#✩ tucks this into the attic! ( save )

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The Younger Kind Part 33 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You need answers so you can move forward with Bradley. He wants to reassure you that you're everything Meredith is not. And it always feels like everyone else is trying to define your relationship for you, but you want to take control. 

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, mentions of smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4900 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley felt sick. This must have been why you were clearly so uncomfortable since he got home yesterday. He could tell that something else was wrong outside of the break in at your old rental and the cut on your hand. And it was the fucking dirty video he had made with Meredith years and years ago.

God damn it.

As he rushed out of the kitchen and tried to find you, Bradley called out, "Princess!" But you didn't respond.

How irresponsible and careless of him. He hadn't watched that video since he and Meredith were living together. Sure, he'd uploaded it to his phone and watched it on a few deployments before Noah was born, but that had been it. He had deleted it from his phone, but apparently there was a backup copy. And the fact that you had seen it had him in such a vibrant state of panic, he couldn't get to you fast enough.

"Baby, where are you?" he called out, yanking his fingers through his hair. He looked in Noah's room and then continued to the bedroom that he wanted you to share with him forever. And there you were, standing with your shoulder pressed up against the bedpost that was adorned with your paper crown. You looked impossibly young and so sad, and he wasn't sure what else to say except, "Princess. I'm sorry."

You just shook your head and looked at the floor as you wrapped your arms around your chest like you were trying to protect yourself. God, you never needed to protect yourself from him anymore. He wanted to be the one to protect you from everything else, not make you worry. 

When he took a step closer, you looked up at him with tears shining in your eyes. "You told me I could go through the stuff in the attic," you whispered, rubbing your hands up and down your arms nervously. "I didn't mean to watch your personal video. I wish I hadn't. And now I feel so stupid for moving all my stuff in."

Bradley ran his palms over his face. The bedroom smelled like you. The whole house smelled like you. It was intoxicating, and he was always going to need it. "Baby, I had no idea that was in the attic. I didn't even know it was saved anywhere. It was from years ago, okay?"

"I know," you replied, wiping at your eyes and looking toward the dresser he had encouraged you to finish filling up with your stuff. "I know it's not new or anything. But... I hated it."

"I hate it, too," he replied immediately. "And I hate that it hurt you."

Then you pushed away from the bed and squared your shoulders, and it felt like you were forcing yourself to keep eye contact. "Did you keep it because you still watch it? And am I an idiot for giving you those photos? Because I don't know if I can compete in that way." The words at the end of your sentence started to fade away softly, and Bradley closed the distance between your bodies without touching you.

"I didn't keep the video intentionally, Baby," he swore, ready to drop to his knees and beg. "I don't watch it. I didn't know it still existed. Why would I keep it when I'm with you now?"

You traced his knuckles softly with your index finger and whispered, "Because she's beautiful."

"No," Bradley growled, tucking his fingers under your chin and gently guiding your gaze up to meet his. "She's been a nightmare for me. For us. That's not beautiful. She's nothing like you." Then you melted against his body, and Bradley whispered, "Nobody competes with a Princess."

He rubbed his big hands up and down your back as yours settled around his waist. "I don't even want to have to think about her," you whispered against his shirt. "But she's everywhere, like she wants to make sure she's not forgotten."

Bradley kissed your forehead. You weren't wrong. Meredith had come out of hiding as soon as he got involved with you, and she just wouldn't quit. "She's in custody now. There's no reason for us to have to think about her."

"But the USB-"

Bradley took your chin a little rough in his palm and kissed you hard, eliciting a whimper. He kissed you until both of you were breathless, and you were clinging to the front of him. Until he felt like things could get back to the way they were. "Let's destroy it."

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

You let Bradley take you by the hand and lead you to the kitchen where he bent to pick up the USB drive from the floor near the sink. Then he reached into one of the cabinets and grabbed a cutting board.

"What are you doing?" you asked. 

"Something I would have already done if I knew it was still here."

Then both of you walked out the back door into the afternoon sun where he set the USB drive down on the cutting board on the patio. And then you watched him dig around in the shed and return with a hammer. He went right to kneeling on the patio without any hesitation, and you watched him make quick work of it. With three swings of the hammer, bits of blue plastic went flying in every direction. By the third hit, all that was left on the cutting board was some mangled wire and flattened metal. The stupid thing was obliterated, and when Bradley looked up at you, there was a smile on your face.

He tossed the hammer aside. "Come on, Baby," he said, standing and scooping you up in one smooth motion. "I want you forever, Princess. You don't have to doubt that." He kissed you softly as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Do you believe me?"

"Yes."

He grunted as he kissed your cheek. "She's gone. She doesn't live here. She has no bearing on what we're doing."

"I know," you promised as he carried you back into the kitchen and set you on the counter. "I know, Daddy." You watched his expression soften further at your words and your touch as you pulled him closer by his shoulders. 

"She's not coming back," he whispered, placing soft kisses to your lips and face. "It's just us. And Noah. He's ours."

Ours. You wanted that. You wanted to be as much a part of this home and this family as Bradley was. As Noah was. And you knew they both wanted you here. They were your boys, and you were their Princess. You needed to accept that it could just be that easy. 

"You're making everything seem so simple," you whispered, squeezing his shoulders and biceps as his fingers kneaded into your hips and waist. 

"It is," he promised. "It's just us, and we'll figure out the rest."

"I don't want you to feel like I'm the one making it harder though. Like I'm the one taking advantage of the situation and your house and your money."

Bradley took a deep breath and planted one hand on the counter next to your thigh, his other thumb skimming along your lips. "That was what Meredith was like. Not you. You're too smart to waste money. You're too sweet to take Noah for granted. And you're too perfect to ever intentionally take advantage of someone. And it makes me want to share everything with you."

You kissed the rough pad of his thumb, and he replaced it with his perfect lips. His mouth was everywhere, and his hands were starting to roam, and you thought he mumbled something about a ring. But then your phone started ringing in the pocket of your scrub pants. 

Bradley paused with his hands on your thighs as you held up the phone. San Diego Police.

"You better answer it," he whispered, kissing your cheek and pulling his big, warm body away from yours.

"Hello?" you said a bit breathlessly. 

"It's Detective Summers. We've completed our search of your rental. Just wanted to let you know you can enter the house again and clean it up, and we'll be in touch with your landlord."

"D-Did you find anything?" you sputtered, holding the phone tight to your ear.

"No," he replied, almost monotone. "Nothing. We've got no leads and barely any evidence. I'll email you the report and call back with any updates."

Then the line went dead. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?" Bradley asked cautiously. You barely recounted the brief conversation with him before your phone was ringing again in your hand.

"It's my landlord," you said, tossing your head back. "He's going to start making a big deal about the glass again."

But you answered the call so you could hopefully just get him off your back and move on from this headache once and for all. And he wouldn't shut up about the stupid broken window. "You need to come over today so we can talk about how you're going to get this repaired. And then we can discuss an additional month of rent."

Bradley must have been able to hear your landlord clearly through the phone, he was talking that loudly. And when he took it out of your hand and pressed your phone to his own ear, you didn't stop him. 

"Right," Bradley growled, and you would have loved to see the look on the other man's face. "So what you're saying is you'd like to wrap all of this up today? Sounds great. We're on our way over."

Then he ended the call and helped you slide off the counter. "Uh oh, Daddy. I think you just made things worse for me."

Bradley scowled and said, "He shouldn't have been talking to you like that. Like any of this bullshit was your fault. Let's go. I promised I would fix everything. Let me try to fix this for you so you don't have to deal with it. You live here now."

You watched him grab his checkbook before he took your hand in his and led you outside.

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

Bradley was pissed off. You and he were finally getting somewhere talking in the kitchen. You were listening to him, he knew you were. He was in way over his head with you, happily. He would do anything to make your day easier, gladly. You always did the same thing for him and Noah. But he didn't appreciate how nobody else seemed to want to get off your back.

He was holding your hand, maybe a little tighter than was comfortable for you, while he drove to your rental house. He loosened his grip a little bit and asked, "Has your landlord always been a prick?"

You just shrugged and ran your thumb along the side of his hand. "Kind of. But definitely worse since I told him about the glass."

"Needs an attitude adjustment," he grunted, passing Penny's house and pulling up to the curb in front of the rental. "Is that him?" he asked, nodding toward the man standing on the porch with his hands on his hips. 

"Yeah, that's Sam," you confirmed, and Bradley leaned over to give you a quick kiss.

"Let's get this sorted out so we can go get Noah."

You climbed out of the Bronco, and Bradley rushed around the front end until he was at your side. He was pleased to note that Sam's eyes went a little wider as Bradley marched up the sidewalk with his arm wrapped around you. He was also pleased that you seemed completely relaxed next to him now. 

Sam planted one hand on his hip and scratched his bald head. "Listen, missy. Let's get this sorted out with a rent payment so I can get my new tenant in here." Bradley had to fight back a smirk, because he sounded nowhere near as aggressive as he had over the phone. 

"I just don't understand why you expect me to pay another month of rent. This was literally a crime scene, Sam," you said. "I didn't break the window myself."

He pursed his lips at you. "That's debatable, since the police said there was no way to know who broke it. And honestly, with the things kids get up to nowadays-"

"I'm sorry," Bradley said, cutting him off, but he wasn't actually sorry at all. "Sam? Is that your name? Sam, she's not a kid. She's an adult. Start treating her like one."

He opened his mouth and snapped it shut again before finally asking, "Who are you, exactly?"

Bradley wrapped his arm a little tighter around you as he said, "My name is Bradley. But you can call me Lieutenant Bradshaw. Just wanted to let you know that I already talked to my lawyer, and she doesn't owe you another month of rent."

Sam's eyes bugged out. "Your lawyer?"

"Yes," Bradley barked. "Pay attention. There will be no additional rent payment. Got it?"

"Y-Yes," he stuttered. "Fine. But she still owes me four hundred dollars for the broken panel of glass."

Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose before he turned to you and kissed you. You looked up at him with surprised eyes as he said, "Do you still need anything else from inside, Princess?"

"No. Nothing."

"Great." Then he left your side and marched over to Sam, glaring at him as he opened the door. Bradley's shoes crunched on the broken glass and he looked around the floor inside the front door. "This looks like about a hundred dollars in damages to me."

Sam looked scandalized. "No way. It's four hundred."

Bradley glanced at you out on the front step before he leaned in closer to Sam. "If you make me get my lawyer on the phone, I'm sure she would be delighted to explain to you why your departing tenant actually owes you no money at all. And we can get the San Diego police department on the phone as well just for some added clarification. Tenants are responsible for damages they cause to the property. That does not apply here. Understand."

When Sam didn't say anything, Bradley pulled his checkbook and pen out of his pocket and asked the man how to spell his name. "Here's one hundred bucks, because I've been in an exceptionally good mood this afternoon with my girlfriend. You really caught me at a moment where I'm feeling generous. Now that's going to be it. Sound good?"

Sam met his eyes, and Bradley really thought he was going to try to disagree with him. "That's fine," came his eventual response, to which Bradley smiled smugly. 

"And why don't you just go ahead and delete her number out of your phone. Go ahead. Do it now, while I watch," Bradley encouraged like he was talking to a very dim person. "No reason to keep calling and bugging her when you have a new tenant moving in, right?"

"Sure," Sam murmured, and Bradley watched as he deleted your name and phone number. 

"Now, one last thing. You stressed my girlfriend out for no good reason. So I'm going to need you to apologize to her."

Sam's gaze was steely, but he turned toward you anyway. "Sorry." It was the saddest excuse for an apology that Bradley had ever heard, but he nodded at the man regardless. 

"Great. Won't be talking to you," Bradley told him, and then he reached out for your hand. "We should go get Noah before we're late," he said.

"Yes, Daddy," you gasped, and Bradley's eyes snapped up to meet yours. He paused halfway to the Bronco and slid his hand around your hip. Your eyes were filled with need as you very slowly pressed your body tight against his. 

"Princess," he grunted. 

"That was so hot," you moaned softly, and Bradley's eyebrows shot up. "I don't even know if what you said about rent and Tracy and the police is actually true or not, but my god, Bradley... so.... hot." You pressed up on your toes to kiss him.

"I'm not sure if it's true either, but I was prepared to call Tracy," he told you, gently guiding you along to the Bronco.

"Well Sam certainly believed you."

"Yeah, well I was feeling a little aggressive. I don't understand where he gets off talking to you like that. Probably talks to all women that way. You think my mom would have let me talk like that when I was younger? You think Nat would let me know? Jesus, he's lucky I didn't kick his ass."

Bradley had the door open and you were halfway inside when you leaned in and kissed him, tugging him closer by his hair. "I'm really turned on."

"Fuck," he grunted as he heard Sam start his own car and pull away. It was probably the combination of clearing the air about the video and making sure he reiterated that he was in this thing with you forever. And it probably didn't hurt that he took care of your landlord, too. Because Bradley was turned on as well. 

Your kisses felt like the heated ones he knew by heart. The ones he thought about while he was looking at his collection of polaroids. But when you moaned his name against his lips and stroked him through his jeans, he pulled away. "Baby. Later, okay? Later."

"Okay," you said breathlessly, still reaching for him. 

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

You sat in the Bronco on the way to get Noah with your hands tucked under your thighs. Bradley was stealing glances at you at every stoplight, and you were doing the same. 

"Princess," he grunted, turning to face forward as a light turned green. 

But you couldn't help it. You felt a million times better than you had this morning. If the video with Meredith was never kept intentionally, then you could get past it. And if Bradley was willing to shield you and Noah with his life, then you could stop questioning him about everything else. It was like the floodgates of your apprehension finally opened up, and you wanted everything with him again. His time, attention, love and care. The fun and the physical intimacy. 

When he parked at the daycare, you crawled across the seat in your ridiculously wrinkly scrubs, and he welcomed you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and said, "Thank you for today."

He kissed your cheek and asked, "What did I do?"

"Everything," you told him right away. "You made me feel comfortable with you paying Tracy. And you didn't get mad that I was upset about that video. And then you had a real conversation with me about us. And you never let anyone treat me like a child. I love you."

"I love you, too," he promised, and you kissed him before you reached for his door handle.

You still weren't sure what he had been expecting last night, but he didn't seem annoyed with you one bit. He never did. But you wanted to make it clear anyway. "And later, after Noah goes to bed, I want to have sex with you."

He stopped you from climbing out of his door with his big hands at your waist. "Only if that's what you want. The last few weeks were rough for you. For both of us. We don't have to rush getting back into that, even if you and I are turned on right now, okay?"

You met his eyes and shook your head slowly as the image of Greyson popped into your mind. "You're perfect," you told him, and then the two of you walked inside to get Noah. Casey was still there, just like earlier this morning, and you felt smug as Bradley kept his left arm draped over your shoulders while he signed Noah out for the day. 

Then he bundled you up in his arms with his lips and mustache pressed to your temple for all the world to see while Casey turned away with an eye roll and went to get Noah. 

"Daddy! Princess!" he called, carrying some new artwork in his hand as he bounded toward you both. You didn't think you'd ever get tired of watching the way Bradley effortlessly scooped his son up into his arms and held him so you could get a hug and a kiss from Noah. 

"Did you have a good day?" you asked brushing your thumb along his cheek while he handed you a painting of a dinosaur. 

"Yeah. I'm hungry."

"Oh," you said, looking at the two of them. "Today was a little crazy, and I didn't plan dinner."

"Let's get pizza," Bradley replied easily, barely saying goodbye to Casey as she hovered near the desk and called out to him.

You were smiling as you buckled Noah in while Bradley called in the order, and then the three of you went to pick it up. He ordered from the pizzeria on the same block as his preferred coffee place, and when you moaned, "I love when you bring me coffee from that shop," he chuckled as he parked.

"That's why I ordered the pizza from this location. Figured nobody was bringing you French vanilla coffee on a regular basis while I was away." Then he paused and raised one eyebrow. "Nobody else was spoiling you with overpriced luxury coffee drinks, right?" he asked playfully.

"Nobody," you confirmed. "They might write my actual name on the cup if they tried. And I would hate that."

Bradley carried Noah inside and you hooked your fingers through his belt loop as you waited in line. "No," Bradley mused. "That would be absolutely unfit for a Princess." 

When the drinks were ready, the barista slid them toward Bradley along with a marker, and he handed Noah to you. Then you watched him write Princess on your cup. 

"Am I still allowed to be the Knight?" he rasped softly, looking up at you for permission. When you nodded, he jotted that down on his own coffee cup. But before he could hand the marker back, the barista slid another cup across the counter.

"Something sweet for the little guy. He's so cute!" she said with a smile at Noah. Bradley shoved five dollars into the tip container before writing Prince Noah on the small cup filled with whipped cream and a plastic spoon. 

He had it all over his face as you held him while Bradley opened the door to the pizza shop, and then you watched your boyfriend juggle a pizza box, a container of salad and two coffees on the way back to the Bronco. 

"You're very coordinated for someone so old," you told him softly, and Bradley carried you around to the other door while you squealed with delight.

"The slander," he growled playfully. "I won't tolerate it."

"What do you plan to do about it?" you asked, cupping his handsome face in both hands as you kissed him. 

"I'll kiss you until you learn to respect your elders."

You laughed with your head tossed back as he kissed your neck. "I think it's great that you don't know the difference between a punishment and a reward. You must have forgotten in your old age."

He groaned and said, "You're just making it worse for yourself for later, Baby."

"Excellent."

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

Bradley watched you cut up a slice of pizza for Noah while he liberally dumped the dressing onto the salad and mixed it up. You seemed more relaxed now. He did too. The destroyed USB drive and the open conversation and all the little touches and kisses made today almost perfect. Sure, there had been the details about Meredith and your landlord to contend with, but Bradley would do that shit any day as long as you were here. 

"It's still pretty hot, Noah," you said, putting the plate in front of him. 

Yes, you should absolutely stay here forever. The desire to have another child with you was always strong for Bradley, but it got so much more intense when you took care of Noah. He wanted to talk to you about it, but today already felt overloaded with feelings. So he would wait.

"This is good," you said in between bites of salad. "I like this dressing," you told him with a grin. 

Bradley looked back and forth between you and Noah. Your palm was still covered in a bandage, and he knew you were tired based on the way you'd slept so soundly on him last night. The deployment had been a lot for you, but of course you did everything just right. Of course Noah was happier than ever and asking if he could call you his mom.

"We should take a vacation," Bradley said absentmindedly. 

"We should?" you asked as your eyes met his. "Where?"

He smiled as Noah asked for more pizza. "I have some ideas. We can talk about it later."

You pressed your lips together. "I thought we were going to do other things later?"

Bradley laughed. "With age comes experience, Princess. And I'm pretty good at multitasking as long as nobody asks me to cook anything."

"Multitasking?" you asked, eyes wide as Bradley got more pizza ready for Noah.

"Yeah," he replied. "You want me to show you later?"

You hid your smile behind a slice of pizza. "Sure do."

Bradley let you and Noah off the hook after dinner, and he cleaned up the kitchen, not that there was much to do. Then he joined you outside on the driveway where you'd drawn a gigantic crown with purple sidewalk chalk in front of your car. While you helped Noah color a rainbow dinosaur, Bradley took the time to write Daddy loves Princess in huge lettering, and when he was done, you rewarded him with a kiss. 

"You boys play while I take a shower?" you asked, wiping orange chalk on your scrubs. 

"Of course. Or take a bath if you want to. Go relax."

He wasn't sure what you ended up doing, but you were in the shower or bath for a long time. Bradley got Noah ready for bed after he put the chalk away, and when you walked into the bedroom wrapped up in a towel, he was getting himself undressed. 

You took a deep breath and blurted out, "Just one more thing from our conversation earlier? About that video?"

"Of course," he said, his hands frozen at the hem of his undershirt, not sure what to expect.

You ran your fingers along the bedpost and said, "I know I'm here now and she's not. And I know there's nothing I can do with you that you haven't already done before... but is there any way we can buy a new bed? That's only ever going to be ours?"

Bradley's heart was pounding. "That sounds like a commitment? You planning on staying forever?"

"Yes, Daddy," you whispered with a smile.

He tugged his shirt off and told you, "Pick out a new bed. Whatever you want."

Your fingers grazed your purple crown as you smirked and asked, "Now why don't you show me some of your multitasking?"

He smirked. "Sure you can handle it?" he asked, tossing his undershirt into the hamper. Did anything feel as good as the way you joked around with him? You were grinning nonstop when he wrapped his arms around you, holding you and the damp towel against him. 

"Yeah, I can handle it."

"You say that now..." he replied softly, unwrapping the towel and letting his hands skim along your soft skin. "God, I missed you when I was gone." He watched you preen for him, and it was like night and day how much better you obviously felt since this morning. He pressed his lips to your ear and whispered, "When something's bothering you, I want you to tell me right away from now on."

The soft nod of your head had him tossing the towel aside and holding you against him as you shivered in the cool air. "Yes, Daddy."

He grunted and said, "You know I'll always take care of you."

Your eyes were so needy as they met his, and he watched your head tip slowly back as his thumb stroked your nipple to a hard peak. He worked you up slowly, always coaxing your gaze back to his as he spoke in a very matter of fact voice. 

"Now, let's talk about this little family vacation. I think we could all use a break, yeah?"

"Yeah," you moaned.

"Eyes on me, Princess. There's a lake house that Mav and Penny mentioned wanting to take a trip up to, and there are a lot of extra bedrooms. Do you want me to get more information about that?" His hand was sliding down toward your pussy now, and he chuckled as you tried to rub yourself against his fingers. "Well? Do you?"

"Yes!" you gasped, grabbing at his shoulders. "Whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" he murmured, grinning as he slid one finger along your wet slit.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, eyes half lidded as he teased you. 

While he figured he could get you to agree to almost anything, he knew exactly what he wanted. And tonight was too perfect to waste on anything except the sweetest words and just the right touches. "I want to take my family away for a few days. I want to spoil the hell out of you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and moaned, "Yes," while you pulled him toward the bed. You were perfect, easing yourself back on the pillows, naked and needy as he took his jeans off. 

When he eased his body on top of yours, he let you reach for him first and pull him closer where you wanted him. "Let me spoil you every day? Show you how good I can be? Make you never want to leave?"

You combed your fingers back through his hair as you looked up at him. "I'm not going anywhere."

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

Daddy is fixing it. And Daddy is going to spoil his family. Hope you enjoy your babysitter story @beyondthesefourwalls and thank you @mak-32

PART 34

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[luveline]

oK HALLOWEEN REQUESTS?! BET!!! GET THIS, STEVE WHO KEEPS HEARING SCARY NOISES IN HIS HOUSE AND HE CALLS READER (his gf) TO BE LIKE DUDE THERES A FUCKING GHOST and it’s a cat who got stuck in his attic or something 🥹

ty for requesting ♡ you and steve go ghost hunting. fem, 1.1k

Steve's waiting for you. Front door open, your boyfriend stands in his pyjamas with a leather jacket thrown over the top, hair ruffled but adorable, one pant leg tucked into his sock and the other dragging on the floor.

"Planning on a quick getaway?" you tease. 

Steve hangs his head. "Whatever, just kiss me." 

You love him even if you tease, using the door jam for extra height as you tip your head back to kiss him. With the way he kisses you can't be expected to abstain, hot little crescent moons of touch pressed softly to the seam of your lips, like the very beginning of a heavier kiss. It distracts you, and you forget why you're there. 

"'M being haunted," he says against your mouth. 

"Right," you remember. "You sounded hysterical on the phone. I thought maybe you'd been spiked." He rolls his eyes. "Hey, it happened once before!" 

"Just come listen. It's a weird thumping." 

"Maybe there's a guy living up there," you suggest, taking your shoes off by the door. 

Steve takes your hand gently, his words much less coddling, "Sure, there's a man living in my attic. He comes out when I sleep." 

"Well, don't scare yourself." 

"It's fucking weird. It's definitely a spirit." 

"Like that vampire you saw last Christmas." 

Steve leads you upstairs to his room, where he encourages you to get comfortable. You take off your jacket and your bag. You'd brought pyjamas, figuring Steve's phone call to be an invitation rather than a real ghost hunt, but you'll save them for afterwards. He looks comfortable, and he smells nice as you drop your face into his arm. 

"Listen," he says, bringing the forearm of the arm you're snuggling up to stroke whatever skin of yours he can reach, "it'll happen again. It's constant." 

"It's maybe a burst pipe." 

He shushes you, not unkindly. "Just listen." 

On the phone, he'd been dramatic enough that you assumed this was a cute ploy to see you. You'd felt quite flattered —Steve doesn't seem to realise how much of a catch he is, so his flirting is over the top, and it really keeps the crush alive even while you're dating. There's a fucking ghost, dude, you need to come over right now. 

Really? I thought your parents bought the house new? 

Baby! Don't make me beg. And don't make me die alone. 

You tilt your head to one side and listen hard for his promised ghost, an excuse to be in Steve's space more than anything. After a few dull seconds of silence, you turn forward and offer him a smirk. "You don't have to make stuff up for me to come over. I would've come to see you for no reason." 

