#a little glimpse into the strange world she lives in

[molabuddy]

pitchfork field

[mamsieur]

Used to it | Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Summary : Being Pete Mitchell's daughter has never been easy. But maybe one mission could bring you back together ?

TW : angst and fluff, angst with a happy ending, mention of alcohol, panic attack, canonical character death, age gap (reader is 27 and Bradley is 35)

Length : 7156 words

AN : I'm sorry for making Pete seem like a bad father but that man is not stable enough to handle a child in my opinion.

posted on AO3 July 12, 2023

You were 7 when your mother left your father, Pete Mitchell. 

You didn't have many early memories of him. There were only the arguments with your mother, his departures on missions that left you in tears, the missed birthdays and Christmases. It’s all you’ve ever known so you were used to it and being a child, you found it normal.

You were 7 when your mother decided to move out, leaving your whole life behind. You remember crying your eyes out in protest. As your mom tried desperately to get you out of the house, you clung with all your might to Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw was 15 and your regular babysitter, though your mother thought of him as a son, Carole and her were really close. They liked to remind you that when you were 4, you proudly announced that you were going to marry him. Bradley was almost always around, and Pete was his godfather, and they had a bond you envied. Despite the eight-year age difference, you remember being very close to your "Bradbrad" . He never pushed you away, was always ready to play Lego or other board games with you. He even took you to the park or with him when he went to the theater with his friends - when the movies were kids friendly -.

You were 7 , and your whole world shattered. No more Bradley, no more hanging to the naval base to have a glimpse of your dad and his incredible plane, no more aunty Carole and her sweet singing. You had hated your mom for years before understanding you left for the best.  She was finally happy ; not completely, she missed her friends and sometimes your father, but you could feel that she was happier away from the hustle and bustle of the navy, of your dad. You were not used to the strange calmness of the city, but your grandparents made it easy to adapt. Soon enough, you got used to the loving cocoon your mother succeeded to create around you.

You were 16, at your mother's funeral, when you had to accept the fact that you had to go back to live with Pete. When the two of you finally found each other in the crowd, he didn't say much, just gave you a few brief updates. You asked him about Bradley, a bit sad to not have seen him here, and he didn't have much to say. Only that the two of them were no longer as close as they had been.

The silence between you was uncomfortable. 

Of course, Pete had kept in touch over the years, calling on your birthdays, sending a little something. You spent some Christmas with him when he wasn't working and a few days during the summer break ; but Pete Mitchell loved his work too much to focus on you. As long as you lived with your mother, Pete's absence from your life wasn't something you suffered from, at least not really. 

You were used to it. Used to the absence, used to the missed calls, used to the Christmases with the attention of other aviators and their families but the ignorance of your dad, used to the unanswered phone calls.  Used to his silence.

But now your mum was dead... and you were dreading having to join your father in California.

You were 16 and you didn't want to live with him, you already knew what would happen ; he'd go flying, on a mission or for his own pleasure, leaving you alone at home - if you could call it home. The hangar where he lived now was something you'd always hated . It had no place for anything or anyone other than his passion for the sky, for planes and speed. You didn't want to leave your new life, even though you loved California. Your school, your friends, your family, your routine. But you didn't really have much of a choice. You were 16. He was now your legal guardian and you didn't want to drag your grandparents into a custody battle.  Even though part of you told yourself that your dad would probably agree to let you stay with them, you didn't want to take that chance. And you hoped he'd be more present, that you'd finally have the father you'd dreamed of, that your other friends had. If other military parents could be there for their children, why couldn't Pete?

Perhaps because Pete loved flying more than anything else in the world.  The sky was his one true love.

Even though you knew it, you held out the faintest hope that he would finally take his responsibilities as a father. Unfortunately, Pete was still Pete. He wasn't cut out to be a father. A fun uncle, maybe. A parent, no. The fact that Bradley no longer spoke to him proved that.

You were 18 when you packed your bags and headed off to the naval school in Maryland. You wanted to be a pilot too. And you wanted to get away from that bloody hangar, so empty, so alone.

Pete wasn't there when you left.  Not even a message or a note. Nothing at all.

You weren't even surprised.

It was Tom Kazansky - Uncle Tom - who had taken you to the airport. He had been more present in your life than your own father, even though you rarely saw him. You knew your relationship with Pete was a sensitive subject, and you knew when Tom gave him a hard time. Pete was suddenly more present - too present . He'd pop into your life for a few days, trying to be the cool or bossy dad, but it always ended in a fight. 

You hated it when he did that. You hated the way he would act like your friend, or like a strict parent, talking about curfew and how no boys were allowed in his 'home'. You hated the way he would try to be the father that he had never been in your whole life. You hated the way he tried to convince you that he was trying to change, that he'd be there for you.

But you couldn't blame Uncle Tom for trying to shake your father. He had children too, but despite his love of the air, he had been a present parent to them.  

But some days were not as bad as others. Sometimes, when he was in a good mood, Pete would take you flying. And even though it was hard to admit, you were a bit of a flier yourself. The feeling of freedom, of being alone in a comforting way. It was mesmerizing.

So, without him knowing, you decided to join the navy after graduation. You took your mother's name, Evans , so that you would not attract attention. Only Tom knew, so your dad wouldn't and couldn't pull your papers like he did with Bradley. 

You found out that he had done this when you saw Bradley one day in the summer before you made your choice. At first you did not recognize him.  He was 26 now. He was taller, more muscular and had a 80s mustache that suited him well - puberty had treated him really good. He was the spitting image of his father, whom you'd only seen in photographs and heard about when Tom and Pete reminisced over drinks about the past.

But Bradley had the same look in his eyes as his mother, Carole. 

As a child, you adored Carole. She was always there to comfort you when your parents were at odds, picking you up from kindergarten when your father was on a mission and your mother was at work… She was kind of a second mom. You went to her funeral with your mother eight years ago, you never cried so much.

The summer of your reunion with Bradley had been the summer of his return from the Naval Academy, which he had graduated from with honors. He was a very good pilot and would soon be going on a mission. The day before he left, you snuck out of the hangar to meet him at a nearby bar. He had celebrated his departure with you and a handful of friends, promising to keep in touch as often as possible.  As he left, you realized how much you'd missed your Bradbrad.

You were 18, and you remembered how quiet the ride to the airport had been. Part of you wanted to stay.  You loved California. It was close to the ocean, the people were friendly, and at the Navy base everyone knew you.

You'd even earned a nickname, the call sign you hoped to use soon : Tempest .  It was a bittersweet memory of a stormy night when Pete "forgot" to pick you up from baseball practice. You had landed on the base, mad as hell, soaked to the bone. You'd yelled at your father as hard as the storm had raged. It had been a huge fight. And of course, everyone had heard. Surprisingly, many had defended you rather than your father. You were relieved then. And to cheer you up while your dad was embarrassed, Tom took you to your favorite fast food and laughed with you about the scene. "You walked in there like a damn storm, a tempest ! Heck, that should be your call sign when you join the ranks !" You smiled as you remembered his raspy laugh and all the stories he told you about his days at Topgun . 

It was through those stories that you learned a little bit more about your father, The Maverick . His accomplishments, his reckless attitude in the air, his urge to always define what’s possible and pushing the limits.  Your desire, your need , to join the Navy to become a pilot only grew, digging a hole of longing for the sky deep inside you.  You wanted your father to see you, to acknowledge you. You wanted to be more like him.

You were 27 years old when you were called to the NAS North Island for a "top secret" mission that required "the best of the best". To your surprise, you were one of the youngest and one of the only women. But you'd missed California too much to worry about such details.  Like many pilots, you had joined the Hard Deck for a drink the day before training began. You soon met Natasha "Phoenix" Trace and Jake "Hangman" Seresin. Two strong personalities. Then came Javy “Coyote” Machado and Robert "Bob" Floyd. He was discreet, a bit shy. And before you could introduce yourself to the others, someone entered the bar and caught Jake's eye.

"Bradshaw. As I live and breathe."

"Hangman. You look... good." His voice was behind you and you didn't dare turn around to see him. 

"Well, I am good. I'm very good Rooster ."

You let the two men talk, then Bradley greeted Natasha and the others. At last, his gaze landed on you. You couldn't help but smile stupidly. He looked so surprised and happy. "Y/N Tempest Evans?!"

"Hey Bradbrad ..." you smiled and happily accepted his embrace. He squeezed you against him and asked you all about your journey, which you happily did, while in the distance the bell rang, indicating that a customer couldn't pay his bill and had to be kicked out. Out of the corner of your eye, you thought you recognized your father, but Jake and Javy had already grabbed him by the arms and dragged him outside. You didn’t have the time to really think about it, Bradley taking you by the hand to sing with him at the piano. You laughed and followed him with the others in his Great balls of fire ’s reprise. It had been a great night.

The next day, at the first meeting, you thought your heart stopped when you saw that your instructor was actually Pete... and from the look on his face, he wasn't happy to see you there. Before the meeting was over, you heard his voice call your name ; it had a barely disguised note of anger. "Lieutenant Evans. You’ll stay after training, we'll have a word."

Bradley looked at you, concerned. He knew that you had never told Pete about the Navy, but he didn't know that even after nine years, your father was still unaware of your career. The others were confused and you could feel questioning gazes on you. Great way to begin this thing , you thought.

You were 27 and a very good pilot. An excellent one. One of the best. That's why you were here after all, wasn’t it ? You walked in your father’s footsteps, perhaps as talented as him at that age. But you were also as reckless as him, living up to your callsign. A tempest was never soft or delicate, neither were you. You had risked your life so many times in your five years of service. Tom often told you that you were just like your father and that it scared him. You didn’t think, you just did , you wanted to go faster, higher and further. Acting like the storm that you were, leaving your enemies confused by what had just happened. The adrenaline, the speed, the immensity of the sky, the feeling of freedom... you finally understood why Pete loved being in his plane so much.  You felt a little closer to him in those moments.

And yet, in nine years of absence, he had never once contacted you. You had disappeared one day and he hadn't even looked for you.  Your uncle had promised not to say anything about your career, but Pete hadn't even been interested in why or where you were going.

Seeing him angry made you furious . How could he have the nerve to be mad at you? 

After the training and the 200 pushups you had to do because - of course - you didn't beat your old man, you stayed on deck and waited for the others to leave. Bradley gave you a little squeeze on the shoulder, as if to give you strength, and reluctantly left. You heard Hondo telling Pete to calm himself before saying things he might regret out of anger.

Once again, the silence between you and your father was heavy. 

You couldn't take your eyes off him, waiting for him to finally speak. You could see that he was trying to stay calm. But you already felt like exploding . You could feel the reproaches, the so-called concern. You could feel that he wanted to push you away . 

"Y/N... how did you... you went to the Academy behind my back?!"

"Iceman," you replied simply, your eyes and voice cold. "And you never asked where I was either."

"You-?! I should have known, you lied to me." 

“It’s not lying if you’re not asked.” you mutter, “You taught me that.”

“Now’s not the time to play that game Y/N,” he snapped, "you can't be here."

"With all due respect, Captain, that's not your call."

You really tried to remain calm, knowing that the others must have been listening nearby - especially Jake. You didn't want to draw any more attention, but you felt your blood boiling under your skin.

"I will talk to Vice Admiral Simpson about this. I don't suppose anyone's made the connection between us. But now there's clearly a conflict of interest-"

"You have no right to take this mission away from me. It's not fair," you gasped, eyes wide.

"I am your father ! I can and will do it."

"What ?! No ! No, you can't ! 9 years of nothing but silence and now you're acting like a worried father ?!" you snapped, moving towards him and pointing an accusing finger. A nervous laugh escaped you and you sighed, pursing your lips. "Why do you always have to act like this ? You've never acted like a father to me, except to get in my way !"

"Get in your way ? No ! I care about you-"

"Really ?!" you cut him off, raising your voice, "Then where have you been for 9 years ?! What did Tom have to say to you that you weren't even lookin' for me ? Where was all this care when I left and you were not here ? Where were you huh ?! Where was all that concern ?!"

Pete's eyes widened and he searched for words. He should have known that he could not argue with your point so he just huffed then scolded. "I'm your captain, Lieutenant Evans ! Keep your voice down !"

"Oh, now it's not my father talking ?!" you couldn't hold back a nervous, fake laugh. "You see how you are ?! Always twisting things your way ?! Why are you avoiding that conversation ? Why are you running away again ?!" you’re almost screaming, inches close to him, eyes locked in his.

"Lieutenant Evans !" he growled. You grumbled and let out a heavy sight, calming yourself. You stepped back and clenched your fists along your body.

"Will that be all, Captain Mitchell ?"

You clenched your fists even harder, your knuckles turning white. You wanted to physically shake him to finally have answers. But you couldn’t, at least not here, not now.

"Y/N..." he huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Will that be all, Captain ?" you repeated, your voice slightly trembling. Tears of rage threatened to fall. You held them back, too proud to cry in front of him. Pete looked at you and sighed quietly. 

"You're dismissed Lieutenant Evans..."

You left the deck with a quick stride. Your heart was pounding in your chest, a mixture of anger, frustration and sadness. Of course, the rest of the squadron was there, already clean and changed. Seeing the anger in your eyes, no one said a word, not even Hangman. He just stared at you, confused, as you slammed the door of the changing room. 

Later that evening, as the squadron relaxed at the bar, Jake couldn't help but bring up the earlier scene. 

"So our dear Tempest's dad is the famous Maverick?"

" He's not my father ," you muttered, finishing another beer. "My genitor maybe. But he's not my father."

"Why Evans if Mitchell's your old man?" Jake insisted. 

You could hear Bradley and Natasha telling him to drop it, but he kept coming back. You could feel your anger rising again.  You downed another beer and slammed the empty bottle down on the table. 

"Tell me, Bagman , weren’t you taught to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you? I'm sure your mama taught you some manners, didn't she? Now shut up before I put my fist through your face," you growled, half drunk, half angry. Jake scoffed and held his hands up in defense while Bob stopped you from approaching him. Seeing your father enter the bar only made you feel worse. And it took all your patience not to slit Jake's throat on the spot as he continued his overly curious and unpleasant comments with his snide attitude.

Bradley went with you to get some fresh air as he wasn't too keen on seeing Pete either. When you arrived at the beach, a wave of sadness washed over you. You knew that your father would do everything in his power to get you out of this mission, but what was worse was that he didn't even try to talk to you, to reconnect. Your shoulders shook and you couldn't hold back the tears any longer. Only a sobbing hiccup betrayed you and Bradley rushed to take you in his arms. You felt the strength leave your legs and the two of you ended up sitting in the sand, crying your eyes out and clinging to Bradley. "I've got you... Let it all out..." he murmured between two kisses on the top of your head. His big hands gently stroked your back, letting go of all your pain. "It's okay, baby girl... it's okay..." 

Bradley and you practically lived together now. You’ve inherited your mom’s old house by the ocean and it’s confier than being on base. So those kinds of pet names were almost common now. But this time you didn’t blush at it, your emotions a mess.

You cried against him for a long time, as you hadn't done for many years. Rooster held you until you calmed down.  "It's not fair..." you whispered, sniffling. "He's going to take me off the mission..." 

"He won't be able to... Ice recommended you... there's nothing he can do about it..."

You shrugged, not really sure if Tom could help you. He was very ill and you didn't want to tire him out with your disagreements with your father.

“He’s just an old dickhead, don’t worry…” Bradley tried to cheer you up but you’re too distraught to play along. After a little less than an hour later, you find the force to get up and you head home with him. You fall asleep in the car and wake up the next morning in your bed.

There wasn't much time left before the mission. Training sessions were coming up and so were your fights with Pete. Cyclone hadn't pulled you out of the mission, but you weren't sure if it was to spite your father or because he felt you were capable of succeeding, just like your comrades.

Days passed at an alarming pace. The team slowly bonded through group exercises and moments of relaxation, especially with the game your father had invented: dogfight football.

You couldn't lie, it felt good to have such moments. But your father still didn't talk to you and you were still angry. You remained professional, but you couldn't stand his fatherly attitude towards you.

All your hopes of renewing real ties disappeared when you learned of Tom's death. You had seen him the day before and he had made you promise to try to take care of Pete. His funeral was one of the hardest moments of your life.

And because bad news never comes alone, the mission was moved up by a week. Pete was temporarily relieved of his duties, as Admiral Simpson still believed his plan of attack was doomed to failure. Of course, your father, in his legendary arrogance and cockiness, proved him wrong with an unauthorized flight. Hope rose in the team but it was still a very risky plan. 

Cyclone decided to make Pete team leader, and not surprisingly, he didn't choose you as his wingman. Part of you was angry because you felt you could do it, and another part of you was mortified when he announced that his choice would be Bradley. This mission was suicide, and you couldn't afford to lose them both. You couldn't afford to lose anyone in the squadron, but these two, it was just too much.

You didn't catch up with Pete as much as you wanted to, there were still so many questions left unanswered, so much time to make up for… You hadn't been able to make things right with your dad, you hadn't been able to tell him that you had this passion for aviation because of him. You hadn't been able to tell him that you regretted not telling him about the academy, that you regretted the 9 years of distance between you...

And you didn't spend enough time with Bradley.

Sure, you were always glued to each other in your free time, taking walks on the beach, talking and singing together at the Hard Deck piano, having movie nights... but you didn't want it to stop. Not after you'd half confessed how you felt about him after a few too many drinks, telling him that your 4-year-old declaration still stood. He laughed and told you that he hadn't forgotten either.

On the day of the mission, you barely managed to find your way to your father. "Captain?" your voice was louder than you had expected.

"Lieutenant Evans?"

"I... Before you go, I'd like to talk-"

"We'll talk when I get back."

"... Promise me you'll come back." 

For a moment, you were that five-year-old girl again, watching her father leave. Pete must have seen it in your eyes and climbed down from the cockpit to take you in his arms. "I promise I'll come back in one piece, kiddo..." You hugged him tightly and nodded in agreement. After a few seconds, you let go and let him settle down.  You ran to Bradley and made him promise you the same. He smiled confidently, even though you knew he was stressed. "Don't worry, we've got a Star Wars marathon to watch," he smiled before gently and discreetly kissing your forehead. You blushed and nodded, a worried little smile on your face. 

Reluctantly, you left the track and joined Jake. You were glued to your radios, following the progress of the mission.  Everything was going well until two enemy fighters spotted them. 

You stopped breathing. 

First they had Bradley in sight and locked on. 

The enemy fired. 

But your father took the brunt of the missiles and saved Rooster.

Your brain didn't know how to process all this information and shut down when you heard Bradley's decision to go after Pete before getting shot down too.

You don't remember much else. All you knew is that Jake had to leave in a hurry to find and rescue them. When they landed with that really out beat up F-14, you rushed out on deck to greet them, swallowing all your worry and anger at their unconscious behavior for the moment.

Once ashore, the entire crew decided to celebrate their success at Penny's Bar, dragging Pete with them. You stayed close to Bradley, as if afraid that it was all a dream and that he wasn't really there. He wouldn't let go of you either, his arm tight around you. You felt like a schoolgirl, it was stupidly comfortable. You looked at Pete, who was happily chatting with Penny and other members of the team. You didn't want to spoil the evening with a discussion that was out of your control…

Around one o'clock you went out for some fresh air, leaving Bradley to play with those who hadn't returned home yet ; Reuben, Natasha, Mickey and Javy.

As a cold shiver ran through you, you felt a heavy jacket on your shoulders. You immediately recognized the peculiar smell ; old whiskey mixed with motor oil and a hint of cologne.

" Dad ? "

"I thought you wanted to talk ?" he asked quietly, moving toward the beach. You nodded and took his pinky with yours like a child, searching for your words.

"I'm sorry..." you breathed, holding back your tears. "For going to the Academy behind your back and not telling you… not talking to you for almost ten years... I know that giving news is supposed to go both ways and all, but... but you weren't even there when I left... and I guess... I guess I resented you as much as I wanted you to be there, you know ?" you sniffed before continuing your monologue. "I just wanted you to see me . ‘Cause… it’s because of you I wanted to go down this road, you gave me this love for flight, for speed, for the sky. I... I just wanted you to be happy that we finally had something in common, but... but you had already pulled Bradley's papers, so I didn't think and I just did what seemed most logical and easiest. Take Mom's name, ask Ice not to tell you. I know it was stupid… but I also know it would have hurt too much if you had stopped me. And... And then no news for nine years... It hurt even more. The Academy and my first years of service weren't what I thought they would be... it was rough and sometimes I just… I just wanted to call you to come and pick me from there… but… but I wouldn't change that for the world. Because I’m still a Mitchell and Mitchells never quit right ?” You took a few seconds, your gaze meeting his, to see if he wanted to intervene but he didn’t. He just looked at you, taking all the information you gave him. You let out a shaky breath, playing with the sleeves of his jacket nervously. “And I know you must and may resent me for the rest of my life, but… but I just wanted you to be proud of me and... and for us to finally be a family." You bit your lip, trying to calm the flow of emotions that came through.

The sky began to rumble and your father remained silent after your speech. A few tears rolled down your cheeks as he couldn't find the words.

"Please, Dad, say something..." you sighed, your voice breaking.

The rain began to fall slowly and Pete's silence was too much for your heart to take. He couldn't even look at you anymore. You thought you could take it ; you were used to his silenced treatment, used to the fact that he couldn’t express his feelings. But right now, you needed him to speak, to ease your worries, to confront you.

"Dad... please... I'm begging you... talk to me…" you repeated desperately.

You broke down again and cried like a little girl in front of your mute father. You hated that he couldn't open up to you and you hated that he saw you so frail, so fragile.  Your sobs mingled with the rain, which grew heavier, the wind and waves making the silence deafening. You bit your lip and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, in vain.

"I know I'm not... I know you didn't plan… you didn’t want to have me with mom-"

"No, it's true... I never planned to be a father... The very idea of having children terrified me and still does," Pete interrupted you, "but... you're one of the most beautiful things, if not the most, that has ever happened to me. And I'm petrified of anything happening to you, I'm helpless on so many levels... and I... I didn't know how to be there when you needed me... I know I must have let you down a lot..." He sighed, catching his breath and holding back his own tears. "I thought... it would be best for both of us to let you have your freedom... but the weeks, months and years went by and I didn't have the guts to try to contact you. I was too ashamed... but Y/N, I never stopped loving you... you're my daughter... and even if you have my damn temper and your mom’s stubbornness," you couldn't hold back a little laugh and a slight smile despite your tears, which your father tenderly chased away with his thumb, "you'll always be my little girl, too eager to get on our little plane for a ride, passionate and fierce… I don’t resent you… I think I would have done it your way if my old man put me in this situation…" He allowed himself to cry as well as the two of you finally hugged each other, relieved of an enormous weight.

"I love you too, Dad... sorry for everything..." you mumbled against his shoulder.

"No, no… I’m sorry… It's my turn to apologize, sweetheart..."

The two of you lay embracing in the rain for a while, making up for years of distance in a few minutes. You were the first to let go. You once again took his hand like a child.

"We better get back before Hangman starts gossiping..."

"Or before Bradley starts worrying," Pete teased. You blushed and looked at him with wide eyes. "What? Like I haven't noticed the way you two look at each other. I'm not that blind kid!" He laughed “Ah… your mom and Carole would have been thrilled !”

You returned to the bar, soaking wet, chatting about anything and everything. Seeing you, Bradley's expression changed from worried to relieved, then back to worried as he noticed you were shivering a little from the cold. He politely left his conversation with Mickey to join you.

"Are you okay? Do you want to go home and change?"

"That would be a good idea..." you smiled at him. You had to admit you were exhausted from this rollercoaster of emotions. You said goodbye to the others from a distance, then to your father in a final hug, and followed Bradley back to his old blue Bronco. The two of you made your way to your small house. 

Bradley was a good roommate. You each had your own room, but you often fell asleep together in front of the TV or on one of your beds after long late-night discussions. You liked the routine you created. And you hoped with all your might that nothing would change. But your feelings for him were becoming more and more obvious in your mind and heart. You wondered how much longer you could hide it.

Seeing you so silent, Bradley placed his hand on your thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Are you all right, lil’ Tempest?" 

His eyes never left the road as his thumb traced small circles on your jeans. A shiver ran through your entire body and you wished this contact would never end.

"Everything's fine Roo... don't worry..."

"Okay..."

He squeezed your knee again and left his hand on your thigh. The warmth of his palm made you shiver and you placed your hand on top of his shyly. Once again, you felt like a teenager. It was stupid.

The ride home was rather quiet, in a comforting way, Bradley driving carefully in the pouring rain and humming the song that passed on the radio. When he parked, you stayed in the car for a moment. You sensed that he had something he wanted to say to you, and he sensed the same thing on your side. After a few minutes of silence and shy glances, he smiled at you, got out of the car, and you followed. He ran to unlock the door and waited for you under the porch.

You wanted to run as well, but your legs felt heavy. That's when your anxiety decided to take over. The stress and worry of the past few days were finally catching up to you. As you saw Bradley step out into the rain with a worried expression, the conversation on the radio played in your head. Your father's F-18 had exploded, and Bradley was on his way to pick him up. And now it was his turn to go down. A huge pressure on your chest stopped you from breathing and new tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn't move, pinned to the pavement. Silent sobs shook you as your vision blurred. You couldn't see or hear Bradley any more. You felt so alone, so cold. Your panic attack froze you under the heavy rain and you couldn't get out of it. You couldn't hear anything except the intense ringing in your ear. You wanted to throw up. The world spun around you as your mind screamed what the communications officer had said earlier, "Maverick's down ! Rooster's down !" 

They were dead. 

For the long forty minutes or so that followed, they were dead .  And you were stuck in that loop. One minute everything was fine, the mission was a complete success. The next, the last two most important people in your life were dead. The ground began to feel strangely unstable as you fought harder to breathe. Eventually your legs gave out and you felt yourself fall, but you didn't hit the ground. You felt two arms around you, holding you securely but not too tightly, then lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. The buzzing in your ears slowly faded away and you didn't feel the rain on your skin anymore. You gasped for air when you finally heard Breadley call your name, concern in his voice. As you raised your eyes to look at him, a sudden relief washed over you and you couldn't help but sob again.

He was home. You were home. With him.

"What's going on, Y/N? Hey... Breathe... breathe and talk to me..." he said quietly.

"I thought... I thought you and Dad... you... you were dead..." you managed to say between sobbing hiccups. You clung to his shirt, afraid he would fade away. He smiled a little and kissed the top of your head as he cupped your cheeks with his calloused hands. Then he took your hands and laid them flat on his heart. You could feel it beating at a regular pace.

"I'm here. I’m okay. You're okay. I'm very much alive, Mav is too, and you're stuck with me, with us, little Tempest..."

"Yeah ? Promise ?" you sniffed, your lower lip still trembling.

"Yeah... Promise." he smiled at you again then hugged you tightly. 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the bristles of his mustache tickling you a little. One of your hands reached up to his neck, your fingers brushing his little hair. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, absorbing each other's presence. You felt so relaxed in his arms, as if you belonged there. Your heart fluttered as you heard him hum one of your favorite songs and then felt him beginning to slow dance with you, taking you peacefully to the bathroom.  You were too exhausted and shaken from your panic attack to even ask him what he was doing. You just obliged and listened to him, hypnotized. He declared that you needed a long relaxing bath and in the meantime he would order pizza. He helped you take off your shoes and socks, then your hoodie. He kissed your forehead and let you finish undressing, leaving the bathroom to give you some privacy. 

You couldn’t stay too long in the bath, your mind being too loud. You knew you would break down again if you weren’t close to him .  Bradley made you feel safe, secure, grounded. That was what you needed to relax. You were so used to being alone before, used to the silence, the empty rooms. But since he decided to kind of move in with you, you couldn’t bear the loneliness. The house was so warm now, so welcoming and comfy.

