#professor bradley

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.5 | Bradley Bradshaw

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Bradley learns that maybe the two of you weren’t on the same page after all.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, nudity, mentions of erections, making out. Semi-oral (f receiving), touching, mentions of sex. Ohhh boy you thought it was all okay. Wc: 5.8k

It didn’t feel like seven days at the Gabris estate. It felt like so much longer. A whole summer, even. The sunny day down at the lake, and then two whole days of rainstorms, and the day that Teodora showed you how to know which apricots are the sweetest to pick, the day that Zoe twisted her ankle on the crumbling back steps. The night by the piano.

This morning. 

Luke must know where Bradley is, after he didn’t go to their room last night. Maybe he would think Bradley fell asleep in the study, but he isn’t that stupid. 

Of course, Bradley is here with you. He fell asleep here last night, shortly after you had. He’s still asleep now, breathing deeply against the crook of your neck, his thigh slotted between yours and his palm on your stomach.

You haven’t been awake long. 

It’s a warm, sunny morning and you can hear Sandro’s wife singing in the kitchen downstairs. Bradley smells like summer. You twist in his arms and turn your face toward his neck, breathing in the citrus and faint sweat and remainders of his cologne. 

Bradley wakes to the feeling of your lips soft against his neck, and your fingers stroking at the hair at his nape.

Instantly, he realises that he didn’t make it back to his own bed last night, but he can’t find it in himself to mind. His arms snake around your middle and he squeezes you closer. He’s in your room. Not only that, but he’s in your bed. You’re laying on your side, the textbook half squished under you. The two of you fell asleep studying. He’s still fully clothed, and that’s what matters. 

He lifts his arm and squints to check his watch. It’s still early. The two of you slept almost all night. Lowering his wrist, he startles once more to find that your eyes are now open. You blink tiredly at him.

“We fell asleep.” You mumble, barely awake. Your legs stretch out from under you as you push yourself onto your back and inch away from him. You’re close enough that all you can smell is his cologne. Each inhale tempts you towards letting your heavy eyelids just fall shut, letting your cheek rest against the muscle of his shoulder.

“Morning,” You murmur against his neck. 

He kisses lazily at your temple. “Good morning, honey.”

Last night, Bradley had touched you again. The two of you had been sitting on your bed, and you were teaching him the Wall Street way of playing poker — as skilfully learned from your time watching your father — and Bradley had, so crudely, wagered your underwear.

They are laying, discarded, on the floor of your room now. 

It feels good, pretending that none of this matters. That he is allowed to touch you, and lay with you, and kiss you. 

“Did you sleep okay?” One of his palms pressed firmer into the middle of your back, flattening you against his chest as he turns his face  toward your neck. 

“Like the dead.” You mumble against his warm skin, resting your cheek against his clavicle. He hums amusedly.

For a moment, you let it be quiet. He’s still on the cusp of sleep, barely awake and groggy. Your fingers skim up the swell of his bicep and across the scarred skin on his shoulder, onto the muscled plains of his back.

He hums at the feeling, letting you know that he’s enjoying the soft touch. Maybe you’re enjoying it just as much. His skin there is soft, and always warm. You reach for freckles that you can’t see, guided by the ridges of his shoulder blades. 

“I could stay like this forever.” You whisper. He makes a tired sound of agreement as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. 

Sighing as he pulls his hands from his face, he pulls back and lets himself look at you. Settled down against the pillow, just watching him. Studying him.

Eyes heavy and blinking at him. Lips parted just slightly, like you’ve got something to say. The warmth of your skin. The look in your eye. The fact that he knows your underwear are still on the floor.

Bradley moves before he really weighs up what he’s doing. Eclipsing your jaw with his palm, you hold your breath as he leans in and kisses your top lip. 

It’s slow, but the feelings it sends through you aren’t. The soft weight of his chest pressing into yours, just a taste of what the real thing could feel like. 

Another slow kiss, his fingers curling around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. You comply eagerly, pressing into his touch. His knee slides between yours, finding leverage on the mattress between your thighs.

Your mind skips ahead of you, flooding the darkness behind your eyelids with images of him that night with Natasha. His hands inching along the backs of her bare thighs. The need coursing through them, pressing close to each other with each kiss. 

His warmth is inviting, intoxicating. His palm sits heavy on your cheek as you shuffle impossibly closer to him. He welcomes you against him, covering you with a fraction of his weight. Bradley likes strong women. Experienced women. 

You rush forwards, chasing his mouth, grabbing at his shoulder, tugging him closer. He follows your lead wordlessly, carding his open palm over your hair, teasing his tongue along your lip. 

It occurs to you that this could be the first time that you ever have sex. Everything you’ve been so afraid of. Ashamed of. Enveloped, hidden away by the strong feeling of his hands on your body.

It could happen. All that’s stopping you is his underwear, and the fact that he told you he wouldn’t. But he wants to. He told you he wants to.

A greedy hum passes your lips, caught against his. Your fingers slide from his shoulder into his hair before you can remind yourself that this isn’t right. 

At first, Bradley thinks that he’s imagining things. There’s no way. But then, it happens again just as it had the first time. Your hips shift at just the right angle — the third time is just too much for it to be a coincidence, you’re grinding against his thigh.

A low grumble fights its way from his chest and into his throat, his hands sprinting for you like the snap of a rubber band, grabbing you tightly by your hips. It crosses his mind that he’s moving too fast and considers pulling back to check. Before his mind can land on an answer, your hand tousles into his curls and grabs firmly.

Even all of those too-big shirts he wears, nothing could really hide the fact that Bradley just remains to be a big guy. Tall, wide shoulders, long legs and a strong middle. He reminds you of his strength, dragging you against him by your hips. The brown hair that dusts his thigh brushes the inside of your thighs, the apex of your legs.

“How’s that?” Bradley asks as his thumb brushes a strand of hair back off of your temple. 

Heat flushes instantly across your face. Bradley sees it in the calculated way that your eyes widen just slightly. The way he feels your fingers flex at the nape of his neck.

“It’s fine.” You bite back. Bradley should have known that even in a time like this, you would still be fighting him for the upper hand. Not tonight, honey. His words cross your mind, this time tinged with the resentment and shame your mind has coated them in. 

You’re certain that he hasn’t ever told Natasha no in her entire life.

He trails his tongue along the seam of your lips, slow and soft, then brushes forwards and captures your mouth into a bruising kiss. He barely even pulls back to speak, his lips brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.” 

You whimper. His massive hands and their hold on your hips, rocking you against the denim of his jeans. It’s impossible to think straight. “I don’t know.”

“I know what I want.” Bradley tells you, tucking his thumb under your chin and angling your jaw so that he can bite at your throat. The action has you keening against him, eagerly following the direction of his thumb so that his mouth can reach more of your throat.

 It’s cruel honestly, everything he’s doing to you. He’s the first man to tell you that he wants you. Not because you’ve been together a while and it’ll happen eventually. Because he thinks you’re sexy. He’s attracted to you. He wants you. And fuck, his voice is so deep. “Tell me what you want.”

“I — Bradley, I don’t —“ You sigh, huffing a deep and frustrated noise as he sucks warmly at your skin. “I want you to touch me… I think.”

“You think?” Bradley’s hand sits against the backside of your thigh, warm, his long fingers splayed out along your skin. His lips barely have to move before he’s sucking at your neck. His warm mouth, languid against your skin. Swiftly, he curls his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips and tugs you against him, working you against his thigh.

The friction ignites something. Something you’ve felt before. The kindling is hot but it’s all white smoke for now. Blinking, you stare up at him with a decision to make. He squeezes your hips.

“I do. I do want you to touch me.”

The expectation is that he’ll pull back and tear your nightdress up out of his way and have his way with you. Bradley nips at your throat compliantly, kissing his way down your jaw and your throat.

He tips you onto your back and follows suit, settling between your thighs. The morning sun covers him in gold, from the flecks in his irises and the strands in his curls to the tanned swell of his shoulders. He mouths at your collarbones, following the sweetheart neckline of your nightie, palming at your thighs.

A moan tangles from your lips as he flattens himself against your body, his bulge between your legs and his hot chest against your skin. 

Bradley dips his hand between your bodies and feels you finally. He sighs against your chest, smiling. “Oh, honey.” 

Your heartbeat thuds. His fingers graze your swollen clit and you jolt a bit, otherwise stuck to the spot by his weight. 

“No wonder you want me right here,” He murmurs, gathering your excitement on the tips of his fingers. “All worked up. Don’t worry, honey. I’ve got you.”

You drop your head back onto the pillows, feeling electricity rush through your middle as Bradley circles your clit with a featherlight touch. A whimper slips your mouth despite your best efforts, despite your teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“I want to do it.” 

And then you have his attention. He looks up at you, his face stark and the smugness that had settled there all gone.

“Yeah?” He swallows, so hard already that he’s aching. Far from in the mind space to really disagree with you. His brows draw together. “It?” 

This time yesterday, you probably would have said no. Maybe even last night, you would have. 

This morning, it’s a breathless and desperate, “Yes.”

“I don’t —“ Bradley squeezes at your thigh and shakes his head. “Baby, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“It’s just one step further than this,” You tell him, convincing yourself as much as you’re convincing him. “Doesn’t make it any different. It doesn’t change what we’ve already done, right?”

In these past seven days, Malcolm has never felt as far away. After what he did, what he must have done, you’ve never felt as far from him as you do now. He’s probably been looking for a phone number to contact you, and you’re glad that he hasn’t found one.

You don’t want to speak to him. In this moment, all that you want is right in front of you.

“But…” He swallows thickly, trying not to be driven by how badly he wants this. He taps his thumb against your chin. “You’re — You’re sure, this is what you want?”

“Uh-huh.” 

He hesitates, planting a hand into the pillow beside your head. His face is knotted up and unsure. A week ago you had been crying in his arms after the biggest betrayal of your life. This can’t be the right thing to do.

He glances down, feeling your fingers brushing along the ridges of his abdomen. 

Your lip throbs with the weight of your teeth pressing into it as your fingers dip into the waistband of his white boxer shorts. Bradley’s breath catches as your fingers wrap around his hardened length.

“Please?”

A deep sound passes his lips. How’s a guy supposed to say no to that? He leans in slowly, capturing your lip between his, his tense body melting against yours.

He groans as he pulls away from your mouth and moves downward. Your hand slips from his underwear and finds purchase against his shoulder.

 He kisses down your cheek and your jaw, spilling dirty kisses along the naked span of your chest as far as the nightgown will let him as his hands bunch at the bottom hem of it.

Your mouth hangs as he hunches over and pins your thighs back.

Glistening in the warm glow of the room, you writhe and wriggle beneath Bradley as his strong hands pin you down, lazily swirling his tongue along your puffy, swollen clit. 

“I said — I want—“ You stumble, your brows knitting together.

“I know what you want,” Bradley interrupts, turning his head and kissing at your thigh, silencing you all together as he looks up at you with those big brown eyes. “There’s no rush. Right?”

You guess not. You don’t have time to guess at much before his broad shoulders force apart your thighs and his hot mouth blanks your mind.

A whine spills from somewhere deeper in your throat, coming right from the pit of your stomach. Bradley’s messy with his work, lapping eagerly between your legs as his middle finger teases at your dripping pussy. He hasn’t ever done it like this.

 It’s more desperate now, but like it’s easy for him, like he knows you. His chin drips with your excitement, leaving your thighs sticky and dampened with slick and saliva.

His hand slips between his hips and the mattress, wrapping loosely around his cock over his boxers, grinding his hips into his hand.

And then, three knocks rattle the heavy, old door to your right. 

Bradley stops, and sits back on his knees at once. Your face is colorless, eyes wide and round. He runs a hand over his wet mouth, and turns his head towards the sound.

“Fuck.” He exhales, his lips hinting at a smile. As much as he should look just as scared shitless as you do, something in him finds this a little bit funny.

He’s expecting it to be your new best buddies, wanting you to come down to breakfast with them. Already deciding that he can handle hiding behind the door while you get rid of them, Bradley couldn’t be cooler.

Three more knocks rattle the old door on its hinges, and Sandro calls out from the other side. “Bradley?” 

Instantly, the smile is wiped from Bradley’s face. 

You scramble to cover yourself and close your legs and move, not quite as aware of your surroundings as you could be. As Bradley goes to move at the same time, your knee lifts and catches him squarely in the balls.

Sandro pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he hears a loud, strained grunt come from inside.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I didn’t—“

Bradley lifts his face out of the pillow and swallows as he adjusts himself, exhaling heavily. “It’s fine. Fuck— what the hell is the matter with him?”

Matter with him in the sense that he is impolite enough to know exactly where Bradley is, and what that must mean, and to be knocking on the door anyway.

You watch as Bradley stumbles to his feet, clearly wounded, still clutching at his manhood as he picks up his jeans. 

“You can’t — you’re going to answer the door?” You panic. 

“What else do you want me to do? Hide?” He huffs, struggling to pull his jeans up his legs and button them.

“You could go out the window.” 

He shoots you a look, entirely unimpressed. You open your mouth to protest, left with no time to do anything but squeak softly in defeat as he pulls open the door an inch, blocking it with his body.

“What?” 

Sandro presses his lips together. He looks Bradley up and down. Disheveled, his curls a mess and still naked from the navel upward.

“There’s someone on the phone for you.” Sandro explains quietly. Bradley’s brows knit together as he starts to wonder who could possibly be trying to reach him this early in the morning. “Her father. I believe.” 

