#yeah feel free to send us this kind of stuff

[just-antithings]

Are we able to send you “Just Pro-Lifer Things” as well? Y’know since they’re equally stupid and moralizing as antis and have a similar mentality. I found a good one on the Judaism sub of Reddit:

Just Pro-Lifer Things: “When a man intentionally spills seed he is guilty of shvichas danim (murder), because he has done this act out of his own volition, and has directly destroyed the potential for a life that otherwise may have existed.”

Why does that sound familiar…? Hey doesn’t that sound exactly like antis pearl clutching that lewding the drawing of a “minor” means there’s a potential for real children to be assaulted? “Potential” “could” even though no actual life has been murdered nor actual child assaulted? 👀

In fact all you need to do is change the wording and this is what you get: “If a person intentionally consumes or ships 2D drawings of children they are guilty as if they were pedophiles themselves because they thought about it and thus could potentially groom a child in real life.

.

[multishipper-baby]

Been thinking about writing FHS fics again... Haven't done that in a while.

[walpu]

I'm coming at you with the speed of thousand asteroids affectionately and hit you with a "your writing is awesome!"

Also, may I request an Aventurine x The Nameless!reader.

Thank you very much and have a nice day :D

Thank you so much for your kind words and for the request, it was so fun to write <З

Hope you'll enjoy it, have a good day as well 💛

Aventurine x The Nameless!reader

characters - Aventurine

notes - gn!reader, fluff, a bit of hurt/comfort. Once again, no beta. I'm so sorry.

Aventurine

Considering that the Astral Family and it's members are pretty well-known (everyone seems to know at least their names) he has probably heard something about you even before you first met him.

I can imagine your first meeting going like this: he casually approaches you, acting all buddy-buddy, and says something like "ah, mx , who knew I would meet you here of all places <З".

If your first meeting was during the Penacony quest get ready for him calling you "friend" in this sassy voice of his 💀 Yes Aven we all get it you don't have any actual friends calm down

Can imagine him trying to get closer to you by painting your potential partnership as something mutually beneficial. You could use a friend from the IPC, right? And he wouldn't mind having some connections with a "brave and honorable" Nameless. So why don't you join him for a glass of wine, hmmm?

When the two of you will eventually get closer this mf will get clingy af. Yeah I've mentioned it already in my previous post but you being one of the Nameless opens up so many new perspectives.

Visits you on the Express regularly. If he comes when you're not here, he'll wait for as long as he can for you to come back. Sadly, Aventurine is a busy, busy man. So he can't wait for long. Will leave small notes for you tho, to let you know that he was there but you didn't grace him with your presence

If you come back when he's waiting, Aven will play it off as if he himself just got there and didn't have to wait for you at all, saying somethin like "Oh look, here you're! And here I thought I would have to wait for you, haha. Seems like luck is on my side today~"

He doesn't want you to worry, after all. Also. He wants to save some face. Pom-Pom will rat him out anyway.

Speaking of Pom-Pom, they're probably sick of him at this point lol.

Would ask you about your adventures and listen very closely to every story you may want to tell. He can't help but smile softly while listening to you, he just loves seeing the passion in your eyes. Doesn't matter if the story is about you dragging the Trailblazer away from the trash cans in Belobog (or worse - admiring the trash cans with them), he will still look at you with the same adoring smile.

If you ask him what he's been up to during the time you where gone, Aven would simply laugh it off and say that his boring IPC stuff cannot compare with your bizarre adventures so it doesn't even worth mentioning. Reassure him that you don't care if it's boring, you just want to hear about his day regardless of how it went.

Sometimes he can't help but feel jealous. You're free to travel, to do whatever you want. You have this sparkle of excitement in your eyes every time you tell him about your travels. And he has nothing of it. Simply can't have.

He doesn't have any negative feelings towards you, of course. Mostly some bottled up bitterness toward his fate and himself.

He gets a bit lost in his own head every time he starts feeling this way. Please take his hand and invite him to join you during your next adventure. He will laugh softly and tell you "maybe next time, darling". Even if he doesn't know when this "next time" will come the thought of it, of you wanting to share your precious moment with him, fills him with hope.

Adores when you bring him small gifts from the places you've been. It doesn't have to be something big, really. Just the thought that you were thinking of him when the two of you were apart is enough.

Don't forget to send him pictures of yourself!!!! He wants to know how his dearest darling is doing even when they are freezing their ass off in Belobog.

Would sometimes surprise you by showing up on the planet/space ship you're currently staying on. Aventurine rarely can't stay for a long but he cherishes those short moments when he can just walk around and do nothing in particular with you.

Usually when he visits a planet it has something to do with the IPC's business so he only has time to do his job and. Well. Gamble. Maybe buy some new clothes too if he has enough time.

But with you he can actually explore the planet. You bring him to the local restaurants, small tea shops, seemingly small and insignificant places. But it’s places like these that reveal the real beauty of the planet. He slowly learns to appreciate it when you're by his side.

[joelscruff]

joelscruff -> @pedropeach 🍑

so! this past little while has certainly been a dumpster fire of a situation! but if anything, something good that has come out of it is that this was the final push i needed to finally make a new blog.

i've been wanting to do this for a while; some of you may already know (because of the amount of times i've complained about it lmao) that joelscruff is and always has been a sideblog. when i first created it i hadn't used tumblr in years and wasn't anticipating using it very much again, so instead of just making an entirely new blog i decided to just make a sideblog attached to my very old (and unused) main. but obviously once i realized there was a whole ass community on here for pedro and pedro character fic, i ended up sticking around and - as a result - being stuck as a sideblog.

unfortunately being a sideblog on tumblr is extremely limiting. i can't follow from this blog, send asks, or even like posts. it was only very recently that sideblogs were even able to reply to posts. it's always been extremely frustrating and for the longest time i've toyed with the idea of just making a new blog so i wouldn't have to deal with the sideblog limitations anymore. but of course i was hesitant because making such a big change and leaving behind what i've done on this blog is a difficult decision to make.

however, after the shit that's gone on the past week, how it's affected me, seeing how it's affected the people closest to me, and witnessing the love and kindness from others because of it - a fresh start just sounded like a really good idea. the fact that i am no longer limited by tumblr's sideblog rules is incredibly freeing and, frankly, all of this stuff has just left an extremely bad taste in my mouth and has left joelscruff feeling like a shell of sorts that i'd like to leave behind.

so, you can now find me at @pedropeach

it's bittersweet to leave this blog behind, but i will be keeping it up as an archive - none of my fics will be deleted. at this time i don't see myself reposting them to the new blog, nor do i see myself posting any fic for a little while in general. however, when i do decide to start posting fic again, my current series will continue to be updated over there as well as on my ao3.

so yeah! whether you want to follow the new blog is up to you! if you decide to say goodbye or stick around, i appreciate you and the time we spent together on this blog all the same. it was truly an incredible experience and i will cherish it forever. i love you 💖

[ddejavvu]

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 2) / Part 1 / Part 3 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 16.1K / navigation / inbox

A/N: part two!! thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the sweet, lovely feedback i got on part one, i was so happy you enjoyed the opening chapter!! this part gives some more backstory on reader+bradley, and i hope you like it just as much as you did the first! once more i'd love to hear your thoughts, thank you to everyone who said something wonderful and kind about the first part, it meant a lot to me. <3

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Instead of your alarm, you wake up to a call from Carole. It’s 7:29, and when you raise the phone to your ear, your voice is gruff and achy with sleep.

“Hello?”

It feels just like yesterday. Yesterday, that comes flooding back to you in a barrage of awful memories. All that’s changed is the bed you’re in; you’re still alone. You almost miss Carole’s response because you’re slowly taking in everything that hits you like an anvil from above, but you catch the last word and can discern her meaning.

“-visit?”

“Yeah,” You rub your eyes, feeling tears already gathered there; a great way to start your morning.

“Yeah, I’ll visit,” You confirm, and your alarm buzzes against your head. You hastily shut it off and yawn, only inducing more tears and sighing as you speak again, “I’m gonna run to the store real quick, get some stuff for cookies. He convinced me to sneak them in.”

“That boy,” Carole huffs, and even half-asleep, you hear her voice laced with fondness for her son, “Alright honey. How y’doin’?”

“Um,” You ponder, truly unsure as your fingers pick at a stray thread on the blanket; you’d been meaning to replace it for months. “Okay. Not okay, but not- not as bad as yesterday. I think-” You swallow, throat convulsing, “I think I love lying to him if it means I have him back.”

She’s silent for a moment, letting your words sink into your own brain. You feel guilty for them, just like you feel guilty for leading Bradley on, pretending nothing is wrong when your entire lives have fallen apart. But she eventually responds with all of the kindness and love she has inside of her, which is a lot.

“I know, baby. And it’s okay, it’ll get better. It’ll turn out right.”

“I hope so,” You breathe shakily, wishing either her or your boyfriend (pretend boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend?) were there to rub soothing circles into your back. 

“I know so.” She promises, and she’s never promised something she couldn’t guarantee. You hope this isn’t her first strike, because her never-ending optimism miraculously lifts your dreary spirits until your chest doesn’t ache with a sob begging to break free. “Alright, baby doll, I’ll let’cha get to baking. I’m gonna see if they’ll let me sneak in early, I- Oh! Nurse,” She calls away from the phone, and you hear her move on the other end, no doubt chasing down a poor nurse that doesn’t want to get fired for letting her in before visiting hours. You hang up the call with a snort, fond of how her fierce love for those around her hasn’t faded in all the time you’ve known her.

Pulling yourself out of bed is hard, but you do it for Bradley. You’re sluggish as you traipse to the bathroom, using deodorant in place of a shower and brushing your hair back into a ponytail. Showers are for people who have the luxury of time, you need to bake fast, and get over there to see if Bradley wakes up remembering anything new- er, old. You hope that he doesn’t, and then you hope that doesn’t make you a bad person.

One of the things you love about the place you’d shared with Bradley is that it’s close to a shopping center with a grocery store. It means that you walk to the supermarket, sandals on your feet and ratty, day-old clothes still on. No one seems to mind when you grab a basket looking like you’ve risen from the dead, and you collect the ingredients for Bradley’s favorite cookies with a skillful, experienced hand. You haven’t paid for anything by card in a while, you’d used emergency cash for the motel, and you wonder if you’ve been locked out of your joint bank account. Probably not; if the state of Bradley’s place had been any indication, he wants you back. But you’re cautious using the card anyways, in case a big red screen comes to life on the monitor in front of you and tells you you’re a terrible girlfriend. Almost a terrible wife.

You’re glad that you don’t run into any of your neighbors on the walk back home, because you don’t want to explain why you look the way you do, nor do you want to burst into tears when they ask where Bradley and his car are. You keep your head down and avoid the trike on the front walkway, ducking back into the house without being spotted. 

Firing up the oven feels heavenly, maybe because you’ve been eating scraps of motel food for two weeks. It reminds you of all the times you’ve baked with Bradley, or, more like the times you’ve baked while Bradley steals pinches of sugar from the bowl or tries to lick the beater when there’s raw egg in the mixture, resulting in more batter in his mustache than in his mouth while you try wrestling the spatula out of his grip.

You go through the oatmeal raisin motions absentmindedly; a master at your craft. It frees up brainpower to reminisce, and you sort through a mental file cabinet to find your favorite memory of baking with Bradley.

--

“I want to try the vanilla,” Bradley reaches for the teaspoon in your hands, and you jerk it away, thankful that it isn’t full of the brown liquid yet.

“Absolutely not,” You laugh, “Brad, it’s gross by itself. It’s like eating straight cocoa powder, it’s meant to be mixed in with something.”

He pouts, he actually pouts, a man of 36. The expression has his mustache hanging over his lower lip and you can’t help but giggle at it, leaning in to kiss the prickly hair on his face.

“You’ll have a cookie to eat soon,” You promise him, dumping a teaspoon of vanilla extract into the mixing bowl. He plays satisfied with your answer, but when you turn your back to fold the mixture in on itself with a spatula, you hear rustling behind you, then the click of a cap, and a muffled gag.

“I told you,” Your voice is sing-song-y, and you turn amusedly to watch Bradley duck under the sink’s faucet, rinsing his mouth out of the bitter taste. He’s scowling when he comes back up for air, water dripping from his mustache as he crosses his arms.

“I thought it would be good.” He mutters, and you nod, humming as a bit of batter smears over your thumb from the spatula.

“That’s because you didn’t listen to me,” You lament, “I know everything, Brad. You should just listen to me, always.”

“Oh yeah? Alright, share some wisdom with me, Almighty One,” He teases, pushing off of the counter to join you at your own, “What should I do?”

He moves with his arms crossed, standing just close enough that you know the only answer you can give.

“Mm,” You pretend to deliberate, really leaning into it with a few contemplative taps at your chin, “Kiss me.”

He gasps dramatically, which is the way that he does most things, “Excellent idea. You really do know everything.”

“Mhm,” You nod, craning your neck up as Bradley leans down to kiss you, “I told you. Listen to me all the time.”

“I will,” He promises, “Quick, tell me we should have sex.”

“Bradley!” You gawp, an incredulous laugh oozing out from your chest, leaving behind a snail trail of joy, “You’re insatiable! We’ve already gone twice today.”

“Mm, can’t help it,” He tsks, backing you into the counter and kissing you once more. His lips press firmly to yours, his hands at your waist caging you into his embrace, “Honey, you taste much sweeter than that vanilla shit.”

--

When you come to, you’re putting the cookies in the oven. You’re alarmed at how zoned out you’d been, but evidently you hadn’t burned the place down, and you shut the oven door, setting a timer on the microwave. You tackle the dishes next, using the time that the cookies bake to tidy up your work station. The dough comes easily off of the mixing bowl and the melted butter drips over your fingers before you scrub it away, still slightly warm from the microwave. There’s only a few plates in the sink that you hadn’t dirtied, and you wonder if Bradley had washed and dried dishes while you were away. Or maybe this was it, four plates of food in two weeks. You’d been treating yourself that way, but it’s heartbreaking to know Bradley had, too.

You try warding off your incoming bout of sniffles by retreating back to your bedroom, choosing a new outfit to wear to the hospital. If you show up in the same thing, Bradley might worry about you, and you don’t want him thinking you were too sluggish to pull yourself together for him. You’re hurt, wounded and scarred with lashes over your heart, but he’s the one with the broken ribs and the lost memories, so you need to play the part of the strong one; the uninjured one.

He can’t know you’re hurting in case he asks why.

Your shower is quick, and you try not to think about Bradley in case you succumb to the urge to cry. Of course, it’s impossible to chase the thoughts from your head, and the feeling of your fingers scratching shampoo through your scalp turns into the feeling of Bradley’s. The hand that slides down your side suddenly isn’t your own anymore, it’s a memory of his. A ghost of him, a whisper against your skin of ‘I promise, baby. You won't lose me’.

You hope more than anything that promise stays true.

You get yourself ready to go with more zeal than you’ve felt in the past two weeks. You’re taking the bus today, to cut down on gas money, and you’re sure you’ll spend the whole time worrying. You’re nervous about seeing Bradley, but it’s a few minutes past eight-thirty and you’re sure if he’d regained his memories, Carole would have notified you. Beyond the nerves you’re almost excited to pretend to be his girlfriend again, excited to live in the fantasy life you’ve created to preserve his peace of mind. You never thought you’d love to lie to him.

You’re much more put together today when you greet the receptionist, and you're not sure you could forget the way to his room if you tried. There’s a bag of the oatmeal raisin cookies hidden in your purse and you slip into the room just as a doctor leans over him to take his temperature.

You adore the way Bradley smiles at you. His eyes meet yours as you stand in the doorway, previously cautious and now elated that he seems to like you still. His face lights up and he calls, ‘Baby,’ alerting the nurse to your presence.

“Miss Mitchell!” The woman greets you, the one who’d brought Bradley’s dinner last night. 

“Hi,” You gush, a laugh bubbling up in your chest that’s made of pure elation. It’s a sickly sweet sound, one that you thought you’d never be able to make again after leaving Bradley. You rush to kiss him when the nurse leans away, scribbling down his temperature on his chart.

He lifts his hand to cup your cheek when you kiss him and the tears that line your eyes are happy ones; there’s still time. There’s still time to soak in his love before he remembers, there’s still time to lose yourself in this fantasy.

You take a moment to breathe after the kiss, doing so against his lips. He does the same, and you bask in each other’s presence, noses brushing and foreheads pressed together. Skin-on-skin, love-on-love.

“His heartbeat really did speed up,” Carole marvels, and you scramble to greet her, guilty that she’d slipped your mind in the rush of emotions you felt.

“Hi! Hi, sorry,” You stammer, wrapping her in a hug while she waves away your apologies.

“No worries, baby!” She squeezes your shoulders, beaming at you. You’re sure she’s thrilled you showed up, and you know Bradley is too from the way he grabs for your hand when you sit by his bed. He’s always been a touchy guy, his hands are never idle, but he’s never been quite this clingy before. It’s good, it helps ground you, and it’s what you need after a two-week bender in a motel.

“Brad,” You coo, unable to resist kissing him again when he turns his head to face you in the bed. He looks more comfortable today than he had yesterday, no more breathing tube or pale skin. There’s dark circles under his eyes, but you’re sure he’s still shaken up from the crash, and you’ll make sure he gets to sleep nice and early tonight.

If you’re able to.

Once you’ve kissed him you dot smaller ones across his face, heart soaring at the gentle laughter that spills from his lips as you do so. You kiss his nose, his cheeks, his chin, the space beside his eyes that’s wrinkled from years of laughter, and when his pretty brown eyes flutter shut, you go for the eyelids, too. You savor each one because you know it could be your last, and when he strokes the back of his hand along your cheek, you lean into the touch.

“Pretty girl,” He hums, and you feel your cheeks get hot. Newly showered, you felt more put-together than you’d been before, but you’d spent the past two weeks in a pigsty of your own creation, so the compliment means more than he knows.

Apparently, he feels your cheeks grow hot, too. His fingers pick up on the warmth and he laughs again, this time only a normal amount of raspiness clinging to the sound., He’s hyper-affectionate, taking his chance to dot kisses over your features for a change. The giddiness in your chest as his lips press to your skin, mustache prickling it, makes it feel like your heart will burst. You feel undeserving as he showers you with the affection you’ve missed so much, but you’re greedy so you take it anyways, and you wouldn’t be surprised if Carole was taking pictures of you in secret.

“I have some good news,” The nurse reports, and you turn at her voice. She’s angled towards Carole, obviously having meant to leave you and Bradley be in your couple’s reverie, but when she notices that she has your attention too, she speaks to the group.

“Nothing abnormal was documented during your stay here,” She reads off of her chart, “It’s just the concussion and the broken ribs, which is remarkable for the accident you were in. You’re very lucky, Mr. Bradshaw. There was some smoke inhalation from the crash site but that’s not a major issue anymore, and if everything remains stable until dinnertime, you can go home tonight.”

