending some six weeks travelling the states with their travel companions Jack and Lily Waters.

From the outside their home left a lot to be desired, with its rickety metal fence and lone palm tree in the sandy front yard. But the inside was so modern and sheek that the couple had signed a lease on the spot.

From the outside looking in, you and Spencer were the idyllic all American couple. And admittedly, from the inside you were also pretty damn happy.

Since fleeing Crested Butte in the middle of the night two months ago, things had changed dramatically. That night you’d waited until Luke had stopped patrolling your cabin before getting Mary’s body into the trunk of the Nissan. You’d scrubbed every single inch of the house until it was cleaner than when you’d arrived, tweezed the bullet out of the wall and filled in the hole left behind, before gathering all of your belongings and getting the hell out of dodge.

On the way out of town you had begged Spencer to make one last stop. He wanted to refuse, you could tell, but he was trying so hard to make you happy, to make up for the way he’d been treating you that he agreed and pulled the Nissan to a stop on the street outside of McGills.

It had been late and all the lights were off so you’d ducked down the side alley towards the door that led up to his apartment. You’d had no idea if he’d be there but you’d prayed with every fibre of your being that he would. And by some stroke of luck, he answered the door after you’d knocked twice.

“Rose,” he folded his arms across his chest and leant against the door jamb. “Or should I say, Y/N.”

“I heard Luke spoke to you.” You gnawed on your lip as Jesse regarded you like the stranger you were.

“He did. I have to say, I did not expect you to be FBI.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “It’s a long story. I just wanted to come by and apologise for everything. I probably really shouldn’t have let myself follow you out of the Nickel that night.”

“I’m glad you did.” He nodded, dropping his arms to his sides. “Even though it didn’t work out between us, it at the very least got me out of my slump. Maybe now I can actually put myself out there again, you know? Now I’ve gotten over that first hurdle.”

“You’re going to make some woman very happy someday.” You smiled, subconsciously taking a step closer.

“It’s a shame it couldn’t have been you.” He shrugged wistfully.

You swallowed thickly, glancing down the alley and noting that you couldn’t see the Nissan from this position, or more importantly, its occupant couldn’t see you. You stepped even closer to Jesse and cupped his cheek.

“In another life maybe.” You whispered. “I’m leaving town.”

“I figured as much.” He nodded as your hand wandered down from his face to bicep. “You could stay, you know? With me. You don’t have to go just because he wants you to.”

“You have no idea how tempting that is. But I can’t.”

“I know.” He sighed, suddenly gripping the back of your neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

Suddenly he’d slammed his lips against yours in a kiss so passionate your legs had buckled. If Spencer knew how you’d said goodbye to Jesse, he most likely would have gone back and killed him. If he’d known you’d let Jesse finger you in his doorway while you jerked him off in return, Spencer would have certainly murdered him and probably enjoyed it.

But clearly you had a better poker face than you realised as Spencer simply drove off as soon as you were back in the car. And on the drive the only thing you’d thought of were Jess’s last words to you.

“I wish I’d gotten a chance to love you, Y/N.”

But at some point you had to let that go.

Mary’s final resting place had been a hole in the ground in the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest in Montana, almost eight hundred miles north of her hometown of Crested Butte. The Nissan met the same fate as Spencer’s Volvo a further five hundred and fifty miles east just outside of Medora, North Dakota.

Spencer purchased three pairs of bus tickets: one down to Texas, one out to Minnesota and one to Iowa, the latter being the ones you actually used. It took the better part of an entire day on a sweaty, smelly bus before you arrived in Cedar Rapids.

You checked into a cheap and dirty motel under the names of Jack and Lily Waters and spent almost the entire night having sex. Thoroughly exhausted in the morning, Spencer found a used car lot and using his Arizona licence in the name Samuel Truman, paid cash for a black Chevy Impala.

For the six weeks that followed you travelled up and down the country in much of a zigzag, alternating between your two pseudonyms, back and forth so the BAU would never find you. You spent six weeks in multiple different cheap motels, fucking like rabbits every step of the way.

You’d never felt so intrinsically linked to someone the way you did to Spencer in those six weeks. And it seemed he’d finally found his bliss as he didn’t kill once.

Eventually when enough time passed you’d choose to settle down in California. But unfortunately the mundane realities of life would ultimately be your downfall.

You stood up from the bathroom floor with a groan, wiping the back of your hand over your mouth and padding over to the sink. You stuck your mouth directly under the faucet and drank from it to wash away the taste of bile on your tongue.

You’d been throwing up on and off for some weeks now but you simply put it down to the residual stress of being on the run. You exhaled heavily before shuffling back out into the bedroom where Spencer still lay naked on top of the sheets.

“I’m mildly offended.” He offered you a wistful smile.

“I’m sorry.” You grumbled, flopping back to the bed next to him.

“It’s ok. Just never had anyone need to throw up whilst sucking my dick before.” He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“It’ll teach me not to eat hotdogs from a gas-and-go.” You sighed. “I can try again if you’re still in the mood?”

“After I just listened to you puke your guts up? I’m suddenly not very horny.” He pulled you closer so your head was resting on his chest. “But seriously, are you ok? You’ve been getting sick a lot lately.”

“Yeah I guess it’s stress or something. I’ll be fine.” You nuzzled against him, placing your hand flush against his chest over his heart.

You smiled as the ring caught the light and found yourself moving impossibly closer to Spencer. His grandmother's old ring had been upgraded, as had the one he wore, for newer silver matching bands inscribed on the inside with partners in crime.

One of your stops on your travels before you’d made your way to Twentynine Palms had been in Atlantic City at a seedy motel just off the main strip. After a few drinks one night as you walked by a little drive-in chapel, Spencer had a proposition for.

“What would you say I said we should get married?” He pulled you to a stop on the sidewalk.

“Married?” You glared at him.

“Right now. Partners in crime forever.” He grinned at you.

“You’re joking, right?” Your brows furrowed.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. Before we get swallowed up entirely in the lives of Samuel and Violet, I think Spencer and Y/N need to do this one last thing.”

And really there had only been one answer to that. You and Spencer had been bound for life the moment you’d left DC with him, you were as good as married, so why not make it official?

If your old team were to ever find one last trace of Spencer Reid and Y/N Y/L/N it would be the signing of marriage licences in a little Atlantic City chapel.

Spencer purchased you the new rings as a surprise and that along with your rose gold heart necklace, were your most treasured possessions.

“You don’t need to be stressed, sweetheart. It’s over, we’re safe now. I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.” He cooed, kissing your head.

It really was amazing the difference a few months could make. Of course things weren’t ideal, you’d always be on the run, never able to return home but things with Spencer were as close to perfect as they could possibly be.

Since fleeing Butte he’d been wonderful, the Spencer you’d known was still in there somewhere. You may be on the run but as long as this was the Spencer you woke up to every morning, you didn’t mind at all.

But Spencer was wrong, things were far from over. At least you’d always have these moments to look back when everything came crumbling down. But for now, despite the stress within you, you knew Spencer was all you needed to feel whole. You and Spencer were two broken halves but maybe together you could patch each other up and finally feel complete.

***

Two days after Luke Alvez arrived back from Crested Butte he received a phone call from the diner owner's son.

Jesse McGill had informed him of the mysterious disappearance of the girl Mary, whom Luke had met at the diner, which was followed in quick succession by you and Spencer’s sudden departure from the town.

It really didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. But unfortunately for Luke it did take a genius to pull it off and Spencer was sure to leave behind no trail, no scrap of evidence. And two months later and Mary still hadn’t been found and the BAU had no leads on you and Spencer’s whereabouts. You’d well and truly outsmarted them.

In his spare time, which was very few and far between these days, he poured over the Duncan Green case file as well as images of the sparkling clean cabin you’d left behind in Butte in the hopes that maybe he’d missed something. He stayed late in the office every single night and looked for any reports of sightings of you and Spencer as Emily had officially registered you as missing persons. He scrolled through police databases for any other occurrences that might point to where the hell you were.

He’d discovered two bodies buried in woodlands across the country which were similar in MO to Green but with no pertinent links between them, the BAU couldn’t investigate.

Lyle Smith was found in a shallow grave with his throat cut in the Hoosier National Forest just north of Jasper, Indiana. The body of Brett Carlisle from Wichita, Kansas was found in the Rita Blanca National Grasslands in Texas. Both bodies had been subject to the elements but deemed to have been dead since before that little Nissan was picked up on Elk Avenue for the first time. So maybe Spencer had been on some kind spree since he’d left DC.

And that brought him onto the discovery of the burnt out Nissan, near identical to how they’d found Spencer’s Volvo. They’d spent three days searching the area surrounding where the vehicle was found for Mary’s body only to come up short. Of course, Spencer wasn’t stupid, he wouldn’t dispose of a body anywhere near the car.

The only lead Luke had really had in the last two months was the filing of a marriage licence in the state of New Jersey. It was like a big middle finger in his face, clearly you’d both wanted him to find it. He’d driven to Atlantic City on one of his rare days off and canvassed the area near the wedding chapels, showing your photographs to anyone who would look. But he knew you’d be long gone.

If he could just find a way to connect any of these crimes to Spencer, or to find Mary’s body then maybe he could convince you to come home. He was sure you had nothing to do with any of this and if had solid proof that Spencer had murdered one of these people maybe it could be his way to form a wedge between the two of you. No matter what happened, Luke would never stop trying to protect you.

But god if it wasn’t taking its toll on him.

Luke Alvez was, in no uncertain terms, coming apart at the seams. The stitching holding him together had been removed thread by thread and at this point there was barely anything holding him together. Emily had expressed her concerns for his mental health, suggesting he seek medical help for what she had dubbed a depressive spiral.

His response had been simply, “you’d be depressed too if your best friend had married a murderer” which had pretty much shut down the conversation.

He knew he was devolving, he’d seen it hundred of times before. His apartment was a mess of case files, innocuous accounts of possible sightings and potential victims of Spencer. He barely slept, running mostly on coffee and energy bars. He was almost certain he was getting an ulcer.

But he wouldn’t let this go. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t safe and he couldn’t rest until he knew you were. Maybe this obsession would eventually kill him, but it would be worth it to be able to free you from the clutches of Spencer Reid.

***

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You scurried back to the car with your best apologetic smile as you slid into the passenger’s seat and Spencer pulled a face.

“Did you puke again?” He frowned at you.

“No.” You shook your head.

“You were peeing again? You went when we got here.” He started the engine.

You weren’t exactly sure where you were headed, Spencer had simply told you that you were going out for the day and with nothing better to do you’d followed along. You were somewhere along the I-15 heading north about two hours away from Twentynine Palms, at a gas station. You’d only stopped long enough for Spencer to fill up the Chevy and have a coffee and you’d used the bathroom twice, which was very unlike you.

“I know, I think I drank too much coffee this morning.” You mused, putting on your seatbelt.

“You always drink too much coffee, but that’s an entirely different conversation.” He chuckled, putting the car in reverse and pulling out of the space.

As he merged back onto the interstate you twirled your wedding band around your finger, watching the way his caught the sunlight through the windscreen and you smiled to yourself.

“Where are we going, Spence? Not that I don’t like a spontaneous road trip but I thought we’d settled now? Driving long distances usually only equals bad things where we’re concerned.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth.

Spencer removed one hand from the wheel and brought it to rest on your knee while he smiled at you softly.

“We’re going to see my mom.” He spoke happily.

“Oh.” You nodded with a soft laugh. “Ok, good. You had me worried for a second.”

“I told you sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about anything. Not anymore.” He gave your leg a squeeze, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins.

His bloodlust had been sated for the past two months but now it had come back with avengence. He needed to kill and he had a particular target in mind who he was sure would satisfy his urges more so than any that had come before.

But it was better to keep you in the dark. You were so happy lately and Spencer loved it when you were happy. He’d use visiting his mom as a distraction and he’d sneak off and extract his plan solo. You’d never need to know and your blissful little bubble didn’t need to be popped.

It was a win-win.

He ran over his plan in his head as he drove, making sure he had all the little details secure in his mind. There was no margin for error here, this had to be the perfect kill.

The two of you mostly stayed silent until he’d made it about another half hour up the interstate and you huffed out a loud breath.

“Goddamnit,” you grumbled. “I need to pee again.”

***

Visiting Spencer’s mom had been pretty safe for the two of you given that if anyone ever asked her if you’d been here, she most likely wouldn’t remember. You spent a few hours with her upon your arrival in Vegas before Spencer took you for a three course meal at the very expensive Capital Grille on Las Vegas strip.

After he walked you down to Caesars Palace in which you expected to be having drinks and were extremely surprised when Spencer strolled up to the reception desk stating he had a room reserved under his other alias Jack Waters.

A bellboy led you up to one of the top floors and showed you to the Palace Premium Suite. You stood in the middle of the grand living room while Spencer tipped the young man and once the door was closed and the two of you were alone, he sidled up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“You like it?” He spoke as he kissed the side of your face.

“Wh-what is happening?” You laughed, still in awe. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Consider it a belated, one night honeymoon.” His lips trailed down your neck. “And I guess just a small token of my gratitude for everything you’ve done for me. I know I have a hard time saying how I feel but I love you so fucking much and I am the luckiest man in the world to call you my wife.”

“Spencer,” you sighed happily in your arms. “I love you too. And I’m the lucky one.”

“Ok, now we’ve got that out of the way, tell me Mrs Reid, where would you like me to fuck you first?”

You moaned at his words, turning yourself around in his arms and attaching your lips together.

“What are my options?” You spoke against his lips, feeling his dick growing hard as he pressed into you.

“Well there are multiple couches, a four poster king sized bed, a pretty decadent bathtub, or there’s my personal favourite option…” his hands wandered under the hem of your shirt and over your back.

“Which is?” You took hold of his lapels, tearing your lips away from his so you could look at him.

His pupils were already blown out with his lust, his lip quirked up into a sinful smirk.

“We’re way up high, with some of the best views of Vegas.” He tugged your shirt up, quickly getting it over your head and tossing it aside. He took hold of your biceps and turned you back around to face the huge floor to ceiling windows overlooking the strip, his lips moving back to your ear. “My choice would be to fuck you up against the window. But that’s just me.”

He was already leading you towards the windows, lips sucking the flesh of your neck, his free reaching between your bodies and unhooking your bra. He quickly got it off your arms and dropped it on the floor, and you made no protest when he pushed your front up against the window. You hissed slightly at the cool glass as it touched your nipples and Spencer smiled to himself.

It was all a part of his plan. He would render you dumb with sex then run you an indulgent bubble bath with a large glass of wine to soothe your post-coital muscles. Then he’d tell you he’d left something at his mother's facility which was purposefully on the other side of town to buy him some time.

He’d tell you he hopefully wouldn’t be gone long, but traffic on the strip at night could be a nightmare and he’d be back as soon as possible. He’d inform you of the bar and the spa downstairs if you wanted to use either while he was gone.

And while you were preoccupied having a drink or getting a massage or whatever, he would seek out his target, slice his throat and be back before you knew it, with any luck rejuvenated enough for round two.

He continued kissing your neck while he started unbuttoning your pants and you helped him wiggle them down your legs and kick them off. You could see Spencer in the reflection in the window start to work on the buttons of his shirt. You caught his eye and he smiled at you.

He shucked his shirt off and pressed his bare chest against your back, caging you against the window with his hips, his hard cock pressing into your back. His lips moved back to your neck and worked on sucking deep bruises into your flesh whilst one hand wandered over your stomach and quickly dipped inside your panties.

You closed your eyes as two fingers were soon pressing inside of you, his thumb massaging your clit. You rolled your ass backwards, grinding against his erection but you wobbled a little on your legs at the feeling of his fingers inside you.

With your eyes closed your mind wandered of its own accord. There were times when you and Spencer were together that you found yourself thinking of Jesse, most specifically the last time you’d seen him when he’d fingered you in his doorway.

It was entirely involuntary, you certainly didn’t mean to think about him and his strong tattooed arms and the large vein in his forearm that pulsed when his fingers were inside of you. You didn’t mean to imagine his wiry beard scratching your face as he kissed you. And you most definitely didn’t mean to picture him fucking you whilst Spencer was. Sometimes it just happened.

Spencer was by no means an idiot and he knew you still thought about GI Mountain Man. He knew exactly what you looked like post orgasm and he’d known what the two of you had been doing when you’d said goodbye to him, even if you’d tried hard to hide it. There had been three, maybe four times when you’d said his name under your breath when he was fucking you but you’d never seemed to notice.

Of course it bothered him, a part of him wanted to drive back to Butte and kill Jesse just to make himself feel better. But he was trying to be better for you and so he ignored the occasional slip of the tongue.

Your hand snaked around his wrist, holding him firmly in place in your panties. He knew you were thinking about Jesse now, call it intuition, or gut instinct, but whatever it was Spencer knew.

He used his free hand to relieve himself from his pants and move them down his thighs enough so they were out of his way. He was almost positive that Jesse wasn’t as big as him, couldn’t fill you up the way he could.

In one swift move, he removed his fingers from inside of you and hurriedly plunged his cock between your legs, causing you to gasp and fall flat against the window. Your eyes sprung open at the sudden intrusion and you made eye contact with him in the reflection.

“Jesus Christ, Spence.” You panted as he bottomed out. “A little warning next to him.”

He chose to ignore you, placing his hands flush on the glass either side of your head as he started thrusting into you. He kept eye contact through the glass, not letting you close your eyes for fear you would start thinking of Jesse again.

It’s not fair. I’ve done everything for her, I fucking married her and it’s still not enough. What makes him better than me? Why is he still on her mind?

He tried not to let his anger cloud his judgement and had to rein himself back from fucking you too hard. He forced himself to slow down, thrusting you languidly against the window. You moaned in sync with one another while the Strip below illuminated you both in its chaotic glow.

You kept your eyes on his in the reflection while he fucked you and all thoughts of Jesse left your head. When you were clenching around him, legs shaking from your impending orgasm, he took hold of your left hand and ran his fingers over your wedding band.

“You’re mine.” He mumbled, his face contorting as his own orgasm snuck up on him. “Mine. My partner in crime, my wife, my…fuck.”

He groaned the last word, head falling to your shoulder as he suddenly came inside of you. You whimpered as he filled you up, pushing you over the edge and your legs almost gave up with the force of your orgasm.

You fell back against Spencer’s chest, his arms holding you up right even though his own legs were shaking. As you fought to catch your breath he peeled you away from the window as he slid out of you and helped you over to the couch.

You collapsed onto it, panting heavily and pulling Spencer down with you. He laid his head on your chest and listened to the sound of your erratic heartbeat.

You laid like this for a while until you were both breathing at a normal rhythm and Spencer untangled himself from your arms and got to his feet. He tucked himself away and tugged his pants back up before buttoning them.

“I’m gonna run you a bubble bath.” He smiled softly down at you.

“You gonna join me in it?” You smiled back sleepily.

“Sadly not, I realised I left my wallet at Bennington.” He went to head towards the bathroom but he didn’t get far.

“You had your wallet at dinner.” You sat up, frowning at the back of his head.

Spencer froze in his tracks. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

“Uh,” he turned back to face you, quickly trying to think on his feet, which would be a lot easier if his head wasn’t still hazy from his orgasm. “Not my wallet, I meant the burner phone. I should go and get it.”

You scrutinised him for a moment but thankfully for him your own head was also bleary and wouldn’t allow you to think too much into it.

“Ok.” You shrugged, flopping back to the couch.

Spencer exhaled heavily, continuing on his way to the bathroom. He started the water, pouring in an ample amount of bubble bath and leaving the tub to fill.

“There’s a bar downstairs and a spa, even a casino. If you get bored with the bath and I’m not back, go nuts.” He spoke as headed back into the room, locating the bottle of red wine he’d had sent to the room before you arrived.

He made quick work of the cork and poured you a large glass before coming back over to the couch and dropping down next to you. He handed you the glass and you sat yourself up against the cushions again.

“Hmm I like honeymoons.” You smiled, bringing your glass to your lips and taking a small sip.

Moments later your face fell and you gagged, thrusting the glass back at Spencer before leaping from the couch and running as fast as your legs could carry you to the bathroom.

Spencer heard the toilet seat slam back against the cistern and then the distinctive sound of vomiting echoed around the room.

Realistically he was smart enough to figure out what was going on, as were you, but both of your heads were clouded by other thoughts and so you both missed the obvious.

Spencer padded back to the bathroom and found you on your knees, wiping your hand over your mouth. You looked up at him with large, sad eyes.

“The wine turned against me.” You whined. “Goddamn gas-and-go hotdogs.”

Spencer smiled sadly at you and slid to the floor next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as the bath continued to fill behind him.

“Are you going to be ok if I pop out?” Please god say yes, I need this, it has to be tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’s passed again now, I guess I just won’t be drinking any wine tonight.” You sighed. “You go, do your thing.”

“As long as you’re sure.” Spencer pushed himself back to his feet and then held his hands out to help you up.

“Of course. Do you think you’ll be gone for long?”

“No idea, traffic at this time of night will probably be a pain, but I promise I’ll hurry.” He stroked your hair back from your face.

“Ok.” You nodded, lowering yourself to sit on the edge of the tub. “Go, I’m fine. I can run a bath.”

“I won’t be long.” He went to kiss you but then thought better of it as your breath smelt like vomit. Instead he kissed his first and middle finger and then placed them on your lips making you chuckle.

Soon he was heading out of the room in search of his bag so he could change into jeans and t-shirt. The weapons were in the Chevvy’s glovebox, ready for their next assignment.

He dressed quickly and got his shoes on, throwing on a hoodie before grabbing the car keys and heading to the door.

“Be safe, sweetheart.” He called as he reached for the handle.

“Love you.” You replied and it made his heart swell every time he heard you say that.

As he opened the door, his wedding ring caught his eye and he rolled his lip between his teeth. He forced open the door, ignoring the way his heart practically exploded when he looked at his ring. He had a job to focus on.

But the truth was, you were the only thing keeping him together. He was lost and you’d found him, taken him in and patched him up. His scars both mental and physical didn’t phase you, if anything you’d loved him harder because of them. You’d fixed him up in ways you’d never understand and he hoped he wasn’t making a huge mistake in what he was about to do.

He was fairly certain you’d never walk away from him, that nothing he could do could be worse than the things he’d already put you through. Because he was sure one day all that thread keeping him together would come unravelled and if he had no one there to stitch him back up again he would be torn so deeply there would be no repairing him. And god only knows how quickly a broken man would devolve.

No, it's no wonder I feel broken,

Are you the one to fix me up, patching up the work they done?

Try and sew me,

So thread the needle, tie it off, teach me how to trust someone.

Really hoping that you stay,

That you never walk away,

Every word I shouldn't say, I shouldn't say, I shouldn't say it.

Do you feel the stress in me,

Steady bursting at the seams?

You're the only one I need to make me complete, yeah.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

No, it's no wonder you've been feeling,

Like a doll in lost and found, so mistreated, thrown around.

Who you kidding? (You kidding),

Every flaw and every fray, that's what makes you sexy to me.

Really hoping that I stay,

I could never walk away,

Every word we shouldn't say, we shouldn't say, we shouldn't say it.

Do you feel the stress in me,

Steady bursting at the seams?

You're the only one I need to make me complete, yeah.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Elegant and broken, tasteful, tattered clothing,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Motive through emotion, damaged but we're golden,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Elegant and broken, tasteful, tattered clothing,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Motive through emotion, damaged but we're golden,

I guess we've been caught in the middle of love.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, don't tear me apart,

I've been stuck in the rut, patched up in the dark.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart, oh,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Really hoping that you stay,

Pray you never walk away,

Pardon all my precious scars.

Stitch me up, stitch me up, there's pins in my heart,

Oh, pardon all my precious scars.

@bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world @daddy-dotcom @nomajdetective

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

79 notes · View notes

lainiespicewrites · 10 days

Text

Dreamless sleep

I mentioned in a reblog a few days ago that I sometimes write little oneshots about Henry to comfort myself when shit situations happen. Well I left work today and my car wouldn't start and... I've been struggling with remembering something really difficult that happened to me and I needed a comfort fic. This is that.... I don't normally post them but I wanted to share this one.

Warnings: Mentions of SA possible trigger.

summary: waking up from a nightmare and having a rough day. Henry is always there to help.

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

I watched the door shake. The man on the other side determined to break in. If he got through, he was going to hurt me again. Not that he would ever admit it. My attacker had spent just moments before trying to convince me I had asked for it. Like what he did to me was nothing more than him fulfilling my desires. Bile rose in the back of my throat from the thought.

“Go away, Luke! I told you I won’t say anything to anyone! Just leave me alone!” But he didn’t stop. I watched the door knob turn as I looked around my childhood bedroom searching for something to barricade the door. Trying to find anything to keep him out. My strength would not hold much longer. One more shove and he would be inside. I wouldn’t be able to escape him. Just like the last time. As I’m reaching for a chair to press against the door, I stumble. I fall to the floor and the door swings open…

I woke with a start shooting straight up gasping for breath. My heart was racing and I let out a whimper as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I flinched as I felt a gentle hand touch my hip.