A quiet gasp comes from behind the door. Bradley closes it a little more, slotting himself into the gap.

“Cool. I’ll be right there.”

“Sure. He sounds upset.” Sandro lifts his palms and shrugs as he takes a step back from the door, his mouth twitching. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Ha. Ha.” Bradley answers, unimpressed.

He swings the door shut, and flattens himself back against the wood as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. You remain in the middle of the bed, your knees tucked up to your chest, your hand covering your mouth.

“Fuck me.” Bradley sighs, leaning his head back against the door. He stretches his hand into the pocket of his jeans and plucks his cigarettes from the pocket, shaking his head. “Does he have a monitor on you that I don’t know about?”

He almost makes you smile, but you’re wincing as you slip out of bed and stand up. 

“Let me speak with him,” You offer, walking nervously toward him. “He’s just going to be rude if he’s asking for you. I’ll handle it.” 

“And miss out on telling him what an incredible morning we had?” Bradley jokes, unlit cigarette wobbling between his lips as he steps around you and reaches for his shirt. You stumble mid-step, practically pouncing on him as you grab at his arm.

“No! You can’t tell him anything.” You plead.

Bradley turns and looks at you over his shoulder, brows furrowed in disbelief. 

“Believe it or not, honey — I’m not itching to have that talk with your dad. I was kidding.” He scoffs, pulling his t-shirt over his head and running his fingers messily through his hair. “You should pack your stuff. I’ll… see you later.”

“Wait!” You frown at him. “But we were…”

Bradley seems to remember his moment of insanity then — of how close he was to actually doing it just a moment ago, and blinks at you. He plucks the cigarette from his lips and leans forward to leave a passive kiss to your temple.

“Another time,” He sets it between his lips again and digs his left hand into his pocket for a lighter. “Gotta go.”

Another time. Gotta go. The door swings shut behind him and the smell of burning tobacco fills your nose as he light’s the cigarette out in the hallway. You hate that smell. You hate how casually he just moved on from that. And oh, you could kill Alessandro. 

“Hello?” Bradley pins the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he pulls the ashtray from the window ledge and flicks the tip of his cigarette toward it.

“That’s how you answer the phone? — You don’t introduce yourself, or ask who you’re speaking with? Mumbling over there—“

Bradley perches against the window and sets his cigarette back between his lips. “I know who I’m speaking with. Sir. How can I help you?” 

“I want to know what kind of operation you’re running over there. There’s no contact number for this place anywhere on the itinerary, and then when I do finally track down a number, I spend two days calling and get nothing but a dead line!”

“We had some bad weather, unfortunately it knocked out the power. Just got it back on last night, actually.” Bradley explains calmly. 

“And you think that’s acceptable? — What if it was an emergency?”

“Was it?” Bradley prompts. Maybe he has a little bit of an attitude, but he doesn’t like the way your father talks to people.

“You think you’re funny, son?”

No, generally Bradley doesn’t think that he’s too funny. He’s a lot of things, and he’s got a good sense of humour but he’s not funny like Robin Williams or Chevy Chase. But, Bradley’s got a special knack for always being able to get the last word.

“I think the house is five hundred years old and has some pretty questionable wiring. Was there something you needed me for?” 

“You know that I can have you fired?”

Bradley leans his head back and thunks it against the window frame. He can’t blame you for the attitude you catch when this is the guy you learned it from.

“In the interest of preserving my good friend’s phone bill, I’m just trying to be… concise, here.” Bradley answers, flicking more ash into the tray. If this phone call keeps going the way that it is, Bradley figures he’ll be chain smoking through until the afternoon.

“My son-in-law has been trying to get through to my daughter. He’s… worried about her. Has she said anything to you?”

Said something pretty interesting to me earlier, Bradley thinks. Right around the time she stuck her hand in my shorts.

“No, sir. Maybe her friends, but not me,” Bradley gives the answer you would want him to give. “We’re headed to Siena this afternoon and the city’s a lot more reliable for communication and stuff. I can have her call you once we’re there?”

“No. Don’t tell her that I called.” Your father decides. Bradley doesn’t mention that you already know, because he was in your room when he was informed. “What’s the number for this place?”

“I don’t have it on me. I can take down your number and I’ll call you from the hotel when we get there.”

“Not very organised for a college professor, are you, champ?”

Bradley wets his lips with his tongue and presses them together. He spends as little time on the phone as he possibly can, resenting your father’s every word. He likes the thought of Malcolm sitting at home and tearing his hair out, worrying.

He likes the thought of that little dirtbag being kept awake at night, terrified that you know what he did and that you’ll leave him. It’s what he deserves.

Bradley likes that you fell asleep in his arms last night, peacefully, and that you woke up this morning and found yourself comfortable enough to ask for what you had. Your fiancé probably didn’t cross your mind.

He goes for his morning run a little later than normal, after his phone call, and thinks about what you had said.

He shouldn’t have agreed to it as quickly as he had, maybe. It should have required more thought, and discussion — better place or time, perhaps. 

He had been so adamantly against it, but this is starting to feel different. It’s more than a few kisses here and there. It’s Bradley enjoying feeling your weight in his arms when he sleeps, and looking forward to your smile when he wakes up.

It’s better, with him. Your first time would be better with him — and he doesn’t even mean that in an overconfident way. He just knows that he and Malcolm are far from the same, and that Malcolm could never treat you the way that Bradley does so naturally.

Bradley decides that he won’t initiate anything other than a discussion on the topic of sex. As much as he does want it, he could go for months without it. And this has to be your call. But, he doesn’t want to know what sparked the idea into your head this morning.

If you ask him again, he already knows that he would do it.

By the time he has finished with your father and with his run, it’s almost time to go. The group of eight of you are spread around the mini-can, bags loaded and waiting for Bradley while Pasquale sits in the front. It’s a really short drive today. Just over an hour to the other side of the city.

“Did anyone else get their assignments back late all the time?” Abigail muses as she lays across the three backseats of the van. You’re sitting a row in front of her, fiddling with your Walkman.

“Even when I was TA’ing, and I’d get my grading in on time, Bradley still gave everyone their results back like a week later.” Robin agrees.

“Yeah, ‘cause he was too busy slipping it to Miss Penny all year.” Luke scoffs without looking up from his chapter on bathhouses, his arms stretched around Robin’s middle as she sits on his lap. 

Instinct almost has you whipping around to look at him. Common sense has you gripped to the spot, staring at the little plastic contraption . You blink furiously at the cassette tape in front of you.

Miss Penny. Who the hell is Miss Penny? Granted, you hadn’t spent too much time wandering the humanities building, but you’re affronted to not be able to picture this mystery woman nonetheless.

“No— Miss Penny? No. Please, like Bradley would ever tell you who he’s screwing.” August — Gus —, the only other guy in your little group of eight, scoffs towards Luke. He’s standing outside of the van, leaning up against the doorframe.

“And if he was making it with anyone, it was for sure Doctor Hayes. Have you seen the two of them talking? — Man, even I felt the tension.” Zoe decides.

Screwing. Slipping it to. Making it.

And now the introduction of Doctor Hayes. 

At least this woman you have heard of; she’s an anthropology professor, and she certainly wasn’t making it with Bradley — she’s happily involved with a woman.

 It was a big point of conversation in your household. The news came to light just before your father was going to make a donation, she visited him personally to ensure that her romantic indiscretions wouldn’t affect his generosity.

If Bradley wasn’t screwing Doctor Hayes, then he probably wasn’t—

“You’re right, they were probably just friends,” Luke shrugs, again without looking up from the book. It should soothe you, but it doesn’t. It’s an arrogant thing, the way he knows everyone’s waiting on his every word, so he doesn’t have to lift his gaze to engage. “Doesn’t change the fact I saw them going at it in his office.”

 When you look up you’re startled by Robin already looking at you, like she just stole the crayon you’ve been waiting for and she’s waiting for your tantrum to begin.

You glance across at Luke instead, who is still staring smugly at his chapter.

They already think that Bradley is screwing you, maybe they’re making it up to get a reaction. 

You muster the calmest look that you can, and flip back a page in your notes, pretending that you’re reviewing the material.

You haven’t ever been to Bradley’s office. There’s a vague understanding of approximately where it is that comes with having spent four years wandering those halls, but in a pinch you would be guessing at exactly where.

 You don’t know what his desk looks like, or if he’s got one of those frosted glass window panes in the door, or maybe it’s just a heavy wood door without a window.

 Some of the old rooms still have those. They’re heavy and creaky and your daddy’s donations are eradicating them one by one.

Those big, heavy, creaky doors would do wonders for someone in need of privacy. As your eyes fall shut to blink, you’re met with a split-second snapshot of Luke nudging it open. 

After hours, after a day of tough lessons. Bradley all stressed with that red flush across his chest that he gets when stuff is really starting to get to him. Miss Penny, in her mysterious shroud of fog… perched against his desk— or worse— bent over it.

You swallow. 

“No you did not.” Abigail declares with a wrinkled face, not believing the dirty little story for a moment.

You would like to not believe it either. 

“Uh-huh. It was when I was TA’ing, I came by to drop off some papers. She was sat on his desk with her back to the door and he was just—“

“Gross, I don’t want to hear about Bradley getting his rocks off with the librarian.” Zoe complains.

The librarian. Miss Penny is the fucking librarian. She has permed hair and cat-eye glasses, a skirt shorter than faculty standard allows too. She made you pay eight dollars in late fees one time. She’s like a decade older than Bradley, maybe fifteen years. 

Your nose wrinkles as you turn your head to peer in the direction of the kitchen. Why her? Why—

“Alright, everybody ready to go?” Bradley has said his long goodbyes to the Gabris family, always wishing he got longer with them, even if Sandro did cockblock him this morning.

He climbs into the passenger seat as an awkward silence fills the van. Everyone takes their seats and stares ahead at him. He turns his head to peer back over his shoulder, frowning in confusion.

“What?”

“Nothing, man,” Luke answers coolly as Robin slides into the seat next to him. “You’re paranoid.”

Another time. Gotta go. You bet he was that casual with Miss Penny, too. With however many other women he might have been with. You set your headphones over your ears and turn toward the window. 

It’s ridiculous, maybe, to be jealous of women that knew Bradley far before you could ever stand to be in the same room as him. But this isn’t jealousy, per se. It’s something else. You don’t doubt that Miss Penny didn’t mean much to him, you just… were hoping that you meant more, maybe. 

The drive is short, and you’re piling into another old, crumbling hotel on the outskirts of Siena as the sun is just starting to set. You follow the crowd into the lobby and Bradley starts his normal routine of collecting the keys.

At first, you’re chatting with Zoe, and nothing feels different. Then, you catch something in your peripheral. Glancing down, your eyes widen and your train of thought ventures away.

“My ring.” You realise, setting your suitcase down on the faded carpet of the lobby. Bradley turns around, and finds you staring at your bare hand. 

“I don’t have my ring.” You haven’t worn that thing since the first day you got there. Bradley has noticed every single day that you haven’t had it. 

“What?” Pasquale frowns, looking between you and your hand.

“My engagement ring!” You snap at him. Everyone, at once, stops to look. Bradley stares at you. “I don’t— I must have left it! We have to go back.”

“Jesus Christ.” Luke scoffs, rolling his eyes as he drops down onto the couch. He figures he could be here a while, while you’re descending into hysterics.

After speaking to your father, Bradley figured he knows why you’re so upset. If you come home without that thing, he would give you the worst lecture known to man, or worse than that, even.

“I’ll call Sandro, and see—“ He takes two steps towards you, his face soft.

“No, I need to get it back. Now. We have to go back.”

“Mr. Bradshaw has a meeting here tomorrow, very early.” Pasquale chips in from beside you.

“I don’t care! I can’t believe I left it— Malcolm’s going to kill me if I tell him I don’t have it. What am I supposed to tell him? — That I took it off?”

You’re not thinking about your father, or getting into trouble with him. Bradley stops moving. You’re thinking about your fiancé. 

Bradley has been comforting you, and singing to you, and kissing you for a week straight — not once thinking that you might one day want to wear that ring again. 

This morning, he had been fooling himself on his run, thinking that this was anything more than fooling around. That he meant anything to you at all. That you understood him. 

He stares at you, finding none of those feelings he had thought you felt this morning. Or last night, or this whole past week.

Nothing but blind panic, because you weren’t smart enough to double check you had everything.

“Didn’t you?” Robin asks.

“Just for a second! I— I — didn’t mean to.” You struggle, eyes wide and fleeting between Bradley and Pasquale.

That’s not true. You took it off because he hurt you. You haven’t worn it in seven days. You didn’t even think about it this morning when you had packed your things, or before that when Bradley had been in your bed.

You’re growing agitated, and so is Bradley. A muscle in his jaw ticks. You meant to take off that ring, and maybe you can’t admit to yourself that you meant to leave it behind. 

“Maybe they could mail it—“ Pasquale tries.

“Do you seriously expect me to go home without it?” You’re looking at Bradley still, like this is his fault somehow. Like he’s the one who took it off of your finger. Your expression turns cold. “That ring is worth more than you make in a year!”

Bradley’s expression flattens. No hurt, no anger. Just pure detachment. He holds his hand out towards Pasquale.

“Give me the keys.”

“But, Bradley, you have—“

“Give me the fucking keys,” Bradley snaps. Zoe flinches at your side, and you feel her looking at you. Pasquale awkwardly drops the keys into Bradley’s open palm. “I’m going to get the ring, if it’ll shut her up.”