"And while I appreciate that," he says, his hand moving to your face, your cheek to his palm, "there's really, actually a ghost." 

You look up in tandem as a strange sound echoes from above Steve's bedroom. It can't be a person, the weight doesn't shift loud nor close enough for footsteps, only groans in one place before creaking further toward the door. 

"Oh," you say. Steve squeezes your cheek. 

To get into Steve's attic you have to build a precarious ledge. He doesn't have a stepladder and the attic itself has no fold down, nor a ring pulley. "We don't go in there, the house is big enough already," he explains, lugging his TV stand under the attic opening. "This is barely tall enough to get up there." 

"Maybe you can boost me?" you suggest, though the idea of being that far up doesn't sound enticing. 

"No way, it's dark up there. If one of us is going to be killed by a ghost, it'll be me." He kisses your cheek and hops up onto the stand with impressive dexterity. You grit your teeth. "And besides, you don't like heights." 

"Steve, is this a bad idea? What if it's an owl? It'll attack you." 

"It's not an owl," —he grabs at the attic tile and pushes it in, grunting as he pulls the weight of his upper half inside with it— "it's a ghost, beautiful." His legs disappear into the attic. You can hardly see him. "We should've found a flashlight." 

"I can go look?" 

"I'll be fine, probably."

"Stay away from the hole! If you fall and break your back I'll have to work two jobs and someone else will have to give you sponge baths–" 

"Why do you actually sound worried? I'm not going to fa– Holy fuck!"

A huge thunk. You huff out a worried exhale, asking, "Are you okay? Stevie?" as you climb onto the TV stand and peer into the dark attic. 

"I'm okay! I'm gonna come back, don't flinch." His face appears in the opening. "I tripped over something. It's weird, you won't believe me, but the floor is wet in here. There must be a leak in the roof."

"Be careful, Steve, please," you murmur. 

Steve leans down in the gap to kiss your frown. "Sorry. I'm being careful. Could you bring me some towels? I'm gonna clean this up." 

You throw him a couple of towels from his laundry room like you're shooting shoddy hoops, laughing at his worse catching. The floor moans as he cleans, but there doesn't seem to be any ghost now that he's investigating. In fact, the house is very, very quiet. 

"Did you hear that?" Steve asks. 

You shiver. "Don't mess around!" you call, though you're not mad. "You're giving me goosebumps." 

Steve goes quiet for a little while. You chew on your lip, consider standing on the TV stand again to climb in after him, but ultimately stand frozen under the gap, waiting. 

He says something too quiet to hear. 

"What?" you ask. 

Your response comes unexpectedly, a little white face held by two bigger hands from the ceiling, and a frankly earth-shattering yowl. 

"Look! It's a cat!" 

"I can see." 

"Take him, take him!" 

You take the cat even as he hisses at you, holding his claws as far from you as you can manage. Steve huffs and puffs as he slides his way down, the TV stand wobbling ever so slightly as he closes the attic and hops down onto the floor. 

"He's aggressive," you say, wincing as the cat hisses again. "How big was the leak? I mean, how did he get up there?" 

"I told you already," Steve says, attempting to pet the cat and dodging a well-aimed claw, "he's a ghost." 

"Very funny, H. Now, um, what are we gonna do with him?" 

"...I was hoping you'd know." 

"I guess you have a pet now. Congrats, babe." 

[celandeline]

Over The Wall

Carl Grimes X Reader, oneshot

Dedicated to @grimesdotcom , as promised :)

You only know a handful of things about Carl Grimes. 

There's the obvious things, of course. You know that he likes comic books. Whenever you see him, save for when he’s with Judith, he’s got his nose pressed between the pages, his sheriffs hat and long hair blocking out the rest of the world. You know that he’s a good shot - you’d have been dead when those people with Ws on their heads if it weren’t for him. 

Then there’s the things that you know just for yourself. You know that he has the prettiest blue eyes you’ve ever seen, even if he only does have the one now. You know that he’s got a terrible farmer’s tan, and that he sunburns ridiculously easily. You know that he makes you stomach do funny flips whenever he smiles at you - you know you’ve got a crush on him. 

You also know that almost every day, he disappears over the wall. 

It’s always in the afternoon, after Judith’s been put down for her nap. You can see him from your attic bedroom window as he slips out the back door of his house and steals across the lawn, bag slung over his shoulder bouncing as he jogs. He’s by no means a graceful climber - more than once you’ve seen him almost fall - but it never takes him more than a few minutes to swing himself over the top of the wall and disappear. 

There’s plenty of things you don’t know about Carl Grimes - chiefly, where he sneaks off to every day. But you’re dying to find out. 

So you wait on the back porch of the house you share with Aaron and Eric, with a bag of your things and a knife in your belt, until the afternoon sun hangs in the sky, and you see a distant figure, only recognizable by his sheriff's hat, start towards the wall. 

You follow after him at a distance, ducking behind one of the neighbors sheds as he glances behind him before starting to climb. You wait until he’s all the way over the wall before you begin to haul yourself up, shoes slipping against the smooth metal. Maybe you should be kinder to his climbing abilities - it’s harder than it looks. 

Still, you manage to swing yourself up and over, quickly surveying the immediate area before carefully climbing down. You jump the last few feet, landing with a soft thump on the ground. You’ve just started brushing the grit off your hands when you hear the click of a gun behind you. 

Your stomach drops, and slowly, you turn around, hands raised, to see Carl pointing his little handgun at you. You drop your hands when you see that it’s him. “Really?”

“Oh.” He clicks the safety back on, and tucks the gun back into his belt. “Sorry. I didn’t know it was you following me… why are you following me?”

“How did you know I was following you?” You shoot back. 

He gives you a look. “You didn’t even wait until I was over the wall to come after me.”

“I didn’t want to lose you and end up not being able to find wherever it is that you sneak off to all the time.” You say. 

“So, what? You’re just curious?”

“Maybe.” You admit, a little sheepish. It sounds so stupid when he says it, like you’re just a little kid who wants to figure out what mom’s hiding in the cabinets you can’t reach. 

He rolls his eye, and breezes past you, into the woods. “You could have just asked.”

“You told Ron to fuck off when he asked.” You said, following after him. 

“Ron’s a dick. You’re not.”

Your stomach flips at that - it’s the nicest thing he’s ever said directly to you - but you shove the feeling down. “Thanks, I guess.”

He doesn’t say anything, simply leading you deeper into the woods, following a path that’s invisible to you. Eventually, the trees thin out a bit, and he stops in front of a small clearing. It’s obvious that he’s cleaned it up a bit - the ground is largely clear of leaves, and he’s strung a tarp between some of the trees as a makeshift roof. There’s a few logs, arranged like couches, and a few seat cushions that have seen better days. A dirty cooler sits at the base of a tree, and a crate covered with a plastic bag next to it. 

“This is it.” Carl says, walking over to the crate and pulling the plastic bag off the top to reveal some comic books. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, this is really cool.” You say. “I mean, yeah, it’s less cool than you sneaking out to kill walkers or something but it’s still cool.”

“Thanks.” He says, shooting you a small smile. “It’s just my getaway from all the people in Alexandria, I guess. Just somewhere for me to be actually alone.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t thought about that - that maybe his routine climbing over the wall had more to do with peace than it did secrecy. “Sorry - I can go-”

“No, it’s fine.” He says quickly, cutting you off. “I mean, I don’t mind… and you climbed over the wall to get here so you should at least rest a little before climbing back over.”

“Yeah.” You agree, smiling. “I don’t know how you do that every day, I already know my shoulders are going to be killing me tomorrow.”

He grins, and sits down against one of the logs. “You get used to it.”

You sit down as well, leaning against the log across from him, the soles of your shoes brushing against the soles of his boots when you stretch your legs out. You watch as he closes his eye, peace sweeping across his face as he rests his head against the back of the log, tilting his nose up towards the sun. The way the sunlight dapples through the leaves paints him in spotty colors, but it doesn’t diminish his beauty at all. You find yourself entranced with the way the shadows dance across his face, and you don’t know how long you stare at him before he cracks his eye back open. 

“What?” He asks. 

“What?” You try to play it off. 

“You’re just looking at me.” He says.

“You’re sitting directly in front of me.” You deflect. 

“Yeah, but you’re always looking at me.” He closes his eye again, the slightest hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. 

You scoff, and try to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks. Caught. “Am not.”

“Are too.” He shoots back. 

“Maybe I just zone out a lot.” You try. 

He actually laughs at that, and opens his eye again, sitting up from his lazy sprawl. “C’mon.” He says. “It’s just us. You can admit you think I’m cute. Promise I won’t tell anybody.”

You close your eyes, tipping your head back against the log you’re resting against so that he can’t see your face. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life - you thought you were being discreet. But maybe he’s more observant than you gave him credit for; after all, it didn’t even take him more than the distance between your back porch and the wall for him to figure out you were following him. 

“Was I really that obvious?” You ask, still refusing to look at him. 

“I mean, kind of. You just stare at me, like, all the time.” You can hear him grinning. “At first I thought it was just the eye, but you look at my hands a lot too, so…”

It’s humiliating, how easily he figured you out. And you can hear him smiling, it’s in the tone of his voice. At least he’s not outright laughing at you - you think you’d actually die on the spot if he did. 

“I should go home.” You say, picking your head back up off the log to stand up. “Sorry for following you-”

“No, what?” Carl stands up with you. “I’m not mad or anything, it’s just-”

“Funny?” You fill in the blank for him, pinning him with a look. He just blinks at you, obviously taken aback, like he wasn’t expecting you to notice how amused he is with this. You sigh, and grab your bag from where you set it next to you. “Figures. You are such a dick, Carl Grimes.”

You turn away from him, starting back towards the wall. Hurried footsteps tell you he’s following you, but you don’t turn around, not until he grabs you by the wrist and makes you. 

You meet his icy blue gaze. “What now?”

“It’s not funny.” He says, brows furrowed. “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s cute. I like that you have a crush on me, ‘cause I like you, too.”

You just look at him for a minute, trying to determine if he’s being honest or not. “If you’re just saying that to, I don’t know, get me to say something embarrassing and make fun of me, I swear to God-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence because he rolls his eye, and then presses his lips to yours, insistent. It takes you a second to realize what he’s doing, but when it clicks, you melt into it, kissing him back with the same intensity. When he pulls back, you can see the beginnings of a smile on his lips. 

“I mean it. I like you.” He says. “Wouldn’t have shown you my secret spot otherwise.”

You can’t stop yourself from grinning. “I guess I believe you now.” You joke. “But if I say I don’t will you kiss me again?”

“You can just ask.” He says, leaning in to connect your lips again. 

It’s better, now that you know it’s coming - less sloppy. You take the opportunity to wind your arms around his shoulders, playing with the silky tresses of his hair. You’re the one to break it this time, pulling back to rest your forehead against his, looking deep into his pretty blue eye.

“Sorry for calling you a dick.” You say. “And thinking you were laughing at me.”

“S’okay.” He says. “Do you, maybe, wanna come back to the spot with me? Hang out?”

“Yeah.” You say, grinning. “Sounds great.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

In my quest to find affordable homes, I was so happy to find this cute little 1920 bungalow in the lovely town of Magnolia, DE, w/3bds, 1ba, for $249,900. But, then it creeped me the hell out. Let's take a tour and you'll see why.

Cute little front porch opens into a good-sized enclosed porch that could be used as a mud room or a quaint little sun room with some plants.

Then, you enter a nice large living room with a Craftsman style wall and columns separating it from the dining room. Isn't this lovely, so far?

How cute is this? And, Delaware is know for its low taxes.

The sweet little kitchen is completely original. Look at the door.

It has a dishwasher, which is always important to me, and look at the little shelves on the end of the cabinet.

The kitchen's not so little, though- it has room for a washer/dryer tucked out of the way, next to the fridge. Looks like they removed all their overhead light fixtures, and capped them off, though.

Typical 1920s era hallway to the bedrooms have all original doors and moldings. There's a linen closet and a trap door in the ceiling for the attic.

The bedrooms aren't huge, but they're adequate. My cousin grew up in a house like this and it was so cute.

This is a larger room. I don't know what that is on the left.

This may be the primary bedroom. It's a sweet starter home, too.

The bath was nicely redone with appropriate tiles and pedestal sink. The original built-in medicine chest is still intact.

The basement isn't finished, but it has potential and there's a work bench down here. Look, they left the new owner a trophy.

So, then I went up to the attic and they left a set of dining room chairs. Score, i thought.

And, there's also a cedar lined closet for winter clothes. Cool. But then, I saw this-

Holy grandma's ghost, Batman, there's even a remote on the seat. Is that a cable wire on the left? Has anyone seen the Disney movie, "The Electric Grandmother?" A wealthy family had a robot grandma made to order, and she was shipped in a sarcophagus and lowered by helicopter into their yard. Every night she would go down to the basement, sit in her chair, and charge. Chocolate milk shot out of her wrist, too. I got so creeped out when I saw this!

House is on a .29 acre lot and has a large decrepit building in the back, which I hope they save.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/38-N-Main-St-Magnolia-DE-19962/48167534_zpid/?

[cosmicoatlatte]

viva las vegas

pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x fem!reader

plot: after finally confessing his true feelings Rooster and you are ready to take the next step... and the dagger squad is along for the ride

warnings: drinking, references to parental death and past trauma, inaccurate portrayal of he military

notes: this is a part 2 of home, for the readers that stuck around, for the anon that requested this, and for K ♡︎, thank you for letting me bother you with this for months

words: 21.6k

It was almost scary how normal life felt.

Rooster knew it wouldn’t last forever but for now he was more than content to just cuddle up with you in his arms. Sickeningly sweet domesticity had been so easy to fall into. One minute he was pouring out his heart to the love of his life and the next he was moving his belongings from his childhood bedroom to the master. 

Even though he had spent every leave of the past decade waking up with you in his arms he never let himself get used to the feeling. He still wasn’t used to it now but he was also already dreading the end of his leave. If it were up to him, Rooster would pack you up and bring you along with him but even after everything he was scared to ask. You had your own life and he didn’t want to ask you to put everything on hold to follow him, especially since he still had to finish up his last deployment from before the mission. After his leave and the rest of his deployment were over he would immediately request a transfer though. Virginia hadn’t been bad while he was stationed there but it was never his home. And if he was able to be stationed closer he’d also be able to see you more. 

Rooster told himself that he didn’t want to bring it up with you before he got everything taken care of. He’d hate for you to get your hopes up only to be let down if things didn’t work out in the end. But now, holding his mother’s old jewelry box in his hands, Rooster wondered if maybe he could do more than just get your hopes up. Maybe he could get his own hopes up just a little bit too.

The two of you had stayed cooped up in the house for a week when he had first come back home but at some point you had finally gotten a little too sore from fucking on every available surface so you asked him if you could take a break and go through some of his belongings together. Now that you were finally officially dating it only made sense to move some of his things out of the attic and down into the house. 

His dad’s old record player and their record collection had found a place in the living room and framed Bradshaw family pictures had found their way back onto the walls but there had been some things Rooster couldn’t bring himself to share with you yet. One of those things being his mom’s jewelry. 

Carole Bradshaw had never been one for flashy jewelry, she preferred flashy dresses instead. A firm believer in “dressing happy” his mother had never found a bright print dress she didn’t love. It was something his parents had in common and passed on to Rooster as well, even though he didn’t have many opportunities to dig out his fun shirts on the Naval Base. 

His mother had never owned much jewelry. Her collection encompassed a couple of gifts from his father and a handful of family heirlooms. As a teenager Rooster once spent an entire summer running errands for anybody in the neighborhood that needed a hand just so he could save up enough to buy a nice necklace for her birthday. In the end Mav had chipped in as well but he had felt so proud of himself for getting his mother something nice. She had worn the necklace every day and after she passed they buried her with the slim gold chain and her engagement ring. Not her wedding band though. That was carefully tucked away in a little drawer of the jewelry box with a note he had found the day before while going through it, after bringing it down from the attic.

Truth be told he had never given much thought as to what happened to it. In the back of his mind Rooster had been aware that it was a family heirloom and that one day it would be passed down to him to ask the love of his life to marry him but he had been so young when his mother joined his father that the ring and marriage had never even crossed his mind.

And now he had the ring.

And he finally had you.

It felt ridiculous to consider marriage after only a week of dating but then again had it only been a week? The two of you had been dancing around each other for fifteen years by now. Nevermind the fact that he had almost asked you twelve years ago when you did barely more than fuck for a week before separating for months at a time before reuniting and fucking again. 

With a sigh Rooster closed the box and tucked it away under his side of the bed again. He’d bring it up with you first. Ask if marriage was something you could see yourself doing in the future. 

The moment he opened the bedroom door Rooster could hear soft music drifting through the house. It didn’t take him long to find the source of it—an old Elvis record was spinning on the record player in the living room and a scented candle was burning on the side table. He could hear you before he saw you, humming along with the song as you entered the living room holding two mugs as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Something about the fact that he had only been home for a week but it already became part of your routine to include him just made his heart race. It was so perfectly easy to see that he belonged here with you and in a split second he changed his mind.

Rooster watched as you placed the mugs down on the couch table and turned around, not surprised at all to see him standing in the doorway just leaning against the doorframe and watching you. The beautiful smile he loved so much hadn’t left your face all week and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you again and again just for a chance to feel it against his lips one more time. Neither of you said anything as he took a few steps into the room only for you to meet him in the middle. Your arms were open for a hug and as much as he wanted to tug you close and hold you until the world collapsed around the two of you the soft music playing gave him a better idea. 

Instead of hugging you he used one of his arms to pull you closer, the other coming up to hold your hand as he started to sway with you. It only took you a few seconds to catch on to what he was trying to do and before you knew it you were moving along with him, letting him lead you around the living room.

“What are you…” You began, cutting yourself off with a laugh as he twirled you around before pulling you back in. “Okay.”

The rhythm of your dancing didn’t match the song playing at all but having Bradley twirl you around while Elvis crooned about falling in love felt like a dream. A sweet memory you would cherish forever. 

As the song started to come to an end Bradley gave you a soft smile before taking a step back and spinning you around again until you felt all dizzy from the motion and love. Laughing and a little lost in the moment you almost missed him whispering as he tugged you against him again.

“Marry me?”

Had it been any other person, any other moment, you’d think that you heard him wrong or that your mind was playing a cruel joke on you but with him you felt nothing but safe. Cared for. Loved. 

It didn’t feel like his question was rushed or insincere, instead it just felt right. Like it was meant to be.

Bradley had started speaking again, rambling on about a box and the Navy but you couldn’t follow it all, too caught up with his question. It didn’t matter if it had only been a week or an entire lifetime because deep down you knew Brad and you belonged together. In the most simple way possible.

Leaning up you interrupted Bradley’s rambling with a kiss, all too eager to give him an answer. “Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes.” 

Pulling away you just looked at each other for a second before you started laughing again, holding each other and stealing kisses until you were left breathless.

“I love you so much.” He murmured against your lips.

His hands rested on your hips and held you just a little tighter as you responded. “I love you too. So much.”

The words had just left your mouth before you were suddenly lifted up. All but thrown over his shoulder, carefully, as Rooster turned around and started to walk out of the living room. Towards the stairs. Towards the bedroom upstairs.

“I… the tea is gonna get cold.” Was your only protest as you let yourself be carried. If your view of his backside didn’t serve as a good enough distraction, one of his big hands on your ass definitely did.

“Do you want to drink tea or do you want to go have hot engagement sex? And I still need to put a ring on your finger so I think we should do that right away.”

You didn’t protest as he continued on his way.

Tea and record player long forgotten.

The blissful giddiness of your new engagement lasted for a day before the reality of wedding planning set in. With Rooster being gone so much, the end of leave, and the rest of his deployment looming over everything he was starting to get a little lost in his head. 

When you had woken up in the morning after with your head on your pillow, entirely on your side of the bed without him wrapped around you it had been a bit weird but you hadn’t felt concerned yet. Rooster had still been in bed with you except he was sitting up against the headboard on his side, illuminated by the soft glow of the rising sun falling through the window from where you had forgotten to close the blinds last night and the light from his phone screen. He had frowned down at the screen before shutting it down and tossing the phone onto the blanket between you two before pulling you into his arms and giving you a proper good morning kiss.

When he was occupied with it during breakfast as well it made you a little curious but you were as occupied with the ring on your finger as he was with his phone so you let it slide.

It had only started to worry you when he was still frowning down at the screen by the time lunch rolled around. You were curled up on the couch, albeit on opposite sides. Bradley had pulled your legs into his lap so you could sprawl out, holding them in place with one hand, his thumb rubbing up and down the soft skin on your ankle while the other was holding his phone.

Nervously twisting your ring on your finger you watched as he typed away on his phone, a frown still etched into his face. It wasn’t in your nature to be jealous, after all you had let him go again and again until he had come home to you, so it wasn’t like you feared he had a secret affair hidden away. Still you were scared.

“Do you regret it?”

His head snapped up so fast it made you flinch just as the prospect of him potentially hurting himself with the fast movement. If the frown had made you worried, the poorly hidden devastation that graced his face now just made your heart hurt.

“No!” He dropped the phone into his lap and grabbed your lower legs with both hands as if he was scared you’d pull away. “I… I don’t regret it.” 

Bradley fiddled with his hands too, eyes fixed on where you were still twisting the ring around on your finger. “Why? Do you regret it?”

“No.” You told him, seeing the tension fall from his shoulders. “I love you and I want to marry you. But you’ve been frowning at your phone all day and it just makes me feel like maybe you’re not as happy as I am.”

“I am happy. It’s just ” Bradley answered quickly before trailing off. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”

“Can you tell me anyways?”

He took a deep breath before leaning back, looking at the ceiling instead of meeting your eyes. “We have less than three weeks left before I have to leave again. I’ll be overseas for a few months and after that I’ll have to report back to Oceana and even if I request a transfer now there’s no telling how long it’ll take to be approved or if it even gets approved. I like flying with the Golden Warriors but there’s no telling if other squadrons have spots open. Weddings take forever to plan and I’m scared that if we don’t get married before I leave you’ll change your mind. That’s why I’ve been staring at my phone so much. I was trying to figure out all the things we need to plan but the list is just… endless.”

It takes a few seconds to fully take in his words, his worries. Part of you is relieved that he thought about things so much. Bradley tended to be carefree most of the time, a real go with the flow kind of guy unless he really cared for something and then the worrying and overthinking started. The way he was so lost in his own head not even 24 hours after he asked you to marry him just spoke to the fact about how much he cared for you and your future together but that only made you frown. You wanted Bradley to be happy, not worried.

“I won’t change my mind.” You stated, trying your hardest to reassure him. “We’ve been apart before and we’re still here.”

He didn’t look at you until you leaned forward and took his hands in yours, holding them almost delicately before changing your mind and really holding on. “It’s never been like this before.” He said quietly.

Sad eyes. That was the first thing you noticed about him when you met and it’s the first thing you focused on now. Bradley was never able to hide his emotions. 

Sitting up straight you asked him as if you didn’t know the answer. “Three weeks you said?” 

Bradley nodded.

“Alright, we can go to city hall next weekend and sign the papers.”

He just stared at you as you continued.

“We just need to make an appointment beforehand and… why are you looking at me like that?” 

“You’d really be okay with that? Just going in and signing some papers?” He never dreamt about his own wedding but in every rom com he ever watched the women always talk about how they’ve been thinking about their weddings since they were little girls. He’d seen his parents’ wedding pictures with his mom in her poofy white dress and his father in his uniform smiling at the camera. The last thing he wanted was for you to settle on a quick five minute signing of a document instead of the dream wedding you deserved. “No big flower arches or harpists playing as you walk down the aisle or signature bride and groom cocktails at the reception?”

“Signature what? No. All I want is you.” Pulling his hands closer you pressed a kiss right at the spot his ring would sit before looking at him again. 

“I don’t need a big fancy wedding Bradley. All I need is you and me and somebody to sign the papers. Besides…” You trailed off just a little bit melancholic, “Who would we invite anyways.”

Your last words made him pause just a little bit. Neither of you had much family and friends to speak of. If his squadron hadn’t been deployed at the moment he’d probably invite them as well as some superiors out of courtesy but there was nobody he desperately wanted at his wedding except…

“I should probably introduce you to Mav.” 

Planning to surprise Mav with a visit turned into a surprise for him in return when he asked the older man for the address of the hangar only to be directed to the address of one Miss Penelope Benjamin instead. 

Just until the higher ups are done with me, Mav had said, Sarah offered to let me stay with her and the kids but Penny’s house is closer to the base. Rooster didn’t comment on the unspoken fact that Penny’s house is closer to Penny as well. 

Rooster was glad that his godfather was finding love again but he felt just a little bit uneasy showing up to a practically stranger's house so he opted to just get a room at a motel for a few days. He didn’t want to impose and that way you could still meet while also going your separate ways at the end of the day.