“Darling it’s me, it’s okay.” Henry’s soothing voice broke through my panic. It was a dream. Only, a dream. I swallowed hard and looked out the window. It was storming, the sky was still gray, I looked over at the clock 6:25 my alarm was about to go off,

“Sorry, go back to sleep baby, it was just a bad dream. I’m okay.” I assured him. Henry sat up. He wrapped his arms around me from behind and placed a soft kiss on my head.

“You’re sure? He asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” I shook my head. I hadn’t told him about what happened to me. And as far as I was concerned he didn’t need to know. It was in the past. I was fine. It was rare that I had these dreams.

“No bear, It was silly, just go back to sleep, I need to get up and get ready,” I told him. He took in a deep breath. He still held me close for a moment before hesitantly letting go of my waist.

“Alright, love,” When I got out of bed I turned and kissed him softly. He looked so tired. He’d gotten back so late from set. I hate that I’d woken him up.

“I’ll see you later,” I smiled. He sat up giving me another kiss.

“Have a good day baby,” He said. I slipped out of my bedroom and took a quick shower. I quickly got dressed for the office and left. I picked up a coffee on the way to work. I splashed some on my shirt leaving a small stain. It wasn’t completely obvious but I knew it was there. This would happen today I hate Mondays. Things were in full swing, actually, busy. When I got there. I sat down and tried to focus on my work. But I couldn’t get anything done. All I could think about was that dream.

Lunch rolled around and I realized I’d left it at home. I didn’t want to bother Henry. He hadn’t had a day to himself in a while. So I was just going to pick something up. I ran to the little convenience store down the road and got a little snack. It was much but it would hold me over until the end of the day.

The rest of the day was so busy. So many emails and the work just kept piling up. It was non-stop. I was so ready to get back to my place and spend the evening with Henry. I walked out to my car and put the key in the ignition and… it didn’t start. I tried it again… nothing. How could this happen? It ran perfectly fine on lunch. God, I was just tired and hungry and I want to get home! I’ve spent the whole day reminded of this terrible thing I’d gone through, and now this? Today sucked! I sighed and pulled out my phone. I was going to have to call Henry. I tapped his name and the phone rang. After the second ring, he picked up.

“Hey, babe, you on you’re way back?” He asked. I sighed again.

“No,” I said flatly. “My car won’t start I don’t know what’s wrong, the engine won’t even try to turn over.” I rambled. I could hear myself starting to hyperventilate.

“Slow down, breathe. I’ll be right there.” He promised. In 10 minutes he was pulling up next to my car. We tried to jump it but that did nothing. I sighed and slammed the door. “Whoa, hey, it’s gonna be alright we’ll get it fixed, love,” Henry said grabbing my shoulders gently and making me face him. I felt my lip start to wobble. I didn’t want him to see me cry. In all honesty, we hadn’t been together that long. He hadn’t seen me break down and I wasn’t ready for him to. What if I was too much? What if he didn’t want me anymore?

“I-i’m sorry, today has just been… stressful. I was looking forward to getting home and spending time with you.” I said.

“And you’re going to, we’ll leave the car here I’ll have it looked at in the morning. Let's get back and relax my love.” Henry drove us home. I shuffled inside, quickly changing into comfy clothes. After spending a while trying to fix the car it had gotten a bit late so we decided to order in. Henry ordered dinner while I got cozy on the couch. We ate our Chinese takeout and binged a new Netflix series. My mind wandered not fully paying attention. Getting lost in the dream from this morning. I was staring blankly at a spot on the wall, I didn’t hear Henry say my name. He shook my shoulder and I yelped. His brow raised and his eyes filled with concern, and something that almost looked like hurt.

“What’s going on with you today love?” He asked. I snapped.

“What do you mean? Nothings going on everythings fine!” I said. He sat back looking at me from a sideways glance.

“You’ve been on edge all day,” He stated.

“You haven’t even been with me all day,” I rolled my eyes.

“Is something bothering you?” He asked. I groaned.

“Fucking hell, would you just drop it Henry? I told you, I’m fine!” I shouted. Henry ran a hand through his hair and groaned in frustration.

“I’m just trying to help,” He sighed.

“Yeah, well I didn’t ask, I’m not some helpless damsel you need to save!” I argued.

“I never said that!” he groaned. “But you’ve been stressed since you woke up this Morning.” He stated.

“So?” I deflected, clearly agitated.

So… who’s Luke?” He asked his voice calm. My stomach dropped. How did he know that name?

“I don’t know what your talking about…” I said shifting my eyes to the floor.

“Alayna, when you were having your nightmare, you… said his name, asking him to stop. Who is he?” He asked again. I swallowed hard. I kept my eyes on the floor hidingn the tears that had started to well up.

“No one, must’ve just been a name my brain came up with.” I lied.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “I know you don’t think I’m that stupid.” He said. I looked up at him, eyes meeting his. He was hurt. Hurt that I was shutting him out.

“I don’t think you’re stupid at all, I just… don’t want you to think I … to think less of me.” I sniffled. Henry brushed my hair out of my face and brushed his thumb across my cheek.

“Talk to me, I want to understand.” He said. “Whatever is, I just want to help you,” he stated. I nodded.

“He… is…was a friend of my brothers.” I started. “They were friends since they were kids, I new him since I was a baby.” I explained. Henry nodded. Keeping his hand on my back silently supporting me. I went on. “I thought I could trust him. I was so naive. He always seemed like a good guy. He came to town to celebrate my brothers birthday. And they came back drunk. He woke me up. Because he wanted to say hi. I got up to talk with them and when we went back to bed he… got into my bed. I thought he was joking at first. I thought he was gonna leave.” I looked at Henry. His face was calm, but I knew that he knew what I was going to say. I didn’t miss the anger in his eyes. But he stayed quiet. Letting me get it all out. “He was like a brother to me. I-I don’t know how he could touch me like that. But… I couldn’t do anything. It was wrong, it was so wrong but I was like frozen with fear or shock I don’t know. I know that I told him no. Once. something he wanted to do … I finally was able to find my voice but. It didn’t matter. The next morning he acted like nothing happened. I never said anything. I never pressed charges…nothing. It was years ago. In my dream I confronted him. He told me I couldn’t prove it. He wouldn’t own up to it. I yelled at him. And he tried to convince me I wanted it.. And he…he tried to come after me again.” I cried. Henry quickly wrapped me up in his arms pulling me into him. “That’s when I woke up.” I said. I cried against Henry’s shoulder while he held me. He gently cooed in my ear as if consoling a baby. But it helped. It was the comfort I needed. The shoulder to cry on I never really had. He was quiet for a while. Letting me have this moment and then.

“You know, none of that, is your fault.” He said. His voice soft.

“But I.. let him.” I said. His jaw ticked. Trying to remain calm for me.

“No, he may not have been violent or mean or angry. But he still forced you. He was bigger than you. You had no choice. But to let him do what he wanted. I can’t imagine the pain you’ve felt carrying this for so long. But I won’t let you do it alone anymore.” He said.

“You don’t have to,” I sniffed.

“The bastard is lucky he’s still breathing. He may not live anywhere near you but if he ever comes within a mile of you he’s a dead man.” He growled.

“I’m sorry, about…” I started staring at the ground.

“Look at me,” He cupped my face pulling my eyes back to his. “ I don’t care about some little argument. Or a stressful evening. I care about your wellbeing, your safety, and your peace of mind. There may not be much we can do about what happened. But I can help you feel safer, I can help you feel protected. That’s what matters. Let me care for you. Don’t be too proud to let me help you.” he pleaded. I nodded. I was exhausted. Today had been so hard. I didn’t have the energy to be guarded anymore.

“Okay,” I said.

“You need rest love, you look exhausted.” He said softly. I nodded laying my head against his shoulder. Henry carried me to bed and I immediately curled myself around him. He smiled softly.

“As long as I breathe. He will never, get to you,” He said softly. I nodded my breathing slowly as I listened to his heart beat. Henry softly stroked my hair and I felt my eyes lids get heavy.

“Get some sleep darling, I’ll be right here,” he promised. My eyes closed and everything faded to black. And for the first time in a long time. I had a dreamless sleep. I was safe. Now. Truly safe. I didn’t have to fight this alone.

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

I don't feel like this is my best work but it is honest... I'm gonna add my taglist here but you so don't have to read it! if you do thank you! It's just away of me getting all my emotions out. Y'all are like my online emotional support group <3

@foxyjwls007

@enchantedbytomandhenry

@summersong69

@carrie80reads

@identity2212

@caramariehurst

@redheadrouge

@warriormirkwood

@gummydummy19

@deandoesthingstome

@shellyshellshell

@mary-ann84

@starfirewildheart

@henryownsme

@mollymal

@wa-ni

@toooldforobsessions

@pono-pura-vida

@Chloeforde

@liecastillo

@mrsevans90

@evie-119

@margauxmargaux07

@thearcana-moonlight

@secretdream2

@wtfdudesblog

@juliaorpll78

@nothingbettertosay81

#henry cavill #fanfic writing #fanfiction #henry cavil x reader #captain syverson #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill characters #sa tw #sa mention #comfort #comfort fic #comfort character #comfort person #august walker

115 notes · View notes

supercalifragipopculturevomit · 7 months

Text

THE BEST OF DANIEL BRÜHL

It’s dumb, honestly.

You get this seemingly brilliant idea of turning to foreign films so you’re forced to read subtitles and focus—a problem you’ve been noticing of late—but in doing so, you end up with a more destructive distraction.

“Who’s that guy, again? The one in all those international productions?” That’s how I found myself on my Daniel Brühl marathon-turned-obsession.

It was his role as the cute Nazi in Inglorious Basterds that first put him on my radar. Over the years, I would see him in The Fifth Estate, Burnt, Woman in Gold, The Zookeeper’s Wife, and The King’s Man. Midway through All Quiet on the Western Front, I was like, “All this needs is that German actor…” and I had to chuckle when he later appeared on screen. I also checked out the first season of The Alienist because I was intrigued by what he and Dakota Fanning as leads would do with such a spooky-looking show.

Adorable as he was in his breakout role in Good Bye, Lenin!, it was his performance in the critically-acclaimed Rush that caused me to spiral. Similar to when Benedict Cumberbatch took on the modern version of Sherlock, it was like seeing Brühl with new eyes. His playful take on Helmut Zemo in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier was the final nail in the coffin. I don’t imagine it’s all too different from what Tom Hiddleston did to fans of Marvel as Loki.

I’m actually at the tail-end of this obsession now that I’ve seen everything I can get a hold of—around 39 films, two TV shows, a documentary, a music video, countless interviews, a bunch of ads, and a handful of fan cuts—but he has a lot of works worth recommending so I thought I would share them on here. This will mostly be a subjective list with priority on projects I found most interesting which showcase his range best. Like, I enjoyed The Bourne Ultimatum but he was on screen for a total of 2 minutes so I wouldn’t include that here.

RUSH (2013) This biographical sports film written by Peter Morgan—the man behind The Crown—centers on the rivalry between Formula One drivers James Hunt and Niki Lauda in the 70s. Not a fan of F1 or sports in general. I have nothing against either, just zero interest. But this character-driven film, much like Ford vs Ferrari, had me at the edge of my seat the entire ride. And it surprisingly has one of the best meet-cutes—and accidental wingmen—I’ve seen yet.

Brühl delivers an Oscar-worthy performance in this role. For someone who needed a lot of convincing he could do the character justice, he truly went above and beyond. For one, he befriended and studied Lauda, the iconic F1 figure he was portraying. No easy feat considering Lauda being, well… Lauda. In interviews, Brühl recounts the story of the memorable invite he got from Lauda to meet in Vienna. This would be their first meeting and Lauda told Brühl outright that he should only bring hand luggage so he can piss off if they don’t like each other.

He would end up staying a few days and buying additional clothes.

He also spent a month in Vienna to nail the accent, making sure to capture the arrogance and irony innate to it. And although he got driver training for the role, he also considered the tiniest details like which went on first: helmet or gloves? There was also the tricky business of looking graceful entering a tiny F1 car—a bigger challenge for Chris Hemsworth who plays Hunt—but an obstacle all the same.

All the hard work paid off. It was well-received by audiences, critics, and the F1 world. The first time Lauda saw the film he went, “Holy shit, that’s really me”. Lauda’s friends thought he did voiceover work for it. Director Ron Howard was so pleased with Brühl’s performance that he went out of his way to show an unfinished cut of the movie to the producers of The Fifth Estate (2013). This gracious act would land Brühl the co-lead role opposite Benedict Cumberbatch.

GOOD BYE, LENIN! (2003) Can't tell if it's just because the two films have the same composer and were created around the same time, but this tragicomedy set in East Germany reminded me so much of my beloved Amélie. This is definitely more dramatic and political but it has that same mix of whimsy, heart, and charm. With its budget, it was meant to be an indie film, but the story of a son who would recreate a faux-socialist world to keep his mother alive captured the heartstrings of audiences, not just in Germany but also worldwide. Brühl plays the son and his success with this film was a double-edged sword: although it would open doors for him internationally, he would also be typecast as the “nice guy” in his home country.

INGLORIOUS BASTERDS (2009) This has one of the best, most intense opening sequences in all of cinema… and one of the greatest villains. In this wild alternate universe from Quentin Tarantino, he rewrites the ending of World War II. It’s the right balance of dark, hilarious, and entertaining—my favorite from the auteur’s works. Here Brühl plays a cute and charming Nazi, which is very confusing to the senses.

Aside from Brühl, it was also my first introduction to Christoph Waltz, Michael Fassbender, and Melanie Laurent—all fantastic European actors who’ve crossed over to Hollywood after the success of this movie. “Crossing over” seems ubiquitous now but, at that time, giving most of the lead roles to then relatively unknown actors must have been a risk. But for this, it was necessary. Language plays a huge part in this trilingual film and casting native speakers grounded it in authenticity. Tarantino originally had Leonardo di Caprio in mind to play Hans Landa. Whether he meant for him to learn German or to speak English with a German accent, who knows. Either way, it’s safe to say that would have been a different film.

THE EDUKATORS / DIE FETTEN JAHRE SIND VORBEI (2004) This anti-capitalist film, which has become a cult classic, captures the spirit, idealism, recklessness, and angst of young revolutionaries who just want a better world. Where one stands on the measures taken, or even their sentiment, can be considered a litmus test. With or without reference to this quote from the movie—“Under 30 and not liberal, no heart. Over 30 and still liberal, no brain.”—is up to the viewer.

There needs to be a suspension of disbelief for the series of events that takes place but the setting is necessary for the clash of worlds to happen. It’s not a perfect movie but the issues they debate about in length… they’re still discussions we’re having nearly 20 years later.

p.s. this has my favorite behind-the-scenes of all of Brühl’s projects. Though he hasn’t lost his sense of humor, he seems to have become more reserved as he got older. HERE, at this period in his life, he’s a total goofball bordering on loose cannon.

THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER (2021) Though I’ve enjoyed quite a few MCU movies, I’m not invested in the universe at all, so watching this wasn’t a priority. In fact, I was ready to settle on YouTube compilations made by devoted fans of all the scenes Brühl was in. Upon seeing clips, however, I got intrigued by his character so I still ended up watching the miniseries and also Captain America: Civil War (2016).

Both were better than I expected. Civil War is more serious, while TFATWS is more playful, but both face relevant issues along with formidable foes. Brühl’s villain in Helmut Zemo is fascinating because he tears the mighty Avengers apart with mere patience, fury, and intelligence… and his motivations are understandable. He lets his character loose in TFATWS—at one point, on the dance floor—and it’s magnificent. His mission is still the same, but this time he does it with a lot of charm, humor, and fabulous Sokovian style. A Turkish delight, personified.

ME AND KAMINSKI / ICH UND KAMINSKI (2015) Brühl’s Sebastian Zöllner is a repulsive and sleazy journalist who has greasy hair and wears too much cologne but I can’t get enough of his chaotic energy. His magnum opus is hitched on a legendary artist dying and his fantasy is to turn the orphaned daughter into a sugar mommy. It’s all kinds of messed up but he plays the hell out of the smarmy dirtbag so it’s a lot of fun. This is Brühl’s second collaboration with Wolfgang Becker, who directed Good Bye, Lenin! Daniel Kehlmann, the writer whose eponymous book this film was based on, would later write Brühl’s directorial debut, Nebenan.

NO REGRETS / NICHTS BEUREUEN (2001) This is reminiscent of the slightly problematic but highly enjoyable teen comedies and coming-of-age films of the 90s. It’s like an edgier Can’t Hardly Wait: boy goes through cringe-worthy measures to get the girl he’s long been pining for, his two closest pals have nothing but dumb advice to offer, yet he still ends up on the path to self-discovery. It’s awkward, chaotic, frustrating, and beautiful—but such is adolescence.

Brühl and his co-star Jessica Schwarz fall in love on the set of this film. And although they would break up years later, the tenderness between their scenes together is palpable and there’s something rather bittersweet about seeing that captured in perpetuity.

For a more straightforward rom-com, he has Lila, Lila (2009). It’s about a guy who passes off a manuscript as his own to impress a girl and the hilarity that follows. It’s on YouTube for those who need a fun and light watch.

THE ALIENIST (2018 – 2020) Based on the novel of the same name, this moody psychological thriller set in late 19th century New York follows a psychiatrist—then called an Alienist—who investigates a series of grisly murders with methods still considered new and controversial at that time, such as psychology and fingerprinting. He gets by with a little help from his friends, John Moore, an illustrator for the New York Times, and Sara Howard, a society woman who works in the NYPD.

In the lead role of Dr. Laszlo Kreizler, Brühl plays the dark, complex, and mysterious Alienist whose study of mental pathologies and deviant behaviors reveals much of himself and his past.

LESSONS OF A DREAM / DER GANZ GROßE TRAUM (2011) This film is loosely based on Konrad Koch, an educator and pioneer who brought football to Germany in the late 19th century. In the movie, the sport is used as a means to pique students’ interest in the English language and culture—both considered barbaric by the Germans at that time. A heartwarming tale of a teacher who overcomes insurmountable odds and inspires students along the way, it’s the German equivalent of Dead Poet’s Society.

ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT (2022) This story, the third adaptation of the 1929 novel, “Im Westen nichts Neues”, conveys the futility of war like no other. There aren't as many films on World War I as there are on World War II, fewer ones that tell it from a German perspective, so this is doubly unique in that regard. Powerful watch but 10/10 not like to relive it again. Apart from producing it with his company, Amusement Park, Brühl plays Matthias Erzberger, the German State Secretary who pushes for armistice talks with the Allied forces.

An ideal companion watch to this would be Joyeux Noël / Merry Christmas (2005), another WWI movie Brühl stars in, which depicts the unbelievable Christmas truce between French, German, and Scottish soldiers in 1914. His linguistic ability shines here as he shifts between German, French, and English effortlessly. (Half German, half Spanish, Brühl speaks a total of five languages: those three plus Spanish and Catalan.)

The Zookeeper’s Wife (2017) and Alone in Berlin (2016) also recognize the bravery of defiance at the height of tyrannical regimes. Although between the two, I would skip the latter.

JOHN RABE (2009) This biographical film set in China tells the incredible true story of a German businessman who uses his Nazi Party membership to create an International Safety Zone in Nanking. This was in the late 1930s, during the Rape of Nanjing. In this six-week carnage by the Imperial Japanese Army—which includes sexual assault, mutilations, and killing contests—upwards of 200,000 Chinese are brutally murdered. The protective zone manages to save around the same number of civilians.

Brühl doesn’t play the titular Rabe, but his character, Dr. Georg Rosen, is one of few Westerners who decides to remain and protect Nanking even as conflict escalates. Dr. Rosen was a German Diplomat instrumental in the creation of the safety zone.

p.s. with all these heroic roles in his catalog, I’m convinced Brühl would be a frontrunner to play President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, should a movie be made about him and Ukraine’s conflict with Russia. You heard it here first.

NEXT DOOR / NEBENAN (2021) This is Brühl’s directorial debut. Here he plays a darker, fictionalized version of himself. Definitely not for everyone but quite enjoyable if you’re familiar with his major works and public persona, appreciate the ingenuity of one-location movies, and delight in British-style meta humor.

Pre-requisite viewing for maximum enjoyment: Good Bye, Lenin!, Captain America: Civil War, and The Falcon and the Winter Soldier.

176 notes · View notes

moonlight-prose · 9 months

Note

❛ say you want me, and i’m yours. ❜ + ❛ i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know. ❜ w/ fanboy ? 🫣

FOOLS FOR FALLING IN LOVE

a/n: babes!! when i had started this, i had just recently rewatched top gun maverick which means the inspo for this man was through the roof. i kind of went overboard a bit and turned it into a long ass one shot. (even going so far as to giving it a moodboard). if it's alright with you i only used the first prompt due to someone requesting the second already. i swear this fic was meant to be short, but then again it's fanboy and i can never help myself. so enjoy this monster.

summary: pining after your best friend never ended well. however in the case of said best friend being mickey garcia, things turn out better than expected.

word count: 3.7k+

pairing: mickey "fanboy" garcia x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, flirting amongst friends, friends to lovers, pining, exhibitionism (seriously idk what happened), cumplay, cumeating, thigh riding, oblivious idiots falling madly in love.

It was just drinks they said. Just a group of people who were there to laugh, enjoy each other’s company, and eventually go home at some ungodly hour. That’s what you expected when you walked into the bar. Ready to nurse one beer, talk to Phoenix about your work issues, and go home.

Quick. Easy. Painless.

At least the hangover part the next day was.

What you didn’t expect was to find him sitting there, talking with Bob as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. You had half a mind to turn around and head back to your car—try this socializing bit on a different day. But Rooster’s arm was slinging around your shoulder, tugging you into a warm and rather hard body. You had to be careful not to trip over your sneaker as he dragged you with him. Never bothering to check if you were actually in step with him.

“Look who I found!” he shouted, his breath giving away the exact number of drinks he had.

“Rooster,” you hissed, trying to pull away before he made you sweat too.

“Leave her alone,” Phoenix chastised, finally yanking you free from his tight grasp. “You’re drunk off your ass Rooster. Sober up or you won’t be getting anywhere near the pilot’s seat tomorrow.”

You sighed in relief as she led you to the bar, signaling to Penny to put another beer on her tab for you. “He’s pretty touchy feely tonight.”

She laughed. “Yeah well he just got permission for a week off next month. I’m pretty sure he’s over the moon for a break.”

“Definitely sounds nice.”

It’s not that you didn’t want to make conversation with Phoenix. You looked forward to seeing her, hearing all the juicy details about what went on in the Top Gun halls. Hell you were even interested in what current feud Hangman and Rooster were stuck in this week. Tonight however, you were barely comprehending a single word she said. Your brain, lagging—unable to catch up fast enough.

You could see her hands moving animatedly as she spoke, lips moving fast, but the words went in one ear and out the other. Because he was sitting mere feet away, eyes fixed entirely on you. The burn from his stare singed through the thin dress you wore to combat the current heat wave outside. Even though you remained focused on Phoenix, you could tell he was in the exact same situation as you.

Transfixed by the utter longing that tore at your chests. Clawing for a way to get out.

“So that’s how I ended up fucking Hangman.”

You nearly choked on your spit. “What?”

“Ah there you are.” She grinned, taking a sip of her beer. “I’ve been talking for the past five minutes and you’ve been completely out of it.”

“Sorry.” You scraped your nail on the bottle’s label, attempting to refocus your attention on Phoenix, but it seemed to be too late. She had figured out where your mind had drifted off to.

“You know you can talk to him right?”

“What are you…”

“Fanboy.”

Was it that obvious that you were unable to even keep your composure in the same room as him? Your mouth opened and closed, words evading you as her lips pulled up into a shit eating grin. You could hear the words echo in your head: Got you. She knew you were close with Mickey. The two of you became fast friends a year ago, bonding over scifi shows and comic books.

But then he left. You understood he couldn’t be around for months at a time; his job came before everything and you accepted that. However, four months without his presence left you feeling empty in a way you couldn’t fully describe, even if you wanted to. He was the sunlight on your dark days. The warmth you clung to when life turned cold. And he was gone.

It didn’t take you long to realize how evident your feelings for him were. Which also meant…it took Phoenix less time.

You coughed, swallowing your beer to avoid giving her a response, but it was clear by the expression on her face that you weren’t getting off that easy. She sighed as if you were one of her irritable students who refused to see reason. When in fact, you were her oblivious friend who couldn’t see past your own fear to finally realize that Mickey was head over heels in love with you.

“Explains why he’s been sulking all day.”

That caught your attention. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been back in town for two days.” You nodded, remembering the text he sent you a week before with his flight details. “And have you spoken to him in person yet?”

She knew she caught you when you averted your gaze to the bartop. “I figured he was busy.”