Your mouth closes, lips pressing firmly together. 

“I’ll—“

“You stay right there.” Bradley bites. He can’t think of anything worse than being stuck in a van with you for the next two and a half hours. Without looking, he squeezes the keys into his palm and heads for the door. 

With him gone, you’re the only thing for them all to look at. 

None of them knew exactly what was going on between you and Bradley this whole time, but they’re all certain of the same thing now: whatever it was, they all just witnessed the end of it.

tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

[bradshawsbaby]

Under the Tuscan sun with Professor Bradley 🧡

My second mood board inspired by The Odyssey by @sunlightmurdock

[bobfloydsbabe]

in this crossover universe the students have two bets: (1) will they actually fist fight this semester? (2) are they secretly fucking? bc no one has that kind of heated passion without a little something to back it up (it’s actually that their respective partner’s have been busy and they haven’t gotten off but they can’t say that!)

Anon, you are so right. @sunlightmurdock mentioned the bet over a fist fight too, and I think everyone gets in on the action. Students and professors from the humanities department all place bets, and it even spreads to other faculties across campus. Someone's bound to win a lot of money if they play their cards right.

I also fully believe that the students have a bingo card with all the things Bradley has done to piss off Bob. If you get a full row, someone buys you a beer at the local bar. If you get bingo, someone pays for all your drinks.

Poor Dr. Kazansky has given up trying to discourage it. If he’s bet they'll only make it two months into the semester before Bob loses his shit, that's no one's business but his own.

[sebsxphia]

Imagine tho! Being married to professor Bradley, having like a max 10 age gap between you two, going to university as a mature student after just having your son. You take your son with you one day. He won't stop fussing. Professor Bradley offering to take him off your hands and doing the reast of the lecture with his sleeping son in his arms. And everyone else in class just melts cos "how nice of him to do that" and "aww" and "I'd totally make that man a dad myself, I swear" and "he needs a kid asap". Unknowing that you beat them to it

AAAAH I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 🥹🥹

you’re going back to university as a mature student and it just so happens that your husband is teaching one of your classes. you decide to keep it a secret as best you can that you’re married and have a child together, and it works. his students are none the wiser that the baby fussing in the front row is actually his son.

he calls out your name like he would any other of his students, “let me take him off you, they say i have a knack with children.” there’s a small smirk tugging at the corners of bradley’s lips and you let him, knowing that your son probably just needs his daddy right now.

your son drifts off almost instantly and you hear a chorus of students cooing at them both. “aw, it’s like he’s his dad!”

you ignore them for the most part and focus on the rest of the lecture and your loving husband holding your little bo.y.

thank you so much for this wonderful thought my dear anon!! 💌

[fallingforfictionalcharacterss]

I was wondering if you could write enemies to lovers, where Draco and Yn are rivals at Quidditch. And Yn gets hit by a bludger or has a crash and gets unconscious and Draco forgets the game for a second and after the match when Yn is still unconscious he sits by her bedside

I got kinda carried away somewhere in the middle, so it doesn´t quite fulfil the entire request but I hope you still like it and let me know if you want me to change it somehow.

Love hits different

A/N: I wrote the reader a Ravenclaw in this story, but the house doesn´t play a very important role. I just wanted to write the reader as the seeker, so as a Gryffindor we would have to replace Harry which I felt wouldn´t quite make sense, but yeah...

You felt your heart pounding in your chest heavily. You took a deep breath. The cold air that filled your lungs made you feel more alive than anything else. So did the wind, which was pulling on your hair and clothes and made it hard to hold your broom steady. But you still managed to do so. You hovered several meters above the pitch, watching your teammates from above. For now, that was your only job. Keeping an eye on everything and everyone. Until you would get your chance.

And you couldn’t think of a single thing you would rather do. Up here, when you could almost touch the clouds, you felt like that was where you were meant to be. It felt like the world around you was slowing down, like the loud sounds coming from all sides were muffled. The only thing you had to worry about, the only thing that was important, was the game. You were circling far above the hurly-burly down there, watching your teammates passing the Quaffle around, sometimes trying to score. Your gaze was wandering around restlessly, scanning every centimetre of your surroundings.

And that´s when you saw it. It was just a twinkle in the corner of your eye, a golden shimmer, barely visible and only for a split second; but it was enough. You turned around your broom in no time, eyes wandering over the place where you thought you had seen the sparkling. And your eyes hadn’t fooled you. With your gaze fixed on the price, you leant forwards, gaining more and more speed. The only thing you could hear was the swooshing of the wind in your ears. The world around you turned into a blurry haze. By now, you were almost lying on your broom, trying to reduce the surface the wind could thwart as much as possible. You extended your arm, and your whole body was tensed, from your toes to your fingertips. You leaned forward even more, almost losing your balance, but only almost because your broom sped up even more and…

“Got it!”

Your fingers closed around the golden snitch. You slowed down immediately, coming to a halt and hovering in the air. You raised your arm triumphant, holding onto the snitch tight, while his wings were still flattering weakly, trying to escape your grip.

You could hear your teammates cheering.

“Alright guys, that´s it for today. Good job!”, Roger Davis, your captain called.

Slowly, you floated back down, until your feet touched safe ground again. You tucked away the snitch safely, before giving a high-five to Bradley and Chambers.

When Roger came up to you, he nodded approvingly and pat your back.

“That was good (Y/n). Much faster than last time. But when you speed up, you still list. Try to keep more control, even if you might lose some speed. Don’t want you to fall off the broom.”

You rolled your eyes. Roger was a good captain, and he was totally right, but in your opinion, sometimes you just had to take the risk.

“It won´t help me fly better if I´m not fast enough to catch the snitch.”, you argued. “We want to win the game after all.”

“Yeah, but it also won´t help if it knocks you from your broom and we don’t have a seeker for the rest of the season.”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“After the match against Slytherin, it´s only Hufflepuff anymore. You can take them without me.”

Obviously, that was a joke. You didn’t have any intention to break your neck any time soon, but on the other hand, you were eager to win.

Roger sighed.

“Maybe I should send you to the Gryffindors. Wood would love that mentality. You either win or die trying. But I´d like you to focus on the long run.”

“I know Roger.”, you smiled. “Don´t worry, I´ll hold back. But we´ll need a good tactic for next week. You know that the Slytherins have the better brooms.”

Roger frowned and nodded.

“I´m already working on it. Can´t believe that Malfoy´s dad treated them all new brooms once more.”

You nodded in agreement.

Roger stared into the void gloomy for a few more seconds before he shook his head and looked at you.

“But that doesn’t mean we don’t stand a chance. Especially with you. Malfoy might be a good player and has the better broom, but you´re way better at spotting the snitch and Malfoy knows that. He´ll probably watch you very closely. He knows he got good chances to catch up with you once you see it and have to act on it. So don’t risk long speeds. The best chance you got is when you are already close to the snitch. Malfoy´s arrogant. He´ll rely on his pace. So the closer the snitch is to you, the better your chances are.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded. You were aware of the situation. Of course, you were. You had played it in your head over a million times. The Quidditch games against Slytherin always stressed you out more than against the other houses. And it wasn’t just about the fact that you couldn’t stand the arrogant attitude of the house, especially when they won, or that they had the most brutal way of playing, it was about your most direct opponent.

Because the presence of Draco Malfoy always made you nervous. He somehow intimidated you. Not only in a bad way though, but it irritated you for sure and you couldn’t use any kind of distraction during the game. And you knew that if Roger was right and Malfoy would actually concentrate more on watching you to catch the snitch than actually spotting it himself, it would make it almost impossible for you to function completely as long as you would be able to feel his grey eyes fixed on you. But there wasn’t a damn chance that you would risk the victory of your house because of Malfoy´s irritatingly beautiful eyes or the way he still looked so elegant and effortless, even if he was sitting on a wonky piece of wood. You would get the snitch at any cost, even -or maybe especially- if that meant beating Malfoy.

You sprinted the last few meters to the castle. The heavens had opened and within seconds, you had been soaked. When you entered the foyer, your jersey felt clammy and your hair was hanging down in wet strands, the water was running down your skin in small trickles. Your teeth were chattering and you were shivering. What you needed now was a hot shower and some tea. But you didn’t come far.

“What in the name of Salazar happened to you?”, you heard a voice sneering behind you.

You turned around and sighed annoyed as you saw Malfoy standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest, as usual, accompanied by some of his henchmen.

“It´s called rain Malfoy.”, you spitted out, not in the mood for his teasing. “Even you should know.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, unimpressed by your attitude.

“What were you doing out there?”

“Training. For the game. Maybe you should try that too if you want to stand a chance next week.”

Malfoy chuckled.

“As if I would be in need of this. We´ll win anyway.”

“You wish.”

“I´ll always beat you (Y/l/n). We both know I´m better than you. And I´ll prove it once more next week. If you haven’t died from pneumonia then.”

As if a confirmation of his words, you sneezed and groaned. A cold was the last thing you needed right now.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in amusement. His eyes lazily scanned every centimetre of your body and the wet clothes sticking to it. You felt heat rising up in you as he did so, even though you were still freezing.

“Nah, that wouldn’t be fun. I want to beat you because I´m better, not because you didn’t even play. This wouldn’t be a challenge.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that crept on your face.

“So, you consider it a challenge winning against me?”

Malfoy hesitated for a moment, making you suspect he hadn’t expected this answer, but he caught himself again quickly. The blond boy shrugged his shoulders with a bored look on his face.

“Every dog has its day (Y/l/n). Even with such an… ordinary player like you, it´s still more interesting than with no opponent at all.”

“We´ll see about who´s the ordinary one.”, you responded, quite offended, even though you were aware of the fact that Malfoy was just playing games with you. Still, the fact that he might actually consider you ordinary, made you feel a bit disappointed. You enjoyed playing against him, facing him and -in the best case- beating him. You considered him a worthy opponent -even though you would never admit it- and had always somehow hoped that he was thinking the same. Strictly because he was a good Quidditch player of course.

Another sneeze interrupted the bubbling anger rising up inside of you.

“You better go warm yourself up and take some rest.”, Malfoy said, eying you with a strange look in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was concerned, but obviously, you did know better.

“That´s sweet. You worry about me?”, you smirked.

For a second you thought you had seen a rosy flush on Malfoy´s cheeks, but that was probably just what you wanted to think.

“Only about an interesting match. Don’t pride yourself (Y/l/n).”

“If you say so.”, you chirped and smiled at the boy sweetly. “I could still beat you in delirium if I had to though.”

“You wished.”, Malfoy huffed.

“I know.”, you returned, as you turned around walking away from the Slytherin. And over your shoulder, you shouted: “Don’t worry. You´ll get your thrilling match.” Then you continued your way to your dorm, your heart pounding in your chest and a small smile on your lips, proud of the fact that you had defied Malfoy. But a small voice inside you told you, that this was most likely not the only reason.

When you entered the Great Hall Saturday morning, you could feel the tension filling up the room, the anxious excitement that always came up shortly before a match. When you walked along the aisle between the tables, you could hear your housemates cheering, as well as many of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, while the Slytherins hooted. You could feel several pairs of eyes following you, but you didn’t exactly care. This wasn’t your first game and you had grown into getting used to it. Plus, you were already wearing your Quidditch uniform, which functioned like a shiel from you, making most of the comments and gazes from other people ricochet.

You sat down next to Bradley who gave you a small smile, even though he didn’t seem exactly happy as he offered you some milk for your cereals. You couldn’t blame him though. The pressure that was on you was immense. Not only the expectations others had on you and the fact that you needed to be there for your team, but mostly it was about the pressure you put on yourself. You had learned pretty early that it was anything but helpful to beat yourself up before a match and that it was much more beneficial to just relax. But that was much easier to be said than done. You realized that once more as you forced a spoon of cereals into your mouth, trying to ignore the familiar wrenching of your stomach. Because no matter how cool you tried to play it, right before a match, you always felt sick. But luckily, this feeling vanished every single time, the moment your feet would lift off the ground and you would hear Madame Hooch´s whistle opening the match.

Luckily though, you didn’t have much time to eat anyway, because other students and even some teachers came up to you regularly, wishing you luck for the upcoming match. You were just about to compliment Luna Lovegood for the eagle feathers she had braided into her hair, as you noticed your friends around you starting to mumble and shot some hateful glances at someone standing outside your field of vision.

“What is it?”, you asked Bradley.

The boy just nodded in the direction behind you.

As you turned around, you faced Malfoy, who was towering over you. When you glanced up at him, his grey eyes met yours and he smirked down at you. You cursed yourself for losing your focus for a moment as you looked at him. But you couldn’t be blamed though. While Malfoy normally already looked more attractive than other boys, in his Quidditch jersey, he just looked -strictly objectively of course- unfairly good. And the twinkle in his eyes did the rest. You could’ve just stared up at him for hours, but instead, you straightened your back and cleared your throat. You just prayed your voice wouldn’t give away the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“What is it Malfoy?” You had to admit that you were slightly surprised at how calm your voice was sounding.

The grin on Malfoy´s face only widened.

“Just wanted to wish you luck for today.”, he said.

You frowned.

“What?”

“Wishing you luck (Y/l/n). Usually, you thank people for doing so.”

“Why would you? We´re playing against you.”

Malfoy looked way too pleased as he responded: “Exactly. That´s why you´re gonna need it.”