He wanted to mend the relationship with Mav, he really did, but he was also scared of moving too fast. Their day trip out to the hangar was one thing but spending nights in the same house came too close to living together. Rooster could only imagine sitting across from him at the breakfast table like they had done twenty years earlier when Mav lived with them and his mom was still alive, flitting around the table refilling coffee mugs and juice glasses because Carole Bradshaw was a morning person through and through whereas him and Mav were decidedly not. It would be easy for his thoughts to spiral, getting lost in what ifs and regret. His mind was already filled to the brim with things he had to do before the wedding and he’d rather not add to the chaos.

Checking into the motel had been easy enough and soon he was pulling the Bronco into the parking lot of The Hard Deck. It was early enough in the day that the area surrounding the bar wasn’t packed but late enough that they were the only ones in the parking lot. As he got out of the car and walked around the Bronco to open your door for you he spotted Mav’s favorite Kawasaki, parked in the corner closer to the back of the bar. 

Holding the door for you, Rooster felt his heart beating faster. He didn’t know if his hands actually started to get sweaty or if he was just imagining things but he gave them a cursory wipe on his jeans anyways before he held out a hand for you to take. Walking into The Hard Deck holding your hand made things just a tiny bit easier. 

The front doors were still locked because the bar wouldn’t open until later in the day but Mav had texted him that they could use the backdoor to enter the building. Apparently the older man had been spending a not insignificant amount of time at the bar as of late, with full permission by its charming owner of course.

Rooster had never been in The Hard Deck while it was still completely light outside and he had to admit that the bar looked just a little different. The lights that got turned on once it got darker definitely added a small level of coziness. If he could concentrate on anything besides the immediate meeting he would have looked around to better see all the hidden details but right now nothing mattered as much as reuniting with Maverick and introducing you two.

Penny stood behind the bar, wiping the counter with a rag in a way that seemed just a little bit too nonchalant for it to be coincidental. He wondered just what Mav had told her about their past when she looked up and their eyes met. Yeah… she definitely knew too much.

“Hey Penny.” He squeezed your hand just a little as he tugged you along, smiling as you gave the older woman a shy little wave with your free hand.

“He’s at the table by the big window if you want to head back. Amelia’s there too but just send her to the front.” She nodded her head in the direction Mav was sitting and smiled at you as you walked past. 

Mav was indeed at the table by the big window and by the looks of it he was also more than halfway to a mental breakdown. Rooster has seen this man nearly die three times in one afternoon and he came out looking better than he did now. Amelia was sitting next to him and they were looking over a piece of paper although she didn’t look as rough as Mav. 

They both looked up as you approached, a smile immediately coming to his godfather’s face as he spotted you next to Rooster, holding hands. Expecting exuberant hugs so soon after everything might be a stupid idea especially since he was all for agreeing to take their reconciliation slow but it still hurt when Mav jumped up only to give him a shoulder squeeze as a greeting. He then moved on and politely shook your hand but if he noticed the ring on your finger he didn't comment on it. 

Amelia was still sitting at the table and for a moment Rooster debated greeting the young girl. They had met once before at Mav’s hangar but he still felt lost. How does one even greet teens nowadays? Were fist bumps still cool or would he out himself as an oldtimer with the simple gesture?

In the end he gave her a little headnod as a greeting, feeling relieved when she gave him one back.

“Sorry Amelia, you two looked busy but your mom told us to send you to her at the bar.” 

She just shrugged and started to gather up her things. “It’s okay. Mav tried to help me with my Calculus homework but he has no idea what he’s doing.”

Rooster was able to suppress a laugh just until he heard a soft giggle by his side and joined in.

“Hey! A lot of things have changed since the 70s.” Mav sputtered out as an excuse, only making them laugh more.

“Whatever old man. I’ll just google it.” There was no tone of malice in her voice and Rooster knew that they’d get along well in the future. He might have had to ask Penny if he can leave his number for Amelia later, he had a feeling that they could both benefit from an exchange of information on Mav.

“He was just as bad with homework twenty years ago.” Rooster told her, still smiling wide. Mav wasn’t actually all that useless with homework. He knew that the older man had a hard time in his youth which reflected on his grades but as he sat down with him in the afternoons and went over the problems with him he always managed to encourage Rooster to try and do his best. Even in his rebellious teenage years he sat down with his uncle Mav and did the work just to spend the time with him. He was glad that Mav still wanted to help even if it hurt just a tiny bit to share their tradition with the young girl. 

“I’m just bad at it because you never took Calculus or else I’d know what was going on.” Mav defended himself.

“Calculus? She looks like she’s what? Thirteen? Why is she taking Calculus?”

“I’m turning sixteen soon.” Amelia pouted. “And I took some classes during the summer so that I can finish up my reqs sooner so that I’ll qualify for some college level courses during Junior and Senior year. If I’m gonna be an engineer I can’t waste time on AP Calculus during Senior year.” She said as if all that made sense. 

Jesus, at her age Bradley only cared about baseball and getting his license but she had apparently her whole life planned out. 

Before he could tell her how cool that sounded Penny’s voice carried through the bar over to them. “Amelia!” she called and Amelia sighed.

“Coming!”

They watched as she left to go to her mother, silence falling over them for a few seconds before Mav motioned for them to sit. Rooster didn’t miss the proud smile on his face as he pulled out a chair for you, making sure you could sit down comfortably before plopping himself down on the seat next to yours. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Captain Mitchell.” You broke the silence. “Bradley told me so much about you.”

“I wish I could say the same thing but uhhh… Thank you. For being there for him when I couldn't.” He said, leaning forward until his forearms rested on the table in front of him. He was fidgeting with his hands, the nervous gesture almost foreign to Rooster. “And please, call me Maverick. Or Pete if you’re not a fan of callsigns. Not uhhh… not gonna be a Captain for much longer.”

Had Rooster been paying attention to his godfather he might have caught the small smirk gracing his lips at the end of the sentence but instead he was looking between you eagerly with those big puppy eyes of his. “What?!” 

He slammed his hands down on the table, halfway jumping out of his seat and leaning across the table in rightful indignation.“Mav you just saved our asses during the mission they can’t just… Are they grounding you?  Discharging you?”

“Worse. They’re promoting me.”

That left Rooster dumbfounded, slowly sitting back down. “What?”

“They’re making me a one star. Reluctantly, but… they’re keeping me around for now.” Mav admitted, as if the news hadn’t lifted a weight the size of a carrier off his back when Cyclone broke the news to him two days prior. “Just don’t tell anybody yet. Everything is already decided but they won’t announce it for a few more weeks. So far only Cyclone and Warlock know because I’ll be reporting under them. And Hondo. And Viper. I don’t know if you remember but he was my instructor at Top Gun back in the day and still lives in San Diego so he invites me over for tea when I’m in the area. Penny knows too which means that Amelia probably figured it out. Oh and I kinda texted Slider to make fun about the fact that I outrank him now but that’s it. And now you two know.” 

Rooster barely listened as Mav rambled through name after name, pulling your hand into his lap and absentmindedly playing with your fingers.

“That’s great news, Mav.” He said, eyes moving between you and his godfather as he continued. “So many good news. We should celebrate.”

“Oh, yes. You… you came all the way so we could meet and here I am going on and on about myself.” Mav said, turning towards you slightly. “It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“Now, the boy hasn’t updated me on anything since he texted me that he made it home safely. Did he finally get it together and asked you to be his girlfriend?”

“Not exactly.” Rooster said while you wordlessly held up your left hand, wiggling your fingers a little as the ring caught in the light. 

For a moment he was too caught up in your smile to notice his godfather’s reaction but once he looked over Rooster saw him tearing up. It wasn’t shocking to see Mav cry, Rooster had half suspected it would happen at some point during the day but he also didn’t want to worry you. He was lucky enough to grow up with adults that didn’t subscribe to the “boys don’t cry” idea and he knew he was allowed to let his emotions flow but Mav had always been built a little closer to the water than him or his mom.

Reaching out he took your hand in his, pulling it closer until he could kiss the back of your hand before bringing your joined hands down until they were resting on the table in front of you. 

“Congrats. I’m… I’m sorry.” He used the back of his thumbs to wipe away the tears in his eyes before they fell, still looking at you. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you two.”

“That’s actually part of the reason we wanted to meet up with you.” Rooster said.

“We’re not planning on having a big ceremony. We just want to go sign the papers at city hall back home but… we wanted to ask if you would be our witness?” You spoke softly as you asked him, almost as if you were afraid he would say no. 

Rooster was scared too even though deep in his heart he knew Mav would not turn them down. He was still working on trusting his gut more than the nagging negative voice in his head but in this case he was so sure.

Mav just looked at them for a moment, looking like he was tearing up again. “I’d be honored.” He wiped at his eyes again before smiling. “Of course. I’d love to. Do you two have any plans yet? You said you wanted to just sign the papers?”

“Neither of us has enough people to warrant a big wedding so we’ll just do the legal part…maybe go get something to eat afterwards?” He looked at you for the last question, wanting to see if you approve of his tentative plans, smiling when you nodded.

His eyes stayed on you, even as you turned to address Mav again. “We just want to do it before Bradley’s leave is over. It usually takes a few days for the paperwork to be ready but we could do it next week if you have time.”

“Oh so soon?”

“You don’t think it’s too soon, do you?” Rooster really hoped that Mav wasn’t judging him. Didn’t think he was jumping the gun and rushing into things.

“No, no. It’s just…You remind me so much of your dad right now.” He paused for a moment, glancing at the ring on your finger. “Did your mom ever tell you the story of that ring?”

“No, we never talked about it.” Rooster admitted. There were a lot of things he and his mom never talked about.

Mav exhaled deeply, shaken his head a little as if the motion would shake loose old memories and he had to suppress a chuckle. “God it was… it was 1982. Your dad and I had only been flying together for a handful of months. We were still in training but you know how it is. Sneaking off base, going out. That was back before the drinking age was 21 and man did we take advantage of that fact. One night your dad was sneaking back in from a first date and I was still up and he just looked at me and said I’m gonna marry her Mav. After the first date. I helped him pick out that ring three days later.” He paused, shaking his head again. “I thought he was crazy until I met Carole. Everybody could see that they belonged together. And when I look at you… It just makes sense.”

Rooster could feel you squeeze his hand and squeezed back. Yeah. The two of you just made sense.

“Next week? Yeah, that works. All I do at the moment is stock shelves and get embarrassed by homework while I’m waiting on the officials to get everything in order so I have time.”

Rooster immediately felt lighter, glad that they would have somebody with them. He might not be able to give you a fairytale wedding but at least they wouldn’t have strangers as witnesses. 

“You could just go to Vegas.” A voice piped up, causing all three of you to turn your heads. 

Penny looked a little sheepish but Amelia looked nothing but pleased.

“Were you eavesdropping the entire time?” Mav asked.

“No.” She said with a hand on her hip. “The voices just carry in the empty bar.”

Looking at his godfather’s face Rooster knew he didn’t believe her but nobody challenged her.

“You want to get married quickly and Vegas is only like a 5 hour drive. We can go there tomorrow and be back before dinner.” 

“We?” Penny asked. “You, young lady, have school tomorrow.” 

They continued talking but Rooster wasn’t paying attention anymore. You wanted to get married quickly but in all your planning neither of you had even thought about the place most famous for shotgun weddings. The more he thought about it the more sense it made. 

He had proposed to an Elvis song, you could get an Elvis impersonator to officiate, get a few pictures, and by sundown tomorrow he would be able to call you Mrs. Bradshaw. It seemed like an ideal plan.

He looked at you.

You looked at him.

Rooster shrugged. “We could go to Vegas.”

Mav jumped on the idea of a Vegas wedding, casually appointing himself wedding planner. It wasn’t hard to hand over the reins and relax, one less thing to worry about. In the end you departed the bar with an agreement to wait with the wedding until the weekend and an invitation for dinner at Penny’s house the next day and headed back to the motel.

Making concrete plans just solidified the idea of marriage in your mind. Just looking at things from the outside might make it seem like you and Bradley were rushing into it, but it felt right.  

After Bradley had told you about the Elvis connection you had immediately agreed. Vegas would be even easier than the courthouse especially with his godfather offering to organize everything. All you had to do was show up, say ‘i do’, and look pretty for a picture before dragging your husband back to the nearest lockable room.

“We should get a dog.” Bradley said from where he was laying on your chest. When he had first picked you up and thrown you on the bed after coming back from the bar you had assumed he had ulterior motives but he had only wanted to cuddle, blanketing your body with his and burrowing his stubborn head into the valley of your throat. His curls felt soft under your hand and you wondered how he managed to keep them so silken even though they were regularly locked away under a helmet and only saw conditioner when you showered together. 

“Why should we get a dog, Brad?” Using your hand in his hair you tugged just a little until he lifted his head to look at you. 

“I don’t know. I just always thought every family needs a dog. It could keep you company when I’m gone. Protect you, you know? And once we have kids they’re gonna love running around with it in the yard.” 

Your heart ached at his description of the future. Whereas you had never really allowed yourself to dream it seemed like he had everything already figured out. “Kids?”

“Yeah, two or three. So that they have somebody to grow up with. I always wanted a sibling or a cousin when I was younger.” He said wistfully, looking at you with wide eyes. “Unless you don’t want… We don’t need to have kids to be a family.” 

“Two or three? Alright, we can do that.” You continued to run your fingers through his hair, almost petting him like the dog he talked about. “What kind of dog are we getting?” 

“Don’t know yet. Maybe we can go to a shelter when we’re back home. I just remembered that Coyote sent a picture of his dog in a little sweater in the group chat and thought about us getting one too.”

“And putting little sweaters on it?”

“If you want to. I don’t know if it’ll like sweaters. Javy’s dog looked happy in his. Hold on, I'll show you the picture.” Bradley reached back to grab his phone, pulling up the group chat. 

Ever since he had come back to you after the mission he had been talking about the group chat one of his buddies made. 

You continued to run your fingers through his hair as he looked through his phone. He looked so happy looking at the messages his friends sent, you couldn’t help but feel happy too. Neither of you had many people in your lives and you were glad that he was reconnecting with old friends and making new ones.

“Here it is.” He held out his phone so you could see the screen properly. It was a nice picture, an attractive man holding a dog and smiling into the camera. They were wearing matching sweaters and Bradley had been right, the dog did look weirdly happy in its sweater. A notification popped up at the top, quickly followed by several others. 

“You’re getting a lot of messages in the group chat. Might be important.” 

He turned the screen back to himself to check his messages. “Bob sent a picture with his family and the others are roasting him for it.” Bradley said, turning his phone towards you again until you could see the screen. It was a nice picture of a family with some horses but you could understand the roasting, maybe the matching flannels were a bit much. 

“I can’t imagine their reactions when I send a picture of our wedding.” He smiled up at you. “They’ll curse themselves for missing it.”

The two of you hadn’t discussed guests at all after your first conversation about asking Mac to be a witness. Then after talking to him and changing your plans to Las Vegas it seemed natural that Penny and her daughter would tag along as parts of your growing family. But these people were family too, in a way. Bradley refused to tell you the details of his mission —if he was more scared of his higher ups finding out he disclosed confidential information or of your reaction should you find out the whole truth you didn’t know— but it was clear that their little group had bonded in a way few could understand. 

“You could always just ask if they want to come.” 

It wasn’t like you would know what to do with a bunch of aviators on your wedding day but you just wanted for Bradley to be happy. To be as happy as you were right here in this moment with him laying on your chest in a random motel in San Diego.

“I can’t. They’re all back home with their families or back on deployment. I can’t ask them to give up their leave to watch a five minute ceremony.” He just looked down at his phone, tumbling at the case. 

You didn’t tell him that maybe his friends would love to give up a day of their leave to support him. If somebody were to tell you the same thing you wouldn’t believe them either. “Well… at least I’m not the one that will have to listen to them complain that they didn’t get an invite.” 

Bradley looked at his phone. 

Then you. 

Then at his phone again. 

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” You watched as he typed a quick message before turning his phone off before throwing it away from you onto the bed. It disappeared between the folds of the sheets somewhere, out of sight out of mind. 

“Did you tell them?” 

He just rested more of his weight onto you, the pressure calming like your own little weighted blanket. Breath steady and soft against your skin. “Told them I’m getting married and to bother Mav for the details.”

Using a hand you tilted his head up a little until you could press a kiss to his forehead, chuckling as he scrunched up his face. “You are unbelievable. You can’t just put all that on him without a warning.”

“Eh, it’s fine. It’s Mav. He can handle it.”

Mav could definitely handle it. 

Bradley had woken up to a text message inviting the two of you to breakfast and somehow gotten you up and ready long before reasonable for a relaxed Thursday morning. Thankfully your fiancé was nice enough to stop and get you a giant coffee on the way to the diner Mav had picked, all while you tried your hardest not to fall asleep in the passenger seat. You didn’t really pay attention to the road in front of you, doing nothing but occasionally lift the cup high enough for Brad to take a sip of the obnoxiously large and obnoxiously sweet concoction.

It was a nice looking place, aged but clearly loved. Mav was already sitting at a window booth and Bradley led you there by your hand. The woman behind the counter gave your cup a pointed look and any other time you’d apologize for bringing outside food into her diner but today you really needed this. 

Mav greeted you with a warm smile and you did your best to reciprocate while sliding into the booth and settling down on the worn seats. At least he waited until Bradley had sat down as well before he pulled out a notebook, still smiling, and set it down on the table hard enough for the slam to echo through the room. “Alright let’s get to it. Fanboy’s flight lands at 7am so we’ll send him straight to the hotel for a nap before the ceremony. Payback and his wife come in at 11am. There were no direct flights from Cheyenne to Vegas at a reasonable time so we’re sending Bob to San Francisco first and then he and Phoenix are flying in together at 11:30. Hangman is last at 12:15 but we won’t fit everybody in one car so we either drive down with two or take a shuttle. Speaking of driving we can either leave here at 4:30am or I have a buddy that can get us a charter flight out at 8, that would give us enough time to bring our things to the hotel and get to the airport before the others trickle in. We’ll have a late lunch and then a few hours to get ready. Wedding is at 6 and you guys can hit the strip while I take Penny and Amelia to see a show. Sunday we’ll do brunch at the hotel around noon unless somebody gets arrested or ends up in the hospital then we’ll just do lunch at 2pm. Any questions?”

“I have one. You guys ready to order?” A voice chimed in from the end of the table. The woman you had seen behind the counter was standing at your booth, notepad in her hand, ready to write down your orders. Mav already knew his order but when she turned to you there was nothing that came to your mind, you didn’t even need to look at the menu to know you didn’t want anything.

“Oh I don’t want anything, thank you.” 

She gave you another look, this one a little more concerned. “You okay sweetie?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just a little too early for food.” 

“Ah. Military men, am I right? Always up at the crack of dawn. You’ll get used to it sweetheart.”

Beside you Bradley rattled off his order but you only half listened to him talk. On the table in front of you you could see Maverick’s open notebook, messily filled up with all kinds of information, sentences written then scribbled out, arrows drawn and words circled. He had really put a lot of thought into this.

When you looked up again the waitress had left so you took a sneaky sip of your coffee. Everything was happening so fast yet not fast enough. Your heart hadn’t stopped racing since Bradley came home and now you were about to get married. A wedding Maverick had somehow planned in one day.

“I can’t believe you managed to put that all together so fast. It’s been, what, 12 hours?” Bradley asked, resting his arms on the table leaning over it to look at his notebook.

“A little warning would have been nice.” The older man grumbled, thumbing at the edge of the notebook. “But keeping up with the text messages was the hardest part. I don’t know how somebody can type that fast. The actual planning took less time than you think. I’m uhh I’m pretty good at that part. Just don’t tell anybody or else they’ll have me play secretary for Cyclone.”

Him and Bradley laughed a little and you watched them, enjoying this moment. 

“Thank you.” You told him when the two had stopped, reaching out over the table to take his hand in both of yours. “For arranging everything and telling Bradley’s friends and just… thank you.” So much has been happening in such a short time and you just wanted him to know how much you appreciated everything he did for you. 

Maverick just gave your hand a squeeze, looking at Bradley and you with a fond look. “It’s what family is for.”

When the waitress arrived with the food you pretended not to notice the amount of food Brad had ordered. It was easy to reach over and steal a piece or two while he talked with Maverick about the messages he had gotten last night. It seemed like everybody was happy for you which only made you even happier in return. Even if you didn’t know them they meant a lot to Bradley and knowing that they were supportive of him was simply a good feeling.

“We can just talk about the rest at dinner tonight.” Mav said before finishing the last of his coffee. “It would be nice if you two can decide on how you want to get to Vegas until then though. We’ll get you there either way and I don’t mind driving the 5 hours but I’d like to give Wolfman and Hollywood a heads up so they have time to schedule the flights properly if you want to take the plane.” 

“We’ll think about it.” Bradley answered as if you didn’t already know he’d want to take a plane. He belonged up in the sky and who were you to try and stop him. 

“Awesome. Now.” He set down his now empty mug and flipped his notebook to a blank page. “What is your address for the wedding gifts and do you have a registry somewhere because I have a list of people that want to know.”

Bradley is looking out of the window when you pause your unpacking to check in on him. The sight of Sin City below gives him just enough of a distraction to leave you battling your small bags on your own but you didn’t mind. The short flight in a fancy little private jet had been an exciting adventure but you were grateful to be back on solid ground. You simply weren’t drawn to the sky like Bradley was.

Maverick had gotten everybody rooms in a hotel fancy enough that it made you question how you’re supposed to afford it before quickly shaking those thoughts off. He seemed like a good man and the last thing you expected from him was to leave you and Bradley with a bunch of debt from your not so spontaneous not so elopement. After checking in he had pressed a hotel room key into your hands and told you to be back down in 20 minutes to head to the airport and you intended to stick to his schedule even if your fiancé did little more than throw his bag into a corner before going straight to the window. 

“You can’t see the airport from here but you can see the planes.” His voice carried through the room even though he spoke at a normal volume. 

You put the item into the closet before turning around and walking over to where he stood, snuggling into his side as Bradley put his arm around you. “Are they nice?” 

“Eh…” You felt him shrug. “They’re alright, I guess.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you could feel him laugh.

He had told you about the other daggers before and you knew of his time at Top Gun with Natasha and Jake but you had never met them before. Part of you was just worried if they’d like you. If they’d think you were good enough for Bradley.

“Ready to go?” Bradley’s voice interrupted your thoughts before you could overthink it more.

“Yeah.” You answered, smiling up at him before ducking under his arm to get your bag. “Let's go!”

Brad managed to behave on the elevator ride down but once the doors opened and you started to step out into the lobby he not so discreetly gave your butt a squeeze before resting his hand on the small of your back, steering you in the direction of Maverick and Penny who were already waiting.

If they saw they did a great job at pretending they didn’t. Instead Maverick checked the time on his phone before putting it away, smiling at Bradley and you. “There’s a shuttle to the airport leaving in 5 minutes so we should probably get going.”

It was easy to follow him through the hotel to the shuttle and then later through the airport. Even though you hadn’t known Maverick for long it was easy to see the natural leader in the man, making his way through the airport with purpose, while the rest of you were following behind him like ducklings. He knew where you had to be at what time and once again you found yourself being grateful that the older man had taken it upon himself to organize this trip. A quick visit to the courthouse could never have compared to the glitz and glam of fabulous Las Vegas. Even the drive to the airport had been magical, it being the middle of the day doing little to hide the power of flashing lights and inebriated fun-seekers.

“Just in time.” Maverick announced as your little group walked up to the gate as the arriving plane started to deboard. 

Bradley’s arm laid heavy over your shoulder but you didn’t mind, leaning into him until you could rest your cheek against his chest and winding your arm around his small waist to hook your thumb through the belt loops of his jorts. You just stood there waiting for a few minutes while the people made their way out of the plane and into the airport. You had seen a few pictures of the other aviators Bradley and Maverick had flown with during their mission but while it seemed enough to recognize them should they stand somewhat close it seemed far from possible to be able to pick them out from a crowd like the one in front of you. 

It got louder around you as the mass of people made their way through the terminal but Maverick didn’t have to raise his voice to get the attention of somebody. Raising his arm just above his head he waved once, twice, before lowering it again. Following his line of sight you could see a man and a woman heading your way. They were both wearing sunglasses and the man was carrying a bag over his shoulder although it started to slip as he excitedly made his way over to your group with the woman following behind. 

Withdrawing your arm from around your fiancé slowly, taking a step back so that Bradley could greet his friend. Payback was a little taller than him which didn’t become too apparent until he released Bradley from a hug and proceeded to pull Maverick against his chest after. 

“You must be Carmen. It’s so nice to meet you.” 

“It’s great to meet you, Rooster. My husband told me so much about you.” Payback’s wife seemed to be a hugger too judging by the way her and Bradley were embracing. 

Unlike her husband though she didn’t move on to greet Maverick next, instead focusing her attention on you. “And you must be the wife-to-be. Oh what a gorgeous bride. Thank you so much for letting us share this day with you.” You found yourself being pulled into an enthusiastic hug, barely getting the time to reciprocate the unsuspected affection before Carmen pulled away again, moving to greet Maverick and Penny.