“Bullshit.”

Your eyes snapped to her. “It’s not—”

“You just figured you could avoid him and hope your feelings disappeared.” Heat crept up your cheeks, but she wasn’t done with you. Far from it. “Meanwhile Fanboy’s been acting like a kicked puppy for two days and none of us could figure out why.”

“He hasn’t been—” Her glare cut you off, forcing your eyes to wander back to where he sat rather quietly.

Most nights he was one of the loudest people there. Laughing and spouting jokes funny enough to have you in stitches. Except for tonight. His eyes were cast anywhere but you, smile only showing when he forced it. But even then, it never quite reached his eyes. All in all, he looked exactly like Phoenix described him. A man who couldn’t figure out why one of his best friends was avoiding him like he was the plague.

You felt the heavy weight of guilt settle in the bottom of your stomach, turning the taste of your beer sour. He’d been gone long enough for you to miss him. But it never occurred to you how much he’d miss you.

Before you could wrangle the remaining courage in your body and get up from the stool, his eyes traveled back to yours. Meeting them for the first time that night. He sat up a bit straighter, the small grin you loved so much making a reappearance as he sent a small wave your way. A peace offering that would hopefully lead to more.

You found yourself unable to stop the smile that spread across your lips. The familiar lick of warmth, coursing through your body.

He was your best friend. The man you spoke to on the phone for hours at a time while he was away. You sent him letters, various comics, and care packages full of his favorite kind of cookies. Even going so far as to send him cheesy holiday cards full of Star Trek references that you knew would make him smile.

He was your best friend…and you were completely in love with him.

Phoenix nudged your knee with hers, jutting her head in his direction. Only you were too late on that front. Mickey was already getting up, excusing himself from the group’s conversation, and heading your way. The familiar standard issue khaki uniform he had to wear did nothing to hide the strong shoulders you knew lay beneath the fabric. Simply watching him maneuver his way through the overcrowded bar towards you, took your breath away.

“What do I say?” you said under your breath, leaning closer to Phoenix.

She shrugged, grabbing the full beer in front of her that she asked Penny for. “Tell him you want to get married.”

You spluttered, trying not to choke on your beer. “I can’t say that!”

“Can’t say what?”

The all too familiar deep vibrato of his voice caused your whole body to stiffen in your seat. Embarrassment washing over you at the realization that he had heard you. Phoenix however was more than happy to slide out of his way, pressing the cold beer into his hands, and muttering what you believed to be a quick: Don’t fuck this up.

You had half a mind to drag her back just to get some more context, but Mickey sitting down, his knees pressing on the outside of your thighs drew your attention to him. He smiled and took a sip of the beer. And you tried your best to ignore the searing heat that came with watching the way his throat moved as he swallowed.

The silence that grew between you the longer he sat there was deafening. So much so that you found yourself half tempted to drag him outside where nobody could see you. At least maybe you’d finally have a chance to get the truth out. Or if not the truth, then some form of words strung together to make a single sentence. That was a better option than sitting there staring at him like an idiot.

“Welcome back,” you blurted out, trying to calm the rapid beat of your heart.

He smiled and this time it reached his eyes. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you sooner. Works been keeping me busy and I—”

His hand on your knee caused the remainder of your rant to die in the back of your throat. “I figured you were occupied. So it’s alright.”

“It is?” you asked, your voice barely loud enough to hear over the raucous noise of the bar.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He shrugged, his hand never moving higher and never pulling away. You swore your heart had stopped beating the second his warm palm touched your bare skin—your eyes dropping down quickly to see the veins that spread beneath the skin.

Shifting slightly, you tamped down the emotions that ran rampant in your mind. Whatever you were feeling—or dreaming about—wasn’t going to happen tonight. If you were being entirely honest with yourself, it didn’t seem like a possibility that would come to fruition at any time. Which meant you were stuck in this neverending pit of pining over your best friend. Part of you wished Mickey could read minds just so you wouldn’t have to say the words yourself.

“I wasn’t avoiding you.” The words came before you could stop them—fully revealing that you were in fact avoiding him. “I mean…I wasn’t…um…”

“Right,” he said, his hand pulling away and eyes shifting back to the bar.

You could physically see his walls begin to close up, the light that had reappeared in his eyes, now vanishing from sight. It wasn’t until then did you realize that saying the words wasn’t the hard part. No, in fact you found you could say them in an instant if you had to. The hard part was the possibility of losing him for good. The fear of him never reciprocating your feelings held you back—causing the chasm in your heart to grow every second.

“No, wait.” You grabbed onto his wrist lightly, catching sight of the disappointment in his eyes, and it broke your heart. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

You sighed. “Can we go outside? Away from all this noise?”

Mickey was standing up faster than you expected him too, digging out enough cash to toss on the bar for Penny before taking your hand in his. You didn’t fight the small grin that appeared on your lips this time. There was just something about him that pulled on the strings of happiness in your chest. That made you want to always see the good in the world—the good that you knew resided in him.

“Slow down,” you called, trying to keep up the pace as he practically sprinted towards the parking lot. You caught sight of his familiar dark blue car—having been in it more times than you could count.

“Sorry,” he replied, giving you a chance to catch your breath. “I figured you wanted out of there quickly.”

“I did.” How the fuck were you supposed to go about things now? When it was just the two of you standing there, his back pressed to the passenger door of his car.

You tried to ignore the way he looked—how the soft lights from the bar played across his face. Turning him into an almost ethereal painting you were visiting in a museum. It took your breath away and for a moment you remained silent. Watching as his eyes took in your features, his chest rising and falling with each breath. There wasn’t a better moment to kiss him than right now. Except your doubts began to rear their ugly head again.

A bitter heat crept up the back of your neck as you turned your attention to the rest of the parking lot. Trying—and failing—to come up with something to say. You just never expected Mickey to beat you to the punch.

“Don’t do that,” he said. Your eyes snapped back to him, catching the glimmer of dejection in his eyes.

“Do what?” You knew exactly what he was talking about and playing it coy wouldn’t stop him from pressing even further. It was a quality about him you both loved and hated. He would never stop until you told him the truth.

“Don’t hide from me.” His hand still held onto yours, thumb pressing gently along your knuckles. “What’s going on with you huh? What aren’t you telling me?”

You let out a breath, attempting to get a hold of the nerves that seemed intent on keeping you quiet. “I like you.”

He paused, eyes taking in the panicked expression on your face. You half expected him to say something in return—anything to appease whatever it was you were dealing with. But he didn’t. Instead he watched, his mouth opening and closing every few seconds as if trying to soak in the full extent of your words. I like you wasn’t much to go on, you’d give him that.

So you continued. “I’ve liked you for a while—although like is probably not the right word to describe how I feel about you. And I understand if you just want to remain friends. If it’s…easier that way. Or even if this is the end—”

He yanked you forward, his hand cupping your cheek to turn your face towards his. Lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you sinking into his chest, a soft moan emitting from your mouth as your eyes fluttered closed. Mickey kissed you like it had been the only thing on his mind since you first met. He licked into your mouth, dragging out sounds you didn’t know you could make—his hand wrapping tightly around your waist to keep you pressed close.

He kissed you as if he would never get the chance to again.

“Mickey,” you sighed, his lips sliding along your jaw, other hand pressing tightly to your waist to press your hips against his.

“I love you,” he murmured, bunching up the back of your dress as heat quickly filled your senses.

“You…” Tilting your head back, you tried to gain some sense of control over your thoughts. He however seemed adamant on keeping you right where you were. That is…until his words finally registered. “You love me?” you exclaimed, pulling away—much to his disappointment.

His smile was sheepish, red staining his cheeks and the very tips of his ears. “Have for a while now mi vida.”

Heat burned beneath your cheeks at the small nickname—the words burrowing deep in your heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He had you there.

Smiling, you wrapped your arms around his neck, dragging his lips back to yours. “I love you mi amor. More than you know.”

A sound pulled from his throat—high and wanting. It was pressed into your mouth, his hands grasping parts of you that he had only dreamed of touching. Scrunching up the side of your dress, his hand slid up your thigh, digging into the plush skin as you moaned against him. You were right outside of the bar where anyone could walk out and see you. Yet neither of you cared.

Licking into his mouth, you dug your hands into his newly grown out short curls—your nails scraping against his scalp. He shivered, pulling you even closer and slotting his thigh between your legs. Giving you something to press down on.

That alone stirred something in the base of your stomach. A molten heat sliding through your veins until you were putty in his hands. Mickey seemed to sense the shift—your needy whine a slight beg for more—and began to guide your hips along his leg. The wet patch you knew was on your panties, now seeping into the light color of his khakis.

“Fuck,” you gasped, head falling back and hands grasping onto the front of his shirt. “M-Mickey.”

“Mhm?” he hummed against your throat, teeth digging in until it sparked pain through you.

“I need—ah—” His grip on your hip grew tighter, thigh bumping up and pressing against your clit perfectly. “I need more.”

He shuddered, his lips colliding against yours in a heady kiss. This one was different. You could taste the desperation on his tongue as he took you apart with his mouth. He wanted to leave you breathless. To see you writhe because of him and have you begging for more. And you’d give into him without question. You’d give him whatever he desired, because he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat.

“Say you want me, and I’m yours,” he breathed, pulling you along his thigh harder.

Your knee pressed against him, grinding against him with each movement and you visibly watched him chase his high. He bucked his hips, desperate for the minimal amount of friction. A moan tore from his throat, his lips sliding along your jaw, hand shifting to grip your ass tightly. You wanted to give him that high. To watch him combust as you did. But you were lost to the sensations sparking through your body.

Something built in your stomach, pulling impossibly tight. You felt it grow—driving you so high that you were certain you’d go mad if you didn’t have it in your grasp. He pushed and pulled your body until you were a whimpering mess against him. His name was a reverent prayer you pressed into his mouth in the hopes he’d answer your greatest wish. To feel his love pour into you—captivate you so entirely you’d never be rid of it.

“I-I want you,” you stammered, your eyes hazy with lust.

“C’mon then.” He slid his hand down the front of your body, fingers dipping into the sopping mess that was your panties and finding your clit with ease. “Think you can cum like this mi vida?”

You nodded frantically, moving your hips to catch the friction of his fingers. Your heart nearly beat out of your chest when he began to whisper praise against your skin. Kissing down your chest until he reached the top of your dress. Something in your brain begged him to pull it down. To keep going. But you understood the risk with being outside still. Neither of you wanted to get caught; the both of you would never live it down.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his fingers pressing down harder—face lighting up at the sight of your eyes rolling back.

He yanked you back to him, lips sliding against your own as you shattered in his arms. It burned through you, causing your whole body to shake and your breath to catch in your lungs. Rather than pull away entirely, he kept going. Prolonging the pleasure until there wasn’t anything you could do. A muffled cry echoed around the parking lot and it took you a moment to realize that you were the one who made the sound.

Mickey gasped, his hips canting up against you in search of that same feeling. So you pulled on his curls, dragging his lips back to yours as his fingers still pressed firm circles around your clit.

“I love you Mickey.” You pressed the words against his jaw, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, his brows pulling tight. He managed to quickly muffle his moan against your neck, his whole body shuddering in your grasp and a soft whine of your name echoing in your ears.

Yet he never stopped his fingers from moving. Two of them gathering your cum that steadily leaked out and sliding them up to your clit. Sending another soft wave of pleasure through your body. You wanted to remain there. Forever stuck in this moment with him. But you knew the faster you managed to get home, the better the odds were for the both of you.

“I can’t,” you gasped, grasping onto this wrist to stop him from shifting the overstimulation into an uncomfortable pain.

Before you could ask him to take you home, he was rendering you speechless—slipping his shiny coated fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste. Your clit throbbed and for a moment you felt dizzy. Even as he held you upright. You watched his tongue peek out, wondering how it might feel against you. And once more the heat began to build again, causing your imagination to spin out of control.

“Mi vida?” he asked, pulling from your haze. His small smile let you know he had figured out what you were thinking—already halfway to teasing the answer out of you.

“Take me home Mickey,” you croaked, unable to wait any longer. “I want you.”

His eyes softened, fingers gently pinching your chin as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips. Pouring all the emotion he ever said aloud into you. This was it. The moment that would replay in your head for the rest of your life. Mickey Garcia smiling sweetly, his hands caressing your hips to soothe the ache of his tight hold—love shining in his eyes. You felt your heart leap in your chest, breath once more getting stolen just by his mere proximity.

“I’m yours.”

#mickey garcia x f!reader #mickey garcia x you #mickey garcia x reader #mickey garcia x y/n #mickey 'fanboy' garcia #fanboy x f!reader #fanboy x you #fanboy x reader #top gun: maverick #mickey garcia smut #my writing #sinful soiree🥀

214 notes · View notes

tuberchelsea · 1 year

Text

Come Out to LA

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Summary: What was supposed to be a simple trip to LA to visit your childhood friend turns into a weekend of a life time

Genre: idol au, smut, fluff, strangers to lovers

CW: sexual content (grinding (we in da club), oral, fingering, exhibitionism (if you squint), dom!Yoongi, sub!reader, p in v), unwarranted Kiss Cam, Yoongi is just too fuckin cute. Also, we may have some sad girl times.

A/N: I have not been in the basketball circle for a while, so my knowledge is meh (also am not a Lakers fan). Also, for somebody (me) having a JK bias, Yoongi’s been on the (my) mind lately 🥴

Title inspiration: Come Out to LA - Don Broco

“Question - how would you feel about seeing a Lakers game while you’re here?” Your friend, Becca asks over the phone.

“I mean I’m not the biggest lakers fan, but it’s been a while since I’ve watched a game - I’m down!” Why not? You’d never been to Los Angeles, so it’d be a good idea to do as much as you can in the 4 days you’re there.

“Awesome! The game is tomorrow evening! Did you want to borrow a jersey? I have plenty hanging around!” Becca asked, knowing full well what your response was going to be.

“…I’ll just wear something nice.” There’s no was you’d be caught dead wearing a Lakers jersey.

“Okay! I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then!! Love you!!” As Becca hangs up the phone, you glance over at your half packed suitcase and the pile of rejected outfits sighing - packing shouldn’t be this hard. Looking over at your closet, you eye the new lavender pantsuit you’d bought months ago - might be time to put it to good use.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“Why do I keep punishing myself with bum-fuck early flights?” You curse to yourself as you off board your last connecting flight to LAX. You needed to find Becca - thankfully she was waiting by baggage claim.

“Girl, you look like you need caffeine.” Becca stated as she gave you a giant hug. You nodded in agreement - 4 am flights aren’t exactly your jam. Grabbing your bag off the carousel, you follow her out to the car. Not even buckled in, Becca started rambling off the schedule for the day - something that didn’t surprise you.

“So, I’m thinking we drop stuff off at the house, you can change, then we do brunch? Get coffee and eat - kill two birds with one stone.” You nodded, sending the necessary texts to your family.

“What else do we have today? Better question, when is the basketball game?” You inquired - she hadn’t really disclosed that to you.

“Oh! That’s tonight! We need to be there at least an hour before tip off, it’ll be a bit easier to get to the seats courtside, plus I-“

“Did you say courtside?” You interrupted her, looking up from your phone. She nodded, smiling mischievously. “How did you land courtside? HOW MUCH DO I OWE YOU??” You KNOW you couldn’t afford the ticket at this point, even if you didn’t go shopping.

She shakes her head and laughs, “you don’t owe me anything, hun! Besides, I got them for free bec-“

“Did you win a contest??” You interrupted again.

“No, I got them fr-“

“Oh! Gifted from work?” You interrupted once more. Becca then glared at you, reaching for her flip flop.

“Well! I! Could! Tell! You! If! You’d! Stop! Interrupting! Me!” She yelled, striking you on the thigh with each word. “Now hush!” She tossed her flip flop at you. Your eyes the size of dinner plates, you nodded obediently, rubbing your thigh to help with the sting. “Oh I didn’t hit you that hard. AS I WAS SAYING, I got the tickets because I’m dating one of the guards on the Lakers. We haven’t gone public with our relationship, so I can still enjoy sitting courtside without media in my face. I was able to get him to get another ticket tonight so I could take you to see a game - they’re actually pretty fun!” You nodded, processing the new information.

“Wow - you moving out here last year really changed you for the better.” You sigh, looking down at your hands.

She reaches over and places a hand on yours, sensing your change in mood, “how are you handling all of that, by the way?” You go silent for a moment, thinking over the events from the past year.

“I was able to have closure - his family is still on my side with everything. Nobody’s really heard from him since his family and I found out why he left me for her.” You let out a frustrated sigh. “But I’m hoping it’ll be easier for them and myself once I move away.” You look back down, fidgeting with your phone again.

“Where are you planning on moving to?”

“I’m hoping here - I’m gonna check out UCLA’s Marine Bio Grad program tomorrow. It was one highly recommended by my professors.”

“Well if everything works out, I could talk to the landlord of my apartment complex. He’s actually a pretty decent guy. Plus you’d be in a pretty decent location.” Becca shrugs, turning into the complex.

“And I’d be close to you?” giving her the side eye and a smirk.

“I mean I think that’s the best perk if anything! Now come on, grab your stuff and let’s get you changed so we can start the day! Race you to my place!” She says, already running for the door.

“Becca hold on, I need my ba - I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE TO GO!” Groaning, you grab your bags, trying not to trip over yourself as you follow suit.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“I still can’t believe you wore a pantsuit, hun. I still think you should’ve worn a jersey.” Becca shakes her head as you both enter the Staples Center.

“Well, I think it’s appropriate - it’s a tint of purple AND I wanted to look nice since we’re gonna be court side. Plus lots of people will see us, even if we’re not sitting with the celebs.” You shrug, placing the blazer to drape off your shoulders.

“Hun, you do understand that court side isn’t like the VIP lounges, right?” Becca quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Meaning?” You send her a confused look.

“Meaning we will be sitting with famous people. Like there’s only one ‘court side’, hun.”

“Well now I just hope there’s not any cute celebs.” You scoff, following Becca to the seats. She grabs her seat, pointing to her left to direct you to yours. As you take your seat, you hear a conversation to your left - one that’s not in English. Your curiosity wins and you (assumingely) nonchalantly turn to see where it was coming from. Almost immediately, you make direct eye contact with the person that’ll be sitting next to you for the night -

Suga.

He gives you a small wave and smile before sitting down, you do the same to him. Once sat, you turn to Becca with a bemused look on your face, earning a small shrug from her.

“Becca, I feel I don’t deserve to sit here!!” You whisper yell through a toothy grin, earning a laugh from her.

“You’re fiiiiiiine, hun. Just enjoy the moment! Now, do you want anything to drink?”

“…Red Bull please. Flavored is preferred, but no coconut.”

“Got it!” Becca saunters off to the drink stand, leaving you alone. Already feeling warm from the arena (the anxiety wasn’t helping), you decide to slip off your blazer. You stand to drape it over the back of your seat, leaving you in a sleeveless mock turtle neck.

Suddenly, you hear a small voice from your right - one you wouldn’t have heard if they weren’t right next to you. “I’m assuming you’re a fan of The Ocean?” You look up to see Suga pointing to your right arm, sporting a sea-themed sleeve.

“Well I hope I do, seeing as I’m a Marine Biologist.” Sitting down, you instantly regret what came out of your mouth - hoping the sarcasm wouldn’t be too lost in translation.

He laughed, surprising you that he didn’t think the line was cringy. “Marine Biologist? Do you study ocean animals then?”

“Not right now - kinda hard when you live in the mid western part of the United States. Currently I’m working with more lake, river and pond life. I’m hoping to switch to more oceanic when I finish my Master’s though.”

“So you’re not from LA?” Apparently he’d caught something in your ramblings.

Shaking your head, you answer “nope, I’m visiting my friend, Becca” you pointed to her still empty seat. “I currently live in Montana.”

“Ahh okay!” He nods, “I’ve never been there, but I want to someday. I hear it’s really pretty. Also! I didn’t catch your name!” Suga gives an apologetic look as you mentally slap yourself for not introducing yourself.

“I’m y/n! I didn’t mean to come across as rude, Sug-“

“Yoongi” he interrupts. You look at him with a confused look, your brain short circuiting. “You can call me Yoongi. Also, you weren’t being rude, I was the one that caught you off guard.” He gives you a soft smile, holding out his hand to shake yours. He then introduces his manager that’s sitting off to his left. As you two finish introductions, you feel something cool press against your cheek. Grabbing the can from Becca, you thank her before you take a drink.

“Oooh! They had my favorite flavor.” Tonight may just be okay.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“How did the refs miss an obvious travel?? Like he went almost half way across the court.” It’s coming close to the end of the 2nd quarter (not period, as you were immediately corrected by both Yoongi and Becca. “Don’t mind her, she’s more of a hockey fan.” Becca leans across you to apologize, getting a smile out of him), and while you are enjoying the game, you’re also enjoying the company around you. When the three of you aren’t yelling at the refs for missing blatant calls, you would carry conversations amongst the three of you (as well as you could in a loud arena); small talk quickly turning into more personal topics. Soon, the buzzer went off; indicating the end of the quarter.

“I’m going to head to the locker room to go see my man, then grab drinks on the way back - you want another Red Bull?” Becca asks you as she’s standing up. You nod, then she heads off. At the same time, you see Yoongi’s manager leave, leaving Yoongi and yourself alone. You feel the anxiety come back to you - while you were comfortable being around Yoongi, not having Becca there to back you up was slightly intimidating. As soon as you zone out though, you’re quickly brought back by a small touch on your forearm. You look to your left to see the hand belonging to Yoongi, who was wearing a slightly concerned look. “Are you okay, y/n?”

You blink a couple times before you nod, “yes! Sorry, I tend to zone out when my anxiety gets to be a bit much.” You then let out a breath you didn’t even think you were holding.

“Is the crowd becoming a bit much for you?” He asks, hand still on your arm. You nod. He sighs, “I’m glad I’m not the only one overwhelmed.”

It’s your turn to wear the concerned look, “I’m guessing this isn’t the same as performing, is it?”

He shakes his head, “there’s a reason I’m more of a background person” he laughs nervously.

“We suffer together then?” You suggest, hating yourself again for the cringy comment. He smiles, making you feel a bit better. The announcer then comes over the arena speakers, announcing the arrival of the Laker Dancers. You both shift your attention to the dancers on the court as Mic Drop begins to play over the speakers. You see a shift in Yoongi’s demeanor, becoming more stoic, bobbing his head to the beat. When the camera spans over to him, he gives a tight smile and a wave. Once the dancers left the court, Yoongi turns back to you, going back to being relaxed. The two of you trade more conversation while waiting for the second half to start, not even noticing when Becca and his manager return to their seats.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

The game is closing in on the end of the 3rd quarter. At this point, you and Yoongi aren’t paying a lot of attention to what’s going on on the court - too engrossed in your conversation. You two were so engrossed in conversation that you didn’t even notice the play stop, what was said over the speakers or Becca calling for you.

“Y/N LOOK UP!! AT THE JUMBOTRON!!” You direct your attention to the screen above you - to see yourself.

And Yoongi.

Featured on the Kiss Cam.

He must have caught it too; because if looks could kill, most of Staples Center would be gone. Instead of getting the hint that you two weren’t happy about this, the Cam stayed focused on you two for a lot longer than necessary. Becca then reached over and grabbed your face, just to plant a big kiss on your cheek. The Cam moves on, giving some much needed relief to both you and Yoongi. Once the awkwardness of the moment had passed over, both of you turned to face each other.

“I’m so sorry!!” You both blurted out at the same time.

Yoongi throws you a confused look, “why are you sorry?”

“I feel me sitting here conversing with you in The Public Eye may look questionable to those around us - I don’t want to ruin anything for you.” You quietly confessed, looking down at your hands.

Yoongi smirks, shaking his head, “if I was so worried about that, I wouldn’t have said a word to you in the first place! Besides, I was the one that started our conversation. If anything, I’m sorry you had to be put on the spot like that. I wasn’t even aware they were gonna feature me on that - not that they had a reason to anyways.”

“Well I have a small feeling somebody is gonna lose their job today.” You looked over Yoongi’s shoulder to see his Manager in a heated conversation with Lakers Staff. He looked over to his manager, then turned back to you wearing a grimace. You both began laughing, covering your mouths with your hands as an attempt to hide it.

Sometime later, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. “Do you mind waiting a bit, hun? I wanna see my man before we head out. Should only be about 15 minutes.” Becca asked, gathering her stuff. You shrug, nodding - there was no other way you would get back to her house anyways.

As she walked off, you began gathering your stuff, then turned to Yoongi. Taking a deep breath, you blurted out without thinking, “thank you for making the game a bit more enjoyable! It was really nice meeting you!” You immediately cringed at yourself, apologizing. I really need to think before I speak my dear god, you thought.

“You’re okay, y/n! I enjoyed your company too.” Yoongi gave you a small smile, causing you to smile back. There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you - even though the arena was still loud. “Oh! You said you were here for the weekend, are you busy tomorrow night?” Yoongi asked, breaking the silence.