He winked at you before turning around again. You needed a second to process his words, but as you did, you called after him: “Think you´ll need it more than us!”

But Malfoy just shrugged his shoulders, not even caring to turn around once more.

“What a git.”, Bradley spitted out. “You better beat his ass today (Y/n).”

You nodded, your gaze following Malfoy who was now sitting down with his friends. As he looked up and saw you still staring at him shooting him -what you thought were- deadly glances, he gave you a superior grin and a short nod, before dedicating his attention to Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting next to him, shifting closer until she almost sat on his lap, looking up to him with doe eyes, laughing far too loud at something the blond boy had just said.

You watched the scene grimly and nodded.

“You better believe I will.”

Your team was in the best form it had ever been. Rogers's brilliant tactics and hard training paid off, still, it was a neck-and-neck race. The brooms of the Slytherins were just much faster and more agile, which made it harder for you to score. Plus, after not even half an hour, Chambers was hit by a Bludger really hard. The way he held his arm made you suspect it was broken and Chambers had to resign for the rest of the game. Still, your team was able to keep up with the opponent. What turned out really quickly was that in the end, it would be on Malfoy and you. There was no way one team would be taking the lead for more than 150 points any time soon.

But for now, you hadn’t spotted it yet. You were hovering several meters above the pitch, letting your eyes wander. Even though it was cold, the air was clear, and the sun was shining. That would make it a lot easier to spot the snitch for you, but unfortunately for Malfoy as well. Plus, other shiny things reflected the sunlight as well. Several times you had by now thought you had spotted the snitch when in the end it had been a watch or binoculars.

The good thing about those sights was that you could study Malfoy´s reactions. Roger had been right. The blond Slytherin always kept up to you closely, never letting you out of sight. Under normal circumstances, his behaviour would have made you nervous in a very particular way, but right now it just annoyed you. Because Malfoy not only kept a close eye on you, but he would also cut you off when you were trying to sprint away from him, or make some rude comments when you once more thought you had spotted something that in the end turned out to be nothing important.

“At least I´m able to spot it on my own.”, you responded, when Malfoy once more made fun of you mistaking the twinkling of a pair of glasses for the snitch, but only after he had taken on the chase when he had seen you speeding up.

“Don’t have to if I got you, do I?”, Malfoy shouted back, grinning smugly.

The worst thing about this was that he was right. Any time you had started one of your sprints, he had caught up with you after not even fifteen meters. Even if you would spot the snitch, you wouldn’t be able to act on it, unless it would be directly in front of your nose. You gave Malfoy a deadly glare at which he just laughed.

Almost two hours of the game had passed. By now, your fingers and toes felt limp and your face was burning. You were just hovering above the west stands, Malfoy, not even two meters behind you, when you suddenly saw a twinkle from the corner of your eye. Your heartbeat quickened immediately. Your thoughts began to race. If this was actually the snitch, you needed to make sure Malfoy wouldn’t notice. But you also couldn’t risk losing it again. The game was already lasting too long and all players already got tired. If you wouldn’t take the chance now, you couldn’t be sure when you would get the next one.

Slowly, you spiralled up, trying not to let your body language give away, why you were doing so while keeping one eye on the golden shimmer, that was zigzagging several meters under you. There was no doubt – it was the snitch. For the split of a second, you glanced at Malfoy, who was still following shortly behind you. There was no way you could reach the snitch before he did once he had spotted it. It was at least thirty meters away from you. Your thoughts drifted back to your talk with Roger. Your captain had been right. Malfoy was faster than you, but he knew he was. And that was also his weakness. A small smile crept on your lips. And suddenly, you knew what to do.

The crowd began to murmur, as they saw you stopping abruptly in the air, turning your broom around, pacing in the opposite direction. You were bent forwards, pushing your broom to its limits. But against Malfoy´s, it didn’t stand a chance.  He noticed what you were up to immediately, taking up the chase. Only a few seconds later, he had caught up to you, arm already extended, confident of victory as he outpaced you, his eyes wandering around hectically as he tried to spot what your eyes must have noticed moments ago.

What Malfoy didn’t see, was that as soon as he had passed you, you stopped your broom once more, before sprinting back into the opposite direction.

And when only seconds later, your fingers closed around the snitch, holding onto it tightly, the arena exploded.

The grin on your face was the brightest it had ever held. The hand enclosing the snitch raised above your head, and you were circling around the arena, enjoying the cheering of the audience and your teammates. And when you saw Malfoy flying up to you, with the most confused look on his face, your smile only widened.

“What in the name of Salazar was that?”, he shouted angrily.

“It´s called winning, Malfoy.”, you returned. “You should try that too sometime.”

“But I was faster than you!”

“You were, but unfortunately it was the wrong direction.”

You could see the red shade on Malfoy´s face only darken, as he tried to find the right words.

“Don’t take it too hard Draco.”, you laughed. “It´s not a shame to be outsmarted by…”

Boom!

The pain that was rushing through your body came unexpectedly. Your vision went blurry. Somehow, you managed to hold on to your broom, trying not to slip, while you drifted towards the earth, accompanied by muffled screams ringing in your ears.

The moment, your tiptoes touched the ground, you lost all control over your body, feeling it collapse. Somewhere in your mind, you got ready for it to hit the ground, but for some reason, it didn’t. Instead, you felt some strong arms embracing you and a strong, comforting scent lulling you in.

You heard a voice yelling: “What is wrong with you?”

And that was the last thing you could remember before your mind drifted off completely.

The sheets that covered your body felt soft. You could hear the hushed chirping of some birds, somewhere in the distance. You nestled deeper into your blanket and sighed comfortably. The only thing that was now still disturbing you, was the bright light that was shining through your closed eyelids. You covered your eyes with your hands, trying to shield them from it. You could’ve lied here like this forever. But something felt wrong. Your whole body felt stiff, and your head was throbbing.

And slowly, your cloudy mind cleared off. You knew why something was off. Because the last thing you could remember was sitting on your broom somewhere up in the air and showering in the applause of hundredths of people. So how did you get here?

You opened your eyes fluttery, squinting as you tried to get used to the bright sunlight. When your vision finally cleared, you could see some figures sitting by your bedside, talking in a low voice. You tried to lift your head, getting a closer look at them.

When your teammates realized you had woken up, they immediately turned to you, bombarding you with questions.

“What happened?”, you asked, ignoring all the questions, as you tried to sit up, ignoring the dull pain that was pulsing through your body.

“You caught the snitch.”, Chambers happily announced. His arm was, as you noticed, now in a sling.

You nodded. You still remembered how you had caught it, still remembered the people celebrating you. The very last thing you remembered for sure was Malfoy´s embarrassed face, as he had realized that you had fooled him. After that, everything was just a blur.

“I know. But what happened then? How did I get here?”

Roger cleared his throat.

“After you had caught the snitch and everyone realized that you tricked Malfoy, Flint was furious. He wrenched Goyle´s bat out of his hand and hounded a bludger in your direction. It hit your neck.” Roger´s voice was by now shaking from anger. He, as well as your other friends, looked as if they would love to try all the nasty hexes they knew on the Slytherin captain. “You somehow managed to get back to the ground before you passed out. Then you were brought here immediately. Madame Pomfrey said it´s nothing bad. A few contusions and compressions. A light concussion. She fixed most of it immediately. One or two more days in bed and you´ll be completely fine again.”

“Such an asshole.”, you spitted out.

Flint wasn’t exactly known for his fair play but hitting you with a bludger after the game was already over was really below the belt.

Roger nodded in agreement.

“I´ve never seen Madame Hooch that angry.”, he told you. “And Flitwick as well. Flint won´t be allowed to play this season anymore and earned himself a month of detention.”

“Well, then the entire thing had something good after all.”, you smiled wryly. “How long have I been passed out by the way?”

You noticed your friends weren’t wearing their jerseys anymore, making you suspect it had been a few hours.

“Almost a day.”, Chambers answered. “It´s Sunday. Almost midday.”

You nodded.

Your throat was dry and ached. When you turned around, to the side of your bed where the nightstand was settled, to grab some water, you froze.

There was another person sitting at your bedside. Someone, you hadn’t noticed until now, since he hadn’t said a word yet. This wasn’t surprising though, since he was sunken into the chair, obviously asleep.

“What is he doing here?”, you asked perplexed.

You looked at your friends, who were smirking at each other.

“He´s your knight in shining armour.”, Bradley grinned. “After Flint had hit you, he was the first to react. When he saw you tumbling towards the ground he followed you and caught you before you could hit the ground. Then he brought you here and stayed with you the entire time. But only after he hexed Flint for what he had done.” Bradley chuckled. “That was quite a sight. Got him a month of detention too, but he didn’t care. The man was furious, I´m telling you.”

You looked at your friend in disbelief.

“You´re kidding me, right?”

Bradley raised his eyebrows.

“Do I look like I am? Or does he?”

Your gaze shifted to the blond Slytherin again. Only now you noticed that Malfoy was still wearing his Quidditch jersey, making you suspect he hadn’t returned to his dorm since he got here.

“Madame Pomfrey didn’t like that at all, but Malfoy refused to leave. And Professor Dumbledore said it was alright.” Chambers chuckled. “I think he thought it was kinda adorable, watching him sitting by your bedside, holding your hand, telling you how sorry he was.”

Your eyes widened and you flushed.

“He did what?”

Roger nudged his friend.

“He´s exaggerating. But Malfoy was actually quite upset about what happened. I think he beats himself up because he got fooled by your manoeuvre and got Flint so riled up.” A small smile appeared on Roger´s face. “That was a brilliant move by the way. You really put our talk into practice.”

You smiled bashfully.

“Was kind of a knee-jerk reaction.”

“Still brilliant.”

You and your friends kept on talking for a while. During the conversation, your eyes regularly drifted back to Malfoy, who was still asleep. Roger had told you he had been awake all night, never leaving your bedside. When he had come looking for you early this morning, Malfoy had still been awake, with dark circles under his eyes. Only when Roger and the others had visited you again about four hours later, Malfoy had finally fallen asleep in his chair. You couldn’t help but smile and blush as your friend had told you this, leading to some teasing from your teammates. But you didn’t actually mind. Malfoy had proven in the last few hours that he had a heart after all. Maybe a heart of stone and maybe he only was here for the fact that he felt responsible for what had happened to you, but he was here. And that was all you needed to know for now.

When about half an hour later the blond Slytherin slightly started to move in his chair, your friends stood up and wished you all the best.

“We´ll tell Madame Pomfrey you´re awake. She´ll want to check on you for sure.”, Roger bowed out, before he followed the others outside of the hospital wing.

You sighed and let yourself back into a half-sitting, half-lying position. Your head was pounding stronger now, the long conversation and the many voices had you feeling exhausted. Still, you didn’t dare to close your eyes, but let your gaze wander back to Malfoy. The boy almost looked peaceful, the way he had huddled up in his chair. His head had fallen onto his chest, his hair was hanging into his face in strands and his lips were slightly parted, as he breathed slowly and regularly. If it wouldn’t be for the lines of worry showing on his forehead, you wouldn’t suspect that there had ever been anything bothering him at all.

You could’ve watched the boy like this forever, but soon enough Malfoy started to shift in his chair again and his eyes fluttered open. For a few seconds, he looked as if he had forgotten where exactly he was. He looked around in confusion, trying to orientate himself; until his gaze fell on you. As he saw you watching him closely with a mix of curiosity and amusement on your face, he sat up straight quickly and cleared his throat.

“Good morning, Rosamond.”, you grinned.

Malfoy frowned, not understanding your allusion. For a moment the both of you sat there in uncomfortable silence, before Malfoy spoke up.

“So… how are you?” His voice sounded raspy and sent chills down your spine, even if you tried to ignore it.

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Alright, I guess. Only my head still hurts a bit, feeling a little bit dizzy, you know?”

Malfoy nodded.

“That´s good. Not that your head hurts though, I mean…” He trailed off. “How long have you been awake?”, the boy then asked.

“Not long. Still feel a bit tired.”

“I can leave if you want to rest.”, Malfoy quickly offered.

But you shook your head just as quick.

“No, it´s fine. I mean, if you want to stay. You don’t have to though.”

“Well, I mainly wanted to make sure you are alright.”

“Why though?”

Malfoy lowered his gaze, staring at his feet.

“Looked like Flint had gotten you bad yesterday. I was quite…” He came to a halt.

“Worried?”, you completed his sentence with an amused tone in your voice.

Malfoy shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, if I wouldn’t have got fooled by your tricks…”

“It wasn’t your fault.”, you quickly interrupted him. “I don’t blame you. The only one who screwed up was Flint. But as I heard, he got what he deserved afterwards.”

You looked at Malfoy, watching his reaction closely, but he only glanced up at you shyly, obviously relieved you didn’t put the blame on him. But just as he was about to answer, Madame Pomfrey came up to your bed, eager to check on you, even if you assured her that you were just fine.

“I insist.”, the woman said vigorously. “Mr Malfoy, if I may ask you to leave now.”

“But…”, the boy argued, but Madame Pomfrey cut him off immediately.

“No Mr Malfoy. I need to check on miss (Y/l/n) now and after this, she needs to rest.”

“But Madame Pomfrey, why can´t I…”

“No!”, she cut him off again, her tone leaving no room for discussion.

You had no doubt Madame Pomfrey would get rid of the boy by force if she had to, so you smiled at Malfoy calmingly.

“It´s alright. I´m in safe hands now. But thanks for stopping by. Really.”