You were only left standing for a second before Bradley swooped in and guided his friend the two steps over to you. “Hi. Payback.” He introduced himself, holding out his hand to shake, a gesture you gladly accepted. 

“Nice to meet you.” You smiled back, hoping the man wouldn’t recognize how nervous you felt. Bradley going back to standing by your side, arm casually slung over your shoulder like it had been before, helped a little. 

It didn’t take long for your little group to move. Your guests had checked a bag and by the time you had collected from the baggage carousel and made your way to the next gate enough time had passed that you could watch the plane land. 

Truth be told you had been a little nervous meeting Payback and his wife but you were downright terrified of meeting Phoenix? Natasha? Phoenix! Sure, Bradley was friends with the people that were coming to watch you two get married but him and Phoenix went back almost as far as Brad and you did and you couldn’t even begin to imagine what would happen if she didn’t like you. It was obvious that Bradley cared about her and her opinions a whole lot and you wanted nothing more but to get along with her.

Before you could get lost in your own worries the passengers made their way off the plane and into the terminal. This time you didn’t have to look for the people you were picking up, instead they came straight to you as if they had spotted your group of fearless aviators plus partners from the moment they had stepped out of the plane. 

Phoenix made her way through the masses, a tall blond who you assumed to be Bob following half a step behind her. People parted out of their way left and right, stepping aside like being in her way would be the absolute last thing they wanted to be. She didn’t look as intimidating as you had imagined her to be from the pictures Bradley had shown you. Dark hair hung loose over her shoulders and she was wearing a simple shirt and jeans but the way she carried herself almost made you want to take a step back as well. 

“Bradshaw!” 

You weren’t the only one that jumped at that. Beside you Bradley went a few shades paler even though his nonchalant expression didn’t change. Phoenix was still a few yards away but her voice carried through the noisy building, it didn’t sound all too happy. So much for trying to make a good first impression. 

She bridged the last of the distance between you but her whole demeanor seemed to change once she spotted you. “Future Mrs. Bradshaw!” Phoenix gave you a quick once-over but it didn’t feel like she was looking at you trying to find flaws, she was simply looking at you, a little half-smile on her face. “I can’t believe he managed to hide you away for so long.”

She didn’t try to hug you but when she went to stand beside you your shoulders touched a little too often to be accidental, a little too soft to be malicious, and you felt glad about that small sign of fondness. 

Her WSO Bob was an absolute sweetheart with his soft little pleasure to meet you ma’am and you could immediately understand why Bradley spoke so highly of him. 

Your little group stood together for a few moments. Just catching up and introducing yourselves. It felt nice to be surrounded by people your soon-to-be husband cared about, people that you cared about by association. That warm familiarity growing while you talked.

“Shouldn’t we head back to the hotel? The itinerary Mav sent us said something about lunch.” Payback said during a lull in the conversation.

“An itinerary? What-” Bradley started before Maverick interrupted him.

“Hangman’s flight won’t get in until 12:15 but if you want to head to the hotel that’s fine. I can come with you on the shuttle and then back here once you’re there?”

He continued to say more but Bradley leaned down to talk to you so you were focused on him. “He sent them an itinerary?” He whispered, getting a shoulder shrug in return. Maverick hadn’t said anything about the plans to you since your breakfast meeting in the diner. 

“Oh can we head to the hotel? I’d like to get ready before we eat. Shower off all the airport and plane germs and change into real clothes.” Carmen said, tugging on her shirt. Her clothes looked nice to you, cute but definitely comfortable plane clothes, and you could understand why she didn’t want to wear them to lunch in Las Vegas.

“Alright.” Maverick said, pulling out his phone to check the time. “There’s a shuttle leaving in like 7 minutes at the end of the terminal. If we leave now I’ll make it back in time to meet the rest of the group before heading back.”

After he stopped talking Penny reached over to rest a hand on his forearm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll head back with them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Need to make sure Amelia isn’t secretly raiding the mini bar or trashing the hotel room. I’m telling you getting her her own room is a recipe for disaster, I swear that girl never puts away her clothes. See you back at the hotel?” 

After Payback and Carmen left with Penny you were left alone with the remaining aviators. They had trained together. Flown together. Braved death together.

And then there was you.

Bradley’s fiancée.

You stood there in silence for a moment before Maverick spoke up again. “We should probably head to Hangman’s gate. It’s not far but it’ll give us something to do in the next few minutes.”

Bradley took your hand in his, swinging your connected arms between your bodies while you slowly walked towards the gate. Maverick led the way and the rest of you followed in what you assumed to be pairs before Phoenix popped up next to you, scaring you just a little. She sure was stealthy.

“So you and Bradshaw have been dating for a while, huh? Got any dirt on him?” 

Bradley hadn’t told you if his friends knew about your slightly unusual relationship but the way she said dating made you think that she knew. You didn’t care either way and her just casually saying it like this made it seem like she didn’t either. 

“Because I have so many stories from our time at Top Gun.” She continued when you didn’t immediately respond.

“I’ll do you one better. I have albums filled with all his awkwards teenage photos.” 

That made Bradley jump in and speak up. “She really doesn’t need to see those.” 

“Oh yes, she does.” Phoenix fired back.

The two of them playfully glared at each other before you leaned over to her and loudly fake whispered. “I’ll send you copies once we’re home.” 

That earned you a healthy hand squeeze but you just giggled. Oh yeah, you were going to get along great. 

In the end you didn’t have to wait all that much longer. Phoenix and Bob were talking to Maverick about getting reassigned and flying together again while Bradley and you stood a little separate from the group, not talking, just standing there with his arm around you, watching the others. Occasionally he turned slightly, pressing a kiss against the top of your head before turning back.

The flight from Honolulu landed a full ten minutes early but you didn’t question it. Of all the people that would be coming to celebrate with you, Hangman was probably the one you knew the most about. Bradley had been complaining about him for a long, long time, yet you were still looking forward to meeting him. 

“People are just starting to get out of the plane.” Phoenix said, a little loud so that Brad and you could hear her. “There’s still time for us to go and to leave him here.”

Bob muttered something in response but from where you were standing you couldn’t understand what he said.

“Good plan but I can already see him.”

It was easy to spot him in the mass of passengers. People didn’t part ways like they had for Phoenix but he just… stood out. Looking sunkissed and ready to rock and roll.

“Oh he’s hot.” You said, looking up at Bradley. “I can totally understand why you used to have a crush on him.”

“I didn’t-” He protested, weakly.

Giving him a little shoulder shrug you continued. “Hmmm. Sure. And I’m not thinking about leaving you at the altar and running away with him instead.”

Thankfully Bradley took your little joke lightly, quipping back. “Good luck with that. You’ll come back ten minutes later begging us to take him off your hands because he’s so annoying.”

You were just about to respond with a playful please, I could handle him for at least 20 when the man in question reached your little group making you keep quiet. 

“Pops.” He nodded at Maverick, and you had to suppress a laugh at the look on his face. “Phoenix. Bob.” 

“Hangman.” Was all Phoenix said back.

It was obvious that there was some kind of tension between all the aviators but it didn’t feel hostile. Maybe just leftover feelings from the mission?

“Rooster.” He finally said when he stood in front of your fiancé and you. “Mrs. Rooster.” 

“Hangman.”

They just looked at each other, head tilted, mischievous look in their eyes, before they broke. 

“It’s good to see you, man.” 

“Good to see you, too. Wasn’t sure if you would come.”

“Can’t leave my wingman hanging now, can I? Besides, I come bearing gifts.” He gave the bag he was carrying over his shoulder two pats. “Now on the schedule pops sent it said something about lunch?”

It was a little weird, sitting at a table where almost everybody but you knew each other. At times it was hard to keep up with the conversation. Carmen seemed to have no such problem, talking and laughing with her husband and his WSO. Fanboy had met you all at one of the hotel’s restaurants with a bright smile and enthusiastically introduced himself. It was easy to get along with him, not even 5 minutes into the conversation you had discovered that you were both fans of the same shows so you spent a while talking about those before somebody else caught his attention and you were left sitting there, trying to listen to what everybody was talking about in the hopes of finding a conversation you could join. Beside you Bradley was recounting the story of your love to Phoenix and Bob, turning to you every so often and asking you for your opinion on things that happened but it was easy to get lost in everything happening around you. 

Hangman was laughing with Payback and Carmen. 

Fanboy seemed to be in deep conversation with Maverick and Penny. 

Amelia was typing away on her phone.

Around you there were other patrons talking and laughing, the faint sound of people crying out in joy over casino wins flowing in from somewhere mixing in with the ambiance of the restaurant. Everything was so quintessentially Vegas. Part of you didn’t want to wait a few more hours. You just wanted to take Bradley and run away to the nearest chapel and get married. Something about the Las Vegas air made you want to be reckless and wild.

“So…” Hangman began after everybody was mostly done eating. Fanboy and Bob were savoring the last bites of their desert while Maverick had slipped from the table a few minutes ago and you just knew that the older man had gone to settle the bill. Another kindness you weren’t sure you’d ever repay him. “What’s the plan for the bachelor party? It didn’t say anything on Maverick’s schedule.” 

It seemed like everybody at the table stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Bradley and you. 

“You have something planned don’t you?”

Bradley just looked at them for a moment, his pretty eyes wide and his cheeks turning pink. “I- uhh. Not really, no.”

“Rooster, I love you man, but please don’t tell me we flew all the way to Vegas for no party.”

“I thought we’d do something after.” He said, gesturing around to support his words. “Go out and celebrate after the wedding, not before.”

“There’s still a few hours before the wedding. You can go have a bachelor party if you want. Just don’t go all Hangover on me, okay?” 

Bradley was looking at you with his sad puppy eyes and you couldn’t help yourself from reaching out and running a hand through his short curls. They had grown a lot since he got home and part of you felt jealous that it grew fast enough for you to notice a difference after only a few weeks.

“Alright, since I’m the best man-” 

“You’re not.”

“-I’m letting you decide where we’ll go first. Casino or strip club?”

As soon as those words left Hangman’s mouth the atmosphere at the table changed. Everybody was paying just a little bit more attention to what Bradley was going to say.

“I’m not going to a strip club. Why would you even suggest that? My girl is literally right here.” He gestured to you as if everybody’s eyes weren’t on you.

“It’s just a strip club, Bradley. Just go with your friends, look at some hot girls…” You gave his hair just a little tug before pulling your hand back so that you could hold his. “And then you come and marry me.”

Your little moment was broken up by Hangman’s voice again. “Alright. Now-”

“If the boys are going to a strip club I want to go too.” Carmen interrupted him, leaning back in her chair. 

All the attention turned to her as you took a moment to think about what had been said so far. Sure, it was a little unconventional but how bad could it be? “I've never been to a strip club before. That could be fun.”

Maverick chose that moment to return to the table, pulling out his chair and sitting down, taking in the table. “What are you guys talking about?” 

“We’re going to a strip club.” Fanboy chimed in. 

You hadn’t known him for long but you wanted to take a picture of Maverick’s exasperated face and hang it over your fireplace or on the wall that housed all of Bradley and your family pictures. He was silent for some time, his face going through a journey of surprise, contemplation, settling on defeat in the end and letting out a deep sigh.

“I’m not going to a strip club with my… with Rooster.” He finally said.

“Oh come on pops.”

Maverick just shook his head a little. “Not really my thing. There are better ways to get a woman's attention than throwing money at them.”

 “Yeah? Like what?”

“Extremely reckless and dangerous behavior, for one.” Penny answered for him. “But he is right. I don’t think we should tag along with you for that, as tempting as that sounds. Well just explore the area a little while you go out and have fun.”

“Alright, now that everything is cleared up,” Hangman reached down to grab the mysterious bag he had brought downstairs and placed under the table for lunch. “I brought a little something for everyone.”

Hawaiian shirts. Hangman had brought a whole bag of amazingly colorful and crazy Hawaiian shirts for everybody to wear. Although he didn’t say anything you saw the look in Bradley’s eyes as he looked over his friends rummaging through the shirts. There was nothing but unfiltered affection for his friends, for them joining you on this adventure, and proudly wearing something that means so much to him so that they could match. 

“Dibs on the one with the dolphins!” Fanboy shouted, volume entirely unfitting for the middle of a restaurant but so immensely fitting for your little group. 

You couldn’t wait.

As far as he remembered he had never been in a strip club before so maybe he should savor the experience but instead he found himself looking for the bar almost as soon as he stepped foot in the club. 

Hangman had led them here, walking into the place with a purpose, and Rooster really didn’t need to know whether or not he had called ahead to reserve the velvety looking booth in front of what looked to be a side stage or if it was coincidentally conveniently empty and just waiting for them to walk in and claim it. He watched you walk towards it, arms interlocked with Fanboy, animatedly chatting about something. You were beautiful like this, joyful and carefree. 

He was second to last to walk in, trying to stall just a little longer before entering with only Bob behind him. That didn’t prevent Hangman from noticing them taking a little longer to follow the rest of their group though. He moved over to where they stood just past the entrance with big strides, walking around them before putting an arm around each of their shoulders, walking them further into the club as if to make sure neither of them turned around and ran for the hills. An easy assumption. Probably a correct one. 

“Come on guys. Party is this way.” 

He let himself be moved along and just tried to take everything in. He was in Vegas. He was in a strip club. Hangman was wearing a pale pink Hawaiian shirt. He’d be married before the day was over. To you.

“Atta boy. Come on.” Something must have shown on his face because soon Hangman was releasing him from his hold with a pat on the back, instead focusing on Bob who was still on his other side.

“Don’t worry, Bobby boy.” He gave him a hard pat on the back, jostling the younger man’s shoulder. “I checked everything online before coming here. The dancers don’t take off their tops here so your innocence will be preserved.”

With that he turned his back to them, following the rest of the group towards the booth and leaving them standing there on their own. Rooster watched as he squeezed into the space between you and Phoenix, leaning back against the velvet cushions. You were laughing along with the others, cheering on Payback’s wife as she made it rain on a blonde girl on the stage. You were having fun so why shouldn’t he try to have some too.

“Bar?” Bob suggested, and Rooster knew it was more for his sake than the WSO’s but he found himself nodding along regardless. 

"Yes, please."

The bar wasn’t far from where they stood so they walked over, settling on one of the stools in front of it with Bob sliding into the seat next to him, close enough that their elbows knocked into each other as they talked. “Don’t tell Hangman but this isn’t my first time in a strip club.” That wasn’t at all what Rooster was expecting him to say. He knew Bob was more than just an innocent library dweller if the snarky remarks he was allowed to witness and the stories from his family’s ranch were anything to go by but he wouldn’t have pictured him as the kind of guy to go to clubs like these. 

“Really?” He said and hoped that it wouldn’t come across as too judgemental. Him and Bob didn’t talk a lot outside of the group chat but Rooster liked him. He was a very likable guy. 

A bartender came to take their order, temporarily interrupting their conversation. He hadn’t even thought about what he would like so he just took a quick glance at their menu while Bob ordered a simple Coke, as a treat, and then ordered a fruity little cocktail for himself based on its ridiculous name. Hangman was definitely going to tease him but that didn’t matter. It was his bachelor party, damnit. He could drink whatever he wanted.

“My ex-girlfriend from high school is a dancer.” Whatever he had been expecting it wasn’t that. “A year ago when my cousin got married he wanted to do this big bachelor weekend so we drove down to Cheyenne because let's be honest there’s nothing to do in our town except get drunk in a field. I drove because I’m the only one that didn’t drink so they dragged me along when they wanted to go to a club. Found out she was working there because she was dancing on stage when we walked in.” 

The last place he’d stare at in a strip club was Bob yet here Rooster was, eyes glued to the younger man’s face so he wouldn’t miss any little detail of the story being told.

“I grew up in a small community so obviously they recognized her and next thing I knew they had pooled together 400 bucks so they could pay her to give me a lap dance.” Bob said, breaking off into a small laugh before taking a sip of his drink.

The pause in the story was just long enough for him to contribute at least a little bit. “Wasn’t that awkward?”

“Not really. We sat in one of those backrooms for hours and just talked. She and her girlfriend have two really cute cats. And you want to know the best part?”

He nodded, the straw in his drink bumping against his lips with the motion.

“My cousin and his friends got so drunk that they forgot all about it and did it again the next day.”

He couldn’t hold in his laugh after that. Bob joining in. It took a while for the two of them to calm down but when they did it was to nothing but comfortable silence. Another song started to play in the club but when he looked it was still the same blonde on the stage. A different woman was putting down drinks on the table in front of the booth their friends were sitting in. She shook her chest playfully as she leaned forward and then laughed when Fanboy put a bill into her cleavage. 

“Want to go join the others?” He asked, already sliding down from his perch.

“Why not.” Bob answered and then they made their way over to the group.

He wasn’t quite sure how he ended up sitting almost entirely in your lap with your arms wrapped around his waist but he wouldn’t complain. A new girl was dancing on the stage but all Rooster could focus on was the warmth of your body and the coolness of his drink. 

He tried to make himself smaller, pull in his long legs so that Phoenix could squeeze past on the way to the bathroom and fit himself into your lap better until you could put your chin over his shoulder. 

Rooster didn’t quite know how long they had been sitting there, a few songs and a second round of drinks at least. At one point you had switched positions and he sat reclined against the velvety backrest with you perched on his lap, nodding his head along to the beat of the music. 

Nothing good could last forever though and you soon stood up, slipping from your comfortable throne and standing before him. “I’m going to head back to the hotel, okay?” 

He wanted to ask why but he could probably guess. Something about the way that he looked at you must have conveyed his thoughts though because you leaned forward, cupping his face with both of your hands. 

“I have to go get ready, Bradley. So that I can be pretty for our wedding.”

“You’re already the prettiest.”

That earned him a little laugh and a kiss. “Stop trying to be cute.”

“I’ll walk you back to the hotel.” He said, making moves to get up. Rooster wasn’t scared you’d run away, leave him on your wedding day, but he was worried of you making your way back to the hotel on your own. 

“I already texted Maverick and he’s picking me up so you can stay here, have some more fun.” You ran your fingers through his hair and he wanted to stay right here forever, looking up at you while you touched him oh so gently. “I’ll see you later?”

You said it nonchalantly but he knew that you were feeling the same kind of underlying anxiety viciously clawing at your heart that he felt. That tiny little leftover doubt not that he would decide to desert you but that something would happen and you’d be alone again. It was the reason you had called Mav to pick you up. It was the reason you had told him about it. An unspoken I’ll stay safe please stay safe too hanging between them.

“I’ll see you later.” He said with as much certainty he could muster. 

You smiled at him again and he knew that you understood each other.

Rooster watched as you walked towards the exit, vaguely recognizing Carmen talking to her husband before getting up and hurrying after you but he was still only focused on your retreating form.

Yeah. He’d be seeing you later.

Now this –Rooster thought– this is Las Vegas. In front of them rows and rows of slot machines stood, flashing bright lights in all the colors of the rainbow. Further back he could make out several tables crowded with people but the casino was kept so dark he couldn’t make out the other end of the room. An older man at a machine close to them won something and the loud noises of rattling coins and music filled the space around them.

“Alright.” The others turned to him as he spoke. “We’ll meet up back here in an hour. Don’t be late.”

They got maybe two steps in before he remembered something. “We’re doing a buddy system. Everyone picks a wingman and sticks with them. Friends don’t let friends develop gambling addiction, alright?” 

Maybe, just maybe, he should have thought about his words before speaking. Payback and Fanboy put an arm around each other's shoulders, grinning from ear to ear as they walked towards the tables in the far back corner with long strides. It wasn’t until Phoenix reached out to take Bob’s hand and lead them towards some stairs leading to more tables that he realized his mistake. He was stuck with Hangman. 

The excited blond threw an arm around his shoulder just like Payback and Fanboy had done moments ago. “Come on, wingman. Let’s win some!” 

Great.

Even though he and Hangman had more or less changed out their antagonistic rivalry for an amicable competitiveness following the latter saving his and Maverick’s lives they had yet to spend time together without any of the other daggers supervising them, as Phoenix liked to call it. Rooster wasn’t sure what to expect from the —he checked his phone— 58 minutes they’d be stuck together but the least he could do is try his best. They were friends now. They could spend an hour together without things escalating.

“You any good at poker?” He tried, immediately seeing the other man’s eyes light up.

“Oh you’re on, Bradshaw.”

Hangman was, admittedly, good at poker. They left the table after one round though, wanting to look around a little more. He had more luck than the younger man at roulette but they both sucked equally at the slot machines. It was fun to just fool around a little. Even after he had run out of chips they continued to walk the floor. He felt no desire to run and exchange more money, content with the small amount he had allocated for this being used up. 

“Hey.” He tapped on Hangman’s shoulder to get his attention. “I have to head to the bathroom real quick. You okay waiting here for a moment?”

“Just don’t forget that we’re supposed to meet up again soon.” He nodded so Rooster excused himself. 

The last person he had expected to run into when exiting the bathroom of the casino was Phoenix. Her hair looked messier than an hour ago but Rooster wouldn’t have thought any of it –maybe she had gotten frustrated about a game and ran her hands through it, messing it up– had it not been for a familiar looking woman stepped out right after her and the poorly hidden hickey at the base of her neck.

“Please tell me you didn’t just hook up with a stripper in the casino bathroom.”

“Okay. I won’t tell you that.”

Sighing he hid his face in his hands. “Nat...” He started, before thinking better. “Actually nevermind, I don’t want to know.”

He started to walk back to where he left Hangman, wanting to give Phoenix a little more time to collect herself before the group met back up, but she caught up to him so he slowed down a little for her to keep pace.

“We just made out a little.” 

Silently he raised his hand, not breaking his stride or turning his head to look at her but she understood regardless. Her smaller fist connected with his and he smiled. Nice.

“Hangman!” He called out as soon as he could see the blond standing at the side of some table near where he left him. Some other people turned around too but then went back to ignoring the three weirdos in Hawaiian shirts. “Guess who left her wingman?” 

Rooster didn’t tell him the reason, wouldn’t tell him the reason, but deep down Phoenix would know and accept that he needed to tease her for this just a little, even if it earned him a pointy elbow to the side of his ribcage.

“Phoenix leaving her wingman? Never thought I’d see the day.” 

“Yeah well keep talking and you won’t see the night.”

They just stood there, glaring at each other before a familiar cocky smile made its way onto Hangman’s face. “You think he can find the way here on his own or do we need to send out a search party?”

“Send out a search party for who?” Fanboy asked from behind him, making Rooster jump just a little bit. He hadn’t heard the two men walk up.

“Bob.” Hangman answered, a little bit too smug. “Phoenix left her wingman.”

“Ooooo.” Fanboy cheered, his joyful expression noticeably different from Payback’s gloomy look. “Maybe we can go and ask an employee to shout him out over the intercom. Tell him to meet us at the front desk, you know, like they do with little kids that get lost in stores.”

He could see the glee on Hangman’s face so he quickly stepped in. “Or we can just wait a little longer and see if he shows up?”

“Wait for whom?” 

This time Rooster didn’t jump, secretly feeling good about the small win. How had all his friends managed to get so good at sneaking up on people? Bob didn’t look like he just lost his entire life savings during the time Phoenix reconnected with the dancer from the club in the casino bathroom though, so he counted that as a win.

Beside him he could see Hangman getting ready to say something again so he quickly jumped in, saying something first before the other man could make a comment about the situation again. “You guys ready to head back to the hotel?” 

“Might as well.” Payback answered, looking down at his shoes before looking at him. “Your wedding better be a fantastic one because it’ll be the last thing I see before Carmen kills me.”

“Why would…” 

“I bet our entire vacation found on the last game and lost, okay? That’s why. I’m dead, man.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell over the aviators. The pattern of the casino carpet was kinda funky, Rooster noticed. Beside him Phoenix shifted on her feet. Nobody really knew how to respond until Bob spoke up.

“How much did you lose?”

“Nearly 7k.” Payback answered.

Fanboy winced as if he hadn’t watched his pilot lose everything at the table just shortly before. This was exactly the reason why Rooster wanted them to stick together instead of wandering off alone yet here they were.

They stood silent again, not speaking, watching as Bob shoved his hand down the front pocket of his jeans. His face looked almost cute, the tip of his tongue sticking out just a tiny bit between his lips as he rummaged through the pocket. It only took a few seconds before his hand resurfaced, a whole bunch of colorful casino chips gripped in his fist. Another few seconds to flatten his palm and dig through the small pile. Finally he found what he was looking for, holding out a few of the chips for Payback to take.

“Here. You can have those.” 

“Thanks Bob, that's really sweet, that's… that’s 7 thousand dollars worth of chips.” 

At that everybody’s eyes got wide, staring at the quiet WSO and the amount of chips left in his hand.

“Yeah.”

Nobody said anything for a moment but just as Rooster saw Hangman open his mouth to comment on the situation Payback let out a joyful whoop, grabbing the shorter man and pressing a soundly smooch against Bob’s cheek. “You’re amazing, man.” Turning back to the group he motioned for them to get a move on. “Come on, what are you guys waiting for? Let's get back to the hotel. We have a wedding to get ready for!”