“Other than I’m visiting UCLA before noon and probably going to go shopping once Becca is off work, I have nothing else planned!” Your heart began to race, you cannot believe this is happening.

“Awesome! Well we’re thinking of hitting a club downtown tomorrow evening, around 9? Would you guys want to join us? If that’s your thing, haha” Yoongi asked, looking nervous while looking for his phone.

“I would be down! Though you’d have to tell me where to go cause I no idea where that place is at.” You smile. Yoongi smiles back, looking like he let out a sigh of relief. He then hands over his phone, asking for your number.

“I’ll text you when I get back to my hotel?” He asks.

“Okay! Can you send those photos over that you took then?” You respond, Yoongi nodded in response. His manager then came back to his side, noting his departure. You two waved, sharing huge smiles. Becca soon returns to your side. “Why the big grin, hun?”

“I’ll tell you in the car!” You say, wearing a huge smile on your face, silently praying to your higher powers to not mess up this weekend.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

Unknown number: Hey! It’s Yoongi! ☺️

Y/N🐙: Hey! I’m assuming you made it back to your hotel okay?

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Yes! Only had to deal with Army’s; no paps thank goodness.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Did you make it home yet?

Y/N🐙: Yes - like we just pulled up to her apartment.

Y/N🐙: Also didn’t have to deal with paps 💁🏼

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Oh thank goodness 😮‍💨

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Attachment - 2 photos

Y/N🐙: Ooh! I like those!

Y/N🐙: Attachment - 3 photos

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Ooh these ones are cute

Y/N🐙: Cute?? 👀

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Like I said, wouldn’t have talked to you if I didn’t want to - wanted to cause I think you’re cute 🤷🏼‍♀️

Y/N🐙: …🤭

Y/N🐙: That’s as good of a flirty comeback as I can conjure at the moment cause it’s past my bedtime 🥲

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: I understand - it’s past mine too. I have a mid morning photo shoot tomorrow; I’ll text you in the morning?

Y/N🐙: Works for me! 😌

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“What time are you going to the college?” Becca asked the next morning while she was feeding her dog, Vanya.

“I meet with the Head of the Post Grad Biology department at 11, so probs head out at 10. Will that be enough time for me to get there?” You asked, pulling up the subway schedules.

“It should be. But I’ve gotta go - I’ll be home around 4 and we can go shopping for outfits for tonight?” You nodded in response as your phone pinged, showing a new message. Becca leaned over to peek at your phone to see a message from Yoongi. “My dear Gods this man must like you enough to text you at 8 am on a Saturday!” She smirks as you try to hide the blush on your face.

“Get to work, loser. I’ll see you later!” You laugh as her and Vanya run out the door.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Morning! ☺️ What time are you headed to the college this morning?

Y/N🐙: Morning!! I meet with the Department Head at 11, so I’m headed out a bit before 10!

Y/N🐙: What time is your shoot?

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: It starts at 9 - thankfully I’m not having to go far cause I’m not even awake enough to order the right coffee this morning

Y/N🐙: Speaking of, I should probs make sure my route to the college includes a coffee stop. I’m still dealing with jet lag.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: You’re preaching to the choir, Y/N.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Aish, my manager is calling for me, I’ll give you a call after I’m done with the shoot!

Y/N🐙: Okay! Have fun! ☺️

After finishing breakfast, you changed into a simple pair of Khakis, a hunter green blouse and white vans. Donning a simple make up look, you completed the look with a simple ballet bun. Throwing on your AirPods, you headed out the door, making your trek towards the Subway station and hopefully some coffee.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“MIss L/N, I feel you would be an excellent addition to the Master’s Marine Bio Program! We could use a new Reseaarch Lab manager as well - plus you’d get credit for working.” You’d spent the last hour with the Department Head, him chatting your ear off. You’d grown more excited about attending; the lab job making the deal more enticing. Off hand, you’d mentioned your earlier lab work with your professor; the name immediately catching the Dept Head’s ear. “I thought I’d seen you were coming from MSUB! I had the honor of working with your Animal Bio professor years ago! Still love his research on scorpions - fascinating work.” You nod, having worked on it as your first lab project. Walking back to his office, he’d asked if there were any questions you’d had.

“Yes! I’d heard that Research Diving would be added to the curriculum - when is that happening?” You’d just finished your SCUBA certification for the subject - might as well use it.

“This next school year - right when you’d be starting if you enrolled by the end of next month!” You nodded, seriously contemplating applying. He handed you a business card, mention to email him once you had enrolled - if you choose to. You place the card in your wallet, standing to shake hands. Once you were out of his office, almost out of the building, you’d decided to check your phone. You look to see 3 messages from Yoongi, 2 from Becca and the Family Group Chat flooded with messages. Ignoring the group chat, you see that Becca is stuck working a double and won’t be able to join tonight. Internally cursing, you reply that it’s okay and you’d probably see her later tonight or in the morning. You then check the messages from Yoongi; 2 of them complaining about the shoot, and one asking if you were still at the college. You decide to call him instead.

“Hey, Y/N!” Yoongi picks up after 2 rings.

“Hey, Yoongi! I just saw your text messages; I just finished the college tour! Also, sorry about the shoot being so boring.”

“It’s no problem, but I was wondering if you’d have time to do lunch right now? I’m near the college and there’s a small restaurant nearby that I frequent anytime I’m in town.”

“Sure! I’m free for the afternoon. Can you send me the address?”

“Of course! Do you need a ride there?” You hear the text notification and check the address on Maps.

“Nah, it’s a block outside the campus - I can be there in 20 max!” Thank goodness you didn’t wear heels.

“Okay! I’ll meet you there then!” Hanging up the phone and putting your AirPods in, you began the trek to the restaurant. I’m really getting my steps in today I guess, you thought.

As you approach your destination, you pull out your phone to see if Yoongi is here yet (you’d made it in 10 minutes instead of 20), when you suddenly get a text notification from him.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: You know, that was one of my favorite songs to perform live - wish we could’ve performed it more than once.

Y/N🐙: …wut

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: UGH! It’s one of my favorites.

Yoongi🐈‍⬛: Also, it’s not good to listen to your music that loud.

Y/N🐙: …you’re scaring me

You feel a tap on your shoulder, so you quickly spin around and nearly give the perp, Yoongi, The Elbow. Pulling out one of your headphones, you shout “DONT DO THAAAAAT YOU SCARED ME!” wearing a frightened look. Yoongi was wearing a mischievous smile in return, which then made you glare at him.

He laughs, “I am so sorry - I just saw an open opportunity and took it!”

“I could’ve hurt you though!!”

“I don’t think you would’ve cause that much damage - now follow me!” He quickly changes the subject and you follow him into the restaurant, which happened to be Tradtional Korean. The older lady at the host stand looked up and her face lit up as soon as she saw Yoongi.

“Yoongi!! It’s been a while! How are you doing??” Yoongi bows to her, you follow in respect.

“Hae Won-nim, hello! It has been a while! Everything is going well! You have room for two more in here?” Yoongi jokes, looking around the crowded restaurant. Hae Won chuckles, giving the two of you a huge smile.

“Of course I do! I’ll have you and your friend follow me this way.” She then glanced over at you, putting emphasis on the word ‘friend’. Following the two, you decided not to put too much thought into it. Once sitting and handed menus, Yoongi helped you order (you asked him if there was something not too spicy; or at least milk to help with the spiciness), then filed you in on how the shoot went. You updated him on your decision for college; having chosen to apply to UCLA. When the meals came out, a comfortable silence enveloped the two of you; even with a busy restaurant.

“Ooooh Becca is gonna LOVE this for her after work meal! Thank you again, Yoongi.” You beam, happily full from lunch. Yoongi and you are wandering around the neighborhood, still in-depth with the conversation you were having at lunch. As you were meandering, you’d passed by a Record Shop - Yoongi insisted you both stop in. Which it’s a good thing you did - you were able to finally get your hands on some B-Side 7-inches from Slipknot and Foo Fighters.

“I’m taking it you’re a vinyl collector?” Yoongi inquires, chuckling as you dove head first into the vinyl section.

“…yes. It’s a soft spot of mine. My ex used to complain about how many I had, so I stopped buying any for a while. Now that I don’t have to worry about his opinion, I’m going a bit crazy with it. Besides, I have a lot of catching up to do.” Fishing out your vinyl list on your phone, you show it to him.

“You were not joking. But no BTS?” Yoongi looks in surprise.

“I already have what’s available on vinyl. But it’d be cool if you’d release Map of the Soul 7. And maybe Young Forever?” Tilting your head to the side, you smile and wiggle your eyebrows.

“…I’ll see what I can do.” Yoongi repsonds, smirking as he shakes his head.

After letting time slip from the both of you, Yoongi walks you back to the subway station. “Are you still on for tonight?” He asks as you reach the station.

“Yes! Though Becca won’t be joining - apparently she’s stuck working.” You sigh.

“That’s too bad - but I’m happy you can still join. I’ll have a driver come pick you up from her place at 9 - I’ll need you to send me the address.” You nod, sending it over to him.

“Well, I had fun, Yoongi. Thank you again for lunch - and the vinyls! I’ll see you tonight!” You open your arms to hug him, and thankfully he did the same. After holding each other for what feels like forever, you both let go. You look down at his lips,he does the same. Just as the both of you were moving in closer, the subway is pulling up, screeching to a halt. The announcer calls for your destination over the intercom, signaling its your time to leave. Sighing, you gather your stuff and head for the open doors. Before you board on, you turn to Yoongi, waving and yelling “I’ll see you tonight!!”, almost tripping as you enter the car. Yoongi giggles, shaking his head with a smile.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

“I need to see your ID, please”, the bouncer outside the door asks. You hand him your ID, noting to him that you’re supposed to meet somebody in the VIP area. Checking his list and your name, he confirms you, letting you in. “He’s in the third booth on the left, just so you know.” You thank him as you head up the stairs. You immediately notice Yoongi within the crowd; he must have been watching the door. You immediately rush over to him, being enveloped in a bear hug before you can say anything.

“Hey, Y/N! I was just about to grab drinks - come with me!” Yoongi weaves his arm through yours, pulling you towards the bar. Once up to the bar, he ordered a neat whiskey for himself and a blueberry Red Bull for you. “This outfit is a 180 from this afternoon!” He points out, giving your outfit a once over. You’d ditched the khaki outfit for a pleather mini skirt, black bralette, mesh top, fishnets and Dr. Martens.

“Well I wanted to go with something more…comfortable.” You smirk, moving closer to Yoongi.

“Well, I think this outfit looks amazing on you.” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You blush, biting your lower lip and look away. It’s Yoongi’s turn to smirk, passing you your drink. He offers his hand, which you take, and leads you over to the booth; where you’re introduced to some of his friends.

“So, did you want to go dance?” Yoongi asked, tilting his head towards the dance floor. You nod, following him out. Once you two are towards the center of the floor, Yoongi grabs your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest. As you two start dancing, all you can hear is the music and Yoongi’s soft, deep voice. One song turns into a few; simple dancing turns into sensual grinding. Yoongi is leaving small kisses and nips on the back of your neck; each one shooting sensations down to your core. You reach back, looping your arms around his neck as he pulls you flush with his front. You can feel his hard on, so you begin to tease him more, eliciting a low growl from him.

As another song ends, he pulls you back to the booth and before you can even try to sit next to him, he pulls you into his lap; your back to his chest and legs hooked around his. The implied dominance turns you on even more. As he is talking to his buddies, his gorgeous hands sit on your thighs, playing with the strings of the fish nets. While you nonchalantly carry on conversation with those around you, you shifted in his lap, eliciting another low growl. His hands begin to go higher up your legs, almost under the mini skirt. You look over your shoulder to try and catch his eye - he’s enveloped in a conversation next to you. You ‘readjust’ in his lap again, trying to catch his attention - he moves one hand dangerously close to your core. You sharply inhale, trying to pull your skirt hem down a bit. You feel Yoongi’s lips on the tip of your ear, “you best behave, baby.” Your face and ears feel like they’re on fire - his fingers brushing over your bare folds, making you inhale sharply again. He stops his movement, pulling his hand from you skirt. “Let’s go dance again.” He pulls you from his lap, then grabs your hand, dragging you across the dance floor before you can even register what’s going on.

On the other side of the dance floor, in a dark corner, sat a couple private rooms. Yoongi opened a door, made sure nobody was in there, then pulled you in. He slammed the door shut, then pinned you against the door with your hands over your head. With the hand on your thigh, he pushes your skirt up, resting his hand on your hip. He leans close to your ear again, speaking in a deep voice that made you even more wet. “First, you come here looking irresistible” his hand moves to your core. “Secondly, you feel the need to tease me” he finger slides along your slit, eliciting a small moan from you. “And the final strike, you’re not wearing panties?” He beings to play with your clit before inserting a finger into your pussy. “Y/N, I thought you were a good girl?” A second finger joins, causing you to moan even louder.

Gathering yourself for a moment, you look up at Yoongi. “I AM a good girl! Most of the time.” You smirked. Yoongi stopped his ministrations, pulling his fingers from you. The two of you lock eyes and Yoongi grabs your face, hungrily kissing you while pinning your body with his to the door. Letting out a moan, he takes the chance to explore your mouth with his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you grab his hair at the nape and slightly pull, causing him to growl and bite your bottom lip. He begins to kiss your jaw line, making his way down your neck and finally making purchase at the junction of your neck and collar bone. He sucks a mark there, drawing another moan from you. “I honestly don’t think I could ever get tired of that sound” Yoongi begins to kneel, propping a leg on his shoulder. “Now, let’s hear how you sound when I do this-“ licking a strip from the bottom of your slit to your clit, causing you to moan out his name. “Fuck, baby; you sound AND taste AMAZING.” Yoongi moans against your clit, causing you to moan as well. He dove in, lapping at your hole like a starved man. He soon moved his tongue up to your clit, inserting two fingers into your hole. You started feeling your core tightening when he found your sensitive spot, your hand immediately grabbing onto his hair.

“F-f-fuuuck, Yoongi. I’m close!” Your thighs begin to tremble, causing him to hook your other leg over his shoulder. He inserted a third finger into you, eliciting his name from your lips again.

“Baby, cum for me; let me have a taste.” As if you were a puppet under his control, your orgasm washed over you while Yoongi lapped up your cum from your pussy, not letting a drop go to waste. He kept lapping at you after you came down, causing you to pull him away due to overstimulation. Yoongi then adjusts your mini skirt, standing to meet your slightly fucked out gaze with his own. He then gently cradled your chin, kissing you softly. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against yours, releasing a deep, but content, sigh. “Would you like to continue this at my hotel room?” His eyes felt like they were looking into your soul at this point; but you couldn’t look away either. With a big smile and a glint in your eye, you say in a small voice:

“Yes. Please.”

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

The hotel room door isn’t even fully shut before you two were all over one another, a trail of clothing following the two of you while making your way to the bedroom. Once fully stripped, Yoongi lifted you under your thighs and placed you on the bed. As he hovered over you, he gazed down at your figure - your hair fanned over the pillow, eyes dilated and bottom lip bitten. To him, you were the most beautiful thing on earth. He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on your lips, “baby, I don’t think I have condoms with me, I cou-“

You quickly interrupted him, “as long as you’re clean, I’m good. Had my check up a couple weeks ago and I’m in the clear, plus haven’t hooked up with anybody since my ex. Also, am on the pill religiously, so if you’re good to go, so am I.”

Yoongi looks at you with his signature gummy smile, “fuck, baby.” His lips find your sensitive spot on your neck immediately, sucking another mark there. His hands glide south gently along your curves, then onto your inner thighs, touching just enough to send sparks up your spine and to your pussy. As his fingers lightly touch your folds, his mouth begins to move to your chest, capturing a nipple with it. He then plunges two fingers into you, “still so wet for me, baby.”

“Yoongi, fuuuuck”, still slightly sensitive from the orgasm before, you feel yourself coming to the edge a bit quicker than usual. He moves from one nipple to the other, using his fingers to scissor you pussy wider. “I’m gonna cu-“ Yoongi then pulled his fingers out, leaving you on edge. Your eyes grew big and you let out a strained whine, completely astonished at what he just pulled.

“I want you to cum on my cock, can you be a good girl and do that for me?” He asks as he sticks his fingers into your mouth, having you taste yourself. You nod, then he pulls his fingers from your mouth, pumping his thick cock before he slid the tip along your pussy lips a couple times to collect some of your arousal. He wraps your legs around his waist, then began to slowly enter you. He leaned over to trap your lips and the loud moan that they would inevitably release as he filled you to the hilt.

“Fuuuuck, I already feel so full”, you moan out. Yoongi’s cock was probably the biggest you’d taken, the stretch causing a little pain, but it was immediately blocked by the immense pleasure. Just from him entering you, you already felt you were gonna cum.

“Ahhh, Y/N baby, I can already feel you clenching around me. You gonna cum already?” Thrust. “My cock feel that good, baby?” Thrust. “You even look fucked out already, can’t even answer me!” Thrust. “Cum for me, baby - now.” You then let go on command, feeling your core unravel as Yoongi continued to thrust through your comedown. He then took your legs up, pushing the back of your thighs to bring your legs down to your chest - putting you in a mating press.

As he began to pump into you again, you looked down at where you two connected. “Oh my god, right there, Yoongi. FUCK.” He was hitting that spot again, better than last time. Your brain was starting to turn cock-drunk; all you could think of was the pure pleasure Yoongi was giving you as you looked down again.

“Ohhh, you like seeing my cock split this pretty pussy, don’t you? This. Pretty. Pussy. Feels. Amazing. Like. It’s. MADE. For. Me.” He punctuated each word with a thrust, his hands pushing your legs wider so he could see more of you. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m getting close. Gonna fill this pretty pussy full of me - gonna make it mine.” He brought a thumb to you clit, drawing figure eights to bring you to his level again. You were a bumbling mess; not even able to form words or thoughts as you were getting close. Just as your orgasm hit for the third time tonight, your clenching triggered his release, painting your walls white. After a couple thrusts to get out all the semen, Yoongi then collapsed on top of you, still inside. Both of you took a moment to catch your breath, staring deep into each other. Yoongi smiled, kissing your nose, then bringing his forehead to yours. “You okay, babe?” You smile and nodded, still feeling slightly fuzzy. As he softened, he pulled out, watching some of your mixed cum leak out. Letting out a content sigh, he stood up, picking you up bridal style. “Come on - let’s get cleaned up.”

Once out of the shower; which included you being fucked on the wall from behind (his excuse: Not my fault all of you is irresistible). You got dressed in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers, then went to grab water as he got dressed as well. As you hand him his water, Yoongi notices a glint of a worried look on your face. Putting a finger under your chin to have you make eye contact, he asks, “penny for your thoughts?” You sigh, contemplating just saying no. But you couldn’t, as it immediately bugged you.

“Do I need to have Becca pick me up? And if so, do you want her to do it soon or earlier in the morning? I mean I don’t want to cause any dra-“ Yoongi pulls you into an intense kiss, shutting you up immediately.

“Y/N, baby, you worry too much. I want you to stay the night and I’ll take you back tomorrow when we both feel like it. Maybe we’ll get brunch first or something like that. I would like to get as much time with you as I can before I leave.” You left as though a weight was off your shoulders as you smile at him. After finishing your waters, you both head to bed, lying on Yoongi’s chest. His steady heartbeat, breathing and his fingers combing your hair helped you fall asleep. Yoongi then softly cradled your cheek, placing a kiss on your head. I hope to be able to see you again, baby, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.

🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱🐱

Waking up the next morning, you and Yoongi decide to go to a small cafe a couple blocks from his hotel. After orders are placed and juices are brought to the table, he grabs your hands with his. You look up at him and he asks, “So since you’re going to UCLA, when are you moving here?”

“I will probably move here next month, depending on when the apartment next to Becca’s is ready to go. Why?”

“Well, somebody has to help you move - that somebody being me.” he kissed your knuckles.

——————————

A/N pt 2: This legit was sitting in my drafts for almost a month because writing the not smut part was harder than it needed to be 🥴

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts suga #suga x y/n #min yoongi #yoongi fanfic

397 notes · View notes

lynnlovesspidahman · 9 months

Text

this is me trying.

peter parker x reader

part 1. || part 2.

masterlist

warnings : None really, except for a few curse words here and there

word count : 1.5k

summary : Peter breaks up with you, randomly.

Also, I just want to make note that any Peter will work for this story, I just love the Insomniac’s version currently so I based it off of him 😭

You searched your pantry for something to eat.

You haven’t gone grocery shopping in a bit. You usually can count on Peter to take care of it for you, but he’s been extra busy lately.

Too busy, you thought. He was always so tired and seemed so overwhelmed. Sure, he’d been skipping out on some of your planned hangouts but you didn’t mind. He needed time to himself, and you fully respected that.

“Ooh, spaghetti..” You spoke to yourself.

You grabbed the box of angel hair and the tomato sauce from your pantry before closing it back up.

You bent down to grab the big pot from your bottom cabinet and filled it up with a decent amount of water.

You turned the heat on your oven and scrolled on your phone while leaning on the counter while waiting for it to boil.

“Hey, beautiful.” Peter appeared — literally — out of nowhere (a common occurrence, much to your disliking).

“Holy fuck-“ You gasped. “Okay, actually. Where do you come from? And how do you get in here so quietly?” You giggled as you approached him.

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“So? How are you?” You ask.

“Well.. Y’know, tired.”

“Trust me, I know.” It wasn’t hard to miss his recent demeanor, he was so much more exhausted lately. You felt bad that you couldn’t help him more than you did.

“Yeah,” He let out a breathy laugh.

You turned around to check if the water was boiling; it was. You poured the angel hair into the pot.

“Well,” You dropped your hands to your sides, “I’m cooking pasta, if you want some.” You smiled up at him.

“I can’t stay for long, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, okay. You can take some home if you’d like?” You offered, you didn’t want him going home hungry (he literally would only ever have toast at his place).

“Nah, I just wanted to talk to you real quick. I’m gonna be gone before it’s ready.”

“Oh? What’s up?” You raised your eyebrows. You can’t name the last time he had to talk to you about something (Never, ever was it something good).

“I’ve been thinking,” He started.

“That’s a first.” You joked.

“I’m being serious,” He spat.

This time you stayed quiet. What is up with him?

“I’ve been thinking,” He bit the inside of his cheek.

“Stop biting your cheek, Pete. Spit it out.”

“I dunno if we should be together anymore.”

You turned back towards him, absolutely confused.

“Haha,” You sarcastically commented, “Real funny, Pete. You know I don’t like when you joke like that.”

“I told you, I’m being serious.”

“What? Why? Where is this coming from?” You had so many questions for him, this was all so sudden.

“I- I don’t-” He sighed, before continuing on, “I’m sorry, beautiful.”

“No. You can’t just say sorry and not explain this to me. Where the hell did this come from, Peter? I don’t understand,” Tears already starting to well up in your eyes.

“We feel like a chore. It’s like I have to be here every night, I have to text you everyday.”

“Peter, what the fuck? I’ve never once thought we were a chore,” You almost laughed, but you couldn’t. More tears had quickly followed.

“I didn’t say you did.” He spat at you. When did he become so attitude-y?

“I know, but I didn’t do anything is my point. I’ve never forced you to come over, if anything I stay up every night waiting for you. I text you. I make sure you’re okay everyday,” You were so angry. He had absolutely no reason to break it off.

“It’s just- That’s my point. You do everything. And I can’t even try.” He sat down in one of your stools at the kitchen island.

“I can’t be my best around you, and when I try to it just feels like I’m forcing myself to. And I can’t do that.” He put his head down on the counter.

“I don’t need your best, I just want you,” You were perfectly content with your relationship, nothing was wrong with taking care of him.

“Are you even listening?” He shot his head back up and scowled at you.

“Let me put it this way, I can’t enjoy loving you, and I don’t know why. How ‘bout that? Is that what you want me to say?” He finally snapped.

You didn’t want to be around him anymore. It was becoming unbearable. If he wanted to leave you, then so be it.

“I’m-“ He sighed as he pushed his hair back with his hand, “I have to go.”

He got up from the stool, and walked out. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

You stared at that door for God knows how long, but were suddenly interrupted by the water overflowing the pot.

You overcooked the noodles, leaving them gummy and mushy. Nothing could save this meal.

“Fuck.”

He never makes any sense.

You sat there, on your couch. Blanket draped over your lap, not even able to pay attention to your favorite show on the TV.

It’s been two and a half weeks. Since that Tuesday. The Tuesday Peter broke your relationship off. It’s all you’ve been thinking about.

His reasons (?) didn’t make any sense. I mean, was he just trying to come up with something that sounded valid? You couldn’t tell.

There was one thing you couldn’t question though.

“I can’t enjoy loving you.”

It’s like it was unable to leave your brain. Were you so unloveable?