Malfoy returned your smile shyly, making your heart fluttering in your chest.

“Would you mind if I come here once more later?”, he asked, avoiding your gaze and shifting from one foot to the other.

Your smile only grew wider.

“Not at all.”

Malfoy looked at you as if he wanted to say something more, but Madame Pomfrey was faster.

“Now off you go. Let me do my job.”

After Madame Pomfrey had finished her examination, she assured you that you would be back on your legs -and even more important back on your broom- in no time. In between her ranting about how dangerous Quidditch was, she told you that she wanted you to stay in the hospital wing for one more night before she would send you back to your dorm the next morning.

And when Madame Pomfrey was done with you, pulled the separation back in its place and scurried to her next patient, you let yourself sink back into your soft pillow and slowly doze off.

Not much later you were woken up by your mattress slightly sinking down under the weight of another person. As you opened your eyes, you saw Malfoy leaning on the edge of your bed.

“Hey.”, he greeted you, a small smile playing around his lips.

“Hey.”, you returned.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.”

You shook your head and sat up slightly, resting your upper body on your elbows.

“You finally changed clothes. And showered.”, you stated, as you noticed Malfoy was by now wearing his usual clothes again and that his hair was still being slightly wet.

The Slytherin let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, was on time after the game yesterday.”

He fell silent.

“Have you really been here the entire night?”, you asked.

Malfoy shifted uncomfortably and avoided your gaze as he nodded.

You felt your cheeks heating as you smiled. The thought of him sitting by your bedside the entire night, watching over you, felt strangely comforting.

“There was no need for that, I´m just fine.”, you said softly.

“Well, you weren’t awake to tell me back then.”, he answered in a defiant voice.

“That´s a good point.”, you chuckled.

 “Don’t think your friends were really happy about it though.”, Malfoy huffed. “I think they were worried I might murder you in your sleep or something like that.”

“Ain´t that absurd, is it?”, you responded.

Malfoy frowned.

“Maybe… But you know I´d never hurt you on purpose, don’t you?”

And as you looked into his grey eyes, you just couldn’t help but believe him. So you nodded.

“I know.”

And Malfoy stayed with you for almost the rest of the day. Only when in the afternoon Luna Lovegood stopped by in the afternoon, with a beautiful bouquet of wildflowers, assuring you that some of them had healing powers, Malfoy pulled a face and excused himself for a while. Luna being the absolute sweetheart she was, she stayed a while and chatted with you. She informed you about everything that was going on in the Ravenclaw tower by now, including that you were officially the hero of the house and Marcus Flint enemy number one. The only thing leaving you slightly irritated was that Luna assured you that -if Malfoy wouldn’t have caught you before you hit the ground- the garden gnomes would have done so, who were secretly still living at the pitch, having formed their own little society under the stands by now. Speaking of Malfoy, Luna assured you -very incidentally and while saying goodbye to you- that she had always known that the two of you would be a wonderful couple one day since she had seen the glances Malfoy was always giving you when he knew you weren’t looking, as well as she had overheard all the very nice things that he had always said to his friends about you. When you asked her how she knew this, Luna just responded with a shrug of her shoulders that people like Draco never really cared about people like her being around, making it very easy for her to look behind the façade of people.

When Luna had left and Draco returned shortly afterwards, you were still baffled by the girl, as well as what she had just told you. From that point on, you enjoyed Draco´s company even more, even though it felt kinda strange to actually talk to him, besides some teases about the quality of the Quidditch play of the other one.

The sun already set, when Draco finally got ready to go and leave for dinner. You were almost sad he already had to leave, since you had much fun to spend some time with him, especially when everything else you had been able to do for the day had been lying in bed.

“I think I´ll leave now.”, Draco said, as he was standing in front of you, ready to go.

You nodded and smiled at him sweetly.

“Thanks for staying with me. It was quite nice to have some company.”

“Even if it was me?”, Draco grinned.

“Even if it was you.”, you confirmed. Or maybe especially because it had been him.

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“What did you just say?”

“That it was nice to have some company. Even if it was you.”

“No, after that.”

Did you really had just said this out loud? Maybe your head had carried away more damage than you had thought.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“I would know if I did, wouldn’t I?”

“Misheard you then I guess.”, Draco mumbled, scratching his neck.

“Probably.”, you answered, trying to prevent your cheeks from intensifying their red shade.

“Well, then I´ll really leave now.”, Draco said and you nodded.

Still, the boy didn’t move.

“You´re a great seeker, you know that?”, he suddenly blurted out. “And I... I was really worried about you when you got hit by that damn bludger.”

You looked at Draco in surprise. The boy was looking at the ground, his cheeks at least as red as yours.

“I… thanks.”

Draco nodded before he took a step back, now actually intending to leave.

“Well, I see you around I guess.”

“Draco?”

The boy froze just as he was about to turn away from you as he heard his name leaving your lips.

“Yeah?”

“You´re a great player too. And I… I´m really glad you stayed with me. The night I mean. And now. And thanks for bringing me here. And everything else.”

Draco now turned around to you again, stepping a bit closer to you. You could see a small smile playing around his lips.

“Not for this.”, he responded.

You nodded vigorously.

“Yes for this.”, you returned. “You didn’t have to do this but you still did. That was… nice.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“Nice? I´m not nice.”, he chuckled.

“Yes you are.”, you answered. “You´re not half as much of a prick when your feet are back on earth.”

“Doesn’t make any sense anymore now, does it? I mean we lost the game already.”

“Even one more reason to be mean to me. Never took you for a good loser.”, you smiled.

Draco returned your smile. He stepped even closer than before until he was standing directly next to your bed and took your hand in his bigger ones. As his thumb carefully brushed over the back of your hand, you could feel a goosebump covering your entire body. Draco´s eyes met yours and never left them, as he returned: “I think you got me, wrong darling. We might have lost the game, but I don’t feel like a loser at all.”

He placed a small kiss on the back of your hand, his grin only growing wider as he noticed how your breath hitched as his lips slightly brushed your hand.

“Never thought that there was anything more important to you than the game.”, you responded in a breathy voice.

You could feel your heart hammering inside your chest, as Draco interlocked the fingers of his one hand with yours, while his other hand brushed some strands of hair out of your face, before caressing the last signs of the, by now almost completely healed, bruises on your face and neck. His eyes were still locked with yours, searching for any signs of pain or discomfort. But as he didn’t notice any of these and saw you didn’t have any intention to shy away from his touch, he slightly bent forwards, his face only centimetres away from yours.

“I can think of at least one thing that is far more important than anything else now.”, he whispered.

And when his lips finally met yours, you had to agree with Draco. There were much more important things than stupid games -even though you had to admit that you were already looking forward to bringing up the fact that you had outsmarted Draco at some point again-, Bludgers and house cups.

And one of those things was right in front of you.

Taglist: @xodracomalfoyxo @marigold-morelli @army24—7 @lbhmoon @cappgyuccino @writingwitch007

[nitefise-art]

pokemon scarlet/violet crossover with fma

[samthecookielord]

Au where bradleys parents get blown up in a time machine explosion and he decides to destroy danville with a giant death machine ten years later

Good for him or something

+bonus doodle of luke and milo

[fatchance]

My best friend, artist Brad Slocum, recently offered me a rare treat — a look through his clip book of preliminary sketches and inking and shading studies. His finished works are meticulously detailed and richly colored, but I enjoyed seeing their smudged and re-worked origins. The drawing above, on crumpled bumwad tracing paper, is a study of Professor Plum, from a series depicting the characters in the board game Clue. The final illustration is wonderful, and intensely purple, but I like catching glimpses of the structure and thought behind the completed work.

Perhaps I like this sketch so much because I feel a personal connection to the subject, and the way Brad has realized the Professor as a myopic collector or academic. In an earlier passage of my life I was engaged in entomological research at Virginia Tech. Maybe this rendering cuts close to what my world would have become if I had stayed with it another thirty years. Behold the mensch!

Incidentally, today marks the fifteenth anniversary of my first tumblr post. In another fifteen years I will be ___ years old, so we’ll just keep doing this thing one day, one year at a time and see how far we get. To all my fellow travelers and friends on tumblr — especially the long-timers — I’m glad we’re here together.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

all of a sudden, I have about 15 half finished fics in my drafts. which fic should I finish first? I want to give the people what they want <3

Web of Lies chapter two + Honey Girl chapter four are in the works already. all of the above are just one shot options!!

I love these polls they're so helpful

[eirianerisdar]

Yay memes for chapter 24 of Icarus!

AHAHAHAHA the Christian vs Zak ones?? And the doctor who one for George HAHAHHAA

Also the Lance one is accurate how do you have a meme picture for absolutely everything

The last one is too real Max is all giggly and happy when he calls Daniel over the race weekend and nobody in Red Bull can bear to pull him away to team duties

@ghostellie A+ memes as always chef’s kiss

[sunlightmurdock]

The Odyssey | 1.3 | Bradley Bradshaw x reader

previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

the pain of not knowing is weighing heavily on you as you arrive to your next destination. The people around you prove themselves.

warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), swearing, infidelity, the italics at the very beginning indicate a scene involving brief attempt at sexual assault. The chapter deals heavily with themes of SA, and its aftermath. Pls take your own triggers into account while reading and feel free to message me for further info 🫶

…

“C‘mon, man, not so much as a test drive?”

Malcolm’s not in his right mind. Finals week pushed him to the brink and beyond. He’s been killing himself proving to his father that he’s worth being taken on at the firm. College is coming to an end and it’s almost time to be a man — as it grows closer, there seem to be more and more voices in his ear telling him what that entails.

Sex. Money. Power. Everything in the world is about sex, but sex is about power. Or whatever Oscar Wilde had said — he had only enrolled in that class for the credits and the added study time with you.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” He brushes the comment off with a wrinkle of his nose, bringing the bottle of whiskey to his mouth, tipping his head and pouring it back.

You’re not a possession — he’s in good enough mind to know that much. His buddy’s test drive metaphor leaves more than a sour taste in his mouth. It also leaves a sickness in his stomach and a venom twisting through his nerves.

The mention of this is already grinding at him, his blood growing hot and his feet growing restless, tapping against the aged wood below them.

“Because she’s such an angel that she won’t even let you lay a finger on her? — Yeah, she sounds like a real prize, Ashworth.” Another guy snorts. Malcolm’s head whips around to face him, his eyes narrowed.

“Has she even let you get to second base or are her tits off limits too?”

“Damn shame that she’s got that pretty mouth and you don’t have a clue what to do with it.”

“She scared that it’s going to hurt or something? — You packing a big one, Mac?”

He pushes himself swiftly up from that stiff leather armchair despite its creaks of complaint. Damn thing is older than he is. The dark liquid swishes in the bottle as he staggers away from his so-called friends. He’s heard enough.

He knows where to find you, pushing through the sea of already drunk co-eds and wrapping an arm securely around your waist, slotting himself into your gossip session with a friend.

You’re so excited to see him, greeting him with a polite kiss to the cheek and leaning into his touch. You’re always so kind to him. He has to lean in close to whisper in your ear, his voice sullen and serious, “Could I talk to you for a minute? — In private.”

It isn’t until he closes the door to one of the guys’ rooms, that he notices exactly how drunk you are. You gasp and wobble and drop down onto the bed, bursting out laughing.

He doesn’t laugh with you. Instead, he brings the bottle of whiskey to his lips and takes a long drink. Lurking in the doorway, watching you.

As the bottle drops back to his side, Malcolm just remembers watching you. He doesn’t remember walking any closer until he’s sat beside you and holding your face in his hands.

“God, Mac — how much have,” You have to pause to hiccup, covering your mouth with your hand, unaware that you’re slurring your words too. “How much have you had to drink? — You reek!”

“Just a bit.” He mumbles, the bottle heavy in his hand as he leans forwards and kisses you. You comply happily at first. Well, you seem happy enough to him, even if he does smell kind of like a distillery.

Maybe the two of you talk more, maybe you don’t. The only thing Malcolm knows is that he has securely rounded the corner into second base before you start to fuss at him. You’ve let him get this far before, what’s the big deal now?

The dress you’re wearing is a flimsy blue satin thing, not particularly festive for the holiday party, patterned with expensive looking shimmering detailing. One of them has slipped off of your shoulder to make room for his hand to slip under the velvet fabric and cup at your breast.

“Stop it — what if someone comes in?” But you’re still kind of giggling with him, grabbing at his shoulders. If you wanted him off of you, you’d say so. You have before.

You’re not that kind of girl. Malcolm scoffs to himself at the idea. Your neck is soft against his lips and your perfume drives him crazy.

“It’s just sex, it’s not a big deal.” He mutters into the crook of your jaw, and the mood flips. He feels you pushing weakly at him, all it does is bunch his sport coat and make it fall back off of his shoulders.

“Sex? — Here?” You’re not making much sense, losing your composure and your ability to form a real sentence at once. Not so classy now.

As Malcolm sits back to shrug his jacket off and looks down at you, your chest halfway exposed and your eyes struggling to track him, he feels a pang of guilt strike him. Slowing himself, his heartbeat is in his ears as he fixes your dress to cover you once more and leans down to kiss at your lips.

“I’ll marry you,” He whispers against your mouth, pleading. “I have a ring. I was going to ask you anyway. Your father loves me, you know he does. You believe me, right, honey?”

You had said yes once before. You were going to let him. After prom night, your senior year; you were going to the same college and your families liked each other. He’d gotten too drunk and screwed it. Couldn’t even get it hard. It seemed to freak you out, after that you’ve barely let him close. Now, you’re seniors again. He just needs you to say yes once more.