The knock on his door came after he had almost finished getting ready. There was still a good amount of time left before they had to head out to the little chapel so he tried to go through the motions slowly and not rush. For some reason you had decided to not see each other before the wedding and it was killing him. It felt like you were miles and miles away even though Rooster knew realistically you were only a few doors down from him. 

He also knew you wouldn’t give him the sweet satisfaction of freeing him from his torture by knocking on his door to see him before the altar but that was okay. He waited 15 years before he allowed himself to have you. He could wait a few minutes more until he would have you for the rest of his life.

Taking a few seconds to put on a shirt he made his way over to the door, being conscious of the fact that maybe he should have put on some pants as well but not enough to look for one just to open the door.

“What are you gonna be wearing?” Was the first thing Hangman said, before he had even passed the threshold of the hotel room. He was dressed in a light blue dress shirt and fucking khaki pants and with a jolt Rooster realized that he would be dressed fancier than him at his own wedding. Judging by his face Hangman must have seen his carefully laid out jeans and come to the same conclusion. It wasn’t even a fresh pair, he had worn it to dinner at Penny’s house while they were in San Diego and then just carefully put it back into his duffel bag because they were virtually untouched. They were also the best available option he had packed for what was originally a short trip to ask his godfather to be a witness and then ended up as an overplanned elopement.

“You’re wearing jeans?” 

“Yup.” He didn’t explain himself further. 

Apparently that was enough of an answer for Hangman because the younger man just shrugged. “Makes sense.” He said as if Rooster getting married in jeans was the most normal thing in the world. “Hawaiian shirt?”

“Yeah.” 

He hadn’t decided which one he would wear yet. There were two options hung up in the closet at the other side of the room but Rooster hadn’t been able to decide yet. He wouldn’t ask Hangman for help deciding though. He’d wait until Mav came by later and ask him then.

“Great. I have something for you.” He held out another bag like the one he had brought to lunch that had all of the colorful Hawaiian shirts but when he looked into the bag Rooster wasn’t overwhelmed by a brightly patterned rainbow of fabric. Instead he pulled out a more muted shirt, soft and off white in the way it could almost be cream but without the harsh yellow undertone some of his other shirts had. The pattern wasn’t delicate by any means, big red hibiscus flowers and smaller yellow ones stretched across the fabric, but to him it felt precious. He didn’t know what was different about this shirt, he had a similar patterned one hanging in his closet at home, but it just felt special.

“What?”

“You’re a pretty predictable guy, Rooster.” His usual cocky smirk adorned his face as he raised his chin a little higher. He was as arrogant as ever but for the first time Rooster found himself admitting that maybe that was part of his charm.

“There’s care instructions in the bag. And you better spring for dry cleaning on that one, a shirt like that deserves special attention.”

“This isn’t just one of those cheap tourist shirts, is it?” He’d blame the impending wedding for the emotion in his voice but thankfully Hangman didn’t call him out on it.

Maybe it was because he sounded similar when he responded. “Nope. Small kānaka owned business, handmade, one of a kind.”

That was not what he expected. He thought that maybe Hangman had popped into a slightly better shop on his way to the airport–where he had bulk bought the entire inventory of the first souvenir shop in sight–not that he went out of his way, really went out of his way, to find a meaningful gift for somebody he was taunting not even two months back. This side of Hangman surprised him but he found himself looking forward to the future of their friendship.

“Thank you, Jake.”

“Don’t mention it.” He stood up a little straighter, rolling his shoulders back until his posture looked annoyingly perfect again. “Couldn’t let you walk down the aisle in one of those hideous shirts of yours.”

And Hangman was back.

“I’ll uhh I’ll leave you to it.”

Hangman hadn’t been out of the room for a minute before there was another knock on the door. Mav and him must have run into each other in the hallway but the older man didn’t mention anything as he made his way into the room. 

Mav looked at him, looked out of the window, looked at him again. 

“You getting ready?” 

“Yeah. Just have to get dressed.” 

The silence that fell over the room wasn’t uncomfortable. It simply existed. He went through the motions of straightening out the shirt that Hangman had given him, carefully placing it next to the jeans he had laid out across the bed.

He knew why Maverick was here. He also knew why he didn’t start the conversation he wanted to have. Rooster didn’t necessarily want to have the conversation either but he knew that they both needed it. 

“Are the girls getting ready?” He asked instead, internally cringing at the fact that he has inadvertently called a woman old enough to be his mother a girl in an attempt to lighten the mood. Then again his mother would have loved it.

Judging by the way Mav exhaled and his stance relaxed that must have been the right thing to say. “They’re all dressed up already. When I checked in on them Penny was helping your girl curl her hair and Amelia was on her phone.”

He let out a noise that might have been a sigh but could have also been just a general old person noise. Rooster watched as he walked to one of the chairs arranged in one corner of the room in a little seating area, elbows immediately coming up to rest on his knees, holding up his head in crucial support. 

“Mav.”

The older man wouldn’t bring it up on his own. Hell, he still had to visibly fight with himself to talk about the topic, to remember, but he knew what was coming and Rooster granted him a few more seconds to prepare himself.

“Do you think they would have liked this?”

There it was again, that lost look Mav got when he didn’t quite know what to say.

“I know they’re proud of me. I know they would love her. I know they would be here and smile and cry and support us but do you think they would have liked this? Vegas? I’m going to get married in fucking jeans, Mav. Jeans! There’s no way this is the wedding they would have envisioned for me.”

Rooster didn’t even notice that he had gotten up until he felt Maverick’s hand on his shoulder.

“They would have loved it.” He said, and Rooster didn’t dare question his truthfulness. “Maybe not the jeans part but I’m not going to take you shopping 30 minutes before your wedding, Bradley.”

He didn’t look at him with pity, but for Rooster that look of commiseration hit just as hard. 

“You’ve thought about it a lot.” 

It wasn’t a question.

“After mom.” He pretended he couldn’t feel Mav tense up. “I… I knew that there would be a lot of things they couldn’t be there for. It wasn’t easy and it took a long time. It’s…it’s barely even reluctant acceptance but it’s something. Usually I can tell myself that they’re up there, watching over me, and it helps because I know that they’ll love me no matter what.”

The unspoken ‘but’ hung heavy in the air between them.

Rooster really hoped that Maverick wouldn't ask him to elaborate but when he looked up and saw his godfather looking at him he couldn’t help but let it all pour out.

“I’m never sure if they like how I turned out, the choices I made. Mom never really talked about things like that and dad…” He trailed off a little but quickly took a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t even know dad long enough to get to know him. And no matter how much I tried to model my life after him I’ll never be sure if I’m living a life they’d like. When we…” He paused again, staring at the floor, almost begging it to open up and swallow him whole. Anything to stop himself from speaking. “After we stopped talking it felt like I lost my last connection to him, to them. Before I could always rely on the fact that you were there to guide me–taking care of me like they would have wanted–but then that suddenly stopped. Everything I’ve ever wanted in life was suddenly ripped away from me and it just felt like I had lost a third parent on top of that. I don’t need to know if they’re proud of me or if they love me. I just need to know if they’d like me. I don’t even know if you like me.”

He didn’t know if the wedding had anything to do with him snapping like this, exposing the most vulnerable parts of himself to a man he didn’t trust a few short weeks ago. Sure he had heard about weddings making people lose their minds but he had been fine every step of the way until now. A breakdown right before one of the most important events of his life was nothing but an inconvenience. A horribly annoying inconvenience. 

He was still looking at the floor, not daring to look up at the older man. He needed the reassurance, craved it almost, but he knew if he looked up and saw that sorrowful look in Maverick’s eyes…

“They’d like you.”

He said it so quietly that for a second Rooster thought he had imagined it.

“They would like you, kid.” Mav repeated. “Your dad would be jealous that you can grow a better mustache than him and your mother would  kill me for letting you join the Navy but they would… they would absolutely like you. All your parents ever wanted was for you to be happy and I admit that I haven’t been around so I can’t know how you have been all these years but when I look at you looking at her… You look so happy, Bradley.”

A hand landed on his shoulder and he knew he couldn’t avoid looking at the older man anymore. 

Rooster allowed himself two more breaths before he looked up. Mav had that look in his eyes again but it didn’t sting as hard as he thought it would.

“Go wash your face, kid.” Was all he said, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before turning away, eyes locking in on the carefully laid out clothes on the bed. “You should finish getting ready too. We should leave in the next 20 minutes if you don’t want to leave your bride waiting at the altar.”

Rooster hadn’t planned on spending much longer in the bathroom. After all, he already spent a significant amount of time in there before Hangman had interrupted him, getting ready and attempting to tame the growing curls you adored so much but now as he looked at himself in the mirror it felt like all the time had gone to waste. He didn’t look wedding ready. He’d barely dare to go back out into the room the way he was looking. 

Going through the motions a little more hurried than he did the first time he scrubbed his face with one of the soft towels the hotel provided and water cold enough to shock him back into reality. It took less time to fix his hair and even less to fix his mustache. None of the other aviators could ever find out about the tiny comb he kept around for emergencies like this but at times it really was a lifesaver.

When he came back out Mav was still hovering in the room. He justified it to himself by reasoning that the older man was simply there to make sure he’d make it to the chapel on time. It wasn’t until after he had already put on his jeans and was reaching for the shirt that he noticed the addition on the bed. Metal caught rays of sun from the window, shining between the folds of the sheets and the folds of the shirt. He recognized what it was but that didn’t help clear up his confusion. Rooster’s hand came up, touching the base of his neck to make sure he was still wearing his dog tags. They weren’t new, that much was obvious. The metal was worn but clearly taken care of. 

Rooster hadn’t placed it there but it didn’t take a genius to figure out who did. Mav was busy looking out of the window again, trying his hardest to avoid any attention falling on him. 

He picked up the dog tags by the chain, listening to the metal touch ever so slightly while being lifted in the air until he could use his other hand to hold the tags in the palm of his hand. 

Looking down at the small metal tags, the letters stared back at him. 

B R A D S H A W

He ran his thumb over the name–the name they shared–feeling the letters under his skin. 

Front to back. 

Back to front. 

Front to back again.

The metal wasn’t cold to the touch and part of him just knew that Mav had spent a while turning them over in his hand just like he was doing now. 

Without saying anything he slipped the chain over his head, carefully tugging his father’s dog tags into his undershirt alongside his own. 

It wasn’t until he had put on the shirt Hangman had gifted him and nearly buttoned it to the top that Mav spoke again. 

“Your mom kept them.” 

A simple statement, nothing anybody would question, yet he felt like there was more to it. Only feeling validated when the older man continued. 

“I didn’t even know they gave them to her after… They gave me a pair too and I always thought those were the only ones, the ones he was wearing when… I threw them into the ocean after the MiG encounter and it felt good for a second, letting go of the guilt, but then I came back home and he didn’t. And I got to see you grow up but he didn’t. And I couldn’t even give you his dog tags to remember him by. Carole… your mom gave them to me when we started working on your pilots license—told me to keep you safe and give them to you when you’re ready. I’m sorry I didn’t give them to you earlier, kid.”

He had that look on his face again and Rooster could feel the telltale heat of anger-shame-sadness welling up inside of him. 

“Truth is you’ve always been ready. It was me who wasn’t.”

Swallowing the past he stepped closer to the shorter man, pulling him in with both arms and hiding his head in his shoulder like he had done on the carrier after the mission, like he had done a million times as a child. Forgiveness was a bitter meal but one he had to eat. If not to grow then at least as a way to not starve to death on resentment. 

He stepped away, fixed the last remaining button on his shirt, and then nodded towards the door. 

“Let’s go.”

The little chapel your wedding would be held in was everything you could wish for and more. It was painted a bright white and decorated with every cheesy, cliché, remotely-related-to-love item. Heart motifs and intricate, almost over the top, details adorned everything from the ground to the fencing to the top of the small steeple yet it didn’t feel overwhelming to look at. A sign proudly advertised “Sweetheart Chapel” in large bubblegum pink letters next to a pair of ring-carrying-doves. 

It was absolutely perfect.

You could see at least five more chapels just on your side of the street but this one was special and not just because it would become your chapel. It simply felt right. You didn’t know if it was something about the way the setting desert sun tinted everything golden or if it was some kind of weird Vegas magic but something in your heart just told you that this was far from the rushed elopement some random people would view it as. This was exactly how it was meant to be.

“There’s still time to run away.” Phoenix looked gorgeous in her glittery dress and you felt glad that you managed to convince her to wear it. When she had shown up to Penny’s room with wild eyes while the older woman was helping you fix your hair you had feared the worst. All kinds of disasters came to your mind, from the guys being arrested to your Bradley getting lost and nobody being able to find him Hangover style. In actuality she was just worried about her dress, afraid of accidentally upstaging you at your own wedding and validating every bad stereotype about men’s female best friends. It was true that she looked absolutely stunning but you didn’t mind. You could both shine–her a little more, literally, with the way she was reflecting the lights–without any issues arising. 

“I don’t think I can run in these heels but if you know how to hotwire a car we can get a maybe 20 minute head start before they’ll notice we’re missing.” You joke back. 

The little smirk she gives you tells you exactly two things–there is a great possibility that she actually knows how to steal cars and that if you needed to leave for any reason she’d have your back, despite her loyalties to Bradley.

“Is everybody inside yet?” 

“I texted Bob while you were looking at the sign.” Phoenix said. “He said they’re all set up and ready to go. According to him Elvis looks just a tiny bit tacky but not in a bad way and Rooster looks like he might pass out so we should head in and end his suffering.” Taking a deep breath you took one last look around before walking towards the church you managed to walk exactly four steps until you stopped, coming to a horrible realization. “I forgot to borrow something.”

The look she gave you made your cheeks heat up but you explained away anyways. “I have something old and something new. Even something blue. But I forgot to borrow something. I was going to ask Penny for something while we were getting ready but I completely forgot about it and now she’s already inside and I can’t ask her and-”

“Here.” She interrupted your little freak out, hands coming up and to the back of her neck to undo a delicate chain that was previously tucked under her dress. “Just be careful please. My abuela gave it to me after I told my family I wanted to become a pilot.”

The chain was simple but the three medals on it were intricate. “It’s beautiful.” 

“St. Thérèse, St. Joseph of Cupertino, and Our Lady of Loreto. They’re the patron saints of aviators.”

“Thank you Natasha. I promise to take good care of it and give it back to you right after.” It was easy to pull her into a hug, her dress scratchy against your skin but a sweet and gentle gesture nonetheless. 

“You have everything else?” 

“Old.” You said, gesturing towards your hand where your engagement ring sat on the ring finger. “New.” This time you gave the fabric of your dress a tug. 

“And something blue?” Phoenix asked, looking you up and down. 

For all she knew you could have painted your toenails navy blue or hidden a tiny blue object in your dress but something about the way you looked, the way your cheeks were heating up again, must have silently exposed your truth to her. 

“Oookay, I don’t even want to know. Let’s go. Wedding time. Come on.” She thankfully brushed it off. 

Just because the two of you were at the beginning of a beautiful, beautiful friendship didn’t mean you had to share details about the royal blue surprise you were wearing underneath your dress.

The chapel was roomier than the outside suggested, leaving you enough space to duck into a corner where Maverick was already waiting while Phoenix slipped into the room where the rest of your group was waiting for you to make your grand entrance. 

“Ready?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He attempted to joke back, but you could tell he was nervous. 

While you didn’t know the full story of Bradley’s family and how it broke apart you knew enough to see how the wedding was affecting the older man. The pictures of him at the Bradley’s parents’ wedding hung among many other memories on the family wall at your and Bradley’s house. You couldn’t imagine what it must feel like for him. Seeing his best friend—his brother—get married, tragically lose him, then being there for Bradley and his mom until they’re ripped away from him too, only for him to be here at your wedding. 

As much as you wanted to help Maverick—your own nerves temporarily forgotten at the sight of the man—you felt just a little lost, unsure on how to help. 

“I’m good. Weddings just make me emotional.” He was quick to deflect, speaking up before you could ask him what was on his mind. “Ready?”

You were more than ready, longing to see Bradley after only such a short time apart. Usually you were able to keep your yearning under control, going months without seeing him, sometimes just as long without speaking to him or any contact at all. Loving Bradley from a distance was manageable but with him being so close you could hardly control yourself. All that was separating you now were a door and a few short steps. 

Taking the arm Maverick offered, the two of you got in position in front of the door, ready to walk towards your forever. 

“Thank you.” 

For what you were thanking him you weren’t quite sure. Everything. Being there for Bradley in the past. Being there for Bradley and you now. Maybe even causing the rift between them that ultimately led to you two meating. It felt a little wrong but you didn’t know how else to say it.

Maverick looked at you but your gaze didn’t waver from the white painted wood in front of you. Soft piano music started to play as the doors opened, all eyes turning to you as you stepped into the room. 

Somebody from the chapel must have closed the doors behind you because there was a soft clicking noise but you didn't pay it any mind. You didn’t look back. Only forward. Only towards Bradley. 

You slowly began walking down the short aisle while Elvis sang about love. His smooth voice blended into the background as you walked through the empty rows of pews, closer and closer to your love one step at a time. 

Bradley looked so beautiful. His dark eyes shimmered in the warm light of two crystal chandeliers framing the end of the aisle. Big bouquets of flowers behind him. An Elvis in a glittery costume—the same bubblegum pink like the sign in front of the chapel—stood beside him, watching as you walked towards them. 

Of course he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. You wouldn’t have expected anything less from him. A beautiful one too. One you hadn’t seen before. The thought of him going out and getting a new shirt for today made you feel all warm inside. 

His head moved slightly as he looked you up and down. It was as if his eyes alone weren’t enough to take you in—his whole head had to move just so that he could properly look at you.

The dress hadn’t been planned at all. You had brought a few normal outfits with you on your trip to San Diego and at first you had planned on just wearing one of them today. It was Penny that had asked you about your plans during the dinner at her place and it was Penny that took you and Amelia out the next day while Bradley and Maverick were occupied with getting greasy working on the latter’s bike and catching up some more. 

You’d never been a confrontational person and had let yourself be whisked away to a day of pre-wedding pampering, getting your mani-pedi and window shopping on your way back. The dress—your wedding dress—hung in one of the shops you passed. It wasn’t marketed as a wedding dress, it was probably meant for other occasions like a birthday or dressing up to go to a club, but something about it made you stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Amelia had bumped into you because of your abrupt stop but after she followed your view and saw what you were looking at she understood why you stopped. It was only because she called her mother over and all but dragged you into the store that you ended up buying the dress. 

It was perfect. 

Slides long but sheer. Bodice hugging your curves but the skirt flowing. It was a little on the shorter side but the way Bradley was eyeing your legs as you made your way down the aisle just showed you that he didn’t mind one bit. 

You vaguely recognized your friends standing in their pews, watching you walk closer, but all you could focus on was him. Bradley shifted the way he was standing a bit –unable to stay still– and it took you a lot of willpower to not abandon Mav and sprint to the front to be near him again.

Beside you Maverick was starting to breath noticeably differently and when you glanced over it looked like he was tearing up. He wasn’t crying but you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, coming dangerously close to running down his face.

“Penny has tissues in her purse,” you whispered, still facing Bradley and the bubblegum Elvis in front of you. 

Emotions would be running high and she liked to be prepared –at least that’s what she told you as you watched her stuff several packs into her small purse, putting Mary Poppins to shame– just in case they’d be flowing over. 

“Got some in my pocket,” he whispered back. “Knew this was going to happen.”

“Smart.”

Maverick didn’t respond for the next step, or the one after. Finally –once reached the end of the aisle– he turned to look at you.

“Take care of him?” 

You didn’t know if it was a plea or a request but you made a promise to him nonetheless. “I will.”

One more step and you had reached the end of the aisle, standing in front of Bradley and the officiant. He took a step towards you, wrapping Mav into a quick hug. The older man hugged him back, echoing his words from before except this time they sounded more like an order. “Take care of her.”

Bradley nodded against his shoulder before they separated and Mav stepped back to join your other guests and sat down in the front row, leaving you and Bradley standing at the altar. Without having to be prompted he reached out to take your hands in his, his thumb caressing the engagement ring on your finger the second it was within reach. 

It was so easy to get lost in his warm eyes. You were certain that the music changed or maybe even stopped at some point but it didn’t register to you. Only a few more minutes and you would call this wonderful man yours for all eternity. No take backs. 

Bradley gave you one last smile –the kind of soft, closed mouthed smile that made the ends of his mustache dance over his full lips and made you wish you were allowed to kiss him this very second– before the fake Elvis began your ceremony with a wonderfully loud “Ladies and Gentleman.”

The second the pink Elvis announced the two of you husband and wife Rooster dipped you so deep he worried about falling over with you in his arms for just a moment before his lips landed on yours and it was all he could think about. 

His friends hollered and whooped, loud enough that he was sure it could be heard from outside. Bradley brought you back up until you were standing up again before turning to face them all. 

He was pretty sure Mav had cried just a little bit but he’d been subtle about it. Hangman hadn’t. Phoenix looked at him like he lost his mind and Bob tried to reach around her to pat him on the back to comfort him. 

“Weddings just make me emotional.” He said, trying to wipe his eyes.

Congratulations flooded them from all sides, long enough that the chapel attendants had to come in and shoo them out to make room for the next lucky couple.

They stumbled out of the chapel in a big bundle, playfully shoving each other while talking about the ceremony. He was careful to shield you so that you wouldn’t get knocked around by his enthusiastic friends. Payback was ribbing Fanboy for failing both his tasks as unofficial official ring bearer –take exactly two steps (he had stumbled) and hand over the rings (he dropped them during his stumble)– while Amelia made comments about the suit print shirt he decided to wear but Fanboy was taking it with humor. That wasn’t what he was focusing on while their little group was standing in front of the building.

While he had vaguely noticed that Bob had brought a hat with him to the chapel he didn’t think about it until they got outside and the other man moved to put it on. Bob had clearly dressed up as well but Bradley didn’t feel the same emotions as he did when he saw Hangman’s get up. Still the hat confused him. “What’s up with the hat?” 

“Oh. It’s my formal hat.” He could see Bob’s face heat up beneath the wide brim of his hat –a proper cowboy hat– and the frames of his glasses. He was still wearing his Navy issued ones, even though Rooster was pretty sure he was free to wear any style he wanted while on leave. “My mom packed it for me before I left.”

There was a second of silence during which Bob’s embarrassed blush deepened before Hangman chimed in. “You should’ve said something man, I would have brought my Stetson.”

People talked all over each other in response to that and he was pretty sure he heard Carmen say something about a cowboy hat rule but he turned his back to them in an attempt to drown them out for just a moment. It felt wonderful to be surrounded by his friends and family –ridiculous suit print t-shirts and cowboy hats and all– but part of him just wanted to take you and run away.

To spend time with you alone as husband and wife in the most innocent ways possible. And maybe also the not so innocent ways. The way you looked would be burned into his mind forever but just because he could never forget the way you looked right now –looked at him right now– didn’t mean he shouldn’t whisk you away and make sure that there was evidence of tonight.

While he never took up photography to the extent his father did, Rooster did have a soft spot for physical pictures. He would bring you to the Bellagio, put you right there in front of the lake, then take your pictures right as the fountains went off. He wouldn’t get the chance right now though because as if Hangman could read his mind he broke free from the mass of aviators and pointed at them accusatory.

“No. I know what you’re thinking and you’re not sneaking away from the celebration so that you two can fuck.”

It was a little crude but it made you laugh in Rooster’s arms so he bit back an equally cutting response.

“Hangman!” Phoenix scolded him instead. “There are children present.”

She meant Amelia –who stood grinning wildly, leaning against her mother with wobbly legs because she insisted on wearing heels despite being inexperienced in walking with them– but the other man took the chance to tease Bob again.

“Sorry Bobby. I meant you can’t sneak away from the party to consummate your wedding. That better?” He turned to look at Phoenix when he said the last part but she just rolled her eyes.

“We weren’t plan–”

“I did.” You smirked up at him with a smile that told him everything he needed to know about what you had planned for him. 

“You know what? Maybe we could–”

“Celebrate?” This time it was Payback that interrupted him. “Good plan.”

He was about to protest again when Mav stepped into the middle of their little huddle. “You should go and celebrate, just don’t go too crazy, you hear me? Get a few drinks, make some memories, enjoy your night in Vegas, okay?” 

When he gave in and nodded Mav grinned at him so he probably made the right decision. A few hours couldn’t hurt. He’d just steal you away once the others were distracted.

“You coming with us, pops?” Hangman asked but Mav just shook his head.

Rooster already knew that he wouldn’t be joining them. He didn’t know what exactly Mav had planned, or what kind of show he would take Penny and Amelia to, but he knew that they’d hear all about it tomorrow at lunch. He made a little mental note to put out painkillers and something to drink before going to bed later, fully aware that he had reached an age where excess drinking and early plans the next day did not mix well.