“Oh!” Carole squeals, clapping delicately with her hands in her lap, “That’s fantastic!’

Bradley seems equally pleased, smiling wide, and it takes a lot of willpower to mirror his expression. He knocks his nose into your cheek and you feel his grin against your jaw, so you bring a hand up to scrub through the hair at the back of his neck.

“That’s great,” You conclude weakly, blaming the lull in your voice on being so close to Bradley and not wanting to talk too loud. Carole eyes you nervously, though, trying to mask the worry in her eyes with a smile.

“You should still rest,” The nurse advises, “Those ribs won’t be healed for close to a month, maybe more. And you can sleep through most of the concussion, too. What’s good about going home is it’ll be familiar to you, and it might help trigger those memories you’ve lost. They’re still not back?”

“Nope,” Bradley shakes his head, keeping it pressed to yours, “I got nothin’.”

“Alright,” The nurse hums sympathetically, tucking the chart into a cubby by the door, “We’ll bring lunch at around one, Mr. Bradshaw.”

“Thank you!” Carole calls after the nurse as she leaves, then she stands in her flowy skirt, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shoulders.

“Miss Y/N,” She beams, “Bradley’s already had his breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“Uh, no,” You shake your head, “Not yet. Are you going to get something?”

“I am,” She nods, shouldering her purse, “Would you like some hospital pancakes, baby doll?”

“Here,” You stand, but Bradley grabs your hand, keeping you close to his bedside, “I can-”

“You can sit down,” Carole narrows her eyes at you, teasingly menacing, “Sit your butt back in that chair and be with your boyfriend, honey! I can manage two to-go boxes.”

“Thank you,” You gush, settling back into your seat and squeezing Bradley’s hand. He doesn’t let up on his heavy grip until you’re planted in your seat, and even when he does loosen his fingers he still holds you. Carole winks at you when you leave, and Bradley’s attention is solely on you the second the door shuts.

“Y/N,” He murmurs, and sometimes you forget your name isn’t baby or honey around him. You turn, now a little more nervous to be there now that your buffer is gone.

His big brown eyes are oozing their signature sweetness, a golden glint in them under the lights of the hospital room. He looks healthier now, even though you know his ribs hurt, and you’re oh-so-happy to have your Bradley back.

“I missed you,” You confess, and his face breaks into a grin. He nods, leaning up to kiss you, and you close the gap so that he doesn’t have to strain his probably sore muscles.

“I missed you, too,” He breathes, and you kiss him over and over and over again until you think you might be stealing the breath from his lungs. You let up, if only to keep him healthy, otherwise you’d never stop.

“I wasn’t sure when you were coming,” His lips close momentarily around your lower one while yours frame his top in a sweet peck.

“The cookies needed time to bake,” You lament, your mouth slightly dewy from his kiss, “Sorry, babe. I would have come faster, I- I should have gotten up earlier, but-”

“You’re here now,” He cuts off your worries, the heated skin of his face pressing against yours like he’s trying to stick to you, “That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah?” You hum dazedly, drunk on his love, “What about the cookies, do those matter?”

His eyes widen in consideration and he tilts his head to the side, mouth scrunching in a thoughtful frown, “Yeah, those matter too. Oatmeal raisin?”

“Oatmeal raisin,” You promise, digging through your purse, “Are you still on the hospital diet?”

“Honey,” He declares, sounding like his father's son as pride prickles his mustache, “I’d eat your cookies even if they killed me. Lay one on me, sugar.”

You snort at his cocky drawl, withdrawing a cookie from the bag in your purse. You break a piece off, hand-feeding him like his arms are still weak.

“Speaking of sugar,” You muse, stealing a bite of the treat for yourself and speaking with it pinched between your teeth, “I was thinking about baking together earlier. It was awful being alone, there was no one to eat the sugar out of the bowl.”

“Or drink the vanilla extract,” He cracks, and you laugh with glee.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking of!” You gush, taking his hand once more and squeezing it, “You gagged.”

“I don’t know! I just thought it’d taste good! I love vanilla,” He laments, only fuelling more laughter from you. 

“Yeah, well you got a lot of it,” You chuckle, “Anyways, it was weird not having you there. I had to do the dishes all by myself.”

“Poor baby,” He croons, half sincere and half teasing. He strokes a hand down your cheek that you yearn to kiss, but it goes by too fast, “How’d you manage?”

“I thought about you,” You confess, and some of that amusement in his eyes dims, giving way to complete and total admiration.

“Yeah?” He breathes, incredulous like he's twelve and he can’t believe his crush actually likes him. He’s always had that sort of puppyish aura about him, like you’re not just his girlfriend, you’re his best friend, and he’s always happy you’re along for the ride. It’s probably why he holds your hand so frequently, like he is now.

“Yeah,” You nod, flipping his palm in yours and tracing over the lines etched into it, “It’s not home there without you, Brad.”

“We go back tonight,” He smiles, keeping his voice low so that it doesn’t shatter the serenity around you, “Together.” You notice a sheen of tears over his eyes and you fall in love with him all over again, unable to hold yourself back from admiring how much he loves you. You really, really don’t know how you fucked this up.

“Yeah,” You croak, smiling weakly down at his hand instead of into his eyes, “Together.”

“Breakfast,” Carole sings, propping the door open with her foot as she steps inside. Your heads turn in sync, and you see her holding two plates, both covered with plastic lids. “Miss Y/N, three pancakes for you, and there’s syrup for days.”

“Thank you,” You rush to help her, and some piece of your heart stays in Bradley’s palm when you drop it. You suspect you won’t get it back unless he forgives you eventually, or maybe he’ll keep it even if he does. You trust him with it, he’ll take care of it.

You wish you'd offered him and his heart the same courtesy.

Carole hands you your breakfast and takes a seat on Bradley’s opposite side, caging him in between his two girls.

“You want some, baby?” Carole croons at Bradley, but he shakes his head.

“No thanks, ma,” He clears his throat, turning to face you with a puppy-eyed look that he’s had mastered since age three, “But I would love another bite of cookie?”

“Oh, take it,” You grumble, handing over the baked good for Bradley to devour, “But if your blood sugar rises, or something, it’s not my fault.”

“Won’t tell a soul,” Bradley promises, a mouthful of oatmeal raisin already impairing his speech, “Thanks, honey.”

“Mm-hm,” You nod, your mouth similarly stuffed with food. The pancakes are good, considering they came from a cafeteria that also serves tuna and jell-o.

“Y/N, baby,” Carole calls just as much sugar in her voice as is in her breakfast, “Pass me that syrup?”

She’s asking for a container you’ve got in your hand, half-empty. She doesn’t want to open a new one and waste the contents, so you pass it over, but a drizzle drips off of the side and lands on Bradley’s chin. 

He rears his head back as it falls, but he can’t burrow far enough into the pillow to dodge it. You squeal through your mouthful, swallowing quickly and painfully to rush out an apology you’re sure he doesn’t care about receiving.

“Sorry, Brad.” You curse your clumsiness, grabbing for a napkin but getting a better idea instead. You stand and lean over him to kiss the syrup off of his chin, feeling his face split into a grin while your lips are still attached to it. You can't keep a smile off of your face either, licking your lips clean of the stickiness.

“Cuties!” Carole giggles, just as giddy of a grin on her face as is on yours and Bradley’s. You’re sure she’s ecstatic to see you getting along so well, glad to know your acting isn’t just that.

“I was telling Bradley earlier,” You speak disjointedly through a mouthful of syrupy pancakes, “When I was baking his cookies, I was thinking about the times we’ve baked together. Wanna tell’er what you did, Brad?”

“Oh,” He groans, “No. Not fair, baby, I’m bed-ridden. I’m dying,” He sticks a protective hand over his ribs, now magically unable to lift his head from the pillow, “You can’t tell embarrassing stories of me to my mom.”

“I didn’t! I offered you the chance to tell it,” You roll your eyes, wary as you hear a nurse pass by the door. Bradley’s cookie is in plain sight, and he stuffs it into his mouth for safekeeping as the footsteps pass. No one comes in, though, and he struggles to finish his mouthful.

“Oh,” Carol gushes, “Somebody tell me! I wanna know, y’know I love teasin’ you, Brad.”

“Mom!’ He gawps through a mouthful of oatmeal, “Rude!”

“What’s rude is talkin’ with your mouth full,” Carole scolds, swatting him on the shoulder, “Swallow first, mister.”

“He ate-” You start, but Bradley lunges for you with impressive agility, twisting his torso to the side to clamp a hand over your mouth. You laugh, long and loud and brash while Bradley tries to muffle it. In his haste to silence you he tries saying ‘No!’ but he’s still got a mouthful of cookie, and the crumbs that don’t get caught in his mustache rain over your legs.

You’re still laughing. It’s messy, it’s gross, there’s half-chewed cookie on your lap, but Bradley’s holding you close, his strong arms around your head while he keeps a tight grip on your mouth. He’s laughing too, chest shaking as he tries powering through the mouthful of food that he’s got. Finally he swallows, but he doesn’t let go, only blows fruitlessly at the crumbs littering your pants.

“I’m sorry,” He pants, short of breath from chuckling, “If you hadn’t been so hellbent on embarrassing me, I wouldn’t have spewed raisins into your pancakes.”

“Gross! Okay!” You laugh uncontrollably into his palm between giggles, kissing at the skin there, “Okay. You win.”

He lets up only when you stop struggling, letting yourself sink into his embrace no matter how uncomfortable. A thought prods at the back of your mind like a lightning rod, sending a jolt of pain down your spine when it reminds you that this isn’t real. But you push it away, you don’t let it paralyze you, and your smile never falls.

“I’m sorry,” You hum to Bradley, while Carole watches you with amusement dancing in her pretty eyes, as well as in her movie star smile, “I just thought your mom would have liked to hear. That’s all.”

“She would,” Bradley nods, leaning back in his bed, finally at ease, “That’s why you can’t tell her.”

“You’re no fun,” She groans, and you finish up the last of your pancakes, gathering all of the trash (and cookie crumbs) to put them in the can. You have to let go of Bradley’s hand to make it across the room but when you’re by the door you stay there, your boyfriend’s eyes trained on you like a hawk.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” You reach for the doorknob, then, while he can't reach you, “Carole, he ate vanilla extract.”

The nurse down the hall gives you a strange look as you rush to shut the door on both Bradley’s indignant shout and Carole’s gleeful giggles.

“Does he need help?” He looks at you skeptically, and you shake your head.

“We’re teasing him,” You brush the nurse’s concerns away, “Where’s the gift shop?”

True to your word, you stop by the bathroom, but your real destination is the gift shop. There’s a stuffed bear inside with fur the exact caramel shade of Bradley’s hair, and you only wish it had a mustache. Otherwise, it’s identical, flight gear on and aviators over its eyes. 

“Hi,” You greet the cashier at the counter, handing over the bear and a book you plan on reading to him in your downtime, “Just these.”

While she rings up your purchase you hear the sliding doors behind you open, and you turn to see your dad and Nick enter. Their faces light up at the sight of you, and when the cashier gives you back the bear, you show it off to them.

“Just gotta get it a mustache,” Nick tugs softly on one of the bear’s ears, “Now that’s a good lookin’ bear!”

“I was gonna get’im a movie to watch,” Your dad beelines for the DVDs, but you pull him back.

“Dad,” You murmur, walking him and Nick towards the door, “He can just use his phone. Everything here is way too expensive.” You throw a kind smile at the cashier like you hadn’t just insulted her trade, “Thank you!”, and lead the way back to Bradley’s room.

The elevator ride almost goes sour when Nick tries pushing all of the buttons at once. You’re not sure how Carole has survived living with him for this long, but you swat his hands away with an incredulous shout.

“Don’t! I wanna get these back to him,” You beg, bear and book in hand, “I’ll bet he’s so bored.”

“You seen him already?” Your dad raises a brow, and you nod.

“Carole’s there, too,” You hum, “We just finished breakfast.”

“Does he ‘member anything new?” Goose asks, and that little lightning rod comes back, tazing your brain, burning one word into the matter there; liar, liar, liar. All of a sudden the elevator is too small, and you’d rather be anywhere but.

“Nope,” You shake your head, turning to face the doors of the elevator that ding, “Nothing.”

“Bradley!” Nick cheers, seeing his son alive and well, “Made it through the night?”

“Barely. Spent more time on my phone than I did asleep,” Bradley scoffs, and your heart skips a beat, not in a good way. Again you wonder if he’s found mystifying evidence of your breakup, an unfollow on instagram or a deletion of date nights from the calendar.

You’re sure he would have brought something up if he was confused, but you’re sneaking around, and it makes you paranoid enough to believe everything will fall apart at a moment’s notice. You have no peace, not when Bradley isn’t holding you.

“Well you’re going home tonight,” Carole reminds him, stroking over his cheek fondly, “You’ll get some good rest there, Brad.”

“Hey, alright!” Your dad whoops, “They’re cuttin’ you loose?”

“After dinner,” Bradley nods, “They said if nothing weird happens I can leave.”

“Congrats, Brad.” Nick claps him on the shoulder, standing in front of the seat you’d abandoned to go get his gifts.

His gifts!

You fumble with the bag in your hands, pulling the bear out first and passing it over.

“Oh, baby,” Bradley laughs, admiring its miniscule flight gear, “Bear’s almost as handsome as me.”

“Nah, a little more.” Pete squints at it, “It doesn't have that ugly mustache.”

“Hey!”, Father and son rage in unison, and Nick slaps your dad’s arm hard enough for Bradley, too.

“Uh, Carole,” You murmur, but the soft sound catches Bradley’s attention anyways. He’s drawn to you like a fly to honey, stuck in every last drop of your sweetness.

“I need to ask your mom a favor,” You smile down at Bradley, brushing hair away from his eyes, “Can we slip out?”

“Okay,” He hums skeptically, “What is it?”

“It’s a surprise,” You drag your voice out dramatically, leaning down to peck at his forehead. His skin is warm to the touch, and feels comforting against your lips.

“We’ll keep’im busy,” Nick declares, taking the book that you hand him, “Want me to read to you, Brad?”

“No.”

“Too bad! Ooh, Little Women. Wanna do voices with me, Mav?”

You and Carole step out before Nick or your dad could pull out any high-pitched giggles, and Bradley’s mom looks at you worriedly.

“What is it, baby doll?”

“I need help,” You confess, “If Bradley’s coming home tonight, he’s gonna notice a hell of a lot of stuff missing from our place. I just took everything I could grab and I ran,” You recall, dry swallowing at the thought of the boxes piled into your motel room, “I can’t put everything back by myself, and I- I don’t want to force you to help, but my dad and NIck can’t know, and-”

“Slow down, sugar,” She hums, reaching out to rub a soothing hand up and down your arm, “I’ll help you. What do we got, clothes and shoes?”

“And books, and toiletries, and... puzzles.” You concede drearily.

“Baby,” Carole arches a brow, looking almost sympathetically at you, “You brought puzzles with you?”

“I thought I’d be bored!” You reason, shoulders stiff to your ears, “But I haven’t had much of an appetite for puzzling.”

“Alright, I’ll help you,” She promises, “How long are we gonna need, honey?”

“A few hours,” You shrug, “We can carpool to base, I’ll pick up his Bronco, and we can head to the motel I’ve been at to get my stuff. We’ll need the extra space in the back of his car.”

“Okay! Okay,” Carole gushes, and you think she’s almost a little exhilarated by this spy operative, “Let’s stay for lunch, then we’ll go. We’ll say- uh, the house needs cleaning!”

‘Perfect,” You rub at your temples, “Thanks, Carole. And- and we’ll buy party decorations,” You snap your fingers, “I told him we were out here talking about a surprise, so we’ll throw a little welcome home thing tomorrow, have cake or something. That’s our alibi.”

“Got it! I’m off to the bathroom,” She heads down the hallway, “Get back in there!”

“-told you, I’m Jo!” Your dad is standing squared to Nick, eyes narrowed and shoulders tight, “It’s not fair that you get to be everyone!”

“Well if you did the voices right, I wouldn’t have to take over everything,” Nick huffs, “Tell’im Brad, that was a shitty Beth impression!”

“Both of you suck,” Bradley drawls, his eyes tracking you intently as you slip back into the room, “Baby, you okay?”

You shake off any residual nerves from your scheming with Carole, nodding as light-heartedly as you can, “Yeah! Yeah, Brad,” You take your seat beside him, grabbing his hand and squeezing it tight, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you. He's always good at reading you, and everything about you right now is a lie. You smile at him, leaning in to kiss his cheek, but he doesn’t react like you want him to, he still doesn’t believe you. He studies you when you pull away, and you laugh in defeat, “I promise, I’m just exhausted from all of this. But that shouldn’t matter, I wasn’t the one whose jet crashed! As soon as we get you home I’ll be fine.”

That seems to work, clearing away the worry swirling in Bradley’s honey-colored eyes. He nods, smiling softly, “Yeah, me too.”

He takes your hand, and you’re starting to wonder how you’d ever survived without holding his. You hadn’t held hands this frequently even when you’d been together, not that Bradley knows there’s a difference. Your heart aches for the man beside you, how shaken up he must be to cling to you like a lost puppy.

While Nick and Pete argue you feel Bradley’s fingers slip from yours, and it’s such an unexpected motion that you turn to watch him. He’s looking intently at your hand, though there's an absent-minded air about him, and your stomach drops when he ghosts his rough thumb gently over your ring finger. 

“Brad?” You murmur, trying to keep from choking up, “‘Love you.”

He smiles, eyes trained back on yours and full of tenderness, “Love you too, sweetheart. Where’s my mom?”

“Bathroom,” You drop your eyes down to his hands, studying his own bare ring finger. You hope you get to see it decorated one day.

“Do you want me to read to you?” You look back up at him, your nose nearly bumping his cheek. Nick has left the book on the side table near the foot of Bradley’s bed in order to gesture with both hands, and you’re sure they wouldn’t notice if you lit it on fire where it sat.

“I’d love for you to read to me,” Bradley laughs breathily, “I haven’t been hearing your voice much lately. Not like I used to.”

“I know,” You lament, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble. You know he means unobscured, private, without beeping in the background and the ever-present threat of a nurse coming in to kick you out, but you hadn’t heard Bradley’s voice in weeks, so you understand the internal yearning.

“Come here,” Bradley suggests when you fetch the book, offering up the right side of his bed. It’s small, nothing you wouldn’t attempt at home but something you don’t want to risk in the hospital.

“No, it’s okay, Brad.” You shake your head, trying to pat the blankets down around him but he doesn’t let you, reaching for your thigh.