As you crossed his room after you’ve washed, you noticed that old hoodie you bought him one Christmas when you were in naval school. It’s a silly one, the hood designed to look like a rooster. An amused sigh escaped you and you took it to wear. It was still as soft and comfy as the day you bought it. 

“Stealing my clothes I see ?” he chuckled when you joined him in the kitchen.

“Stealing my beers I see ?” you teased him back, pointing at the bottle in his hand, “I thought cranberry beers were for chicks ?” 

“Mama Carole didn’t raise me to be picky” He scoffed in défense, with a smirk.

“Oh I know she didn’t. And my mama didn’t raise me to steal, I’m just borrowing that hoodie.” you smiled, putting the hood on. “Look, we’re twins now, Rooster !”

The both of you laughed at that stupid joke. He then smiled at you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. 

“Feeling better sweets ?”

“Yeah… sorry about that I… I think these past days were a bit too much for my brain…”

“Don’t be sorry… it’s normal to break sometimes… everyone does.” 

You hummed and nodded, but before you could talk, the doorbell rang. “Must be the pizzas ! Get yourself comfortable on the couch and choose a movie Y/N, I’ll be right back !” He kissed your cheek, close to your lips - too close - and ran to the door. You stood there for a moment, cheeks and heart warming up, before doing what he asked you.  Once again, you felt like a schoolgirl at her first sleepover with her crush. You couldn’t help but feel butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your face turning a bit red. 

You should tell him.  But you risked losing that friendship you had. And at the same time, you wanted more than that. You wanted to feel his arms around you, his lips - oh those lips - on you, to wake up next to him each and every morning in your bed… You fantasized about a life with him for a minute, not noticing him getting back with the food. You jumped slightly when he waved his hand in front of your eyes to snap you out of your reverie. Your gaze locked with his as he asked if everything was all right.

"Yes, yes... I was just lost in thought..." you smiled shyly, your cheeks flushed, letting him settle in beside you. He took the plaid to cover both of you, then put his arm around your shoulders.

"And what were you thinking about? Or who?" He teased.

"About us, actually..."

"Us?" He said, a little surprised.

Your cheeks were crimson. You'd said too much already. You couldn't run anymore. You just nodded, not daring to meet his gaze.  You felt him come closer and turn a little towards you after a few seconds of silence.

"Me too, I have to admit..." 

"Really?" you almost whispered, looking up at him. He smiled and nodded.

"Yeah... to tell you the truth, I like it here, but... I don't want to be just another roommate anymore. We're pretty similar in a lot of things, Phoenix even says we look like an old married couple that's always jammed together." You chuckled a little but couldn't help but agree. Bradley smiled a little before continuing, a little nervously. "And... the crash, almost getting killed... It made me realize a lot of things... like the fact that I didn't want to lose you. And that... maybe... the fact that I felt so comfortable with you meant... meant more than friendship..."

Your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to confess what you were thinking? You bit the inside of your cheek to prove to yourself that you weren't dreaming, and before he could continue, you pulled him by his collar and crushed your lips against his. The kiss was desperate, as if you needed it to keep on living. Bradley didn't waste a second in responding, one of his hands sliding up your cheek and the other down your back to press you against him. You would have liked that moment to last forever, but the lack of air forced you to pull away a little. He pressed his forehead against yours and let out a small laugh. "I guess it's mutual, then?"

"You're a little genius aren’t you ?" You couldn't help but tease him before kissing him again.

You felt so good against him, kiss after kiss. You felt complete, soothed. 

And you could easily get used to it .

[myteavsricochet]

Favorite firstprince fanfics, another incomplete list:

(Part 1)

Come Let Me Love You

Henry always struggled to have a good night's sleep. Alex made it easier over the years they had been together, but little cries in the middle of the night always woke Henry.

A little glimpse into a future where Alex and Henry are doting fathers to a beautiful little girl.

Obliviously Devoted

She looks at him in the way only June can. She's the only one he'll allow it from without a fight. "I don't know if you're ready to have this conversation or not."

His fork clatters to the plate in front of him. "What is that supposed to mean?"

June sighs a sigh of long-suffering and pinches the bridge of her nose, before she looks him dead in the eye and sets his world upside down. "You know you and Henry are dating, right?"

Alex gapes at her. Mouth hung open, eyes blown wide. "W-what?"

"I say this with all the love in the world," she says. "But sometimes, I swear, you are the most oblivious idiot on the face of the planet."

Tags: idiots in love, oblivious acd, best friends to lovers, alternate universe - roommates/housemates

(even though you want to) please try to never grow up

“You better have a good fucking reason for sending me to voicemail, Hen.” He glares at the phone for one second before he actually sees the screen, and then his face melts into something Henry can only describe as fond. “Oh,” he whispers, dropping his mug of coffee onto the counter so he can lean in closer to the phone. “Look who’s there.”

“Yeah.” Henry keeps his voice so low he isn’t even sure Alex can hear him. He doesn’t seem to mind, eyes taking in the picture in front of him with parted lips, the edge of his finger covering the camera when he undoubtedly reaches to caress his daughter’s head.

Or, Alex misses his daughter when he goes back to work after a long paternity leave.

tags: domestic, tooth-rotting fluff, family fic

Let Me Wash Away Your Worries

Alex has had a terrible week. Henry is right there to take care of him.

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Bath Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Romantic Fluff, Praise Kink, Alex Claremont-Diaz Needs a Hug, Worship

ephemeral enchantments

in which Henry is an overworked barista with a tendency to embarrass himself in front of everything that breaths and Alex is charmed from the first time he met him.

Tags: Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Awkward Flirting

Three fights Alex and Henry never had

Yes, Alex and Henry got their Happily Ever After. But that doesn't mean everything was just automatically perfect when they moved in together...

Tags: Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff

am i homophobic? (URGENT) (PLEASE HELP)

Now, it might be pretty early in the morning and Alex’s brain functions might not be working as quickly as they normally do, but he can still put two and two together. There's a strange man in their kitchen. Henry is shirtless, rumpled, and holding two pairs of boxers. Henry and this Sam guy slept together. Which… obviously is fine because Alex is not an asshole, but he’s definitely feeling something about this development that he will examine at a later date. But of course, instead of saying something normal, you know, like a normal person would, he says, “Ohh.” Like a fucking weirdo.

or: the "am i homophobic?" roommate au that no one asked for

Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Sexuality Crisis, Mentions of homophobia, no one is like actually homophobic though, Idiots in Love, Explicit Sexual Content, Unsafe Sex

The shape of your lips bruising my heart

So, that neck-kissing scene in the bloopers? Yeah, that one. Well. I wrote it.

—

In which Alex has a hard time leaving the hotel after their night in Paris.

you’re leaving (now i’m left amongst the living)

Six years since they've been together, Alex and Henry were now a far cry from the lovestruck couple they once were when their history began. If you ask Alex, all of it was Henry’s fault. If you ask Henry, he’d agree and say that Alex was right.

But before Alex could ever find out why Henry does not seem like the man he once decided to spend the rest of his life with, he already walked away from it all. Now, Henry was alone, left to deal with whatever shattered remains he could salvage from his life.

Or, the one where Henry’s sick and Alex only finds out two years after they've broken up.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lawyer Alex, Writer Henry, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hospitalization

Fifty First Dates

Henry has used a dating app exactly one time. Predictably, the date turns out to be terrible. The bartender, however, is not.

OR

A cute stranger’s solution to Henry’s woeful dating life is to set him up on fifty first dates.

Most People Exist

Henry Fox is a nurse at the New York Cancer Center. He’s happy with his job, content enough with his life, but it all gets turned on its head when he connects with a patient with a brain tumor—Alex Claremont-Diaz.

———

Henry is a nurse, Alex is a patient.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Cancer, Nurses & Nursing, Minor Character Death, Falling In Love, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, They will end up happy I pinky swear

i want your dreary mondays

“You little menace,” a voice says from the door, entirely too fond to be anything mean. “I told you to wait by the car, not go inside.” The man steps inside, shaking the rain from his hair, and Henry is treated to the sight of the most beautiful man he’s seen in his entire life, standing in the middle of his shop with clothes dripping to the floor and raincoat bundled up around him. He notices then the umbrella clutched in the little boy’s hand, the innocent wide eyes watching his father, and the picture forms in his head.

Or, five times Henry makes a piece of art for Alex's son on his drinks, and one time he does it for Alex himself.

It's Nice to Have a Friend

Two boys meet on a beach, build a sand castle, write letters, and fall in love.

Tags: Alternative Universe - Childhood friends, Friends to lovers, Slow Burn, Growing up together

Leave A Message

"This is Alex Claremont-Diaz's phone. If it's a business matter, I don't know how you got ahold of this number, but if you have my number that means you probably have Zahra's. Call her instead. If you're friends or family, just text me. If you're anyone else, I'll call you back as soon as I can."

Or: Alex's voicemail message over the years, and the messages people leave for him.

I must tell you what you will not ask

Henry's lower lip wobbles, and a fresh tear rolls down his cheek. Alex watches it track down to his chin, and wonders if Henry would mind him wiping it away. “I really was looking forward to seeing them.”

Another tear escapes, and this time Alex can't help but lean forward and brush it away with his thumb. Henry's breath catches, and he looks at Alex, wearing an expression he can't quite parse. “Come home with me,” Alex blurts out.

Henry's plans for Christmas fall through, so Alex invites him home for the holidays. They're best friends, strictly platonic roommates, so why does everyone think they're dating?

drive-thru mornings

“Would you like to pay cash or by card, sir?”

Alex startles, but recovers quickly and smiles charmingly at the girl in the window. Maggie, her tag reads. “By card, darlin’,” he says. “Actually, could I pay for the man behind me, as well? I have no idea what he ordered, but he’s strikingly handsome, isn’t he?”

Tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in love

you turned a moment (into forever)

Sharing an apartment with Alex had seemed like a good idea at first. They’re best friends, prices in Brooklyn are absurd, and they had both been in urgent need of residence – it only made sense.

Except for the small, tiny, teeny, barely there fact that Henry has been in love with Alex from the first moment he laid eyes on him. And the fact that Alex doesn’t know, and can never find out.

—

Or, as coffeecatsme so eloquently put it: Roommates AU where Alex has insomnia and slips into Henry’s bed every night because it’s the only way he gets a good night’s sleep.

You Can Hear It In The Silence

At the Lake House, Henry doesn’t run when Alex tells him he loves him. But he can’t say it back; too afraid of the consequences it would have, no matter how true it is. But as the truth settles in, Henry decides Alex is worth fighting for. So he does.

A Long Way From the Playground

Henry and Alex were best friends growing up until they went to separate colleges and they grew apart. When they see each other again as adults, against the odds, both living in the same city again, will it be a joyful reunion or will the pain of the years apart get in the way? How do you become friends again when there is so much of the past in the way?

Oblivion

The man starts to cock the hammer of gun, and Alex squeezes his eyes shut, his lower lip trembling almost imperceptibly.

“Stop!” Henry shouts, his voice cracking. “I’ll give you whatever you want, I’ll do anything…just please, don’t hurt him.”

Alex’s eyes fly open, shooting Henry the same incredulous look that he gave him in the hallway, and Henry knows he’s shown too much of his hand, revealed a part of himself that he’d sworn he would take to his grave, but he’s too full of fear and desperation to feel self-conscious about it now. He can deal with the consequences when they get out of this.

If they get out of this.

******

What if the moment in the hospital wasn’t a false alarm and the publicity surrounding the forced bromance between Alex and Henry had the adverse effect of them being kidnapped together?

Confidential Memorandum

"Hello, Mr. Fox-Mountchristen's office. How may I help you?"

"Hello, can I speak to Mr. Fox-Mount-krishen, please?"

Alex blinked. After two weeks of hearing nothing but the voices of snooty men and frazzled secretaries calling in, the person on the other line now sounded decidedly neither snooty nor male nor in any way adult.

It was a little girl.

"Mr. Fox-Mountchristen's unfortunately in a meeting right now,” Alex began slowly, “but I could take a message?"

"Oh." The girl paused. "You're not Mr. Hunter."

Alex starts a new job as Henry's new assistant. Henry's daughter keeps calling the office and leaving him messages.

we thought we ruled the world

Alex stares down at his latest text from Henry. A link to an article he’s seen about ten versions of so far. He’s managed to resist clicking on any of them, but now Henry is sending it, so he supposes he should at least give it a skim.

How Prince Henry’s Relationship With FSOTUS Lost Ellen Claremont The Election

............

Or, what would have happened if Ellen lost.

Run, Don't Walk

Henry loves sex. He loved sex even before he was with Alex, although there's something to be said for the level of precision and intimacy acquired through years of learning each other's bodies. He's liked being filled from the first time he ever experienced the feeling, and he doesn't think he'll ever love anything quite as much as he loves getting fucked.

But this? This is giving him pause for thought.

Tags: Porn without plot, Marathon sex, Henry loves sex, and Alex, and sex with Alex

london bridge has fallen down

Alex can feel the eyes of the room on him as Shaan approaches his side. Then, Shaan quietly murmurs in his ear. They’re words he’s thought about before, distantly wondering about what might happen when they were finally uttered. How their lives might change. There’s nothing that can prepare him for the reality of it though, nothing that can prepare him for how his breath hitches when Shaan speaks.

‘London Bridge is down, Sir.’ 

---

Queen Mary is dead. Henry doesn't know how to feel.

Screw Your Courage to the Sticking Place (and forget macbeth is a fucking tragedy)

"You don't owe me anything."

"Of course I do. If you have time now...there are things I'd like to say."

Alex hesitates.

"I know I don't have any right to ask you to listen," Henry adds. He sounds so hopeful though.

A little closure doesn't sound like a terrible thing. Agreeing to go with Henry, alone, to Kensington Palace sounds like returning to the scene of a crime.

It's been over a decade since their breakup - Alex is now a single dad forging his career as a lawyer, and Henry's finally getting the courage to stand up to his grandmother. In finding themselves, can they also find their way back to each other?

[bishopsbeloved]

something holy

lucy gray baird x female reader

Lucy Gray Baird has had you under her spell the entire time you’ve known her. She’s a creature not of this world, something gorgeous, something holy.

3k words, fluff, mild angst

Lucy Gray Baird is the sweetest girl you know.

You’ve known her for a while, now, but you’ve known of her for even longer. You’ve only ever lived in District Twelve, a Seam girl born and bred, but you remember more vividly than anything that colourful day the Covey were rounded up and forced to settle in your home. Even then, you felt a draw to them. Sure, everyone was intrigued by them, even more so once they stepped into the spotlight and made a name for themselves. You knew you weren’t special, you were one of many in a crowd of admirers, but that didn’t stop you from wanting to know them. You wanted to know the dark-haired girl your age, who you’d occasionally glimpse through a crowd or across a plaza. This hunger, barely sated by scraps of fleeting encounters across the span of years, would only grow with age.

Twelve is the district furthest from the Capitol, and it’s the most neglected, to be blunt — it still has the lowest Peacekeeper to population ratio in the entirety of Panem. A blessing in disguise, you consider it, but it often renders the Seam a relatively lawless place. When the Covey arrived, the best part of a decade ago, it was even worse. The Covey kids were never forced to attend Capitol-mandated schooling in the way that the rest of the Seam kids were because they weren’t really Twelve. They didn’t really didn’t bother anyone, for the most part, and so long as that remained the case there were more important rules to be enforced elsewhere.

For the first few years of their inhabiting a crumbling little red-brick cottage at the edge of the Seam, overlooking the woods, the Covey were like daylight ghosts around town. They wove flowers into each other’s braids every morning, wore long billowy clothes even in the coldest winter snow and communicated more through melody, or strange noises, than they did words. (For a good few years of your childhood, you’d stumble down to their ends of town once a week to offer clumsy good-wish bundles of flowers and herbs, and even ribbons when you could get your hands on them. You’d be met with wide smiles or hummed tunes or, towards the end of this practice, even a beamed thank you, sweetness from Lucy Gray herself, but nothing more, and so eventually you stopped.)

At night, though, they were ghosts no longer; they’d come alive, lighting up the whole Hob with foot-stomping tavern thrashers. As you grew older, more capable, and still more captivated by them, you found yourself more and more often in attendance. That’s how you ended up meeting her; a fight broke out in the pit one night. You were close to the stage as could be, how you were whenever you got the chance, and in a whirlwind of movement and noise you found yourself caught up in the conflict. A pitcher of ale ended up being emptied onto you and you yelped as the lukewarm amber seeped into your dress, whilst its former owner cursed the loss of his drink and angrily swung the empty pitcher at the head of the whoever knocked him into you. The music halted as chaos ensued, and you scrambled to escape.

“Alright, y’all, that’s enough,” said a forceful voice from the stage, a voice you’d recognise anywhere. “You want to fight, you can go outside t’do it, I hear there’s a hell of an audience in uniform out there too.”

Billy Taupe, by this point the size of a man with the broad shoulders to show for it, set down his accordion and leapt down from the stage, forcefully breaking up the conflict, with the lean Tam Amber quick to follow. You were practically swept up onto the stage, and in an effort to de-escalate Lucy Gray reached out her hands to lift you up and into safety. She was stronger than she looked, and you marvelled at the moment, surely gaping like a fool.

“Learn to behave, folks,” she playfully chastised the crowd as Billy Taupe and Tam Amber wrestled two men out the door. You stood stiff as a board beside her, still dripping head to toe. “I’m’na give you ten, and when I get back y’all better have sorted yourselves, alright?” She jabbed a finger playfully at no one in particular before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and guiding you backstage, Maude Ivory and Barb Azure hot on your heels.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” she asked you the moment you were out the crowd’s earshot, “we been watching that whole thing —”

“— they nasty out there tonight,” chimed in Maude Ivory.

“— sure we got an old dress o’ Lucy Gray’s milling around somewhere, get you outta that thing,” Barb Azure offered kindly.

“— come here, into the light, poor thing, are you hurt? Let me see it,” Lucy Gray fretted. Seeing your features properly for the first time under the flickering of the oil fixture on the wall, she paused. “I know you.”

“I been here before,” you offered, finally summoning the courage to speak.

“No,” Lucy Gray mused, “you… you done used to bring us flowers, didn’t you?”

You froze, flushing. “Guess I did. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“Aw hey now, I’d never forget a pretty thing like you,” she scolded you. Your cheeks burned with colour the same shade as her lips. “Why’d you ever stop? We used t’love your visits.”

“She ain’t kidding,” added Barb Azure, eyes twinkling, “Lu would doll up real early on Sundays and wait around for you.”

“Oh, shut it, you big grass,” Lucy Gray muttered, dark eyes never leaving your face. Your breath caught in your throat. “Look, we ain’t sending you back out there. How’s about we’ll find you somethin’ to change into and you’ll sit pretty with us, alright, sweet thing? What’s your name, baby?”

After that night, she kept finding reasons to be near you. Despite the draw you felt to the Covey you were scared stiff of bothering them. You’d rather die than cause them any trouble. But you and Lucy Gray, and then the whole Covey, fell into a close friendship so quickly you couldn’t help but wonder if that feeling was mutual. For a while they would tentatively invite you to picnics at the lake or bonfires in their back garden, but once they found out you could play the pan flute you were as good as one of them.

Lucy Gray began to consume your every waking thought. Lucy Gray, Lucy Gray, Lucy Gray. It’s been the same old for a good few years now. You spend every moment you can with her, whether that’s taming snakes or catching butterflies or whispering to each other late at night. She’s hardened like brandy and fiery inside, and you preen hopelessly under the light she casts on you. Lucy Gray Baird is what makes the world go round.

Yeah, she’s the sweetest girl you know. And, unbeknownst to you, she’s sweeter than ever on you.

The Covey are a superstitious people. There’s nothing they’ll heed more attentively than the whisper of fate. Lucy Gray doesn’t remember much from her childhood pre-Twelve, but she remembers when her momma would try to teach her how to see future in the way that the earth breathed. She knows to pay heed to the shape that the tea leaves at the bottom of her mug take, and where the first drop of rain falls. Everything, everything, including her heart, pushes her to you. She’s sure of it. It’s something bigger than her that connects the two of you, something cosmic, something holy. She’ll count bluebells on her walk to you — she loves me, she loves me not — and take note of the birds in the sky. She spells out love confessions to you in the chords of her guitar. She whispers poems into your morning tea before she brings it to you, careful hands cradling a mug full of love.

She knows it’s the string of fate that’s drawn her in to you. Why, why else would her family end up in Twelve?

Barb Azure teases her endlessly for the affections she harbours, and Lucy Gray will swat away her cousin with flaming cheeks and hiss half-baked threats but she’ll never deny it. There’s no denying it. There’s no denying the love she has for you, more certain than anything. She knows she loves you like she knows that the sun smiles in the sky. She’ll do anything to be around you.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Barb Azure asks her casually one warm summer’s evening. The two are side by side in the little stone kitchen of the Covey cottage, occasionally brushing elbows as they chop vegetables in unison. It’s a comforting touch, domestic, homely. Golden-pink sun streams in through the mottled windows, and Lucy Gray basks in it like a snake. The back door is pinned open so that the children, and the strange shaggy dog Clerk Carmine’s brought home, and Maude Ivory’s goat can all trot in and out as they please. In the distance, she can see you all playing, wrestling, giggling freely, hear CC’s shrieking melodious laughter. Lucy Gray’s so at peace in this moment that she forgets she’s been asked a question.

Barb Azure’s bare foot nudges her shin gently. “Lu. What’ll you do? ‘Bout her?”

She shrugs. “Same thing I’ve always done. Keep on loving her, and take what I can get.” She seems perfectly at peace with it, and Barb Azure sighs.

“You’ll get a whole lot more if you tell her how you feel,” she chastises.

“Why, and ruin a perfectly good thing?” Lucy Gray retorts, elusive, half-mirthful, a twinkle in her eye but a weight to her words. “No, I don’t think I will, Barb Azure.”

“Aw, hold your tongue now,” Barb Azure grumbles, “cause it’ll be this old dog who’s wipin’ your tears when the belle finds someone else.” She nudges Lucy Gray good-naturedly before moving over to the stove, but Lucy Gray stays frozen, blood running cold. She hasn’t even thought of that, but it’s true, you could find someone else. Who, she wonders? What kind of person would you go for? You’ve been one of the Covey for years, you eat here and sleep here and make music with them and the rest of it, and you don’t really talk to anyone else. Would you go for one of the boys? Tam Amber, or Billy Taupe? The thought of anyone else all up on you like that makes her shiver. She can live with never being able to have you, she’s done it this far, but she’s not sure she’d handle it if someone else could.

The thought weighs heavy on her mind, and she’s quiet for the rest of the night.

It’s only a handful of days after that you’re out gathering berries with some of the others. Lucy Gray comes with for a while, but she’s not really there, she’s not herself, and after finding a few wild apricots she feebly murmurs about going home to pit them. You watch with concern but she’s gone before you can say otherwise, walking off with her head lowered, and you decide to respect her wish to be alone.

You try to ignore the loss of her at your side as you laugh and joke with the others. You never feel content when you’re not with her, though — she’s the only one who can soothe your temples and still your thoughts.

“You okay, Y/N? You been starin’ at that bush for the better part o’ four minutes,” grins Tam Amber.

“Nay, she’s just mopin’. Gets all moony when she’s away from her Lu,” CC butts in, before tossing a blackberry into the air and catching it in his mouth.

“My Lu?” you ask, caught off guard.

“Well, yeah. So much pinin’ you could build your own forest.”

“I ain’t— I don’t pine for no one,” you tell him shakily.

He just shrugs. “Coulda fooled me. You been lookin at Lucy Gray like she hung the stars in the sky since day one.”

You frown, mulling his words over. Is that true? You love Lucy Gray, more than anything, but it’s never really occurred to you that your love for her could be like that. Sure, she’s the prettiest girl you’ve ever met, you’d do anything for her. She’s so kind, so gentle and sweet, but she’s so quick and so fiery. She has a fierce wit to her that’ll send you rolling and reeling in equal measures. She’s always, always on your mind. Sure, your mind goes straight to her when you hear a love song, but— oh no.

“I think you broke her,” Billy Taupe observes.

“I’m, uhm,” you feel your palms grow clammy as you’re overwhelmed with the need for a moment to yourself, “I’ll head back home, and— and start sorting through this,” you look down at your half-filled basket and begin to hurry away. No one stops you, but you feel eyes on you long after you’ve rounded the corner.

You’re a mess. Your hands are shaking, your eyes blurry, your mind spinning as you grapple with this newfound information. You’re in love with Lucy Gray. It’s so obvious that the kids have clocked it before you. God, you’re so stupid. Of course friends don’t love each other like this. You don’t feel this way about Barb Azure or Tam Amber. This could ruin everything, if you ever let it escape you. No, you determine resolutely, you are not going to ruin the only family you’ve ever had. Having Lucy Gray in your life at all is something so impossibly holy that you refuse point blank to risk ever losing it. You will not lose the Covey. You’ll take this to the grave.

Your feet have carried you home before you know it, and you stumble into the kitchen, panting. There are tears streaming down your face, you realise, and you shakily wipe them away only for more to appear.

“Y/N?” says a soft voice at the door, one you love more than anything, and you look up to see the girl you’re agonising about. Annoyingly, you want nothing more than to crawl into her arms. “Hey, baby, you okay?”

“M’fine,” you murmur, hastily brushing away more tears, but she’s stepping towards you with outstretched arms, and then you’re in them and you’re safe.

“Shhh, sh sh sh,” she soothes you, guiding you into the room you share with her, running her fingers through your hair. “What is it, sweet girl, what’s bothering you?”

“It really is stupid,” you tell her thickly. “CC said something, I guess it freaked me out, ‘n got to me a bit.”

Lucy Gray lets out a surprised little laugh and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. “And why’re you givin’ a shit about what he’s got to say, huh? Clerk Carmine’s a twelve year old boy. Can’t get more insensitive than that.”

You nod tearfully, gratefully accepting the comfort of her pressing her forehead to yours and toying with your fingers.

“What’s he said to get you all wound up, baby?” she asks you. You hesitate, reddening, and look away.

“Really was stupid,” you mumble.

“You can tell me,” she promises, eyes dark and soft. You bite your lip.

“Just… that I treat you different to the others, I guess,” you admit, words flowing like butter. She could get anything out of you. Lucy Gray stiffens a little in surprise. “Or like, I love you different.”

“Yeah? How’d you mean?” Her words are soft, gentle, and you feel no less soothed than before. Cautiously, you continue.

“He… said I’m pinin’ for you,” you confess, mere minutes after swearing to yourself those words would never reach her ears.

“And are you?”

You stop up short at the bluntness of her question. Her gaze is unreadable, and you inwardly curse her poker face. “I— uhm, what?”

“Are you pinin’ for me?” Lucy Gray repeats.

“I…” You lamely gape like a fish. “I mean, I guess, I don’t know.”

“If I kissed you, d’you think that’d be something you could enjoy?” she asks you. Her tone’s shifted into something different now, and you can’t quite identify it but it has liquid heat pooling in your stomach. Your breath is caught in your throat, you’re scared to make a sound and break this moment, and so you nod wordlessly.

Her hands meet at the nape of your neck and toy with the hairs there as she slowly brings her lips to yours.

Lucy Gray Baird is soft when she kisses you, gentle. She kind of cradles you, her touch delicate, the way she is with her snakes or that fawn she nursed once — as though you might startle at any moment. You don’t know whether to close your eyes and savor the moment or keep them open and commit her to memory forever. You’re utterly beside yourself.

The kiss doesn’t last too long, she keeps it short and sweet, pecking your lips one final time before resting her forehead against yours contentedly.