You knew it couldn’t have been the end of you and Peter completely, there was still things left unresolved. Sure, you might not get back together, but you couldn’t live without Peter in your life. You could settle for friends (Right?).

But even if you did come back to him (again), would he care?

Your relationship was going so well too.

There was only one fight before Tuesday.

Your relationship with Peter had rusted, permanently. No matter if it would resolve in the near future (if that was even possible). This one would stick around.

It didn’t just ruin the two of you, you felt it everywhere else in your life as well.

It felt so hard to even hang out with your friends, while the wounds Peter had dug into you were still open.

It was hard to be anywhere, when all you wanted was to be with him again.

He brought you comfort, safety. It felt like you were constantly missing something.

You tried to call him. A lot.

Straight to voicemail every time, though.

You just wanted to fix the strained relationship, you didn’t have to be with him again (maybe).

You still loved him, no denying that. And you told him, in those voicemails.

But you doubt he listened to a single one. He didn’t care about your relationship, or you anymore. You had to live with that.

You tried. You really fucking did. You tried to get ahead of the curve, and you did. But the curve became a sphere.

It had been 5 weeks after Tuesday, you were back to square one. You decided to clean your apartment. You found the Spidey plush. Peter bought it for you on your eighth month anniversary date. You hadn’t been able to find him for a while, and eventually you forgot you even had it. But when you checked under your bed for any missed laundry, it was the first thing you saw.

It hit you, hard. When you first found him you grabbed and squeezed him and sat on the floor, crying uncontrollably. You gave up on the deep clean, you were too upset. So you sat on your couch and felt like an absolute failure.

How could a fucking plush cut you so deep? The wounds you had started to finally live with, started to hurt just as bad as when Peter carved them into you.

You caved into your old ways. You called Peter. Each time it would ring, it gave you hope. Each time it would ring, would mean he still had a chance to pick up the phone.

But he didn’t. Straight to voicemail. You didn’t know what else you expected.

“Hey, Pete.” You sniffled, looking up at the ceiling so your tears would fall out of your eyes.

“I know, I know I keep calling. I’m sorry. But I-” You paused to catch a breath. “I can’t. I hate missing you, knowing you don’t feel the same. I hate that I continue to love you the same, to this day.”

“This will probably be the last call, so you can stop worrying about that. At first I wanted to fix us, one less thing to get worked up about. But now, I think I just want to learn how to live without you.”

(You lied through your teeth. You really didn’t. But admitting it to him was probably your best shot at being able to understand that for yourself.)

“I-I’m sorry. Goodbye, Pete.”

You ended the voicemail. You sat there, on your couch, with Spidey next to you, staring at nothing.

You wanted to at least let him know you were trying, maybe then you wouldn’t seem as pathetic as you actually were.

Your phone unexpectedly pinged, interrupting your ongoing thoughts.

9:52 PM

Peter 🕸️ : Hey, beautiful.

Hi, if you’re just so happening to be re-reading this story, you’ll notice I changed up literally everything. The first version was literal ass and I hated it. So I’m hoping you’ve enjoyed it!

But if you’ve just read this for the first time, be glad you didn’t see the other one, lol.

I love you all and all of the support you’ve been giving me 🥹💗

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #insomniac peter parker #spider man ps4 #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #spider man x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker angst #spider man angst #mcu peter x reader #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #insomniac spiderman x reader #spider-man ps4 x reader #lynnlovesspidahman

348 notes · View notes

xetswan · 9 months

Text

Youngest Shadow- The Game

Seven | Eight | Nine

warning: slight homophobia

Longest chapter so far with almost 4k words

Jessica and I have been practicing outside, Angela taking pictures. Only practicing since Jessica has nagged me for the past few days now. Trying to spike on me every time we do so. Eric was studying the prom fliers, “Monte Carlo? That’s our theme?” Jessica frowns at the lame theme that was chosen for this year. “Gambling, tuxedos and Bond. James- Ow!” She threw a ball roughly at Eric’s face, I smirk.

“Oh. My. God.” Angela exclaims, who was once scanning to take more pictures is now frozen in place. We follow to where she was staring and it was just my sister and Edward showing up to school together. I hadn’t really been speaking to Alice and Jasper after the night with their family. Overhearing that it was destined for me to have a near death experience just for me to know who I was in my past lives and they knew it was going to happen. It also works because I hate attention, something I know Bella hates too.

Throughout the rest of the day Jasper and Alice would stare at me, trying to pull me aside to talk to me only for me to ignore them and hurry off to a different area or sit somewhere else if we shared a class. But at the end of the day it was a waste when Alice came up to me, taking my hand in hers. “Hey, what’s going on lovebug?” I gave her a look for the stupid nickname and she laughs. “Sorry, but seriously why are you avoiding us?” She pouts, I lick my lips getting ready to actually say it but then something stops me once I lock eyes with her.

“I needed some time to think about us.” I tell her, “I’m having a hard time with everything, trying to understand and I overwhelmed myself at your place I felt embarrassed.” I lied, I was fine with the whole vampire thing surprisingly. That’s not what bothered me. What bothered me was the fact that she knows I’m going to have a near death experience and won’t even warn me. I don’t understand how that’s protecting me. Maybe I’ll bring it up later.

“Ah, that makes sense. I’m sorry it’s so overwhelming for you, my lovebug.” She moves my hair behind my ear sending shivers down my spine. It honestly made me forget how many people were around, until we get shouted at. “What the fuck?” A guy yelled, I step away from Alice and we turn to see some guy I don’t think I’ve ever seen before in school. “You guys gay or some shit?” He laughs, my eyebrows furrow as Alice glares at him.

“Y’all should kiss!” His friends hit him in the shoulders like he did something with that. I glance over and see Jasper staring at the scene as well. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The three guys all laugh, I flick them off and they just laugh harder.

“I need to go, my dad made plans. Just um, come over later.” I tell her, walking away to my bike, getting my helmet on and riding off as quick as possible due to the embarrassment I just had to endure. I ended up coming to the cafe later than Bella which meant I was super late.

There were a group of basketball players outside and I mentally cursed seeing Mike there as well. “[Name]! I didn’t know you were a lesbo!” One of the guys shouted at me and my eyes widen but I try to ignore it, heading towards the door but he blocks it. “Does her man know?” His arm was on the door and he leaned on it. I stare up at him not saying anything. “What?” You got something to say?” He asks, I take my helmet off, putting it on the ground, staring back up at him. I take a deep breath. “I asked you something.” He repeats, I take a step back. In the corner of my eye I see my dad stand up from his spot in the booth. Bella seemed alarmed. “Come on, man. She don’t deserve this plus her dad’s the chief.” Mike puts a hand on his shoulder but the guy doesn’t back up. I dip my hand into my front pocket of my jeans.

“Does your dad know you like-” I take my hand out and spray him with the pepper spray Charlie gave me. He stumbles back holding his eyes and screaming in pain. The cafe door swings open. What happened!?” He angrily asks, “Nothing, sir. He went too far, he was antagonizing her.” Mike blurts out, the kid groans outloud but the group pushes him away. Charlie turns to look at me. “What the hell was that, [Name]?” He grabbed onto my arms as I try my hardest to look away from him. “[Name] Swan, answer me right now.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” I exclaim, tears welling in my eyes. “Please.”

His grip loosens, his gaze softening as well. “Are you okay at least?”

“I’m fine.” I sniffle, wiping my eyes, he lets me go and grabs my helmet for me. “I should wash my hands.” I lift up my hand that’s covered in the pepper spray, I didn’t wipe my eyes with this hand don’t worry. He sighs, shaking his head, pushing me inside. Cora the waitress who knows about my whole life from dad places a hand on my back. “You alright, sweetheart.” I just nod, heading straight for the bathroom to wash my hands quickly then going back to the booth with my sister and dad.

The dinner ends up being a little awkward as they talk to each other but treat me like they need to walk on egg shells. I forced myself to eat so I don’t have to talk much so I just listen to them.

After getting home I rush straight to my room where they were already standing, I shut the door, locking it right away and collapsing on my bed. Wanting to just sob and go to sleep but I know I should talk to them. Definitely not about what I heard though, I’m already exhausted from pepper spraying a basketball player. Alice sits behind me, motioning for me to lay on her. I end up just putting my head on her lap and she plays with my hair.

I stare up at Jasper, he steps closer, wiping my cheek that had a tear fall. I noticed how his face seemed stiffer than normal. I then remembered how it hurts him to be around people still. His thirst stronger than the others.

“I saw what happened, I’m sorry we didn’t stop it.” Alice apologizes, I look up at her and she seemes extremely beat up over it. I place my hand on top of hers. “It’s okay, don’t worry.” I attempt to assure her. She smiles gently. “I won’t go near you at school anymore. You don’t deserve to go through that.” She tells me, I sit up from her lap. “What? No, let them talk.” I grab her hand tighter even though I know she barely feels it. “But-”

“I know how I am with attention but I don’t care anymore. Plus I have my pepper spray.” I wink and they both laugh quietly. “Are you sure, darling?” Jasper questions, I pull him closer to me, having him actually sit down now. “Of course, let them talk. What else are they going to do?” I shrug, Alice stands up, going over and sitting on my lap. “If that’s what you want.” She kisses my nose softly. I nod, “It is.”

We then sit there silently and I think about my thoughts from before. I know I’m not going to bring it up to them but I want to so badly understand their thinking. Understand why they do what they do.

“You’re anxious.” Jasper states, I suck on the inside of my cheek not respnding. “Why?” Alice questions. “Just wondering about how that would play out.” I lie, well partially.

“Mmm, it will be okay. We’ll be there. Also, we want to take you somewhere tomorrow. Edward will be picking you and Bella up.” She stands up from my lap, she takes Jasper’s hand but I stop both of them from leaving.

“Wait, I want to um.. I want to try something.” I tell them, getting up from my bed, first taking Alice’s face in the palm of my hands. She smiles, automatically knowing what I’m doing she closes her eyes. I lean slowly, my heart racing as I kiss her lips longer than a few seconds. I push away after a little bit, we both look up to see Jasper watching and I chuckle, pulling him towards me and doing the same thing.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow.” I wave them off and not even seconds later they’re gone.

A few hours later my mom ends up calling me, I pick it up lazily knowing that either Bella or Charlie had told her what happened. I hear loud noises in the background fading away. “[Name]!” it was my moms voice yelling, I jolted away from my own hand then go back to it. “Yes, mom?” I ask, “I heard you pepper sprayed someone! What did he do?” She says, I throw my head back annoyed.

“Mom, I’m fine.” I tell her but I knew she wouldn’t be satisfied with that answer. “[Name]” She warns me. “Mom, please.” I nervously say. “I will have your father investigate what happened if you do not tell me right now.” Of course she pulls that out, “You don’t have to do that.” I tell her.

“It was just a guy calling me a lesbo or whatever. No biggie.” I quickly say, this happened before in Arizona, I’ve been called names my whole life. Especially for not liking guys and never having a boyfriend. “If it’s no biggie why’d you punch?” She interrogates me, I roll my eyes like before. “I was cornered.” That wasn’t a lie necessarily. She hums, still not satisfied. “Who’s the girl, [Name].” She says and it felt like my eyes pop out of my socket. “Mom!”

“Oh, come on [Name]. I know my daughter.” She laughs, “Who is she?” She repeats herself and I sigh. “Her name is Alice.” She squeals in laughter. “Mom!” I whine for her to stop. “I’m sorry! I’m just happy you found someone.” She tells me. “Well, actually it’s her and her boyfriend.” I bite my lip waiting for judgement.

“Hey, I can’t judge your lifestyle. Two people?” She excitedly laughs and I shake my head. “Please don’t tell anyone. No one knows except Bella and that’s because they’re also apart of the Cullen family.” I sigh, picking at my finger nails. “Woww I need to see what these people look like if both of my daughters decided to date them.” She jokes, I smile to myself just happy she’s not upset with my dating life even though I know it is definitely out of the ordinary.

“Well, I should get going to bed mom. I love you.” I say, “Oh, I love you too, goodnight!” She blows kisses over the phone and i press the button to hang up. Finally laying down for the night and going to bed.

The next day I was sitting with Charlie as Bella came into the room. Charlie is currently cleaning his rifle, he goes to greet her but she cuts him off. “I have a date with Edward Cullen. [Name] does too with his foster brother.” She announcses and I quietly laugh at his facial expression as he glances between the both of us. “They’re too old for you two.” He responds. “We’re both juniors plus Jasper is only a Senior. Also I thought you liked the Cullens.” She says, I tilt my head agreeing with her. “And I thought you weren’t interested in any of the boys in town.” Charlie brings up, she seems frustrated. “Edward doesn’t live in town and its in the early stage- and whatever he’s outside right now.” This even causes me to stop every movement I was making like my dad just did. “Now? He’s out there?”

“He wants to meet you. Officially.” She tells him. “Good.” Charlie cocks his rifle. I snicker, earning a look from her. “Be nice, okay? He’s important.” He nods reassuring her, she goes to the door and opens it to reveal her new boyfriend. “Cheif Swan I wanted to formally introduce myself. I’m Edward.” He extends his hand and Charlie hesitantly takes it grunting a small hello. “I won’t keep the two out late tonight. We’re just going to play baseball with my family.” He informs him also informing us because we had no idea either. “Bella’s going to play baseball?” Charlie is shocked, definitely because Bella doesn’t play sports. “Yes sir, that’s the plan.” He nods. “Well, more power to you I guess.”

“They’ll be safe with my family, I promise.” Edward makes eye contact with him to show him he was being serious. He exits and as I get up Charlie holts both of us from following. “You both got that pepper spray- [Name] I know you do.” I laugh at his words. “Dad.” Bella shakes her head, we then both leave and climb into this massive jeep. “Your father thinks you should go to an all-girls school.” Edward says to Bella in an amused tone.

“No fair, reading Charlie’s mind.” I sat in the backseat and I notice the baseball cap the same time as Bella. “And since when do vampires like baseball?”

I mentally cringed to that question. “It’s the American past time. Plus, there’s a thunderstorm coming. It’s the only time we can play. You’ll see why.” He explains and now I’m perked up at the thought of seeing my two play. Watch them in action of a sport I actually really enjoy.

We finally get through the clearing of woods, it was a field and there were storm clouds erupting in the sky. The jeep comes to a stop, Esme and Emmett come over to greet us, Emmett helping me down. I look around for Jasper and Alice, “Good thing you’re here. We need some umpires.” Esme smiles sweetly. Emmett has a wicked grin caused by her words. “She thinks we cheat.” He laughs. “I know you cheat.” She turns to both of us. “Call em how you see em girls.” She pats us. I see Alice on the pitchers mound and she gives me a quick wave before speaking up. “It’s time!” Right then a rumble of thunder shakes and I grip onto Bella excitedly. We both stand right by Esme who’s the catcher. Alie pitches and Rosalie smashes the ball with an aluminum bat. It cracks loudly right when a thunder hits at the same time. “Now I get why you need thunder.” My sister says. The ball goes right into the forest, Edward running after it.

“That has to be a home run.” Bella insists as we wait. “Edward’s very fast.” Was all she said in return. Rosalie darts around the bases, it looks like a blur but Edward rasces out with the ball whipping to home plate. Esme catches it milliseconds before Rosalie slides in.

“You’re out?” Bella says questioning herself and I sadly nod as I was kind of rooting for Rosalie. Esme nods too. Next up is Carlisle and he hits a line drive, Emmett and Edward race for it, colliding with one another with so much force it felt like I could feel it all in the ground like a mini earthquake. They end up missing the ball anyway, Carlisle is safe. I cheer for him, everyone smiles, almost.

Jasper is up and I watch him and Alice make eye contact and I fall in awe. Jasper whacks the ball into the forest like Rosalie just did. Before they can go after it Alice gasps and they all come to a stop. “Stop! I didn’t see them!” She shouts, Jasper pulling me behind him, Rosalie coming to my side as well. “They’re traveling so quickly.” Alice says in a worried tone.

“You said they left the country.” Rosalie exclaims. “They did but then they heard us.” Alice looks at Edward. “And changed their minds.” Edward turns to Bella. “Put your hair down.”

Alice races over, shoving a hat onto my head. “They smell you too.” She sadly says and I raise an eyebrow. I thought no one was effected by my blood?

“Like that will help. I could smell her across the field.” Edward ignores Rosalie as he arranges Bella’s hair a certain way. “I shoudn’t have brought you here. I’m so sorry.” Edward says to Bella specifically. They all turn towards the forest and there’s three vampires that emerge out. I look down to their bare feet then back up to their dark red eyes. The one with darker skin and long hair lifts his hand up to show the baseball. “I believe this belongs to you.” He tosses the ball to Carlisle who catches it with ease. He smiles politely. “Thank you.”

“Could you use three more players?” He questions. “Of course.” Carlisle nods. “I’m Laurent, this is Victoria and James.” He introduces them.

“Would you like to bat first?” Carlisle asks, Laurent ends up with the bat. I stand with Edward and Rosalie with my sister near the jeep. I watch Edwards eyes lock with James. “I’m afraid your hunting activities have caused something of a mess for us.” Carlisle says.

“Our apologies. We didn’t realize the territory had been claimed.” Laurent responds and to be frank he seemed nice and genuine but the other two… I don’t know. “Yes, we maintain a permanent residence.” The three have a shared look of surprise from his words.

“Really? Well we won’t be a problem anymore.” Laurant quickly tells everyone. “The humans were tracking us but we led them east.” The Victoria girl says just as Jasper pitches the ball, Laurent slams it but Alice is already up in a tree in a flash, she catches the ball with a thwap sound as it met her hand. Laurent looked pissed as James smiles, obviously glad he met worthy opponents.

James is next and it was like a power slam, he runs past first base then Edward, then us two, then wind moves Bella’s hair and before I even realize it James comes to a complete stop. His head whips around to Bella and I, his nostrils flare. “You brought some snacks.” Alice rushes over to me, clinging onto my arm as Jasper was now in front of me beside Edward.

The Cullens now all in a position. “The girls are with us.” Carlisle says, “We won’t harm them” Laurent reassures him, trying to diffuse the situation. “Just try it.” Emmett says, practically looking for a fight.

“I think it’s best you leave.” Carlisle says, Rosalie puts her hand on Emmett to calm him down. “Yes, I can see the game is over. We’ll go now.” He says, turning to walk away but looks back. “James.” His hand goes onto the guys shoulder finally getting him to walk away.

Once they’re gone Esme collects the bats. “Get them out of here. We’ll follow them.” Carlisle says, running off with Jasper and Rosalie towards the other three. Edward scoops up Bella as Alice rushes me to the jeep. Both of them strap us in like little kids. “James is a tracker. I saw his mind. The hunt is his obsession and my reaction set him off.” The two get in and Edward whips the jeep around. As Edward explains things to Bella I look at Alice. “How come my scent effects him?” I whisper to her. “I don’t know, I think it’s like Edward said he’s a hunter.” She sits by me and holds me close to her.

“The first place he’ll go is your house. He’ll track your scent from there.” Edward says and I jump up as Bella looks horrified. “What?! Charlie’s there, he’s in danger because of me! Because of us!” She shouts and I start breathing heavily, Alice take my hand and tries to soothe me. “Then we’ll lead the tracker away from him somehow.” He calmly replies and I just knew it was to calm Bella down but it’s not working.

Bella bursts into the house as I sit outside. “I said leave me alone!” Bella yells. “Bella don’t do this. Just think about it please.” Edward pleads and if i didn’t know what was happening I would’ve believed this. “Get out it’s over.” She slams the door and I end up going in a few seconds later. “Bella? What happened?” Charlie asks, his face full of worry. “I have to get out of this place. Out of Forks. I’m leaving and so is [Name].” Bella runs up the stairs, Charlie follows her. My heart breaks as I have to go along with it too. Bella slams the door behind her and he looks down at me. “What happened?” He asked.

I shrugged, “Dad it’s best for us to go. You saw how people treat me.” I explain my part of the reasoning. I walk to my room and Alice stood there handing me my bag. I stand in my room for a little bit then I peck her lips before jogging back over. “I thought you liked him?” Charlie asks and I obviously missed a little bit of the conversation. “That’s why I have to leave. I don’t want this I want to go home.” Bella says.

Bella then goes to charge down the stairs but Charlie follows her. “Your mother’s not even in Phoenix.” Charlie reminds her. “She’ll come home. I’ll have [Name] call her.”

“You can’t drive home now. I’ll take you two to the airport tomorrow morning.” I watch his facial expressions and the look makes me want to cry. “I want to drive. I need to think. I’ll pull into a motel in a few hours I promise.” She says and goes down more steps but Charlie blocks her from going further to the door. “Bells I know I’m not around much but I can change that. We can do more things together. [Name] I’ll make sure people stop bothering you. You can go on the rez with Jacob.” He pleads with us and I just hide behind Bella, not wanting to see his hurting expression any more. “Like watch more baseball on the flat screen? Or go to the Coffee shop? Same people, same steak, same berry cobbler every night? That’s you dad. Not me. Not us.” Bella exclaims and I know it hits him hard. I glance up and his eyes focus on me. “Do you… feel that way too?” His voice was soft and it partially broke. I suck in a deep breath. “Yes. I’m tired of being treated like a freak here dad.” I frown. “Bella, [Name]... I just got you two back.” I squeeze my eyes shut having a feeling where this is about to go so we can leave and as much as I don’t want her to go there we need to go. “And if I don’t get out now I’m going to get stuck here like mom did and I don’t want this for [Name] either.” Charlie looks stunned and we take that to our advantage, pushing through him and out of the door. We rush to her truck and she drives away.

I glance back and see him staring out of the window.

352 notes · View notes

heartsofminds · 1 year

Text

‘cause no one breaks my heart like you

“Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.” or Bradley Bradshaw is terrified of commitment and he decides to stop being selfish (even though it’s hard to see).

A/N: Okay so EXTREMELY long time, no see! I’ve been working on this little project since the end of September and have been driving myself crazy in trying to sculpt the words the way that I wanted and how to make this seem as realistic as possible. I appreciate every single person who has been so patient with me and my inconsistent posting and hope you enjoy 19k words of our favorite guy in the sky.

(Year 3)

He loves me. He loves me not.

He loves me.

The strange thing about crying is never knowing when the tears will fall. There’s this burning sensation that comes with it; clearly juxtaposed to the watery mess your eyes want to produce. Your nose burns, your face is hot, and the all-consuming, mind-numbing squeeze of rubberband-like pressure around your temples makes you dizzy.

Whether the dizziness is because of the crossed wires in your psyche (the hurt feelings and the busted-up ego that comes along with it) or the metaphysical spiral that sent you into a breakdown in the first place is up to your discretion.

The thought pattern sometimes breaks you out of feeling so non-descriptively shitty.

Because the thing about being a twenty-something that you’ve come to uncover is that life is shitty. Paying rent is shitty. Paying an arm and leg for a pilates workout is shitty. Office jobs are shitty. Office jobs that house cruel know-it-all men are even shittier.

Shit, shit, and shit.

You used to pride yourself on having a more extensive vocabulary than one filled to the brim with the swear word, but as of late, you can’t be damned to care. It’s not like anything you said at the office held any value to anyone anyway.

You’re just a “kid” - “You and my sister are the same age!” And you’re also a woman; one of the fifteen employed by the grounds and building company you’re a consult for, and one of three on the fifth floor working on engineering consults and software materials for digital blueprinting.

And the preparation for working in an environment like this - one where mumbled insults at the findings of a mistake on your colleague's draft or small comments about your body being made in passing (never enough to be called harassment, but certainly enough to make you question why it was even being brought up) - wasn’t new.

The patent leather diploma propped up on the desk in your home office gave proof of it. Years spent with dreaded calculus exams and awkward office hours spent with even more awkward professors and snooty boys with poor attitudes served as the price you paid for the merit.

So who can even be put to blame for thinking that you could handle it?

The answer is definitely “you”, but accepting blame for these kinds of things - accepting the fact that in a way, you’re only reaping the consequences of your own actions - is never an easy thing to do.

And your lips are chewed raw from all the intrusive thoughts plaguing your brain and sometimes you wish that you didn’t have this overarching tendency to view things from “outside of your body.” Sometimes being so critical inwardly kicked your conscience into a God’s eye perspective.

The worry of if your work pants actually did make you look frumpy or if the makeup around your nose was caking like how it usually does if you blend it in before you let it get tacky. You worry if your hair sits the right way or if the secretary downstairs thinks you have a Dunkin’ Donuts addiction. And then that makes you worry if she notices the breakout forming on the left side of your face.

The worry then transpires from material to emotional and manifests in the form of the two things you’re most deathly terrified of; being a failure and being a failure who finds herself alone.

Because what if you fucked around and lost the information to the three billion dollar hospital that you’ve spent the better part of fifteen weeks working on? What if you got fired because your bosses realized how inaccurate your math was sometimes? What if everyone was constantly laughing at you and that’s why you struggle to find a commonality with your coworkers?