“No, I don’t wanna hurt you!” You insist, standing when he tries dragging you into the bed with him, “It’s okay, Brad, let’s just sit. We can be closer when we’re home, but for now I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He looks crushed. Really, truly crushed, his brown eyes holding such a vulnerable look in them that you feel like you’ve just punted a puppy across a football field.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You repeat, swallowing thickly as tears prick at your eyes. You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’m scared, Bradley.”

You’re scared about more than just that. You haven’t held him in weeks, nor has he held you. You’re afraid that you might never recover from this, but if he wraps his arms around you, buries his face in your hair and holds you close, you know you never will. You’ll spend the rest of your days living in regret, and your self-preservation instinct is kicking in again.

“Don’t be afraid,” Bradley murmurs, though he doesn’t need to be quiet now that Nick and your dad have stopped bickering. They’re stealing sneaky glances at the two of you, acting like their sunglasses stop them from being noticed even though their heads are turned towards you.

His words strike something within you that he didn’t mean for them to. He’s spoken unknowingly to your outstanding promise with yourself, that you won’t run away because something is scary. And your promise to Carole, as well, that you’ll make her son feel loved before he remembers that love wasn’t enough to make you stay.

“Bradley,” You breathe, book in one hand as you use the other to stroke through his hair. You’re standing at his bedside and he takes advantage of your proximity, sitting up and off of his pillows to lean his head against your stomach. 

You’re glad he can’t see your face, because tears rush from your eyes in seconds. He’s a sweet man whose brain operates on love first, and thought second, so when he hooks his arms around your waist and nestles his face into your tummy, you know it’s his instinct to hold you. 

At the sight of your tears the other men in the room decide to take their leave, smiling sadly at you while you comb your fingers through Bradley’s hair. 

“We’ll give you some time,” Your dad whispers, but Bradley can hear just fine, “Bye, honey.”

You aren’t able to offer them a wave in response, but they know you appreciate it. 

Once more the sterile hospital room is inhabited by only you and Bradley. Souls intertwined, tangled in some places and parallel in others, you hold him, stroking through his hair and praying he never picks his face up out of your stomach. There’s snot threatening to run down your lip but you don’t dare sniffle at the thought of ruining the moment, keeping your chest deathly still where it yearns to shake with sobs.

“I love you,” You whimper, dropping the book to cage his head to your belly, “I love you, Bradley, I- I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.” He speaks into your stomach, and the sound vibrates through your body, warming you with a tingly sensation like the one you’d gotten from your very first kiss with Bradley.

You’re sure he knows you’re crying now, now that your voice drips with tears and your hands shake in his scalp. He doesn't break away, though, only tugs you closer, keeping his face nestled to your body as he pulls you into a sitting position on his lap. You’re mindful of his broken ribs, but there’s nothing wrong with his thighs, so when you land on top of them, you let yourself rest there. 

Bradley’s wormed his nose against your cheek, no longer snug in your stomach but flush to your face instead. He holds you like he used to, before you spooked and ran, before he fell out of the sky in a blaze of flames, before anything in your life was complicated. He holds you like he held you when you were just Y/N and Bradley, cradling your face to his chest and tucking his chin over your head.

“You’re hurting, too,” He murmurs, rocking you ever-so-slightly back and forth as you sit sideways on his lap. He keeps you tucked to his chest, smooths your hair with one hand and holds your waist with the other. 

“I’m the one that went down but you’re the one who got that phone call,” He moves his hand from your hair to your back, scratching aimlessly there, “You’re allowed to be upset over that. You don’t have to pretend like nothing is wrong just because I’m in the hospital. I don’t want you to pretend to be strong if it’s only gonna make you weaker. Talk to me, honey, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t!” You wail, clutching his hospital gown and praying you aren’t hurting his ribs, “Bradley, I- I can’t tell you. I can’t do that to you, not here, not now. I’m scared,” You weep, “I’m really scared, Bradley.”

“Don’t be. You’re okay,” He promises, pecking a soft kiss against the crown of your head, “Baby, you’re safe with me. You don’t have to be scared of anything. Of talking, or feeling, or hurting. That’s what I’m here for, angel, to talk with you, to feel with you, to hurt with you. That’s what love is, honey, and I love you, you know I do.”

His voice wobbles slightly on the last fragment of his sentence, and you don’t think you can handle seeing him cry. You’re terrified out of your mind, but determined just the same not to run, and it’s stuck you in this awful paralyzed state. All you can do is hold Bradley, all you can do is let him hold you, and hope that his memories never return.

“I don’t want to stress you out,” You mourn, picking your head up from his chest to press it to his face instead. You want to fuse yourself to him, so that he couldn’t cast you away if he tried.

“I’m stressed about whatever you’re not telling me,” He laughs sadly, a soft huff of air from his chest, “Baby, it makes me stressed knowing you’re shutting yourself in like this. Knowing there’s stuff going on up here that you don’t want to talk to me about.” 

He taps your head, then smooths his hand down the nape of your neck to rub at your back.

“Tell me,” He begs, voice raw with despair, “Please, angel, tell me what you’re feeling.”

You owe him the truth. Concealing the truth was one thing. Sneaking around, covering up behind his back so that he didn’t notice anything peculiar was a preventative measure. But now he’s asked for your honesty, now it’ll be lying if you don’t tell him. Now you’ll be lying to him, really and truly lying to him, and you can’t bring yourself to do it. You choose honor this time, sniffling hard and bracing your hand on his chest so that you can look him in the eyes if you feel brave enough.

“Bradley,” Your words roll off of your tongue with the weight of steel, and you have to force them out of your throat to get them to go at all, “I want to be honest with you. But I’m scared-” Your face crumples, and you fight to right it, “But- but that’s not fair to you. It’s not fair for me to shut you out, You’re right, you-” You falter, the pitch of your voice wobbly as you take a deep breath, “You love me. And I know I can be honest with you.”

“You can,” Bradley promises, stroking his knuckles over your cheek. He stares into your eyes, and you stare into his only to get a last glimpse of their sweet honey-like hue.

“You should know,” You drop your eyes, unable to confess while looking into his, “I love you, Bradley. I always have, and I always will.”

“I love you, too,” He promises, “Now what’s the matter, honey?”

“It’s-”

“Mr. Bradshaw?” A nurse steps into the room, and instantly the moment is shattered. There’s no picking up the pieces, no glue in the world strong enough to repair the bravery you’d mustered up to be honest with Bradley. 

He looks annoyed at her interruption, something you know he wouldn’t normally feel towards anyone doing their job, but he refrains from snapping at her.

“Yes?”

“We need to run some vital tests. Blood sugar, heart rate, breathing, the like. After they’re cleared, we’ll know if you can return home or not.”

From his hold on you, you gather that there’s nothing Bradley would rather do less in the world than let you go, and there’s nothing you’d rather do less than let him, but you peel away from him reluctantly, standing where you’d been tucked into his lap. He settles back against his pillows that you’re sure are cold now, and you tuck the blanket beneath his thigh to keep him warm.

He ducks his gaze and you see tears lining his eyes that you want to wipe away, but he grabs for your hand again, and you hope that’s enough for him.

The nurse pokes and prods at him, reads machines and scribbles their information down, and the door opens once again before she’s done conducting her tests. Carole, Nick, and Pete step back through the doors, smiling sheepishly at you. You have a sneaking suspicion that Nick and your dad had held Carole off from coming back to the room while you spoke, which you’re grateful for. You just wish you'd had a little more time.

“Alright,” The nurse claps, smiling cheerily like she hadn’t just shattered your moment, “You are in good shape, Mr. Bradshaw. Your blood sugar is a little high,” She notes with a furrowed brow, and you shoot a knowing glance at Bradley, “But everything else seems right. Your ribs should heal within a few weeks time, and once you get back home and see familiar surroundings, your memories should return. All you need to do is rest, once I get these processed and signed off by the doctor, you’ll be good to go!”

“Thank you,” Carole gushes, while Bradley just nods with a tight smile on his face, jaw tight in irritation at the four unwanted parties in the room.

“Goin’ home, big guy.” Nick grins at Bradley as the nurse makes her leave. He claps his son on the leg and this time Carole doesn’t intervene, “What’s the first thing you’re gonna do?”

“Shower,” Bradley rasps, “There’s ash in my hair.”

“Not anymore,” You showcase your hands, dust and ash clinging to the spaces between your fingers from when you’d run them through Bradley’s hair. 

He laughs at the sight, “Still. The second thing on my list is sleep, and I don’t want to get anything on the sheets.”

“Good plan,” Carole beams at her son, hooking her arm around yours, “Baby, we should head out. We’ve got lots to do for this surprise of yours,” She gloats at Bradley, then turns back to you, “But you should wash your hands first, honey.”

“Okay,” You nod, eager to get out of a situation you’d been so courageous in only minutes before, “I’ll- um, get my stuff.”

You bend towards your purse, taking the bag of cookies out, “If your blood sugar rises and lands you in here for another night,” You warn, “I’m never making these again.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bradley nods, but your dad is the one to take the bag, not him.

“Don’t steal them,” You narrow your eyes at your dad and Nick, “And don’t get caught feeding him any. Understand?”

“Yes ma’am!” They echo Bradley, standing at attention. You scoff, turning back to Bradley and leaning down to meet him where he lays back on his pillows.

“I love you,” You hum, and he’s already reaching out for you before you can touch him. He sits upright, grabbing for your hands and tilting his face upwards to beg for a kiss.

“I love you, too,” He mumbles, speaking lowly against your lips as you kiss him. When you pull away he wants more, keeping your hands firmly in his grip when you try to leave.

“Bradley,” You let out a soft laugh, but you kiss him again anyways, knowing he’s still reeling from being a second away from finding out the truth, the extent of which he’s not prepared for.

“It’s okay,” You whisper against his lips, pressing your forehead to his, “We’ll talk later.”

”Yeah,” He nods, arching up into your embrace even though he knows he has to let you leave.

He calls out again before you leave, “Love you!” And you repeat it with a sad smile on your face, letting Carole take your hand while Nick and your dad sit at Bradley’s bedside. The last you see of him is his fading grin as you wave goodbye before the door shuts, and you’re in the hallway.

“Something happened in there,” She gushes, misplaced excitement shining from her eyes like a sunbeam, “I just know it! He was all lovey-dovey when you left, even moreso than usual. He really didn’t want you to go, angel.”

“I almost told him,” You mutter as Carole leads you to the elevator, nerves churning your stomach.

“What?” Her smile drops in surprise, and she stomps to a halt on the tiled floor. She presses the button, and when the elevator dings she ushers you inside.

“He asked me to be honest with him,” You recall, sick at the thought of how close you’d been to losing him, “And- and he was holding me, Carole, like he used to. And I couldn’t help it, I just- I wanted to tell him everything, I couldn’t stand lying to him and pretending nothing was wrong. But I- I don’t know if I can do that again. I don’t know if I can tell him the truth. I tried, and we got interrupted, I mean- isn’t that a sigh? Some sort of clue left by the universe to tell me to wait a little longer?”

“Baby I don’t think the universe is sendin’ you clues,” Carole looks sympathetically at you, “I think you’re lookin’ for reasons to run away again. I know I’m the one that told you to pretend, but that boy can read you like a book, and if he’s catchin’ on, maybe you ‘oughta give it up. I saw him in there, honey.” The door dings and slides open, and she takes your hand to lead you outside, “There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t forgive you for. He was clinging onto you like a leech, and I think he’d understand you were scared. Might not like it, but he’d understand.”

“He keeps saying that I’ll never lose him, or- or that he loves me, or that I can tell him what’s bothering me,” You gesture with your free hand as you walk to the parking lot, “And- and it feels so perfect! Like he knows exactly what I need to hear. Like I could tell him and nothing would change. But everything would change, and- and I don’t want that,” You suppress a sob as you reach Nick and Carole’s car, pulling open the door to the passenger’s side. 

She stashes her purse by your feet, stuffing the key into the ignition, “Baby, everything’s already changed. He just doesn’t know that. But he will soon, and once he does, he’s gonna realize why you’ve been acting so weird. If you were pullin’ it off, I’d say keep going. If he wasn’t asking questions, you could keep this up, ‘cause you’d be doing him a favor. That was the whole point, baby, to let him down nice and easy, give him a bit of time to adjust to the crash before confessing about the breakup. But I should’ve known he’d realize you were lyin' to him,” She scoffs, checking her mirrors, “That boy would notice you’d changed your haircut from just your voice on the phone. He knows you too well, honey, and if he’s askin’ all the right questions and you’re giving him all the wrong answers, that’s gonna stress him out. And that’s doing the opposite of what we want. If this is just gonna make things worse, I say tell him. But-” She backs out of the spot, en route to base to fetch his car, “Not yet. Wait until you’re home. Then he’s in a familiar environment, you can kneel by the bedside and grovel if you want,” She waves a hand in the air, “Just be honest with him baby, if it’s what he’s askin’ for.”

She barely lets you mull her words over before she starts again, “I think it’s a good time. You told me that when you left, you wish you hadn’t. And you’ve spent the last two days showing that to him, even if he doesn’t know that’s what you’re doing. He knows you love him, and I think he’ll forgive you if you confess that you were just scared of losing him. ‘Cause you can’t fake love like that, honey.” She eyes you through the mirror, “You can pretend y’all never broke up, but the way you love him, that’s not pretend, and he knows that.”

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” You sniffle, “If he doesn’t know by then. I- I know I have to, even if it’s scary.”

“Atta girl,” She gushes, nearly flooring it at a green light in her excitement, “I’m proud of you, baby.”

“Don’t be,” You grumble, ‘Not yet. Not until I do it.”

“I know you will,” She decides, “You’ve never lied to me before.”

“Actually,” You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, “I have, once.”

She narrows her eyes, gives you a sideways glance as she makes a turn, “Oh, really? And when was that?”

“Uh, when we were in high school, I told you Bradley and I were staying at my place while my dad was gone,” Your face twists into an involuntary smile at the memory, “We went to Vegas.”

“What?” She shrieks, almost stomping on the breaks, “Vegas?”

“It was just for a night! And we didn’t gamble,” You scoff, “They wouldn’t let us into any casinos.”

“Ooh, you two,” She seethes, but it’s happened so long ago that she can’t be mad, not really, “Surprised y’all didn’t get married down there.”

“Actually,” You laugh, “We tried. But you weren’t there to sign off on it, and we were only 17.”

She shares a laugh with you at the memory, pulling into the security checkpoint outside of the naval base. You have to pass your ID over her, and you explain that you’re just picking up your partner’s car. They let you in, but you don’t think they like your presence very much, so you get the car and go as quickly as you can.

“It’s the motel just off the freeway,” You gesture in the direction of the place you’ve been staying, “We’ll load up the Bronco and meet back at our place.”

“See you there, babydoll,” Carole grins, already headed for the exit.

You roll up your window just as your phone buzzes, and you put the call on speaker while your phone balances on the cupholder.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Bradley’s voice bleeds through the crackly speakers. Then, like an attached toddler their first night away from mom, “I miss you.”

It’s just what you need to hear after your gut-wrenching conversation with Carole, and you croon while waving to the security officers on the way out, “I miss you too, Brad. I picked up your car. Didn’t want her sitting all alone on base.”

“Thanks, babe,” You can hear the grin in his voice, “Is my mom still with you?”

“No, she’s driving herself,” You merge lanes, brain on autopilot as you head for the motel, “And don’t ask what we’re doing, it’s a surprise.”

He scoffs; you’ve caught him, “Fine. They gave me lunch. It’s the same as yesterday.”

“Poor baby,” You coo, feeling more at home in Bradley’s Bronco than you had in your half-empty house, “I’ll make you something good for breakfast tomorrow, baby. Eggs, pancakes, waffles, sausage, bacon, fruit, whatever you want to eat.”

He takes a pause, then, “I have something inappropriate to say. But your dad’s still here, so I can’t.”

You let out a bark of bewildered laughter, especially when you can hear your dad’s voice in the background as he groans.

“I get the idea,” You promise him, and you hear Bradley huff a soft laugh into the speaker. You almost want to record the call, just to keep the sound forever.

“When are you guys coming back?”

“I don’t know, Brad,” You lament, tailing Carole as she heads for the freeway exit, “Hopefully before dinner. But if not, I’ll definitely be there when you get discharged, and I can drive you home.”

“And we can shower,” Bradley adds on to your sentence, eliciting another disgruntled sound from your dad, “And sleep.”

“And we can shower and sleep,” You promise, chest feeling light at the night’s plan. You’re pulling into the motel parking lot now, the dingy sign colored more in spiderwebs than in neon.

“I’ve gotta go, Brad.” You put the car in park, grabbing your phone and switching speaker off, “I love you. I’ll see you later, okay?”

He’s hesitant to answer, and you wish you didn’t have to hang up. You know he’s still uneasy about the way that your talk ended earlier, but he finally speaks up, “Alright. Love you, too.”

“So much,” You hum, “Love you so much.”

“So much,” He agrees, more of that audible grin in his voice, “See you later, angel.”

“See ‘ya,” You hum, and it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would to hang up, not after that.

Carole’s standing ready at the strip of doors, and you pull the small, rusty key out of your pocket. There’s nearly ten boxes stacked in your room, and you prop the door open with one as you gather anything that isn’t packed away.

You haven’t changed clothes much since being there, nor have you been keeping up with your hygiene as well as you should be, so the clean-up process feels like a day's worth, not two week’s worth. But you’re thankful for the easy pickup as you load it into a half-empty box, hauling it out the door and to the Bronco.

Packing the boxes goes fast when you work with Carole. It had been much more of a struggle to cart two at a time from your place to the motel room, but with a little maneuvering, all nine boxes fit snugly between her car and yours.

“Alright,” You dust off your hands, picking at the edge of your nail, “You ready?”

“Actually, you go home,” She decides, “And I’ll go to the party supply store. I’ll pick up some ‘Welcome Home’ stuff, and when I get back I’ll help you with the rest of the boxes, and we can set up together.”

“Perfect,” You heave a sigh of relief, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Of course, baby!” She seems to have a never-ending supply of optimism, one that you’re thankful for because you seem to harbor the opposite.

Hauling your boxes back into the house is unexpectedly the easy part. What’s harder is putting everything back, filling in the gaps in the bookshelf with your own volumes, stuffing the dresser with the clothes you’d chosen to take with you.

When Carole gets back you’re dragging your thumb over the shirt you’d taken off of your pillow, ready to fold it and destroy the evidence of its association with your two-week disappearance. She peeks into the bedroom, expecting to find you hard at work organizing your novels, and instead sees you sitting on the bed looking like you’re going to puke.

“Baby,” She hums, “What’s the matter?”

“He put this over my pillow,” You sniffle, staring down forlornly at the object that had offered comfort to Bradley when you hadn’t, “He slept with it.”