“You okay, baby?” she asks after a moment, feeling you shaking against her. She leans back to get a better read on you and her brow furrows at your distress. “Sweet girl, I— did I overstep? Oh god, I’m so sorry, I —”

“No,” you manage to choke out. “No, it’s good, I just— this is a lot— I think I’ve loved you forever.”

Lucy Gray melts at that, pulling you in close and letting you rest your head against her chest, soothing her fingers through your hair. “Shhh, sh, it’s okay. Let it out, baby. You know, I always felt like there’s a reason the Covey was brought to Twelve,” she tells you. “I’m so sure it’s always fate, you know? And my momma was too. I always wondered what it was, I’d feel whispers of things at the edges of towns, I spent so long lookin’ for signs I’d never find. And then you brought one to me, you brought me flowers and ribbons and handfuls of love… and then I wasn’t looking for signs anymore. I was seein’ em everywhere I went, and you was bringin’ em to me every Sunday. And it was the holiest thing I ever felt.”

“You’re everything,” you manage, breathless. “I’m not— I’m no bard like you, Lu— you’re everything.”

“I love you,” she tells you, the intensity of her dark gaze setting you alight, “I love you sure as there’s stars in the sky.”

You lie in Lucy Gray’s arms long into the night, and she holds you, whispering to you how much she loves you. When morning comes, you know the stars will still be there, even if they can’t be found. And you know that when she rolls out of bed later than usual on Sunday, her day of rest, and you bring her flowers and ribbons held together with love, she’ll beam brighter than anything and you’ll have a sky full of stars in your arms.

[seasonsbloom]

ocean in a seashell . ( rooster )

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; bradley has lived with his father’s ghost for long enough to know he’ll never make the same mistakes he did. and then he meets you.

wc ; 10.5k i'm sorry

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; bradley bradshaw's sad, sad life; angst, literally SO much angst; mentions of canon past character death; near-death experience; alcohol abuse; explicit language; explicit sexual content (breeding kink, cumplay, p in v, dirty talk, fingering, idk?)

note: ... yeah i don't fucking know either goodbye. stole the title from "sidelines" by phoebe bridgers aka god.

sol. sunderlust... none of this would be possible without you, thank you forever.

Bradley doesn’t remember much about his father.

These days, he recalls him only in fractions: Hawaiian shirts, mustache, hair that stood up spikey like grass covered in the first tentative November frost. He had big hands, Bradley remembers that, and he used to swing him up on his shoulders and let him ride around living rooms in Army commissioned houses they never stayed in longer than a few months. He always smelled of engine oil, and he played pianos like he didn’t even know the meaning of the word embarrassment.

Bradley based his whole life on the fading glimpses of that man he carries locked in the chambers of his heart. The older he gets, the more gaps he finds.

Suddenly he’s taller than Goose ever was, older, ranked higher. He wants to say, wait, hold on, go back. Wants to rewind to a time when he felt closer to his father, when he could remember what his voice sounded like, what it felt like when he tucked him into bed. When he thought if he just sat by the front door long enough, his father would inevitably walk through it again, hoist him into the air, and press tickling kisses to his cheeks.

Sometimes, Bradley wishes he could go back to when he thought bad things happened only in movies. When he had a father and a mother and an uncle and the bone-deep, unconscious conviction that things would always stay this way.

He can’t remember the day Goose died. Can’t remember Mav coming to the house, can’t remember the dog tags pressed into his mother’s hands. Strange how the most significant day of his little life remains in his memory as just another day - morning cartoons and PB&J sandwiches and his mom reading him a bedtime story. Part of Bradley thinks it’s unfair, his whole world crashing down and him not even remembering it. Like he’s arriving late for a movie and can’t make sense of the plot.

Not once did he see his mother cry over his father. He’s sure she must have shed tears, remembers now the empty tissue boxes and the eyes rimmed in red, understands now what he was too young to see then. But Carol carried her grief like a secret. She locked it behind the mahogany of her bedroom door, she hid it behind the veneer of her smile.

Bradley is nineteen, standing at his mother’s open grave, when he decides he’s never going to do to someone what Goose did to her. What he did to him.

For a while, he wants nothing to do with the memory of that man. Wraps himself in his mother, toys with the idea of taking her maiden name. Goes to college and gets drunk, gets high, gets himself into trouble. Thinks sometimes, in his very darkest moments, that maybe the best thing he could do for the world is to stop existing.

One night lands him at the police station. And it’s not like he got arrested or anything, they just take him in to sober up and tell him to call somebody to come get him. Mav is in town, thank God, and he comes in wearing his old aviator jacket and a wistful expression. Bradley’s call probably pulled him out of some bar or some girl or both.

Mav doesn’t say much, just drives him back to his college dorm and pulls over to the curb, doesn’t even turn off the car. They sit there in silence, with the blinker going and the engine purring.

Finally, Mav says, “Sometimes, you remind me so much of your father, it scares me.”

Bradley doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Sits there for a little longer and watches as frat bros and law students and cheerleaders cross the street on their way to hook-ups, to parties, to midnight fast food runs. Envies them just for a moment. Then, without saying goodbye, gets out of the car, goes to his room, and buries himself beneath the weight of his blankets.

So it’s like Bradley always suspected. It really is a futile thing, trying to escape the memory of his father. His ghost lives inside Bradley’s chest. Rattles against his bones.

And he loves him, even if he doesn’t remember him. Thinks that love is some intrinsic, primordial thing. Something that was there before he was born and will be there after he dies. Something he can’t fight. Unstoppable like the tide.

So he embraces it instead. Tries growing a mustache he’ll only be able to pull off much later in life, gets those old Hawaiian shirts out of storage. Decides to give into the underlying current of longing he’s felt every time he tipped his head back and looked at the sky.

Accepting that he loves his father is much easier than he thought it would be. Much easier than hating him.

It’s good for a while because it feels like he has a purpose, a goal. For so long, Bradley has been drifting at sea, unmoored, unbound, with no sense of direction. Now he’s swimming toward something, broad strokes, every move deliberate.

Then Mav pulls his papers.

The worst part of it all, worse than the betrayal, worse than the anger, is the confusion. He thought Mav would understand. Mav of all people. 

(It’s his mother, setting a casserole on the table, smiling at Bradley and saying Pete over here, he’s the craziest pilot the Navy’s ever seen. It’s his sixth Christmas, the second one without his dad, and Mav gives him a model of a plane they’ll build together. It’s Mav staring at him with eyes gleaming with moisture the time he stole the Navy hat from his uncle’s head. It’s Mav in every memory of his life, laced so tightly to him he thought they were inseparable, woven together. Now the seams are coming apart.)

Mav, who keeps flying, who seems only to be a real, complete person for those few, short, fleeting moments just after he steps off a plane. Who’s never happy unless he’s going break-neck speed miles and miles above the ground, jumping off death’s shovel, laughing, flipping the bird, and saying look, I can fly!

If Maverick doesn’t understand why Bradley wants to fly, why he needs to fly, then who ever could?

Mav wants to explain it, calls him, shows up at his apartment. Bradley declines the calls, turns off all the lights, and sits on his couch in perfect silence, pretending he isn’t in.

He doesn’t want to hear explanations, doesn’t want to listen to excuses. He wants to fly.

Back when his mother was alive, she wouldn’t even let him get on an airplane. His whole childhood, they only left their state once to go to a funeral of some distant aunt or cousin or uncle, Bradley can’t remember, and his mother drove the whole ten hours there and back. It didn’t even register as anything weird to him - it was all juice boxes and gas station ice cream and goldies on the radio. It was his mom’s laughter and her smile and her fingers carding strands of hair warmed by the sun out of his eyes.

So Bradley remembers his mother every time he gets into a car. But his dad? Him, he can only get above the clouds.

He doesn’t give up. He finishes college, works odd jobs for some money, drifts further and further from the orbit he used to inhabit. And then he applies to the academy again, and then he goes to Top Gun, and he graduates top of his class and wonders what it would feel like if there were somebody to be proud of him. If somebody were congratulating him, taking him out for a celebratory dinner, or just somebody to hug him. What it would feel like if he weren’t so alone.

It’s what he dreams about sometimes, in the very darkest pockets of the night. A house with a swing set and a big, smiling, dumb dog and a pretty wife and a whole gaggle of children running through the garden. Bradley would teach them how to throw a football, and he’d carry them to bed at night, and his wife would smile at him, and there would always be food in the fridge and brownies on the table, and every room would be filled with love, and there would be no ghosts to haunt him.

It’s a dangerous fantasy. It’s a trap door, a slippery slope, it’s a snare, it’s a cliff’s edge. If he stays in it too long, he’ll be lost.

His mother always used to say he was a functional dreamer. He had his head stuck in the clouds, sure, but he knew exactly when to pull it out of there too. Maybe that’s why he’s such a good pilot.

So Bradley still is a functional dreamer. He knows that this is something he can never have, can never allow himself to have. He knows the pain of it too well, too intimately, still feels it every time he catches sight of his reflection in a mirror, the golden streaks of sun in his hair, the mustache, the split second of pure, blank horror, of oh god I look like him, I look so much like him, and feels it slice right through him like a knife through butter. He’s been carrying his father’s ghost for so long, sometimes it feels like his spine will crack under the weight.

Maybe people that live life like he does, like Mav does, like his father did - up in the sky, heads in the clouds - aren’t meant to have anything on the ground. Inevitably, they always end up leaving it.

He decided the day of his mother’s funeral, before the long procession of I’m sorrys and If you need anythings, before he let real estate agents into a house overflowing with cards and flowers - flowers in every room, flowers blooming and wilting and dying like a garden watered by his grief, like a garden watered by his ghosts - that he would never have a family. Not a wife to mourn him, not a child to miss him.

So there’ll be nobody to carry the burden of him.

And then he meets you.

It’s not momentous - it’s easy. Natural. Quicker than he thought possible. It’s stolen glances across a room and a smile that brands him like a mark, that cuts right through to the bone. A smile that settles in his heart. A smile that’ll never leave again.

In the beginning, he tries to fight it. Tells himself not to engage, not to get involved, to stay out of the mess he knows he’ll make here inevitably. To shield him, but to shield you too, to protect you from whatever hurt he’s going to inflict sooner or later.

But then it goes like this:

“Are you never going to ask me out, Bradshaw?” you ask him, smiling as you pluck his Ray Bans from him, as you place them on your own nose, and blink at him from over the rims.

The sun is casting you in gold. Bradley wants to catch the moment in a mason jar and put it on his bedside table. Let the glow illuminate his nights.

“I don’t think….” He trails off, wonders why it’s so easy for him to talk to you, why he can’t stop spilling truths like leaking water taps. “I don’t think I’ll be good for you.”

You don’t miss a beat. One eyebrow raising, you say, “And don’t you think that should be my decision?”

That’s when he knows that for him, you will always be it. That it’ll never be this way again with someone else. It’s not even a question. It’s just the truth.

When he’s with you, for the first time since he sat shotgun in a car with his mother, head nodding along to Elvis on the radio, Bradley feels like he belongs somewhere. Like he’s reached a shore, maybe. Like he can breathe.

For the first time, it feels like he knows peace, even with his feet on the ground.

His mother would have loved you.

You have a long conversation about it. About how he knows you want it - the diapers and the first days of school and the family Christmases. The pitter-patter of children’s feet, the cribs, the tiny fingers curling around your thumb. He knows you’ve dreamed of it all your life. And Bradley also knows, as much as it hurts, as much as it aches, that he can never give it to you.

He needs to be honest. He needs to put all the cards on the table so you know your options, see the truth about him. So you can walk away before you get any deeper into this.

Part of him is sure you will. Thinks it might be better, the safest option for both of you. Hopes you will, fears you will.

It doesn’t matter that he loves you. It doesn’t matter that he only feels at peace when he’s with you. It doesn’t matter that for the first time since he was four years old, the ghosts have gone quiet.

What matters is that he wants you to be happy. What matters is that if that happiness lies somewhere else, with someone else, with someone who’ll give you everything you dream of, give you a life, give you a child… Bradley will let you go. It’ll be the hardest thing he’s ever done, but he will.

Only you don’t leave.

You think about it for a very, very long time. Sit at his kitchen table with your hands folded on the tablecloth like you’re praying, with your head turned down, without looking at him, and then finally you say, “Alright. Fine with me.”

And Bradley’s protesting, pushing, saying, “Honey, you want this, I know you do, you want a family, you….”

“I want you more,” you say, and that’s that.

There’s no lie to it. It’s the truth, naked and beautiful and awful.

And Bradley - selfish as he is - accepts it. Because he doesn’t want to lose you. Because as much as he tries to convince himself of the opposite, deep down, he knows he’s not a good man. Just like his father wasn’t. They’re both just men willing to leave the people they love behind. Brave enough to fight for the “greater good”, but never brave enough to stay.

Regardless of it all, it’s the happiest Bradley has been in years. With you, he doesn’t feel like something is missing from him. He actually feels whole.

Your job as a freelancer allows you to travel with him, and he’s unspeakably grateful for it. He tries to show you, tries to be good about bringing flowers and cooking dinner, thinks if he can make you even a fraction as happy as you make him, he’ll have succeeded. When he gets deployed, he spends days memorizing your face, the shape of your throat where your pulse point jumps, the pattern of your heartbeat, the feeling of you beneath his arm.

And sometimes, when you’re asleep, Bradley puts his hand on your stomach and imagines a bump there, imagines a baby growing beneath it, and that’s when the ache gets so strong he thinks he can’t breathe.

That’s when he hates himself for not being something else: a doctor, an accountant, a real estate agent. Anything other than what he is. Could he have it then, this thing you both want so much? Could he let himself have it?

But eventually, when the fantasies fade, he always circles back to the truth: Bradley isn’t a doctor or an accountant or a real estate agent. He’s a pilot. Always has been, always will be.

He’s just too much like his father. That’s the whole point.

When he gets called back to Top Gun, three years after he met you, something shifts. He doesn’t know to explain it, but from the very first moment he sets foot on North Island again, something about it tastes like the beginning of an end. At night, he can’t settle, roams through the little house you rent off base like a sleepwalker. Checks in on you like he’s afraid you’re going to disappear. Can’t concentrate up in the air, can’t shut his brain off.

It’s like his father’s ghost travels with him in his suitcases, tucked between his neatly folded shirts, climbs out when no one’s looking. No matter where he goes, that ghost goes too. He can’t shake him.

You love California. You like the sunshine and the ocean. Like the Hard Deck and Penny and Phoenix. Turn your face into the warmth like a sunflower, and then you bloom, go brighter and brighter as Bradley goes the opposite direction. As something in him dims.

“Is it because of Mav?” you ask him softly, in the quiet of your bedroom. You’re carding hair from his forehead, fingers gentle, voice gentler.

Bradley can’t look at you. Shame coils low in his stomach.

“Yes,” he says, even if it feels like a lie in his mouth.

You sigh, no annoyance, only affection. Your head is heavy on his shoulder as you press the shape of a yawn into his skin.

“I know he hurt you, Bradley,” you whisper. “It’s okay to be hurt. But I think you need to talk to him.”

He nods into the darkness. You’re right. You’re always right.

“I know,” he agrees, even though he knows he won’t.

When you’re asleep, Bradley slips out of bed. Pats into the living room and sits on the floor, back leaning against the couch. Pulls his knees up to his chest, closes his eyes, and then he dreams.

He dreams he’s four riding on his father’s shoulders through the living room. He dreams he’s ten, in a car with his mother, turning up the radio. He dreams he’s twenty, and he lets Mav explain. He dreams he’s thirty-five, and he marries you. He dreams he’s thirty-six and holding his baby. He dreams it’s a little girl with your smile and his eyes, and he loves her more than he thought he was capable of, so much it almost breaks him apart, so much it puts him back together. So much it’s worth it all.

Bradley’s earliest memory is of the giant, bone-white seashell on his grandmother’s mantlepiece. He remembers how heavy it was, remembers how cold it felt against the side of his face when he pressed it to his ear. He remembers hearing the distant, muffled hum of the waves, the song of the sea, remembers imagining what it might look like. 

It’s no comparison to the real thing, years and years and years later, he knows this, but it’s something. It’s better than nothing.

It’s all he can allow himself—an ocean in a seashell.

The mission is a disaster, even if it is successful. Later, Bradley won’t remember what he was thinking up in the air, when he hit the target, when Mav went down, when he decided to go after him. He won’t even be able to tell if that is because he’s in shock or because he really wasn’t thinking anything. Maybe for the first time in his life.

If he had been thinking, Bradley likes to believe he would have kept his plane on course. Would have flown back to the carrier and then back to you, home, home, home. Wouldn’t have gone back for a man he still hasn’t spoken to, not properly, someone he loved once and now barely knows.

But all the ghosts of the people he’s loved and lost crowd up on him in that cockpit - his father and his mother and even Admiral Kazansky and their sad, sad eyes. There’s no room for Mav to be up there, too, he thinks.

So at first, you don’t cross his mind at all. He just follows his instincts like he’s never done before, could never bring himself to do. So much of Bradley’s life has been about dissecting just those urges, dismantling them, disabling them. Making himself into a creature of logic and second-guessing. Now, for the first time, he gives in to the currents and lets himself be rushed away.

And then his plane goes down, and he drifts into the white white white of snow he hasn’t felt in so long - and still, he doesn’t think. But every instinct from the moment of impact on, the moment his feet hit the ground, every instinct centers on you.

Home, he thinks. I need to get home to her.

Up in that F-14, that’s when he realizes. The brink of death is a bleak place. It’s a place of memories, a place of despair. It’s a place of hope.

All he can think of is you. How he’s leaving you with nothing. How he’s going to die here, miles above the ocean, and what will happen then? Who’s going to bring you his dog tags, the way Mav had brought his father’s to Carole all those years ago? Phoenix? Hangman? How are they even going to retrieve them if he goes down in enemy territory? Will anybody even remember the girl in that house, the one he didn’t even marry? And why didn’t he anyway? Why didn’t he put a ring on your finger, buy you a house, get you a dog, give you a baby?

What will remain of him now, in this world after he’s gone?

Nothing, he thinks, and his lungs fill with water, high up in the sky. You made damn sure of that, Bradley.

There will be nobody to haunt. He will disappear, and he will take his mother with him, will take his father with him, will take Mav with him. Nobody to remember him. Nobody to mourn him except you, all alone, carrying the terrible burden of his ghost.

It used to be a relief. Nobody to mourn me after I’m gone. Now it feels like a punishment.

Home, he thinks, remembering the content of your smile and your eyes gleaming in the darkness and your face turning, always turning, toward the sun. Like a child, as he closes his eyes, as he tries to accept the inevitable, he thinks, I want to go home. I just want to go home.

And then that’s what he does—he and Mav. Incredibly, inexplicably, illogically, they go home.

From far away, as he walks up the driveway, the little house with the gardenias you planted blooming pink and red in front of the windows looks like an oasis at first. Then it seems to grow longer, taller, goes from beckoning to daunting. He almost doesn’t make it inside. Almost doesn’t dare to get out his keys, unlock the front door, push through and toe off his shoes. Feels like he’s doing something forbidden, like he’s an unwanted guest in his own home.

You’re in the kitchen, elbows deep in sudsy dishwater, and when he walks through the doorway, when you hear the pat of his socked feet against the tiled floors, you look up at him with an open face full of love, full of relief. It almost bowls him over.

“Bradley,” you whisper, voice soft, and then you’re crossing the room, bubbles and foam and water dripping from your wrists across the tile, and he blinks at the trail you leave for a moment. Then you’re there, arms wrapping around his neck, face pressing against his shoulder, saying his name again and again, like a benediction, like a prayer of thanks.

Automatically, he pulls you against him with both arms crossed over your hips. Inhales deep, lets the familiar scent of you envelop him. Listens to your breath echoing against the dip of his collarbone, to the steady rhythm of your heart.

Your hands leave wet prints against the fabric of his shirt, like something primeval pressed to cave walls, like something that’s been happening for centuries, something that is happening right now, something that will happen again tomorrow and next year and the year after that, and distantly, dumbly, Bradley thinks, Oh. I’m alive. I’m here.

He feels packed in cotton. He feels submerged. He feels not-real, not-present, not-normal. He feels like he’s going to fall apart, and no one will notice.

When you draw back, it takes you only a split second to realize something’s wrong. You frown, the furrow Bradley likes to smooth out with his thumb appearing between your eyebrows, eyes swimming with a concern he doesn’t deserve.

“What happened?”

It’s classified, all of it. There’s so much of his life Bradley isn’t allowed to share with you, even if he wants to. There’s so much he doesn’t want to share but knows he should.

From far away, he hears himself say, “My plane went down.”

He can feel the panic in your body, feels it go through you like a spasm. You try to draw back, but he holds you where you are, afraid he’s going to shatter all across the kitchen floor the moment you’re gone.

It’s not fair, he thinks, how he keeps looking to you to hold him together. It’s just that at the end of the day, you’ve always been so much stronger than him.

“Bradley…” you begin to say, but he can’t hear it. He doesn’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want to hear how scared you are every time he leaves, he doesn’t want to hear how it made you feel to know that he almost died because he already knows. He knows.

“I want…” he says into your hair, a fragment of a sentence, a statement that trails off halfway, that goes nowhere. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say.

In some ways, he feels stuck in that F-14. Like time kept moving, but he didn’t, remained static and crystallized like somebody dipped the moment in amber and preserved it on a bookshelf. Nothing makes sense to him. Rationally, he knows he’s standing here in his kitchen with you in his arms, knows he isn’t dead, knows he survived, but it doesn’t feel like it. 

So Bradley tries to remember grounding exercises, focuses on little things, mundane things, things that shouldn’t exist on the verge of death. The bubbles popping in the sink. The specks of dust dancing through the room. The curve of your spine beneath the worn fabric of his Navy shirt.

Suddenly, the thought of you alone in this house is unbearable. Waiting for a man that never comes back. History repeating itself in the worst of ways.

“I want to have a baby,” he says, out of nowhere, out of some madness that took hold of him up in the air, or maybe when he touched the ground, or maybe at some other point he can’t name, can’t even think.

And it’s not a conscious thought. It’s not a decision he makes. It’s just something that spills from him, something that has been there unnoticed all along, words taking shape on his tongue before he can overthink their meaning, but then they’re out, and they drop between you like an anvil, and it’s like a relief, it’s like a breath he’s been holding for years, it’s like a sigh, something inside of him finally unlatching, finally escaping the shackles he put on it himself.

Oh, he thinks. He’s known this about himself, always, but it’s the first time he says it out loud. It’s always been a want, an ache, a yearning, but now it goes from all that to a need, a thrumming inside of him, something that cannot be ignored. Something that demands to be felt instead of thought.

In his arms, you stiffen.

With your palms on his chest, you push him away from you, take a step back, take the warmth and the scent and the anchor with you. Bradley is surprised he doesn’t float right up to the ceiling.

The openness of your face has shuttered now. You look at him with something unreadable crossing your features, something unfamiliar, and say, “What did you just say?”

Bradley swallows around a lump in his throat. “I want to have a baby,” he repeats, his voice smaller now, quieter, but the words more assured.

Because he does. Because it’s true. Because he’s always wanted this and doesn’t know how to explain to you that now he needs it. How now it’s the only thing that makes sense in a world that’s gone off the rails.

Your face falls, something crumbles, and it hits him like a punch to the gut. 

“No,” you say, turning away from him. You step right into the trail of water you left earlier, it soaks into your socks, and then you’re leaving footprints too. Everywhere you go, you leave your mark like a brand. Not one part of Bradley has been left untouched.

Confusion zaps through him, but it’s a muted feeling. Muffled by all the chaos.

“I thought you….” It’s a great effort to form words, like pulling teeth. “You want children. Don’t you want this?”

“Not like…” You pause, rake your fingers through your hair, exasperation crackling from you like sparks from a burned-out socket, and Bradley can’t make sense of it.

You want this, he knows you do. So what’s the problem now? What did he do wrong?

“I don’t….”

“Don’t go there.”

There’s a finality to your voice, and he sees you drawing back from him, sees your shoulders come up, your face turning away, something wilting.

The idea of losing you, of pushing you away now that he’s finally decided to let you in, really let you in, the panic of it finally slices through the haze. Lifts the fog.

Bradley crosses the room and says, “It’s your decision too, honey, of course, it is, but I love you, and I want this, and….”

You whirl on him, and it punches the air out of his lungs. There’s real anger on your face now, your eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and Bradley’s heart clenches in answer.

“You don’t get to do this,” you say, voice heaving with the barely contained emotion, a ship on a stormy sea, “not after I compromised, not after I spent so long trying to get used to the idea of not having a baby, not after giving that up for you, Bradley. You don’t… don’t get to just come in here and change your mind just because it suits you, because you had some near-death experience and you’re full of adrenaline and… and….”

Bradley frowns, moves to touch you, but you flinch away from him, one arm going up to hug your own ribcage. As if you have to shield yourself from him.

Suddenly, he feels a sob building in his throat. To realize how much he’s hurt you, not just today by springing this on you, but by how selfish he was, again and again. By letting his past stand in the way of your future.

“It’s not that I changed my mind,” he begins, trying to string together something that will make you see the truth of it, make you understand what he means.

You interrupt, “You said you didn’t want kids.”

Bradley pauses. Did he say that? If he did… 

“And it…” You gasp for breath, the tears now streaming freely down your face, and god, it hurts, it hurts worse than thinking he lost Mav, hurts worse than thinking he’d die in that F-14 because all of that he’d been prepared for, had been practicing for his whole life. Losing Maverick, losing himself, all of that had been inevitable. But losing you… Bradley always assumed he was going to be the one to go first. 

“It’s fine,” you go on. “I was fine with it, Bradley, I gave that dream up because… because I wanted you more, and I was okay with it. It was my decision, and I don’t regret it, but for you to just… to just….”

“I do want children,” he says because he doesn’t know what to do except explain it, except make you see the truth of it all. “I’ve always… I’ve always wanted children, honey. I just… after what happened to my dad, after what that did to me, what it did to my mother, I didn’t… I didn’t want to do that to you. I couldn’t do that to you.”

For a moment, you say nothing, eyebrows furrowed, lower lip caught between your teeth.

“You…” You look like you’re trying very hard to understand it. “Are you saying you decided not to have children with me because you thought it would hurt me too much if you died?”

When you say it like that, out loud, logically, through your tears, it sounds so incredibly stupid.

Bradley opens and closes his mouth, once, twice. Finally, he nods.

He expects you to start crying harder, to hit him (all valid reactions, really), but instead, you do the one thing he doesn’t expect: You laugh. It’s a watery sound, barely amused, but it is a laugh.

You bury your face in your hands, then reemerge after a moment, eyes rimmed in red, and say, “God, Bradley, you’re so stupid.”

“I…” He doesn’t know what to say to that. Probably, you’re right. “What?”

“You just…” You exhale a long, shuddering breath. “You keep trying to make decisions without me.”

“... I do?”

“Yeah!” Your voice rises a little, then settles, and you say, “This is my decision as much as it’s yours. If I say I want it, if I say I know the risk and I know the danger, then you don’t get to tell me no. Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think I don’t understand what goes on when you get deployed? Do you think I don’t know that you’re risking your life all the time?”

“No, I… I know you know that.”

You shrug, and it’s a gesture of such helplessness that Bradley’s knees almost buckle.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. I don’t know if… if one day there’s going to be a mission you don’t come back from. I don’t know that, Bradley. I can’t know that. But until then… can’t you just let us be happy?”

Bradley’s shaking. Head to toe, tremors that run through him like the tides. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.

“I…” And he knows he’s the one who brought it up, but suddenly all the doubts come crashing down. Suddenly the ghosts crowd around him. “What if I die? What if I leave you? What if we have a baby and I’m not… there?”