“Not here.” Your face wrinkles and turns away from him, maybe it’s just the smell of whiskey but the rejection damn near makes him see white. He remembers how uncoordinated your efforts to shove at his hands were.

The next thing he remembers is Catherine stumbling in looking for you, and you trying to bolt. He had caught you the first time.

You were screaming at him, shoving him, calling him a pig. He was arguing right back at you. He’s always known exactly what to say to make your argument feel paper-thin.

The second time you had run, he had let you go, picking up his half-finished whiskey and pouring it into his mouth. He knew you wouldn’t say a word to your parents, you would be too ashamed.

The last thing that you remember from that night is being downstairs, laughing with your friends, with his arm around your waist.

The drive down to the farmhouse is a little over an hour from Florence, one of the shorter journeys of your trip. No need for stops or bathroom breaks. You had settled into your seat, covered your ears, and turned the volume on the Walkman as loud as it would go.

When you were packing tapes for the trip, you hadn’t once considered to bring Christmas music. Now, you’re wracking your brain trying to remember the song that had been playing. Remember any part of that night at all.

Once she had realized what she had said, Catherine had grown defensive and apologetic. She wouldn’t tell you much. Like she was covering something.

You’ve been staring unseeingly at the Tuscan countryside as it passes you by, Kate Bush as your soundtrack. I should be crying but I just can't let it show.

He wouldn’t hurt you. This is the same man who took you out to his mother’s rose garden and gave you the most stunning Tiffany necklace you’ve ever seen as a gift. The man who hugs you so close against him, and sits through your chick-flicks with you.

Your parents adore him, and it’s their job to protect you. Your father is a wonderful judge of character, and Malcolm won his seal of approval years ago.

All these miles of land whizzing by, outside of this ugly little minivan, are starting to make you sick. You close your eyes and listen to Kate.

Oh, darling, make it go

Make it go away

Your eyes burn under your eyelids, prickling with tears. Even worse, it makes your face burn with furious heat to think of any one of these people seeing you cry. Your stomach is trembling with unease, a static feeling in your fingers and toes is the only thing reminding you that you can feel them at all.

Breathing in shakily, you squeeze your eyes more tightly closed, gritting your teeth to will the tears away.

You just need to remember. You can’t go accusing him of something awful. He’s always been so good to you. He’s your future. You just need to get your bearings, and figure it out. Maybe you had led him on. Given him the wrong idea.

It’s such a short drive, and for once, there doesn’t seem to be any drama that requires his attention. Bradley has let himself get so behind on his work that he spends the duration of the drive with his papers sprawled out across the bench, making annotations and edits.

“Whoa, look at this place!” Zoe gasps, leaning over the seats to get a look at the sprawling driveway, lined with green trees and shrubs, marking the way toward the farmhouse. It’s an incredible building, sprawling and stone, dotted with climbing plants along the walls and planted flowers in the window boxes.

Bradley closes his notebook and looks up finally, then looks across at Pasquale with a small smile.

“Did I ever tell you guys that this is where Pasquale and I met?” Bradley announces to the group, turning around in his seat to face them.

“All the way out here?”

“Yeah. We worked here together one fall.”

Bradley had heard of Alessandro’s work early into his studies. It was Natasha who got him the job here. He arrived in September and left in December, this place gets cold as the months go on. Now, it’s warm and everything is in bloom. It smells sweet and citrusy. Sandro had always sworn that the apricots grown here were the best in the country.

“Then, when Mr. Bradshaw had been accepted for his summer work here with the university, I was the first person he called to be your tour guide.” Pasquale adds with a grin as he pulls up in front of the old house. Bradley hums. Pasquale has always been a good friend to him.

As soon as the engine stops, the heavy wooden front door is thrown open and a tall man with long, dark curls comes jogging out, grinning.

“Bradley Bradshaw!” His accent is thick, but mixed. Not entirely Italian. His cheeks dimple as his grin stretches across his olive toned skin, watching Bradley tear out of the minivan and head for him.

“Sandro,” Bradley grins, grabbing hold of the slightly shorter man by his shoulders and dragging him in for a hug before leaning in close and shaking the man a bit as he chuckles out something in Italian that makes them both laugh. You miss it, barely pulling your headphones off of your ears as you step out of the van.

“I don’t know what that means but I know it was a swear word.” Abigail announces, making Bradley laugh as he turns to her again. She’s not wrong, he had happily just called Alessandro something not too dissimilar to a son of a bitch. Endearingly.

He hooks an arm around Alessandro’s shoulders and turns him coolly towards the group. “Guys, this is Alessandro Gabris. Not quite the man of the house but a hell of a storyteller.”

Alessandro turns his head and whispers something back that can only be as filthy as whatever Bradley had said to him, because it makes them both double over laughing. Their inside joke makes Pasquale laugh along with them. That autumn had been such good fun, the three of them.

Alessandro glances behind him as an older man walks out of the building, wheeling an elderly woman in a wheelchair. He smiles as he gestures to her.

“And this is my mother, Teodora Gabris.”

“Oh, I remember,” Bradley’s lips stretch into a warm grin as he breaks the haphazard formation of the group, unwraps himself from Sandro and steps towards her, crouching in front of her wheelchair, slipping his sunglasses off. The woman’s face changes, brightening with recognition. “Don’t break my heart, Dorie, you remember me too, huh?”

The crinkles beside her eyes deepen as she lifts her hand and rests it against his cheek, tilting her head to examine his face.

“The artist.” She remembers, making Bradley laugh fondly. He’s familiar with her in a way that makes both of their grins broaden as he leans in. He’s far from an artist, and she knows it. But, he has a way with words and a way with women, and that had amused her all of those years ago.

In her youth, Teodora traveled from the Kefalonian countryside to the centre of Paris, where she had trained with oil paints. She’s the real artist.

“How have you been?” He asks.

She just looks around her, gesturing to her little slice of Tuscany, blooming into the July heat, and back to him finally. Bradley nods his head, unable to shake that smile from his face. She has her little slice of heaven already, how could she not be happy?

“You haven’t aged a day.” He tells her, his large hand resting softly against her now frail wrist.

You stare between the two of them. The affection they have for each other, and the joy on her face as she remembers the boy he was. His hand sitting so gently on her skin.

“You have.” She teases, pinching his sunwarmed red cheeks. He laughs, sharing her gaze for a beat before he stands upright once again.

Of the six places that you have visited so far on this trip, Bradley has been greeted warmly by someone who once knew him in every single one of them. Even Natasha, who hates him for his betrayal, finds it in herself to revel in the safety of still being near him.

You don’t remember your interaction with him that night either. He could have done anything. He could have left you there. You can only imagine the look your mother would have given him when he took you home. You weren’t ever even particularly nice to him, you’d talked through his class all through first semester. He took you home and made sure you were safe anyway.

“Hey, are you okay?” Suddenly there’s a hand on your wrist and it feels like scalding water. You pull swiftly away from it and whip your head around to find Abigail leaning towards you, her features creased with concern.

Your cheeks are hot, and wet. Fuck, they’re wet. Quickly, you bring both hands to your face and start wiping hurriedly at your tears. You can’t bring yourself to do anything but blink dumbly at her, your shoes dragging across the dirt below you as you stumble a step back.

As he hears the question, Bradley turns and shoots a glance over his shoulder. His face falls, turning completely to do a double take as he notices your teary face.

“Hey, hey — what’s the matter?” Bradley’s size thirteen converse tennis blancs trample across the dirt and stones, long strides and heavy footfalls. Your stomach churns at the thought of those heavy hands on your skin, of his frame up close and looming over you, of getting stuck between him and the minivan behind you.

He slows as your foot slips back and fumbles for purchase in the dirt, muddying your white sneakers.

Everyone behind him is looking at you now. You’re painfully aware of the twisted up look on your face but it’s the only thing keeping you from sobbing.

Humiliation stings. All of them looking at you like you’re ridiculous. Not being able to remember. Simultaneously wanting to throw yourself into Bradley’s chest and beg him not to touch you.

Bradley lowers his voice just slightly, also well-aware of all of the eyes on you suddenly. “Look at me. What’s the matter?”

Your lip trembles, trying not to look at anyone around you. Your eyes steady on his, your throat thick and your heartbeat thundering.

“Can I talk to you about something?” You croak out.

There’s a study downstairs, just off of the living room. Bradley clicks the door shut behind him, his brows drawing together as your pace away from him.

“Honey…” He says softly, like he’s trying to soothe a cornered animal. You round on him like one, eyes wide. He’s never seen you so spooked. “Talk to me. What happened? — I can’t fix it if—“

“You can’t fix it.” Your voice cracks and gravity grows stronger, forcing you to the ground. Crumpling like a piece of paper, you curl your knees up to your chest, a sob wracking your body.

“Okay, alright,” Bradley breathes out, clicking the lock on the door and following you to the ground. You flinch as his heavy hand comes to rest against the back of your neck, stroking softly over the top of your styled hair. “Let me hear it, it’s no good keeping it to yourself.”

“Please don’t touch me,” You whisper into your knees, squeezing your eyes tightly shut. Your skin crawls, trying to picture Malcolm on top of you, wondering how you couldn’t remember. “Could you… could you just please not.” You decide finally, wiping hurriedly at the damp spots under your eyes.

He doesn’t follow. It was just last night that you were so comfortable in his arms, staring up at him with that electric, trusting look on your face. But he gently takes his hand off of you anyway.

“Is this about that phone call?” Bradley asks gently, suddenly unsure of where to put his hands. His instinct is to hold you.

Light pours in from the tall, wide window to your side. It’s far too warm, and too sunny in here for you to be feeling this awful. It feels like the ground is going to swallow you whole, if the weight in your chest doesn’t take you out first.

“Talk to me, honey. Tell me what happened.” Bradley encourages, bracing his elbows on his knees and lowering his head to try to meet your gaze.

“I think Malcolm — that night that you found me in December, I think— I think that he—“

Bradley’s eyes go round, the concerned frown on his face falling all of a sudden. He stares at you as you sob into your hands. He remembers that night so clearly. From waking up face down in a textbook chapter about Pre-raphaelite attitudes towards monogamy, to squinting to figure out what that figure in the snow was. Seeing you there, barely conscious. Practically deadweight in his arms as he had lifted you.

A muscle in his jaw ticks.

You lift your head to look at him, the colour drained from your skin, eyes pleading.

“Did he tell you this?” Bradley asks you softly.

“No. Catherine said — she said something about finding— fuck, she said something about finding him… on top of me.” Your throat is hoarse and your words are barely coming out as you try to hold back floods of tears. If you let yourself keep crying, it feels like you might not ever stop.

Bradley lifts his hand and pinches at the bridge of his nose. He inhales for six, exhales for seven. Then, he reaches out slowly and rests the tips of his fingers against the outside of your ankle.

“I don’t remember.” You choke out. He looks across at you, thinking of how proudly you had been showing off your engagement ring. No clue what an animal your fiancé was. Your lip trembles. “I don’t remember it.”

His gaze flickers immediately to your hands covering your face as the midday sun catches the rock on your ring finger, glistening in the light. You never would have said yes if you had known.

“I’m sorry, honey, I’m so sorry,” He whispers, curling his fingers softly around your ankle. It takes everything not to wrap himself around you and shield you from everything outside of these four walls. This dusty old office, sunlight shining across ever single chip and dent in these old floor boards, just you and him.

“If I wasn’t such a mess, then—“

“Hey,” His fingers squeeze softly at your ankle, prompting you to look up at him, hot tears spilling down your cheeks. He gives a soft shake of your head. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

A few seconds pass between the two of you. His fingers don’t dare inch from the safety of your ankle, if that’s as much of you as he is allowed to touch, then that’s what he’ll take.

He can’t imagine the fear in not knowing.

You swallow softly and push onto your knees, crawling closer and pushing yourself into his chest. Bradley tucks one arm around your waist, doing his best not to cage you against him as you bury your face into his neck. You can feel him giving you room to retreat.

It’s such a strange thing, not wanting him to touch you but at the same time wanting to be held by him until the rest of the world stops. The thought of his hands on your skin makes you sick, but you want nothing more than to bury your face in the crook of his neck and pretend that none of this is happening. Like he’s not a separate man, not something to fear — just an extension of self, almost.

“It’s not your fault.” He tells you again, running his hand along your back, finally letting his eyes fall shut. Your breathing is jagged and gasping with the sobs, coming out quickly against the skin of his neck. “I’ve got you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“I should remember. I — I thought I’d know, or… feel… and I don’t remember any of it.”

His stomach knots, his palm resting between your shoulder blades as he cradles you against him.

It wasn’t that long ago that he couldn’t stand the thought of you. He had taken what he had seen of you in his classroom and come to the decision that you were selfish, and spoiled, lazy. He had no idea.

Since then, he has grown to know that you’re none of those things. You’re defensive, sure, he can be too. You’re a product of your upbringing, to an extent. But you’re witty, and smart, and you’re far from selfish. Bradley has seen your curiosity up close for weeks now. Your potential weighs on his mind, it keeps him up at night thinking of the future you’d have if you just had someone tell you that you could.

He hugs you against his chest and turns his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He promises. There’s no way around it, or over it. He couldn’t have stopped it from happening. This isn’t about him or the way that he feels for you. He holds you close, rubbing firm circles across the length of your back for as long as you’ll let him.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out, your face buried into the warmth and familiarity of his neck. “You — You should be out there with everyone. I just need a minute.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Bradley whispers.