“Oh, baby,” Carole whispers, standing behind you and rubbing your shoulders, “He loves you. Isn’t that a good thing? Don’t you think it means everything’ll turn out okay?”

“What if he doesn’t want me back?”

For the first time, you say it out loud. You’ve insinuated it, sure, thought about it, but you’ve never said it yet. Not out loud. You voice the fear that’s been bouncing around like a balloon in your head, popping it and feeling the aftershocks flow through you. 

She’s quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say any more than you do. But she bends down, wraps her arms around your shoulders and hums, “He will, baby. He’s been sleepin’ with your shirt this whole time, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t miss you.”

“But even if he misses me, I still hurt him,” You sniffle, “I- I left, is missing me enough for him to want me back in his life? What if I went too far? What if we can’t come back from this? What if I lose him forever, Carole?”

“He kept my ring.” She murmurs, her voice the calm to your storm. 

“What?”

“He kept it. Even though it wasn’t on your finger, he didn’t give it back to me. And he wouldn’t dare give that to anyone else, Y/N. It’s your ring, he knows it. That’s why he kept it, ‘cause he still wanted you to have it. He loves you even if you did hurt him, baby,” She sniffles, and you feel bad that you’ve made her cry, “That’s what love is. Sometimes you hurt each other, but if it’s love you find your way back. And what you’ve got is the strongest love I’ve ever seen.”

Your silence is enough of a reply, and you’re glad because it’s all you can muster. You can’t find the words to thank her, to tell her you hope she’s right, to beg to whatever deity exists for mercy. All you can say is, “I don’t wanna take it off,” As you stroke a finger down the shirt over your pillow.

“Wear it,” She suggests, pulling at the sweatshirt you’re wearing, “Put that on underneath it, baby. He won’t notice, and you can have it on you as a reminder that he misses you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to tell him.”

“Okay,” You sniff, a stray tear drying sticky on your cheek as you stand. She turns you around and pulls you into a real hug, and you let her squeeze you before going to the bathroom to change.

The shirt smells like Bradley now that he’s slept with it for two weeks. You’re sure you’re just immune to your own scent, and that he could still find traces of it to lull him to sleep at night, but wearing it now feels just as comforting as you bet it felt for him to sleep with it.

When you wander out of the bedroom you find Carole in the living room. She’s standing on your coffee table with her right leg, and her left is on the arm of the couch. She’s pinning a banner to the wall, ‘Welcome Home Bradley!’.

“Hey honey!” She beams at the sight of you in your shirt, you’d forgone the jacket to not overheat while moving things around. 

“Do you need help?” You watch her drive a pin into the wall with her thumb, and she shakes her head as she reaches down for another one, “No, I’ve got this. You just take care of your boxes, I can handle the party.”

“Yeah, you get the fun part,” You tease, and she laughs.

“Darlin’, I wasn’t the one to take my puzzles and run. Now go put ‘em back, I’m sure they’re the first things Brad’ll notice are missing when he gets home.”

You head back into the bedroom without any complaints. It’s hard to put everything back. No, it’s nice to put everything back. What’s hard is pretending it was never gone in the first place; what’s hard is lying.

You slide a lone book into its place on the shelf, one last spot left beside a photo album. Your fingers brush over a gemstone on the cover and you tug at the hefty spine, catching the jam-packed book before it can fall.

“Wow,” You breathe, barely aware that you’re speaking out loud. The cover showcases Bradley pressed up against the hospital’s nursery glass, peering in on a very sleepy baby you snoozing in her bassinet with Carole holding him up. You’d been born shortly after Bradley, not even a year, and he’d been very excited to meet his new best friend at the hospital.

A flip to the first page finds you in your dad’s old apartment, sleeping in your crib while Bradley’s hand wraps around the bars he’d pulled himself up on. Then the next page showcases a photo of him in the crib, curled up in the space by your feet while you sleep peacefully in your own spot.

You take the photo out of its sleeve, flipping it over to read the inscription you know by heart on the back: Bradley’s attached to Y/N at the hip. Won’t sleep anywhere else.

The next photos are more of the same. Bradley holding you on the couch, a gummy grin on his face at the baby in his arms. His hands barely bigger than yours, handing you a toy fighter jet. Tummy time on a play mat, where he’s holding a rattle just out of reach to get you to crawl like he’d seen your parents do. A shot of you tugging on his wispy hair, then a shot of Nick dragging a crying Bradley into his lap while your dad holds your previously clenched fist open. They tell their own story.

You’d been fated best friends from the start, but as you age in the photos, your relationship changes. All of a sudden there’s puppy love in your gaze when you reach your tween years, braces in your mouth and hearts in your eyes. There’s a picture of Bradley teaching you how to skateboard, and you're holding his hands for dear life. You distinctly remember a fiery flush to your cheeks in that moment, and you’re glad the camera hadn’t captured it. There’s New Year’s Eve in your matching pajamas, you cradled in Bradley’s arms like they’d make you pose every year since you’d come into the world. It was cute when you were kids, then it was embarrassing when you were teenagers, and now it’s cute again. In the photo you’re looking at you can’t be more than fourteen, and you know the second the shutter clicked on the camera, you’d scrambled out of his arms like they were burning you. 

You flip through more pages, watching your relationship blossom from friends into lovers. All of a sudden you’re holding hands, you’re matching outfits, and you’re kissing when you think no one is looking. Then there’s the famous picture of Bradley on his 18th birthday, glaring at the camera with a box of condoms in his hands, courtesy of his dad. Funnily enough, your dad shares Bradley’s expression in the background. The inscription on the back of that one reads: Just making sure he’s safe! Don’t want any grandkids, not while I’m still in my glory days - Goose.

That New Year’s Eve photo is special. It’s you still cradled in Bradley’s arms like always, but you’ve leaned up to kiss him, and he’s leaned down to kiss you. You distinctly remember it being the first time you’d willingly kissed on camera in front of your parents, and the giddy smiles you’d forced into makeshift puckers are clear as day in the photo. 

The matching pajama sets you’ve outgrown together are all stored in a box marked ‘sentimental’, not one that you’d taken with you when you’d left. You have a current pair, red and black buffalo print bottoms with fuzzy black tops, and you plan on asking Bradley to wear them tonight.

You haven’t noticed, but a smile has grown on your face, etching itself into your features as you relive your love story. You flip through family vacations, holidays, birthdays, sports games, barbecues, a million family events that Bradley joined you at. There’s never any of you apart, even though he’d been moved around for his career, because no one has ever thought to take a picture of one of you without the other. There’s no Y/N in this book, there’s no Bradley, there’s only Y/N and Bradley, and that’s what you want to be for the rest of your life. You want to fill out the rest of this book with aging photos, clearer in quality while the old ones yellow. You want to stuff this book until the bindings rip, you want to look back through it one day in a rocking chair beside one of Bradley’s own, faces wrinkled and hair grayed. Your story can’t end here.

Your phone buzzes on the bed, and you drop the photo album there while you check your message. No surprise, it’s from Bradley.

- The doctor signed off, I can go home after dinner, which shouldn’t be too much longer. How’s it going over there?

That’s great! You type back, biting a smile off of your face as you respond. It’s residual from looking through the photos, but you have to remember, you’re not there yet. It’s going good. Your mom is scary agile.

- What’s she doing?

Can’t tell you ;)

- Damn! Thought I had you there. Your dad’s eating one of my cookies :(

Tell him I said to leave you alone!

- He says you’re not the boss of him.

Tell him your mom said to leave you alone.

- He says she’s not the boss of him.

Tell your dad to tell him to leave you alone. She’s his boss.

- My dad’s eating one too :( 

Those assholes! I’ll make you more, baby ❤

- I love you best. ❤

I love you too baby ❤

The lingering fear of a breakup - a real one this time, one that doesn't rewind itself amidst burning jet fuel - is stuck in the back of your mind, and you suspect it will be until you finally confess. But the photo album and Bradley’s messages have combined to lift your spirits, and filing your shoes back into their places doesn’t weigh you down as much as you suspected it would. You try to make them look haphazard, jumbling them with Bradley’s and turning a few of them upside down. You two are notorious for having out of control shoe collections, Bradley’s sneakers and your own shoes constantly tumbling out of the closet like a cartoon.

 By the time the sun starts setting early on your California dream you’re nearly done, there’s just a few last garments to slip into your closet. You do so while wrestling with the clothes that are already in there, a hefty collection that leaves little room for the dress you’re trying to wedge inside. Nevertheless, a too-full closet is better than a half-empty one.

“Sugar?” Carole calls from down the hallway, hopefully not precariously balanced on any furniture this time, “Nick says they’re just serving Brad his dinner.”

You finally manage to set the clothes right on their hangers, panting slightly as you withdraw from the closet, “Okay! I’m almost done. We have a lot of clothes.”

She laughs, “Yes you do! You should eat somethin’ before we leave.”

“There’s no food here,” You sigh, “The fridge is empty. I’ll have to go shopping later. I’ll just stop for fast food on the way.”

“Party’s all set up,” Carole nods, jerking her head back towards the hallway, “If you keep the lights off in the living room tonight, he won’t see it until tomorrow.”

“Okay. Are you coming over to celebrate?”

“Yeah, I was thinkin’ for breakfast,” Carole nods, “We can bring food?”

You laugh huffily, “I wasn’t kidding about there being nothing in the fridge. Anything’s appreciated, thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, baby,” She beams, but reconsiders with a slightly furrowed brow, “Although, I hope this is the only time.”

“Me too,” You scoff, “Alright, let’s head back.”

True to your word, you pull through a fast-food drive-thru on the way back to the hospital. Carole knows Nick’s order, and you know your dad’s, hopeful that they’ll be tired of hospital cuisine and yearning for a burger instead.

However, when you get there, they’re waiting in the lobby, Bradley sat between them. You hadn’t realized how early they were letting him out, and Carole takes the bag of food from you so that you can properly hug Bradley. He stands the moment he sees you, eyes pooling with such urgency as he tries to respect the no-running rule of the hospital. You struggle just the same, and the moment you’re within arms reach of each other, tears start flowing. Bradley yanks you into his chest, almost tipping you forwards and himself backwards with the momentum of his hug. His chin nestles straight over your shoulder, as does yours to his, and it’s the kind of hug you get from him after a long deployment, maybe even more desperate now. His breathing is ragged beside your ear, but not from his medical conditions, from the desperation clogging his lungs. His fist is tight in the back of your sweatshirt but the fabric is loose on you, and it’s not a tight enough hold for him. His fingers scrabble for the shirt beneath the hoodie, gripping onto both garments and keeping you closer than you ever thought you could be with Bradley. Your hands immediately encircle his shoulders, and your fingers find purchase against the baby hairs at the back of his neck. You scratch through the ones at his nape, hearing him sniffle sharply where his chin rests on your shoulder. The hand that isn’t fisted in your clothes is tight to your hip, gripping you so hard that you can feel his nails through the jeans you’re wearing. It’s not painful, it’s just firm, and its strength is reassuring. It’s grounding to hug Bradley again, unobscured by breathing tubes, hospital beds, or prying nurses.

You hear someone’s phone camera sound off, but you’re far from discouraging it. In fact, you’re going to ask whoever it was to send you the photo later. The hug turns into an embrace, one where you sway lightly from side to side, anything that isn’t you or Bradley fading into the background. Your eyes are screwed shut but tears still cascade down your cheeks, melancholy waterfalls that drip off of the curve of your chin and stain Bradley’s t-shirt. He’s dressed in what he’d been wearing beneath his flight suit, the material thankfully not ripped or burnt thanks to the coveralls. You take the lead, pulling back, but he keeps the same level of contact with you. When your chin slips from his shoulder he grabs your face instead, using it to keep you pressed tight to his body. His eyes are teary themselves, streaks of the shimmery stuff down his cheeks and probably in his mustache, too.

“Hi,” You croak, smiling giddily through your tears. 

He smiles, though the chubbing of his cheeks nudges a few more tears out of his eyes, “Hi.”

You smear them away with the palm of your hand, and use your thumb to rid him of the ones clinging to his undereyes. His hands are on your cheeks, too, and he tries mirroring your ministrations, but his thumbs are too shaky to do so. For fear of poking your eyes out, he clamps his hands over your cheeks again, content with holding you while your tears run over the hills and valleys of his fingers.

“You’re standing,” You marvel, ‘I thought you’d be in a wheelchair.”

“It hurts a little bit,” Bradley admits with a slight grimace, and you back away like you’ve been struck. He doesn’t let you get far at all, dropping your face to tug you back by your waist, “-but I’d rather break another rib than let you go.”

“Sap,” You accuse, and Bradley laughs.

His lips twist into a sheepish smile, “Maybe. You can be my tree. I’m stuck on you.”

You sniffle, brow furrowing, “Huh? ‘Cause of the sap thing?”

“Yeah,” He laughs, “Isn’t that what it means? Sticky and sweet like tree sap?”

“I don’t know,” You breathe bashfully, your voice rife with part confusion and part sheepishness, “I guess that makes sense. But I’ve never been called a tree before.”

“I’ll work on my flirting,” He promises, stroking his thumbs up and down your sides in soft, soothing motions, “Can we go home now?”

You nod, “You should hug your mom first.” Only then does Bradley remember that you’re not the only other person in the room, turning in your grip to see your mini crowd of adoring onlookers.

He chuckles, “Sorry. Hi, mom.”

“Hi baby,” She gushes, letting him squeeze her in a hug. He’s much more gentle with her, out of longing for you, not disrespect.

Nick reaches over to ruffle his hair and your dad nudges you sideways, “Happy to have him back?”

“Yeah,” You gush, a breathless whisper, “Nervous, though,” You admit, “What if he slips in the shower, or something? Or- or some freak accident happens and he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will,” Your dad slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you close by your shoulders, “He’ll be alright, kid. And hopefully by tomorrow he’ll remember everything, maybe look at some pictures tonight to jog his memory. Show him stuff you took of these past few weeks, the places you went or the food you ate.”

You don’t have any pictures of your pitiful motel room, nor the candy bars you’d raided the minifridge for, but you wouldn’t show them to Bradley if you did.

You nod, breaking away when Bradley searches for you after his hug with Carole, “Thanks, dad.”

“You gonna be okay getting settled tonight, Brad?” Nick asks, already bringing a french fry to his mouth from the bag in his hand. Your dad has your food as well as his own, and you take your bag back from him as Bradley nods.

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. Thanks, guys.”

Everyone says their hasty goodbyes, and your hug with Carole lasts a second longer than you hope anyone notices.

“Tell him.” She whispers against your ear, the words a feather light breath, “He loves you.”

“I’ll feed you in the car,” Bradley grabs the bag of food from your hand when you nudge him towards the exit, “Can I have fries?”

“You’ve been on a diet of chicken and potatoes for two days,” You take the hand that he offers you, curling your fingers around his, “You can have the whole burger if you want, Brad.”

Bradley stops short in front of the bronco when he sees it, “There she is!”

“She’s here,” You laugh, “Perfect condition. The air freshener’s still good.”

“Poor baby,” He heads for the passenger’s seat, swiping a hand over the hood of the car on his way, “She probably thought we forgot about her.”

He settles comfortably in the passenger’s seat, though you’re sure it feels awkward to be there in his own car. He throws his head back against the seat and sighs, long and loud, a noise he would have made fun of his dad for making mere years ago.

“Comfy?” You glance sideways at him, your food in his lap while he rests against the seat. He nods, reaching for the bag as you start up the engine.

“Here baby,” He calls, popping two fries in front of your mouth just before you turn out of the parking lot, “Fries.”

You carefully bite them out of his hand, tipping your head back to get them fully into your mouth. You mumble ‘thanks’ through them, and you’re not sure if he can make out what you’re saying, but you hope it’s obvious.

“I can’t wait to get in bed,” He groans, “I know it’s only been a few days, but I can’t remember being there for three weeks.”

“It’s cold without you,” You hum forlornly, checking your blind spot before merging, your hands stiff on the wheel. Your words leave more of an aftertaste on your tongue than the fries do, and it’s an unpleasant one. They mean more than you let on, and your brain is clouded thick with the worry of sleeping in a cold bed for the rest of your life. 

There’s a moment of silence that Bradley lets follow your words, then he promises, “I’ll be there tonight. And every night after that.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Burger?”

He laughs, leaning in his seat when you turn, “Burger.”

He holds the food up to your mouth, letting you take a bite that smears sauce over your mouth. He takes a napkin, cleaning up after you and dabbing all of the mess away. You’re absolutely certain that if you weren’t on the road, he would have kissed it off. You make a mental note to eat just as messily when you get home, for experimental purposes.

“Can I have a bite?” He asks tentatively, and you turn at a red light to smile and nod.

“‘Course, Brad. I meant it, if you want it you can have the whole thing.”

“I don’t want you to go hungry,” He hums, taking a chunk to the left of your bite mark, “Thanks, babe. Fuck, that's good.”

“Did they finish your cookies?” You exit the freeway, muscle memory guiding you home.

Bradley speaks through a mouthful of burger, unpleasant to hear but somehow endearingly domestic, like he’s not worried about looking handsome for you. “Yeah. I got one more, but they mowed through the rest.”

“Those bitches,” You hiss, and he laughs, “Okay, we’ll bake tomorrow. But I’m keeping the vanilla away from you.”

He scoffs, “Always with the vanilla. I drank it one time!”

“One time is enough for a lifetime ban!” You insist, turning onto your street, “Okay, you shower and I’ll eat, then we can get into bed.”

“Sounds good,” He drawls, stuffing your food back into its bag and swapping it to you for the keys, “I’ll be quick in the shower.”

“No rush,” You croon, holding the hand that he offers you as you take on the front walkway together, “Don’t hurt yourself because you’re too eager to get into bed. It’ll be there even if you take your time.”

You’re bound for the kitchen and Bradley the bedroom, but you remember you have to keep the lights off so that he doesn’t see your decorations. You send him off with a kiss at the hallway, intent on watching him leave before setting up at the table.

“Goodbye,” You hum, standing with your lips puckered in the doorway of the hall, “If you need help, just yell for me.”

“Will do,” He nods, puckering his own lips and pressing them to yours with a cartoonish smack! You watch his ginger walk towards the bedroom, his hips off balance as his ribs ache in his chest.

Once you’re in the clear you flick the kitchen light on, choosing to stand at the counter instead of dirty the table. You busy yourself with your phone, tapping on an impatient text from Carole: ‘Have you told him yet?’

Not yet. You write back, munching on a french fry, Not in the car. He didn’t ask, either.

- Don’t lose your nerve, you can almost hear the critical tone of her voice just by reading her message, The longer you lie, the more he’ll worry about you.

I know. I’ll tell him.

- ❤️

“Babe?” You hear Bradley call over the stream of the shower, “Babe!”

You abandon the last few fries in the container, stuffing your phone into your pocket to rush to his aide. Horror flashes through your mind, visions of Bradley bleeding down the drain or hunched over in pain.