By the time he tuned back in to the conversation going on around him Penny was in the process of pulling a pair of flats out of her remarkably small purse. You were leaning against him so he wrapped an arm across your shoulder to pull you closer to his body. Beside you Fanboy and Carmen were trying to talk you into booking a party limousine and although they weren’t coming up with the most convincing arguments a part of him just wanted to go wild and live up to every single bad Vegas tourist stereotype.

“Alright.” Rooster raised his voice a little to catch everybody’s attention. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You” –he pointed at Carmen and Fanboy– “get us one of those limos, you” –he gestured from Mav to Penny and Amelia and back again– “go enjoy your show, and you” –Hangman looked just the tiniest bit offended at being pointed at– “undo at least the two top buttons and untuck your shirt. You look like you’re taking your grandma to church, not living it up in Vegas.” 

The other man just smirked as he untucked his shirt and then moved to undo a button, then the next one, then another. Beside him you started to holler but even the glare he sent Hangman from moving on and opening a fourth button. 

“Okay alright you made your point.”

Thankfully Hangman stopped after the fourth, leaving you to stare at his exposed chest and Rooster feeling just a little bit jealous. He knew just the way to deal with it though. “First round’s on Hangman.”

Before the blond could protest he was sandwiched between Fanboy and Payback, being shaken while they laughed.

“Let’s party!”

“I’m never drinking again.” 

Bradley’s voice was rough but sexy so you didn’t shush him to ease the throbbing pain in your head. Instead you pressed your thighs together under the table and wordlessly took off the sunglasses you’d stolen from him earlier and held them out for him to take.

The bright sun wasn’t pleasant but you suspected that Bradley needed them more. You silently cursed yourself for leaving your own sunglasses in the room but you had wanted to be punctual for lunch, even after your wild night out. Your wedding night. 

In the end Bradley had let himself be dragged out of bed early enough that you even beat Maverick and entourage there by a few minutes. He had laughed at your state loud enough for Bradley to groan but Penny had slipped you another painkiller and ordered mimosas —or in Amelia’s case orange juice in a champagne flute— for the table with the exception of Maverick who stuck to water. 

It didn’t take too long for the rest of your group to join you, all in varying states of exhaustion. Bob arrived at 12:14, steering a groaning Fanboy into the restaurant and depositing him in one of the chairs before sitting down himself. The two WSOs made a funny pair. Bob looked almost unaffected, maybe a little tired but overall he seemed fine. Fanboy on the other hand looked like an absolute mess. Keeping your eyes open for too long made your headache worse but from what you could see it looked like Fanboy had some kind of paint tinting his short dark hair different colors and he sat hunched over the table, resting his head on his arms. 

Payback arrived next, wearing last night's outfit with the addition of dark sunglasses he had pushed all the way up the bridge of his nose. Carmen was nowhere to be seen but he assured you that she was just sleeping off her hangover. “There’s no way I’m waking her up.” He said, voice low and gravelly. “I’d like to live, thank you very much. I’ll just bring her some food up to the room later.”

Satisfied with that answer you turned your attention back to your drink, leaning against Bradley’s side for support as you sipped on your mimosa.

By the time Hangman and Phoenix joined your group you had finished your second glass and were debating ordering a third. They were dressed in similar ways –Phoenix in a pair of short shorts and a big shirt, Hangman in basketball shorts and a less tight shirt than he seemed to prefer– both with matching expressions on their faces. 

The only places left at the table were on either side of Bradley and you but instead of sitting down next to each other in the two seats next to your husband –your husband!!!– Phoenix rounded the table to pull out the chair between you and Bob.

It was easy to guess that she had a rougher night than you. Her hair was a frizzy mess and from where you were sitting so close you could see the dark remnants of make-up she wasn’t able to remove clinging to her skin.

“You good Nat?” Bradley leaned over so he could look at his friend better.

She just hummed in response.

“Maybe I should have checked in with you more but you seemed fine last night.” Bob said next to her.

“Didn’t you two bunk together?”

“How much do you remember from last night?”

Bradley thought for a moment, giving you time to think it over yourself. You remembered your wedding but the time after that was a bit blurry until you were back in your hotel room. You remembered that part clearly.

“The important parts.” Was Brad’s answer. “Why?”

“After you two left, Fanboy over here” –he pointed at the slumped over WSO– “decided he wanted to go on a solo mission. By the time I caught up with him he was pretty drunk and about halfway through getting a tattoo done so I didn’t want to leave him alone. I stayed in his and Hangman’s room making sure he didn’t throw up or ruin the tattoo but I went back to my room after Fanboy fell asleep to check on Phoenix and tell her that I won’t be there. You seemed fine.” He addressed the last sentence to her.

“I am fine.” She croaked out before turning to Fanboy. “What did you get?” 

He was fumbling with his pocket before pulling out his phone and opening up his photos, sliding it over so they could see without saying anything. It didn’t look bad, at least. A large knife sat between his tan shoulder blades and you just knew it must have hurt to get it done along his spine. 

Hangman was the only one that said something. “Aww, you got a dagger? That’s cute.”

He got a handful of “Shut up Bagman.” in return but you could swear that you could hear Fanboy mumble about how his abuelita was going to kill him under his breath.

“Hey Hangman, where were you last night? I was with Fanboy but you didn’t come back to the room all night.” 

You watched as Hangman stretched in his seat before flinching and settling back down. But not before showing off the impressive hickey he was sporting over his hip bone. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

He winked at nobody in particular but beside you Phoenix covered her face with her hands. “Oh my god.”

She said it quietly and you were sure most of the table wasn’t able to hear her but Bob, who was right next to her, did not have that problem.

“No! You and Hangman? Is that why you didn’t want me to come into the room last night and just yelled through the door.”

It seemed smarter to stay out of it. Fanboy was still slouched over the table. Bob looked like he was losing it just a little. Payback, Maverick, Penny, and Amelia were all captivated by the drama playing out in front of them. Hangman had at least the decency to look embarrassed while Phoenix just kept repeating “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

You leaned back, half against your chair and half against Bradley, and raised your hand to stop one of the passing waiters. You needed that third mimosa.

Bradley just put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to him before pressing a kiss to your temple and leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“We should get married more often.”

[heich0e]

occasionally, umemiya's work keeps him up at night.

there's no doubt that hajime loves what he does. he's passionate about his profession, dedicated to helping people, and he would never give it up—but there's just so much ugliness he has to see in his role as a child psychologist. so many terrible, horrible things he has to come toe to toe with on a daily basis. so much darkness in the world that he can't look away from because it's his duty to face.

sometimes, when something's really troubling him and hajime just can't seem to sleep—he has a case weighing particularly heavily on his mind, or he can't stop replaying the things he had to see or hear that day, or he's worried about what he can do to help a child who ended up in his office for one reason or another that week—he carefully slips out of bed without waking you, creeps down the hall to kosuke's room, and just watches his son sleep peacefully. tucked up all snug in his bed, curled up under his covers with his plushie clutched close to his chest, the glow in the dark stars hajime put up on the ceiling burning bright overhead. sometimes he even falls asleep like that, just watching; sitting on the floor, slouched against the bedside table or leaning over the edge of the mattress, lulled by the little boy's gentle snores and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

even though the years pass—and the plushies get forgotten about in boxes in the attic, and kosuke stretches taller and taller until he takes up almost all of his twin-sized bed—hajime's work, in all it's worthiness and misery, stays the same. and so does the place he turns for comfort—only now things are a little different.

half the time, kosuke is still awake when hajime pokes his head through his bedroom door; studying or (more likely than not) playing video games with the volume turned low so that you don't come knocking to force him into bed. and the teenager only needs to take one look at his father to know what's plaguing him. even if it's never said in words. even if the man he looks up to so much does everything he can to conceal it and put on his usual, easy-going smile.

and then the boys will pull on their coats and shoes and sneak out into the night—heading to a convenience store, or the neighbourhood izakaya, or really anywhere that's open late and can serve them food to split between them. and they'll just sit there and eat together. neither of them even really need to be hungry. they don't need to say anything. the simple act of sharing food—of watching his son pick the carrots out of the yakisoba and push them to his side of the plate so he can eat them, of saving the last piece of fried chicken for kosuke, of splitting an ice pop on the walk home from the convenience store and watching how his blinks are slow because he's tired (but it doesn't stop him from finishing his treat)—soothes hajime all the same. it reminds him what, and who, he does all of this for.

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

What is your all time #1 God tier established relationship payneland headcanon?

Oh my god I have to only pick one??

Okay. Going to do my best here, because I have a lot of them. Here’s one I think is important though.

I think Edwin was one of the only people who was ever truly, unconditionally good to Charles in the way that he needed. He was attentive, patient, kind, and defended him (the best he could, as a ghost) from harm. This probably meant a lot to Charles, considering how he grew up. When he was dying, he tucked him in and read him to sleep death. I earnestly think that moment changed his brain chemistry and made him go “this is my person”, thus why he’s now devoted himself to protecting Edwin. Charles may not love being dead, but he has said he wouldn’t want to be dead with anyone else.

So we know he doesn’t want to be dead with anyone else. We also know he likes being close to and touching Edwin (I’m pretty sure it’s a love language for him, or at the very least some form of self soothing). He’s constantly leaning on him or in his general space, even in the first few episodes. Here’s a couple of cute moments:

Now, my HC: Charles likes to lean against Edwin and listen to him read when he’s had a long day. Edwin humors him and reads him whatever reference book he’s working with because

1. he feels some sort of way about him, even if he hasn’t identified it yet before the series

2. he’s not happy he couldn’t save Charles that night in the attic, but there’s a small part of him that feels so very special Charles would pick him over possibly heaven.

That’s it, that’s the HC

**I MISREAD THE QUESTION SORRY, I thought you meant pre-established in canon verse! I am so dumb for them lmao

[ifearzombies]

The Little ‘I Love You’s

Lucifer:

- Wakes you up early so you can have quiet moments alone with tea or coffee and food that Beel won’t have a chance to steal. - Brings you little things back from the human world when he goes. While he knows you want to stay where you are, he knows humans miss ‘home’ too. - Steals a smooch when no one else is looking.

Mammon:

- Steals from you less than anyone else. He can’t help his nature, but he avoids your room for items to steal as much as he can - On days you’re feeling down, he will interject and tell you that you’re doing something. He never tells you why, but it’s clearly to distract you. - Nights when you have nightmares he is always the one that hears you and comes to cuddle you and hold you. You don’t know how he always knows, but you’re glad all the same.

Leviathan:

- He’ll wait for you for the latest episode of whatever “has too long a title” anime he’s been passionate about. Fantasy is an experience, and it should be shared. - He makes you outfits you see in the shows you say you like. They’re made just for you- your size and shape despite him not having ever measured you. - His snack and ramen rations now include some of your favorites so that the next time Beel destroys the kitchen, you can come to him.

Satan: - He cleans his room on the nights you want to spend in his bed. Well. He makes a path and clears off the bed- but you can at least walk through the room and use the bed with him. - He has a shelf with just books he thinks you’ll like based on what you’ve told him. A mini library in his room for your quiet night time moments where you cuddle and read. - Like Lucifer he steals smooches when no one is looking. You will never tell him of this shared habit of theirs. Asmodeus: - He paints your nails and brushes your hair while he tells you how beautiful you are inside and out. He’s more complimentary when you’ve had a bad day - You are allowed to use his bath, even if you do not want him to join you. - He tucks a flower in your hair every chance he gets. Beelzebub: - He saved you a snack from his snack bag. He heard you mention you were craving it and wants to share it with you. - He carries you every chance he gets and uses that as an excuse to give you affectionate nuzzles. - He lets you climb him like a tree to sit on his shoulders to reach stuff and holds you steady. Belphegor: - He will go to demon form just to wrap his tail around you while you cuddle. - Invite you to the attic for what he and Beel call ‘Sandwich Cuddles’ and when you do, you get to use his favorite pillow - He makes it a point to drink stuff with high amounts of caffeine when you have plans to stay awake just for you. -------------------------------------------------------- MC: - On days Lucifer runs himself ragged and it’s his turn to cook, you message the household and say you feel like cooking. Lucifer knows why you do it and says a secret thank you once the meal is over. - You know Mammon can’t help but steal. You have a place in your room that you know Mammon looks through. You put some money in there whenever you see it empty. Mammon knows you do this and never steals from anywhere else in the room. - You show up for your anime-fest with pizza and drinks and bring your futon mattress so you can cuddle on it while you enjoy the fantasy anime together. - You bring a new mystery book with you every time you spend the night with Satan. You haven’t clued him in that Cat Mystery is a genre of mystery novels yet, but with each one you bring, he’s started to catch on. He’s eager for the next one. - You treat Asmo to a spa day and get facials and massages with him. You tell him that maintaining his beauty is a lot of work and he’s SO GLAD someone finally sees that!

- Beel is an easy man to please. The way to his heart is quite literally his stomach. It takes days of planning, but Beel always loves when you do a feast day and spend an entire day cooking to make enough food to make him full. He’s cried literal tears of happiness over it. It can only be done once a month, but the absolute pure joy in his eyes is worth it.

- You hold Belphie and tell him. He struggles so much with thinking you could never forgive him for literally killing you. But you hold him and tell him you love him. You run a hand through his hair and tell him you forgive him. And when he says he doesn’t deserve it, you remind him that forgiveness is a gift. And you gave it to him a long time ago.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Merry whatever

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 25

Prompt: Christmas

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Fluff; Getting together; First kiss

Notes: Continued from day 5

Steve is just putting the last of the cookies into the oven - stars and trees and gingerbread men with little vampire teeth - when there’s a cacophony of swears and noise from the roof and a giant letter X crashes into the snow outside the kitchen window. He wipes his hands on a towel, slips into his boots and coat and makes his way outside. 

“Eds? You still alive up there?” 

“Barely!” 

Eddie pops his head over the edge of the roof. He’s wearing the Santa hat again, the one they found in the attic together with the letters and the rest of the decorations. 

“Your roof is a fucking ice rink, Harrington. Veritable death trap up here.” 

“Hey,” Steve sloshes closer, almost trips over a plastic elf protruding from the snowy lawn like a tiny, cheerful goblin in a striped hat. “Don’t whine at me. I told you it was a bad idea, getting the letters up in that weather.” 

“Yeah, yeah, mom!” Eddie snarks. “Now get that thing back up here.” 

“Of course,” Steve rolls his eyes but still tucks the fallen letter under his arm and clambers up the ladder. “No fun if we don’t break both our necks.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Eddie takes the letter from him as soon as he’s within reach, then extends a gloved hand to help him onto the roof. The wool is scratchy against his skin, but Steve still revels in the warmth of it, the firm press of Eddie’s fingers entwining with his. “Didn’t survive the literal apocalypse to be taken down by some holiday decorations. Now help me put this- woah!” 

He slips on the icey roof, teeters dangerously close to the abyss, eyes comically large and arms ruddering in the air for balance. Steve does what he does best and flies into action, bodily lunging himself at him and pulling him against his chest. He goes down on the shingles ass first, Eddie sprawled on top of him. By some Christmas miracle, Steve manages to grab a hold of the X before it can fall a second time. 

Eddie’s breath is warm against his neck, hands clawing into his coat, and oh shit, they’re close. So very close. Much closer than two buddies who just happen to be spending Christmas together should be. 

“You okay?” Steve says over the sound of his own blood roaring in his ears. 

“Peachy,” Eddie pulls back, shoves the Santa hat out of his eyes. His very brown, very pretty eyes that Steve has caught himself thinking about an absurd amount lately. There's a bright pink flush coloring the bridge of his nose - probably from the scare. Or the cold. Yup, the cold, that’ll be it. “Reckon you’ll ever get tired of saving my ass, big boy?” 

“Never.” 

The word is out before Steve can bite it back. And maybe it comes with a little too much force, a little too much conviction. The smile slips off Eddie’s face and he blinks. Gulps. Disentangles himself from Steve and takes the letter from his hand. 

For a few moments, the only sounds are those of the wind on the roof and Eddie’s struggle to put the letter in its proper place. 

“Still feels weird sometimes, doesn’t it?” 

“Huh?” Steve says lamely. 

Eddie chuckles and slots back into space beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder and knee-to-knee. 

“That it’s all just … over like this? That we’re here and get to do all this boring, normal stuff like baking cookies and putting up lights and celebrating Christmas?” 

One of his hands finds Steve’s knee - a light, reassuring touch. 

We’re here.

We’re both here. 

“Dunno,” Steve shrugs. The sky is turning dark and Hawkins is spreading out under them, a sea of twinkling lights slowly coming alive. “I like normal.” 

I wanna do a million normal things with you, for a hundred years. I don’t think I’d ever get tired of it. 

“Yeah,” Eddie hums, a low and content sound that Steve feels in his own body, close as they are. “I'm starting to get the appeal.”

Then, before Steve can say or do anything stupid, he bends down to retrieve something from somewhere by their feet. He reemerges with a toothy grin, a plug and an extension cord. 

“Okayyy, let's get these babies lit up, shall we?” 

Steve turns as the neon lights flicker to life behind them, basking them in their glow and- 

“Oh,” says Eddie. “Whoops.”

The words sparkling down at them, bright and cheerful for all of Loch Nora to behold, read MERRY SMAX. 

The laughing fit hits Steve so hard that, this time, Eddie needs to grab him before he can fall off the roof.

“You asshole,” he wheezes into the leather of his jacket. “You did that on purpose!” 

Eddie gasps through his own laughter, tries to put on a serious face. “What? Stevie, you wound me! What do you take me for? A troublemaker? A fiend with no respect for the honored tradition of this fine, Christian holiday?” 

His eyes are large and round with mock-offense, Santa hat flopping around with the force of his own laughter, face alight with that gorgeous toothy grin of his. He’s ridiculously pretty, so fucking pretty with the lights twinkling all around him and Steve’s brain just sort of short-circuits. Not for long. Just for a second. 

Just long enough to lean in and press his lips to Eddie’s. 

When he pulls back, Eddie isn’t laughing anymore. Instead, he’s staring at him, mouth aghast and eyes wide. 

“Shit,” Steve blurts. “I mean- Sorry, I dunno what that was, I-” 

Something flickers across Eddie’s face, something needy and raw. 

“I’ll show you what the fuck it was,” he growls and pulls Steve back in. 

This time, it takes the blare of the fire alarm from the kitchen to break them apart. 

MERRY SMAX, everybody!!!

Part 3

All my holiday drabbles

[onyourowndaisymae]

Yoo I have two request which I’ll send the other one separately but I am in an ANGSTY mood rn sooo yah also been binging ur headcanons and stuffs and I just love the way you write ?? It’s so entertaining lol

AnywY the actual request: can you write like a one shot or headcanons if you prefer of mc who is struggling after the belphie incident ?? Like they feel like they’ve mostly forgiven him and can act normally around him and they’re friends and take naps together but sometimes the flash back just HITS THEM and they have nightmares and panic attacks that can be so bad sometimes someone needs to get Simeon to calm them down. Maybe something of how the brothers react/treat mc and belphie? Idk I’m just thirsting for like MEGA ANGST rn bc my dad made me cry little bit lmao 😭

it comes at night

hello anon! i'm terribly sorry you're in such an angsty mood, though i thank you for all the love-- and for sending this request right as these ideas were on the front of my mind. it genuinely makes me so happy to see people enjoying my work, and it makes all the writer's block and such worth it. i cannot express enough how much i love seeing all the comments, reblogs, etc. as people engage with my work.

anyways. i'm not sure how i feel about this piece, especially with how LONG it ended up being, but maybe that's just my mushy brain talking after looking at it too long. regardless-- i hope you enjoy (well, y'know, in like a sad and angsty way).

synopsis: you thought you would be able to move on like all the others. your body was healed, your anxiety tucked neatly behind a mental wall built to keep you safe. yet something in you was stuck. you couldn't just move on. you were trapped in a battle between your friendship with belphegor and the fear gnawing at your brain as you remembered what exactly he did to you. when the dam finally breaks, your whole brain floods with terror, until you're swept away with it. nobody can save you now.

genre: angst, no happy end, just a big ol spoonful of sadness

word count: ~3.1k

content warnings: chapter 16 spoilers, graphic(?) discussions of death, depictions of panic attacks, nightmares, mc progressively getting worse from fear + lack of sleep

it's funny how time works. 

you'd been around your fair share of years. you’d grown, you’d changed, you’d spent your entire life looking toward the future you had planned. then you, a mere human, were yanked into an unfamiliar world. you spent an entire year in the devildom– a year that simultaneously dragged on and flew by– and came out the other side a new person. a single year in the devildom has changed you more than the human realm has your entire life. time was a mischievous thing, always leaving you chasing behind in a fruitless pursuit of something you’ll never quite understand.

but, she also brings blessings with her. they say that time heals all wounds. you've always agreed with that sentiment. scraped knees and adolescent broken hearts are swept away with the passing days, trailing further and further behind you until one day you forget to look back and remember them. the pain scribbled down on diary pages or cried into pillow cases no longer stings like a fresh burn. these things are nothing but scars now. time has a special way of patching you up, of rubbing your back until the tears clear up and you can finally see again. that is how it's always been. 

where is time when you need it? 

she hasn't quite abandoned you, this much is true. cuts and bruises heal over the passing days. your hair and nails still grow. your body still changes, slowly but surely, marching onwards week after week. yet your mind is trapped in stasis. you struggle to break free, but at times the rot consumes you whole, until you’re crying under the covers and begging from respite from the memories. 

on the worst nights, you find yourself in the attic again, watching the door between you and belphegor swing open. you watch yourself march towards death.

you can still feel his hands around your neck, digging his claws into your fragile human skin like you're made of sand. the scent of blood-- your own blood, on the floors, on the walls, leaking from your torso and staining your clothes a permanent maroon-- still clings to the inside of your nose. even your wildest dreams could not erase the sight of his smug grin, the way his eyes lit up looking at your battered body.

no one person should have to carry the weight of realizing they're going to die. that's what you thought about when your body hit the bottom of the stairs, when belphegor tossed you down from the attic with a harsh laugh and punted your limp body into the entrance hall. you thought about how unfair this all was. you were just trying to help. you thought you were doing the right thing.

one of the worst parts of your untimely demise was watching the others react. the voices pool together in your head, like the colors of the rainbow twisting together on the surface of an oil spill. asmo's panicked shriek blends into satan's angry shouts, desperate to understand what's going on. lucifer's yelling almost drowns out the fearful cries coming from levi, held back by a very silent beel. 

but above all of that, you remember mammon. your first man, the first demon who took a chance on the defenseless little human, rushing to your side and gathering you in his arms like you were about to break. his hand on the side of your face, the tears streaming down his face, the shaky, desperate voice assuring you that you'll be okay and begging you to hang on, okay? please don't leave me. you can't remember if he was shaking or if it was your body's last ditch effort to stay conscious-- maybe both. your trembling fingers intertwined with his. words came out of your mouth, and you're not sure what exactly you said, but he only cried harder in response. 

and then, as your eyes shut for the final time, you woke at the bottom of the attic stairs. you had cheated death. 

your price? you had to carry the memories. 

the world kept spinning. days passed in the devildom. you returned to school, kept on top of your homework, spent your days in the house of lamentation alongside the seven demon brothers. you even got to know belphegor as he navigated his return home. he quickly grew fond of you. that, in and of itself, was jarring. but you returned each and every smile with one of your own. his actions were rooted in his own grief for his sister, you knew, and for that you could not fault him. you helped him repair the severed relationships between him and his elder siblings, stitching the family back together like a prized quilt until the seams of betrayal were sufficiently hidden. 

time is a traitorous bitch. why did she choose now to leave your wounds bare and bleeding?

everyone moved on but you. everyone got to wake up in the mornings without a nagging anxiety holding them back. the others could hang out with belphegor day in and day out without a growing feeling of dread popping up when you think you're safe. 

he killed you. he was grieving. your blood drenched the entryway floors as he laughed. he has grown. you watched the light leave mammon's eyes as you slipped away. belphie has been nothing but kind to you since that day. you fucking died. 

you wish your mind could pick a side. did you forgive him, or did you resent him? was he your friend, or your killer? these answers evaded you in the dead of night as you struggled to sleep again. it was becoming more common for you to lose hours of rest to these nagging fears. who are you? are you even you anymore? did the switch in timelines scatter your atoms across countless universes, leaving the you that looks back at you in the mirror nothing more than a hollow shell? 

you thought that you could keep your mind on a tight leash, keep your cards close to your chest as you continued to live with the brothers. you were wrong.

the first meltdown came during a nap with belphie. you had grown to trust him-- you thought you trusted him-- enough to sleep around him. he'd coax you every so often into an afternoon nap. always in the light of day, always your choice. and for many afternoons, you were perfectly content with this arrangement. belphie was warm and cuddly, a perfect companion for a lazy afternoon. he had this way of making you feel safe as you slept-- the nightmares couldn't come when he was snuggled up next to you, when you were sure his actions were ones of affection and not another trick to gain your trust.

one afternoon, while the sun was beginning to set, you stirred under the warmth of the blankets. the body next to yours lingered close, steady breaths lulling you back to dreamland. you could stay like this forever, you thought.

and then you felt it. the gentle graze of a familiar cow tail against your skin.

something inside of you, a dam you didn't even know was there, snapped. a hot flash of panic rose up your throat as your whole body jerked away from the feeling. your eyes shot open and you found yourself in the last place you needed to be right now: the attic. you pulled yourself out of bed before your brain could catch up. colors flashed across your vision as a consequence. you whipped around, disoriented and upset, and spotted a sleeping belphie in the bed where you once were.

a sleeping, demon belphie.

the familiar curve of his horns made your throat spasm as you tried to breathe. the colors flashed in your vision again-- oh god, what a terrible time to be left defenseless-- as your brain tried to drag you back to that day. you could practically see his face shift from relief to malicious, insidious joy as he began to attack you.