And he doesn’t. He sits there and holds you until he feels your breathing start to get slower and longer against him. Then, he strokes a strand of hair gently off of your face. “You feeling tired?”

“Exhausted.” You whisper.

He nods softly and kisses the top of your head. If he could, he would happily have carried you upstairs and put you to bed himself. Instead, under the watchful eye of the rest of your class, he has to point your directions from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be upstairs to check on you in a bit. Get some rest.”

And he does come up a bit later. You’re not sure exactly how much later, but it’s dark when the first knock wakes you up.

See, the first knock doesn’t warrant pulling yourself out of this unfamiliar bed. The pillowcase is damp but for now, you seem to have run out of tears. The second knock is more tempting, if only to make the sound stop.

Bradley doesn’t knock a third time. Instead, he takes a quick glance at the empty hall around him and leans in close, “It’s me. Can I come in?”

You already knew it was him, there’s no real need for him to announce himself. Still, you grace him with a tired sound of acknowledgment and force yourself out of the fetal position. The old doorknob creaks and clicks, then the door itself creaks as it opens. It would be pretty difficult to sneak around in a big old house like this one.

“Hey.” Bradley greets you softly, cautiously. You offer him a tight-lipped smile. He brings a hand from behind his back and shows you a plate with roasted potatoes and vegetables — something else that you can’t quite see, a starchy baked dish.

Through no fault of his own, he doesn’t get much of a reaction from you at all. You make no effort to reach for the plate. He crosses the room and sets it down on top of the dresser.

“Brought you some dinner, and uh…” Bradley hasn’t felt sheepish since his second day of basic training, and yet, his eyes are on the floor as he pulls his other hand from behind his back. “I brought you this.”

You watch as he sets the blue fabric in front of you, folded neatly.

“Your shirt?”

He scratches at the back of his neck, walking right on by you to sit against the window ledge. Cool air bristles his nape and makes him sit up a little straighter, letting you catch his eye.

“I don’t know, I thought…” He stares at the blue fabric in your hands and gives his head a soft shake. “I don’t know what I thought, but keep it for tonight.”

He knows what his thought process was, he just can’t bring himself to say it out loud. It sounds selfish now. I thought that since I can’t be with you, maybe a piece of me might help. How ridiculous of him to make himself so important in all of this.

“Here,” He remembers, pushing himself away from the window and taking the plate in his hand again, “Come on, you should eat something, while it’s still hot. It’s good.”

You pull your knees to your chest as he perches himself on the bed beside you, setting the plate down. You settle down, crossing your legs and lifting the plate into your lap, picking up the fork.

He watches, chewing at the inside of his lip as you push the vegetables around the plate.

“How’re you feeling now?”

“Stupid for bawling my eyes out like that.” You answer him meekly, spearing the fork through a grilled red pepper, pushing it through some of the juice from the baked dish.

His eyes search across your features.

Neither one of you says anything for a moment as you shake the pepper from your fork and stab it instead through a piece of eggplant.

“You’re not stupid.” He tells you, his brows drawing together as he watches you periodically wound the food on the plate.

“He was clearly unhappy, and I didn’t even notice. My own boyfriend and I didn’t have a clue,” You jam the fork into a particularly stubborn chunk of zucchini and letting the fork clatter to the plate. Bradley stares back at you. “If he was happy then—“

”Don’t defend him to me.” Bradley interrupts you, his voice calm but grave. In a roundabout way, he understands how your thought process has led you here, but he can’t listen.

”No, I’m — I’m not. But it’s my responsibility as his partner—“

”Stop it.” Bradley deadpans. He lowers his head and meets your gaze. His tone suggests that he is growing frustrated but his eyes are another story, soft and warm, honeyed as they search across your face. “You were blacked out drunk. Whatever you think you owe him, it wasn’t his in that moment. You get that, right?”

He’s trying to help. You know that he’s trying to make it better, but it isn’t. Your nape feels hot and your throat feels sore. If he’s right, if that’s really true — if it was never your fault — then where do you go from here?

Your wedding is eighteen days after you fly home. The dress, the centre-pieces, the bridesmaids and the venue — everything is already all set up.

You suck in a soft breath and bury your face in your hands. Bradley lifts his palm and smooths a hand softly over the nape of your neck.

“Look, I just—“

“Can you go?” You breathe out shakily, dropping your hands from your face and meeting his gaze. His mouth hangs open, and you just know that he’s going to keep on talking. “Just go. Please. I want to be alone.”

Finally, he closes his mouth and gives a solemn nod.

“Okay,” He gives your shoulder a soft squeeze before standing up from the bed. “I’ll come see you tomorrow morning.”

With him gone, the quiet is worse this time. Out here in the country, there’s nothing but you wracking your brain for answers that just won’t come. At some point, you make yourself eat some of the now cold food Bradley had brought you just to settle the rumbling in your stomach.

Then, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. It’s a tall thing with a wooden frame, angled to face the bed. Your fingers reach down and curl into the hem of your nightgown, thinking of the blue Dior dress sitting in your closet at home now. It’s around this length, one of your shorter articles of clothing. You had been so excited to find that dress.

Standing in it that day in the floor, you had felt like Cinderella, right out of the pages of a storybook. Ridiculous.

Quickly, you grab at the hem and tear it off of your body. Almost naked, you examine yourself in the reflection. Something makes you walk forwards and your eyes squint, scrutinizing the flesh before you. Wondering how much of it Malcolm has seen, really.

You wonder which parts of it come to mind, when the two men who have seen your body think about it. The softness of your stomach? The way your breasts sit? — Something different entirely, maybe. Your self-examination is short-lived and exhausting all at once.

Turning back around, you spot Bradley’s shirt sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s a soft, heavy cotton, and it smells wholly of him. It slips easily over your shoulders, your fingers working nimbly to fasten the buttons.

You tilt your head, observing the way you look wrapped in his clothes. Then, you look around the room. Without Bradley to occupy your evening, the sudden lack of television or alternate entertainment strikes you.

Stuck with little other option, you grab your walkman from the dresser and head over to your suitcase. Armed with the cassette, wrapped in Bradley’s shirt, you cross the room and settle back into this unfamiliar bed, setting the headphones over your ears. You click open the cartridge and look down at the new tape in your hand.

Written across the front of the plastic in red marker, calligraphy: Our Wedding Tape 1986. It was a parting gift. Something from your future husband to lift your spirits when you were feeling low over here.

You lay back against the pillows, closing your eyes and hitting play. Slowly, the opening chords of The Commodores’ Three Times a Lady start to play in your ears. Your stomach flips, but you inhale, squeeze your eyes tighter and it’s almost better.

It’s soft, and slow — almost like a lullaby. But, your blood is coursing so hot and fast through your veins, it feels more like you’re running a marathon. Hot tears burn behind your eyes once again, reminding you that you haven’t actually run out of them. That they might never really stop.

To touch you, to hold you, to feel you, to need you.

There’s nothing to keep us apart.

You’re once, twice, three times a lady, and I love you. I love you.

As the lyrics pause and piano chords once again fill your ears, you realize that you’re gritting your teeth. You inhale sharply and snatch the headset off of your head, tossing it harshly onto the floor and causing the walkman to bust open. The cassette falls to the floor, but at least the music stops.

You’re breathing like you’re being chased. You wipe hurriedly, wanting the tears off of you, kicking back the covers, wanting everything off of you. As you wipe the salty tears from your jaw, you remember the metal on your finger.

As with the Walkman, you tear it off and throw it. It lands atop the dresser, the light catching the diamond, it sparkles back at you like a wink.

You had been so ridiculously happy on the day that Malcolm had proposed. Surrounded by your friends and family, wearing a beautiful dress, the centre of attention. Ridiculous.

You sink back down and turn onto your side, facing away from the dresser and the winking reminder that sits atop it. Sleep comes for you quickly, taking place of the crying-induced headache and drowning out the faint Commodores chorus lurking in your mind.

You’re awoken by a soft knock on the heavy wooden door. Sunlight is already pouring in through the curtains and something tells you that you missed breakfast. This will be Bradley. You let him knock again. Then, a third time. Eyes still closed, you groan softly and press your face into the pillow as a fourth and fifth knock ring out.

Stubborn asshole. You tear the covers the rest of the way back and push up from the bed, padding across the hardwood floor and pulling the door swiftly open.

Abigail and Zoe stand outside, dressed in tank tops and shorts with bathing suit strings peaking out. Your mouth falls slack as you try to close the door to cover yourself a bit.

“Oh—“ Your eyes widen, lips parting. It’s obvious to the both of them instantly that they aren’t who you were expecting to see. “Sorry, I thought you were Bradley.”

Zoe glances at Abigail, Abigail glances at Zoe, they both look down at the slightly wrinkled blue button up that falls down to your mid thighs. Bradley wore something really similar in Venice.

“We, uh — well, we’re just heading down to the lake. We were going to swim, and get some work done. Sandro gave us some snacks and some lemonade,” Zoe has a real talent for cramming as much information into as short a breath as she can, showing you the contents of the little cotton bag on her shoulder at the same time. She stops finally, allowing herself to smile in her pause. “If you… maybe wanted to come with us.”

You neither retreat or reply. For a second too long, you just look between the two of them, completely wordless.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Abigail answers quickly, she looks at Zoe and they both quickly offer you nods of agreement. “Don’t feel like you have to—“

“No— I-I— yeah. Thanks. That would be cool.” You shift your weight from foot to foot, balancing one one, toeing at the aged floorboards under you. It feels strange, wanting so badly to go with them.

Up until you reached this threshold, you were so certain that you didn’t give a damn about the way they felt about you. Maybe you don’t, really. You sure wouldn’t if you were back home. But here, the feeling of finally being invited is something weightless.

“Cool.” Zoe smiles awkwardly back at you. You wonder if your smile looks half as apologetic as hers does.

Abigail bristles to attention, shrugging her tote closer to her body and reaching down to take Zoe’s hand. “Well, we’ll wait for you downstairs? We can all head out there together.”

They’re wearing swimsuits. You should dig your swimsuit out of your case. Maybe they’ll be upset if you make them wait too long.

“Thanks, I’ll be quick.”

And then you’re walking around the left side of the house and heading across the fields, they’re explaining how wonderful Teodora is, how she told them about a wild swimming spot just over the hill.

They’re curious about you. You were so angry in the beginning, so restless and unhappy. That seems to have faded away now. They still don’t know a single thing about you really, not as much as they would like to.

“Are you feeling better? — Bradley said you weren’t feeling well.” Abigail is tall and dark-skinned, with round glasses and her curly hair usually in two French braids. Today, she’s wearing a Rolling Stones t-shirt that belonged to her father, and a pair of denim cut-offs.

“It’s not contagious, right?” Zoe adds as she trails alongside you. She’s shorter than Abigail, with dark hair and green eyes. She’s the only sophomore on the trip — you wonder what she had done to impress Bradley enough to let her come.

You shrug your shoulder bag closer to your body and make yourself smile. “Much better. I think I just didn’t drink enough water and I was tired. Just… out of sorts, I guess.”

“It’s good that Bradley was so kind to you about it,” Zoe hums absently, adjusting her thick-rimmed sunglasses. Red runner shorts and complimentary red and white striped adidas sneakers, and long tanned legs. She looks right out of a commercial — but one of the well done ones. Not cheesy or anything. “Called his office once to tell him that I couldn’t take an exam because I was super sick, that fucker didn’t believe me until I dragged myself in there and puked on those old Nikes he used to wear.”

You hum out an amused sound. That makes two of you who have puked on his shoes.

“He feels bad for me because my fiancé’s a jackass.” Maybe it’s a lie, maybe it’s the truth. You believe both sides of it, in part. Bradley does feel bad for you. But he would have held you in his arms yesterday even if he didn’t.

To them, it makes sense. There has been plenty of gossip about you over the last five weeks. Some of it, admittedly, they had engaged in. Everyone is pretty curious about why you’re getting married so young, and equally curious about all the time you’ve been spending with their cool, cocky professor.

Watching you stumble away from the group sobbing yesterday, there had been a few whispered rumours about the cause. Maybe Bradley dumped her because she wouldn’t put out. That one was especially cruel.

To Abigail, someone that heartbroken didn’t deserve to be made fun of. It had looked like your heart had been clean ripped out of your chest. She had whispered to Zoe about it last night in the darkness of their room, from the top bunk, and the two of them had decided to approach you today.

”How long have you two been together?” Abigail toes the line between prying and learning enough about you to potentially calling herself your friend. You probably should mind, but this is standard practice back home — girls who don’t care wanting information they don’t deserve. Something tells you she’s not like that.

”Since high school.” You tell her.

She slows slightly and turns her head to look back at you over her shoulder. You’re looking down at the dirt and grass and wildflowers, setting one white shoe in front of the other, denim shorts and a green blouse, that sad look on your face again. It’s different than the kind of sadness she saw in you yesterday — but it’s a look she has seen on you before.

A kind of acceptance to it, like you’re at peace with the sadness you’ve known.

”People grow a lot after high school.” It’s wonderful that you have managed to stay together. It’s probably time to call it quits. Her sentence seems unfinished and leaves you guessing, but it doesn’t condemn you to her own decision on the matter the way that Bradley’s black and white had.

You look up from the ground and meet her gaze. You smile and nod. People sure do.