All you see when you burst into the bathroom is him looking like a puppy in the rain, a pitiful pout on his face as water runs down his face and through his mustache.

“I can’t wash my hair,” He laments, “It hurts.”

You can’t help but coo, “Oh, baby. Lemme help you.”

“Thanks,” He mumbles, “I already have the shampoo.”

True to his word, there’s shampoo smeared over his hands. Apparently he’d tried his best, but couldn’t move well enough with his broken ribs. You try not to laugh at his misfortune, especially because he’s in pain, but he’s just too cute to ignore. You try to muscle down the thought that this might be the last time you ever shower with Bradley, even if you’re not really in the water with him. You wet your hands, then wipe the shampoo off of his palms, reaching for his scalp.

“I’m sorry I’m making you stand in front of me naked and we’re not having sex,” Bradley huffs, “Believe me, if I thought I could, I’d be jumping you right about now.”

“It’s okay,” You chuckle, muffling the sound into Bradley’s forehead that you kiss chastely, “We should hold off on sex, at least until your ribs are healed.

Or until you know the truth.

“They don’t hurt too bad now,” Bradley muses, “But when I raised my arms to shampoo, it was really bad.”

“I’ll reach for things for you,” You promise, scrubbing shampoo into his scalp. It knocks loose leftover ash from his accident, and it flows down the drain in a swirl of gray bubbles.

“Oh, fuck,” For not having sex, Bradley’s making some awfully pornographic sounds, “That feels good.”

“I’ll bet,” you hum, “Can’t imagine having ash in my hair for that long.”

“It’s not pleasant. Oh god, babe,” He groans, “Hurry up and rinse it out, I’m gonna fall asleep standing up.”

“Okay! Okay,” You laugh, scrubbing in one last circle at the nape of his neck then reaching for the showerhead, “Have you washed your body already?”

“Yeah,” He murmurs, letting the water flow through his hair and rinse the shampoo out, “Oh my god, this is what heaven feels like.”

“Come on,” You smile, reaching for a towel, “Do you need help drying off?”

“You just wanna feel up my thighs,” Bradley accuses, and you laugh good-naturedly.

“Nope. Ass.” You admit, “But if you can do it yourself, then go ahead.”

“No!” He catches you as you stuff the towel to his chest, pulling you back towards the shower, “Uh, I need help. I think you should wipe down my very toned chest and my tight butt.”

“Oh, really? That’s what you’re having trouble with?” You snicker, and Bradley nods proudly.

“Yep. Can’t get my hands over my shredded back either, such a shame.”

“Alright, you flirt,” You scoff, “Turn around.”

You start on his back, and of course, it’s very fit. It’s nothing you haven’t touched before, in fact, you’re surprised there’s no scars there from your fingernails, but this is more intimate, more romantic, more sweet. This is love, not lust. You scrub the towel over his skin, wiping the water droplets away and rubbing into his tight muscles. You take extra care to dry off the small of his back, smoothing the towel down over his ass, too. Despite his earlier cheekiness, he doesn’t make any comments while you’re working. You wrap the towel around his thighs, pressing a kiss to his hip as you bend down to dry his calves off. He stands still to let you get his ankles dry, and you tap his foot to turn him around.

Now he’s looking down at you as you towel off his calves again, getting any splotches of water you may have missed before. You dry out the soft tuft of hair at his groin and move to his chest before you can tempt yourself, not wanting your first sexual encounter after a life-threatening plane crash to be a blowjob up against the shower wall. Especially not before you tell him the truth.

Now that you’re on your feet you’re face-to-face, though yours is bent slightly to track any water droplets you might have missed on his shoulders. You towel off his underarms carefully, making sure not to aggravate his muscles that are already bleeding pain through his gut. You swipe the towel over his neck, and in doing so, you’ve set your hand just below his chin. It’s as natural as breathing to slide it up his jaw, and he’s already staring at you, breath shaky as you return his gaze.

He moves first, but you take his cue right away. He leans in to kiss you and you’re happy to press your mouth to his own, not caring that there’s a drop of water leftover between his fingers that transfers to your skin when he cups your face.

“Baby,” He whimpers, desperate and longing, “I- I missed you.”

There’s tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and you manage a sad smile when you wipe them away, “Why, silly? I was only gone for a few hours.”

“I know. I just- I’m real shaken up,” He admits, “I- I don’t even remember the crash and that’s the scary part. I almost died and I’ve got no clue what happened. I feel lost, like- like I’m still stalling or something, just waiting to crash.”

“I’m so sorry,” You croon through your own tears, “Brad, that must be so scary, I- I can’t even imagine.”

“I just need you,” He breathes, clutching at your shoulders like they’ll recover his plane, “Just don’t leave, please.”

“Sweetheart,” You coo, equally endeared and saddened by his sudden panic, “We're not at the hospital anymore, there's no visiting hours. Why would I leave? We're home, we’re gonna get changed, and then we’re gonna go to sleep. You’re safe now, okay?”

“Okay,” He nods, voice a mere whisper, “Okay, let’s sleep.”

“Clothes first,” You remind him through a cheeky grin, and the expression scrunches your tear-stained cheeks, cracking the stiffened substance, “We’re sleeping.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs as you poke at his bare chest, “Will you help me? I managed to bend over and slide my t-shirt off but I don’t think putting something on will be as easy.”

“Mhm. I was hoping,” You reach for the sets of matching pajamas, holding them up enticingly, “You’d match with me?”

He laughs, the sound thick and genuine in his bruised chest, “Of course. I won’t look as good as you, though.”

“Yeah, my mustache is better,” You sigh, scratching a nail over your upper lip that’s morphing into a grin. You whirl on him with his shirt, helping ease his arms into the fabric and stretching the neck hole over his head so that he doesn’t have to bend down. All in all, it works, even if the neckline is a little stretched. He doesn’t need help with his pants, but you feel compelled to do it anyways, sliding his boxers and then the soft material up his legs and tying it tight at the waistband.

“Thanks, honey.” He murmurs, bending at the waist and sitting on his side of the bed, “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Lay down,” You push against his chest, helping him recline against his pillows, “I’ll be right back, B.”

You change quickly, too eager to crawl into bed beside Bradley to care that you’ve left one bite of burger and a few lone fries on the counter. Ants be damned, you’ll clean up tomorrow. When you emerge from the closet you wriggle happily beneath the covers next to Bradley, flicking the light by the doorway off so that all that’s left is your bedside lamp.

When you settle on your pillow he’s already looking at you, and the tip of his nose bumps your own. You melt into a girlish giggle, something that a teenager would produce after a particularly bad pickup line and a single red rose.

“Hi,” You gush, overjoyed to have him so close again. You kiss his nose in your fervent enthusiasm, and he smiles sleepily against his pillow.

“Hi,” He hums, reaching for your waist and pulling you close, “C’mere.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” You stiffen, but he molds your body to his anyways, “Brad, be careful.”

“I will be! I said it before, you can’t break me. Just let me hold you.”

You croon a sad sound as he wraps you in his arms, a sound of longing, of adoration, of grief. He clocks it as sweetness, though, and holds you close. Your face is buried in his chest and you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks.

“Y/N,” He starts, and your heart rate spikes at just your name, “About earlier-”

“Tomorrow.” You blurt, anguish rising in your chest, “Brad, can we- can we talk tomorrow? I’m not trying to hide from you,” You promise, but you’re nestled into his chest and muffling your voice, “I trust you with the way that I'm feeling, I just- I just want to sleep. I want to breathe for a minute. And we can talk tomorrow, is that okay?”

He takes a moment to deliberate, really, truly thinking about it. While he does so, your hands tighten in his shirt, desperately clinging to him. But eventually he nods, disjointedly so into the crown of your head, “Okay.” His hands tighten around your waist as he speaks, and you melt into his embrace, scooting impossibly closer. “Okay, honey, we’ll talk tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.”

Settling into his embrace has never been so easy. Since the moment you'd been in them for the first time only hours old in the hospital, you’d known his arms were made for holding you. They’ve been yours for as long as you can remember, even longer than that according to the photo album you’d skimmed through earlier. Bradley had been the third person to hold you, second only to your parents. Sure, he couldn’t remember it either, and Nick and Carole were probably doing most of the work keeping you balanced in his little lap, but the point is, he was made for holding you, and you were made for being held by him. Your face tucks so naturally under the curve of his chin and your lips press even easier to his throat, kissing at his voice that you love so much. It comes out to thank you for the adoration in a gentle hum, one that thrums against your lips. 

His hands revel in their access to the extent of your back, brushing and roving and stroking over every inch of the space he’s granted. It’s ticklish but you don’t dare squirm, letting his fingers send miniscule bolts of electricity through your skin.

“I love you,” He reminds you as he holds you close, the sleepiness fogging his brain clear as day in his voice, “I really, really do.”

“I love you too, Bradley.” You promise, kissing up his chin to his lips. The pecks you plant there are short, sweet, and chaste, but when you’re done laying them over his face you decide that you want to fall asleep facing him, not hidden away in his chest. Sure, it’s warm and safe there, but you can’t drift off to his sweet face if you can’t see it.

Your solution is to plop your head back onto your pillow, throwing a leg over his waist to keep yourself close. His eyes are droopy, and hold all of the tender sweetness of the puppies he so often resembles. He’s clearly exhausted, and your own eyes slip shut at the sight of his struggling to stay open.

“Night, Brad.” You yawn, settling against your pillow with the tip of your nose brushing his own, “Welcome home.”

“Night, baby. Love you,” He gushes, as if you hadn’t just exchanged the words seconds prior. But it feels good, it feels right, so you say it back.

“Love you, too.” You use the last of your energy to reciprocate, sleep taking hold of you in its comforting embrace. You slip away like sand into unconsciousness, all of your thoughts about love, and life, and Bradley, and none of the horrific possibility of his memories returning. Nothing’s going to ruin this moment for you, not now.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Monster, Inc. 4

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your boss is an asshole, you know this. But what happens when he turns his wrath upon you? (plus!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, this reader is known as Missie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

After a quick Google and a few reviews, you decide on a brand. You pick a box off the shelf. It should do the job as long as you apply it properly. You’re not so worried about yourself. 

Something drops along the edge of your vision and you peek over. A man walks away ignorant of the card left behind. You hurry to scoop it up. 

“Excuse me, sir, you dropped--” You click to a stop in your heels as he faces you. You smile as he mirrors your expression. “Peter!?” 

“Hey, Missie.” His brown eyes beam back at you. “What are the odds?” 

“It’s been so long. Um...” you look down at the card then wiggle it at him. “You dropped this.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” 

He accepts the card with a dimple in his cheek. You look at it and realise it’s nothing special. Just a loyalty card from Roasters. It is a great shop. 

“Haven’t heard from you since the paper. You said you’d keep in touch.” He shifts his stance so another customer can squeeze by. 

“Yeah, uh, I meant to. I’ve been really cruddy at keeping up. Work is so busy and--” 

“What’s that for?” He quickly redirects as he points at the box in your hands. “You dye your hair? Wouldn’t guess it.” 

“Oh, no it’s for... my boss,” you giggle. 

“Your boss. Right. I’m sorry, what exactly do you do now?” 

“I’m a PA. My boss is just demanding. That’s all. But it’s good pay and it keeps me on my toes.” 

“Ah, I left the paper too. Started my own photography business.” He explains. 

“I saw that on Insta! I follow you. Your stuff is so good.” 

“You follow me but you don’t message,” he crosses his arms. 

“I’m sorry,” you pout. You rattle the box in your hands. You don’t want to be abrupt but you really can’t keep Mr. Hansen waiting too long and you still need to grab shampoo. 

“We should catch up. How about dinner? What are you doing tonight?” Peter asks. 

“Oh, er, nothing.” 

“Great. How about Zak’s? That old sandwich shop near the paper. I remember your fave; the spicy italian with extra pickles.” He grins triumphantly. 

“Sure, that sounds awesome. Just... send me a message, okay? I gotta get back to my boss.” 

“Sure, don’t let her work you too hard,” he steps out of your way. 

“He,” you correct him. “It’s not hard work, just a lot.” 

You sweep down the aisle and grab a clarifying shampoo on your way to the checkout. Even just a few minutes is too long for Mr. Hansen and in his state, you don’t expect him to be any calmer. All you can hope for is that the remover works out. 

Back at the office, you measure your dread. It won’t be that bad. You can fix this. Maybe. You grabbed some dye too, hoping maybe you might be able to even everything out after. 

You drop your purse on your desk and flit over to Mr. Hansen’s office. You knock and hear him groaning from inside. As you enter, he’s bent over his lap, holding his head. He sits up so fast his chair teeters. He faces your chirpy greeting. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you sing, “I got everything we need.” 

“Why the fuck are you so cheery?” 

As you look at him, like really look at him, you find it hard not to laugh. He really does look awful. He’s not exactly your type but he isn’t too bad most days. The black dye just washes him out. He looks like Dracula if he was in a 70s adult flick. 

“So, we need to wash your hair. I figured we can use your sink. I even grabbed a towel.” 

“You think of everything, don’t you?” He hisses. 

“Sir, I think we can fix your hair.” 

He scowls and stands. He shakes his head and slinks to the en suite bathroom. You follow with the bag of goodies. He looms with arms crossed as you put it on the counter and unpack. 

“You can put the towel around your collar to keep the remover from dripping. Tuck it in to--” 

Before you can finish, his shirt is half unbuttoned. You turn to unbox the remover and peel the seal of the bottle as you quiet. Whatever’s easier, you suppose. He hangs his shirt on the back of the door and comes back to you. You get a glimpse of his chest hair in the mirror. 

“Alright, erm, bend over the sink and we need to wash your hair. How about you put the towel over your eyes--” 

“I can handle it.” He snatches the towel and folders it over his forehead and eyes. He bends over the sink. His broad shoulders strain as his muscles tighten. “Don’t fuck up my hair.” 

You want to tell him you don’t think it can get worse but you know better. You take one of the paper cups from the stack and crank on the faucet.  You feel the temperature before you fill the cup and carefully pour it over his head. You wet all the strands and squirt shampoo onto his hair. You lather it up, scratching his scalp with your nails. 

“Mmmph,” he purrs as your work away. You smile. He’s a bit like a cat. Cranky but manageable. 

You rinse his hair methodically. You make sure not to get any near his face as you use your hand to redirect the water. When you finish, you help him cover his hair with the towel. 

You roll in his chair from the office and have him sit. You rub the moisture of his hair with the towel and drape it around his shoulders. You pull the gloves on and mix up the remover in the bottle then take the comb out of the box. You go to Mr. Hansen as he sits, looking despondent. 

“It fucking reeks,” he wrinkles his nose at the odour. 

“I did warn you but once we rinse it out, you’ll be good as new.” You comb his hair back, then forward, and pull out a thin section. You slather it on precisely as you work through the strands. 

As you pay close attention to your task, you feel the tension ease from him. When you get through the longer pieces on the top of his head, you push the back again. You use your gloved fingers to do his sides, rubbing in the remover on the buzzed stubble. As you do, he closes his eyes and leans into your touch. 

Well, it’s better than him being angry. This might be the most relaxed you’ve ever seen Mr. Hansen. 

[reiderwriter]

🎱 Trust In Me When I Say 🎱

Chapter Four of That's What You Get

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Female Reader

Summary: What happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas, and now that you're back in Quantico, you and Spencer decide to seek some advice.

Warnings: none!

A/N: My laptop gave up on me tonight, so this one was typed out on my phone, just as the fanfiction gods intended. This one was fun to write, though, and I'm so excited for the next few chapters! Hope you enjoy it!

Check out the series masterlist and my general masterlist. Requests are closing in September for 1 month!

Spencer slept all the way back to Quantico, not once budging his hand from your leg or letting you know peace. You enjoyed the warmth of his hand between your legs, but masking your expressions after your original wake-up time was like working on a case all over again. 

You wished you could just curl up into his side and sleep again for another ten hours, still feeling the exhaustion of your night out. When the PA system pinged with an alert from the Pilot saying you were close to landing, you panicked slightly about how the hell you were going to get the man off of you. 

If you pushed his arm away, surely they'd see the movement under the blanket and think you had been doing something way less innocent than you had. If you just stood up and let his hand fall from your lap naturally, you'd be stuck awkwardly standing in your seat with nowhere to go. If you woke him up, there was no way of knowing how he would react. These thoughts chased each other around your brain the entire descent, while he slept on peacefully. 

Luckily, the landing seemed to wake him up naturally. Without a chance for second thoughts, you grabbed and squeezed his hand under the blanket, pushing it so it wouldn't move too much as he rose from his slumber. 

"Well, good morning, Spence," JJ laughed as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 

"Looks like someone had a long, sleepless night. What was it? Got drunk and did some math for fun?" Emily teased. Your heart was jumping out of your chest now, praying that he wouldn't make any sudden movements and would realise the situation he'd gotten himself into. 

"Yeah, I guess it was a long one," he yawned out, finally moving to stretch his arms a bit when he realised the position they were in. He made a small jolt, the kind that you'd only know was a reaction if you were looking for it, and luckily, you didn't think either woman were. 

He turned his head to you, tracing his glance down his own arm, down to your lap, and pulling it back up to your face before sending you a questioning glance. He gently turned his hand over so it was facing palm up, and you held it in yours for a second. He squeezed it as if to ask what was going on but you shot him a look that said "don't ask," and thankfully he was able to understand you. 

"Hey, Y/N. How's your head today?" he asked, initiating the conversation so that your prolonged eye contact wouldn't be seen as suspicious. 

"Pounding. Uncomfortably. What the hell did I drink last night?" You let go of his hand now and bought the leg that he had been gripping desperately in his sleep up now, crossing it over the other. The movement was large enough to mask his hand, pulling away, and luckily, he did just that, taking the chance you gave him. 

"Three tequila shots, five high balls, six Long Island Ice Tea's, an ill-advised Jello shot from a promoter on the street and… And after that your guess is as good as mine." You rolled your eyes at him. 

"Listen up, team, the Director has taken into account the hard work we've put in this last month and granted us some special leave. You're free for the next four days unless there's something urgent." Hotch announced from the front of the jet, letting you escape the eavesdropped conversation. 

You hung back as everyone exited the jet, still trapped into your seat by Spencer, who was taking his time moving and grabbing his stuff. 

"You two coming?" Rossi looked back at you, the last of the team to exit before you. 

"Yeah, if wonder boy ever gets his move on. We'll be right down," you answer for the two of you. Rossi nods and doesn't ask any follow-up questions, leaving the two of you alone on the jet. 

"What the hell was that?" You whisper-yell at him quickly, somehow still afraid of being overheard. 

"I'm sorry it wasn't intentional! How long was my hand…. down there?" You could see him blush as he asked, and you had to hold back a laugh, entertained by his meek reaction. 