"hehe... does it hurt? finding it hard to breathe? i'm sure it must be very unpleasant."

please. please no.

" i have to say, seeing a human face twisted in pain like this... why, it's so much fun that i can barely stand it! i... i can't contain the laughter!"

you weren't quite sure when you hit the ground, but it was loud enough to wake belphegor from his slumber. he peeled his body off the mattress, slow and dazed, as he looked for you.

"mc? what're you... what's going on?"

please don't. this can't be happening.

your lungs collapsed from the weight of your own panic. you gasped-- once, twice, as your vision went in and out. were you bleeding? your hand loosely brushed at the front of your clothes, but couldn't process whether that was blood or your vivid imagination. were you even breathing? your head felt light and heavy at the same time. the wires in your brain were all crossed, sending both resuscitation and shutdown signals to each part of your body. this feeling... this was too familiar.

were you dying?

"mc, what's going on?"

you came face to face with belphegor. your friend, your killer. the demon who had lured you up to this very attic to kill you, now gripping your shoulders as interrogated you inches from your face.

you screamed. you screamed until your brain shut off completely, leaving you in an inky pit of darkness as your consciousness slipped away.

the house was in disarray for several days. apparently, lucifer came in shortly after you passed out, mammon at his heels, to save the day. you woke up later in his bed, the room cold and empty, with a throbbing head and a tear stained pillow. you stumbled out into his office to find him at his desk, lost in some paperwork like always. the solemn look he gave you as your eyes met told you everything you needed to know.

from this day forth, your fear was now your constant companion.

nobody in the house of lamentation knew how to move forward. not you, not the brothers, not the widening gap growing between you all with each passing day spent in emotional limbo. finally, lucifer called everyone to a family meeting where, over the course of an hour or two, everyone came to an agreement to acknowledge what had happened and why, promised to be mindful of this trauma that you're carrying, and move forward like you requested.

silent days slowly but surely filled back up with laughter again. the brothers came back to your side at their own pace-- asmo first, within a matter of hours, then mammon shortly after, then the others in the following days.

belphegor was the last to come around. his silence spoke volumes about his guilt. he had no clue how to comfort you. he'd do anything to repent for his actions. yet that was the way that life worked, didn't it? some actions simply cannot be undone.

but you didn't let that stop you. despite the panic that closed your throat every time you saw him for the next month, you slowly earned his friendship again. you assured him that the attic incident was a one time thing, the remnants of a lost nightmare blending into your consciousness as you awoke.

until it wasn't a one time thing.

the nightmares crept up on you. the first one happened, of course, that same night, as you thrashed and wept into lucifer's pillows. then a week later, another. a week and a half after that, another. the frequency eventually became higher and higher, until you started planning your sleep schedule (or lack thereof) around your new insomniac tendencies. but even you couldn't manage to stay awake forever.

on a bad night, you'd wake up in tears, crying weakly to yourself as you tried to coax yourself back to bed. on worse nights, you'd shoot up out of bed, limbs tingling in fear, opting to spend the rest of the night in the common room until the others woke for the day. on the worst night, you finally broke. you shattered worse than you could have imagined.

you finally collapsed into bed, body shutting down after a three days of minimal sleep. you were starting to get shaky from the lack of rest, and your lack of appetite was upsetting the others. you crawled under the covers and let your brain slip out of your hands and off to dreamland.

what a fool you were to think you'd get by without nightmares.

visions of demonic teeth tearing at your flesh filled your head. you tried to run away, tried desperately to wake yourself up, but their claws sunk into your flesh. the pain was vivid, was real. memories of your death lived underneath your skin, ready to resurface in the dark of night when there was no escape. you fought back as best you could, kicking and screaming and trying to run, but you were no match for the supernatural strength of your demons. you eventually gave in, an act of learned helplessness, and surrendered yourself to your worst nightmares.

you woke up choking on your own tears. heaving, gasping breaths tried to save you, mixing with coughs as your body struggled to hang on. the tears finally gave way to the memories-- hot blood dripping from your torso, screaming faces begging you to stay, your head going fuzzy as your vision followed--and your screams escaped without a fight.

a mixed cacophony of voices came flooding in the room. you'd be touched by the gesture, seeking comfort in the arms of your dearest friends, if your brain hadn't reminded you that they were demons as well. nightmarish beasts with fangs and claws, predators built to rip your soft flesh from your bones and leave you to die like roadkill.

you felt a hand on your shoulder. who's was it? you could not tell. your first and only instinct was to scream for mercy, hot tears streaming down your face as mammon's hurt expression moved back out of your line of sight. your chest heaved with effort. it felt like your whole body was caving in on itself. you didn't even realize you were shaking as you curled your body into a ball. your side hit the mattress with a pathetic thud and you wept, bitter and fearful, as a panic attack kept you trapped in its grip.

you don't know how long you stayed curled up like that, wordless cries echoing from your room and into the hallway, but eventually the sound of approaching footsteps caught enough of your attention to forget the panic, even if just for a moment.

"hey, it's okay," a familiar, comforting voice approached, cutting through the fear like a moonlight on a stormy night. "mc, it's me, it's simeon. it's going to be okay."

you felt the bed shift under the weight of someone sitting down, and you blindly threw your body at the person before checking to see if it was really him. it took you a few moments to raise your head, and when you did, you saw him: simeon, your angel, blue eyes full of worry as he met your gaze.

you cried in his arms until you fell into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

the next morning was miserable, to say the least. breakfast was tense. they all watched you like a hawk, like you were a powder keg about to explode with one wrong move. you couldn't blame them. you were afraid of your own emotions, and on some level, you were afraid of them. your trauma was making you afraid of the very people you cared about the most. these brothers had welcomed you into their home, took care of you as you adjusted to life in the devildom, and yet you couldn't hold eye contact without breaking in to a cold sweat.

the only person who did not watch you was belphegor. he was nowhere to be found during breakfast, nor dinner, nor breakfast the following day. you tried to seek him out, but somehow the avatar of sloth had become a skilled sneak in his silence.

you finally caught him alone on day four of radio silence. you both had stayed home without realizing the other had also skipped school that day-- you, from the lack of sleep eating at your brain, and belphegor, with his usual routine of missing class to nap at the house of lamentation. he was curled up on the couch in the common room, basking in the warmth of the fireplace in his slumber. you decided to wait for him to wake up. you sat down on the couch opposite of the one where he rested and watched him, quietly, like he'd disappear if you dared to blink.

creepy? yes. but your brain was long ruined by sleep deprivation and gnawing anxiety to worry about such trivial things.

when he finally stirred, you gently called belphegor's name. he took a moment to finally look at the source of the voice, but when he did, his body froze as the two of you made eye contact. a few moments passed in silence. finally, he sat up and began to make a move to leave.

"wait."

he stopped, but his gaze did not meet yours. you rose from your seat and joined him on the couch. the youngest pulled his legs in, twisting his body into a defensive little ball, and countered your next sentence before you could even open your mouth.

"you shouldn't be here with me."

"i think i'm old enough to make decisions for myself."

he shifted uncomfortably in the silence. you spoke again.

"i miss you. and i'm sorry."

he scoffed to himself and stared at the fireplace. "don't know why you think you should be apologizing to me. i'm the one that's the problem."

"you're not a problem, belphie. i never meant to make you feel like one."

every hair on your body stood on end. your hands trembled against your wishes, so you sat on them to stay focused. you had to do this. you had to keep moving forward.

"i hurt you, mc. you're afraid i'm going to do it again."

you sighed-- it came out more shaky than you would have liked-- and looked down. how had it come to this? how had someone you'd grown to hold so dear become a stranger again?

"i don't want to stop being friends. i don't like when you avoid me."

"you still get nightmares, don't you?"

you pause. his icy gaze on the side of your head sent you into a cold sweat.

you smiled-- it felt more like a grimace, personally-- and prayed it didn't come across insincere. your fingers carefully intertwined with his. he met your gaze. you were thankful he couldn't see the way your chest tightened when you made eye contact. 

"i'm okay, belphie," you lied. 

this fear was going to be the death of you. 

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: in the house we remain

Aziraphale buys a quiet cottage in the middle of the English countryside. It is perfect in every way: old-style, quaint, surrounded by wilderness, with a small water feature in the back and a price to rival that of any other property he's seen. He is in love from the moment he sees it. But when a mysterious set of books, all written by unknown author A.J. Crowley, appears on his book shelf, Aziraphale begins to wonder if there is perhaps more to this house than he'd originally believed. The truth can be buried, but it cannot stay hidden forever.

Length: 48,334 words

AO3 Rating: Mature / Spice Level 🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, At Home, Angst, Human AU

Triggers: Major Character Death

Read it here, fic by commodorecliche

*Minor Spoilers* It's almost frustrating that this story of Aziraphale falling in love with a ghost is one of the most gripping and beautiful stories I've read. It shouldn't work this well, it should be a crack idea. But this is such a powerful piece of fiction. It seamlessly blends romance with mystery and horror. Get your tissues, settle in, this one will haunt you.

Aziraphale has just moved to a cozy cottage in the countryside. If he's hearing things, feeling weird drafts, and noticing things out of place, well, that's just him settling in. Soon, there will be no denying the strange events, and it starts with a set of unpublished books written by an AJ Crowley. The previous, deceased, owner of the house.

This is heartbreaking. It's grief pools over everything. As Aziraphale learns more about the entity who haunts his cottage you will start to grieve as well. The way they begin to communicate was so thrilling and the softest romance. On one hand, we know they're soulmates and belong together despite any obstacle. On the other, it's a tragedy and horrifying. It's gorgeous and grotesque.

It's mostly safe in public, but an at home read for me. If you were destroyed by All of Us Strangers, I think you'll want to check this out. But mind the tags and warnings, there is graphic descriptions of death and major character death. Technically a happy ending? But that's a grey area in itself. I'd love to know how you guys feel about this ending actually

Read it here, fic by commodorecliche

P.S Spoilers under the cut because I want to scream about this story so come back once you've read this

I literally started crying when Aziraphale discovers what was tucked into the attic, the way Crowley was never appreciated as an author was so painful!! Crowley's death destroyed me!! The scene of the water splashing and Aziraphale trying to save him??? Only to come inside and see him?? THE ART???? This one has got me UNWELL.

But also what a horror! Aziraphale never experiencing a full life with Crowley, never knowing the physical touch of a person for what was it 40 years?? That's both romantic and devastating.

UGH I will never get over the scene of Aziraphale watching Adam discover his body. It made my blood run cold. And how Crowley had to watch over his decaying body as well. FUCK this one is so insanely good and how can I explain that to a normie? Hm? Yeah this human au of my blorbos falling in love even though one of them is a ghost literally had me crying screaming and throwing up and this is a normal thing for me

My views on the ending? I think I lean on the horror end of the scale. Yes they are together, but stuck watching over every new owner of the house, still never getting to experience a real life together

[antiquatedplumbobs]

Christmas 1911

The holiday season at Sable Dairy was always a jolly, convivial time, with plenty of good food and fun to be had. Freddy's return from Britechester brought with it an increased energy and desire to make the most of the holiday.

The boys were tasked with finding and securing the perfect Christmas tree; selecting a fine fir from the small copse behind the farm. The assistance of a sledge was needed to drag it home, but once inside and garnished with a festive popcorn and cranberry garland it took up a dazzling countenance tucked up against the stair. The card table that usually sat there banished to the attic for the time being.

It would be a lie to say that none of the Sewells had a sweet tooth, and so a flurry of holiday baking was accomplished by both Violet and Elsie. Elsie, having recently discovered both a passion and talent for baking, had been allowed to build the annual gingerbread house unsupervised (with some assistance from Charlie). To Violet's delight, none of the pieces were broken, and only one had some small tooth marks that she was studiously ignoring.

A fine meal of roast ham, potatoes, vegetables, mince pies, and Christmas puddings was made by Violet. The family exclaimed that it was the best they had eaten yet; leftovers were scarce, despite the magnitude of the meal.

Under the tree, the collection of presents the family had gotten for one another was wrapped gaily in bright papers and festooned with ribbons. Will's present to Elsie was front and center; a wrapping job foregone due to the awkward shape and size. The small pram he had built, but the little mohair bear, the latest fad toy for young children, he had ordered himself from the Sims Roebuck Catalog, paying the fees with the money he had begun saving from the farm work and odd jobs he did. He had been right; the smile on her face had been completely worth it.

Violet received a teapot in a stylish new pattern. Charlie was gifted a wooden train set, each car hand carved by Will and the functional track built by Hamish. The bright paint job, with wheels that resembled the peppermint sweets Nathanial gave each of his grandchildren, was all by Violet's precise hand. Elsie received a new dress from her mother and father, with bright red embroidery and a snowy white collar; she donned it immediately. Hamish found a box of cigars under the tree with his name on them, but with a strict reminder from Violet not to smoke in the house. For Will, Hamish had purchased a sturdy and expansive tool kit, and for Freddy, a fine leather attaché to hold his school papers and a beautifully crafted fountain pen.

The day was long and filled with excitement and good times. The family perhaps stayed up later than they should, all except one that is. His father, once realizing his torpor, carried Charlie to his bed, where his dreams were full of trains made of gingerbread and passengers that bore striking resemblances to Christmas puddings.

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

next / previous / first

[kawaiikenna]

@leap-ing @elithemiar-blog @halfblackwolfdemon @winged-scaly-attic-dweller @spideypools @redfoxtail26 @manapeer @8000fangirl @antagonistly @all-eyes-no-dragon @mysticalcomputerdetective @01101010-01100001-01111001 @stealingyourbones

Hopefully that’s everyone. Anyways, here’s chapter two! Drop a kudos and comment over on ao3: Under the Earth; Far from Home. Angst, panic attacks, being buried alive, ptsd flashbacks, as well as depictions of a severely malnourished and emancipated Danny ahead. If any of this triggers you please be careful!

Jason had been ignoring the signs. The itch to go riding that would inevitably end at the cemetery where he had been buried. The feeling like he had something to do there. Some kind of unfinished business that he couldn’t remember. The amount of trauma that was linked with the place made it…difficult, for Jason to even think about going past the cemetery gates.

Both Dick and Tim had gone in to see if they could find anything. They didn’t and Jason tried to put the whole thing behind him. To forget about the whole ordeal. But something kept pulling him back. Now two weeks after he initially started feeling the strange pulling, Jason is standing before the gates. He stares at the wrought iron with a slight distain.

He takes a deep breath and pushes past the gates and into the cemetery. His burial plot was in the southeast corner. So he made his way over to it, hoping that it would make these feelings finally settle. As he passed row upon row of headstones, the feelings did not settle. If anything, something stirred in his chest. Something fearful and desperate. Jason was about to turn around and give up when something caught his eye.

Tucked away in an unkempt corner was a very recent grave. Initially he thought it was unmarked but upon a closer look Jason found a wooden plaque sunken into the muddy ground. It had hastily carved words; ‘To our beloved son. We wish we had known sooner.’

Jason picked up and turned the plaque over to see if there was a name. There was none. Only the words he had seen before. He neatly places the plaque back at the head of the grave.

“Your parents must have loved you a lot buddy.” Jason says, his emotions settling just a bit in his chest. “I hope you rest in peace.”

And as he was turning to leave, something happened. It was like the barest of whispers spoken directly into his mind. Quiet but desperate all the same.

help

Jason turns back towards the fresh grave. He doesn’t know why he did it, but he responded. Not really in words, more of a wave of morbid curiosity. The answering response he got nearly knocked him off his feet.

Help, help, buried, not dead, alive, alive, ALIVE.

An instant wave of panic took over his senses. Suddenly Jason was back in his own casket. Buried underground with no hope of help or rescue. Left alone to suffocate and die a second time.

He was on his knees clawing at the dirt before he knew what he was doing.

Alive, help, coming, safe?

He waited on baited breath. Hoping for a response. Anything that would tell him that the boy buried there was still clinging to life. The further he dug into the dirt the more desperate he became. It had rained recently, just the night prior, so the dirt had become heavy and sloppy. Even with it being freshly turned, the rain had packed it down some. Making it much more difficult to dig through.

No, no, hurt, alive, hurt.

Jason screams into the empty cemetery. He roughly shucks off his motorcycle jacket and his shirt. Leaving him in his boots, jeans, and white tank top. Tiny rocks and dirt shove themselves under his fingernails as he shovels and scoops dirt, throwing it haphazardly, only caring about hopefully, possibly saving the boy.

Jason continued to send mental waves of help and safety through whatever mind fuckery this was. With every desperate cry for help, he became more frenzied and desperate himself. Soon, far too soon, he hadn’t dug even two feet into the ground, he made first contact with the casket. What he wasn’t expecting was to be shocked and for green sparks to shoot out from the box in the ground. Jason pushes past it though. It wasn’t too painful, more of like the kind of static shock you would get as a kid playing on the trampoline. Slowly, too slowly, he uncovered more and more of the box. He had finally uncovered most of it when he noticed a sliding hatch closer to the head of the coffin-like box.

He was not prepared for what he saw on the other side of this tiny window. Blue eyes with a green shine stared up at him. Tear tracks running down his face, glowing a strange green. Black hair limp and lifeless, flopped to one side of the kid’s face. Skeletal hands and fingers pressed up against the mockery of a window as green sparks flitted about. A gaunt, skeletal frame shaking from the constant shock.

Jason hesitated for only a moment before nearly ripping the lid off of the coffin. Hydraulic hinges squealing in protest as stale air flooded out of the box. There was soft sobbing coming from the teen. Jason gently picked him up and pulled him out of the tiny prison. The teen shook in his arms but held tightly to Jason as if his very being depended on it. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans with only socks on his feet. Everything was far too baggy on the boy, only testifying further that he was severely dehydrated and malnourished.