Bradley gets caught up in the kitchen with Teodora as he is fixing you a plate of breakfast, guessing at your favourite morning foods. He only really dines with you in the evening.

“Is that for the girl?”

Bradley hums and nods, frowning at the cooked mushrooms. He can’t remember if you love them or hate them. After five dates, he should probably know that. He shouldn’t have been on any dates with you. They’re just mushrooms—

“She left already.” Dorie shrugs without looking up from the morning paper. Bradley’s fingers curl tighter around the plate. He turns slowly, to face her.

“She what?”

”Yes, the girl with the tattoo and the girl with the long legs,” Dorie tells him, glancing up and taking note of the panicked expression on his face. Abi and Zoe. He swallows a bit. They’ll be good to you. “They all went out by the lake to work. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

The last time he had been here, Bradley had been hopelessly in love with another. He kept a picture of her in his wallet. Pretty little thing with her middle finger pointed right at the lense as she sunbathed topless on a beach in the south.

Teodora won’t pry, but she suspects there might be a new picture in Bradley’s wallet now.

“Oh. Right,” He sets the plate down and stares at it, unsure of what to do with the extra food now. “I… I guess I’ll get started with some work. I’ll be in the sitting room.”

She nods politely at him, he sets the plate in the fridge and leaves to gather his work things. God, he hopes they’ll be good to you. He had been so afraid that Dorie was going to tell him you had jumped on a flight back to the States. He has more time.

He was up practically all night, thinking of that loser’s hands on you. It makes him sick to remember how limp you had been in his arms when he had first picked you up from the snow.

The sitting room in the Gabris estate is sprawling — it’s a real space to entertain. There were a lot of parties here back in the day. Now, there’s a dust sheet over the piano and the nude portrait of Teodora’s lover is gone from above the mantle.

Bradley settles down into an armchair and pulls together his notes, sun pouring through the windows, a fog settling across his thoughts. 3pm. Three PM. That’s when he hears the eruption of laughter, bubbling up and spilling through the house. After that, comes the sound of wet shoes squeaking on the hardwood.

His chin propped against his fist, he cranes his neck as Zoe appears first in the hallway. She spots him and stops like a caught kid, her mouth falling open. Then, you. Then, Abi. All three of you are soaked head to toe, dripping water onto the floors.

You stare back at him dwarfing the patterned armchair, surrounded by papers, peering at you over the top of his reading glasses. He doesn’t say a thing, taking his time in looking the three of you over. Finally, his lips twitch.

”We went swimming.” Zoe breathes out, laughing.

Bradley hums against his hand, his eyes visibly flicker from your bare feet to the soaked clothes clinging to your body, and finally at your face. From behind his fist, a smirk toys at his lips.

He’s so grateful to see you look so mischievous. Anything but the way you were looking at him yesterday.

”I can see that,” He agrees, amusement dripping from his voice. Your smile turns sheepish as you cross your arms in front of your hips and shift your weight from left to right, and back again. “Did you get those pages that I asked you for all done.

”Most of ‘em.” Zoe nods. Eighty-percent still counts as most. Besides, you know that Bradley will listen if you plead your case. He hums again, a sound of understanding this time, and inches his knees further apart as he sits upright.

”Well, I take it that you’ll be a bit late to our study session.” He’s looking right at you with that devilishly handsome smile on his face, and a softness to his eyes that makes you want to pour yourself right into his lap.

“Shit,” You snap out of it, whipping your head around to look for a clock. Bradley glances down at his watch, already fully aware that you’re forty minutes late. He looks back to you, smiling. “I’ll get changed.”

”I’ll be here.” He tells you, looking back down to his work.

You glance down at the puddle you’re leaving on the floor, and then back up at the girls. They watch you blink like you’re remembering that they’re there.

“We’ll come up with you.” Abigail nods for you to go ahead and Zoe slips her palms into yours.

Bradley glances at the exchange over the top of his workbook, her hand in yours. The smile on your face as you peer back at them and head for the stairs. He bites the inside of his cheek and finally exhales.

His next breath in feels a little bit easier.

“So, how long do you usually have to spend with Bradley every afternoon?” Zoe asks, padding up the wooden stairs behind you. They creak with every step, but not enough for you to pretend not to have heard her question.

You shrug your shoulders, trying to at cool about it. Bradley would at cool about it. He doesn’t seem ashamed at all.

“It depends. He gives me different tasks to do. Sometimes we get through them quickly, other times he decides to be an ass about it.” That feels about right.

“Like class work?”

“Yeah,” You glance back over your shoulder as you reach the landing. “I’m not much use to him as a research assistant if I still don’t understand the class material. You know?”

“Right.” Abigail nods along with you.

“Well, I’d better go get dry…” You remember, gesturing to your door. They both nod along, but you don’t move. You hug your shoes and your bag to your chest and try to smile. “Thanks for inviting me today. I appreciate it.”

“Any time. You’re a good time.” Zoe grins, lifting her arm and draping it casually around Abigail’s shoulders.

Your goodbye is a brief nod and a pleased smile, before you turn and head back to your room. You strip out of your clothes and leave them to dry against the open window, then throw on something dry.

Bradley hears your shoes racing down the stairs and closes his book. You grab the archway and swing around the corner into the sitting room.

“Okay — ready.”

He braces his elbows against his knees and gives a small shake of his head, lips quirked. “Not here.”

The two of you walk along the dirt path in the opposite direction to the lake. Up ahead of you is a mile long stretch of trees, behind you is the Gabris’ courtyard. Bradley’s two paces in front with a cigarette dangling from his lips and his books tucked under his arm.

His shorts make his legs look even longer, up high on his thighs and stretched around the muscle. His sneakers still aren’t something a college professor would wear, but you’ve grown to like them. They’re very… him.

His oversized shirts and his white sneakers, and the gold pendant that sits between his collarbones are all parts of him that you have grown to adore. The curls at the nape of his neck and the way his broad shoulders slope down into his waist.

There are plenty of things that you could name.

The smell of tobacco that follows him isn’t one of those things.

“That’s a filthy habit.” You call ahead to him.

Bradley turns his head and looks at you over the top of his gold-rimmed sunglasses, grinning amusedly, “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of those. You might be familiar with a few.”

Your mouth twitches. You almost smile at him, briefly considering that downright awful habit he’s got of delving between your thighs. Then, your face twists into a strictly unamused scowl.

“Did you pick it up when you were in the Navy?” You ask, jogging to keep up with him.

“Kinda.” He answers you, looking down at you briefly before he checks ahead again. It’s not important to mention the cigarettes behind the science building in high school; that was more an act of defiance than an addiction.

“Have you ever tried to quit?”

“Is this you asking me to?” He replies, crossing over into the tree line, shade pouring over the two of you. You watch as he takes the cigarette between his fingers and flicks ash onto the floor, branches crunching under his feet.

You follow alongside him. “Would you, if I asked you to?”

“Would you put up with me being a lot grumpier?” He asks in return.

“Probably not.”

He huffs out a dry chuckle. Finally, he stubs the cigarette out. You follow him through the woods like his shadow until you reach a clearing. It’s a pleasant mix of sun and shade, a nice place to wait out the glaring afternoon heat. This is routine by now, you sit down beside each other and he tells you what you’re doing, then you each get to it.

He’s working on his book. His face gets real serious when he’s working on his book. Makes him look older, more mature. Almost makes you forget how deviously handsome he looks when he’s grinning at you, when he looks so handsome like this.

You’re translating prose. Poetry about lust and temptation. He would have switched out the curriculum but resources are limited out here, and you don’t say a word about disliking the work he has given you. He’s afraid to ask.

To burst this bubble of blissful ignorance you’ve got going, like yesterday never happened.

”So, Zoe and Abi — did you guys have fun today?” He asks without looking up from his work. That feels like a safe enough question. You’re laying on your stomach and don’t bother to stop working to look at him either.

”Mhm. Zoe’s clothes fell off the branch and got soaked, so we figured we’d all just jump in dressed. Cooled us off on the way home.”

He glances up, smiling softly. “Look at you — walking on the wild side.”

”I know, right?” You scoff.

He looks back down to his work, examining the artwork on the left page.

“So… how are you feeling today?” He asks cautiously. About Malcolm, of course. Bradley has noticed that you aren’t wearing your ring. You’d barely remembered taking it off. It doesn’t feel any different without it. It’s not exactly life-altering. It’s just jewellery.

”Mixed up,” You owe him honesty at least, considering your complicated relationship. You shrug your shoulders weakly and frown at the page. “Confused. Angry.”

He just nods.

She turns her head to look at him. Laying on his side, pretending to organise his notes, his sunglasses masking his expression.

”I don’t want it to change things.”

”How?” Bradley answers a little too quickly for a man pretending to be otherwise occupied. His brows draw together as he meets your gaze through those darkened lenses.

“Between us,” You tell him, resting your cheek against your hand and tilting your head just slightly. Laying in the grass, about a foot away from him. Close enough for him to reach out and trail his fingers from the centre of your back to the nape of your neck, and back again. You smile softly. “I like you, you know?”

…

Tags: @thedroneranger @batdanceq @cassiemitchele @himbos-on-ice @wkndwlff @bradshawsbaby @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @cherrycola27@ahoyyharrington @kmc1989 @sugarcoated-lame @mshistorylover

[lghtyear]

newly added muses :

eleventh doctor , doctor who . fc : matt smith . fred jones , scooby doo . fc : garrett hedlund . merlin , merlin . fc : colin morgan . sebastian reid , fandomless oc . fc : aidan turner . sam , stardew valley . fc : danny griffin . harvey , stardew valley . fc . seth green . sebastian , stardew valley . fc . felix mallard .

# ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          fred jones.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          merlin.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          sebastian reid.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          sam.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          harvey.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          sebastian.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          jessica riley.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          gwen cooper.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          oliver wetherell.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          connor bradley.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          professor yana.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾

mooooore

# ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          the mistress.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          rose tyler.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          sammy laurel.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾ # ⁽ ᴿᴼᴳᴱᴿ ⁾       . . .       ‘    in  relation  to:          suki.     ⁽ ᴼᵁᵀ ⁾

[heckcareoxytwit]

In order to cure Nightcrawler from his monstrous mutation, Legion and his team prepare for a ritual with Mother Righteous for exorcism. When Doctor Nemesis criticizes Mother Righteous for using magic over science, he gets killed for it. As Doctor Nemesis revives in Arbor Magna, Pixie informs the team that he is back to normal which means that they may have a chance in curing Nightcrawler. However, Legion still doubts over his friend's state and he asks Mother Righteous to give the Soulsword back but she refuses. Mother Righteous shows her true nature when she drains Legion and taunts him with knowledge of what happens after his ascension. Then, Legion's teammates - Pixie, Banshee and Lost to fight back with the help of the telepathic Blindfold. This allows the monstrous Nightcrawler to slowly wake up and slice a few magic tendrils off from Mother Righteous. As she starts yelling and burning the mutants to crisp, Nightcrawler stops Mother Righteous with a blade on her throat. When Mother Righteous finds that Legion had disappeared, she screams again in a hissy fit and burns Nightcrawler too.

Some time later, the mutants - Banshee, Lost, Pixie and Nightcrawler were eventually resurrected by The Five in Arbor Magna of Krakoa. Even though he is back to normal, Nightcrawler learns from Xavier that Legion is missing. Also Nightcrawler gets a bad news from Emma Frost and Cyclops that Orchis took advantage of his feral form and they used him as a weapon to kill the human politicians so that they could manipulate the public with anti-mutant propaganda. Thus, Nightcrawler decides to leave Krakoa as a way of figuring out how he could fix public relations.

X-Men: Before the Fall - Sons of X #1, 2023

[sebsxphia]

professors!jake and bradley co-teaching an intro to human anatomy course.. and you’re just really struggling during this unit

bradley suggesting weekly tutoring with him and jake?

jake would edge you with his fingers until you can name every part

bradley making you name every bone, including the extra one you currently have

-🗝

INCLUDING THE EXTRA ONE YOU CURRENTLY HAVE AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

my beloved anon, i’m gonna kiss your mind for that, oh my god 😵‍💫

not only do they use sex and praise to get you to learn and remember, they’ll also use your body as an example to talk you through human anatomy. you’re spread out on jake’s desk with his fingers buried deep inside of you. bradley has your lips parted to allow jake full access and occasionally he’ll tweak at your nipple.

“see how your body reacts when we touch you there, hm? that’s the nerve endings in your precious little clit reacting to our touch. so good, so obedient too.”

omg. thank you so much for this insane thot my beloved anon!! 💌

[mothdruid]

I know English lit professor Bradley is one of those lecturers with impeccable sense of style and like command of the room that you can’t help but have a crush on him every time he smiles and nods at you as you take your usual spot near the front (to see the lecture slides better of course…)

yes alex!!!

i imagine him leaning back against his desk, book open in one hand as he explains something to the class. and obviously he has to have reading glasses in this scenario. so he has those perched on the top of his head and he pulls them down to read the section of the book.

when he asks a question and no one goes to answer, so you do. and the way he watches you so intently. the little smile as you explain/answer perfectly. and his eyes lock with yours after you answer and all he says is

"exactly"

with this fucking look that makes you melt inside. and don't even get me started when he pulls you aside to compliment you on understanding to concepts from class so well

send professor thots

[comicwaren]

From X-Men: Before the Fall - Sons of X #001, “Run It Again”

Art by Phil Noto

Written by Si Spurrier