"Practically the entire time you were asleep, Reid. God, I know we've grown closer in the last twenty-four hours, but you don't need to be attached to me physically, you know?" 

"It was an accident, I swear!" he moved away from the seat now, his hands coming up in a surrendered position. "Why didn't you push my hand off, we were under the quilt. They probably wouldn't have noticed."

"Because I remembered a certain somebody blabs in their sleep if they're moved or disturbed, and I didn't want to explain why you were saying my name in your sleep."

"Oh, you think I'd say your name, Y/N? Do you think I was dreaming about you?" he questions you, suddenly growing in the space, standing a little bit taller, more confidently. 

"Yeah, I just– I just assumed you were… YouYou had that vice grip on my thigh and…" you tried not to stutter, sending a stressed hand through your tousled hair. You had just assumed that his dreams had been similar to yours. That he'd wantes you so badly that, even in his sleeping state, he'd reached out for you unconsciously. 

"Y/N, if I was dreaming about you, I wouldn't be mumbling your name in my sleep," he said, matter-of-factly, grabbing his bags and making his way to the exit. You stood silently waiting for him to continue. 

"I'd probably call out for my good little girl instead," he smirked and quickly left before you had a chance to hurl the blanket in your hands at his head. 

–X– 

You quickly followed him down the steps after that and joined the rest of the team back at the bullpen to collect your things. Rossi and Hotch had retreated to their respective offices by the time you reached your desk, never ones for letting paid leave get in the way of them doing their jobs. Penelope had also practically sprinted back to her tech cave, and you could hear her cooing sounds as she checked in on her system. 

"Well, I, for one, am heading out." JJ spoke confidently, grabbing her car keys and making her way to the elevators. 

"I'm right there with you, blondie," Derek said, stretching out his arms. "Four days off does not sound bad right about now." 

"Are you coming, Y/L/N? Reid?" Emily asked, making her way to the elevator ahead of you. 

"I'm gonna finish up a case file so I don't have to worry about it when we get back," Spencer replied. 

"I'm gonna check up on Penelope before we leave, see if she needs a ride." She shrugs but doesn't question the two of you, and you wave them all off to the elevator. 

Once the doors are fully shut, you're left alone with Reid in the lobby. Putting his earlier teasing aside, you turn to him with a serious expression. 

"What do we do now? Surely we have to tell Hotch, right?" you ask, finally acknowledging your marriage outside of Vegas. 

"I don't know, I don't particularly want that lecture." 

"Yeah, he kind of just has a way of staring at you that makes you disappointed in yourself." You shudder at the thought.

"We have to start somewhere, though, right? And it's not like Hotch was one of our witnesses. He'd have sooner arrested us than let us do that." You mutter to yourself.

"What about Rossi?" Spencer poses the question to you, and you look directly up at him for a second. He has that look on his face that he gets on cases where his eyes glaze over, and you can see he's remembering important information that could be relevant.

"Rossi's third marriage was a Vegas marriage, and they separated pretty quickly. It might be useful to go to him first. At least we'll get no judgement." He looked up at you when he finished, his eyes soft with a hopeful look, desperate to see if he'd made a helpful suggestion.

"Yeah. Okay, let's go ask Rossi."

You made your way up the stairs quietly, doing your best to act natural. Luckily, Hotch's blinds were drawn, and he seemed deep in paperwork, so he didn't notice your unusual path.

Spencer led the charge and knocked on the office door quickly twice before opening it.

"Spencer, Y/N, I thought Aaron was clear when he said we had time off now. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He looked up at the two of you from his desk,and you awkwardly glanced at each other before turning back to him, unable to find the right words to say.

"That bad, huh?" He laughed up at you from his desk but still waited for you to talk.

You took the plunge first.

"We fucked up and we need your help,"  you blurted out quickly, unable to stop the rambling when it took hold. Rossi only raised a single eyebrow at you in question, so you powered on.

"We got super drunk last night and ended up at the marriage licence bureau and now we're legally married and we need your advice because this happened to you before, too, and we thought it might be helpful to ask you for your opinion on what we should do next." You hardly took a breath throughout,only cutting yourself off when Spencer grabbed your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, I'll be damned," Rossi pushed himself back in his seat, looking upon the two of you with fresh eyes.

"I guess celebrations are in order, correct?" He chuckled as you squirmed under his stare.

"We just wanted to know what the best way to go about this is. Should we register the marriage with the bureau, let Hotchner know, that kind of thing?" Spencer managed to ask, his fingers entwined with yours and his thumb drawing small circles on the back of your hand. 

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," was all Rossi offered from his desk, and you snapped your eyes back to his. "But I don't know what advice I can really offer you right now that doesn't come straight from the FBI Handbook, and I'm sure you have that memorised, right, kid?" 

"All interpersonal relationships must be reported to your direct supervisor or team leader. Failure to do so could lead to termination or suspension if it is deemed to negatively affect your work," Spencer approximated the official guidelines.

"Here's what I will say. Take some time with it, but only a week, tops. If your problem goes away in that time, perfect, nothing to worry about. If it doesn't, tell Aaron at least." 

"So tell Hotchner in a week that we're getting a divorce, great, thanks," you tried your best not to sarcastic but you were tired and you were stressed and the words had a mind of their own.

"Hey, what was that thing you said to me a while back, kid? You never know when you're going to get the chance to experience new things at your age?" He smirked up at Spencer, happy enough that he got to feed him that line back from the case you'd worked in Atlantic City.

"Give it a week and tell Aaron. I don't care what you tell him, but only a week, okay? Because if you don't, I will. I don't particularly want to acclimatise to your replacements when you're fired for not disclosing this."

You nodded your goodbyes to the man and swiftly exited his office, making your way back down to the bullpen.

"I think Rossi's right. We should wait and tell Hotchner after we've got this annulment thing finished. And we still have to figure out who our two witnesses are." You let out the sigh as you turned to face Spencer, quietly engaging him in conversation. 

"Yeah, that sounds good. How about you meet me at my place tomorrow and we can talk about details and get the ball rolling?" he asked, looking at you with hopeful eyes. "Maybe we could see if we can jog our memories a bit as well, I have a few books on memory loss that I've been meaning to read recently, I'll get through them tonight and maybe they'll have some tips to help us figure out what happened." 

"Yeah, yeah, perfect. It's a date!" The words left your mouth before you could stop them, and you had to stop yourself from instantly clapping a hand over your own mouth in surprise.

"Like an appointment, something scheduled, not like a… not like a date-date. You know what I mean." He laughed at you a little before looking side to side, checking if anyone was in the vicinity. When he saw that there was no one around, he stepped closer to you, closing the gap between the two of you, and placed a small soft kiss to your temple before moving away quickly.

"It's a date. I'll send you my address later, but for now, you should go check on Garcia. Keep up our cover story, right?" He began walking backwards to the elevator  having grabbed his bag while you were stood mouth slack in surprise. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll go do just that. Bye."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Reid," he said, stepping into the elevator, the doors closing before you had a chance to chastise him. 

You stood there for a solid two minutes, just staring at the place the man had been, desperately willing your heart to go back to beating at a respectable rate. When it didn't, you knew you were in trouble.

Turning on your heel, you ran down the hall as inconspicuously as possible before throwing the door to Penelope Garvia's office wide open. 

"Penelope, I fucked up and I need your advice." 

🏷 @w-windy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @bluecandycake @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @lover-of-books-and-tea @star0055 @daddy-dotcom @zaapsite @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @kat453 @ferrjulie @kapeyama @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @sharkcat1928 @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @alyssaxstan @ghostheartbeat @zada-quinn @beguiling3lavender @Casss2111 @zatannas-wand @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @kspencer34

@academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @cow-parsley @wakaladjarin @itsyagrillkat @ratbastardchild @crazyforreid @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @myinnerwonderlandmind @axionn @bastard-chicken-3 @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @doriantomybasil @shqwqrma @shits8gigs @rosiehale23 @sadroses97 pt. 2 of tage in the reblogs!

[lastoneout]

Honestly, I don't say it often bcs I know how this site is but I really do think for a lot of survivors of abuse, especially abuse that went on for years and years, sometimes the message "it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong/to deserve this" while ABSOLUTELY TRUE* isn't actually super helpful. For a lot of us there's a LOT of guilt tied into it, and even if things were truly out of our hands we will not be able to accept that we are truly blameless, at least not at first, and maybe for some of us not ever. So being told "no dw you didn't do anything wrong <3 <3 you're innocent" feels...idk like some toxic positivity style lies. It doesn't make me feel better, because I still do feel like there were things that happened that were my fault, that were in my control, even an ethicist or god or whoever could look me dead in the eyes, weigh all the facts, and assure me of my complete innocence, and I still wouldn't believe it. (Tbh, you have to be ready to forgive yourself and trying to force it early does more harm than good.)

And I occasionally see movies and shows and stuff get roasted all to hell for having the audacity to go with a different message, to offer abused characters not a platitude about how they are innocent and should forgive themselves asap, but instead say "so what if it was your fault? so what if you fucked up? you're still alive, you still have time, your mistakes(or perceived mistakes) don't make you irredeemable scum who deserves to suffer, it's okay that you fucked up, what matters is what you do next, and even if the horrible thing was your fault in one way or another or you did actually hurt people, you still did NOT deserve to be hurt in turn" because people think that is like, admitting that the person in question is at fault when they almost always aren't....but as an actual survior, I'm sorry, you can tell me I'm innocent till the cows come home and I won't believe it. What I need to hear is that even if it was my fault I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I still deserve help. I deserve to keep going. I am not forever stained by my mistakes. I deserve a future free from this pain.

I think before we look at things in this like...grand moral way where we try to make sure we're sending the most Correct and Healthy Message Possible, sometimes it's worth asking if that message is actually the one the people it's about need to hear. I'm sure for some people it is very freeing to be told it's not their fault, but that kind of message does not resonate with me. And I, as well as people like me, deserve to expirience stories about us that are cathartic, that resonate, that make us feel seen, and to not have to see everyone and their mom throw a fit because what helps us is "problematic".

Anyway this has been mulling around in my head for a while and I def have a lot more to say about the way guilt manifests in trauma born of abuse, but yeah I just feel like this is something that should be talked about when we bring up abuse narratives and how well written they are and if they send the Correct Message, because the "Correct Message" is never going to be the same for everyone. And that's true of ANY demographic you could choose to represent!

Like some disabled people might enjoy the "magically healed" trope while others find it offensive. Some trans people like stories where transitioning is easy as drinking a potion or getting a fancy futuristic surgery and some find that that trivializes their struggles. Some queer people want stories where there's just no homophobia at all, others find that a world without it feels fake and patronizing. Some women do want to read stories about how keeping hearth and home is noble and empowering and others want read about women who have other jobs and never have kids or get married. For some of us "you're beautiful no matter what" is lovely and some of us just want to be told being fat and hairy and having acne and scars and shit is normal and fine. Or, like the last post I reblogged says, sometimes "you're not a burden" doesn't hit as well as "being a burden isn't a bad thing". No one type of representation is ever going to work for everyone, and that doesn't mean one type of rep is objectively wrong and the other is objectively right.

So yeah, the next time you find yourself angry because you think a story is sending the wrong message about a marginalized or harmed group, maybe stop for a second to ask yourself if it's actually harmful...or if you're not the person who the story is speaking to, and if there's someone it is talking to who desperately needs to hear what it has to say.

(*Getting ahead of this now: Do not put words in my mouth. I am not saying that any abused person in any way deserved their abuse or was at fault for it happening, that is not up for debate. The fault is always in the hands of the person who chose to hurt them. I'm just saying it's nuanced and complicated and guilt is a huge fucking issue that survivors have to deal with all the time and it's not wrong to acknowledge that some of us are always going to feel like we did something wrong and not be eased by being told otherwise even if the person saying it is 100% correct and/or means well. I do not have time for people who are going to willfully misinterpret me. You will be blocked.)

[badlydrawnronpa]

main art blog @chibigaia-art // badlydrawnronpa on ig // stickers if you have any question that is more directed at me and not specific abt DR, you can send it to my other blog!

FAQs under the cut

what program do you use?

Clip Studio Paint for drawing, this is the brush I made to achieve 🌟mspaint aesthetic🌟:

can I ask shipping stuff?

yeah but if it's not a ship I like I'll most likely ignore it! I'm not a big fan of s/aioma, n/aegami, o/umota so those are some of the ships I'll def ignore (I will make silly platonic content of them interacting if an idea is fun tho)

who are your favorite characters?

THH: Ishimaru, Mondo, Aoi, Sakura SDR2: the main trio, Gundham, Sonia, Ibuki, Impostor V3: K1-b0, Tenko, Himiko, Ryoma

what are you fave ships?

THH: ishimondo, sakuraoi, leosaya dynamic outside of the killing game would be p interesting imo SDR2: komahinanami, komahina, sondam, soudanidai, fuyupeko V3: kiibouruma, saiibo, saimatsu, saimota (tho I like them more as bros), tenmiko, harukaito

what's your favourite DR game?

sdr2 for a variety of reasons (I like the insane cast and the island setting is my fave)! but objectively speaking, v3 is the one who takes the cake for best cast/gameplay

why no content about DR0/characters from the anime?

I don't like the writing in the novels so I never finished them, I never finished the future arc and the despair arc actively ruined some of the stuff I thought was cool about SDR2 (the whole brainwashing thing was just boring). mitarai is allowed tho because I think he's fun and cool :]

can i repost your stuff?

no, but feel free to share links and stuff

can i make a badly drawn/doodle blog like yours?

no need to ask me! I was inspired by other doodle blogs! go forth and keep the tradition alive!!!

can you draw my oc/ can I have a 'badlydrawn' commission?

I take commissions in this style occasionally, if I have them open I'll make a post on this blog! beside that, I take commissions in my usual artstyle all year round (comm info)

have you heard of [insert fanganronpa here]/ can you draw [fanganronpa character]?

very likely that I'll ignore these, sorry fanganronpa crowd

and I thought this was kind of obvious but don't ask fetish stuff lol

[drvirgus]

Mute!

Non-Idol! Hanni X Mute! Reader

Description: Life as a mute girl in university: How does Y/n navigate her life, especially when she has to work on a project with her crush, one of the popular kids on campus? Can Y/n find a way to express her feelings?

Warnings: Trauma; strong language; kys/kms jokes; insults; bad family 😔 (kind of abuse?)

A/n: I’m not mute or met any mute person in my whole life. I do not want to offend any person with my story. It would be nice if you (if you’re mute or know a person that’s mute) could write me if I did something wrong or share your experience to make this story much more believable.

Chapter: Coffee & Food (Fully-Written)

Masterlist

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

With my tablet in hand, I slowly made my way into the cafe and immediately took a seat at one of the tables. I placed the tablet on the table, grabbed the stylus Pen, and wrote a quick "Hey, you’re here :)" on the screen.

Nervously, I glanced around the cafe, the fact that I was meeting Pham Hanni hitting me all at once. My mouth was slightly open as I licked my somewhat dry lips. I saw people of all ages sitting at the tables, eating or drinking. Surprisingly, it was louder here than one might expect.

"Hey. Did I keep you waiting long? I hope not," I heard from behind me, and saw Hanni, who now sat down right in front of me with a slightly worried look. I smiled and shook my head immediately. My eyes glanced at the clock. We were both early...

I turned the tablet towards her and could see her forehead wrinkle as she suddenly realized what the words on the tablet said. A nervous laugh escaped her throat as she scratched the back of her head a bit, "Oh man. I forgot... I’m sorry," she said, clearly embarrassed, which I waved away with my hand again, a small smile on my face.

I held up one of my fingers to indicate that she should wait a moment, which she nodded to immediately. My hand grasped the stylus as I deleted the previous words to write something new, "Sorry. We don’t really have to meet if it makes you uncomfortable. I can just send you the stuff via email and we can chat online. But I still want to treat you to a coffee since you came," I wrote on the tablet, feeling my lips silently form each word as I wrote.

Hanni, who was just taking off her jacket and throwing it over the chair next to us while I wrote everything down, read the words on the tablet. Every millisecond that passed, her forehead wrinkled more, and she firmly hummed a "no." "It’s not uncomfortable for me. To be honest, I was really looking forward to this. Plus, I’m going to treat you to a coffee since I wanted this meeting in the first place, and I won’t take no for an answer," she said seriously, but the gentle smile on her face made me relax.

"Oh, but if it’s uncomfortable for you to be here with me and you’d rather write, that’s okay. I mean, I’d be a bit hurt because I was really looking forward to meeting you, but, yeah. I mean, if you’d rather let me know—no, I mean—write it down?" the younger girl said, a bit more awkwardly now. She gesticulated wildly with her hands, nodding or shaking her head frequently.

A squeak escaped my mouth as I started to laugh. I immediately covered my mouth with my hand. I just had to laugh. Hanni looked really cute when she was nervous...

I shook my head and turned the tablet back to me to respond right away, "It’s not uncomfortable for me. You’re really Cute. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I think the more you know, the better you’ll handle it," I wrote and watched as Hanni’s eyes skimmed over each word, she paused briefly but then immediately relaxed again, and a broader smile spread across her face as she nodded in understanding.

"Okay. I’ve never met a mute person before, so you’ll have to help me out here," Hanni said, embarrassed, as she started to laugh a bit. Her eyes were fixed on me as I simply nodded. Hanni's smile didn’t leave her face for a moment, even as I saw her expression visibly relax and she leaned forward more.

But before she could say anything else, a waitress approached us. She was chewing gum as she looked back and forth between Hanni and me. "Good afternoon and welcome to JYP Cafe. What can I get for you today?" the waitress said, sounding a bit bored. She had a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other, just waiting for our response.

Hanni immediately looked up at the much taller waitress and smiled politely. "I’ll have a hot cocoa with some whipped cream on top," Hanni said, and I saw the waitress jot down the order. "And what would you like?" Hanni asked, her eyes once again focusing on me. Her hands were folded on the table as she smiled at me.

I turned the tablet towards me again and started deleting the previous words to write something new, "I’d like a coff—," I began to type when I heard an irritated sigh from the waitress. "Miss, I’m standing here asking for your order! You really shouldn’t be playing with your tablet right now," the much taller woman said, rolling her eyes.

My jaw clenched automatically, but I still smiled politely as I simply pointed to my mouth and then made an X with my index fingers. But before the waitress, whose eyes widened, could say anything, Hanni's voice rang out.

Her normally high and friendly voice was now lower and much angrier. "You’re being quite rude, you know that? That’s not how you speak to a customer. Apologize immediately," Hanni said, her previously smiling face now wearing an angry expression.

My mouth opened in surprise as my eyebrows raised. I saw the waitress now looking at Hanni. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know she couldn’t speak and thought—" the waitress began, but Hanni interrupted her with a shake of her head. "Why are you apologizing to me? You should apologize to her!" Hanni said, clearly irritated. Even her jaw was tense.