“Oh, Bradley…” Something on your face melts. You step closer, put a hand on his cheek, fingertips still pruned from the water, and say, so gently it breaks something open inside of him, “Bradley. You’re not your father.”

And Bradley can’t help it - he cries. It’s an ugly sort of crying, the sort that leaves you with a headache and snot dripping down your face and eyes that hurt. The one you feel in the morning. But it’s a relief too. A release. Rain after years and years of drought.

For so long, Bradley was trying to let go of a world that didn’t want him to leave. He’s been preparing for an early exit since he entered, has been so caught up in dreaming he forgot to live. So caught up in thinking he forgot to do. He thought he would be content to go out of this world and leave nothing behind, to disappear without a trace, without a word, without a ghost.

But now he sees it clearly. Now he understands.

Bradley doesn’t want to stop existing. He wants to cling to this world like someone clinging to the edge of a cliff, like a leech, like a cancer. He wants to haunt someone.

Only there’s something else, too. 

A week before his mother died, when she had gone all quiet, when she had lost the vibrancy she used to carry around like a glow, when she had slept longer and spoke less and Bradley had known, somewhere deep inside of him, that things were ending, that they were truly ending, he’d gathered all his courage and asked a question he’d been rehearsing for weeks, months, years.

“Do you regret it?”

Do you regret loving my father now, knowing all that would come after? Knowing the landslide it really was?

And Carol had just smiled, something of that old light returning for a moment, a tenderness so big it felt like violence, and she’d said, “I could never regret him. Not even the heartbreak or the grief or the pain. After all, he gave me you, didn’t he?”

Maybe, he thinks, it’s time to let the past be in the past. Maybe it’s time to let himself have a future.

Maybe it’s time to let go of the ghost.

And you just hold him as he cries like he hasn’t since he locked himself in a bathroom stall after his mother’s funeral, cries until it feels like he’s going to throw up, cries until the gnashing teeth of grief of pain of hurt of anger finally leave him be.

After half an eternity, you pull away, warm hands cupping his face, tugging him gently away from the crook of your neck, so he has to look at you, can’t look anywhere but at you, and then you say, “Bradley, what happened to your father was a horrible, terrible accident. But he loved you. You know that, don’t you?”

He nods. His father, the hazy shape of him, the ghost he’s carried for so long - frosted tips and Hawaiian shirts and the smell of motor oil. Large hands and a mustache and rides around living rooms. So much of him is shadowed, fractioned, incomplete, but not this. This he knows. When he thinks of his father, there’s nothing now but the hazy, easy warmth of love. 

“Do you really think,” you say softly, “that they made a mistake when they had you? Your parents? Do you really think they shouldn’t have done it?”

Bradley has thought about his life in boxes. Big cardboard ones, the kind you get when you move apartments. He tucks the good parts away beneath his bed, stows them, hoards them like a secret. Like his mother kept her grief. But all the bad parts - the pain and the sadness and the sorrow - those he lets pile up everywhere, in hallways, in living rooms, on kitchen tables. He stumbles over them on his way to the bathroom. He stubs his toe halfway to the closet.

He never looks at those good parts, afraid they’ll become tainted somehow if he thinks about them for too long, afraid they’ll lose their appeal or their strength. But there’s so much good there too.

Goose loved him, he knows this without a doubt. Carole loved him. Mav loves him, Phoenix loves him, you love him… At the end of it all, even despite all the terrible things that have happened to him, even with the ghosts that have haunted him for so long, Bradley has been loved, and he has lived, and he has been happy.

Shouldn’t that be worth something, too?

“No,” he says, voice soft, “no, I’m glad they had me.”

His life has been a long, long road. Difficult to walk sometimes, full of potholes, some as big as canyons. But there’s so much happiness there, too - car rides with his mother, Mav telling him stories about his father, the moment when the wheels lift off the tarmac at take-off. This long, terrible, winding road that led him here. That led him to you.

You brush your fingertips across his cheekbone, and Bradley capsizes.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. It’s the truest thing he’s ever known. “I want… I want to have a life with you.”

“You do,” you answer. “You have one.”

Bradley’s tears have dried so the sound he makes isn’t really a sob, but it’s damn close to one. 

“Do you…” He clears his throat. “You love me, too?”

It’s a dumb question, unnecessary because he already knows the answer. But he needs to hear you say it anyway.

And when you smile, your whole face lights up. It echoes somewhere inside Bradley, somewhere at his core, goes through him like a current.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you say, and there’s only a little bit of amusement in your voice, “you’re the love of my life.”

His heart jumps like a jackknife in his chest.

Before he recognizes that he’s made the conscious decision to do so, he’s bridged the space between you and has pulled you into a searing, soaring, slow kiss. He fumbles it a little, teeth knocking against yours, but you just laugh into it, going up on your tiptoes, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling yourself closer to him like you want to meld yourself to his bones. Bradley feels like somebody’s poured liquid sunlight into his chest.

Somewhere it goes heated, goes desperate, goes near frantic, all the adrenaline, all the fear, everything pouring from him in a shower of want. Somehow he’s got you pressed up against the counter, tongue tangled with yours, fingers in your hair, fingers on your back, fingers pulling up the edge of the shirt you’ve stolen from him to find the warm, soft skin beneath.

Breathless, heart stuttering, Bradley pulls away, looks at your lips swollen from the tug of his teeth, your eyes with the heavy lids, the hair mussed by his fingers, and he needs to hear it. Needs to know you want this as much as he does. The ache in him twists like a knife between the ribs.

“Tell me,” he whispers, afraid the moment will shatter if he makes a wrong move, speaks too loudly. It’s so fragile - he wants to protect it so fiercely. Presses the tips of his fingers into the place where your pulse hammers away. “Tell me you want to have a baby with me.”

“I want…” And you sigh, a sound like a spring day, a sound like a rushing mountain stream. “I want it.”

He surges forward, lips against yours again, and you’re so alive beneath him, heart racing, breath heaving, fingers grappling along his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, and Bradley wants to devour you. Wants to sink his teeth into all this life and never let it go again. He wants to exist, right here, in this moment with you forever.

“I love you,” he mumbles into your neck, lets his mouth move over the column of your throat, down to the sharp points of your collarbones beneath the soft skin. Sinks to his knees on the kitchen tiles like he’s kneeling at an altar to pray.

“Bradley,” you whisper, fingers going to tangle in his hair, to smooth along the sides of his face, and the softness in your voice cracks something in him. He swears he could cry again.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing as he nuzzles his nose against the sloping curve of your upper thigh, as his fingers tighten on your hips. He just wants to be close to you. And you’re so soft, so warm, you smell like home, and it tears through him, blazes everything in its wake, to realize just how close he came to losing it all.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he whispers, babbles, barely coherent, pressing his face against the fabric of your panties, inhaling your scent, opening his mouth to push his tongue where he knows your clit is. “Gonna make you so happy, baby, I promise, it’s all I want. I’m never letting you go again, I’m never….”

Above him, you whimper, hips knocking forward, arching into the movement of his tongue for a moment, and he wonders if you’re wet, thinks about the hot, tight vice of your cunt, and groans against you. His cock jumps.

Then you’re tugging him away from you by the hair, and Bradley goes reluctantly, mouth still open, wishing he could stay where he was forever. Drowning in you. 

You’re looking down at him with eyes blown wide.

“Bradley,” you say, and there’s something unsteady to your voice. “Take me to bed.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s a tumble all the way to your bedroom - he kicks off his shoes on the way, you lose your shirt, and he’s somehow, miraculously, gotten down to his boxers by the time he drags you backward with him onto the mattress.

“I love you,” he says as he drags you on top of him, your legs opening around his hips like the petals of a flower. The mattress dips where your knees press against the springs, your weight grounds him. “I love you, you’re so perfect, you’re….”

He has no idea what he’s saying. His brain checked out a while ago, and it’s all just feelings now, just emotions coursing through him, and every once in a while, one will plunge its head through the surface, and then he’ll tell you something nonsensical, something dumb, something important, something he needs you to know, something…

You lean down to kiss him, to shut him up, his brain buzzes, your breasts press to his bare chest, and he’s so hard in his boxers it hurts.

“I love you, too,” you whisper against his lips, smile into the kiss. The curve of it burns against Bradley’s face.

He sits up, grasps you by the thighs to drag you closer, drag your core across his cock, and you both moan against each other. Your fingernails scrape over the back of his neck, where his hair is buzzed so short he knows it feels like prickles, and he shudders, sighs, lets his tongue run across your teeth.

For a while, you just stay like that, rutting against each other like fucking teenagers, tongues lazy, fingers eager, mouths hungry. Even through your panties, he can feel your wetness, wonders if it’s going to leave stains on his underwear, across his thighs. Bradley thinks he’s going to die, but this time it’s nothing like it was up in the F-14.

It’s difficult in your position, awkward, but he gets a finger first on your clit, and then, when he finds you wet and swollen and open, he slides it right inside you. Watches your face as you squeeze your eyes shut, as your mouth falls open on a muffled gasp, as your head tips backward.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He fucks his finger in and out slowly, adds a second to stretch you, and then he’s saying, “Baby, honey, you’re so tight, you’re so fucking wet, god I….”

You whimper, and then you’re pulling off him, shimmying out of your panties, leaning down to tug his boxers off.

“Gotta have…” Your throat moves when you swallow as you clamber back into his lap. “Want you inside me, please, Bradley. I’m ready.”

He groans, something in his stomach yanking tight, and he’s pretty sure he’s leaking precum steadily by now.

There’s no time to tease, no need for it either, not when you’re both aching for it, not after what you’ve just gone through. The hot slide of him inside you, feeling you all around him, Bradley thinks that might be the only thing that could make him realize he’s actually back here, that it isn’t all just a dream, that he didn’t actually go down in that plane and has been stuck in some kind of cruel limbo for the past few days.

But there’s the other thing too. The need he can’t explain. The selfish, horrible, depraved thing he can share with nobody but you. That nobody but you would ever understand.

Slowly, tentatively, he places his palm on your stomach, fingers splaying wide, and leaves it there. He’s too scared to look at you, too scared of what you’ll think of him, too scared of what you’ll do once you find out how deep his desire runs, how desperately he wants this. Will you hate him? Will you be disgusted? Will you draw back, pull away, leave him alone with all his depravity and all his fears and all his sorrow? 

“I need… I want…” He can’t even finish the sentence, brain too foggy. Too scared to meet your eyes, Bradley just blinks at the sight in front of him, his big hand on your skin, and his heart seizes, his insides clench, and he can’t breathe, can’t, he’s going to…

Slowly, your fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yes,” you breathe above him.

It’s a visceral thing. The words burn through him, wrap around him, curl into him. He surges forward to kiss you, desperate, a choked sound escaping him, and licks into your mouth. Around his wrist, your fingers tighten.

He pushes you back into the sheets, crawls over you and spreads your legs, slides between them where he belongs. When his gaze falls to your face, there’s so much trust there, so much love, and it cleaves him in two, just how much he loves you, just how much he needs you. He doesn’t have the words to express it, can only hope you understand what he means when he plunges into you without preamble, when he whispers your name against the shell of your ear, when he curves around you like he wants to shield you from everything bad in the world.

You moan, fingers coming up to grasp his arm where he’s balancing his weight on the elbows. Your mouth tips open, your eyes not straying from his for a second as he goes slow, as he goes deep, as he goes home. There’s an answer in that too.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice choked as he bottoms out, as he holds himself perfectly still. “So tight and beautiful, and you’re all mine, and I’m yours and….”

“Bradley,” you stop him. Wrap your legs around his hips and pull him in. “It’s okay. You can move now.”

So he does.

It’s frantic from the first moment. It’s all the tension that’s been building up for years and years inside of him, all his love and all his longing finally laid open, and he can’t hold back anymore, not when he feels like he’s going to burst out of his own skin at any moment now.

The wet squeeze of your walls around his cock has his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he curses, hips pushing forward at an unsteady pace, as he leans down to kiss you again, as you open your mouth for him easily, as he nips at your lower lip.

And it’s so dumb - he’s inside of you, curled around you, his tongue tangled with your own, but Bradley wants you closer, still. Needs to know that you’re there with him, that he’s here with you, that he came home and he is letting himself have this, you’re letting him have it, and he loves you, he loves you, he…

Bradley takes his weight off his elbows, gets his arms around you, plasters himself to you, chest to chest, hip to hip, mouth finding the side of your neck, your collarbones. Like this, with his arms around your shoulders, it feels almost like he’s pulling you down to him with every thrust, like he slides just half an inch deeper into you.

You try to muffle a moan into his hair, but Bradley pulls your face away, keeps his pace as he says, “Wanna hear you. Let me hear you, baby, tell me how much you like it. You love it, don’t you? Love my cock, yeah? Love it when I fuck you?”

Maybe it’s pathetic, but Bradley needs to hear it. Needs to know you’re as desperate for him as he is for you. Needs to know you want it just as much.

On a thrust in, your walls flutter around him, and you whine, back arching a little, head sliding across the pillow as you nod.

“Yes,” you gasp, “I love it, Bradley, I love your cock. Thought about it while you were gone all the time, every night, I….”

Bradley groans, shudders, suddenly so close to the brink he needs to squeeze his eyes shut against the image of you - the glossy eyes, the swollen lips, the absolute ruin he’s reduced you to.

“Can’t say shit like that, baby,” he whispers, leaning to press tender kisses to the column of your throat. “Not when you’re this fucking wet, not when you’re making these sounds… you’re gonna make me cum.”

You giggle, then moan, head lolling to the side to give him better access. 

“Good,” you say, legs hiking higher up on his hips, his cock sliding deeper, “that’s the plan, isn’t it?”

If there were any air left in his lungs, Bradley would laugh with you. As it stands, he just ups the ante, going a little harder, watching as your eyelashes flutter, feeling your fingers spasm against the skin of his back.

It’s so hot in the room, both of you sticking to each other with sweat, and maybe that, too, should be disgusting, but Bradley doesn’t care. When he leans down to lick a long, wet stripe along the edge of your jaw, he tastes salt on his tongue.

“I’m gonna….” When he glances down at you, at the eyes wide with that much trust, as he realizes you would let him do just about anything to you, that you’ve both opened yourself to each other completely now, no barriers and no ghosts standing between you, it’s like a dam breaking. He moans, so loud it echoes through the room, leans to plunge his tongue into your mouth, desperate, and then he’s saying into it, “God, I’m gonna fuck you so full, honey, gonna fuck you until it takes, yeah? Gonna keep you right here and fill you up, again and again, gonna make sure to get a baby in you, fuck, you’d be so fucking pretty, honey, so pretty all full of me, I know it, I can….”

And you sob. Full-on. Back arching off the bed, legs sliding off his hips, spreading so wide it must hurt.

“Bradley,” you say, fingernails breaking skin, forehead pressing against his throat to hide your face. “Bradley, fuck, I… the pill….”

He’s shaking his head, cutting you off with his mouth on yours. Conveying what he can’t speak, what he’s too far gone to formulate, here where logic has become a distant, remote concept, here between your legs. Don’t say it. Let me live in this fantasy. Let me dream a little longer.

It’s the thought of it all - a bump beneath your dresses, a baby in your arms, tiny fingers wrapping around his thumb, it’s about the long, long stretch of life ahead of the two of you. It’s about a house filled with love and free of ghosts. It’s about the first glimpse of the ocean after listening to its roar in seashells all his life. It’s about giving himself over to you completely, after years of only dreaming of it.

Do you know? he wonders. Do you know that you’re holding his whole life in your hands?

“I love you,” he mumbles, repeats it as he sinks into you again and again, as he buries himself in you, as he holds onto you like he’ll be back in the cold, cold, cold of all that snow the moment he lets go, like he’ll go back to the cockpit with the ghosts like jailors around him, like he’ll float right off the face off the earth. You have always been his anchor. “I’m gonna give you a baby, honey, I promise, gonna cum inside of you, you want that, right? You want me to come right here in this pretty pussy, fill you up all nice and wet, and….”

Your mouth moves against his clavicle, the feel of it spreading like wildfire through him, and you’re saying, “Yes, yes, Bradley, give it to me, please, I wanna feel it, want you to come inside me, please, please, I need it, I….”

A yell punches from him as he thrusts inside one last time, buries himself to the hilt in your warmth, and then he’s panting, his ears are ringing, his veins are buzzing as he cums, as he paints you with his release. He can’t do anything except hold onto you, bury his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, jerking his hips forward erratically, little sounds escaping him. It’s never felt like this before - like dying and coming back alive. The release of it is so big he feels shattered under its weight. 

And you’re saying something to him, whispering words sticky with honey into his ear, pouring them right into his heart, and he can barely hear you over the hammering of his own heart, but it doesn’t matter. You hold him as he trembles, as he shakes, as he tries to collect himself, to control his breathing, hold him and stroke lazy, soft circles up and down his back, trace patterns against his spine, leave soft kisses on any inch of skin you can reach, trapped beneath his weight as you are.

Finally, after an eternity, Bradley pulls away an inch or two, careful not to let his cock slip out. There’s a little embarrassment spreading through his stomach now because he can’t believe he came that fast, can’t believe he didn’t even make sure to take you over the edge with him.

But you barely seem to think about your own lack of an orgasm.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice gentle, face full of concern.

Bradley’s heart clenches. Maybe, he thinks, his ribcage is going to crack open. It seems impossible for one person to hold so much love inside.

“Are…” He clears his throat, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”

You nod immediately, smile, and the relief floods him. Then you shift, gasp, muscles fluttering around his softening cock.

“Well… I…”

He doesn’t let you finish, shakes his head, says, “You did so good for me, baby. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

He’s already looking at the place where you’re still connected, where his cum is beginning to drip from you in silvery trails. The sight of it is enough to make something like madness descend again, something like that earlier haze, the frenzy of the heat.

Bradley pulls out, sighs at the feeling, and your mouth opens as if in protest, but before you can form any words, he’s replaced his cock with two fingers.

You whimper, eyes closing, a muscle in your stomach jumping.

“I got you,” he says, keeps his eyes on the mess of your swollen cunt, the wet spot soaking into the mattress just beneath, the evidence of his pleasure, smooths his free hand over your chest to settle you. “Relax, honey. I got you.”

Your answer is a moan of his name, fingers twisting into the sheets. He can feel your walls bearing down on the motion of his fingers and knows you’re close, desperately, frantically, torturously close to the brink.

So he speeds up the movement of his digits, swipes his thumb through the sopping wetness, and then across your clit as he fucks his cum back into you. Not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Bradley,” you sob, mouth opening, fingers grappling for something.

Knowing what you need, knowing without you asking for it, he catches your hand with his own and interlaces your fingers. Then he leans down, leans over you, leans in. Finds the seam of your mouth with his own. It’s less of a kiss than both of you panting against each other, finding the same rhythm.

“You can let go now,” he whispers into you. “I’m here. I’ve got you, honey. My perfect girl.”

You come with his name on your lips, cunt clenching around his fingers, arching off the bed and into him, and it’s like a prayer. It’s like a song. 

It takes you a while to come down, and he coaxes you through it, brushes kisses against your lips and your jaw and your ear. Hopes he can ground you the same way you ground him.

Finally, softly, voice faint and fragile, you say, “That was… intense.”

Bradley hums in agreement, and then a laugh rips from him. Because it’s all so ridiculous and so monumental, and he doesn’t know where to go with all these emotions.

“I… yeah. It really was.” He pauses, feels shame curling through him. “I’m sorry I sprung that on you.”

You shake your head, lift one hand to run a finger across his mustache the way you like to do sometimes. 

“It’s okay,” you say, and he knows you mean it. “You must have carried that for a long time.”

It chokes him up, the way you know him so well. Better than anybody else.

“Yeah,” he agrees, drops his head into the crook of your neck. “It… I want you to know that I really want this. It’s not… it’s not adrenaline, and it’s not just almost dying, it’s… It’s you. I want this with you. Only with you.”

He can feel the curve of your smile against his temple, can hear it in your voice.

“I want it with you too, Bradley. Only with you.”

Bradley’s so afraid he’s going to start crying again that he springs into action instead. Reaches around you for a pillow to push beneath your hips, angle your lower body upwards.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing a little.

“I’m trying to keep my cum in you. Maybe we’re like super extra lucky, and it works out on the first try.”

Now you’re laughing in earnest, and he gets the impression it might be at his expanse.

“Still on the pill, Bradley,” you remind him, eyes luminous with your happiness.

Feeling a little sheepish, a little embarrassed, a little elated, he shrugs helplessly.

“Can’t hurt,” he says. Then adds, “Besides… I don’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

Then you’re laughing together, breathless, loud laughter, the bending-at-the-waist kind. The belly-hurting kind. The kind that doesn’t come often.

And it’s good. It’s beautiful. It’s the kind of peace he’s never known before but has wanted always, always, always.

It’s so much better than anything he could have ever dreamed. Because it’s real. Because it’s true.

All his life, Bradley thinks, he’s been listening to oceans in seashells. It’s good, fun even, for a while, but it’s no replacement for the real thing. It’s no comparison to standing at the shore of the Pacific Ocean, watching waves crest and crash and throw themselves against the beach again and again, like a devotion that never ends. How big and beautiful and terrible the truth of it is.

And he’d thought the whole world was in that seashell.

Once the laughter has died down, once you’ve fallen back into the kind of comfortable silence that can exist only between people that really, truly love each other, Bradley strokes his thumb against your cheekbone, watches your eyes flutter closed.

“I love you,” he says, “more than I thought I could love someone. Thanks for loving me back.”

It’s bumbling, and it’s inadequate, and it doesn’t convey half of what it should.

But you smile at him, eyes opening, face so tender his heart stutters, and you whisper, “It’s an honor, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

For the first time, Bradley doesn’t think about dying, doesn’t think about leaving. He thinks about living. He thinks about staying.

[facelesssbirds]

A Rainy Affair

Rated: Teen and up

Characters: Neuvillette, Fem!Reader

A/N: So sorry if this is formatted strangely or not well written, this is actually copied over from a YT pov playlist, and I'm quite new to writing ff as well as Tumblr :)

(divider art is not mine)

Rain poured down; wetting the cement and only adding fuel to the raging sea. You calmly sipped your drink, your chair creaking softly on the wooden porch. The pitch black sky and endless rain managed to both heighten your nerves and calm them, the soft pitter-patter of the rain mixing with the howls of the night creating a strange sensation of feelings you adored. The lights of the Court in the distance were the only thing visible in the smog covered air. 

You took another swig, wondering how you had gotten here, a man hanging around your shoulder, drawing kisses to your neck, as you watched it rain. You wrapped you arms around him, embracing him. *Him* always him.

You had never lived in the confines of the city, living in a small, hidden village. It was peaceful, quiet and disdained. You rarely got visitors, mostly painters from the Court; they viewed your village with a taste of disdain that you found ironic. Now, of course, you were the only one left in this village-- the others had gradually died or left, taken to the seas, or gone to the akademiya. Nobody but you had stayed, and for good reason. The flooding had already taken the underground, had drowned thousands of people, and 19 of your measly village of 35. It had scarred everyone. You, yes-- you were the sole keeper of this place, for you were the only one who could do it. No one else in your village could breathe underwater-- or liked to explore the glassy horrors of the dark oceans in the middle of the night, which had gotten you your curse. 

A Blessing? Perhaps at first. You had been diving farther than you had been told to, only twenty and so full of curiosity, eager to get out of your little nowhere town and experience the real world. The oil rig stitching far into the submerged hole as you followed it curious. It had been your own fault, he had been beautiful. You had been underwater for-- god you remember it so clearly-- you remember the sensations.

The lack of air as your helmet was knocked off and your oxygen tank broke, scattering bubbles in every which way, your eyes squeezing shut as salty water rushed into them stinging. It felt liberating. Terrifying. You remember trying to hold in your air, eyes finally opening to look through the water for light. You saw only a glimpse of harsh, unrelenting light and panicked, stumbling through the water for it, finally, as it came into view you noticed rock. You saw the metal of your helmet, the diving light attached to it glowing like a death sentence as something swam through your peripheral vision.

Something scaly-- and much longer than a normal fish tail snaked past you brushing your arm. You screamed the last of your oxygen rushed out of your lungs, replaced with water in the blink of an eye. 

Then you remember him. His piercing icy eyes as he looked at you-- a flash of pity swimming through them as he watches you drown. You remember the hysterical laugh that swam through your throat as he watched, you clawed at your throat, at the water, struggling to swim as black spots hit your vision, but your eyes? They remained fixed on him, his white hair splayed around him ethereally. He had blue streaks in his hair too, they didn't look real, smooth and soft to the touch. You remember his hand grabbing your arm, his nails sharpened like claws digging into your arm drawing blood you knew would attract sharks. 

You remember blacking out as he dragged you towards the light. Then you remember being waking up on the coast, half dead, blood coating your arms, legs, basically everywhere-- the pain in your neck which revealed a strange puncture wound. You remember not thinking as you dragged yourself home, your mothers horror when she spotted you, in the middle of the night, the torch in her hand dropping as she called your name. You remember her telling you search parties had been looking everywhere for days. Then, of course, nothing.

It was only half a year later that you realized what had happened to you. You had written of your mystery man as she weird dream you had had or a hallucination, and you hadn't been aloud near the water. At all. It was only when you woke up to a flooded house filled with drowned bodies and a tail you knew wasn't there before that you realized what had happened. 

You had slept through it, the flood that wiped your family and half the village out. You had slept through it. Not by enough. Your parents were still in their rooms; scratches on the door alerted you to how they had tried to get out, probably screamed your name for help. They were the first body's you saw, but not the last. By the time you had swum to the surface you had seen plenty of bodies, loved ones, friends, family, the nice butcher who always gave you extra meat for your old cat before Pixie died. 

When you made it to the surface, it was even worse, you had been scared to break the surface, you appearance surely monstrous, so you had done it in solitude, then walking to the site of your village above ground. Greeted with familiar faces you had cried. 

The burial was hard. You couldn't get the bodies from under the waters, not for a while. The people left were fractured, broken, scared of being near anyone else form the incident. It was a scant month before you were the only one left.  It was before that that you realized how you were addicted to the feeling of being in the water. The ocean. 

You would spend days-- then weeks, then months in the water, exploring. It was much longer before you saw yourself in the water-- how different you were. It was when you had met him again.

He was the same, unchanged, his beautiful white hair still splaying around him like a crown and those eyes drugging you like ecstasy. You however were different. Your legs changed out for a tail-- one that was a deep sleepy blue, and while you didn't know this at the time, your neck held a swirl of markings, like waves and clouds flowing freely to curl around your collarbone and snake fully down your back. Inky black waves you had no idea about. He looked at you-- this time surprised, and perhaps a tinge protectively. 

You felt uncomfortably well acquainted with a man who you didn't know, staring at him, curious. You had never tried to speak underwater, but your mouth opened anyways, ready to say something. He silenced you quickly, his tail, which unlike yours, which was almost adorned with splaying fins and decorations you had given it, was almost draconic like a serpents tail, beautiful nonetheless, wrapping around yours, coiling tightly. Had you not been in the water, mildly confused, you'd have yelped in surprised.

He led you silently, swaying through the waters deftly, taking you somewhere you had never been, a large structure filled with marble, submerged and grandiose, filled with mirrors showing you how different you looked, inks swirls you had never put there coiling persuasively around your neck where you had been bitten just a few months ago.

Curiously, you traced them in a trance, he watched you do so with careful, almost hesitant eyes. Finally, he spoke, watching as you stood transfixed in the mirrors. 

"I am sorry." Was all *he* said, before he fled, disappearing quicker than you could turn to question him. 