And what if, through this whole slue of hypotheticals that hadn’t happened yet but had the potential to happen, you found yourself in a position to be alone? What if your boyfriend - your darling, kind, and sweet boyfriend - finally saw you how you saw yourself? And what if what he sees makes him want to walk away?

Bradley would never, you try and rationalize, but the more your brain tries to force the pieces of the jumbled insecurities to fit, you aren’t too sure.

The fact that the same work colleagues who spark the flame of your self-doubt are the same age as he; thirty-somethings with wives and maybe a toddler or two. Your bosses who scare the shit out of you are in the same age range as the men Bradley knows and loves; his Uncle Maverick and Uncle Ice, and the commonalities are far-fetched but multiply the more you think.

The more you torture yourself, really.

And the excruciating rug-burn-like feeling slides its way from the depths of your stomach up your throat. When you were little, you used to imagine that it was slimy and plasmodia-esque. The Mucinex guy, you used to call it, and the feeling is so sickening and ugly and horrific, that the ugly little cartoon ploy almost seemed cute in comparison.

You’re not really sure how your emotions caught up with you today. From how you run from them and shove them down and turn them off, you forget that you have feelings sometimes.

But then you wake up freezing because Bradley took all the covers in the middle of the night and Dunkin fucked up your coffee and you spilled said fucked up coffee on your new work shirt that you know the stain is gonna be a bitch to get out.

On top of that, your hair seems frizzier than what you remembered when you left the house and your lips are chapped with not a damned chapstick in sight in the abomination that happens to be your purse.

David across the hall from your office says something about how you’re late and it’s probably because “You changed your outfit about six times. Know how you women are. My wife is the same way.” And that’s not the reason why you’re running behind at all, but you’re sure indulging in the fact that your boyfriend hopped in the shower with you uninvited and then proceeded to invite himself to bruise your cervix this morning isn’t exactly “safe for work” content.

And your vagina hurts like a bitch because Bradley went too rough and the report you had filed was sitting on your desk with an intimidating note about how the numbers were inaccurate (“Fuck you, Michael and Rick from downstairs,” you think).

Maybe it’s the fact that you’re so tired and that the cogwheels in your brain are doing that fucked up thing again where it sends you into overdrive and your entire body feels numb. Maybe it’s the fact that you know you can’t cry; that you can’t actually process what you’re feeling until after five when you leave the office today.

But the burning sensation doesn’t go away no matter how much ice water you drink or how many times you excuse yourself to the bathroom to splash your face with cold water.

It’s all one big, nasty, slimy feeling that clouds your conscience until you’re met with the front door of your safe haven; Bradley Bradshaw’s home. The sniffles scratch at your chest like a stray dog begging to be let in. The whimper you let out is pathetic and you would’ve laughed at yourself if you hadn’t been so concerned with getting inside.

Fuck. Was unlocking Bradley’s front door always this difficult?

Bradley can sense you before he has any indication that you’re home. He joked how he could feel you oceans away when he was on deployment and while you thought that he wasn’t serious (Bradley was a sap and had a tendency to be so tooth-achingly sweet) you know that there’s some truth to it.

It was odd how he was always so attuned to your needs; how he could always tell how you were feeling before you were even aware that you were feeling it. It was something that you had raved to your friends about in the earlier stages of your relationship. It was also certainly something that they had witnessed on nights out at the club when visiting you in San Diego.

Something inside Bradley loves you so deeply, but he also can’t deny the fact that he loves the praise; the reassurance that he’s a good guy who is always doing the right thing. He’s not doing it for brownie points, “per say”, but the praise does feel nice, and after having to fight tooth and nail to stand out - to be someone and mean something to someone other than his family - the good deeds and the compliments that arose because of them were satiating enough.

But if he’s being honest with himself, he had always been that way. Despite his innate desire to recreate his parents’ epic love story, being empathetic and filled with space to make homes of other people’s sorrow was just something he was born with.

Nothing new, and nothing special.

You force the door open and try and breathe; the cold air of Bradley’s living room hitting your face and the dry heat of Southern California constricting your lungs even more than they had been. You just need a moment, you think. You just need to breathe and you’ll be okay.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

Suddenly you’re too aware of your heart beating inside your chest; the anger and sadness and frustration demanding to be let out. You can feel your trachea eroding away with your sobs. Your eyes feel like salt had been poured into them. Your body is heavy with the weariness of your soul, and something about today’s events and your life, really, has made your legs feel like they weigh a billion pounds. Moving them would only land you flat on your face.

And then you’re made aware of your breathing and your heartbeat is out of sync. The feeling claws your insides and makes every fiber of your being sting.

Fuck.

In. In. In. In. In!

Bradley rounds the corner where your hallway extends into your living room. He has a basket of laundry in his arms. His chest is admonished with a shirt with a comically stretched “UVA” logo. Under different circumstances (one where you could breathe, for starters) you would have laughed at him and his expression reads that he’s prepared for it; the slight smile line near his mouth is quirked up on one side being his tell.

“Hey, baby!” he says before coming into full view of you.

You can see the light in his eyes leave and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he drinks in your appearance.

Your own eyes widen as you damn near suffocate in the doorway of Bradley’s home. Your sweet, sweet Bradley who you’re sure you’ve traumatized in the span of three seconds.

You’ve had episodes like this before, but never in the presence of another person.

They don’t happen frequently, and from various self-help Refinery29 articles and Google searches, you were certain that what you were experiencing - the sudden shortness of breath and the tunnel vision and the pent-up, white-hot frustration making your head woozy - was not normal in the slightest.

And if it was anyone else you would tell them to get help. You would tell them that what they were experiencing didn’t make them any less of who they were before and that it would be absurd to define someone by such a small fragment of their experiences. But what you say to others is different than what you feel about yourself, because admitting there is an issue that you can’t solve by yourself is equivalent to weakness in your mind.

Weakness isn’t something you’re allowed to show very often; not with Mikes and Bills breathing down your neck looking for something to boot your sorry ass out of the front doors of their company.

Bradley recognizes the look you have on your face. It resembles that of new recruits during hypoxia training and even those unfortunate ones that experience g-lock while up in the sky. He’s had his fair share of freakouts and anxieties and he knows that the feeling is awful. Something inside the shelf of him breaks when he sees the same glimmer of fear in your eyes and a call for help on your face.

He drops the laundry basket to the ground and rushes toward you. His feet move faster than his mind and if people on the base could see him now, it would be the last time they called him slow to react.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispers, softly grabbing your forearms and rubbing his thumbs over your wrists, “You’re okay. Breathe. Just breathe.”

His grip on your forearms drops to your waist as he subtly moves you into the entryway of his home. You can feel the vacuum of air behind you as he reaches around your back to shut the door and lock it.

Bradley’s pupils search your face for answers your mouth can’t give him. He sees the slight bloodshot hue in the whites of your eyes. He sees the slight flush to your cheeks and knows that the dewiness of the shade isn’t because of the heat outside or the blush he had watched you apply this morning. He sees the forced movement of your chest; your lungs overworking themselves to keep you standing.

Your eyes are staring right back at him but your brain can’t seem to register that you’re safe. You’re home. You’re with Bradley.

The longer he rubs his thumbs in the crease where your elbow meets your bicep, the more feeling you regain. Your heart rate has slowed a good deal and the air you’ve so desperately been engulfing has allowed itself to make itself useful to you.

He shushes you and steps closer, engulfing you in a wrap that could envy that of a boa constrictor with its prey. He peppers the top of your head with small kisses and he makes sure your ear is pushed up to his chest so you can hear the thump of his heart.

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he moves your conjoined bodies so that his back is facing the door and you’re being held close to his front. Bradley slides down the navy blue painted oak so swiftly and carefully with you in his arms that you can’t even be sure when your view changed from his face to being at eye level with his coffee table.

His hold is comforting and the dam that you’ve worked so hard to maintain all day has finally hit its peak of pressure and broken completely.

“You’re safe, baby. I’m here.”

The sob that leaves your mouth is one that you don’t even recognize as yours. The last time you can remember hearing something remotely similar resonates in the memory of your niece throwing the biggest hissy fit ever known to man at her second birthday party last summer.

Man, if only she knew that her competition was you instead of her new baby brother.

“My sweet girl,” Bradley whispers into your hair, holding you as your body shakes so violently it jostles his large frame behind you. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Get it all out.”

And you don’t know when the crying stops and turns into shallow sniffles or when the sky changed from its yellowed hue to the dark navy that usually blankets your late-night talks with the man behind you, but all you know is that Bradley Bradshaw is a saint.

Your sweet, sweet Bradley who would stop the world from turning if that’s what you asked of him.

Because it’s what you would do if he had been the one to ask instead. That’s how love works.

He loves me. He loves me not.

He loves me.

(Year 4)

He loves me not. He loves me.

He loves me not.

Looking for blame was never your strong suit.

But as you look outside the passenger window of an inherited Bronco on a chilly November night, the fingers you always seem hesitant to point uncurl themselves from your fist without resistance. You have half the mind to not actually point at the culprit of your anger who manifests in the form of the six-foot-one man seething beside you.

The radio is clicked off and the joyous laughter and cacophony of faux karaoke is absent in the midnight blue starlight. The windows are down despite the air surrounding the coast bringing the atmosphere to a standing fifty-five outside, and the wind from how fast your lover is driving taking the temperature down to at least fifty degrees even.

Your eyes refuse to drink in his appearance for more than five seconds at a time because you know that you’re an angry crier who gets set off very easily. Exchanging looks with the fuel that set fire to the burning in your belly would not do you any good at this moment.

When you had pulled on the pretty little cocktail dress and left Bradley to his own devices in the living room of your apartment, the thought of the anger brewing between you like a hurricane didn’t cross your mind at all.

And how could it?

In the four years of being together, there were a fair share of disagreements but nothing that wasn’t just a product of stress or small tidbits of jealousy and hurt feelings that brewed into something bigger than it was ever intended to be. They were usually resolved with a mature conversation on the floor of whoever’s living room followed by cuddles and on a few occasions, fervent makeup sex on the floor.

It always gave you rug burn but you never complained. Having Bradley was something you craved so deeply that no consequence could ever outweigh the desire; even damn near purple knees and a sore ass from how domineering he could be.

Love has a way of making the world stop turning. Nothing truly matters besides the feel of a warm body holding you in bed and the promise of sweet nothings weighing you down lovingly. That always is (at least in your case) until too much pressure is applied and you begin to freak out - the ugly truth of how much love can hurt with each pained exhale that mimics simultaneous cries of pleasure and calls for help.

“Does he really love me?” “Am I too much?” “Am I not enough?”

Insecurities upon insecurities and you really have no true basis for why you think this way or why you feel like you will never amount to what Bradley deserves. If you’re being honest, it’s all a jumble of things and it reminds you of the ABC spaghetti-o’s you used to beg your mom to buy.

Superficial and never really making sense, much like the word scramble of letters in your soup.

But despite you trying to tell yourself that you were being ridiculous - that the pit in your stomach that refused to move was nothing more than an overreaction - the ABC spaghetti-o mixture started to make sense of your anger and what may have caused it.

And the insecurity you had felt that you tried to push down inside of you; tried to deny the existence that it was there and was, in fact, so excruciatingly real made way at Rueben’s wedding shower.

It’s not like you hate being around Bradley’s friends - not like they’re strangers that you try and force small talk with so that the three-hour minimum interactions required for a get-together go by faster. Most of these gatherings have an imaginary itinerary that you’ve come up with and if you play the game right, you never come home with too bad of a hangover.

The first thirty minutes will be spent giving side hugs and enthusiastic “Hey! How are you?”’s being tossed around. You’re always grateful that the years of sorority recruitment have prepared you for holding “safe” conversations; ones that don’t deter any deeper than being happy to see each other and the San Diego weather that never seems to change.

Every now and again, one of the guys will hold up your left hand and inspect for an engagement ring before pushing Bradley’s shoulder slightly. A “You better lock her down before I do, Bradshaw,” nipping the air and making your cheeks turn slightly pink.

Hour one will entail being tucked beneath Bradley’s arm as he sips a Budweiser and joins the circle of regulars that you often go to the bar with or host for dinner parties at his place. Mickey and Rueben will give you friendly exchanges and ask about your work and siblings. Javy and Jake will give you a curt nod and then start to babble away with your boyfriend about whatever hazing-like endeavor they’ll pull on the new pupils in their class. And sweet ole Bob will stand to the side with his hands in his pockets before offering to show you the newest picture of his two-year-old niece, which you graciously partake in viewing because she’s a cutie.

You’ll slosh around the heavily poured margarita you’ve had in your hand for the past hour before Mickey will laugh and ask if you plan on drinking it at all, and you’ll give a faux introspective hum before shaking your head “no” and offering your drink to Bradley. And Bradley will ask what’s wrong with it and you’ll say it’s too strong and he’ll graciously take the glass and drop a sweet kiss on your temple.

And when he downs the drink with no grimace at the shit ton of tequila and triple sec poured into it, you’ll make note of how the margaritas you make at home are probably more of a mocktail than anything to him. You’ll then marvel at his ability to handle his alcohol, and recall asking him one time at the start of your relationship if a high alcohol tolerance was required to join the armed forces.

Hour one and a half would be spent with Natasha kidnapping you from the group of aviators Bradley has concerned himself with. “Sorry not sorry, Bradshaw. We got stuff to talk about,” she’ll say and then drag you across the room to another corner of aviators (thank God they’re all women this time). And then you get another round of “Hi! You look so good!”’s thrown at you and a mojito to replace the margarita on account of Cali. The funny stories of hookups and boyfriends paired with all the constant belly laughing are reminiscent of college roommates after a night out at the bars.

Hour two will include drunken karaoke (even if there isn’t a karaoke machine in sight) and some kind of serenade from Bradley. He always goes to the piano willingly (though it’s always anticipated that dear old Rooster is bound to end up there if the instrument is available) and he’ll pretend like he doesn’t enjoy it, but you know that his ego is inflated by everyone singing along and the praises sung to his playing.

Hour two and a half will bleed into hour three and usually ends with people starting to head out and “See you tomorrow!” being tossed around. Nat always gives you a tight squeeze and holds your shoulders before making you promise her to get lunch sometime soon. You’ll agree even though you know that your schedules will never align and it more than likely won’t happen, but the drunken stupor you’re both in creates a bubble of extroversion that neither of you can seem to put a cap on.

Bradley then takes you back to the car and turns on the radio. He’ll look over at you lovingly before kissing your forehead and rolling all the windows down. He knows that the sea breeze has made the air chillier than the number displayed on the weather app in your phone. You’ll groan as he gives you a, “C’mon, baby. You know I run hot!” with that cute laugh and head-shaking smile, and then you’re off down the interstate back to Bradley’s home, where you’ll stay the night and leave out back to yours around the same time he gets up for training.

That’s how the itinerary usually goes, and the comfortability of it all keeps you sane and acts as a warm blanket that keeps you distracted from the sheer differences between your boyfriend and his world.

But tonight was different, and the minute you step into the lavishly decorated venue, you know that your unofficial itinerary has no room to unravel despite the massive square footage of the party taking place around you.

You recognized Natasha alongside the other female aviators that you were friendly with but certainly not close to. Because of the occasion at hand, a few girlfriends and spouses were also huddled around them including Rueben’s fiance, Izzy.

And somewhere between the three glasses of champagne you had and Izzy’s stories about how she and Rueben were secretly “trying” but didn’t want anyone to know (you’re not sure how it’s a secret anymore because she blurted it out to her soon-to-be husband’s coworkers, but truly to each their own) planted a cherry pit of insecurity in your stomach. When you finished your glass of champagne and took note of how dizzy you were, the insecurity started to grow into the slimy monster that you were familiar with.

Then came the picking yourself apart.

Your eyes found the glimmer of engagement rings, baby bumps, and phones with family pictures as the home screen. Wearing your undergraduate alma mater’s class ring on your finger seemed infantile, and you made the conscience effort to slip it into the clutch you had been carrying with you the entire night.

Phoenix noticed the sudden stiffness in your spine and how your eyes had a glimmer of sadness in them; how they held sparkles of wishing that you could relate. It’s a look she remembered having during her time in flight school. And because she had taken it upon herself to act as your big sister turned good friend since you’ve been dating Bradley, she knew that you wouldn’t speak up or excuse yourself from the conversation.

Because you, much like her and so very much like Bradley, would rather suffer in silence and let the thoughts of not feeling good enough eat you alive until the joys of who you are become eroded to make room for the sorrows of who you aren’t.

It came as a surprise to feel her hand guide you away from the giggling women to the front table housing cupcakes and plastic water bottles with the cheesy Canva-designed “Hitched to Fitch” labels replacing the ones they had come with.

“Thank you,” you said, and she only nodded before handing you a bottle and grabbing one for herself off the table.

“M’gonna head to the bathroom and then go outside for a bit. Meet you there?” she asked and you agreed, your hands busied trying to twist the cap off of your water bottle.

Phoenix disappeared and your eyes started to search the room for Bradley. You’d even be satisfied to see some of the familiar faces that you’ve come to know via pool at Hard Deck or biweekly group dinners at your boyfriend’s house.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you scanned the room and realized that you didn’t see anyone you recognized for that matter. Instead of doing the smart thing and texting him about his whereabouts or trying to get some kind of idea about where he may have disappeared to, you did the opposite and headed outside to the back area where the sky swallowed any light in its darkness and the greenery around you smelled earthy.

The November breeze chilled your bones and it took everything within you to keep your teeth from chattering audibly. You internally scolded yourself for being insistent that you didn’t need to bring a jacket to wear with your cocktail dress. When the wind chill had been brought up when you were putting on your earrings, Bradley had only shaken his head and laughed before making sure to put on the baby blue suit coat of his that you loved. You both knew that you’d have it across your shoulders come nightfall when the sun had set and the late fall wind chill kicked in.

The back of your heels dug into the blisters that had formed sometime during the evening and your champagne-induced mind can’t force you to walk any farther. And your intention was never to wander off and not let anyone know. It was to find Bradley and get some air, and you fell short in finding your boyfriend, so the latter had to do for the time being.

Thoughts of the Law and Order episodes you watched leisurely slammed themselves into the forefront of your mind as the thought of a dangerous predator sent shivers up your spine. You chewed on your lips and crossed your arms over your chest; half thinking and half trying to preserve your body heat. You took a small step forward before your action was interrupted by the loud cacophonous laughter of the men that made up your boyfriend’s friend group.

You smiled fondly and decided to wait a moment longer before making your presence known. Not very often do they get to joke around like that.

“She’s letting you hit raw and you still haven’t knocked her up yet?” you heard an unfamiliar voice say, “Jesus, Fitch, are you broken?”

You can hear Bradley chuckle along with the other males making up the group as you remained standing hidden behind the archway of the garden. If you had common sense, you would hit the gopher of your curiosity on the head like some dumb carnival game and would reveal yourself; softly joining in on the conversation and maybe even getting to put a face to the voice you had just heard.

But instead, you stayed put and tried to flip through the catalog of voices that you had come to know.

Reuben was ruled out because the statement was about him. Mickey’s voice was naturally quieter and softer in nature. “Hit raw” would never come out of Bob’s mouth ever. Hangman is an actual menace to society, but would “Never use the Lord’s name in vain, sweetheart. Was raised better than that.” And Javy was on leave visiting his family in Ohio for the next three weeks, you remembered Bradley mentioning earlier.

So who could it be?

An instinct - that old know-it-all voice that was cemented into your subconscious from years of mistakes and warnings from your mother - told you that the curiosity would actually kill you this time. Part of you thought it would be best if you found the bathrooms and waited for Natasha there. Your frozen toes and embarrassingly hard nipples would certainly thank you, but yet you do the opposite of what your panicked brain is telling you (one thing that the ABC spaghetti-o’s made clear to prevent you from getting your feelings hurt).

You had decided to snoop some more and God, did you wish you could beat yourself upside the head to forget what you had heard. Maybe a concussion wouldn’t be that awful.

And by the time Natasha caught up to you, you had thanked God that the night sky concealed the sadness written on your face and that the cool air could be used as an excuse for your sniffles.

Bradley, your sweet Bradley, had betrayed you, and he wasn’t even aware of how deeply that had cut you yet.

As you and Natasha made your way to the group of men huddled outside, you could feel the energy from Bradley shift, and from one look at you, he can tell that something in you has changed. His eyes are softened from both the scotch in his system and the tenderness he held in his heart for your being. Something in you just won’t allow his hazel irises to bleed into you. You already have enough blood surrounding the metaphorical stab wound that he unknowingly caused you tonight to last you through the goddamn week.

He had reached out to bring you into him and tuck you into his front and wrap his arm around your torso. He knew that you were freezing and his suit jacket had been abandoned inside so blocking the wind with his body was the next best thing to warm you up, he had thought. His hand had grazed the goosebumps on your arms, but you pushed him away forcefully. He didn’t raise the question out loud, but when he turned to face you and saw the red tint on your cheeks and the straight line your lips were in, it confirmed what he had thought.

You were pissed off.

The thing about Bradley, though, is that he’ll never bring up someone else’s issue with him. He’s confrontational at heart but only about things that cut him deep; about things that stain his fingertips red with anguish and disappointment. And he knows that he has a lot of problems. He knows that what you had heard had to be beyond upsetting, and as you stood shivering with your arms folded over your chest and a good three feet put between you and him, he noted that the look on your face was something that he had caused.

But because he’s him and because you’re you, he decided to let you come forward and let you confront him with your problem because the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do was upset you, and he certainly fell short in avoiding that scenario tonight.

You stayed quiet and distant for the rest of the night. Your smiles and hugs and sarcastic quips were kept to a minimum and everyone noticed that something was off with you. When you had given Reuben and Izzy their parting hugs, he had whispered in your ear to “feel better soon.” Izzy had even made an effort (despite how “off her ass” drunk she was) to comfort you, and it was then that you realized that everyone had noticed you but Bradley.

Your sweet, sweet Bradley who always happily obliged to love you and make you feel known and seen no matter the cost, but clearly, that was short of a few oceans away and the contempt of what he had done took precedence of the space you held for him in your heart now.

All the realization did was piss you off more.

Bradley had tried to give you his suit coat but you had just brushed it off your shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Normally, you would profusely apologize and declare that the action was an accident, but you simply watched it fall, raised your eyebrows in a gesture of being unamused, and started making your way to his car.

He had opened the passenger side door for you, but you stared at him; a look of utter silent disbelief and frustration rampant in your eyes. He couldn’t even process all that he was seeing reflected in your face before you reached your hand out to slam the very door he opened. You slung it open again before damn near hauling your body into the leather interior of the seat.

He had half the mind to subconsciously reach out and shut the door for you until you started angrily buckling your seatbelt, to which he ultimately decided to back away and round about his vehicle with half caution and half emasculating retreat to the driver’s side.

The wheels of how you were acting and how he could even begin to tread the water of what exactly had made you so painstakingly angry. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t speak to him. You didn’t even acknowledge him, and through the years of being an only child with a mother who doted on him like no other, Bradley had to admit that he was selfish; that he always wanted attention and always had to have it. The older he had gotten, the better he had become at concealing this, of course (Well, that’s debatable, you would have said if you were speaking to him) but he doesn’t like to share. Never likes to be pushed aside to have to make room for something else if he can help it.

And his thinking is selfish…and absurd…and a “doorway for toxicity” (all things that his therapist had said before Bradley had stopped seeing him because he hates being called out), but he can’t help it, and despite keeping it at bay in his friendships, he certainly has a more than difficult time keeping it concealed in his relationships.

Bradley blames the scotch he downed before he said his goodbyes on why he felt so wounded; on why the guilt and embarrassment were eating him alive. Everyone had known something was wrong with you and it hurt his confidence that he couldn’t be the one to pinpoint what exactly had caused your sour mood. He certainly had an idea, but he’d come to learn throughout the years that assuming things would never do him any good.

The wound you had given his ego was further agitated by your show of slamming the door as soon as he turned on his heel to go to his side. Knowing eyes in the parking lot of the venue had made their presence known with hushed whispers and heeled footsteps walking faster to avoid running into him.

Your anger angered him, and instead of being open to the idea of criticism and accepting his party in making you miserable tonight, his need to deflect kicked in instead. Old habits die hard, and he just couldn’t resist.

He knew you would always forgive him; would always say sorry and mean it because you love him. He has a right to be mad too, he had thought. You let his suit coat fall to the ground on purpose. You refused his touch. You slammed the door to his Bronco not once, but twice. If anyone had a right to be angry, he knew it was you but who was to say that he wasn’t a second runner-up?

Bradley knows that he was so incredibly wrong for trying to play you; trying to play chess when you weren’t even aware that there was a game being played, but so help him God if he got into a massive blowout fight with you in the goddamn parking lot before the night was over.