I quickly wrote on the tablet, "The same order," but the waitress apologized guiltily and even bowed slightly. My face turned red, and I shook my hands in front of me, embarrassed. The nervousness was evident on my face as I visibly tried to say something, but it didn’t work. Not a single sound came out of my mouth.

Not even a simple "It's okay..."

I immediately turned the tablet towards the waitress, and she nodded her head and wrote it down on her small notepad before leaving with another apology.

A sigh escaped Hanni's lips as she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her angry expression softened a bit, but it was still visible on her face. "I can't believe how rude people can be. Does this happen to you often? I hope not. People can’t really be that rude, can they? Not even having enough patience for something like this? I mean, it’s her job. How can she treat a customer like that?" I heard Hanni say as she ranted.

A small smile formed on my face as Hanni leaned forward again and looked at me with concern. "Are you okay? You’ve turned pretty red. We can leave if you want," Hanni said, watching me as I shook my head.

"Thank you. For that... and yes, it happens more often than I’d like, since there aren't many people like me. But back to the questions. Do you have any?"

Hanni sighed, and I noticed her face relaxing. "I’m sorry. I’m still a bit mad... I can’t calm down quickly... but... I’ll ask a few questions now, okay?" she asked, and I deleted the words, ready to answer her questions. I nodded, and Hanni smiled immediately.

"Can you make any sounds? I heard you laugh, and a pretty cute sound came out," Hanni said, which made me blush even more. I gestured with my hand for her to ask more questions while I wrote down the answer to that one.

"How long have you been mute? Do you see a doctor? Can it get better?" she asked, clearly curious. A smile formed on my face as I wrote down each of my answers. I saw Hanni reading them.

"I can make sounds, like screaming or laughing. Those are sounds I can’t control, so they just come out. But if I want to consciously make a sound, I can’t. I’ve been mute for 11 years, but I don't really want to say why. I don’t see a doctor, but I do see a psychologist in the hope that it will get better."

Hanni hummed in interest and nodded. The drinks arrived, and with another quiet apology from the waitress, she left. Hanni bit her lower lip. "What about... ordering? Or relationships? Phone calls?" Hanni asked, visibly curious as she sipped her cocoa.

"Careful. Let it cool down a bit. It’s pretty hot," Hanni said with a light laugh as she placed the cup back on the table. I nodded in thanks and quickly wrote my answers.

"Usually, Yuna or Felix order for me. Otherwise, I just point to what I want on the menu or write it down. But that only works with patient waiters. Phone calls stress me out, and I can’t even hum. I only use FaceTime so I can show my tablet. Relationships? Well, friendships work, and I think a romantic relationship would work too if the person is patient. But I’ve never had a relationship, to be honest."

Hanni's mouth twitched into a brief smile as she looked at me and nodded. "I've been in a few relationships, but I’ve never been in love. I honestly don’t know why. Maybe I’m just not cut out for it, but I always felt uncomfortable in a relationship, even if the person was nice," Hanni began, her brow furrowing as she sighed. "But to be honest, I don’t really want to fall in love. Have you ever been in love?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

I shook my head immediately. "I’ve had a few crushes. But I’ve never been in love."

Hanni exhaled in relief, but her brow furrowed even more as she looked at her folded hands on the table with a questioning expression. Confused by her look, I wrote a few question marks and showed them to Hanni. Embarrassed, she started to laugh. "Oh, it’s nothing," she replied.

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

A few hours later, with empty cups in front of us, I couldn't help but laugh. Hanni had been talking non-stop, constantly asking for my opinion, regardless of whether she had to wait for my response or not. My entire body relaxed as I noticed the time and my eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Hanni noticed the change in my expression and also glanced at the clock. She laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Oh, I didn't realize that hours had passed," she said, which immediately made me smile. I began to write on my tablet, "We should head ho—" "Do you want to get something to eat?"

Surprised, I looked at the woman in front of me who was smiling. Without showing any other expression, I deleted what I had written and nodded. Hanni cheerfully stood up, put on her jacket, and signaled for me to stay seated. "I'll call a taxi," Hanni said, smiling, as she sat back down.

Amazed, I watched her for a while. "Minji, hey. Pick me and Y/n up. We want to get something to eat," I heard Hanni say, and my mouth opened in surprise. I quickly wrote on my tablet, "Minji? I thought you were calling a taxi?"

Hanni glanced at my written words and laughed. "She lost a bet and is my personal chauffeur for the whole year," Hanni explained, and I nodded in understanding, shaking my head in amusement. After a short while, Hanni hung up.

"She’s on her way," said the equally tall woman, which made me nod. We slowly made our way outside together. With my tablet in my hands, I followed Hanni outside. "I’m really hungry. What exactly do you want to eat? We can have whatever you like," Hanni said with a smile as she turned to me. I quickly opened my tablet again to write my response.

"Anything is fine. You can decide. Just no fish."

A honk interrupted Hanni's nodding, and we both looked towards the car parked right in front of us. Smiling, Hanni grabbed my wrist and pulled me along. She opened the door and let me in first before walking around the car and getting in herself, even though I could have just scooted over...

My eyes widened as I realized we hadn’t discussed the reason for our meeting. I immediately opened my tablet and pulled up my notes for the project’s story. I handed the tablet to the woman next to me, who was just thanking Minji for picking us up. I smiled and nodded gratefully at the driver.

"What’s this?" Hanni asked as she took the tablet. "Oh, right," she murmured with a light laugh as she started to read the few notes. My eyes were fixed on her as I noticed how focused she was. Without thinking, I grabbed my phone and snapped a few photos of her.

I heard Minji start to laugh, making me feel a bit caught. Blushing, I quickly put my phone away. "We're here," Minji said as she stopped in front of the restaurant. Hanni looked up from my tablet and glanced around. "Is this okay?" she asked me, and I nodded.

"Thanks, bro. See you later," Hanni said, giving Minji a light pat on the shoulder, while Minji just waved her hand dismissively. I held onto Hanni’s arm and gestured towards Minji, making an eating motion. Hanni's mouth opened, and she looked at Minji briefly before turning back to me.

A dissatisfied sigh escaped her. "You want Minji to join us?" Hanni asked, and I nodded slightly. Since Hanni still had my tablet, I couldn’t form any words. Hanni sighed again. "Yo, want to eat? Y/n wants you to join us," I heard Hanni say, and almost immediately, Minji looked at me in surprise. She pointed at herself questioningly, which made me smile and nod.

"Oh, uh... SURE," Minji suddenly shouted, which made me flinch a bit. "Chill. She’s not deaf," Hanni said, more annoyed. She got out of the car with a tense jaw, and I followed suit.

Somehow... Hanni seemed annoyed...

I looked questioningly at Hanni, who was still holding my tablet. She was pouting slightly as she kicked one of the small pebbles on the sidewalk. I tapped her arm, and she immediately looked at me. I pointed at my tablet, so she handed it back to me right away.

Curious, Hanni watched as I wrote, "Was it a mistake to ask Minji? You seem unhappy about it..."

Hanni's eyes widened, and I noticed a slight blush on her ears. "Oh no. I, uh, I’m not unhappy about it. I just thought—I thought, uh, I thought we were going to talk about the project?" Hanni responded, sounding more nervous than before as she began to smile.

I furrowed my brow slightly. "Minji is also on our team?"

Hanni read the words and laughed a bit, visibly relaxing as she met my eyes. "Uh, yeah—oh, there's Minji," she said quickly, drawing my attention to the taller woman who had parked the car and was now walking towards us.

I decided to leave it at that and just smiled. Together, we entered the restaurant.

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

With a smile on my face, I looked at Minji and then at Hanni. The latter sat right next to me, while Minji sat across from me. Hanni was talking non-stop again, and both Minji and I were just listening. Occasionally, Minji would make a comment or try to join the conversation, but Hanni kept her gaze on me the entire time, her body turned towards me.

She patiently waited for me to finish writing and then read my questions or answers aloud. Even Minji had asked me a few questions. Although she seemed more nervous than Hanni, she was also quite patient, which helped me relax significantly.

Hanni leaned closer as we looked at the menu that the waiter had handed us earlier. Minji grinned as she watched us for a while, though I didn’t notice it. I was too engrossed in the warmth and the voice of the woman beside me.

"What if I get this," Hanni suggested, pointing to a dish, "and you get that?" She pointed to another dish. "Then we could share?" she concluded.

Surprised, my eyes widened, and my smile grew even broader. Excitedly, I nodded my head vigorously, which made Hanni chuckle a bit.

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

Taglist: @sixflame438 @saysirhc @itzzyyyyyyydaaaa @somedaydream @wonyoungssi @gtfoiydlyj

[riordanness]

enchanté — [n.sheff]

wordcount: 1.2K

warnings: none

requested: no

tags: @honey-ambrosia my wife <33 (send her love or else)

a/n: idk?? i just had a random idea while watching this movie for the first time so enjoy i guess. nic is defo ooc, doesn’t do drugs in this fic either, and i know basically none of the movie plot yet. feel free to request nic sheff fics tho! <3

“Nice to meet you.” I smile; and shake my new roommate's hand. He seems nice enough, with pretty green eyes and curly brown hair.

He smiles back, then heads into our dorm room. I turn back to my conversation with the other girls in our hallway. Turns out there wasn’t an even number of girls or boys this year, so I got shoved into a dorm room with a guy. Not that that’s the worst thing that could’ve happened to me; he’s kinda cute.

One of the other new girls, I think she said her name was Alexa, nudges me. “Damn, I wish I was the not-so-unlucky girl stuck with a boy. He is hot.”

I shrug. “He’s not bad. He’s probably got a girlfriend though. Or he’s gay.” I nudge her back. “Doesn’t matter that much; he’s probably the kind of guy who spends all his time not in his dorm room. More time alone for me.”

I say goodbye and turn towards my bedroom door. I stop just before it, though, when I hear voices.

“Yeah, she seems nice, she’s just in the hall,” I hear my roommate say. I’m not entirely sure who he’s talking to, but then another person speaks, a much older man, and I remember his father is here.

“I feel for you though…” His father laughs, and I hear the sound of cds clacking together, and I realise that they’re my cds.

I internally cringe. Why did I decide to set up my cds? My roommate definitely thinks I’m a total loser freak now. I visualise my collection. Taylor Swift, Olivia Rodrigo, Chase Atlantic, Melanie Martinez, Joshua Bassett, and the Chainsmokers. Pretty much screams ‘basic white girl’ doesn’t it?

I knock on the doorframe, stepping into view. “Hey,” I say, waving a little at his father. “Nice to meet you.”

My roommate’s father hastily shoves my cds back onto my desk. “You too. I’m Nic’s father.” He stands and offers me his hand. I shake it, offering a smile.

“Well…” Nic’s father pats his pockets. “I’d best be going.” He gives his son a hug, who stands and grips his father tightly.

I feel awkward, like I’m interrupting something.

“Everything,” Nic whispers.

“Everything.”

Though I have no idea what that means, I think it’s adorable.

His father leaves, and the two of us stand for a moment. Then I drop my bag on the floor next to my bed and flop myself onto it.

“What’s your name?” Nic asks quietly. “I’m Nic.”

I prop myself up on one elbow. “I know. I’m y/n.”

He nods. “Cool.”

There’s silence for a couple more seconds, more than feels comfortable.

I blow out my breath. “My friend thinks you’re cute.”

He laughs in surprise. “Is that a pick-up line?”

“No.” I glance at him. “She literally does think that.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “My dad thinks your music taste sucks.”

I glance over at my cd collection, which is now in an unorganised pile on my desk, compliments to Nic’s father. “Mm.”

“It’s not bad, though,” he offers. “I love Chase Atlantic.”

I raise an eyebrow, and meet his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhmmm. Vibes, Into It, Friends, Meddle About, CALL ME BACK, Church, some of my favourite songs ever.”

I make an impressed face. “Okay, okay. I’ll accept that.”

“The other stuff though?” He makes a face. “Taylor Swift? Really?”

I sit up. “Yes. Taylor Swift really.” I grab my notebook out of my bag and relax onto my pillows. “Now shh while I write this idea down.”

He suddenly looks interested. “You write?”

“Duh.”

“No, no,” he tries to backtrack. “I mean, I write too. That’s why I’m here. To study writing.”

I look at him over the top of my notebook. “You? A writer?” i don’t mean to sound incredulous, but I probably do.

He nods sincerely. “I love to write. What kind of things do you write?”

“Umm…” I stare up at the ceiling. “All kinds. Poetry, fiction, lyrics, fanfiction, essays, critiques, anything really. I just love anything to do with words and writing.” I swing my legs over the side of my bed, facing him. “What about you?”

“Me too. Anything.”

I nod. “Can I read something of yours sometime?”

He shoots me a crooked smile. “Only if I can read yours.”

“Deal.”

We shake hands, and I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter a little.

It’s been six weeks of sharing a dorm with Nic Sheff, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love every second.

Turns out, he’s amazing. At like, everything. His writing is incredible, at least the little I’ve seen so far. He can skateboard like nobody’s business. He can sing, speak French, and apparently, braid hair. (I know from experience, trust me on this).

“Hey, tresses,” Nic says, throwing his backpack on the floor, and himself on my bed.

I was at my desk, trying to study. “Hey,” I reply absentmindedly.

“You got class this afternoon?” he asks.

“Mhm.”

“Same one as me?”

“Probably.”

“Y/n…” he whines, picking up my Spider-Man squishmallow and throwing it at me. “Pay attention to me.”

I glance up. “What?”

“Do you have the poetry class in twenty minutes? The one we both take?” He asks the question slowly.

I read my timetable quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Let’s go then, it’s a bit of a walk and we do not want to be late.”

I shut my laptop. “Fine. Let’s go then.”

He jokingly offers me his arm, and instead of taking it like a lady, I hit him. “Ow, y/n!” he complains.

I giggle. “Come on, Nic. We don’t wanna be late.” I mimic his earlier words.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re awful, tresses.”

“You love me.”

He doesn’t reply to that.

“Alright, Mr Steff, would you like to read your poem aloud now?” Mr Day asks the boy.

Nic glances nervously at me, for some reason, then stands as he nods at our teacher. “Yes, sir.”

He unfolds a crumpled piece of paper, clears his throat, and licks his lips in the cute way he always does when he’s worried or nervous.

“Mon amour,

Oh, how I adore you.

The way you make me feel, my love,

it’s like I’d give anything for one of your smiles.

The fact that I can’t say ‘je vous aime’,

well, ça me tue à l’intérieur.

j’ai été enchanté de te rencontrer,

mon amour.

je pense que tu es á ma place.

Mon amour,

Oh, how I adore you.

Je vous aime.”

A brief silence follows Nic’s poem, then a round of applause, louder than any I’d heard here before.

He looks at me, and for a split second I don’t know why. Then it clicks.

“Me?” I ask weakly. “You wrote that… for me?”

He smiles shyly. “I love you.”

The whole class cheers, and we get another round of applause.

My mouth is open, and my heart is racing, but I know I want to say it too. But for some reason, when I open my mouth, the words won’t come out. So I do the only other thing I can think of.

I stand up, grab Nic by the collar, and pull him into a kiss.

The cheering gets a whole lot louder after that.

translation:

“My love,

Oh, how I adore you.

The way you make me feel, my love,

it’s like I’d give anything for one of your smiles.

The fact that I can’t say ‘I love you’,

Well, it kills me inside.

I was enchanted to meet you,

my love.

I think you belong with me.

My love,

Oh, how I adore you.

I love you.”

[haerinari]

Love Letter - Anton

pairing: classmate!anton x fem!reader.

summary: a boy who confess his love for you with a love letter.

genre: fluff.

LOVE 199 Series: wonbin, sungchan, eunseok, anton, shotaro, sohee, seunghan.

want to keep reading? click here ⬇️

"okey class..." miss kang, your music teacher, said. "i want you to work on a project that's due on friday, you will have this two days to make it and then show it to the class. ya'll have to make a song and, the work is in pairs, so c'mon"

what a great day for your bestfriend, haerin, not come to class. who will you work with now? ugh, how you hate to work with other people.

"hey, y/n?" a soft voice that you knew perfectly, said behind you.

never mind, you love to work with other people.

"oh, hi anton!" you replied with the biggest smile ever, turning around on your chair to face him.

anton was the cutest boy from your class, he had beautiful brown eyes and a smile that made worthy going to class everyday. you had a crush on him since the year started, his sweet and shy personality caught your heart immediately, he was kind to everyone and the best of the music class.

"uhm... i saw that haerin didn't come today and that you didn't have a pair to do the work, so i was wondering if maybe, you know, wanna work with me?" anton said passing his hand over his neck, looking down his feet. how could you deny this amazing proposal?

"of course!" you replied almost jumping from your chair. god y/n, don't make so obvious that you like him. "i mean, yes, i'll really like that anton." you smiled softly.

"great! so i'll send you a text with my address, is it okay if we go to my house? i think we can use my cello, so..."

"yeah yeah, sure. i'll be there"

haerin was going to die when you tell her.

after spending a really long time deciding what you were going to wear to go to anton's house, you decided that a long sleeve gray shirt and a pair of jeans would be completely fine.

when you arrived to his home, he greet you with a soft smile and comfy clothes. when you thought he couldn't look prettier, oh you were completely wrong. anton took you to his room, opening the door and letting you sit in the corner of his bed. the room was actually very comfortable, it had a very soft bed, and a desk that was full of music sheets, a computer and other type of stuff. his cello was on the corner of his room, you had never seen anton playing before, of course that you imagined that he was as good as he was on everything else.

"i was thinking that maybe we could make a short song, i could play the cello and my brother has a violin that maybe he can borrow you" he said sitting next to you.

"oh, i don't know how to play the violin, anton. i actually can't play any instruments" you confessed.

"don't worry, i'm going to teach you and you'll be ready by friday" anton replied to you with a smile.

"okay..."

"ll be right back"

anton left the room, probably to look after the violin of his brother, you thought. you got up from the bed, going to his desk and looking at the papers that were all spread around. some of them, calling your attention.

"Love 119" was the title, you took the paper in your hands, reading carefully at the beautiful lyrics that you supposed that he was composing.

"Stolen my heart, that girl's a killer

Love so good, feels like a thriller

It's begun

This is an emergency

One-one-nine, one-one-nine

Save my life, save my life

She sets me free

This is an emergency love

You turn on like a flashlight

On and on, grabbing my attention

In a crowd packed shoulder to shoulder

For a moment I saw only you, no other"

"y/n i got the— what are you doing?" anton said getting back into the room, his eyes wide open as he immediately recognized the paper that was on your hands.