Jason whispered consoling words. What they meant he didn’t know, because at that moment the panic had finally swept him up. Flashbacks and anxiety threatened to swallow him up completely but was staved off by the quivering teen in his arms. It grounded him enough to keep a tight hold on the teen.

~~~

Jason wasn’t sure how long they had stayed down in the dug out grave. Long enough that the sky had turned from an almost dusky color to the city lightened smog of the night. The black haired teen had passed out into a deep sleep a while ago. When he had first fallen asleep Jason panicked, thinking that he had died. But a quick check showed that the teen was still breathing lightly and an impossibly slow heartbeat still thrummed in his chest.

Jason finally pulled them out of the somewhat shallow grave. He laid the teen in the grass and gathered up his clothing. Before he put his shirt back on, Jason chipped away all of the dried dirt on his arms. Anything that was still wet was scraped off and flicked into the grass. With his shirt back on he picks up his jacket and the teen, making their way back to his motorcycle by the gates.

He situated the teen to sit behind him on his bike. He used his jacket to secure the tiny, skeletal body to himself. Settling it over the sleeping teens shoulders then tying the sleeves around his own torso. Once Jason secured the teen as best he could, he took off into the night, phone ringing in his ear.

“Master Jason.” A prim and proper voice answered. “How can I help you this evening?”

“Hi Alfred. I’m going to need medical help.” Jason’s voice is gruff and water from the amount of screaming and tears he’s experienced in such a short time.

Alfred sighs. “What have you gotten yourself into that requires you to visit the Manor instead of your apartment?”

“I don’t need it. I found a boy buried alive in the same cemetery that I was buried in. He’s really weak, most likely severely dehydrated and malnourished. I-I’m not equipped to take care of something like this.” His voice is breaking slightly.

There was a moment of silence. The only sounds Jason could hear were the wind screaming in his ears and the muffled sounds of traffic. The panic he had shoved into the furthest darkest corner of his mind was starting to creep into his thoughts again.

“Alright. Bring him straight into the cave. I’ll have a bed ready for him and I’ll call Dr. Leslie in. I may be able to do many things, this however seems like a situation we need a professional opinion on.”

“Kay. I’ll see you then.”

[selunesdreams]

Chapter 9: All the White Horses Are Still in Bed

"One more thing, Astarion. Do you really think Mephistopheles is the only one who could offer ascension?” 

Part of a series, full story on AO3

Astarion x Original Female Character

Content (chapter): 18+ depictions of violence, blood and graphic injuries, death, sexual themes. Smut & fluff in other chapters, see AO3 tags or for detailed fic tags and warnings.

Around midnight, Astarion arrives back at the tower, finding Gale sitting in the den, waiting. He shuts the door behind him, clearing his throat.

“Late night?” Astarion asks, attempting a friendly tone, wondering if he can bypass the uncomfortable encounter altogether. 

“Something like that,” Gale says in a distant voice, setting his book on the chair’s arm and motioning towards the scroll in Astarion’s hand. “Find what you were looking for?” 

“Ah…yes. In a way.” Astarion shrugs off his coat and hangs it by the door. He walks across the room and holds out the scroll out to Gale, as if it were a peace offering. Gale takes it, unraveling and scanning it as Astarion sits on the couch across from him, letting his limbs splay out lazily. 

“So you found a whisper of a ring that may or may not even be what you need?”

“It’s enough hope for me. There were doors we never even opened underneath Sorcerer’s Sundries. You were there.” Astarion says with a shrug. Gale rolls the paper up delicately and returns it to Astarion.

“When do you leave?” Gale asks flatly. 

“As soon as possible.” Astarion drops the friendly facade. The tension is exhausting and he can’t keep it up any longer. “Gale, I…apologize.” Gale raises an eyebrow. 

“An apology from the infamously unapologetic Astarion.” He replies, amused. 

“I was…harsh. And I… gods, I don’t think I’ve genuinely apologized to anyone since I was human, unless you count when Cazador forced me.” Astarion’s piercing scarlet eyes rise to meet Gale’s. “I’ve never had friends. Never had a reason to care about anyone around me. But Gale, you…all of you…have been loyal to me, patient with me in ways I’m not sure I deserve.” Astarion wrings his hands uncomfortably.

“I appreciate the apology, but Astarion, why do you need this so badly? I understand what you’ve lost, the desire to be in the sun, but…how far are you willing to go? How many people would you be willing to betray or let come to harm over this? I need to know there’s a limit - that there’s a point where this just doesn’t become worth it anymore.” Gale says desperately. 

“It exists.” Astarion says with certainty. “But I’ll…try to bear your words in mind.”

“If you’re going to Baldur’s Gate for this ring, let me come with you. I’ll sleep better to know there’s someone who will at least try to convince you to do the right thing…someone who will have your back.” Gale leans forward in his chair. “There’s good in you, Astarion, I’ve seen it. I’ve watched you hesitate in the face of unspeakable choices. Damn yourself to the shadows to save thousands of souls. There is good in you.” He repeats with anguish. “Don’t mistake it for weakness.” 

Astarion’s eyes drift to the fire for several heavy moments. 

“Very well. You can come. I suppose we should ask the others if they’d like to tag along,” he says with a forced smirk. 

“I presume you’re insisting on bringing Celeste along as well?” Gale asks.

“Yes, she’s coming.”

Gale pushes himself up from the chair. “Alright. The attic is still yours, if you want it. I restrained myself from washing your sheets in holy water, but I can’t guarantee Shadowheart hasn’t tucked any garlic under your pillow.” 

“Gale… what is going on between you and Shadowheart?” Astarion asks. Gale sighs and massages his forehead with one hand. 

“I don’t have the slightest idea. There were…nights, at camp, where we’d talk until dawn, when we kissed a time or two while drunk, or when I held her after Shar punished her, after her parents died. When I invited her to live here after we left Baldur’s Gate, I’d hoped time would give us the opportunity to cultivate something but…we’ve spent most of our time in comfortable silence or talking like old friends. But yesterday, after you said…what you said,” Gale’s voice no longer carries any anger towards Astarion, but it drips with frustration, “I went to her room last night and told her I was in love with her, kissed her…and she told me she needed time to think. So…I’m giving her time.” Gale wears a pained expression, avoiding Astarion’s gaze.

Astarion has never given romantic advice, nor would he have any to give. The two men stand in silence before Gale nods at him.

“Goodnight, Astarion.” He says, going upstairs to his room.

Astarion flops back down on the couch with a sigh, one arm resting against his forehead. Perhaps his words forced their hands, perhaps he did them each a favor. 

He wanders outside before dawn through the vacant streets. Surely, after such a good deed, he’s earned himself the neck of a criminal. With no luck, he finds himself settled into the corner booth of the Blushing Nymph. He drinks and observes the debauchery, hoping to find any moral atrocities that even Gale would approve of him sinking his teeth into. 

A dark-haired woman slides into the booth next to him, catching him by surprise. His fingers instinctively slip down to the hilt of his dagger. 

“Sheath your weapon, spawn. I’m a friend, not a foe.” She says with a grin. Astarion’s grip slackens in his surprise. 

Vampire. 

“Keresta Delvingstone.” She purrs, outstretching a hand from underneath her black cloak. When Astarion doesn’t shake it, she pulls back with a smirk. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you. I know you’re not one of mine, so what are you doing away from your lord?”

Astarion sneers. “My lord is dead.” Keresta raises an eyebrow. 

“That’s a story I need to hear.” She says, leaning closer. 

“It’s not one I plan to tell.” He says coolly. 

“Very well.” She says with a smile. “So tell me, spawn, why are you haunting the corner of the Nymph instead of indulging? Are you fresh off your leash?”

“Passing the time, my dear.” He says, staring forward as he sips his drink. 

“Do you have a name?” She asks, dragging a finger down his arm. He bristles.

“Astarion. Why have you been following me?” 

“Rogue vampire spawn sulking alone in my city? Accompanying Selûnites on night time strolls?” She says with disgust. “That catches my attention.” 

“How do you know about- ” 

“In the shadows, I see everything, love.” She says with a grin. “Dangerous night to be Selûne’s kin.” Her eyes drift to the empty sky outside the window. A new moon. A night when Selûne’s power is weakest. He freezes. 

“You’re Sharran.” He says with a snarl. Keresta shrugs. 

“And you’re aligning yourself with the wrong goddess.” She says dangerously. 

“I’m not aligned with any of the gods.” Astarion says in an icy tone, “None of them have ever come to my aid.”

“You never had anything to offer them before now.” She mocks him with a pout. “But now…you have a connection to something my lady wants.” 

“Forget it.” Astarion says, sliding his drink away and standing up swiftly. “I’m not interested in anything you’re offering.”

“That’s disappointing.” She says, snapping at a human girl across the bar. “Portia!” She beckons her over. Portia’s movements are slow, but obedient, her long blonde hair covering a series of bite marks adorning her neck. Astarion immediately detects the scent of something in Portia’s blood that makes his throat burn. 

“What is she?” Astarion asks Keresta, staring at a dazed Portia with uncertainty.

“Human, fed a steady diet of bloodroot.”

“Bloodroot?” Astarion questions. 

“Oh you poor thing, your master truly was cruel.” Keresta laughs before lowering her voice. “Only grown in the Mhair Jungles. Think…opiates for vampires, only better. Illegal in Waterdeep.” She says with a wink. “Would you like a sample?”

It takes everything in Astarion to resist. 

“No.” He says hoarsely. Keresta shrugs and waves Portia away. 

“Very well. One more thing, Astarion. Do you really think Mephistopheles is the only one who could offer ascension?” 

“What do you know about that?” He asks, eyes narrowing. 

“Whispers about Cazador Szarr tragically perishing before he could seize ultimate power…my lady has a generous proposition for you…”

“I have no interest in damning thousands of souls just to stand in the sun,” Astarion says, tense. In the back of his mind, he can hear echoes of his conversation with Gale.

How many people would you be willing to betray or let come to harm over this? 

There’s good in you, Astarion, I’ve seen it. 

“What about just one very powerful soul?” Keresta’s words drag him back to the present. “With Selûne’s very essence and the power of hundreds of Moonborn in her veins? What are thousands of weak, meaningless spawn in comparison?” 

“If it’s so easy, why haven’t you ascended yet?” 

“I haven’t had the luxury of gaining the trust of a Moonborn.” She says with a grin. “Or amassing thousands of spawn…” Her hand caresses his leg, nails raking his thigh through his trousers. He flinches. “We could both ascend with a sacrifice that powerful.” 

“This conversation is over.” Astarion growls, pushing away from the table with both hands as he takes his leave. 

“Find me the next new moon if you change your mind!” Keresta calls after him. “And give the Selûnite my warmest regards.” She lets out a high-pitched laugh as he shoves his way out the front door. 

He stalks towards home, grateful for the smell of burning wood that overpowers the usual stench of the Dock Ward. As he approaches Gale’s tower, however, he sees a flicker of flames in the distance. 

Give the Selûnite my warmest regards.  

“Celeste.” He whispers to himself in realization. 

He races down several alleys towards her home. As he approaches, screams and hysterical voices overtake the silence, smoke filling the air. As the house comes into view, he sees tongues of flame lashing against its walls. He approaches a woman frantically shouting outside the home. 

“What’s happened?” He asks breathlessly. 

The woman blubbers incoherently, and Astarion rips his hands away from her with a frustrated curse and runs inside before he can talk himself out of it. 

“Celeste!” He shouts against the sound of splintering wood and the groaning of the walls. The house won’t stand much longer. He rushes up the stairs to her room, barreling through the door. 

He hears coughing and sputtering by the bed and rounds the corner to find her on the floor, clutching at her stomach, blood staining the silk of her white slip. 

“Celeste.” She looks up at him with a mix of shock and relief. 

“Shar.” She chokes out.

“I know.” He says. Her brow furrows in confusion. As his vision adjusts, he sees her grip on the handle of a dagger embedded in her stomach.

“Don’t pull that out-” he starts, but it’s too late. She rips the blade from her skin and throws it aside. It skitters and spins across the floor. 

“It’s fine. It’ll heal quickly.” Her breath hitches as she tries to stand.

“Come here.” He helps her to her feet, wrapping one of her arms around him. 

“How did you know-” she begins with a cough.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He says, searching for an exit.

“No one can see me leave here.” She says, staggering next to him. He knows she’s right. If anyone sees her injuries, they’ll question how she healed so quickly. People will seek a motive and when they discover who did this, they’ll speculate about what was so special about a Selûnite couple and the girl who stayed with them that Sharrans would target them. It’s better if people believe she was never here at all, or that she perished in the fire. 

As they move down the hall, Celeste gasps. 

“Craric, Orina…” she says, looking towards their room. 

“We don’t have time.” Astarion panics as the fire intensifies. 

Why did he run in here in the first place? What was he thinking?

“We can’t leave them!” Celeste sobs. He lets out a frustrated sigh and rushes through the open bedroom door.

As Astarion processes the scene before him, he tries to push her from the room as she enters, shielding her with his height. The couple lie on the bed in a mess of blood: throats slit, eyes wide. 

“Don’t look.” He says, but he can already feel her trembling as she moves around him.

“No…” She is barely audible under the roar of the fire. The hand on her stomach flies to her mouth in shock, a smear of blood left behind her face as she doubles over in pain again. Astarion doesn’t give her a chance to react further. He slings her over his shoulder, ignoring her protests, and sprints downstairs. He jumps over the frame of a large, broken window towards the back of the house before helping Celeste out after him. The glass scrapes against the exposed skin of her hands and legs and rips at her clothes. She winces in pain, but knows they can’t afford to stop. Astarion pulls her by the hand, barefoot, through the spaces between the houses. 

Celeste cautiously steps through the alleyways in silence. Upon arriving at the tower, Astarion lifts her up and escorts her to the kitchen, gently easing her onto the table. He hands her a rag from the counter for her wound and runs upstairs, pounding on Shadowheart’s door. 

“Shadowheart! I know you hate me right now, but I urgently require your services.” The door swings open moments later and a poorly rested Shadowheart squints at him. 

“What’s going on? Why are you covered in blood?”

“No time. Need your help.” He inclines his head towards the stairs and she follows.

“What happened?” She asks, rushing to assess Celeste’s injuries. 

“Sharran attack. They…set fire to her home to conceal the evidence, but I got her out.”

Shadowheart pulls up Celeste’s nightdress to better examine her. Celeste lets out a hiss of pain as the silk snags against the dried blood. Shadowheart mutters a few words over her, a soft blue glow emitting from the space between her hands and Celeste’s abdomen. Astarion forces himself to look away, avoiding the exposed skin of her thighs, the lace of her-

“Astarion, put pressure on this,” Shadowheart commands before rushing back to her room. He obeys, pressing down gently. Thin trickles of blood run down her arms and legs where she cut herself on the window. The scent of her blood makes his throat tighten, and he recalls the bloodroot-fed human Keresta offered him. Even without the drug, Celeste’s blood was nearly just as desirable. He swallows hard, keeping his eyes averted.

“What were you doing there tonight? How did you know it was Sharrans?” Celeste asks Astarion. He can feel her stare burning through him. He considers telling her the truth about his encounter with Keresta, but plays his cards close to the chest for now. Keresta could be a powerful ally. Perhaps he could keep Celeste far from her and find another way to ascend…other sacrifices to make instead.

“I overheard a group of Sharrans talking about an attack at the Blushing Nymph. When I smelled the smoke on the way home, I made the connection,” he says, offering a half truth. An omission, not a lie. 

“What were you doing there?” Celeste asks disdainfully. 

“Drinking, passing time. Doesn’t this hurt? Why are you talking so much?” Astarion asks, finally looking down at her. When he removes the cloth, he notices she’s begun to heal, her knife wound more closely resembling a scraped knee. He tenderly wipes away the blood, feeling his fangs lengthen with desire as he does so. 

“Whoever did this didn’t want me dead yet,” Celeste says, looking down at her body. Astarion’s breath catches, but he still says nothing about Keresta. If he doesn’t let Celeste out of his sight, he can keep her alive until he convinces Keresta of another way.

Shadowheart emerges from upstairs and lays a blanket over Celeste and hands her a set of clean clothes.

“I think we’re about the same size.” Shadowheart says, assessing her. “Although your tits are a bit larger…” Astarion chokes back a laugh and Celeste nods gratefully to the cleric, trying to cut her off before she says anything else. She holds the blanket close around her body. 

“Tell me what happened,” Shadowheart says, shooing Astarion aside as she looks over the healing progress of Celeste’s injury.  

“I came home from the library, fell asleep earlier than usual, woke up with a figure over my bed and a knife in my stomach.” Celeste says, void of emotion. “I suspect they murdered Craric and Orina before the fire.”

“They’re forcing you into the open, hoping you’ll need to rely on someone’s kindness to take you in. You can’t trust any offers.” Shadowheart says. 

“She can stay here.” Gale says, appearing in the doorway. It’s unclear how long he’d been listening. Shadowheart’s gaze lingers on him before turning back to work on Celeste. 

“Impeccable timing, Gale. Shadowheart was just mentioning how no one willing to house Celeste was trustworthy.” Astarion mutters. Gale gives Astarion a skeptical look, as if he’s trying to figure out how he ended up in the middle of this. 

“What are you looking at me like that for? I didn’t stab her.” Astarion says irritably.

“Never said you did.” Gale responds, his voice weary. 

“Both of you out,” Shadowheart snaps. They both obey without argument. “I’ll give you a moment.” Shadowheart says to Celeste, joining the other two in the den.

Celeste slides off the table and pulls on the clothes Shadowheart brought her - a pair of underclothes and a long, black robe that hugs against her curves. Celeste discards her tattered slip and panties in the bin and joins them in the den. Their quiet conversation comes to a halt as they look at her. 

“How are you feeling?” Gale asks. Celeste feels Astarion’s stare roaming her figure. 

“Better.” Celeste feels more exposed than she had in her tattered clothes. 

“Keep the dress.” Shadowheart says, going back upstairs without another word. Gale watches her leave with a pained look before he speaks. 

“Without dwelling on a difficult subject…it could be beneficial to get you out of Waterdeep.” Gale suggests.

Astarion casts Gale a surprised glance. 

“We could get on a ship to Baldur’s Gate as early as tomorrow evening.” Astarion offers eagerly.

“I don’t have any means. The coin I’d kept in my room is almost certainly lost to the fire. I have a vault at the Counting House in the Upper City, but…” Celeste’s eyes shift toward the fireplace. 

“My dear, don’t worry over such things right now,” Astarion steps forward. “I’m more than capable of accommodating you.” He grins with self satisfaction. He’d thieved his way across Faerûn for a year, and it had gone considerably well for him. 

“I’ll leave you two.” Gale says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I really need some damned rest.” 

“Come, dear.” Astarion offers a hand and leads Celeste upstairs. She sits down on the bed as he unbuttons his shirt, shaking off the soot as the smell of smoke fills the room. He throws it in a corner, giving up on saving it. 

“They died because they wanted to help me.” Celeste says quietly. “Craric and Orina.” Astarion wets a sponge in the basin on the dresser and kneels in front of her, cleaning the blood from her legs.

“Were you close?” He inquires, not particularly caring either way, but hoping to alleviate her grief. He pulls her arms toward him, scrubbing at caked blood. 

“Not particularly. We mostly were ships in the night with our schedules. But they were kind. They didn’t deserve that.” She watches the floor. Astarion straightens, setting the sponge aside and placing a hand reassuringly onto her knee. 

“They knew the risks.” He says in his most comforting voice. 

“Do you?” She leers at him. “Does Gale? Shadowheart? Your friends who are taking a risk helping me at all? Because this is the fate of people close to me.” Astarion rolls his eyes and stands, towering over her as he speaks. 

“That’s awfully dramatic, my dear. I assure you, when the risk is too great, you’ll be the first to know.” He offers her a reassuring smile. “You need to rest. This can all wait another day.” She gives him a wary look before lying down.

“Astarion?” she asks quietly as crawls into the bed behind her. 

“Mmm?” He props himself on an elbow, drifting a finger along her arm thoughtfully. 

“Don’t ever do what you did to me in that library ever again.”

He leans forward and murmurs against her ear with feigned disappointment. “You don’t want me to kiss you again?”

“Don’t toy with me. I don’t know your intentions, but I’m tired. Just…whatever you feel about me, whatever your motivations for helping me…I need to know I can trust you. That I’m not some game to you.” Astarion sighs dramatically and pulls her to face him. 

“Don’t make me apologize to someone a second time this evening, dear.” He says softly, running his fingers through her hair. She blinks slowly, enjoying the sensation. 

“I noticed you and Gale were civil again. You listened to me?”

“I did. But I can’t have people thinking I’m receptive to unsolicited advice. I’ll need you to take that secret with you to your grave,” he says with a grin. 

“That could be arranged, if you stay on your best behavior.” Celeste’s demeanor softens. Astarion pulls her lips against his own, hands cradling her face as he kisses her. There’s no urgency, no suggestiveness to the gesture. He pulls away, but doesn’t release her. 

“What was that?” Her voice is just above a whisper, equally surprised and cynical. 

“An apology for such a dreadful evening.” He says, kissing her again as he pulls her closer. He brushes her hair against her face in soft strokes. “And for my part in it.”

[theseshipsshallsail]

Chapter 3

The next quarter hour is spent gathered at the kitchen island: Oliver sipping some iced-lemon concoction whilst Mafalda prepares a passel of olives for Vittoria’s roasted panzanella . Elio - having commandeered his luggage - sought a tactical retreat once threatened with potato peeling, and when Oliver predictably follows he smooths his fingertips over the zigzag bannister; reading the past like braille as each notch and newel finds him beset with nostalgia for the home and inhabitants who’d long proved instrumental in unearthing his authentic self.

In the eternal summer of ‘83, he’d wanted desperately to be worthy of their high opinion. To carry on being that person independent of his Riviera idyll. Yet three months later - trapped, bereft, miserable enough to be borderline clinical - his pandering to familial conventions put paid to it all. Self-doubt and cynicism were his constant companions - harmful beasts he’s fought tirelessly to slay - but to see them reflected in Elio’s hunched demeanour as he scales the upper landing brings it all surging back with a vengeance.

“Everything alright?” he asks cautiously, prompting Elio to stiffen where he’s stood.

“I shouldn’t have assumed,” he replies, tucking a rebellious curl behind his ear. “But you never said elsewise. And the sleeping arrangements are rather… restricted.” 

Oliver’s shoes squeak on the final tread. “Restricted?” 

“Un peu.” A come-hither dare. “Our old rooms are set aside for Ollie and Miranda,” Elio says, the possessive pronoun doing something to Oliver’s insides as he closes the distance. “When they’re not in the city, that is. Manfredi uses the attic space for his beekeeping, and Maman’s arthritis keeps her downstairs, so I took on the master bedroom when she signed over the deeds.”

Ah, Oliver thinks, quickly weighing his response. “A full house?”

Elio winces. “In all likelihood? Even a cough won’t go unnoticed.”

“I see.” Oliver steadies his frantic pulse. Smiles at the plastic Darth-Maul watching them from a squat, geometric vase. “And you’re hesitant?” he asks, gesturing to the end of the hallway where his heaped belongings are partially visible. “Of sharing, I mean?”

Mercurial eyes roll in fond exasperation. “On the contrary.”

“Then what -”

“Those who spit at history are doomed to repeat it.”

“Colourful.”

“But true,” Elio reasons, skimming the ridge of Oliver’s knuckles. “Isn’t that why we agreed there’s no rush? To escape the same mistakes as last time?”

“It is,” Oliver assures, immensely proud of the rules they’d established. “And we will.” Of that, he’s adamant. “I’ve had Micol. You’ve had Michel. Just as I’ve loved a younger you, and you a younger me. But we’re more than the sum of our actions, yeah? We’re in this as equals.”

“The good, the bad, and the ugly.” 

“Nothing about you was ever ugly.”

“Smettila. That’s my line,” Elio demurs, rising up on tiptoes with a rueful sigh. “I’m borrowing trouble, aren’t I?”

“A trait we have in common,” Oliver soothes, buffing their foreheads together. “But it’s just a room,” he tells him then. “It’s just us.”

“Oh?” The laugh he receives is tremulous but sincere. “Is that all?” 

“That’s all.”

“Fair enough,” Elio mutters, the tension leaching out of him in increments. “We’ll play it a piacere.” Blinking twice, he bites at his thumbnail. “Swear not to hold it against me if I steal all the blankets?”

Oliver captures his bicep; saving his cuticle any additional injury. “Swear not to kvetch if I get cold feet?” 

“Ask me again when you use my shins to warm them,” Elio counters, and spinning on his heel makes short shrift of leading him to the furthest doorway. 

To the charmingly cluttered domain synonymous with the promised land.

There’s an antique writing desk along one damasked wall. A gilt-mirrored bureau and scattering of shabby dog toys beside it. Directly opposite, a wrought-iron bedstead boasts a pair of mahogany side-tables, upon which a marble representation of Patroclus and Achilles seems almost prosaic abreast a digital clock-radio, five family photographs, and a half-eaten packet of hazelnut wafers. Somewhat strangely, a trio of orange Nerf balls sit equidistant on the south-facing sill - their inky silhouettes creeping wraithlike over the herringbone floor - but it’s the bountiful array of cinematic posters, CD racks, and bespoke bookcases, that intrigue him most.

“Did you usurp the library, too?” Oliver asks, identifying several Pre-Socratic monographs amongst a haphazard section of Mary Renault paperbacks and Doctor Seuss.

Elio grins. “For all intents and purposes,” he replies, perching himself on the king-size mattress. “Dad condensed his Milan collection when the cancer spread to his liver. Donated the rarities I didn’t want to various institutions.” Pursing his lips, he traces the spiderweb veins at his wrist. “Remind me to stop by your shelf when I give you the tour?” he advises. “We’ve remodelled the pianterreno for Maman’s sake, but the study is pretty much how he left it.” Elio’s eyebrows pull in. “They both vacationed here after the divorce, you know?” A shrug. “The perks of an amicable separation, I suppose.”

Oliver quits leafing through a copy of The Charioteer to sit down also. “The best friendships derive from understanding,” he says, a situation he’s thankfully au fait with himself. “Micol’s already planning to - wait.” His next exhalation is a tougher job than usual. “I have a shelf?” 

“Bien sûr!” Elio exclaims, still trading unknowns like currency. “My father kept everything you sent him.” 

“Even after the purge?”

Elio fiddles with the onyx signet ring he wears on his pinkie. “Like begets like, mon rêve. Tragic hoarders, the lot of us.” A beat. “Speaking of which…” He nudges him with his elbow. “Did you bring it?”

Oliver snags the strap of his holdall. “Did I bring it, he says…” Truth be told, he never travels without it: the A5 rectangular package currently parcelled in last Thursday’s edition of the Boston Globe. “Surely the key issue is where we’re going to put it?”

Elio waves him off with his usual laconic grace. “Oh, I’m certain we’ll find a spot…” His tone is distinctly reverent when he unveils the turn-of-the-century postcard: its frame dual-sided to show the assorted inscriptions. “And there it is,” he murmurs, poring over Oliver’s poignant addition. “Cor Cordium...” 

A repetition and a vow.  

There’s wonder in Elio’s gaze when he drags it away from the tempered glass. Desire, likewise. A question and a plea all in one. It would be easy, Oliver thinks, to eliminate the hairsbreadth between them. To strike a match to their inhibitions. Let the dormant pyre of potential consume them whole. But it’s essential they reconnect properly before taking that leap - that they be mentally prepared for what comes next - and hooking an espadrille around Elio’s bony ankle he wills his body into compliance.

Slides a recalcitrant palm to the other man’s spine.

Tries not to flush like some touch-starved adolescent at the bodement of suspense.

“What was that you mentioned about giving me a tour?” 

“We switched the dining room to the smaller salon,” Elio explains as the grandfather clock chimes three p.m in the lofty foyer. “Refurbished la biblioteca. Created a maisonnette. Then brought in Maddalena on a full-time basis.”   

“And you’re positive my being here won’t disturb her?” 

Elio flinches. “If it does, please don’t take it personally,” he replies with a grimace. “Maman’s grown reliant on her routines, so yesterday’s trip to Pavia was… disconcerting.” Hugging his abdomen, he stalls beneath a sepia map of the Byzantine Roman Empire. “She asked about you over breakfast, though - ensured we had enough apricots for juicing - so she’s aware of your arrival. Excited, even.” Elio frowns. “But the afternoons are often a little…”

“Disorientating?” Oliver’s uncle was much the same. 

“Précisément.” 

“What did the neurologist have to say?” 

“Nothing helpful.” Elio’s expression is willfully blank. “Nothing we haven't gleaned for ourselves, in any event. They’re optimistic these new meds might stabilise her moods, but perfecting each dose in lieu of her insomnia sounds a bit like Russian roulette.” 

It’s a sobering prospect, and Oliver’s thoughts harken to the Grecian statuette upstairs; thoroughly resolved to support his own philtatos - to buoy his spirits post-battle - in whatever trials lay ahead. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” he says, rucking up his shirt sleeves. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” Elio replies, rapping on the threshold, then ushers him into the private apartment where Maddalena - Annella’s live-in carer - catches him up on the morning’s affairs.

A subtle note of jasmine infuses the suite: perfume or fabric detergent, he’s unable to pinpoint. Nature’s chorus seeps through the unlatched windows - the cooing purr of turtle doves supplementing the high-pitched buzz of varying insects - yet Oliver’s ears hone on one thing only, and not even the crackle of Annella’s vintage record player distracts him from the mellow humming of the venerable woman, herself. 

With the sheer net curtains rippling idly behind her, she cuts a dignified image. Salt-and-pepper hair braided in an elegant top-knot. Pearl-drop earrings multifaceted as they disperse the dappled light. Her enigmatic smile is virtually indistinguishable to that of her youth, but any pipe dreams of spontaneous recognition are ultimately scuppered when Annella’s contemplative focus reverts to the vellum-bound novella nestled in her lap.

A crushing blow; though not altogether unexpected. 

“Salut, Maman!” Elio says, his cavalier attitude belying his agitation as he joins her by the couch. “Je t'ai amené un visiteur.” Crouching, he fixes the crocheted shawl about her delicate shoulders. “Depuis l'Amérique.”

“D'Amérique?” Mascara lashes flutter sluggishly: an adagio swish as Annella examines his face, askance. “Oliver?” she whispers; cashmere soft. “Est-ce vous?”

He almost caves to the physical pang. “Hey, Mrs P,” he murmurs, brandishing the Valrhona signature box he’d purchased at the airport. “Rumour has it these are your favourites,” he adds, lifting the embossed lid, then all but fumbles the lot when Annella reaches up, stroking a thumb over his unshorn cheek.

“Un cauboi bearing gifts…” she says, and Oliver fights back traitorous tears at such unfettered tenderness. 

“Far be it from me to show up empty-handed,” he replies, heart tripping over itself in its haste. “Shall I put these on the sideboard?” 

“Bonne idée,” Elio answers for her, the hand at Oliver’s forearm keeping him grounded. “Mafalda will read us the riot act if we spoil your appetite.”

Annella giggles. “Sami always saves her la praliné pistache,” she informs them gleefully, releasing Oliver’s jawline with a gentle pat. “You’ll be sure to tell him, won’t you, mes trésors?” 

“Of course...” he manages; breath stripped from his lungs.

“First chance we get,” Elio says: a seasoned professional.

“C’est merveilleux.” Annella flips the page of her book. “He was only saying last week how he hoped you’d make it home for Christmas,” she muses, her nexus turning inwards, and Oliver curses the cruelty of the human condition in the thousand-mile stare that follows.