You had looked, briefly for him, to no avail. Defeated you had returned to the room, the one filled with mirrors, standing there for half a day, just looking. 

When you came back, you weren't quite the sam person who left, more questions and less answers, as usual. It had been what had solidified your decision to stay in your little abandoned village. You were a freak who turned into a siren any time you got into large bodies of water. You were someone who should've died. Twice. You needed to stay. To live like a ghost. 

Your life was one of water, exploration and the silence that came with being the only one thousands of meters under the surface. It was one you liked. Until, of course, you found him again.

You were the first to speak this time, hesitant and unsure of what to say, "Hello." was all you could manage practically cringing at how terrible it had come out, the tinge of fear in your voice less concealed than you had hoped. 

He had stared back at you for a moment, almost surprised at your voice-- mumbling something incoherent as your tail wrapped around his in an act you couldn't control. A blush spread on you cheeks as you looked away, embarrassed. 

"You... aren't scared of me." He spoke the sentence unlike a question, with a tone of confidence, but a hint of confusion, his hands stayed focused on what they had been doing before, fixing an otters fur in an almost affectionate gesture. 

"No." Was your first thought, before you quickly followed up with a question, "Why would I be?" 

He looked up, his movement pausing for a second, the otter quickly scurried out of his hands and into yours, instantly you mimicked his prior movements, focused on the man before you. 

"I bit you." Then he followed up with a more bitter tone, "I'm a monster with no ethics." 

You laughed, a full blown laugh that devolved into hysterical giggles, "A monster? You? No, no, you're far too pretty."

That had been the start of something, a something that had left you coming back to your little cabin with wobbly legs and hickeys were your tattoos had been. You gained the knowledge of the fact you could switch between your legs and tail in the water, and a thought that perhaps one night stands weren't so bad. 

Except it wasn't. 

He would seek you out for conversation, and you'd come home with hickeys on your neck. The village you often ran to for groceries thought you were married, much to your embarrassment, and he hated to let them heal. You did too. 

And that was three years.

It had been a surprise when someone who had used to live in your village had dropped by, an almost bittersweet reminded of simpler times. He had two tickets to a popular court case and was looking for someone to go with. You loathed to be away from to sea for that long, but supposed that the sea was in the Court too. So, hesitantly you agreed, packing your bags for a trip, and paying the ferry fee with a kind of giddiness you hadn't felt in a long time.

You-- in all your twenty four years-- had only been to the court of Fontaine twice technically thrice, once when you were born, a tradition in the family to be born there. And twice when you had accompanied your father with his business in oil selling when you were much younger. It was magnificent place, though you had never been in the courthouse, you were sure it was equally gaudy.

Entering the city had been nostalgia filled, almost peaceful as you bantered with your friend, and book a hotel, two rooms, and then split up. He had to go meet up with his boyfriend, who would also be accompanying them, and you left to wander the city. Enjoying the cafes and pastries and little clocks. The machinery which perplexed you, and the water -- oh the water was everywhere, beautiful and enchanting, cleaner than the countrysides which was already crystal clear and pure. You adored it. 

Finally, the trial drew close, you had bought a new dress while out, hoping to look semi-presentable, it was long and a deep blue, an uncanny match to your siren tail. You had also bought white gloves, and a nice carry on, filled with money and makeup. 

Your friend, Dominique and his girlfriend had already gone ahead, leaving you to wandering the gauche halls filled with rich people alone. you had felt terribly out of place, feeling slightly in line when you grabbed a glass of bulleit, heading towards the balcony overlooking the courtroom. 

She was greeted with polite nods from people who didn't recognize, people who looked important, most straight up ignored her already conversing in small talk, sipping various wines.

The balcony itself overlooked a currently empty courtroom; sans a few court clerks running about, preparing. You weren't exactly sure what this case was about but it had seemed intriguing enough of an offer, considering the high turnout.  Sipping your drink, you quietly made your way to a more secluded corner near where the Chief Justice's chair was, giving you a worse view, but a better ear. Easier to listen than to see. You spotted your friend and his girlfriend sitting down, along with most of the other guests, signaling the start.

People started filing into the courtroom below you, straight backs and almost as though they were preforming-- putting on charming smiles and waving towards the crowds. The Chief Justice wouldn't be there for a few more minutes, considering, but it was still entertaining. A butler came back, taking your now empty glass and trading it for a sort of bubbly champagne, just as a speaker announced the arrival of the Chief Justice... Monsieur Neuvillette. 

Curious, you craned your neck, trying to get a look at the most famous man in Fontaine. You had always been a busybody, curiousity was your vice, and perhaps your death. 

Still, the sight that met you made glass shatter on grandiose marble with a soft crash; you knew him really-- the resemblance was uncanny, his eyes still had that same quality of unbreakableness and pain that you had become so accustomed to seeing in your bed. You had been hooking up with the Chief Justice for three years. God if that wasn't so impossible you would've cried. Still, you couldn't deny it, his hair, his eyes, they were the same, but what really solidified your sureness was the way he walked, unbridled confidence in himself, back straight, broad shoulders out in a proud display.

A butler came over, collecting the pieces of glass around your feet, blood coated your legs from cuts. Luckily, you hadn't made a scene about it, and everyone was caught up in the appearance of Monsieur Neuvillette-- the man you had called mon cheri more than once. Stifling your emotions, you looked up, your dress was cut-- and you needed to clean up the blood off your legs, but you instead let yourself be captured in eyes you had fallen into for three years, a man you didn't know, a man you knew to well. 

His gaze swept over the audience in one perfunctory glance, finally coming to rest on you. He didn't react outwardly, simply hesitating on you for a moment as you rushed out of the room, a blood trail behind you. 

You ran, and ran and ran, ignoring confused glances as you rushed out of the court building heading straight for the water. It was hardly a minute before you made it, crashing into the water you ignored the way the people whom had followed you gasped, trying to get you back-- which you ignored. Swimming farther into the depths you lets yourself go, relishing in the silence as you take a deep breath fighting panic. 

Little did you know, a certain Chief Justice would be trailing behind only three hours later, one of the quickest trials he had ever held.

Its not an exaggeration to say Neuvillette had been naive to assume you wouldn't find out, his little affair, the person he was so desperately in love with. He didn't want you to know, didn't want to have to watch you immediately change how you behaved, how you looked at him. He had wanted to have you because you loved him, not because he was an important figure. 

Still, when he saw you in that dress... archons, it wouldn't be a lie to say he had almost gone after you right there and then, trials be damned. He upheld morals to the highest degree, his job to the highest degree, or he had. Then you had come along. At first he had saved you because he couldn't let you die, nothing more, nothing less. Then... you found him, again and again-- then he had started to prefer you to his paperwork, leaving work at a reasonable time, all just to go see you. 

And now, you were gone. 

The rain was unrelenting, coming down with such ferocity that most businesses had closed down, water flooding the streets in some sort of terrible, unexpected flood.

He had followed the blood as far as he could, it trailed off near the outer banks of the city, near the ocean. The one place you had always preferred-- the one place he too had come to love, for the ocean meant seeing you always you. He hadn't even bothered to see if anyone was watching him, jumping straight into the water without a care, immediately searching for you. He searched the coral reef first, then headed towards the submerged ruins, your favorite spot to meet.

It was there he found you, hunched over in you human form, curled into such a small ball he would've missed you had he not been searching. Neuvillette was hesitant to approach, swimming at a slow pace. As much as he wanted to go, hug you-- cry into your shoulder and apologize-- say sugary sweet words both of you knew meant nothing in the end, he refrained. 

Slowly, he approached, speaking in a low, ashamed voice, he said your name. 

You responded in kind, looking up with puffy, bloodshot eyes and a raw voice, "Neuvillette." 

He cringed back slightly, but composed himself, "I... am sorry, cherie, truly." 

You laughed, hysterically, like you always did, so full of life and pain and everything, like an open book. You had always been so open with your emotions, with him. 

"I can't..." You trailed off looking away, flushed cheeks not from embarrassment but tears, "I can't make you tell me things like that. I can't be mad." 

Neuvillette's chest constricted, though his face-- his facade of calmness-- remained steady, "No, I should've disclosed such pertinent information before entering a relationship with you." 

You laughed again, "There you go, acting like a judge again-- archons, I should've known."

He stayed silent as you continued rambling.

"I-- I can't be mad about it, really. I know its not something you had to tell me, we weren't--" you swallowed hard, "We weren't dating. We didn't mean anything to each other. I should've known better than to get attached to a man I didn't even know the name of."

With that you went to swim away, heart beating hard in your chest as you tried to hold back tears. 

"Wait."

His hand shot out to grip your arm, pulling you into his chest.

"Im sorry. My name is- Neuvillette. I should've told you." 

You looked at him, hair splayed out across your face and puffy swollen eyes. You looked like a mess. He loved it, he loved when you looked perfect, when you looked messy. He loved you for everything you were. He didn't love seeing you in pain though, his chest constricted in a painful human way as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. Inhaling deeply into the tattoo-- the (ahem) marking he had given you years prior, it remained on you, tainting you with himself, with his marks. He loved it, sinfully so.

"It's all my fault, for being a coward-- for being selfish. I should've known." He murmurs his arms coming to encircle you, pulling you close.

You yelped, surprised, "No-- I shouldn't have expected more from you."

Neuvillette's arms tightened around you, "No, no, ma cherie, I love you, I was the coward for being to scared to tell you."

You stilled, eyes wide as you turned to look at him a pretty flush painting your cheeks. A hand came up to twirl with his hair on instinct, as you surveyed him, shocked, before you shook your head disbelievingly. 

"No-- there's no way. I'm-- Im not good enough for you anyways."

He sighed, personally he thought he wasn't good enough for you not vice versa, but nonetheless, you deserved love, his love. Nobody else's. His hands came to curl tightly around your waist, this time rubbing circles near your hips. He leaned in to whisper in your ear, soft and sweet.

"My Darling, I love you" He repeated it over and over in soft, silky whispers, as you buried your head into his chest. 

Finally, after god knows how many days, you said it back, little above a whisper, but firm and knowing as you pressed kisses to his cheek, "I love you too."

[yandere-romanticaa]

Random brain rot but I suddenly imagined prison guard Aether and inmate Lumine.

Never in your life did you imagine yourself in the position you were currently in but that was the reality you were living in at this exact moment. Framed for a murder you did not commit you got sent to a prison and you immediately realized you how much you stood out there.

All of the inmates were terrifying but their crimes did vary - from petty theft, to assault, usage of drugs, murder and everything in between, it was clear that you were just a little lamb that was thrown into the pit of merciless wolves.

Your roommate did nothing to ease your worries either.

Lumine was one of the most terrifying people you had met in your whole entire life, even if she was never actually cruel or mean to you in any way, shape or form. Despite her small stature and soft voice it was obvious that she ran the entire prison like a well oiled machine. Most feared and respected her while others were dumb enough to challenge or make fun of her.

None succeeded in their quests.

Everyone would either receive the infamous glare™ from her or the cold shoulder and that was on a good day. But you? She was so soft and sweet to you that it felt more like a burden rather than a blessing. Everyone in the vicinity knew you as Big Bad Lumine's little plaything which made your already miserable existence even more unbearable.

As you lay in her lap she tells you stories from her childhood and how much she missed her twin brother. "You would really like him." she'd say, her eyes everted towards the small window that gave her a glimpse of the starry sky. "You're going to meet him soon enough anyway."

You were fast asleep, much to her delight.

The next few weeks after that became even more confusing than they already were. There was talk about a new guard that would regularly patrol the areas Lumine was in and just a few days after the rumors spread like wild fire you actually managed to meet the new guard.

He called himself Aether and he was as sweet as he was pretty, and he was very pretty. He gave you things, many things such as candy, books and little items that could dull the boredom that haunted your sad cell. He was extremely doting and thoughtful but even so, alarm bells rang in your head. Prison guards are hardly ever this nice, why on Earth was this guy giving you so much special treatment?

You felt like cracking your skull open once you figured out that Aether and Lumine were related. How did you not see it sooner?! Idiot, you'd shout to yourself inside your head as you stared at them in horror. It was so obvious, so stupidly obvious that you practically deserved a beating.

Your particular prison was known to mistreat its inmates and guards beating them up was a common occurrence but no one laid a single finger on you. Aether was covering for you, do it would seem. It was strange to see the pretty blond man with a vicious grin on his face as he smacked around several of the inmates on a regular basis, quickly earning a wretched reputation in record time... And then him turning to you, suddenly smiling and being the cute boy he wants you to see.

But what the twins what to see the most in the world is freedom. They want to be together, they want to be free.

But now, they wanted you in that fantasy of theirs as well.

And they were going to do everything to turn that fantasy into a reality.

[greenteabelle]

orv au based on one thousand and one nights where kim dokja is the sacrificial bride of his town to be wed to the kingdom's tyrannical king yoo joonghyuk .

kdj is used to being alone . ever since his mother left without a single word after she was accused of dabbling in the dark arts , he's left to bear the scrutinising gazes of the villagers . rumours circulate in whispers , though he hears them all the same , accusing him of inheriting his mother's curse because why else does he have that strange gloominess surrounding him ? he becomes an easy target for bullying , but he never goes down quietly . after all , he has fought better with words .

because if one thing is for certain , kdj is observant . he will listen to their self-righteous words and hear their venomous secrets , take in their luxurious robes and see what they try to hide , endure their beatings and find their weakest spots . no matter how badly he aches nor how suffocating his heart , he finds the right words and strikes where it hurts .

and once they throw the first punch , well , it's self defense is it not ?

and kdj is resigned to his fate . he doesn't expect to find kindness in others , for life as a mundane citizen in a kingdom constantly on the brink of war makes no room for generosity .

but he meets good people .

yoo sangah who sneaks him bread for breakfast every morning ;

han sooyoung who throws him stolen books from the scornful librarian ;

lee hyunsung who defends him when the fights get too rough ;

jung heewon who offers him a place to hide when running is the only option .

so kdj is content .

until one day , the village head wants to rise higher in the ranks of nobility , and secretly makes a deal with the party that opposes the supreme king . the laws of the kingdom mandate that the king's bride must be chosen by the council of nobles , so they scheme to find a bride who can remove the king once and for all .

so the village head thinks of kdj , rumoured to have inherited his mothers dark arts , and offers him up as a sacrificial bride .

before kdj can even try to escape , he's drugged and whisked away to the supreme king's castle .

when he wakes up to the glint of a blade aimed directly at his throat , kdj does the only thing that comes to mind in his desperation to see another day .

"let me tell you a story , before i go . "

momentarily stunned by kdj's bravado , yjh allows it with cruel amusement .

so kdj just talks .

he tells him the story of a gamer who is thrown into an apocalyptic world where death comes knocking at every moment . he rambles on and on , scrounging every nook and cranny of his brain to glean each detail to bring the story to life . as each hour passes , yjh slowly lowers his sword and sits back to hear the story .

and just as the first slivers of sunlight start to break over the horizon , kdj says this :

" and that is the end of the protagonist's first life . "

" ... first ? "

" yes, your majesty . "

" how many lives does he have after this one ? "

" one thousand more . "

the corner of yjh's lips quirk up slightly , though kdj doesn't dare to call it a smile . it's obvious that the man has seen through his plot , though he doesn't comment on it .

" to a thousand nights of our marriage , then . nothing more , nothing less . "

then night after night , kdj is brought to yjh's chambers to continue his story . their interactions begin to bleed into daylight , as yjh seems to gradually integrate kdj into his life . he gets to know lee jihye , commander of the royal guard , lee gilyoung and shin yoosung , caretakers of the beasts etc. and he grows attached to them .

for some unfathomable reason , yjh even allows kdj to contact his old friends .

as each day passes , kdj gets to know the elusive king a little more . their banter never gets tiresome , and it is always a delight for kdj to see a glimpse underneath that cold mask he hides behind . he starts to genuinely care for him .

perhaps a bit too much .

so when the deadline of their marriage arrives , kdj makes a decision .

" ... and that is the end of my story . "

" kim dokja , why won't you look at me ? "

" why are you doing this to me ? "

" doing what ? "

" doing such cruel things to me . i have no more stories to tell , meaning that my time , no matter how delayed , is now up . today is the date of my execution , yet you still look at me as if I were your most prized possession , when I no longer hold any value . "

" your stories do not equate to your value , kim dokja . "

" do you mean for me to believe that you will continue to keep me by your side even when I have no story left to tell ? "

" why would you believe anything else ? "

" my story is finished , what other story is there left for me to share ? "

" then , my beloved , perhaps we shall write our own story . together . "

[postazkabansiriussupremacy]

Gradual. Sirius Black x Reader

Post Azkaban!Sirius meets a new member of the order.

CW: NSFW. MDNI. Age gap if you squint

Masterlist

You’ve been living at Grimmauld Place for a few weeks now.

Tonks was an old friend from Hogwarts, so once she heard you were moving back to London she introduced you to Moody.

Everything progressed from there, and once you were deemed trustworthy you were accepted into the Order.

You hadn’t found a permanent place to stay yet, so Sirius kindly offered for you to stay with him.

You thought this was very sweet of him, but if truth be told—Sirius simply wanted to fuck you from the moment you stepped through the front door.

It’d been over a decade since Sirius had felt the touch of a woman, let alone a woman like you.

The two of you were introduced, and when you greeted him by pulling him in for a hug??

He practically melted in your arms.

All throughout the meeting, Sirius couldn’t help but to let his eyes linger on you for a little too long. It was hard to focus on the meeting when all he could think about was bending you over the table.

Then once the meeting was over and Tonks brought up the topic of your housing (or lack thereof), Sirius was quick to offer you one of the guest rooms.

Of course you can stay! Stay as long as you need; no trouble at all :)

So for weeks, you and Sirius spent a lot of time together: cooking, eating, chatting, cleaning, etc.

Sirius couldn’t believe his luck! A smart, witty, beautiful young woman has been all but dropped into his lap!

He worked slowly at first: leaving a few lingering glances and touches your way. His hand guiding you throughout the house—at first resting on your arm, then moving to the small of your back once he felt the timing was right.

Once he’s sure you’re fine (if not just a little shy and embarrassed) with all of his small ‘polite’ gestures, he gets bolder with his actions. He starts standing closer to you, twirling your hair between his fingers, giving you ‘playful’ kisses on your forehead, etc.

Of course you love the attention, but it feels wrong somehow. Even though he’s innocent, he’s one of the most wanted men in the wizarding world for Merlin’s sake!

It’s all very strange—the situation you’ve gotten yourself into.

And then tonight, you come back home to Grimmauld place later than usual.

Work was hell today; you didn’t even have time to eat.

The house is quiet, so you assume Sirius is already in bed. After a long shower, you exit the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen wearing only a long t-shirt and panties.

You gasp in surprise and mild embarrassment when Sirius greets you. He’s leaning against the counter with a glass of drink in hand.

“You’re home late.” He comments with a smirk, making no effort to hide his gaze.

“Uh—yeah. Sorry.” You respond quickly, unsure of whether you’re apologizing for being late or for your lack of attire.

But Sirius clearly doesn’t mind. Before you can turn around to go put some pants on, he pours you a drink and asks how your day went.

Not wanting to be rude, you accept the drink and give him the cliffs notes of your day.

Sirius happily listens to you ramble, just the way he always does. But tonight is more interesting.

Every time his eyes wander from your face, he’s greeted with the sight of your bare legs and hard nipples poking through your shirt.

He’s never been more grateful for the cold atmosphere of his childhood home.

About an hour and a few more drinks go by while the two of you stand in the kitchen prattling on about this and that.

You aren’t feeling drunk, but you’re definitely feeling something. You’re not longer instinctively crossing your arms to cover your chest or pulling your t-shirt down to cover more of your thighs.

Getting tired of standing and looking up at the much taller man, you hop up to sit on the countertop.

Whilst pulling yourself up, your t-shirt rides up and gives Sirius a glimpse of your lace panties.

And something inside of him snaps. The little back-and-forth between the two of you had been very cute while it lasted, but a man can only take so much.

Before you can finish whatever you were previously chatting about, Sirius stands in front of you. His hands finding their way to your thighs and giving them a firm squeeze. He states, “I’m starting to think you’re toying with me.”

Before you can ask what he means by that, he envelopes your mouth in a kiss. His tongue quickly works its way in your mouth as he’s just been dying to know what you taste like.

His hands move up your thighs until they start to slide underneath your shirt. Sirius’s fingers sprawl out across your thighs, his thumbs rubbing small circles between your legs, just below your panty lines.

You take in a small gasp—whether it’s from pleasure or surprise you aren’t sure. It feels wrong, but Merlin… you don’t want it to stop.

He keeps this up—his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth, his hands roughly squeezing and rubbing the fat of your thighs—until you ask for more.

“Please, Sirius..”

The knot tightening in your stomach is already becoming almost unbearable. You can feel the amount of slick building up between your legs, and you need more.

And Sirius is more than happy to give it to you. He smiles against your lips, “Such a sweet girl... How could I say no to that?”

Two of his fingers move aside the fabric of your underwear, and easily slip between the sopping wet folds of your pussy.

Sirius absolutely relishes in the reactions you give him.

Your sweet little mewls and gasps. The way you cling to him and tuck your face into his shoulder. It’s all enough to make his cock throb within his trousers.

It’s been a long time since he’s touched a woman in this way, but he’s exhilarated to know he still has the prowess to make you feel this way.

Sirius feels the walls of your pussy clench around his fingers, he hears your breathing quicken, and sees the flush blossoming on your cheeks.

He can’t help the haughty smile on his face. “That’s it, love. Come for me.”

And with a few more pumps from Sirius’s fingers, the ever-tightening knot in your lower stomach finally comes undone.

The long high-pitched moan emitting from your mouth, combined with your cum dripping down his hand gives Sirius a stupid amount of self-satisfaction.

The arrogant grin on his face says it all.

You recover from your orgasm with your face tucked into the crook of his neck, and Sirius brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you.

You feel his hands tightly grip your waist, and he chuckles. “I hope you’re not done yet, sweetheart.”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hey so I’m a uni student IE very poor and I really like GMless games so I wondering if there is any free or pay what you feel like GM less games? Bonus points for either cute animal type games, world building or superpowers game.

THEME: Free/Cheap GM-Less Games

Hello friend, I think I have a really awesome collection of games for you to try out. I tried to focus on lighthearted games that fit at least one of your themes. All of these games are either free or pay-what-you-want!

Rats in Space, by Jay Writes.

The year is 2392. A colony of rats have found themselves stowed away on the Endeavor, a cruise-class luxury spaceship. They live in the lower decks, nibbling on wires, stealing the engineer’s lunches, fighting off pest-bots. It’s a simple life. One day, a member of the colony discovered something: Velindian Cheese, the most treasured kind of cheese to all rats in the sector, hidden in the ship’s Kitchen. The colony got together, and they have decided: they must get that cheese!

Rats in Space is a one-page GM-less TTRPG where you and your friends take on the role of Rats on a spaceship. Your mission is to get the Cheese that's hidden away in the ship's kitchen. A silly game with psychic rats, robot cats, and depressed space captains.

This is a goofy little game with a simple enough premise: get the Cheese. You set your little rats up with stats, and then roll on the Inspiration table to determine what obstacles are standing in the way. Conquer three obstacles and you’ll get your hand on a little cheesy snack! However, if you lose your collective morale, you are forced to panic and scatter - and no Cheese for you. Rats in Space is great for light-hearted hi-jinx, and is very very cute.

Class Protector, by Chloe Sutherland.

Strange things happen in your high school. Horrors lurk in the dark, unnoticed by most in the school. Fortunately, there’s one person who always seems to be in the right place at the right time. She’ll deny it but all the gossip ties back to her and the unexplainable powers she seems to wield. 

You are not the Chosen One. You are everyone else.

A simple GM-less game using a deck of cards. Act as the students of a high school secretly under threat from the supernatural, develop the Class Protector and her mysterious power through their rumours, then discover which theories were correct.

Class Protector is a game of high school bystanders creating a superhero through myths and rumours. You’ll take turns drawing cards and using prompts to help you figure out who exactly your protector is and what she can do. During the final round, you’ll witness her fight with the Big Bad, and determine how many rumours are actually true - and whether you survive. If you like a game with suspense, told from a unique point of view, you might like this game.

The Guides of MechaFauna Valley, by BESW.

“THE GUIDES OF MECHAFAUNA” by B. West is a game made for children, by a young park ranger barely out of childhood themself. I reproduce it here as I found it: photocopied on a sheaf of mint and salmon office paper, the pasted-on images sometimes almost illegible. But the game is playable and the glimpse of my friend’s future childhood is captivating.

This game is described as a cooperative, feel-good card-using roleplaying game. It is a game about a caravan of travellers making their way through a national park populated by mechanical beasts. As guides, you are responsible for ensuring that the caravan makes it through safely without endangering the local wildlife. The game expects all players to play a Valley Guide, but there is also a character sheet that is available for the group to use together: The Valley Voice. This game is currently still in beta, so it looks like another character sheet is in the works!

While there are still pieces missing, this is already a 20-page game with a hefty oracle full of prompts. If you like a game about exploration and adventure, but without the pressure of character endangerment, you’ll probably like this game.

Star-Spawned, by Penguin King Games. (@prokopetz)

One unearthly night, a ray of colourless light descended from the stars, and under its warping radiance, creatures unlike any the world has ever seen were born. They do not know the world, and they do not know themselves. Unfortunately for the world, they're quick learners!

Star-Spawned is a GMless, oneshot-oriented tabletop RPG in which you don't know what your own traits do when play begins. The names of each group's stats are randomly generated using morpheme chaining, and characters are created while having absolutely no idea what they mean; figuring that out forms the greater part of play.

Star-Spawned is a world-building game in that you discover the world as you discover yourselves. Players generate Facets and assign ratings to them without knowing what those facets do beforehand, and then experiment with their use as they play. Players will take turns describing what they want to do, and when one character takes the spotlight, the rest of the table provides the setting details. You finish the game when you have a definition for each facet on your Discovery sheet.

This game has a lot of breadth, and can explore a lot of different settings and kinds of adventure, and the place where you start will probably determine a lot about the tone of your game. If you enjoy randomness and figuring out a mystery together, you might like Star-Spawned.

Wonderfall Reinvigorated, by J.C. Pereira.

In this violence free, diceless and GMless game, you play as curious kids who are living in a hotel and secretly transform into pets. Your goal is to reinvigorate Wonderfall by befriending the leaving villagers and guiding the sparse visitors, to make this town habitable again. Uncover truths while growing up in this outlandish town.

This is an exploration game more than anything else. Players each create a town secret, and use drawing references to build the Hotel and its surrounding locations. You draw cards to help determine the kinds of locations that you’ll visit. The game comes with a bunch of random tables for character creation, locations, secrets, NPC information and more. You’ll draw cards from the Destiny deck every time you need to overcome a challenge, and use Aces to represent their hobbies that will help them solve problems.

I like the ways this game gives your characters adventure without resorting to violence to solve their problems. I think this game has a lot of potential to tell Studio Ghibli-like stories, so if you like that genre, you might like this game.

RPG From the Other Side, by stuffed tern.

a wizard has transformed one of your bandmates into a large raccoonyou’re going on a quest to change them backbefore they forget who they arethe band’s all coming with you (yes, even the raccoon) the power of music is on your side. you will see this through.

RPG FROM THE OTHER SIDE is a one-page TTRPG for one or more friends embarking on a quest of music and mayhem. 

The text mentions a GM, but GM-less play is possible with players doing collaborative storytelling, or using a system such as Trophy.