And he’s pissed off but he isn’t an asshole (at least he doesn’t think he is intentionally). He settled for keeping his mouth shut because he knew it would keep your anger at a minimum with less material to be upset at.

He backed out of his parking space and put his hand behind your headrest, his fingers lightly grabbed the ends of curled pieces of hair that wrapped themselves on the wrong side of the seat. You can feel the wispy touches and you tried your best to shrug him off.

The ghost of his fingertips on your body drove you up the wall. Instead of harshly pulling your head away from him, you bend down to unbuckle the strap of your heel. You were sure you almost saw the tail end of a frown when you had come back up, but he was absolutely the last thing you wanted to look at for the time being.

You could feel his stare on your face. His eyes traced your collarbone and followed the labyrinth of shadows up to your jawline. The temptation to give him some grace, to entertain his worries for just a second rang the bell inside your heart, but you were stronger than that. You deserved better than that.

He didn’t care about you in front of his coworkers, so why should he get the privilege of caring about you now?

Bradley, obviously attuned to your every move and gesture, sensed your subtle attempt at fleeing from him. He never knew how far away someone could feel from another despite being stuck in the confined space of a front seat.

He could tell that you were digging your heels in; doing your best to avoid him and remove your brain from the peanut butter-thick tension that plagued the scene. It didn’t stop him from searching the side of your face for answers - for any indication that the metaphorical distance you’ve created between you two actually exists and isn’t just a figment of his chronic overthinking.

The radio was tuned to some 80s throwback station, a Bob Seger song that you knew the melody of but certainly not the words to, which filled the uncomfortable silence. The age gap between you and your boyfriend was further cemented as he sang the song quietly as if he had written it himself.

You’re sure you would have spiraled all the way down to the abyss located in the treacherous unknown of the Pacific Ocean if you were given the chance to. Anywhere would be better than here, you had thought.

Bradley’s hand slipped to the heat to turn it on amidst the chilly fifty-degree fall air that had you shaking in the passenger seat. Your anger was so rampant and rage-induced that your body felt like it was on fire. Your annoyance has no place to go, as he didn’t even bother to lower the windows in the car this time. He had known that the routine of you two going out was thrown off, and trying to keep a small sliver of expectancy would do you both no good.

Bradley could be so observant yet so self-absorbed at the same time, and it drove you absolutely nuts.

And you started to spiral and the heat that was being blasted in your face crafted a tornado of grievances that you weren’t even aware you were holding against him.

Bradley is a blanket stealer. He always gets the wrong kind of grapes for you at the grocery store. He can never tell the difference between Alexandra Cabot and Casey Novak no matter how many times you force him to watch Law and Order: SVU. He always gets an absurd amount of water on the bathroom floor when he showers. He never fills up the Brita filter after he uses it. He always places his shoes sideways on the rack near his front door; not quite crooked enough for you to say something about it but always slightly slanted enough for you to notice it.

Most of all, he hurt your feelings tonight and he had yet to acknowledge that he was the cause of it. Yet here he is, trying to get in your good graces because the guilt of knowing that he had done something was chewing him up and spitting him out currently.

So attuned to your needs but never to your feelings. Same old Bradley.

His hand traveled to the bare skin of your knee; his large palm cupping the bone before moving it upward so his fingertips could trace the shallow gaps where your joints were relaxed. Your breath hitched in your throat and if it would have been acceptable to scream - ie; your boyfriend not currently driving you both across a narrow two-lanes-of-traffic bridge over the ocean - you would have.

His touch burned you. Made your heart volcanic. Sent fiery tears streaming down your face. His touch had betrayed you. Made you small. Made you insignificant. Made you feel like he never cared.

If you could’ve caught a glimpse at yourself you would know that you were beet red. You could feel yourself visibly shaking with anger and you knew Bradley could feel it too. You smacked his hand away as if you were smacking a blood-sucking mosquito off your body in the suffocating heat of June.

Except this wasn’t a mosquito. This wasn’t the soft glow of a summer sunset with a pesky little bug slurping down your blood. This wasn’t a fond moment that you would laugh at later.

You’d been bruised; so deeply hurt. Made to feel so goddamn stupid for ever thinking that he loved you. That he respected you. Fuck him for making you feel the same way you do at your 9 to 5 every weekday.

Bradley reached and turned the radio off. The deep exhale and the pink flush that crawled up his neck was his tell of truly being pissed off. You had only seen it happen a handful of times. Most of the time Maverick or Hangman served as memorable faces to cause the reaction.

But this time, the time that extended your handful into two handfuls, was because of you. Part of you is prideful of that fact. Now he can feel what you’ve felt the entire night.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?” he griped at you. He shifted in his seat and his left hand gripped the steering wheel significantly harder. “Been acting like a pissed-off toddler all night.”

The desire to roll your eyes bated you with knowing it would satiate you in getting your point across. But the desire to do him one better, to see if you could irritate him more, took over. You know that nothing gets under Bradley’s skin more than someone taking the high road; someone one-upping him in his “noble and kind” act.

“I’m not starting a screaming match with you in the car,” you deadpanned. You heard him huff beside you, still avoiding his presence with your eyes.

“Would rather you fight with me than take an oath of silence.” He cracked his neck and stiffened his back against his seat. “More grown-up ways to go about telling me you’re mad, you know.”

The anger ran up your spine and reared its head in your ears. “Hmm,” you sneered pensively, “More grown up than my pussy then, huh?”

Bradley slammed on the breaks of the Bronco. His sudden change in speed caused you both to jerk forward. He thanked God that the road was dark and no one was directly behind him. His abrupt decision could have resulted in disaster. But even if someone would have rear-ended his prized possession, his biggest fear at the moment would have to be the fact that his suspicion was confirmed.

You had heard them and that’s why you were so royally pissed off.

He simply swallowed and pushed his foot on the gas pedal, the car slowly starting to move forward. He turned the radio off completely and his raised brows to signify that he was deep in thought.

How the hell was he going to get himself out of this now?

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

The scoff you let out rumbled in his ears; eardrums rubbed raw from how accusatory the pitch of your laughter sounded. “Does it fucking matter that I did?” Your voice sounded thick and the puff of air you blew out of your mouth told him that you were seconds away from angry tears.

“You’re laughing, Bradshaw but what about that youngin’ you brought tonight? She even old enough to drink yet?” his friend and old squadron partner, Yankee, had laughed.

Bradley had forgotten how loud-mouthed Yankee could be. Completely unafraid of asking the questions everyone was dying to know the answers to and unapologetically crass (even more so than Hangman, believe it or not). Call sign given to him by how goddamn opinionated he was about the MLB and how much of a ride-or-die fan of the New York Yankees he was.

Yankee was one of those people who you didn’t tell your personal business to because he was bound to have some opinion about it; whether it was if he could tell that your flight suit was slightly stained or if you were making the right choice about proposing to your long-term partner.

Come to think of it, Yankee was one of the friends Bradley had that he was sure he would never be caught dead hanging out with one-on-one. Something about the two never aligned. Bradley never found Yankee’s jokes to be funny and more often than not found his demeanor to be beyond annoying. But he can't help who his friends liked, and Yankee had never brought anything up against Bradley that made him want to beat him to a pulp, so he was found in the same hand-shaking and bar-hopping circle of friends with Yankee until the other pilot was moved to Corpus Christi.

“Hey, Rooster’s girl is at least twenty-three. Old enough for a master’s, but can’t hold her liquor for shit,” Hangman declared, sipping the Budweiser he had been holding by its neck.

You stuffed Bradley’s suit coat that was sitting over your lap on the middle console; desperate to have any part of him away from you. You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt your tears fall into the dip of your collarbone.

The anger and sadness that bubbled inside you warmed your insides; turned your volcanic heart into lava. The heat from the vents of your boyfriend’s car blasted in your face and made you feel even sicker than you had previously. Your thighs stuck to the worn leather and itched due to your increased adrenaline.

You fidgeted about in the seat. Bradley adjusted his posture, leaning his head on his fist that rested on the window sill on his left side. He wanted to drop the whole thing. He wanted to return back to your good tequila-shot-induced moods before the night turned to shit.

He flipped the heat to a lower setting when he noticed your discomfort next to him. He haphazardly leaned over to close the vent on your side before he saw them; the tears streaming down your face and the pitiful pout adorning your lips. You looked so hurt. So broken. So done with him. Like maybe, just possibly, the love you had for him had finally given out.

He figured no one was to blame but him.

He tried his best to make you comfortable but the silence looming like a shadow from your side of the car sparked a wick of anxiety inside of him. His hands kept adjusting the temperature and checking your face as he turned the knob back and forth, the temperature going up and down. The air vents opened and closed as if they were playing some infantile game of peek-a-boo with you.

“Jesus - fuck -, Bradley,” you hissed, “Can you quit it?�� The tears had turned from anger to sadness to annoyance and you wondered if it was possible for the primary purpose of tears to switch that quickly.

Bradley let out a soft sigh before flicking the heat off completely and rolling down both windows. “Sorry.” The meekness on his face wrote regret for all that had taken place.

“You don’t say,” Yankee joked, “Ole Rooster’s been scoping out the playground still, I see.”

The group of men laugh, none of them in the know of the impending doom of the night about to take place. It always started like this with Yankee. One second, everyone would be laughing and having a good time. The next, he would say some “balls-to-the-wall” asshole-ish comment that even made Hangman grind his teeth in their offending nature.

“I would say more ‘Babysitters Club’ and less ‘Sesame Street.’ Have to at least be in middle school now for Bradshaw,” Hangman fires back, and although the jokes being made about his taste in women and dating habits were being made fun of, nothing truly offensive had been said yet, so Bradley continued to laugh and nod his head with subtle “Fuck you”’s thrown in every now and again.

Bradley had been in the Navy since he was twenty-one years old. He knows the way that Navy men talk. He knows the way that most Navy men think. “Swear like a sailor” is the common saying and the various time he’s spent on deployments or on carrier ships provided that it was true. He certainly isn’t blind to the nature of how these men viewed women from how they talked about them when there weren’t female ears around or when they didn’t have a warm body to go home to at night.

And he’s not proud of it - knew that his mother and father would bury him alive for some of the things he’s said - but the guilt of his parents’ imminent disapproval had since been disbarred from his conscience. When it came down to it, no one gave a fuck who he had fucked the night before or what he had said about the women he was sleeping with. Not when he was miles away from home in an undisclosed location on a suicide mission with no one to go home to if he happened to make it back.

So many other people whom he had befriended felt the same way and Bradley had figured that this is why locker-room talk still exists in the military. Some of the things he heard he was sure could have been said at a random run-of-the-mill suburban high school in any part of the continental United States. All that was changed was the bass in the voices and the number of hairs on their chests.

It’s hard to be polite when preserving your life is the action item at hand.

“You know Bradshaw, I always knew you were smart,” the other pilot swishes around his scotch on the rocks in his hand, “They’re always so horny when they’re that young.”

Laughter rang around the room and he joyously partook in it. “Well, I do get laid pretty frequently if you may ask,” he added before taking a sip of the beer he had in his hand.

His gaze caught Bob’s eyes. Sweet, innocent Bob who thought the world of everyone. Sweet, innocent Bob who knew that Bradley was digging his own grave, but continued sipping his glass of red wine. The gawky metal frames that rimmed his friend’s eyes bore into his soul, almost magnifying the wrongfulness of what he was saying.

Bradley had broken their eye contact, his arm coming up to cover his mouth as he cleared his throat and a shaky hand bringing the neck of his bottle up to his lips. He had known that Bob would never say anything, that he wasn’t one for confrontation or calling people out even when they deserved it. But that was the good thing about Bob. He always let people make their own mistakes and never really offered much to say about it afterward.

“I knew it! You seemed looser than the last time I talked to you.” Bradley catches Bob’s eyes again, his friend’s eyebrows slightly raising in a scolding manner. “Now tell, she the tightest pussy you’ve ever had?”

The atmosphere thickened as the side conversations had come to a screeching halt. He would be lying if he told himself that the lump in his throat was from the lack of water he had drank that night rather than the uneasiness of knowing he was in the wrong.

And he knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he should keep his mouth shut; that he owed you the small price of privacy, that you wouldn’t like the mechanics of your sex life being discussed with men who were probably making paper mache volcanoes for their middle school science fairs when you were born. He knew that Bob wasn’t giving him a warning look for no reason and that Mickey didn’t wander back into the venue for no reason at all.

But despite his better judgment (or lack of coherent judgment at all), he opened his big, fat mouth. He had sped up the ends to his means without hesitation; without regard for your feelings.

“Tightest thing I’ve ever put my dick in.”

His friends nod their heads and laugh. Some of them chuckled to avoid the awkwardness and others in agreeance with what was being said.

Bob scooted himself closer to Bradley and shook his head with a deep sigh. “C’mon, Rooster.” A clammy hand had come to lay gently on Bradley’s shoulder.

He had pretended not to hear him. He knew the minute that he let Bob’s words register that he would drop to his knees and beg you for forgiveness. He hated peer pressure. He hated the way he was acting. He hated the way he was treating you behind your back. He hated the way his friends were laughing.

He hated himself more for doing it because you deserved so much better. But clearly, he didn’t feel bad enough to stop.

The sobs that wracked your chest shook you like an earthquake. The more you pondered on why he would say the things that he had said - why he would laugh and demean you behind your back - sent you into a frenzy.

Had he always thought of you this way? Were you always talked about so grossly? So demeaningly? Were you really anything to him other than a warm vagina to pummel his dick in when he was horny?

The questions remained unanswered as you tried to stifle your cries. You hated crying in front of people anyway, but crying in front of Bradley always made you feel awful. Tears always made him uncomfortable and your tears made him upset. Whenever the waterworks started from you, he drove himself mad trying to remedy your issue. You had used to think it was because he cared, but now you started to wonder if it was because he didn’t know how to tell you that he didn’t want to deal with it; that you were being a bother.

Your hand is bitten raw from trying to hold in your pathetic cries. The alligator tears that ran down your face at a rapid speed and the shaking of your shoulders did little to mask the fact that you were sobbing. Years of being told that your emotions would hinder your credibility at work, months of pent-up frustration, hours of disrespect, minutes of unkindness, and seconds of insecurity create an atomic bomb on the merits of the lesson you had been told throughout your entire lifetime; there will never be enough room for your emotions.

And you believed it. You took people for their word. You made narratives and internalized them from how people acted. You read between the lines and the margins of what you interpret carve doubt into your heart; carve the failure that you’re so deathly terrified of so close to your lifeline of needing to please everyone all the time.

The trait is toxic - an unfavorable condition - your therapist would say but it had become such a compulsion, you’re sure you would die without it. Something about approval is so intimately invasive and the shower thoughts you conjured up while thinking about this never seemed to uncover the answer as to why.

Why it matters. Why it doesn’t matter. Who the fuck would even care. (You, of course, but the world is so much larger than you are and your selfishness would be disappointing, you think.)

You wish your boyfriend could read your mind and see the twenty-five cent bouncy ball-like thoughts hitting every crevice of your brain right now. You wish that your hurt feelings could be seen by him with x-ray vision or some fictional superhero-like ability. Most of all, you wished that he had known that the events that had taken place throughout the entire night were tearing you up right beside him.

If he felt that way about you, felt like you were around just for your body and not for you, what did everyone else think? Was Natasha only friendly because she thought you were too immature to be left alone at gatherings? Did Rueben and Mickey actually give a shit about what you had to say when they asked about your work? Did Jake and Javy even know your name?

Did your boyfriend even like you?

The questions imploding like fireworks in your head made you cry harder, and you couldn’t help but let the sobs out now. Bradley looked over at you. His hand brushed your knee, his palm cupped it and his fingers spread out to rub soothing circles on the lower part of your thigh.

“Don’t cry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he begged, his voice quiet. Small. Unsure. All the things he had made you. “Please don’t cry.”

The rubber band inside of you finally breached the capacity of tension it was able to withstand. The fact that you needed comfort more than anything and the person who usually supplies it for you with no bounds is the one who is violating that comfort made your head spin.

“She’s got that young pussy,” Yankee continued. “Gotta fuck ‘em before they turn into moms. Not as tight anymore.”

Bradley’s ears turned red upon hearing Yankee’s declaration. Knowing that you fucked up and realizing that you fucked up are two vastly different things and the realization hit when he heard Jake Seresin (of all fucking people) tsk and shake his head.

“That’s fucked up, man. Have some respect.” Ever the Southern fucking gentleman.

The sandy-haired pilot’s mouth gaped open before closing; the words loose in his psyche but ceasing to exist in real-time. He finally thought that he had a handle on what he wanted to say. Something noble. Something dignity preserving. Something along the lines of “What the hell?” and “Shut the fuck up.”, but either or never making its way out between his lips.

Waiting for the perfect moment that never comes, he thought, and upon further internalized reflection, he realized that it posed itself as true. Jake wasn’t entirely wrong for saying that about him all that time ago.

The clicking of heels on the ground announced Phoenix and his dashing girlfriend’s presence with the group of men and snapped Bradley out of his thoughts. Something in the way she was carrying herself, something about the way that her crossed arms over her chest blocked her usually sunny aura, told Bradley that something was wrong.

He brought his lips down to her ear when he hugged her from behind and almost built up the courage to ask what was wrong. But he fell short when he was called away to do another round of shots with Rueben and Natasha. He had settled for a kiss to your temple instead before he bolted off.

“Fuck you,” you manage to spit.

Bradley raises his eyebrows. The curse word sends him into immediate fight or flight. “What did you just say to me?”

You know that you’re teetering the line of too much. Toeing the line of immaturity. Testing if your boyfriend liked you enough to put up with your explosion of emotions. “I said fuck you.” The definitive tone in your voice that you attempt scares you with how much it resembles your mother’s.

Bradley scoffs and squirms in his seat some more. His inability to sit still is his tell of guilt. “I told you it wasn’t like that.”

“What the fuck else was it supposed to be then, Bradley?” Your head snaps to look at his side profile.

The cream-colored polo shirt that you had bought him months ago was worn tonight with a different ending in a mind; one where he sped home and kissed your lips swollen and then had you withering beneath him as he fucked up into you on the wall of his foyer. Certainly not the narrative that was currently unfolding in front of him.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh cruelly. “Well, what I didn’t want you to say was that I was the tightest thing you’ve ever stuck your dick in? That I’m insatiably horny? Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?” You turn your body to face him completely, heart beating in your ears and chest starting to heave with the upset of Bradley’s attitude toward you. “How the hell is Jake Seresin defending me before you even thought to?”

“Leave him out of this.” His face turns red and anger starts to bubble over inside him. Rooster always sweats whenever he gets flustered; so pissed off and angry that the heat inside of him has nowhere to go. The muggy threshold of the heat being flicked on minutes before pairs vexatiously with the aggravation that sits between the both of you.

He rolls the windows in the car all the way down but remembers to roll yours down enough for the smallest gusts of wind to be let in. Even though you had made him angry and he knows that you’re completely justified in the case that’s been built against him, he still cares about you.

He knows that you never like your window being all the way down unless the heat of the summer is unbearable and you were going on a beloved sunset drive with him; your shared playlist playing through his speakers and the top of the Bronco being taken off.

The way that your hair dances in the wind remind him of when you’re carefree enough to lean your head backward outside of the car while driving down a backroad, the words of a Paramore song exiting your lungs with such clarity that he could question if Hayley Williams had written the song or you.

But it’s not the heat of mid-June’s sunburn heating up his cheeks and your screams aren’t accompanied by the laughter of him poking your sides. Summer-salted air is replaced with a frigid fall breeze and your happy moods are burdened by your own frustrations.

“Wish I could tell you the same about our sex life, but obviously too little too late.”

His hand comes up to wipe at his nose. His eyebrows are furrowed. “What the fuck do you think we talk about then? Huh?” Bradley’s pointed tone sends a slight sliver of fear down your spine at his annoyance. “Do you think we sit on those fucking carrier ships in the middle of the fucking ocean for eight months at a time and talk about what? Girl power and Title IX? How much we love AOC?”

The tears dripping down your face continue to fall.

“I’m not saying that you have to sacrifice your conversations with the “bros” about jet fuel and g-forces and whatever the fuck else you always seem to insist is so goddamn important, but my vagina is not a conversation topic to have over a fucking draft beer with your buddies.”

Bradley rolls his eyes at your mention of the word “buddies.” If only you knew how he really felt about Yankee.

“And I’m so fucking sorry that my lack of not wanting to be disrespected disrupted what you think is a party conversation starter. Would you like my apology half-assed like yours or sincere with a complimentary blowjob because that seems to be all you think I’m good for?”

“I said I was sorry and I meant it!”

“You said you were sorry because you want me to accept your apology, but what next, Bradley? Are you actually gonna fix it?”

He rolls his eyes and lets out a deep exhale. “Don’t act like I won’t do anything you fucking ask of me,” his hand comes up to rub at his temples.“ I love you more than life itself and you know that.”

“So why are you acting like you don’t then?”

He starts driving down the stretch of road that leads to his home. The yellow glow of the street lights makes you want to ask him to take you back to your place. You can’t stand to be sitting next to him in his car's front seat, let alone sleeping in the same bed with him tonight.

“Take it back,” he says dismissively.

“Show me different and maybe I’ll consider.” He pulls the car into his garage and you throw the door open before he can come to a complete stop.

“Hard to when every little thing that slightly offends you sends you into a goddamn spiral.”

Your weakness. He’s got you there.

“Fuck you, Rooster,” you say weakly, stomping away inside to his bedroom as fast as you can with the heels you have on.

“Grow up,” you hear him say behind you, hot on your tail before turning around to head to the kitchen.

You spend the next two hours separate from each other, toeing around the house petrified of seeing the other’s face. No fight you had gotten into with one another had ever been this bad in the four years you had been dating, and part of you wonders if this is how relationships begin to fade; how people start to realize that maybe their person wasn’t their person.

But you think Bradley is it for you. You’ve always felt that way since coming to know him. Be with him. Have him in the same way he has you. You don’t think you can function without him no matter how much of an ass he’s being to you right now. And sure, you’re independent to a fault and yeah, you don’t always know what’s good for you, but you know one thing definitively, and that thing is that Bradley Bradshaw checks all your boxes despite driving you slightly insane at times.

You look up at yourself in his bathroom mirror as you finally scooped yourself off of the floor of his bedroom and made the decision to scrub your makeup off (or what was left of it after your meltdown, really). The patch of stress acne near the side of your forehead from the new project you had been put on at work and the ball of anxiety over what to wear to the wedding shower tonight made itself known. You realized that you had run out of makeup remover and face wash at Bradley’s house a couple of days ago, and the regret of not bringing some or asking him to drop you off at your own apartment started to settle with the burden of your hurt feelings and the freakout your skin was bound to have come tomorrow morning.

A sigh had left your mouth and Bradley’s bathroom cabinet opened as you decided to skip washing your face in favor of only brushing your teeth. But when you go to grab the lilac-handled toothbrush from its holder, you notice the two brand-new bottles of makeup remover and face wash that you certainly didn’t bring, and then you’re reminded of how sweet your boyfriend can be. How caring he is.

The soft spot in your heart that he owns starts to warm again.

After you manage to wash your face and brush your teeth, you run into the problem of only bringing a sleep shirt. Bradley keeps his house on sixty-five no matter the weather outside. He always claims that he runs hot despite some of the wind chill San Diego experiences at night during the fall and winter months. And while you have clothes at Bradley’s, most of them fall into the business casual garb you wear to work or are borrowed (more like stolen, he likes to joke) and no matter how cold you may be, your pride has so much more precedence than it would allow you to give in.

Bradley’s Chicago Bears hoodie sits folded in your designated drawer, but you bypass putting it on. The embarrassingly large t-shirt (albeit free t-shirt) that repped a random student organization from your undergrad institution would have to do tonight.

You waltz out of Bradley’s bedroom quietly. Not only to go undetected, but to be polite in case he had already fallen asleep on his declared refuge of the couch. The soft sound of Breaking Bad playing told you that he was still awake. He can never fall asleep with the TV on; no matter how tired he is.

“Baby?” Bradley calls out from the couch.

Shit. Were you really that loud?

Your feet move faster than your brain; something about Bradley is so magnetizing. You’ll follow him to the end of the Earth if you knew that he needed you. Your puffy-eyed, pantless form moves to stand in front of him. His form still wears the clothes he had worn tonight. The only thing different was the UVA throw blanket you had gotten him last month “just because” over his lap and his printed airplane-socked feet sticking out from underneath it.

Your gaze looks towards the shoe rack near the front door and you chuckle to yourself as you see them exactly how you imagined them. Tucked away where he wouldn’t trip on them, but slightly askew.

His hand comes up to grab yours that lies limply at your side. “C’mere,” he whispers, testing the waters to see how much damage he had done.

You give his hand a small squeeze, the coldness of yours allowing you to feel every callous on his palms. “Jesus, you’re freezing.”