This is a simple one-page rpg with a humorous premise - you’re trying to turn your raccoon band-mate back into their human self. Setup includes determining your goal, your characters, and your special weapon or ability. Your characters have a resource called Stardust, which gives you d6s to roll in challenging situations. You can spend Stardust to lend aid to a teammate, or lose it when you take harm, but you can also gain it back if you give up a memory that you cherish.

There aren’t any prompts to help guide your play after the initial setup, so this game is best suited for a group that is comfortable with a lot of improv.

2 Month Magical Girl, by Dondougo.

In 2 Month Magical Girl, you play as ordinary magical girls. Your days are relatively ordinary, as you study and hang out at school. At night you hit the town, as well as the various malicious magical beings that prowl it. You make memories, you make friends, and the next day you wake up and do it all again!

But something's changed, and things are getting weirder by the day. Illegible symbols are appearing everywhere, the weather is stuck in a cloudy haze. What's even weirder is that your magical powers seem to be hiding something from you. As if they're trying to keep you from understanding the truth behind what's really going on.

With time running out, you're left wondering what else is being hidden from you and what it all means. What will you do when the truth is finally revealed?

This is the chunkiest game on this list, with 98 pages of rules, lore and character options. There are 5 playbooks to choose from, making character creation relatively simple to follow, and a font of roll tables to help facilitate GM-less play. Definitely worth checking out!

[euphoricfilter]

like crazy ~ part two

☆ﾟpart two of five

pairing(s): namjoon x reader, seokjin x reader, yoongi x reader, hoseok x reader, jimin x reader, taehyung x reader, jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || smut || angst || non-idol au || reincarnation au || friends to lovers || strangers to lovers || established relationships || regency era au || gang au || college au || slight yandere au? ||

summary: the story of how the universe sent you Namjoon.

word count: 9.3k

tags/ warnings: gang leader! namjoon, fluff, a lot more love, angst, namjoon is tatted up, death/ murder, mentions of blood, mentioned sex trafficking, mentioned drugs, obsessive relationship, smut in the forms of: dom/ sub themes— kinda mean-ish dom! namjoon, lots of hickies, spitting in a mouth :), biting, strangely feral sex, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (this is fiction, don’t be stupid), pull out method (again, don’t be stupid), doggy style, squirting, the briefest ass play, implied/planned aftercare!! because namjoon isn’t heartless

notes: not a promise but i'm going to try and get yoongi's part uploaded next week!! it's basically all written i just have to edit it all but this section of the story was getting way too long so i decided to just split it. again, feedback is always encouraged!! i really like this series and would love to know others' thoughts too <3

‘like crazy’ mini series masterlist || my main masterlist

🪐 🌠 ∘₊✧─── *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ───✧₊∘ ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 💫

Your third life was perhaps the strangest.

It had also been the shortest of all your lives, and perhaps the shortest of your loves. 

You hadn’t loved Namjoon any less than you had Taehyung or Jimin. 

Stupid, undying love had wormed its way into your heart; maybe without you even realizing this time. And then once again, you found yourself sinking with no escape and more heartbreak than you knew what to deal with. 

When you truly think about it, the universe had been a little crueller in this life. 

And in hindsight, she probably had taken pity on your poor soul for all the stories that follow this one.

From the day you could produce a coherent thought, you’d known everything. 

There was no life-changing realisation that you’d had with Jimin, no obliviousness to what your life had once been or everything you’ve ever lost. 

You’re pretty sure your whole world would have been different had you not been aware of your previous life, the butterfly effect is a real bitch when the knowledge you never asked for is thrust into your hands and you aren’t exactly sure what to do with it. 

At eighteen you’d moved out. Because as much as you’d tried, you’d never truly felt anything for your parents in this life.

It wasn’t hard to play the role of a doting daughter, not when your parents never paid much attention to you anyway. Or how you knew attaching yourself to people that would eventually pass was a whole new wave of pain you weren’t ready to put yourself up for. 

There was no guarantee that once you died in this life you’d come back for a fourth time, there was no guarantee that if you did ever make your way back into this world that you’d ever gain the knowledge of what once was. But it was a risk you had never been willing to take. If you’d lived another life, come back again and again, then what was there to say it weren’t to happen once more? 

You often wondered how your old mother must have felt, finding out the only family she had left was murdered. How horrified she must have been after hearing the news. Or if she’d been the one to stumble across yours and Jimin’s cold corpses. 

You doubted she was still alive either way, time hadn’t exactly been on your side, the world so much different than when you were last alive. 

So much more advanced than it had been. You had so many more rights as a women than you had in your previous life. Everything seemed so new, the smallest glimpses of the past peeking through the new age that you found yourself living in. 

The story of you and Namjoon starts where you and Jimin had ended. 

You look up at the set of apartment buildings. The land that used to be the foundation of your home no longer what it used to be. The garden was buried under cement, and all your secrets that had seeped into the walls were probably rotting somewhere in the landfill.

What was once a small house for two had been reconstructed, and built so much bigger and better. Better than anything you could have imagined your home to be. 

It felt a little patronizing, the land you’d died on morphed into something so much more spectacular. 

You remember how hard it had been to simply own a house of your own. How hard it must have been for Jimin to save enough to buy it. How you felt as though you’d finally achieved something in your pitiful life the day the two of you had moved in.

How when you look at the building stood before you, it didn’t seem like such a wonderful place anymore.

It wasn’t special. It wasn’t yours.

Once again, it was so far out of reach, so different, the familiarity, the warmth, all of it had died along with you and Jimin. 

Yours and Jimin’s lives had been so insignificant that no one had thought to keep the land your sacred burial ground. 

You don’t resent the world for stripping away such a large piece of your life away. (even less so when the change had been the sole reason you’d found Namjoon. Or rather how he’d found you).  

Meeting Namjoon had become somewhat of a blur. Words slipping off your tongue as the wind dug its nails into your cheeks, and your fingers and toes felt numb from the cold. Grey cottony clouds had been stuffed in your ears and your mind had been so far from your body. Perhaps seeping into the gravel, slipping between the frost and the soil as your mind reels with every little moment you’d ever spent on this very piece of land. 

Jimin had been the spring, but Namjoon had been the winter. 

You see, Taehyung and Jimin had been the gentle things that wandered in the sunlight, flowers and warm afternoons, sweet kisses and heart-swelling love. Namjoon is what lurks in the shadows, and ugly thunder storms or gnarly bite marks imbedded into tender skin. He was every rough edge and anxiety filled heartbeat, his touch gentle as poison seeps into every pore he traces over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Your head snaps in the direction of Jimin’s voice. Words catching in your throat, your mouth opening and then closing and then falling open once more.

Your eyes widen only for prickly disappointment to drown your heart when you’re met with the face of a stranger.  Jimin's saccharine voice echoing through one ear and out the other.

You lips fall shut, heat creeping up your neck to your cheeks as your eyes meet those of the stranger. 

“I used to live here” you point to the block of flats. And although that may not exactly be true, you don’t bother elaborating. 

(And Namjoon doesn’t bother to tell you that no one had lived in that building since it had been built. It was his land before it had been constructed and he had no plans of ever renting out any of the rooms.) 

He takes a step closer to you, maybe only an arms length away, “It’s not safe in this area” 

You turn back to look at the building, “That’s a shame” you hum, “Maybe I should get going then” 

A weird sense of guilt runs through your veins. Guilt because you weren’t at all scared. And maybe it’s because after being killed twice, the idea of death doesn’t scare you all that much anymore. Not when you were tired of life, not when you could come back and have the chance to live all over again as a whole new person. 

“I never caught your name” he says, mild curiosty dancing in his eyes.

The air is frigid as it fills your lungs, “Y/n” 

“Namjoon” he holds a hand out for you to shake.

You look at his hand, debating whether to risk it, wondering if he had plans to grab you, erase you from existence. You’d tell him it were useless if that were the case, that you’re estranged from your family and you barely had any friends that would risk themselves for your own safety. That he’d be wasting his time more than he would be yours. 

His lips curl up at the corners as you shake his hand, “Want me to walk you home?” 

You meet his gaze, pulling your scarf tighter around your neck, “No. I’m quite capable” 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“I think there’s someone staring at you” your friend nudges you, hand cupping your ear. 

As much as you wanted to live a life of solitude, unprepared to face another life that ended in heartbreak, it was hard not to befriend someone along the way. 

The both of you would have probably quit this deadbeat job if it weren’t for each other. And luckily the place was run by an old woman that didn’t mind your shifts being practically identical. The income helped with rent and you got most meals free with the job, so really you had no plans to move anywhere else. 

Somehow, platonic love was a little easier to let go of, a little easier to mend, soothe until it doesn’t hurt as much and the memories fade like a painting left in sunlight for too long. You’d never wanted to come off as cold either, and what was one friend when you had a whole life ahead of you? 

Because as much as you liked to slip into your own world, replay the stories of Taehyung and Jimin until tears slip down your cheeks and you had half a mind to pull your aching heart out of youe chest, the strange sort of catharsis that hurts as much as it heals— having a friend wasn’t all that bad. 

And maybe you’d be upset if one day the two of you were to wander down separate paths, only to never meet at the crossroad and continue on with life like you hadn’t trekked for miles together; but maybe that hurt was worth the risk if it were easy to heal later on. A selfish thought, but you’d learnt that humans were simply built that way. That being selfish wasn’t all that terrible.

You look up at her, dropping the mug and cloth behind you in favor of leaning on the counter, arm to arm. 

“Who?” your head falls on her shoulder. 

“The guy over there” she nods her head in his direction. You follow her line of sight, eyes meeting the strangers’ very briefly before your gaze flitters out the storefront window. 

“Do you know him?” she asks, your head falling off her shoulder as someone stalks up to the counter. 

You squint as she takes the order, watching as the curious stranger flicks open a newpaper. 

You weren’t sure if he was simply confident or overly arrogant. His posture that of a man who gets his way, the kind of man you try to avoid when the sun sets. The kind of man you try to avoid when you go out for drinks and they offer you a night you’d never forget. 

His shoulders were lax, open. One leg crossed over the other. Chest broad and arms bulging under his thin dress shirt. He was handsome. Very handsome. And you knew he was aware of this fact, especially with the way all eyes were on him as people left the cafe. Their unrelenting stares doing nothing to deter his relaxed demeanour. 

“I don’t think so, no” you shake your head, turning back to grab a to-go cup, “Maybe he’s one of those creeps that have a thing for baristas” 

She frowns, hip knocking against yours with more force than intended, almost sending the cup you were holding flying. “Don’t say that, what if he’s a rich CEO and wants to take you on a date?” 

You can’t help the laugh that spills from your lips, “Doubt it. I don’t think rich CEOs drink cheap coffee on this side of town” 

She hums, “His suit does looks pretty expensive” 

“It does” you agree, meeting her eyes. 

“French make?” 

You tilt your head, taking another glance in his direction, “Italian” 

“Freshly pressed?” 

“Definitely” 

You slide the hot coffee across the counter, bitter annoyance creasing your eyebrows when you don’t even get a thank you. 

“I mean, there’s more ways to get money than just being a rich CEO” she tilts her head, eyes squinting ever so slightly.

“Maybe he’s a doctor” you run a finger over your bottom lip, and she throws her head back in laughter. 

“Maybe he does shady gang related stuff” 

Your nose scrunches up at that, “Like sex trafficking? What if he sells drugs?” 

She bites her lip. 

“You fiend” you laugh, “There’s bad boy, and then there’s just straight up criminal” 

She gives you an exasperated sigh, “What if he’s a nice? What if he wants true love, and cares about his family?” 

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, “I don’t–” you swallow, “You have strange preferences” is what you settle with. 

“Okay?” she laughs, “And what about you?” 

“A gentleman. The sappy ones that believe in true love” 

“Doesn’t seem to be many of those around anymore, not in this area at least” she nods, “Maybe we both have unattainable types” 

Your lips quirk up into a smile, “Maybe. I’m not really looking for love” 

“Why not? Add something fun to your life” 

Both of your attention is snatched by the door swinging shut, the stranger that had been keeping as eye on you slinking down the street, newspaper tucked underneath his arm. 

“I’m happy where I am” 

“You don’t go out” she deadpans. 

Your eyes narrow, “I do. For work, groceries, you know all that kinda stuff” 

It’s barely a laugh that puffs out of her, more an exasperated sigh, “How are you ever going to meet the love of your life?” 

Something bitter coats over your tongue, and you will yourself not to frown. You think your heart slowly starts to sink inside your chest, an ugly weight that has your eyes stinging a little. 

“I don’t think everyone has soulmates” you turn away from her, picking up the mug you’d put down earlier. 

“You’re so cynical sometimes, you know that? Besides, it’s not like you have to find a soulmate per say, just— a fling or something” 

“Yeah” you look at her over your shoulder, “Wanna go change? I’ll lock up today” 

She hums, “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping” 

You shake your head, pushing yourself onto your toes to place a mug back on the shelf, ‘I’ll be fine, you have somewhere you gotta be right?” 

“Yeah. My dad’s in the hospital again, I don’t know how I’m gonna pay the bill this time” 

You tuck your hair behind your ear, “Sorry to hear that” and truly you were. But as much as you wanted to offer to help her pay off the bills, you had your own utilities to pay for, a life to live.

And maybe you were a prime example of a selfish human.

She shrugs, “Life is shitty sometimes, not much I can do about it” 

She waves before she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. You watch as she walks, only blinking when she’s out of sight. 

You stand there for a moment, time inside the cafe stopping as the world continues to move outside.

You can barely hear the chatter, muffled through the glass, though you see people’s smiles, watching groups of them laugh. Or two people holding hands. You see lovestruck looks in people’s eyes. Eyes that don’t seem to hold much emotion at all. Distress from someone on the phone. The smallest hint of happiness from someone listening to music. 

You fall back into reality when one of the boilers in the backroom rumbles, your attention quickly snatched as you duck under the counter to wash the tables. Your world now quiet enough for your thoughts to amplify. They fill up the room like thick smog, skipping around you with quick steps you almost stumble over your own feet. 

Some days you found yourself wondering what Taehyung would think of you now, how the both of you might have danced around the cafe, a piano piece playing in the background from a jukebox as you closed up for the night. Or what would happen when you’d finally go home to your one bedroom apartment and Jimin would be sprawled across the sheets, hair damp, and skin still damp, wet from just taking a shower. 

You startle when someone approaches you just as you lock up the door, “Willing to take my offer to walk you home this time?” 

With widened eyes you turn to meet the stranger, acute terror tickling your mind as you think he must have been hanging around the shop since he left earlier, just waiting for you to lock up, “Excuse me?” Your voice breathless. 

“It’s pretty late, and girls like you don’t fare well when the sun goes down” 

You slip the key to the cafe into your pocket, “I think I’ll pass” your shoulder barely brushes his as you slip past him, though you don’t miss the thump of footsteps behind you. Too close, yet not close enough for you to do anything about it. 

You stop, “What do you want?” 

“Come on, Y/n, We’re past that, I’m just making sure you get home safe” you watch as a dimpled smile tugs onto his face and you pull your coat tighter around your body, unsure if the shiver was from the cold or from him.  

Your eyes narrow, skeptical, “How’d you know my name?” 

Something akin to a scoff vibrates from his chest, “You’re fucking serious? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

You bite your bottom lip, eyes glazing over his face, memories playing like a strip of film in your mind, click click clicking until you pause when you catch sight of his face, a little blurred but his eyes are hard to forget. “Ah–” you sigh, “Namjoon” 

You will yourself no to smack the shit-eating grin off his face, rather turning back around, starting your walk home. 

“So i’m not that forgettable?” his steps fall in time with yours. No longer walking behind you, all caution thrown out of the window. 

“It took me all day to remember. Why were you just hanging out at the cafe? Don’t you have better things to do?” 

“No” he shakes his head. 

You don’t open your mouth the rest of the way home, and neither does Namjoon. Not until you’re stood on the step of your apartment building, slightly looking down at him. 

“Thanks for walking me home” you rock back and forth on your heels, “You don’t need to do it again though” 

Namjoon wets his bottom lip, pulling his scarf a little tighter around his neck. Condensed air whispering into nothing as he open his mouth to speak. 

“I want to see you again” Plain. Simple. Straight to the point. But not what you wanted to hear. 

You sigh, back of your throat drying as you inhale frost riddled air, “That’s a bit too forward, don’t you think?” 

He runs a hand over his chin, “I wouldn’t say so” 

“Whatever it is you want, Namjoon, I don’t want it” you tell him, hoping that by some miracle, your little hint penetrates his thick skull. 

“And how do you know what I want?” His arms fold across his chest. 

It doesn’t apparently, and you are so close to losing your tether. 

“Dating. Marriage. Sex. Simply a fling. I don’t want any of it” 

It irks you how he laughs, “Marriage is a bit too soon, I barely know you. But I’m not opposed to the rest” 

“But I am” 

“We’ll see about that” he waves you off, “i’ll see you around, yeah?” 

You choose not to reply, willing yourself not to look back as you push open the door to your building. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Do you fuck on the first date?” 

And for a moment you think your mind short circuits, neurones working overtime to piece together a coherent thought. Sparking against one another as his question replays in your mind. 

Everything with Namjoon was always so quick. What had been him walking you home had somehow melted into him taking you out to dinner on the nice side of town for a date that truly you hadn’t had any interest in. That was until he’d shown up at your door out of the blue barely a week after the two of you had met. 

You’d never told him your apartment number, and it had left you mildly curious as to who you’d gotten yourself involved in. You could only hope that if you came off dull enough he’d choose to go and flirt with another human that was willing to spread their legs for him on the first date. 

“I haven’t before. So, no” 

Namjoon hums, hand running over his jaw in thought. 

“How charming” he muses, and you’re unsure if it’s a laugh that rumbles from his chest or a scoff, perhaps a mixture of both. “They must have been true gentlemen. Let me know what I’m working with” 

You raise an eyebrow, and he nods for you to continue. 

“The first guy.. I suppose we never exactly had a first date. The second…we ate by a lake and talked about dreams and the universe, and then he made me a flower crown so I made one for him” 

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, “Men like that exist?” 

The corners of your lips quirk up, wistful memories of still-there emotions seeping back into your heart. “No. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here” 

“They’re dead?” 

You swallow, breath catching in the back of your throat. Namjoon’s head tilts, expectant. 

“Something like that” is all you can find yourself to manage. 

“You kill them yourself?” his eyebrow raises, though you think the both of you know the answer. And maybe that had been the moment you’d gotten an inkling of what Namjoon did for a living, and how utterly fascinating it was to talk about death so freely with another human being. 

It had always been so taboo. But it was simply the end of life, the end of a story. Everyone were to experience it one day, so why would no one ever talk about it? 

“No” you shake your head, “And this isn’t about them” 

“It’s not” he agrees, “I’ll leave the sex for next time as well” 

You cover a laugh with a cough, “How thoughtful of you” 

“You don’t seem upset” he points out, piercing eyes making it a point to hold eye contact. 

“About you wondering what happened to my dead lovers?” And he nods, “You’re understandably curious. I’m not going to hold that against you” you shrug. 

Your finger runs over the seam line of your dress, some small part of you on edge, always wondering what Namjoon’s next words would be. He was always so calculated. And a small part of you was scared he’d ask things you had no intention of mentioning. 

“And you’re not curious about my past relationships?” he asks, somewhat surprising you. 

You shake your head, “I think I’ve made it clear that I’m not interested in a relationship. So I really couldn’t care what your past endeavours were like” 

You sit up a little straighter when his lips quirk up into a smile, “I wonder why you’re here then. If you truly wanted nothing to do with me” 

Your tongue wets your bottom lip, “You’re awfully similar to a parasite, you know?” 

He raises an eyebrow, “Elaborate” 

“Do you believe in destiny?” 

“That doesn’t answer me” he shakes his head, “What does destiny have to do with parasites?” 

“You’re like a parasite because no matter where I go, you cling on to me like it’s all you know” you say, “For the last week since we’d met that one evening all you do is sit in the cafe all day while I work, walk me home and show up at my door on my days off even though I told you I’m not interested” 

“And destiny?”

“I said yes to today, because destiny is a bitch. And maybe it had been her that had sent us to one another” 

Namjoon leans back in his chair, “I do believe. To answer your earlier question” 

You sigh, “That doesn’t mean I want to dive head first into a relationship with you” 

“But you’re not opposed to the idea of us getting to know one another?” 

You bite your lip, maybe trying to hide a smile, “I didn’t say that” 

“It was implied though” Namjoon’s own lips curl upwards. 

“Was it?” 

Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow, “Don’t start acting like a brat now” 

“Or what?” 

He leans over the table, lithe fingers taking a hold of your jaw before he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, “Are you willing to play that game, love?” 

“Maybe one day, but I have a shift soon so I better get going. Thanks for dinner, I’ll make sure to add a complimentary cake with your coffee tomorrow” 

Namjoon’s fingers fall loose around your jaw, “You want me to visit tomorrow?” 

You push yourself to stand, chair squeaking against the tiled flooring, “Something like that” 

“When does your shift start?” 

“I open up tomorrow” 

He nods, “And you’re closing up tonight?” 

“Mmhmm” you hum. 

“I’ll come pick you up after I get some work done” he calls out to you, and you simply wave over your shoulder as you weave through tables towards the exit. 

Everything about life with Namjoon was fast paced. So quick you often found yourself stumbling after him as the both of you wander in the dark, no clear destination in mind. But as you stray away from him, he always seems to find where you are. 

Arguable coincidences turning a little more purposeful. You never thought much of it when you’d run into him while shopping, or out drinking with your friend. Never thinking it was weird how no matter where you seemed to be, Namjoon would be there too. Always there to find you, always there to bring you home. 

He loomed behind you like a shadow, an obedient guard dog that lurked in your shadows. 

When you truly think back to your time with Namjoon, every moment together was clouded by rose tinted glasses that you seemed to have refused to take off. 

It wasn’t long after that first encounter with one another that you started dating. And merely weeks after that, somehow Namjoon had convinced you to move in with him. He always told you how he didn’t like the side of town you lived on, how worried he got dropping you off at your door. 

Because he knew what happened when people slept, and the world was a little quieter. When the light of the moon didn’t spill into the dark corners of alleyways and brutish men think they run the streets that belong to him. 

“I have a lot of people’s blood on my hands, you understand that right?” he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

You blink up at him from where you’re sat on his bed, “Yes” you nod. 

“That if you accept me like this– wholly me– there is no going back for either of us?” 

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “I understand” 

The corner of his lip curls upwards, “Good. Because I had no plan of letting you go” 

And maybe that’s when you should have turned your back on him. That through the misted veil of sickly belief that fate had played a game with you again, you’d stayed– evidently leading to another tragedy. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Namjoon was the epitome of obsession, it coursed through his veins just as much as blood did. 

He was comparable to a magpie, though his form of treasure was delicate little beings like you that he liked to lock up. And watch as you dance for him behind the bars of a cage, eyes piercing into your very soul until it melts and he mends you back together again. 

“What’s wrong, my darling?” Namjoon frowns, slouching back into his chair. 

You lay the book over your chest, heart-wrenching deja vu tickling your insides. “It’s just work. The old lady that owns the place is lowering our pay” 

Namjoon hums, “Why don’t you quit?” he takes off his glasses, hand running over his face. 

“Quit?” you sit up, eyebrows furrowing, “I probably have enough saved for a couple of weeks but after that I’m done for. It’s not like I’m paying rent anymore” 

Namjoon pushes himself to stand, slinking around his desk to stand before you, “That’s why I’m here. You don’t have to work anymore, I’ve got the both of us” 

You shake your head, “Namjoon I can’t do that” you tell him, leaning into his touch as his thumb caresses your jaw. 

“And why not?” He crouches down, head tilting in a way that is so very much Namjoon. 

“It’s unfair on you. Plus, I’m capable of taking care of myself” 

He runs his thumb over his bottom lip, “I know you are, but why have all the added stress when I’m more than happy to do this for us”

Some days Namjoon seemed awfully normal. Integrated perfectly into society, just like the rest of human kind. And some days you found it scary how ordinary he seemed when you knew of the things he did. He always seemed so in control of his own mind, thoughts easily articulated into convincing words, dressed proper, a kind smile. 

It was unnerving how someone so perfect was so very much the evil that you fear as a child. The grim reaper who melts into the darkess, takes a life and thinks no more of that pitiful being’s existence as he stalks through the night ready to chew on another soul. 

Maybe it was blissful ignorance that had chained you to him. If he were the being that men feared then it was only smart to latch onto him, to pretend he didn’t do all these bad things and let him squeeze his way into your heart. For you to be docile and quiet and everything he wanted from you. Even if his love hurt, thick shards of glass piercing their way into your heart and your mind and your body and your soul. 

It was suffocating. Emotions too hard to decipher when he treated you as if you were the only thing that mattered in this cruel world. His love having a tiny semblance of your previous lovers. Foolish in the way you clung on to the smallest parts of them that you could, even though you knew it was never going to be the same. Namjoon was so far from being Taehyung. He was never going to be Jimin. His love a new type of raw, skinned alive and thrusted into your hands without much thought. 

Namjoon’s finger’s slip between your own, grass prickling the bare skin of your arms as you shift,  “Sirius” 

“Pardon?” you tilt your head to look at him, the softest smile on his face as he looks up at the sky. 

“You’re my Sirius” he closes his eyes, smile still lingering. 

“I don’t–” you start, mouth falling shut when he turns to look at you, eyes an endless abyss that you find yourself falling into. Every bad thing he’s ever done, suddenly no longer that evil when he looks at you like this. 

“If Sirius is the brightest star in the sky. Then you must be my Sirius” 

You blink, utterly baffled as to where this had come from. 

“Are you ill?” you dare ask, breath catching in the back of your throat. Warm, gentle, love heating your cheeks the lightest pink, though you doubt Namjoon would be able to see it in the light of the moon. 

A laugh bubbles from his chest, “No” he shakes his head, “Love turns us into fools sometimes” 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, fingers slipping from between his own. 

“That wasn’t foolish” you tell him, “Surprisingly profound. And incredibly sweet” 

“Is that the way to your heart? Sweet words and a pretty face?” he teases, sitting up. And you fall onto your back. 

“It seems so” you say, “Though you’ve already found a home in mine” 

“Is that so?” his hands run over your thighs, fingers teasing the hem of your shorts. 

“Mmhmm” you hum, eyes flickering back towards the sky. 

“Then it is lucky you’ve also found a home in mine” He leans down, arms caging your head as he presses a plush kiss to your cheeks, following the slope up to the tip of your nose before he presses a gentle kiss to your lips. 

“Not here” you murmur just as he pulls away, curious hands wandering over whatever bare skin he can grab onto. 

“But how is the world to know you belong to me?” he asks, warm breath fanning over your lips. 

You swallow, “I’m sure they’re all aware by now. More than a few men have lost their lives because of me” 

Namjoon pushes himself to sit up, frown morphing on his face, “I told you their blood is not on your hands, but mine” 

And he had told you that. Many times. Between kisses of reassurance, where his hands wander down for back as you cling to his suit jacket, guilt chewing away at your mind until you couldn’t take it anymore and begged him to stop his merciless ways when it came to you. Because in truth, no matter how many times he’d told you, their deaths are your fault. And will latch onto your weary soul. 

And maybe one day when death knocks at your door, he will open his book and list out every man that had ever died because of you, and then he will tell you the devil is waiting downstairs with the door open and a spare room just for you. 

Never once had you asked him to slip out of the bedroom as you slept, slaughtering every man that dared lock eyes with you for longer than Namjoon deemed necessary. Or utter your name from mouths made of filth, or gawk at the small sliver of skin you would show at dinner. Skin that was wholly his to touch and defile and bite at until he’d become the artist, painting you red only for flowers of purple to bloom across unblemished skin. 