He opens the blanket on his lap and guides you to straddle him. He closes the blanket and immediate warmth covers you. Bradley’s hands sit on your lower back above your tailbone, soothing circles being rubbed on the bone there, and his head coming to rest on top of yours. You breathe in his scent, your face snuggled into his neck.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry,” he speaks and you exhale. You bite your lip, the tears welling up again and wetting his neck.

“It’s okay,” you weep brokenly. “I’m sorry, too.”

He presses gentle kisses on the top of your hair. The sadness that fills the room; the culmination of utter sorrow and confirmation of your insecurities makes the room heavy and eats away at you. Bradley does his best to comfort you until your sobs quiet to hiccups.

And as much as you love Bradley, as much as you want to be satisfied with his apology (or lack of a sincere one, thereof), you realize that sincerity was perhaps not one of his defining characteristics. But instead of calling him out, you so stupidly and cowardly accepted it and apologized right back.

He’s apologizing for the sake of saying sorry. For the sake of diminishing your anger. For the sake of being able to be truthful about never going to bed angry if someone asks. For the sake of doing so because if you accept, he’s still allowed to stay the same and he never has to change.

But you’re saying sorry for being a nuisance. For embarrassing him. For bruising his ego and for being accusatory that he never gave a damn about you.

And what you don’t realize is that you should really be saying sorry to yourself, because while you’re boxing yourself up to make space for him, he’s not sorry about forcing you to do it.

Boxes are heavier when they’re filled with resentment, you learn, and the weight becomes unbearable when sorrows are thrown out to sea with no lifesaver near in sight.

Love is all about sacrifice and banged-up feelings; even if that means that the love of the man you would do anything for suffocates you as you lay curled into his side with a heat made by his chest and his soft snores in your ear.

“Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is patient. Love is kind.”

And for the first time in the four years you had spent together, you truly start to wonder if Bradley really does love you. The hot coffee on the nightstand when you wake up and the discovery of his thermostat being turned up to seventy degrees confuses you when you get up to head back to your apartment in the morning when you compare his treatment of you now to he had treated you the night before.

He loves me not. He loves me.

He loves me not.

(Year 5)

He loves me. He loves me not.

His mother used to tell him that women always knew.

And she would say it over the sound of a cheaply made General Hospital episode that she had taped so they could watch it together during their evening “wind down time.” His pencil would be scratching away at a Calculus problem from the AP Calc booklet his teacher had passed out at school that day and the soft clink of his mother’s knitting needles would grace his ears.

He would nod his head as he sat by his mother’s feet on the floor of their living room and wouldn’t say a word. The cocoon that the soft yellow glow of the lamp gave off wrapped him in a moment of security; a moment of comfort that he was never allowed very often.

And he had never really thought anything of it at the time. He had figured it was just some chock-full wisdom that would blossom into a useful tool for his adult life; one where his mom wasn’t dying and he was married with maybe a few kids and a beautiful house with a backyard and a bay window.

“Women always know,” his mom said as the female lead had discovered her husband cheating on her long before she had traveled home to catch him in the act.

“Women always know,” his mom said as she would catch him trying to sneak a girl into his teenage bedroom at half past three in the morning.

“Women always know,” his mom said as she comforted him when she had declared to an eighteen-year-old Bradley that she no longer wanted to continue with chemotherapy. She died not even two days later.

“Women always know,” he can hear his mom’s voice in the back of his head as he watches you tiptoe around him when you come home from work.

The door closes with a soft click and your keys are grasped tightly in your hand to prevent them from jingling. The bags underneath your eyes beg the question of when the last time you had gotten a full eight hours of sleep was, but you both would rather not inquire out loud.

The answer would shock both of your consciences.

The tossing and turning you had done the night before was cruel. The anxieties of your day had breached unknown territory; the pit of your stomach hollow and your chest tight. Your mind was so frazzled with fear you couldn’t bear to stay still because the lack of movement gave way for your thoughts to be caught; for your fear and anxiousness to swallow you whole.

Bradley would normally stir in his sleep the minute your eyes had popped open in the middle of the night, but instead, he had elected to turn over and cuddle his face more into his own pillow. The action tacked itself onto the mile-long list of things you were upset about - things that you found unfathomable that your brain scrambled together.

And when you had finally gotten to sleep, your alarm clock blared beside you. Your heart had started to race and the monster of nerves you had successfully defeated for an hour and a half resurrected itself.

When you had turned to face Bradley, you found him still fast asleep and that’s when you knew.

You’re not stupid. You’re not oblivious. In fact, you’re always so painfully aware that it kills you sometimes. You notice how he’s been pulling away. You notice how he’s seemed more reserved and despondent than usual. You notice how he doesn’t kiss your forehead anymore or ask to join you in the shower when you’re both spending your mornings at home together on the weekends.

Conversations at the dinner table are neither here nor there as most nights he can’t be damned to make it home to eat with you. For the first time in five years, you had run out of face wash and had to write a note to yourself on your phone to pick some more up from the store the next time you went shopping. Bradley had watched you type it out and his sagging shoulders wore disappointment on them.

You knew.

You knew he was both feet out of the door with your relationship; his hand still on the doorknob to close it but not having the guts to lock the door while he’s at it.

You know.

You know that you’re going to break up. You know that Bradley is the one who will be taking the initiative and doing it. You know that he’s been thinking about it for a while. The absent gasps whenever you do happen to catch dinner with him say so, and all you can think about is his mouth opening and closing like a goddamn goldfish as he searches for the words to bring it up. The thought makes the actions of the inevitable seem more bearable.

But yet you cling to what little time you know you have left with him.

How you know that you’ll never get to sleep beside him again. How you know that you’ll never get to snuggle into his UVA blanket. How you know that you’ll never visit the Hard Deck or the base or any spaces where Rooster Bradshaw exists freely.

How you know that things will never be the same and that your sweet, sweet Bradley will soon become a sweet, sweet stranger.

So you try to prolong it.

You never linger in the same space as him for too long for fear of the dreadful topic being brought up. You bite your tongue a lot more than you usually do. You keep your stuff neat and tidy; praying for some miracle that he didn’t see your hairbrush on his bathroom counter and that it would buy you another day with him.

You know it can’t last forever but the stupid, naive part of you thinks you can stretch the time to infinity and it’ll be some Groundhog Day-type plot.

You had started planning your arrival home around his schedule months prior. You aimed for leaving the office when you knew he had already left base about an hour earlier. If Bradley was anything, it was predictable, and he would either be in the shower when you had made your way home or cooped up in the home office he had made of the spare bedroom.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you see him standing in front of you; hands drying the ceramic plates Penny and Mav had bought you as a housewarming gift whenever he bit the bullet and moved you both into his parents’ old house last summer. Gray running shorts are low on his hips and a New York Yankees long-sleeve looks damn near painted on his biceps. You swallow the lump in your throat that travels down to your stomach.

Your brain can’t even begin to think of what to do or say but Bradley beats you to it.

“Hi,” he speaks, breaking the ice of your anxiety that freezes you both over. He knows that you can feel that something is off. He knows that you’ve felt it for a long time. He also knows that he’s about to shatter you completely and he’s not sure if he can watch as he does it.

“Hi,” your voice quietly sounds. Your hands start to shake and Bradley’s eyebrows upturn with sympathy as he drinks in your appearance.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. He places the plate down and steps towards you. “C’mere.”

His arms stretch to accommodate you. His heart beats wildly as he approaches. He thinks you can sense it because you slam your ear against his chest. There’s no way you can’t feel the rise and fall and frenzied thumping coming from his pectoral.

“Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt her,” his heart begs, but his brain knows that either way, hurting you is inevitable.

He wishes there was another way but he knows wishful thinking will only put you both in a landmine of resentment; a world of a loveless marriage and three kids who will eventually have to pack their bags for their respective weekends with you and him on opposite sides of town. He doesn’t want that for you. He doesn’t want that for him. He sure as hell doesn’t want that for them. So he pushes aside his selfish desire to keep you close and does what he always does.

He decides to walk away.

“Just get it over with,” you say weakly from his chest. He plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. His thumbs rub soothing circles on the backs of both shoulders. Your stomach is cold and the rest of your body is left scorching.

“What are you talking about?” his chin comes to rest on top of your head. His hold on you unintentionally shoves your face deeper into his chest.

“Don’t make me say it. Please don’t.”

“I can’t talk about it unless you tell me what you’re gettin’ at, babydoll.”

“Don’t play stupid, Bradley,” you release yourself from his grip, “You’re going to break up with me. We both know it so please, just do it already.”

The words that you say steer clear of the convoluted plan he had in mind. Breaking up is no easy task and the guilt of the thought even crossing his mind had been weighing on him for ages. It wasn’t like he sat down with himself and crunched the numbers of the housing market to see when the best time would be for you to move out or that he had a set itinerary of how the conversation was going to play out. He wasn’t even sure he was going to do it today until you had left for work, and it seems to him that you had figured it out without having to mention it to you.

Women always know.

“Don’t say it like I’m just trying to throw you away.” You flinch at his words. He realizes that his tone had come off more aggressive than he intended it to be when he notices the slight watering in your eyes.

“Isn’t that what a break up is?” you want to ask, but you’re so stunned you can’t get your vocal cords to carve out the shape of the letters, let alone thrust any sound out.

He takes your hand and leads you to your shared bedroom. The white duvet and navy blue bordered throw pillows remind you of when he used to take the time to hold you before you fell asleep at night. The hardwood of the floors tell the secrets shared between the two of you as hushed and giggled whispers; pointless gossip and serious confessions alike. The framed pictures on the dresser show you and him in various moments of your five years together.

Easter spent at your parents’ with your siblings and nieces and nephews this past spring. Thanksgiving with Mav, Penny, and Amelia three years prior. A selfie you forced him to take with you at Phoenix’s wedding last year. A candid shot taken by one of your friends of you two curled up on the beach; blissfully in love and lost in each other’s eyes at the start of your relationship.

The photos and the room had seen so much of you two. Various deployments and promotions. A canvas of emotions and intimate moments. Laughter and tears. Petty fights and teenaged makeout sessions. So many things that had written the story of you and Bradley long before you had moved in and long after. The thoughts of the memories fill you with excitement.

But the thought of him not feeling the same way - the fact that he’s bringing you to a room with the story of you both written exclusively in every crevice to end things - brings a waterfall of tears down your face.

The story of creation and its impending graveyard.

Another pang of anguish surges through you and the coldness in your stomach spreads to your feet.

He sits down on the foot of the bed first. He looks up at you with worry written in his irises. Bradley can sense your discomfort; the sadness and panic bouncing off of your aura in waves of deep indigo blue - the color that he’s assigned depression. He doesn’t know why (and he thinks that if he were you, he would slap himself across the face) but he offers his hand to you.

There’s no hesitation and his hand guides you to sit on his lap like how he always does when you’re upset and need comfort.

You sit down and push your face into the side of his neck. The stinging sensation from the hot salt water tears leaking into a cut he had given himself from shaving that morning makes the nature of the situation all the more realistic. This is the last time he will hold you like this. This is the last time he will know you as well as he does. This is the last time he will ever have the chance to make you miserable.

Last times always make him uneasy. He thinks that he should be used to it by now from his track record of being abandoned (willfully or “out of their control” situations alike). None of this should hurt him as deeply anymore.

But the feeling of disappointment is just so intense this time. He’s sure it doesn’t even fall within the scope of what could be considered “hurt feelings.” He would classify this as torture, and he can’t help his own quiet sobs racking his chest as he holds your crying and shrunken-in form in his arms.

“I don’t want to break up, Bradley,” you weep, “I just don’t want to.”

He shakes his head and wipes his own eyes. “We need to.”

There’s something so personal about failure. It’s not a stranger to you. It’s not a monster or fear or the Mucinex man that you try to boil it down to be. It’s something that you can’t obsessively try to avoid anymore because it’s right here in your face.

Except this time, it takes the shape of Bradley’s red-rimmed eyes and gray hairs on the border of his hairline that you hadn’t noticed before.

Bradley isn’t one for bragging. He can’t stand bragging, actually, and he wonders if that’s why he has such a hard time trusting his judgment. He considers that to be the reason why he’s always teetering on the edge of uncertainty, but he knows deep down that this time, he’s right. He’s so spot on and as much as it kills him, it would be more of a crime to deny it than to just admit that he’s right.

He knows it. You know it. He’s sure God does, too.

“No, you want to,” you stubbornly sniffle.

Ever the most hard-headed person to exist, but a sweetheart when it comes down to it. He almost cracks a smile at your attitude, but then he runs into it like a wall of bricks. You’re breaking up. This is the last time he’ll ever get to see your bull-headedness in full effect. The thought makes him whimper and he prays that you didn’t hear the infliction of it in his voice.

“That’s not true, sweet girl,” he sighs, fingers tracing the seam of your work pants, “I can’t make you miserable anymore. We need to.”

“Who said I was miserable?”

He pauses. He knows that the statement he’s about to make will send an uncomfortable chill down his spine. He knows that it’ll make him feel that way because he’s being called out.

“I don’t want to get married and you do. That’s miserable.”

Your ears burn more than they already had because he’s right. You’ve been waiting around for a stupid diamond on a stupid gold band; for reassurance that he wants you to be his as much as you love the idea of being his forever.

Five years and you know how he takes his coffee in the morning. Five years and you compromise regularly about what to keep the thermostat on. Five years and nine weddings you had attended with him. Five years of loving each other and knowing one another in ways that only fiction writers can dream of having someone know them. Five years of feeling like you would die without him.

Five years and he’s ready to throw it all away because he doesn’t think you both want the same things. Five years down the drain.

You think being kicked in the face would hurt a hell of a lot less than this does.

“Uh-uh. No,” you say. You paw at your eyes with your hand ferociously. “No! You don’t get to do that. You know that’s not fair!” You spring up from his lap like he was a fire that had just licked your skin with white-hot heat.

He grabs at your wrist, his eyes pleading with you to not leave him. His touch burns you but you give in. “It’s not fair to keep doing this to you.” His arms envelop you once again and you feel like you can’t breathe.

You push at his chest. “This isn’t fair.” Your arms try and pry Bradley’s arms off of you. “You can’t - I can’t just let you throw us away like this. It’s not fair!”

Bradley swallows down the lump in his throat. His eyes produce more tears the more he watches you struggle against him. He’s scared that if he lets you go that you’ll lose it completely. Part of him knows keeping you near is helping him hold it together too, but he tries to rationalize the overall shittiness of the entire situation by telling himself that he’s appealing to your needs - that you need him, but he also knows that he needs you.

“I love you so much,” he whispers into your hair.

“Then why are you hurting me?” The question explodes in the air, It’s something that he thought he was prepared to hear from the pep talk he had given himself on the ride to work this morning, but it still stuns him.

“I’m hurting you by keeping you with me.”

You scoff and cry harder. The fight inside of you hasn’t ceased yet. Such a stubborn girl, he thinks. It’s one of the things he loves the most about you.

“You’re hurting me now.”

Bradley swallows his comment. His mind ping pongs back and forth, back and forth, back and forth on how to tell you why he knows this is for the best. The truth is, he doesn’t know it. He just thinks it, and the worry of having to follow his instincts, to have to be guided by something so material and un-cemented, scares him to death. But he knows that you deserve the word and the world is something he knows that he’ll never be capable of giving anyone.

“You deserve someone that will marry you.” The words taste bitter in his mouth. “Someone who will make you so happy that you won’t even think of us anymore. Someone who can give you that house in La Jolla and a huge wedding and babies and a dog.”

“Someone who won’t blow up in flames while they’re in the sky,” he almost adds, but he closes his mouth instead. The conversation was already heavy. There’s no need to tack on his death that is always in the cards.

“I deserve you,” you say, tone dripping with determination and assurance.

He’s full-on sobbing now. “You deserve so much better, baby. Why can’t you see it?”

You chew on your lips so hard that they start to split. The salt of the blood in your mouth is vile but you would rather taste that than the tears that have been roaming down your face.

“Why can’t you just be better then?”

He feels like you stabbed him in the heart. He guesses that he deserves that. “I can’t be better if you deserve the world. I know I can’t give you that.”

The room fills itself with hiccuped breaths. His heart cracks and yours disintegrates. Bradley moves himself to the headboard to support his back. If you weren’t so concerned with your world crashing down, you would have made a joke about how his age was catching up with him. But trying to force yourself to smile feels like a crime.

Bradley has experienced loss. He’s experienced disappointment. He’s experienced heartbreak. He thought he was prepared for what he was choosing to do, but he never had thought of how he would feel when he was experiencing all of these things at once.

His abs hurt from how hard he’s crying. The hair on the crown of your head is soaked from his tears but you don’t mind nor do you notice. The chest of his long sleeve is stained black from your own tears. You both cling to each other even though being close is what causes you to ache.

The bright white of the linen duvet reflects cornflower blue in the moonlight. Your throat is dry from your heaving. His head hurts from his racing thoughts. Both of your eyes sting uncomfortably; you seeing the world as if you were underwater. Not only because of your uncontrollable sobbing but because the focus of your life - the love you so willingly gave that has illuminated your world for the past five years - has finally dimmed.

The hours spent holding each other felt like seconds and you finally muster up the courage to say something; to put on a brave face and revel in one of your lasts with him.

“Bradley?” you croak. He clears his throat and presses a timid kiss to the top of your head as if he’s scared that his lips are more of a weapon than a tool of comfort.

“Yes, baby?”

“Will we still be friends in a few weeks?”

He sucks on his lips. He wants to say that you’ll always be friends. That no one that comes after you will ever hold a candle to you and what you both had. That you’re his beginning and end, but he can’t keep dragging you along with a false promise of giving you what you actually want. He can’t make himself want to be a husband even though he knows that it’s what he needs to be to keep you. Wanting you just isn’t enough anymore.

The risk is contemplated, but he never wants to prey on you and your vulnerability. He settles for the safe option.

“Depends on if you still wanna be, sweet girl.”

You plant a soft kiss on the wet spot on his chest your tears have created. The answer is sweet but not what you want. You wish it would’ve broken his resolve; would’ve reversed your relationship ending. You know that he knows better than to do that.

The silence sets in again before you speak up.

“Bradley?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Will you still call me every night before I go to sleep so I can hear your voice?”

“I can for a little while, baby.”

His answer is the right thing to say, you know, but you can’t help the fact that the statement breaks your heart even more. “Why only a little bit?”

He sighs. You’re not making this easy for him. “Babe, you know why.”

“Right,” you whisper, shifting in his lap to wrap your arms around his neck. You peer into his eyes. The hazel in them is dimmed. There’s no sparkle left. “M’sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he reassures, “Just think that maybe that won't be healthy if we do it for too long.”

It kills him to say that, but he knows that he’s doing the right thing. It certainly doesn’t feel as such, and he would think that nearly twenty years of service in the Navy would help him separate the bad feelings from the nobility.

Breaks up just don’t work like that, he figures. No amount of experience or preparation can concoct an easy way out where no one gets hurt.

He gets lost in his thoughts before he hears your voice again.

“Bradley?”

Broken. Timid. Inquisitive. A test to see if he still cares enough about you to answer. He knows how you are and that you’re reverting back to old patterns that you had lost during your time with him. He has to push aside his feelings of being slightly offended that you’ve put the wall back up so quickly, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s done enough damage to last a lifetime. He just wishes that you didn’t think he could fall out of love with you this easily.

“Hmm, baby?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“My best friend too,” he exhales, the pang in his chest valiant in letting him know that this is the end, “Always will be.”

You pause and tailor your next statement carefully. Part of you takes it slow to prevent yourself from breaking down again but part of you takes your time to keep him near; to keep him from walking away from you. And you don’t want to do this to him. You don’t want to anger him or upset him and that’s the fucked up thing about it.

He’s hurting you and you don’t want to hurt him back.

“Yeah, but what happens when you date another girl and she’s your best friend instead of me?” The thought makes your skin crawl and you dig half moons into the skin of your hand with your thumb to prevent yourself from letting out a chest-wracking sob. “What am I supposed to do then?”

Bradley sighs. The thought of you moving on is selfish but he knows that it’s inevitable. He wishes that no one will ever get to know you the same ways that he’s gotten to, but shakes the thought as soon as he realizes how selfish it is - a declaration of love or the right answer.

He does the latter.

“You’ll find someone who’s an even better best friend than I am,” he sniffles. He hadn’t even noticed that he had started crying again. “Someone who doesn’t make you cry.”

Your breath hitches and it triggers more tears to stream down your face. He’s hurting, too. You never want to see him hurt like this, but then you realize that after today, you will never have to ever again. The thought makes your body ache; withdrawal symptoms before any withdrawal had actually begun.

“You promise we’ll still talk?” you speak in a watery voice.

“Yes, babydoll,” he wipes his eyes and sniffles some more, “ We’ll still talk.”

You start to play with his hands. Your finger runs across a faint scar on his index, the freckle on his pinky, the empty space where you wish a gold wedding band would be on his ring finger. The tips of your own fingers start to burn when you realize that his disinterest in ever wanting to wear one is why you’re breaking up.

You push the thought to the side and continue on in the conversation.

“About life stuff?”

He gives a soft chuckle, the one he usually gives you when he’s playing into your amusements. Part of him is never serious when he does it, but there’s a new wave of promise that he has to keep.

“About anything you want.”

The crying dies down again. The energy in the room is constantly going up and down like the waves on the beach near the back of the house.

“Bradley?” you interrupt the quietness again. The lack of sound makes you even more anxious than you already are.

“Yes?” He curses himself as the statement leaves his mouth. He knows you’re picking apart his lack of use of a pet name; that you’re convincing yourself that you’re an inconvenience to him and that he never cared for you the way you wanted him to.

Bradley almost tacks one on, but the pause between adding it and answering would have been too broad and you would have noticed and called him out on it. He decides against it. He also starts to wonder when he became so decisive all of a sudden.

Turmoil does that to someone, he guesses.

“My heart hurts so bad and I don’t know how I’ll fix it.”

The energy in the room spikes again. The tension you can feel radiating off of him like an unbearable heat makes your eyes water. Crying was something you did often but not something you enjoyed. You’re in for some long, painstakingly miserable months, you think.

“Mine does too but we’ll do what we always do, right?” You shift in his lap and curl into him more. You know he’s right, but it doesn’t mean that what he’s saying is what you wanted to hear. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I - I don’t think I kn-know how to d-do that anymore.”

He moves his chin from the top of your head to actually look at you. He had been avoiding it for the fear that he would be too cowardly and would retreat back to keeping you in this miserable, hopeless search for a marriage that he was never planning on partaking in. He can’t go back. He can’t undo what he had just done. Even if he were to announce that he wanted you to stay, it being brought up in the first place will forever have torn an irreparable hole in the fabric of your relationship.

Bradley’s hands cup your face and he smacks his lips on your forehead. He thumbs away the tears that had been endlessly streaming all night. He rubs soft circles back and forth on your cheekbones. The pressure you get in your cheeks from crying always gives you a massive headache, he knows.

The fact that someone else will know that about you sends him into a spiral of guilt. A spiral of weakness. A spiral of wanting to undo what he had just done.

But he doesn’t.

Do the right thing. Do the right thing. Do the right thing.

And so he does.

“Bullshit, baby. You’re the smartest woman I know. You’ll figure it out.” Truthful words, but not truthful feelings. He’s never been good at deciphering those.

“Bradley?”

“Yes, baby?”

The words get stuck in your throat. You never want to make him feel bad because you know how hard he is on himself. You’re not sure if saying what you want to say is even worth it but - from the way he’s holding your face, from the way you’ve gotten to know and love him, from the way that he will always be your sweet, sweet Bradley - you determine that he needs to hear it.

“You’re the kindest man that I know even though you stomped on my heart.”

He sends you a soft smile and delivers a soft kiss to your lips; the first one of the night despite being so close to him all evening.

“I learned how to be because of you.”

You don’t know how long you both stay like that - wrapped up in each other with waves of tears coming and going as they please. The soft whimpers leave your mouth and the sniffled breaths that leave his paint each corner of the bedroom with an ending.

One where you don’t get the ring and the house and the babies. One where he doesn’t get the girl and the family and the happily ever after. One where you both don’t have a soulmate anymore.

He knows that he shouldn’t say it. He knows that it’s probably the last thing you want to hear. He knows that he’s not ready for you to leave and he says it hoping that maybe, he can take back what had happened; that maybe you can steer the conversation in talks of staying together and compromising and “working it out.”

“I love you. I’ll always love you.”

You look up at him brokenly. His heart stops beating when you open your mouth to speak.

“But you’ll never love me enough to try.”

Bradley closes his mouth and exhales deeply through his nose. The point you made is compelling and it stings to know that it’s completely truthful. He sits with you on his lap, subtly rocking you back and forth until the sky turns from the midnight blue of nightfall to the yellow-tinted wisteria of sunrise.

Women always know. And he would be foolish to pretend like your gut feeling was wrong.

He loves me. He loves me not.

None of it matters if he doesn’t love you enough to be what you need.

974 notes · View notes