“That doesn’t change the fact their premature demise wasn’t linked to me” 

“None of that” he hums, helping you sit up, fingers raking through your hair. “Angels don’t have human blood on their hands, it is above them”

The day you’d kneeled before him, begged for him to stop killing on your behalf, that he didn’t need to do more than he already was, that those men didn’t mean anything at all to you– he’d never mentioned another instance where he erased the existence of another human. 

That didn’t mean you were naive enough to believe he’d stopped killing. You weren’t stupid. It wasn’t hard to piece together the little things that happened when you’d wake up during the nights, sheets cold beside you and Namjoon nowhere to be seen until the sun had risen. 

Familiar faces printed on the front pages of newspapers, gruely deaths typed out without a lick of sympathy, just another face, just another story. 

And maybe it had been all your fault, bringing up such trivial things like destiny. Uttered how you thought fate had brought the two of you together, solidifying whatever little budding obsession Namjoon had for you. And it was ironic, how even after the tragedy of this life, the little flicker of hatred you held for fate herself was blown out, because as fucked up as it was; you had no regrets when it came to Namjoon. 

He’d built you up into an entirely new person. So different than you had been. Shown you a life that was so different from what you’d had before. So fresh. And new. And exciting. 

Impossible to hate. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

A choked moan catches in the back of your throat when Namjoon’s teeth clamp around your nipple, his chin spit-soaked as he lathers his tongue over your flushed skin. 

“Fuc– Namjoon” you huff, hips rutting upwards, desperate to chase after every lick of searing pleasure as your clit rubs against the soft fabric of your panties. 

Your pelvis knocks against his stomach, head tipping backwards as he kisses over your tender skin, tongue soothing over every divot that his teeth had left over your body. 

His hand slips down between your bodies, awfully mean as he hooks his fingers in the waist of your panties, tugging them upwards until the crotch is tucked snug between your folds, soaked fabric rubbing deliciously against your throbbing clit. 

“Yeah?” he laughs when you moan out his name, tears gathering along your waterline as you rut upwards. A feral sort of pleasure consuming your entire being, emotions rubbed red-raw, heart thrusted for Namjoon to chew on, to consume like it were his only life force. 

You whine when he lets go of your underwear, pleasure fizzling out, orgasm ebbing away. Your poor clit sending barely-there pleasure up your spine— utter frustration wracking throughout your body. 

You tug his face parallel to your own, fingers digging into his jaw, “No, no– Namjoon please” you whisper against his lips, fingers slipping to tangle into the hair on the back of his head. 

“What do you want?” he asks, fingers dancing across your thigh. 

Your mouth drops open in another shaky moan as his fingers dig into a hickey on your thigh, perfectly crafted; almost a hollowed heart shape. Proof of the rawest lust that’s mixed between your sweat slicked bodies, and his salvia that drips into your open mouth, tongue already out to catch his spit. You swallow, prickly heat dusting your cheeks as he smiles down at you, so proud as your tongue laps up the remanence of his saliva from your bottom lip. 

“You– want you so bad” your hands wander, anywhere they can grab on to him. 

Nails that dig into covered biceps— muscles flexing, over his pecks, sinking into the plush skin; perhaps some small part of yourself hoping that you could carve a chunk out of him to keep for your self, a part of Namjoon that will always be with you for when he’s gone. 

A strange desperate sort of need that has bloomed into your body and mind. Slithering through each valve of your heart, sinking its claws into the muscle, just Namjoon

Namjoon 

Namjoon. 

He’d consumed your life, your every thought. Your skin alight as he touches you, your mind constantly buzzing with thought of him him him when he’s gone and just more more more of him when he’s with you. 

“Yeah?” he kisses your jaw, teeth nipping over the skin, sucking hard enough that you know you’ll be littered in marks of his lust for days to come. 

“Yeah” you nod, thighs clamping shut as you try and relieve some of the ache, beyond desperate for some form of release. The sort of release that you know only he would ever be able to give you, the feral sort of release that you never knew were possible if not for him. 

“My poor baby” he croons, sitting back on his heels. Goosebumps prickle the skin of your arms, the heat of Namjoon’s body leaving you cold when he pulls away. 

Your bottom lip is tucked between your teeth as he shucks his shirt off, you eye the ink that slithers up his chest, spreading across his arms. Deep black that stains his skin, bare hints of color peaking through. 

“It’s rude to stare” he reminds you, unbuttoning his pants, underwear soon following the rest of his clothes on the floor. 

“You’re just very pretty” you say, sitting up, chest heaving as you gasp for breath. Namjoon leans down, lips pressing against yours in a kiss that holds so many unsaid words, both from you and from him. 

“Not as pretty as you” he whispers, one hand taking a hold of his cock. He lathers pearly beads of precum down his length, his other hand slipping between your legs, thumb running over the length of your still-covered slit. 

“Take these off for me?” he asks, catching your attention that had been on his thick cock, “How precious” he whispers as you fall onto your back again, bare and wholly his to take. 

Your hair fanned out beneath you, teeth marks littering your skin and hickies that he doubts you’ll be able to fully cover; the whole world knowing that you’ve been claimed by him. 

You wriggle under his sharp gaze, eyes raking down the length of your body as though it were the first time. (He had every little dip of your body ingrained into his mind, though nothing would ever been the tangibility of you spread bare like before him) 

You thighs fall open, silent temptation— a silent invitation for him to fuck you senseless. 

“Turn around for me, darling. On your hands and knees, I plan to absolutely ruin you tonight” he runs a hand down the length of your thigh. 

You roll over, lifting your hips for him, cheek pressed against the duvet. Your outstretched hands grasp onto the pillows, though you doubt they’ll be much help if Namjoon does exactly what he had promised. 

You wiggle your hips, breath hitching in the back of your throat when a warm hand ghosts over your asscheeks. 

“Precious” he kisses the back of your thigh, sharp inhale from him causing your cheeks to flush the darkest shade of red. 

This thumb parts your folds, barely dipping into your hole before he’s trailing wet fingers upwards; free hand pulling your cheeks apart. 

He teases over your puckered asshole, nail raking over the delicate skin. “You’re a slut sometimes you know that?” he laughs, choosing to dip his index finger, nail deep into your ass. 

Your breath hitches, something similar to a moan spilling out and onto the sheets as you rock backwards. 

“Not a slut” you tell him, slick dribbling over your clit. 

“No?” he croons, pushing his finger further into you, empty cunt clenching around nothing as he teases a second finger around your ass hole. 

“No” you breath, fingers digging into his pillow. 

“Not a slut, but you like you like me toying around with your ass?” he laughs, finger slipping out as he finishes. 

A watery moan follows, asshole clenching around nothing as he toys with your pussy. Pulling your folds apart, and you hear it before you feel it, wet slap reverberating off the walls, sting following soon after. 

Your mouth falls open, fresh wave of arousal slipping from the entrance, dripping onto the sheets. 

“More” you beg, thighs quivering as you try to hold yourself up, “Please, more” you try to get a look at Namjoon from over your shoulder. 

You hear a mocking laugh rumble from his chest, squeak of surprise punched from your throat as he lands another harsh slap over your cunt, string of slick snapping as he pulls his hand back towards his body. 

His next slap lands on your clit, pain morphing into a strange sort of pleasure as you feel it wrack up your body, mind muddling into a mushy mess that has you rocking your hips backwards; desperate for at least one more measured slap to your flushed pussy.

Namjoon groans, wetting his bottom lip as he gets a glimpse of your puffy folds, so wet and messy he’s awfully tempted to lean down and lick you clean until you’re pleading for him to let you cum, only for him to push you over the edge so many time that you have to beg him to stop, and maybe if you start crying, delicate little tears cascading down your pink cheeks, then he’d take a little mercy on you. 

Another wave of arousal dribbles onto Namjoon’s cockhead as he runs it through your folds, blunt head pressing against your hole, walls stretching to accommodate his girth. 

“Oh” you whine, back arching a little deeper as he feeds an inch into you. 

His hands fall onto your hips, fingers sinking into the meat of your hips, ragged crescents far from majestic digging into your skin “Feels good” his hips stutter, your body jolting forwards. 

“Fuck– Namjoon” you cry when he loses all resolve, pelvis smacking against your ass, impatient to have your walls fully wrapped around his cock, the closest he’ll ever be to sinking under your skin and becoming one with you. The closest the two of you would ever physically be. 

“Fuck” he groans as your walls clench around him, your hand slipping between your chest and the bed, down to your stomach. 

It felt as though Namjoon had weaved his way into your body, so far inside of you, you wonder if he’d sunk into your stomach. His cock touches places you never knew felt this good, pleasure buzzing up your body with every unintentional sway of your hips. 

He barely pulls out, cockhead dragging deliciously through your walls before he eases himself back into you fully. 

“Faster, please, Namjoon” you swallow, throat awfully dry– and Namjoon hums.A hand leaves your hip, tangling into the hair on the back of your head. 

His cock drags through your walls, tip still wedged inside of you. You’re unsure if it’s a moan or a garbled scream that leaves your lips when he tugs you back by your hair; back arching uncomfortably as his hips snap into you. 

Arousal seeps onto the sheets past his cock and down his ball that barely brush past your swollen clit. 

“Ah–” you cry, fingers gripping onto the pillow as he punches back into you. 

“Like that? Yeah?” he grunts, the hand that was on your hip slipping underneath you, keeping you propped up as his finger leave your hair to press down on your shoulder. 

Tears dance across your waterline, raw pleasure consuming your entire being until all you feel is Namjoon’s thick cock dragging rapidly against your cunt, mind so wholly consumed by him you’d forgotten where you were. Who you were. What you were. 

His hands burn where they hold you, your ass red from each wet slap of his pelvis against your ass and the backs of your thighs. 

Your moans somewhat harmonise, pleasure coursing through both your bodies, rush of dopamine clouding any sort of sanity you thought you had left.

“Play with you clit for me” he groans, tugging you back onto his cock, position causing his cockhead to hit your g-spot perfectly from this angle. 

Your hand shakes as you bring it to your clit, swollen and pink, the barest touch enough to sent you lurching forwards; though you don’t get very far, Namjoon pulling you back with the grip he still has on your waist. Making sure he’s buried deep inside of you, making sure to hit that little sweet spot that has white dancing behind your eyes. 

“Oh” you cry, staccato of noises spilling from your lips as you toy with your clit, messy as your nails drag over the bundle of nerves. 

Namjoon feels you clench around him, ready to tip over the edge with him. 

“That’s a good girl” 

You hiccup a sob, “Gonne cum. Joonie I–” 

“I know, darling” he huffs out a laugh, “Cum for me, all pretty” 

Your thighs quiver, and you’re sure you would have collapsed by now if it weren’t for your boyfriend holding you up. 

You peel the pressure build in your stomach, fingers messy as you try to keep the stimulation up on your clit. Climbing higher and higher towards your peak. 

“Oh– Fuck” your free hand clamps over your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as you tip over the edge, squirting onto the sheets, soaking the fabric, little squeezes of watery cum tumbling past your fingers as you ride out your high— hips stuttering forward with each soft drag of your palm over your clit. 

The insides of your thighs shine, wet with your release, Namjoon’s balls seemingly just as wet when they smack against your clit. 

“Shit” his head tips backwards, and you cry as he slips out of you, sudden emptiness causing your cunt to clench, another spurt of cum dripping onto the sheets below you. 

Namjoon’s hand is rapid around his cock, pulling your ass cheeks apart he groans one last time before he shoots his seed over your red ass. 

It drips over your hole, dribbling down to your messy pussy; mixing with the mix of your cum and arousal. 

He smears his cum across your puckered hole, rubbing it across your folds and down to your clit. A low groan rumbles from Namjoon’s chest at the sight, your labia creamy white and shiny. 

“No” your thighs give out under you, his finger still smearing his cum over your sodden clit, throwing you into a less intense orgasm that has you trembling, sob catching in the back of your throat. 

“You’re so good, my darling” he whispers, wet fingers sliding over the expanse of your back, rubbing his release into your sweat slicked skin, “How about a bath?” he smiles when he catches sight of your closed eyes, “Hmm?” 

You nod, “Drink too” you whisper, voice hoarse and Namjoon traces over each hickey, feeling the dips in your skin that his teeth had left and over the swell of your ass. 

“And a drink too” he nods, “can I go to the kitchen to get a drink? Or would you want to come with me?” he asks. 

Your tongue slips past your lips, wetting your bottom lip as your muscles relax, “Come with you” 

“Yeah?” he laughs, “I’m gonna pick you up, okay?” 

You hum, rolling yourself onto your back. Your eyebrows furrow when your ass is met with wet sheets. “Clean sheets too” 

“Of course” he brushes the wet hair from your forehead. 

─── · 。ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The day Namjoon had acted on impulse, your story had reached its climax– and it had been downhill after that. That is how most stories go after-all. 

And for the first time your ignorance to what Namjoon did behind your back had come to bite you in the ass. A sick little reminder that you should have listened to yourself all those months ago. That you should have never gotten involved with Namjoon. Should have just lived this life through with no hiccups and hopefully finally lay to rest at the end of your cycle. 

And somehow you found yourself here. 

It should have been nothing more than a night out together, nothing more than drinks and hands that wandered in intimate places under the table, no one any the wiser. Clothes imbedded with cigarette smoke and cheap liquor, Namjoon’s lips on your neck and yours on his cheek before he wandered to the bar for refills. 

All it had taken was one man to bring you both to downfall. One lingering, sweaty hand, five chubby fingers and two beady eyes that had no respect; one unruly man for your life to once again fall to shit. 

You’d never seen Namjoon anything but level-headed. He always had such control over his own life, knew how to control a room, his people, part of the city. He was always on top. It’s always been Namjoon’s world and you were simply living in it. 

A small whisper in the back of your mind had told you that surely— surely a man with that much power would one day snap. Perhaps not at you, but you’d placed yourself in his line of fire. Dominoes stacked up one after the other and no matter how fast you ran, they would always catch up to you, knocking you over with them. 

And you knew. You knew that a story with you and Namjoon was sure to be another tragedy. And maybe you wanted to believe that he was invincible, that death wouldn’t rattle at behind him like it had the last two of your lovers, and you suppose he didn’t. 

Death was after you. 

Death was scared of Namjoon, but not you. 

“I told you” you whisper, eyes flitting back to your lover when you catch the attention of an officer, “I fucking told you not to do it, that we could sort something out later but you just had to–” 

He had to kill him. Well, he didn’t have to. But he did. 

“I’ll sort it out” he takes your hands, “Don’t stress too much” 

You exhale, chest deflating, utterly defeated, “And how do you plan to fix this?” 

“I’ve got a good lawyer” he tells you, leaning into the table a little more. 

And you want to tell him his lawyer was shit, that there was no way for him to plead innocent when so many people had seen him slaughter someone out of pure rage, no matter if it were in the back of a club, in a drunk daze, you doubt many would forget the shrill cry of a man slowly losing his life. You doubt many would defend a man that was known for chewing up the lives of any man or woman that he deemed unworthy. 

“You trust me? Don’t you?” He interlaces your fingers, squeezing. 

You nod, swallowing hard as an officer slinks past your table. Unnerving as you eye the weapons strapped to their belts and the haunting jangle of keys. 

“Yes. Yes I do” 

“Good.” he nods, “I need you to do a few things for me while I’m held up” 

“Okay” you whisper, foot tapping anxiously against the floor. Palms flushing in a cold sweat.

“Pack your bags, there’s money under the bed, go away for a while” 

Your eyebrows furrow, “What?” 

“I need you to leave the city for a while until I’m out of here” 

“Namjoon I don’t–” 

He tucks your hair behind your ear, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Ever so gentle, a lame attempt at reassurance. Though you only find your heart rate picking up, hands trembling ever so slightly. And you wonder if he can feel it; your fear. You wonder if he can taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“A lot of people are going to be after you now that I’m not around” 

You shake your head, mouth opening to say something though you’re unsure what. 

“I have a lot of enemies” he says carefully, slowly, “And they all know about the delicate little flower I hold, and they’ll want to pluck her and tear her petals off one by one” 

You swallow, “Namjoon” tears threaten to fall to which he brushes a thumb over your cheeks. 

Shaking his head, “None of that” he smiles, “Soon we’ll be together again, and everything will go back to normal, and we’ll be happy” 

You flinch as a bell rings, hands trembling when chairs scrape against the laminated flooring. You swallow down the lump in your throat, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as you simply stare at Namjoon. Curious to see how long it would take for you to get lost in his eyes, to be able to wander his mind and simply live there., Safe, happy. 

He told you that you’d be happy. ,

“Go” he nods behind him, “I’ll see you soon, yeah? I think I can have one more visit before trial” 

The both of you stand, Namjoon pulling you into his chest. He kisses your forehead, displeased scoff tumbling off his lips when one of the officers towers over you. Eyebrow raised and expectant. 

He lets go, and you clench your jaw. Your chest expands, lungs stinging with the rush of oxygen— and you will yourself to look up at Namjoon, painting every little crevice of his face into your mind before you’re slipping past him towards the door. Unable to say anything. 

Because you know if you did you’d break down. And you wouldn’t do that to him right now. Not when he’s told you how much it physically pains him to watch you suffer, how your tears should never fall, how your heart should never hurt. 

“Sirius” Namjoon calls out and you look over your shoulder, “Remember that. My brightest star” 

You wave, swallowing down the sob that claws up your throat. 

And you’d barely made it halfway home before your life had slipped from beneath your feet for a third time. 

Stem snapped, and petals picked; a rotting rose left to decompose on blood-soaked concrete, with the regrets of not even leaving Namjoon behind with a final ‘I love you’. And a faint wish that life after you would fare him a little better. 

thank you for reading!! <3 🌌

permanent taglist: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc

[mybelovednick]

Crimson and Clover, Honey (Chapter 2)

Main Page

Previously

Nick Sturniolo x Male!character

Summary: Nick Sturniolo is a Bookstore owner in a small town in Northern Italy. Vayu Arora is an elementary school teacher who is a frequent customer at Nick's Store. Both of them meet and they are suppose to fall in love like faith intended. But what happens when one of them is unable to let go of their past selves?

Nick x male!character Angst Fluff/comfort Hurt/comfort

TW: Too corny ig, smoking (don't do it kids. it is not cool)

******

2

“I have no news. I live quietly, I love you and I wait.”

This quote has always been a mystery to me. I wouldn’t remember where I first read it, or from whom I had heard it. But it stuck with me, forever. Yearning makes a person susceptible to the madness of love. If you yearn for something or someone, the line between love and obsession becomes blurry.

It was a lovely Friday evening. The breeze was just right as the clouds swiftly danced across the violet sky. The sun was about to set but the moon was already up. Tara invited us to her family restaurant to celebrate her grandpa’s seventy-second birthday.

Nate rode my red Vespa, with me on the back while holding onto his waist for dear life; because to him, my vehicle was a race car and the world was a Drag race. We reached Tara’s restaurant an hour late, regardless of the death race.

“You bitches were supposed to be here half an hour prior to the party and you reached in hour late. Explain, now” Tara was fuming.

“Yell at Vayu, if he had dressed up a little quicker we would be here so much earlier.”

“What? You were the one throwing a tantrum like fucking baby after seeing me wear the same coral shirt that you are wearing now! Of course I had to change into a boring black one.” I tried to defend myself.

“Not my fault I look better in coral.”

“Nathan I swear to God-“

“Okay fine, Jesus!” Tara yelled at us again. (We deserved it), “Let’s go inside and hurry up, Grandpa is waiting for you guys.”

“Awe I missed you Jeremy.” Nate cooed from behind as we entered the room and everyone cheered.

The restaurant was not a very fancy one. But it did feel like home. I’ve always loved Tara and her grandparents, Jeremy and Lizzy. Frank Sinatra was playing in the background because Jeremy loved Sinatra, “Play his songs in my funeral” he’d say every time.

Tara, Nathan and I were the only ones who were not above the age of fifty-five. We all wished Jeremy ‘Happy Birthday’ and Lizzy kissed him, to which all of us cheered like monkeys in a zoo. I loved watching people smile. I loved watching people enjoy their time. Tara was in charge of the food and overall party. I was on tea duty, i.e. ensuring that every single person had their tea cups filled up to the brim. It wasn’t a difficult task considering there were barely over twenty people in the party. Yes, tea in Italy is a bizarre concept but apparently Lizzy can’t stand the smell of coffee and ever since she visited Darjeeling with her husband, she has been addicted to this beverage.

Nathan? Well he was busy impressing Lizzy’s friends. Those sixty-year old ladies loved him for some reason. “Oh you look ravishing today, Demi. And you too! Rebecca, that hair is flawless, Jim is a lucky guy.”  Who am I kidding? Everyone loved Nate.

I was simply observing them, holding the warm tea kettle close to my chest; almost zoning out in the process.

Perhaps this is what love is after all; watching people you love fall in love with other people you love.

Being in love on the other hand, will always be strange, no matter how many times you’ve experienced it in your life. It is like falling in love with the moon. It looks beautiful from afar and even more tempting in theory. But no matter how many songs or poems you write about it, it will remain absurd in practicality to be in love with the moon. And you feel like the ocean, reflecting the image of your beloved moon in your turbulent waves just to get a glimpse of it. Even during the most intense storms in your life, you strive to keep your water as still as possible to catch your beloved in the reflection. It is the madness, and obsession that we humans love to bask in. This madness is love; and this love is strange.

“Yoohoo! Vayu! Tea boy, fill this up please.” Lizzy called for me raising her cup. I quickly nodded and rushed towards her. But as I was about to pour her up, she held me by my wrist and sat me down beside her. She was one strong woman for someone claiming to be suffering from arthritis.

“So, who’s the boy?” Lizzy asked in a sing-song tone.

“What? Tara told you?” I panicked.

“Oh dear, no. I just noticed that you seemed pretty distracted there and you have a glow to your face.” Lizzy said and I had to smile, how could I not? “See? You are so giggly and smiley like that. You should smile more often, you look even more handsome.” Lizzy winked.

“Well, I’d have to be a psychopath to be able to resist smiling when you say stuff like that.” I knew my face lit up like a Christmas tree at that point.

“Well, I mean it baby boy.” She held my hand carefully, “Now tell me about this man.”

I raised my eyebrow when she scooted herself closer to pay attention. She was determined to get me married to a nice man because…Honestly? I don’t know.

“Well he works at the bookstore. The one near the Marylyn street.”

“Oh I go there sometimes, I think. Is it the Libreria del Sentiero ?”

“Yes! That’s the one! Wait, do you know the guy who works there?”

“I think I have met that gentleman quite often. He comes here to get a cup of black coffee and abrownie. He is such a sweet man, and he sure does love my brownies.”

“No one could ever not like your brownies, Lizzy.” I smiled at her and she smiled back, “So, uhm… is he here often?”

I could feel her grin growing on her face. “Yes, Nick does come here on Wednesdays and Fridays.”

Nick.

Short for Nicolas, maybe. It does suit him. I remembered thinking that immediately.

Just then Lizzy’s eyes lit up. “Oh goodness, Look at that! He is standing right there, near his motorbike just along the parking. This is a sign! Vayu. Go now!” She was practically jumping in her seat while shoving my shoulders to push me out of the chair.

“But the party-“

“Fuck this party.”

Goddamn, this old lady was not playing.

She touched my cheek and kissed it quickly, “Look, V. You deserve to be happy, it is not a crime. Stop being so kind to the world and so harsh to yourself. Love doesn’t show up at your doorstep, you know? You need to chase it. Even if it doesn’t work out, you don’t get stuck in a world of what ifs. Nick is a good man. He is worth taking a chance.”

I hugged her and bid her goodbye. “Thank you.” I whispered mostly to myself. I made an excuse to get out of the party and pushed the door open.

He was standing a few meters away. I felt like I was in a romcom movie. Maybe it was because of the stars in the sky or the warm fairy lights right outside the restaurant window. Or it could be because I was willing to take a chance again.

Nick was wearing a bright red vest and a black leather jacket with black jeans. His shades were tucked on top of his messy blonde hair. And he had a pack of Marlboro in his hand. I walked towards him, still unsure of my footsteps.

God, he is beautiful.

“Need some help with the lighter?” I tried to be casual.

“Yeah, sure.”

He was so nonchalant that it was almost infuriating. He handed me his green lighter and I helped him light up his cigarette.

I watched him take a deep drag out of that cigarette. He closed his eyes and let out the smoke through his mouth and nose. He was leaning against his bike with his arms crossed. He watched the cigarette getting eaten up by the reddish-orange flame, firmly placed between his fingers.

Nick quickly bit into his own cigarette lightly with his lips and held the pack of Marlboro towards me while raising his eyebrows, gesturing if I needed one too.

“I am good, thank you.” I instantly replied.

He rolled his eyes.

Cocky bastard.

A few moments passed. It was really awkward too. I felt like pushing myself off a cliff. But I noticed a few things; he was just a few centimetres shorter than I was. However, nobody could deny that he was built. I actually felt like a twig beside him.

“Vayu, right?”

I thought I was going to combust with joy. “You remember me?”

“Of course I do. Who else would buy one of Shakespeare’s best classics with a fucking Porn magazine?”

If it were someone else, I would have knocked their teeth out (breaking my knuckles in the process.). But I saw a beautiful smile starting form in his face. He was really proud of what he said.

And I was glad I met him once again.

"You should smile more often." I blurted out. Nick looked at me with furrowed eyebrows. But soon his expressions relaxed a bit.

"Then make me." he said

*******

Next Chapter

A/N: I promise there will be more nick in the upcoming chapters

p.S. I love Lizzy

Tag: @ohmtoff @freshloveforthefit @miloisdone1 @nicksfavhoe @heyitsmemia @neo404 @matty-bear2 @thenickgirl @loud-sturniolos @maria4mari @solarsturniolo @darl1ngdr1sta @tkhzs @soursturniolo

[rippersz]

𝒯𝑜 𝒫𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃:

(A Larissa Weems x fem!reader fanfic) (Part 2)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Despite your inclination to romanticizing life, you still experienced the dreaded bad days. Mental health was something you took very seriously seeing as you had issues in the past, though as any fellow sufferer would know, the worst feelings often came back with a vengeance. Your boss, thank goodness she was a kind woman, understood your struggle and allowed you the necessary number of days off. As long as it didn’t get too excessive, you could take all the time you needed. And you did.

That Monday, you decided to treat yourself. The new year had started out well and your mind was already quite cluttered - a small day in your own company could sort things out, couldn’t it?

Yes. Surely.

Well… it could… if the stranger from Friday wasn’t sitting in the same exact spot again. And if she weren’t looking so beautiful… again. And if she weren’t not paying attention to you… again.

You let out a sigh as you sat down, and for the first time in a while felt quite awkward in your usual seat. There weren’t many people there on a Monday mid-morning- the rush had already passed- so the amount of distractions was numbered. Not that you were intentionally looking for a distraction. Oh no. Why would you do that? There was nothing you needed to distract yourself from. Especially not a certain stranger with a certain aura who had a certain beautiful hair style and wore a certain cream colored dress with gold jewelry and a white overcoat. Yeah, there was nothing. Nothing you needed to pull your eyes from. Nothing you needed to avoid staring at because it was so… pleasing to observe.

Nope. Not a thing.

That being said, you looked anywhere other than right in front of you. To your left was a group of tired teens, definitely heading off somewhere like a skatepark or a gym of some sorts. To your right was a woman pacing- clearly late for work; and two men standing in suits with their backs pressed to the station wall- clearly dreading said work. Beyond them were other civilians (not nearly as eye-catching as a certain stranger-who-shall-not-be-mentioned) that were going about their days. A little girl staring down at her mother’s iPad while the mother spoke on the phone. A young boy counting the trampled gum stains at his feet. Two older ladies making hushed conversation as they stood side by side and waited for their train. You looked over them all… and felt a strange loss of passion.

Yes, they were all living. Yes, they were all engrossed in themselves. Yes, they were still worthy of being observed and wondered over…

But they were nothing in comparison to what you had caught a glimpse of.

Such a small dose- a small few moments on that one Friday evening- and your curiosity was tugged into the spotlight. Triggered, almost. So, drawn naturally like iron to a magnet, like a moth to a burning flame, you gave into yourself and peered up through your eyelashes nervously. Sneakily. You didn’t want her to catch you staring and think you were strange and walk away from the station forever and never come back. You didn’t want the only other time that you stared into those gorgeous eyes to be from across a subway platform that she saw you at not even 2 days ago. You just… well your interest was harmless. A few minutes of admiration was not enough.

(Though you were sure you’d need more than a hundred lifetimes to properly appreciate her image quite honestly.)

And thank goodness the gods answered your silent prayers. She was still there. Still beautiful. Still otherworldly in a way that you’d never accurately be able to explain. Still sitting as though the world didn’t bend to her will and turn its head as soon as she walked into a room- or a subway station for that matter. And she really wasn’t doing anything noteworthy. She was just sitting with her arms crossed over her chest and her back pressed against the cold metal of the bench and her eyes staring at one random spot on the floor. Lost in thought, you supposed the angel was. And because you were utterly helpless to such beauty, you allowed yourself to become similarly lost while indulging your eyes.

Her makeup was perfect, you noticed. How long had it taken her to perfect the look over the years? Did she ever have trouble with the eyeliner? Was it hard for her or did she find it easy? If she did, was she an artist too? Would she ever get her hands dirty? Were the insides of her gloves stained lightly with charcoal dust or marred by the remnants of paint? Were her nails colored? Were they white? Red, maybe? To match her lipstick? She was a fashionista- surely her nails matched some part of her aesthetic. Though the real question was what was that aesthetic? Bright hues and dashes of color? Did she secretly wear black and grey to bed? One would think the lightness of her clothing, hair, and skin were signs of innocence or cleanliness… but you weren’t sure what to make of it. She looked severe. Strong. Although maybe that was just due to her height and stature… both of which were (admittedly) quite impressive. Broad but feminine shoulders hid beneath the long cashmere coat she wore- and the cleanest white kitten heels adorned her feet. Really the longer you looked, the more you figured she smelled like fresh linen and gardenia perfume. Or maybe… maybe she smelled like jasmine and roses. Something heavier. Maybe she wasn’t innocent or clean or strong at all. Maybe her personality didn’t match her appearance. Maybe she was unbelievably kind and never knew how to say ‘no’ and felt guilty when she couldn’t make it to lunch with a friend because she was busy working. Maybe she was popular. Maybe she was a lone wolf. Though just because she sat alone didn’t mean she was lonely… many people didn’t have a partner to ride the train with. Many didn’t want one in the first place.

…Did she?

Did she want one? Did she have one at home and they were simply busy? Or maybe a partner was waiting for her on the other line… standing patiently with flowers in hand and an excited smile on their face. Maybe there was someone at home. Maybe she had been with them at the station over the weekend while you were busy sleeping in and catching up on shows at night. Maybe she was married and would put her ring back on after her gloves came off when she was out of the chill. Although then again, maybe there was no ring. Maybe there was no partner. Maybe she was just as alone as you were and the wishful thinking tirade you were going on wasn’t wishful thinking at all and was actually the truth. Maybe she had grown tired of limited human interaction. Maybe her car was getting repaired and she didn’t want to spend money on however many different cabs she’d have to take during her wait.

Or… maybe she didn’t have a car at all. Or a ring. Or a partner. Or any money. Maybe she rented the clothing and used YouTube videos to get the hairstyle. Maybe the jewelry was cheap and left green remnants on her skin when she took it all off in the evening. Maybe she was struggling with bills. Maybe she bought her perfume off of Amazon and really disliked the thought of buying things that cost over 100 dollars. Maybe she did have a partner but didn’t have a ring because they both agreed that rings were silly and that their love was enough to ensure their devotion to each other.

…And, if by chance that was indeed the case… well you couldn’t help but wonder if she was positive that she had found ‘the one’. Was she happy with them? Did they give her the world? Did they meet all of her needs and provide intellectual conversation and offer to bring the groceries in when she returned from the shops? Did they tell her she could light up the world by just existing? Did they help her brush her hair out at night? Or wash her back in the shower? Or make her dinner when she was too tired to even get up from the couch? Did they help clean before hosting the next morning? Did they gush about her to their friends and make said friends smile and roll their eyes and claim that they were ‘whipped’ for her? Were they whipped for her? Did they insist that no matter how many arguments they had or how many differences existed between them, that they could still make it work and give the relationship their all? Were they in love with her? Was she in love with them? And was there any real logical reason as to why you were worrying about a beautiful stranger’s love life even though you hadn’t shared one conversation with her?

That particular thought made you pause, blink, and look away as if ashamed. Now you weren’t one for quick airport-crushes and two minute potential love interests (you much preferred wondering about a person instead of kissing them) but… something… about that woman was just so terribly intriguing. Perhaps it was because she stood out so much. Or maybe your loneliness was finally catching up to you.

Well whatever the case, either way, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her for longer than 2 minutes. And even that felt like an eternity.

The rush of the oncoming train forced you out of your stupor, and suddenly your previous view of an undercover angel was disrupted when you looked up and only saw metal. Swallowing a sigh, you watched as the doors opened and the world went on its way. There was always light pushing and shoving when the crowd made their rounds, but everyone was really far too busy with their race against time to stop and call out someone for their rude behavior. It would be pointless anyway- pointless and a precious minute wasting endeavor.

And when the smoke finally cleared and the train was whooshing itself away to another destination- you felt the oddest sensation in your heart. Almost like… like… anticipation? Excitement? Nervousness? For a second you couldn’t quite put your finger on it… until, of course, when you looked at the bench across from you and proceeded to deflate like a ripped balloon.

She was gone.

The stranger was gone. Just like that. One second she is there on her phone, existing in her own little world, and the next she’s just- gone. Like a star that fizzled out. Like an airplane disappearing behind clouds. Like a friend who stopped texting back. Like a person you’d probably never see again.

And you, sitting there alone on that cold metal subway bench, listening to the world and coming back to your senses, decided to promptly ignore the sudden rotted feeling of melancholy that seeped into your heart.

It didn’t belong there. Not for a stranger.

(Even if she was the most exquisite human you’d ever see in your lifetime.)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Thank you for the support! Thoughts on a Part 3?

- Ripley

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

@tanith-rhea @weemssapphic @rosieathena @jinxscatbomb @machi-avelli

[sashaisready]

I'm Still Here - Chapter One

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: references to martial issues, pregnancy

Wordcount: 1.3k

Your hand absentmindedly stroked the gentle swell of your belly as you gazed out of the window to the pristine front yard ahead. You were lost in thought, only half aware of the soft splashes of suds and water as they swallowed your marigold gloves. This window was your little entryway to the outside, the door to the rest of the world, all so close yet so far.

You watched Mrs. Darby walk her elderly dog across the street, right on schedule. She walked him every day at the same time. Frankly, you were amazed the little guy was still alive but Snickers the dog would probably outlive all of us. He moved so slowly it was as if he was barely walking at all. Still, Mrs. Darby had all the time in the world – her housekeeper kept the home, her gardener attended to her azaleas, Mr. Darby spent his retirement fishing, tinkering with their many cars and generally keeping out of his wife’s way – so what was an hour to walk the dog halfway up the street?

She spotted you at your post, as she always did, and gave you a wave. You waved back, a strained smile and a nod of your head. Same old, same old. She then began gesturing wildly, pointing downwards and grinning. You stared back blankly, clueless, until you realised she was gesturing to the bump. You gave her a smile and a nod, exaggeratedly rubbing your belly in response. Baby! Baby, yes! That’s all the neighbourhood hens ever wanted to talk about with you, baby baby baby. ‘How are you feeling, dear?’ ‘Oh, I hope your ankles aren’t too swollen’. You’d wear your smile like warpaint and nod in the right places. They seemed relieved when you started showing. At least now they could understand something about you. This universal experience. They understood you; you were one of them, no longer the Sheriff’s strange wife they couldn’t chitchat with at potlucks, no, they spoke this language. You were bearing children like they all had, maybe you were like them after all.

But you weren’t. And you knew that. And he knew it too.

Mrs. Darby waved again as she wandered out of view, poor Snickers limping behind.

You heard him upstairs then, his feet heavy on the floor above you as he charged across the bedroom. You rolled your eyes, he never gave himself enough time, even though he’d done this shift a million times over.

The clumsy thudding moved from the bedroom, across the hallway and finally down the stairs. He breezed into the kitchen slightly breathlessly. Everything was a little more of an effort these days, the evidence of which peeked from the bulge of his midriff. He really needed new uniform, but that would mean admitting he was bigger. And he wouldn’t do that. But your sewing skills could only achieve so much.

“Morning, honey” came his low drawl and he sat down.

You turned to face him as you pulled off your gloves, mindlessly picking up the plate of eggs and the steaming mug of coffee and placing them on the table.

“Morning” you replied.

You looked at him as he smiled weakly at you and thanked you for the breakfast. You didn’t look at him properly much at the moment, but you did then. You could see a glimpse of the Lee you loved so dearly, the sparkle of his crystal blue eyes, the line of his broad shoulders, the suggestion of his strong jawline – a little more hidden these days, but that was okay. He was still that wide eyed deputy you had fallen for all those years ago.

Even if that girl would be horrified by the life you lived now.

“I’m runnin’ late” he mumbled as he shovelled the eggs into his mouth. “Gotta meet with the deputies, then we gotta drive out to McGlade’s farm to talk him down – he keeps starting trouble with Denton about property lines. Always a delicate conversation when farmers are partial to having heated discussions while holding their shotguns…”

You nodded but knew this was a lie. He always included too many details about his day when he was lying. Not that he knew you’d picked up on this little tell of his, so you just smiled along like the dutiful wife. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.

No doubt he’d be off doing something illegal, something corrupt or unsavoury on the side that he seemed to think you didn’t know about. Like he’d forgotten who you were, and where you came from.

“Mmm. Good luck” you replied as you wiped down the sink.

“And what are your plans?” he asked as he pushed the final breakfast remnants into his mouth.

“Gotta go to the market. Pick up some stuff for dinner. And the pantry needs restocking”.

“Call Denton and ask him to send a bag boy round” Lee said gruffly. “They can deliver”.

You rolled your eyes. “I can go to the market, Lee. I’m pregnant, not dying”.

“Honey…” he said warningly.

You turned to look at him. “Lee…I’m serious”.

“And so am I…”

You sighed and he stood up, putting his plate by the sink.

“My seven months pregnant wife shouldn’t be bustin’ her ass hauling heavy cans from the market” he cautioned, raising a finger to you. That was his signal that he wasn’t playing around.

You sighed, slumping against the counter. Part of you was tempted to carrying on provoking him as an argument would be the most the two of you had interacted in weeks…but you were tired. And as fun as it would be to make him explode before 9am, you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You shot him a hint of a smirk, a glimpse of the inner you, and he raised an eyebrow, almost daring you to continue.

“Fine” you huffed as you crossed your arms. “I’ll call them”.

He nodded and reached for his hat. “Good girl” he said quietly as he affixed it to his head.

You swallowed and almost felt the heat rise to your cheeks at that. It had been a while since he used that particular moniker. Back in the day he used to-

“Well…I’ll be goin’” his voice cut through your haze.

You nodded as your hand rubbed your bump. He looked at you and reached out. For a second you thought he was going to touch your stomach. He hadn’t really done that, not since it had started looking like a baby bump, anyway. You felt your breath hitch as you froze, too scared to move in case it stopped him.

His hand reached towards you, but he suddenly clamped it into a fist, withdrawing it quickly and shoving it into his pocket. He cleared his throat, the discomfort evident on his face.

You wanted to grab his hand and place it on your belly, hold him close and tell him it was okay. You can feel the baby. You can feel me. That’s your baby too. That’s little Bodecker. You wanted to kiss him and embrace him and tell him how much you missed him. That even though you slept inches away from him every night the gulf between you felt insurmountable and endless. Ask him when exactly the two of you become roommates. Strangers. Why did the baby change everything? Yeah, he cared. He said all the right things, but it felt he was going through the motions. Doing his duty in life just as he did at work. You didn’t want to end up like Mr and Mrs Darby, cordial and pleasant but sleeping in separate single beds. You wanted to scream that even though you weren’t actually fighting, you might as well be. That you barely felt like husband and wife, and you wanted him back. You wanted your Lee back. Deputy Lee who-

But then you heard the front door, and he was gone.

You sighed, sinking into a chair.

“Just you and me, little one” you told your bump gently. “Whatever happens, it’s you and me”.

[pjohoo-reclists]

Outsider POV Fic Recs

A list of fics where mortals get glimpses of the greek world and/or demigods. Last updated on 8/8/23. Enjoy!

This is War by Tibbitoo

Gen | 1.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis

Titan War, Violence, Angst

Because even though the movies get it all wrong, Paul Blofis knows. War is war, and seeing those demigods fighting for their lives, seeing the fallen on the ground, made him finally understand. This wasn't a dream, but a cruel reality where Good and Evil clashed in a bloody battle. This wasn't a book where Good always won. This was a real war. It was reality. His stepson's reality.

Start Over by RainKiss

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background Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Goode High School, poor education system, Paul is a good dad

Mr. Morelli is not a nervous person by character, but the file in front of him gives the scholastic transgressions of the new kid, who has been allowed to attend Goode High school—the place where he works.

Um.... Oops? by grainjew

Gen | 2.8k | Complete

background Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Identity Reveal, Post TLO, Pre HoO

Scarlet Williams, sophomore at Goode High School, was stretched out in the back of her friend Percy's car when a twelve year old materialized in the passenger seat. The next thing she knew, apparently Greek mythology was real and liked trying to kill her friend. Great.

Riding on the Rolling Tide by mrthology

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Jason Grace & Percy Jackson

AU, Slice of Life, Crack Treated Seriously

“I think that’s Percy Jackson!” “Who?” Sarah rolled her eyes. “The kid who jumped off the St Louis arch years ago, and then there was all that weirdness,” she added, waving her hands for effect, “with a kidnapping or something.” “Oh, the one that’s a demigod?” “Yeah,” she said. She still wasn’t sure if she believed in gods or demigods, but it was hard to deny it at this point. Monsters and worse walked among them, and Sarah hated it. At first, she’d thought it was some strange publicity stunt for an upcoming show or movie—studios had done stranger things to draw crowds, after all—but she knew better now. Gods were real, and so were monsters. ... After the Second Giant War, the Mist falls. The results aren't what anyone expected.

Someone to You by mrthology

Gen | 3k | Complete

Percy Jackson, Triton, Amphitrite, Paul Blofis' Parents, Estelle Blofis

Triton is a Good Sibling, Big Brother Percy, Slice of Life

Anna wasn't sure what to think of Percy Jackson, truth be told, having only met him twice. She adored her daughter in law Sally and her little granddaughter, but there was something about Percy that put her on edge. She had no idea what - he was a kind boy, eager to help with his baby sister when most teenagers would run for the hills and clearly adored his mother - but there was just something about him, something about his too-bright eyes that made her feel uneasy. ~~~ Or, Paul's parents are taking care of Estelle for a few days. When picking her up, they meet Percy again as well as his older brother (what was his name? Tri?). At this point, Anna just wants to know what the dad looks like to have kids that look like THIS. Especially when, several days later, they meet the stepmother as well.

Here On The Sunny Side by mrthology

Gen | 4k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Apollo

Post Trials of Apollo, New Rome University, Attempt at Humor

“Just talk to him.” Cody blinked. He could do a lot of things, but approaching Percy Jackson and just talking to him was not one of those things. “We can’t just go and talk to him!” Aida yelped, shifting nervously in her seat. Cody agreed. Percy Jackson was nothing if not intimidating. He’d done so much for Camp Jupiter and walked with more gods than Cody could begin to fathom. There were even rumours that Jupiter (or, Cody supposed, Zeus) had offered him godhood when he’d only been sixteen. Everyone in New Rome knew he spent time in his father’s realm below the sea, and even the Praetors seemed to defer to him at times. No. Cody couldn’t just go up and talk to Percy Jackson. Not many in New Rome would dare. ——— Or, Percy’s part of a group project at NRU. His group mates aren’t exactly sure what to make of him. Or of his mysterious paramour.

A Thin Barrier Between Two Worlds by Skywalking_through_life

T | 5.7k | Complete

Percy Jackson, Hudson River Spirit

Post Gaea & Second Giant War, Canon Compliant, Eavesdropping

"'Man, If I avoided everyone with a bone to pick with me, I'd be a hermit. But I haven't figured out what I'm supposed to have actually done this time?" He could only see half of Percy's face, and even that at a distance, but there was no mistaking the lazy smirk he was wearing, or the way his arms were casually folded across his chest. He wasn't scared of this guy, which didn't make a lick of sense, because just the guy's voice was scaring Giovanni. What could the rest of him look like? "Don't play stupid, kid, it ain't a good look for you. You know good and well what you did." A sudden thud shook the wood of the old dock, making it creak and sway and causing bits of plank to fall. When the dust cleared, Giovanni bit down hard on his tongue to stop himself from gasping, because now that he could see both people above him, he wasn't sure the person opposite Percy was, in fact, human. In which Giovanni learns that there is such a thing as knowing too much about the world around him...

The Overwhelming Specter of Your Mothers Book Club by 60sec400

Not Rated | 5.9k Complete

Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis

Meeting the Parents, Sally Jackson is a Good Parent, Oneshot

Martha Blofis stared at her son in shock. “What do you mean,” she said slowly, “that you’re married?” Her son fidgeted nervously. First, he ran a hand through his peppered hair, and then his eyes flickered down and away. Then he lifted them again and smiled meekly at her. “Paul,” she said, “I need you to tell me what in gods name you were thinking.” “Her name is Sally Jackson?” Paul said, his voice lifting as he weren’t quite sure what the name of his wife was. AKA Paul tells his mother he hasn't seen in four years that he's married. Really, the only thing she can think about is what she's going to tell her book club.

Percy Jackson and the Scrutiny of his Coworkers by pqrker

Gen | 6.4k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Percy Jackson & Original Characters

Marine Biologist Percy Jackson, Adult Percy Jackson

Jim turned back to the tank and looked at Marcie the seal, who was now staring at the spot his coworker had been standing just moments before with that same strange look of reverence in her eyes. Percy Jackson truly was the oddest person Jim Elpool had ever worked with. or 5 times percy's coworkers were confounded by his fish magic, plus 1 time they try to figure it out.

More Things in Heaven and Earth by Skywalking_through_life

T | 7.1k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Post-Gaea & Second Giant War, Canon Compliant, High School

"Sticking her head further out of the light of her doorway and into the dark hallway, she peered left and right, trying to catch a glimpse of movement in the shadows beyond the dim glow of the emergency lights. Nothing. But as her eyes fell on the bank of lockers outside her classroom where the first thud had come from, they widened in horror. A long smear of blood, thick enough to start to drip down the dented metal, stained two of the lockers." Ms. Lafayette is a teacher, not a detective. But that doesn't mean she's not curious - and concerned - when a trail of blood appears in the hallway outside her classroom in the early hours of the morning...

good doesn't equal Goode by vani_em

Gen | 7.3k | Complete

Percy Jackson, Paul Blofis

off screen Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, BAMF Percy Jackson, good dad Paul Blofis

One thing was clear: Percy Jackson was not Goode High School material.

In a Field of Dandelions by mrthology

T | 7.5k | Complete

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Future Fic, Kid Fic, Domestic Fluff

"You okay there?" she asked once she was closer, smiling in what she hoped was a welcoming manner. The man smiled back, still looking a bit confused. Nicky's breath caught in her chest when he met her eyes. His gaze was a little too vivid, his bone structure a little too perfect. He seemed a little too much more than human. Part of her wanted to run, while another part wanted to follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond. "I think so," he replied, breaking the spell. "Just trying to figure out day one, I suppose. I'm Percy!" ----- Percy and Annabeth's eldest child starts school. Percy inadvertently causes a bit of a stir, and Annabeth isn't jealous, not at all.

[conduct] not unbecoming men who [strive] with gods by Skywalking_through_life

T | 8k+ | On-going as of 8/8/23

Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase, Sally Jackson/Paul Blofis, Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis

Post Second Giant War, Slice of Life, Identity Reveal

"Some students find it hard to find a poem that they identify with," she said simply, even tone belying the gravity of the look she was giving him. "I…I can imagine that you, perhaps, might be one of them." For a moment, he just stared back at her, heart now thumping almost painfully fast as he tried to decide how to respond to that. She was right of course, but now that the moment he'd been waiting for had definitely arrived, was he really prepared to do this? "Are we talking about poetry?" He finally asked, mouth dry, as though he didn't already know the answer to his own question, "Or are we talking about…something else?" Or, a week in the life of Percy's senior year, featuring: a poetry project, a swim meet, prom, several identity crises, and maybe, just maybe, a long-overdue conversation with a certain sharp-eyed teacher.

some have entertained angels unaware by Skywalking_through_life

T | 21k | Complete

Percy Jackson & Sally Jackson, Percy Jackson & Paul Blofis, Minor or Background Relationships, Percy Jackson/Annabeth Chase

Post Second Giant War, Field Trip, Powerful Percy Jackson

"Slumping at the table next to his now slightly raspy stepfather, Percy decided to make one last appeal. "Paul, you can't seriously think me dying of frostbite or exposure on the way to see the Statue of Liberty for the eighty-millionth time is a good death, right? Like, I could do so much better." Paul shrugged, eyes dancing. "I'm not the expert on death in this family, Perce. But I do imagine it's probably more heroic than dying of boredom in US Government class?"' Percy didn't think there was a god of field trips, but if there was...he was pretty sure that they hated him.

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group J Round 3: #J3 vs #J1

#J3: Cat demon stuck in cat form, gets adopted as a pet

#J1: Two high school girls overcome mommy issues with the power of YURI!

Details and poll under the cut!

#J3: Legend of Luo XiaoHei (series) (Luo XiaoHei Zhan Ji)

Summary:

XiaoHei is a young cat demon training to be an Executor, someone who maintains the balance between humans and demons. His first mission as a trainee was to steal the Sky Pearl. He succeeded, but he also got injured enough to be unable to revert to his human form. Stuck in his cat form, he gets adopted by the human girl XiaoBai as a pet. The story then follows XiaoHei’s adventures as a pet cat in a human home while also evading the pursuit of his enemy, Diting.

Propaganda:

Legend of Luo Xiaohei, at first glance, is a fun kiddy series with cute art. But the more you learn of the story, the more you realize how much thought is put into every little detail. The creator’s worldbuilding is so intricate. It’s like Adventure Time in that you think it’s all fun and games, but there’s actually so much more to it. There’s even a manhua for the side characters featuring their lives from thousands of years ago!

A lot of information will be slowly unfolded, but not once does it feel overwhelming to the viewer. Following XiaoHei’s point of view, we get to see glimpses of the wider lore, piquing our curiosity. 

In the world of LXH, demons and cultivators/immortals exist, but they don’t usually cross paths with ordinary humans because they keep their existence/powers a secret. XiaoHei himself has had little interactions with humans aside from his master. It isn’t until XiaoHei meets XiaoBai that he actually learns more about them and their way of life. Slowly, he gets drawn to the human life and also learns to have fun just like the human kids his age.

Season 1 presents to us XiaoHei’s daily life with his friends, so it’s more slice-of-life with the supernatural simply peppered around. It never gets boring, though, because there’s this ever-present tension of XiaoHei having to keep his identity a secret. We also get to meet a lot of intriguing characters, like XiaoBai’s “brother,” who helps XiaoHei fight against Diting. 

Season 2, on the other hand, is more action-packed. The plot for s2 is the Executors guild seeking humans with talent in cultivation. They screen them through a virtual reality game where they can emulate the use of powers. XiaoHei’s final test as Executor also takes place here.

I personally think the best aspect of this show is its hype fight scenes, but that’s just me craving stimulation. At its core, LXH is really a heartwarming story about a young demon learning that there is more to life than powers and fighting. Sure, the supernatural stuff is interesting, but beyond that, it’s a story of love—It’s about XiaoHei making friends and discovering what it is he really wants to do without fear of losing what he calls his home, for home will always be with him. 

Overall, Legend of Luo Xiaohei is a nice, warm show that you can binge on a slow day without missing out on the excitement a story with an overarching plot brings. Do give it a try.

P.S.: This series takes place about three years after the events in the movie (which has the same title in Chinese, but is more known as simply “Legend of Hei” in English). The series aired first before the movie, though, so it doesn’t matter. 

Trigger Warnings:

Child death in s2 (it’s fake, but the characters’ reactions feel so real)

Not really a trigger, but just in case: Teens/adults bullying children. XiaoHei is a great fighter, and the people that can match with him are only those older than him.

#J1: Flip Flappers

Summary:

Cocona is an average middle schooler living with her grandmother. And she, who has yet to decide a goal to strive for, soon met a strange girl named Papika who invites her to an organization called Flip Flap.

Dragged along by the energetic stranger, Cocona finds herself in the world of Pure Illusion—a bizarre alternate dimension—helping Papika look for crystal shards. Upon completing their mission, Papika and Cocona are sent to yet another world in Pure Illusion. As a dangerous creature besets them, the girls use their crystals to transform into magical girls: Cocona into Pure Blade, and Papika into Pure Barrier. But as they try to defeat the creature before them, three others with powers from a rival organization enter the fray and slay the creature, taking with them a fragment left behind from its body. Afterward, the girls realize that to stand a chance against their rivals and the creatures in Pure Illusion, they must learn to work together and synchronize their feelings in order to transform more effectively.

Propaganda 1:

Flip Flappers is a magical girl show that brings its own unique twist to the genre, while still being reminiscent of older classics. It has incredibly creative visuals, good characters, and an absolute banger soundtrack! The deeper messages of the show are about finding the courage to start making your own decisions and living your life the way you want it, growing up, and the struggle against controlling authority figures that entails. While it is a fun show, the emotional moments it has hit hard! It also has a yuri narrative (seriously, they even get taken to an all-girls Catholic school yuri setting one time), which I’m sure the himejoshis on this webbed site would appreciate if they saw the show!

Propaganda 2:

Look, sometimes Magical Girl Shows have fights that are just kinda… ehh. You ever wanted to see magical girls beat the SNOT out of monsters in amazingly animated, incredibly physical fight scenes? Give Flip Flappers a shot! And if you don’t, that’s fine too, because the shows genre changes every other episode anyways.

Flip Flappers has a little something for everyone. It has amazing characters. It has slick transformation sequences. It has stunning fight scenes. It has horror. It has yuri. It has mommy issues. It’s fun for the whole family!

While one would think the constant tone-shifts would leave the series feeling kinda all over the place, Flip Flappers keeps itself grounded with its amazing character work. The main two characters, Cocona and Papika, bounce off of each other incredibly well. They have so much chemistry, and it’s refreshing to see a show that actually does something romantic with its two main leads instead of just kinda dangling it in front of your face and then chickening out at the last second.

In conclusion, this show is the embodiment what having ADHD and being sapphic feels like. Give it a shot!

Trigger Warnings:

Flashing Lights/Flickering Images, Gender Identity/Sexuality Discrimination, Guns, Kidnapping, Nudity.

Depictions of child and emotional abuse, both at a side character and a main character. Control over children is a common theme in the show.

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form, where you can submit revisions for taglines, propaganda, trigger warnings, and/or video.