"i was just reading this beautiful song, did you wrote th-"

"uhm we should probably focus on the violin" he said cutting you off, his hands grabbing quickly the paper from yours and hiding them under his pillows.

“i’m sorry anton, is actually very good by the way"

"i-it's just some stupid lyrics" he murmured nervously. "we should probably start"

"yeah sure"

the rest of the afternoon you spend it learning what anton was teaching you. his presence behind you, his hands on top of yours to teach you how to properly use the bow were actually making you fell very nervous. his breath touching your neck when he talked, and the way his soft voice was entering your ears, how could you not fall more in love?

you and him spend the rest of the afternoon like that, being so close to each other that you could feel like your heart was coming out from your chest. you were almost ready with the song, it wasn’t actually very hard to play the violin, but this wasn’t what you care the most about right now. could your heart resist this feeling of not telling anton that you liked him? could you really keep hiding your feelings for him?

you were scared to tell him, what if he doesn’t feel the same about you? what if he just sees you as a friend and just wanted to be nice with you? what if he thinks that you are ugly? what if…? what if…? what if…? what if…?

“y/n are you paying attention to what i’m sayin?” he asked behind you, you were so lost on your mind.

you turned to look at him, putting the violin down and looking at his beautiful, big brown eyes. he is even prettier this close, you thought. his face was so close to yours that if you move forwards a little bit, his lips would be all over yours. you saw his face, his eyes looking at you like if he was scanning you. his eyes going from yours, then your lips, and then your eyes again. you got a little closer, watching as anton’s cheeks were starting to become red. he didn’t even move a muscle, he was just taking a moment to look at your face.

“anton, i…” you hold your breath, are you going to confess right now? “i should probably go home, is getting late and my mom is waiting for me…” stupid y/n.

“ah y-yeah, yeah. you’re right, yeah” anton answered getting a step back, his eyes looking everywhere but you.

“thanks for teaching me how to play the violin, see you tomorrow at school”

“see you…”

the presentation went really good, anton and you performed the song and it was amazing. you even got the higher score of the class 10/10.

the past two days all you could think about was what happened at anton’s house. the last days that you had been even more closer to him due the proyect, made you realize that your feelings for the sweet boy were actually true. you and haerin already had a conversation about all this situation, she told you that it was better to express your feelings than to hide them. after all, you didn’t know what could happen.

you left the music classroom and went back to the normal, the door was closed and there was no one inside. your thoughts were eating you from the inside, all you can think about is anton, anton, anton…

anton and his sweet smile, anton and his beautiful black hair, anton and his gorgeous brown eyes, anton and how soft and kissable his lips looked back the other day.

you unzipped your backpack, taking out your water bottle thinking that could drown your thoughts alway. but instead of that, a small pieces of paper that were arranged like flash-cards and a yellow piece of paper fell to the floor. you took them in your hands, opening carefully the yellow paper first and reading what was in the inside.

“You turn on like a flashlight

On and on, grabbing my attention

In a crowd packed shoulder to shoulder

For a moment I saw only you, no other"

—Love 119

Love 119…? Love 119… oh god, this can’t be real.

you sweared to god you were going to die from a heart attack in that moment.

you took that other papers, the flash-cars, on your hands. once again, reading carefully what was in the first piece of paper.

“A satellite is an object in space that orbits around the earth until it stops working, they send signals to let the earth know how the sky feels.”

then the second.

“Even tho i can’t send you signals about my feelings for you because i’m too shy and scared of rejection…”

and finally the third one.

“…I want to be your own satellite, in that way, i could orbit around you for the rest of my life”

you felt like you were going to cry at any point, a smile appearing on your face from ear to ear. no one has never give this kind of sweet and beautiful thing before.

“so… what do you think?” a male figure that was standing next to the classroom door said. anton.

“was this you?” you asked, standing from the chair and walking to him.

“why it looks like you’re going to cry?” he laughed a little bit.

“because i am!” you said whipping your tears away. “no one has ever done this before to me”

“i’m actually very glad that i’m the first one” he smiled.

“why didn’t you tell me before?”

“because i’m too shy and i could barely talk to you before, also i was super scared that you didn’t like me back” he confessed.

“but of course i like you back, anton. do you now how hard was trying not to kiss you back when we were on your house?” you told him.

“tell that to me, i couldn’t sleep knowing i wasted such an opportunity” you giggled.

“and do you want to waste that opportunity again?”

“no” he quickly replied.

“then kiss me, kiss me anton”

his hands went to cup your cheeks, his lips coming closer to your until finally, it happened. anton’s lips were soft against yours, just as you imagine, his lips moving perfectly on yours, the kiss that you both have been waiting for so long was finally happening.

“was the lyrics of the song that i read on your house, were about me?” you asked, your forehead pressed against his.

“you weren’t supposed to see that” he said with and embarrass smile, hiding his face in your neck.

“awww, but it was so cute!” you laughed, your hands touching his hair. “are you going to let me read it now that you know i like you too?”

“maybe…” he thought for a second, looking back at your eyes. “just if you give me another kiss” he smiled.

“i’ll give you a million of kisses anton” you replied connecting your lips once again.

[ovrour]

❝SIXTEEN IN THE MIDDLE OF MIAMI❞➝ NICOLAS STURNIOLO

“Be around people that are good for your soul.”

pair: Nicolas Sturniolo x Platonic!reader, Nicolas x bsf!reade

genre; fluff with a little angst

cw;mentions of suicide and drug use.

It had been years since you’d talked about your situation when you first moved to miami.

it wasn’t something that you liked talking about often.

Those first few years of moving to Miami were hell.

you had no money, no family, no home. you didn’t have anything.

you were miserable having to find every possible just to eat and live.

That was until you met nick.

When you met Nick, you were miserable. you’d looked disheveled, and dirty. but, even then he still took you in. And now, he was your family, like your brother. He had 2 other brothers, you were surprised to say the least when you found out they were triplets. But, you weren’t bothered by it.

They gave you a home. A place you’d needed for so long. God blesses you by sending them to you.

It’s been 7 years since then. you were now 23 living a healthy, and happy life. you were drug free, you were no longer the miserable girl you used to be. You were happy with who you were, no longer feeling like you didn’t have a will to live. But, now you did.

Now, you were sitting on the end of the table, getting ready to record a podcast episode. “Y/n, are sure you’re okay with talking about this on our podcast?” Nick asked you, making sure that you were okay with it. “Yeah, I'll be okay. I figured if there were people out there that could know my story. it would be your fanbase.” You nodded. What you said was true. You felt like you could tell them your story. to let them know that, who they see on social media isn’t always picture perfect.

“Alright, is everyone ready?” Matt asked, moving the camera to face nick. Everyone looked at him nodding in his direction as he went to sit down. you were very nervous to say the least. you felt hot, and sweaty a little nauseous. “Take a deep breath y/n.” Chris noticed. You listened, taking a deep breath. preparing yourself for the next conversation you were about to have.

“Good morning campers, Welcome back to the cut the camera’s podcast. I’m Nicolas sturniolo.”

“I'm matt.”

“I'm Chris, or Chrizzy.”

“and I'm y/n.”

“ahh, wait, I'm so excited to have you here!!” Nick squealed, chuckling. You smiled, and thanked him. “This is our cut the camera’s podcast, and today we’re going to talk about How life was before social media, and how fake someone's life can look behind camera.” Nick spokr, his hand wrapped around the microphone.

“For sure, I don't think this topic is talked about enough because everyone wants to seem so perfect. Social media is just a picture, to hide what really goes on or happens in your life behind closed doors.” Chris Commented.

“mhm, I hope everyone out there knows that social media isn't real. it never has been, and never will be. There will be hateful comments, and death threats that come with fame. It’s just the truth of it.” Matt added. He was speaking from experience, the triplets got hate somewhat of the time. It wasn’t usual, but it wasn't often either.

“So, we have y/n here to tell you guys, her story.” Nick Responded. You took a deep breath and cleared your throat. preparing yourself for what you were about to tell millions of people out there. you were nervous, but ready.

“What everyone is saying is true. Social media is fake, everything you see on the internet is. You can never believe anything you see online.”

“Before, I continue with my story. Viewer discretion is advised, there will be mentions of suicide and drugs. If you don't like that I advise you to click off this video, or simply skip this part.” You explained, hoping that anyone who didn't like that kind of stuff would understand. You didn't want anyone to get offended by anything that you were going to say. Nor did you want them to get offended about mentioning things that happened in your life before social media.

“When I was 16 years old, I was kicked out of my own home for getting into drugs in the middle of my sophomore year of highschool. I didn’t have a place to go, or stay. so, I lived in the streets most of the time, or crashed at friends houses’ when I could. I had no money, or family. so I really just depended on what I had. That’s when I met Nick, who took me in even when I was just a stranger. He took me in at my worst ti…” you stammered, tears began to spill down your cheeks.

“aww, y/n it’s okay. take a deep breath baby.” Chris Whispered, taking a deep breath.

you did the same, wiping your tears off your face. you sniffled, “Nick took me in at my worst time when i was on the verge of commiting suicide. I'm so glad he took me in when he did because otherwise, I wouldn't be here without him.”

“Here I am 7 years later at 23. I’m single, sober, and living the life I couldn't.” You spoke, smiling. You were so grateful for everything that’s happened in the last 7 years. You were sober, and hadn’t had such thoughts in so long. you were healthy as ever. You had everything you’d ever wanted, everything you’d missed out on, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

“God, listening to that start makes my heart break everytime. We don’t talk about life before social media enough, and I feel like we definitely should. It’s just so touching to see how far you’ve come y/n.” Chris Commented, smiling at you proudly.

“I agree, we’re all so proud of you.”

“So proud.”

These were your friends, ones you needed in your worst moments. God sent them to you when you needed them the most, and you were so thankful. They were your god given solace.

The rest of the podcast, all four of you chatted about anything really. It was moments like these where you wish you could stay forever. But, there were so many more memories to make with your boys.

“alright, y/n before we end this episode what do you have to say to the campers?” Matt asked you.

“Be around people that are good for your soul.”

a/n: Hi amigas. sorry this is so short, it’s super rushed bc i was having massive writers block, and i need something to post to fill in while i’m busy packing for vacay. either way, i hope you enjoy it.

with lots of love, alondra💋.

taglist: @sturnthepot @sturniolosarethebest @24kmar @bernardsbendystraws @flouvela @chrisgetsmewet @luvs4matt @flwrs4sturniolo @soupuurr (if i forgot you pls lmkkk!!)

[mindless-existence1]

Request: "Can you write a oneshot featuring Aizawa Shouta with self bondage and gags please? In the fic, he gets the idea to try out self bondage in his apartment. You can decide on how he ties himself and with what toys. But I'd like it if he used a tape gag and was unable to escape his bonds, meaning he'd be stuck in bondage and orgasming the whole night."

Authors note/info about the story: This is male reader who works as a teacher at UA and is a prohero. You have a crush on Aizawa and he has a crush on you. I fear I'm obsessed with submissive men 😔😔Enjoy~~

Word count: 1,611

Masterlist Link

REQUESTS OPEN PLS SEND!

Warnings: Self bondage, super overstimulation, sex toys, multiple orgasams, dry orgasm at the end (I fear om obsessed with them 😔)

Aizawa knew this was a bad idea, he knew this was kind of a terrible idea. But he couldn't push down his desires, plus he knew it was mostly a safe plan...mostly. All he had to do was be as careful as possible.

He had finished school for the day about an hour ago and was finally headed home (yeah ik it's technically a dorm but let's pretend it's a bit more like an apartment complex type situation) He just wanted to...spice things up tonight.

All day it felt like you had been teasing him and he couldn't get the thought of you out of his head. Why did your hero suit have to make you so fucking sexy? It drove him out of his mind.

You had been way more touchy then usual today and he almost had to rub one off like a teenager in the staff bathroom. So now in the privacy of his own home he can take care of the erection that's been forming all day.

He took off his shoes at the door and instead of taking off his hero clothes like normal he kept them on. You always said you hot he looked in uniform so he wanted to keep it on.

He went to his drawers and pulled out one of his sinful toys. He bought it in an act of desperation years ago and only used it when he really needed to, like right now.

It was a vibrating cock ring that wouldn't stop him from coming, it was a win win and he always felt a little guilty about buying it. Even so it did come in handy in times like this.

He put some lube on his hands and jerked himself to full hardness before slipping on the ring. He let out a low groan and pumped himself a few more times. He kept the remote in one of his hands so he could change the setting even when tied up.

Now on the bed Aizawa expertly tied his legs first and arms later to the bed posts, with a swift motion he wrapped it around his mouth as well. He strategically kept the end peice hanging next to one of his hands. This was so when he was done he could pull on the end and free himself from the binds (idk how knots and stuff works so pretend this makes sense).

With a deep breath through his nose Aizawa clicked the first setting of the ring. A soft buzz filled his ears and his hips jerked slightly at the feeling. He quickly turned it up a level to give him more stimulation. He moaned through the gag and closed his eyes.

He let the feeling wash over him. "Mmmh hmnnn" he whined through the gag, turning up the vibrations to a faster pace. Aizawa choked on a moan at the intense change. The feeling of vibrations felt foreign but oh so good.

Aizawa changed the level up again finally reaching the highest setting. The moan he let out was borderline pornagraphic, bucking his hips upward into the air he whined into the gag.

It didn't take long for him to reach his climax, the orgasm building up in his gut. He came with a low groan into the cloth. Aizawa felt extremely messy as the cum got on his hero suit. After a second of riding himself through the intense pleasure he went to turn the ring off.

In an instant he was washed over in a wave of panic when the remote fell from his hand. He tried calming himself by reaching for the end of his binding cloth but when he pulled there was no give. Why was there no give??? Aizawa must have used this cloth hundreds of times without mistakes. So why now of all times did he mess it up????

He couldn't think straight enough to get an answer with the relentless abuse of his poor cock. The ring still pulsing at its high level, he let out a broken sob, all of it muffled by the damn binding cloth wrapper around his mouth.

His hips were moving on their own accord as best they could. Aizawa tried tugging and pulling at the cloth but to no avail. His wrists were starting to get sore and his legs ached at the position he tied them in.

After coming again he could feel pain seeping into the pleasure. There was nothing he could do, he wouldn't be able to handle the embarrassment of screaming into the gag as best he could in hopes someone would hear.

The only people he lived by were his coworkers/friends and nothing would be worth having to face whoever came to his rescue the next day.

An image of you flashed in Aizawa's mind and he let out a whine at the thought. You lived close by, just a door down the hall. He gave you a key to his apartment (I know it's a dorm don't come after me), along with Mic. You were probably up right now, grading papers or watching TV.

He knew about your bad sleeping habits, he knew there was a good chance you were up right now. He imagined you touching yourself to, just down the hall. He imagined you waling in and seeing him like this. The thought was all it took to push him over the edge for a third time that night.

There was dried and wet cun alike on his clothes, he felt like a gross mess. All he could think about was you and how he wanted it to be you giving him all this pleasure and not just some toy.

Aizawa was now fully sobbing into the gag, it was wetted with tears. The vibrater kept going, and with each pulse he knew he was a goner.

~~~~~~~~Time skip to later that night~~~~~~~~~

His body felt like it was on fire, everything hurt and the pain was overtaking the pleasure. Every pulse of the vibrater brought a new flow of tears to his eyes. Despite what he wanted he felt the burning sensation of another orgasm building up in his chest. He let out a hiccuping sob into the cloth covering his mouth.

The overwhelming pleasure from his orgasm made him throw his head back as best he could. It was dry and raw and was ripped out of him. In his blessed out state, despite the continuous stimulation to his aching cock, he didn't hear the knocking at the door.

He also didn't hear you coming in, "Hey Shota, sorry to barge in but can you-" the words you were trying to say were lost as you took in the sight before you. He looked so pretty, tied up and clothed with just his cock out. Sweating and covered in his own come, you were so tempted to take a photo but assumed that wouldn't go over well.

"Shota...what?" Again the words died in your throat when Aizawa looked up and saw you gawking at him. He whined a high pitch moan, desperately squirming. He wanted to cover himself and preferably go die in a hole, never to be seen again by specifically you.

"Ummm tphh mmmm" He tried begging to you through the binding cloth but couldn't make anything sound coherent. "Shota, do you need help?" You hesitantly asked, not wanting to overstep. Aizawa quickly nodded his head praying you would get the message. You dropped the paper in your hands and rushed over to the bed.

After a minute of fiddling with the cloth, along with trying to ignore the moaning man under you who was still having his dick abused by the vibrater. Also trying to ignore your own growing erection.

You finally got the cloth completely undone and off of him, he immediately went to take the vibrater off his leaking dick. Aizawa was panting and breathing out light "Thank you"s. He wanted to say more, to explain himself, but he couldn't find the words. Even if he could his throat was scratchy and he desperatly needed water.

You were now sitting on the bed facing each other, maybe a bit closer then friends should be but neither of you wanted to move. The tiered man rested his sweaty forehead on your shoulder, to weak to keep it up himself.

After a second of silence you spoke up "If I was a bit more greedy I'd think you put on this show for me." You leaned forward slightly to whisper in his ear. His breath hitched at your tone. "I-" He didn't know how to explain himself so you kept talking.

"Didn't think you'd be this kinky Shota but I guess it is always the quiet ones. Plus i mean you did come up with a weapon called a 'binding cloth' so maybe I should have expected this." Your voice teasing but filled with lust, hot breath blew over his ear making them tinted red. M.

"I always hoped I could see you like this but that was mostly just wishful thinking." You laughed again, this time at Aizawa's reaction. In his blessed out state he leaned back and looked you in the eyes. His face was flushed and his eyes seem glazed over but they were fixed on you.

"What?" Is all he asked, it made you chuckle and take his face in your hands. He half hoped expected you to kiss him but instead you leaned in to his ear, you gave it a teasing nible before whispering. "Shota I've been wanting to fuck you since the first day I started working at UA."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 11

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“How about dinner?” Steve asks as he stretches his arms above his head.

Your eyes wander the muscles of his arms, still bulging and round despite his age. He makes you feel lesser. You’re probably half his age and you’re all soft and cushy. You have nothing to admire. You scratch your scalp, itchy from the layer of sweat, and shrug.

Before he drops his arms, you catch a peek of his stomach. You look at the ground guiltily. You don’t even know why you were looking at him. It’s rude to stare.

“Sure, honey,” your mom answers as you follow Steve to the deck, “you been working so hard today.”

“You like barbeque?” Steve stops and nudges you with his elbow as you come up beside him. You shy away.

“Er, sure.”

“Oh,” your mom’s cheeks twitch, “mm, that’ll be nice. A little family dinner.”

You shrink down. You’re standing right there and she forgot about you. Or just doesn’t want you there.

“Ice cream for dessert,” Steve pats your shoulder and you wince again. He squeezes before he steps forward, “Holly, you okay?” He asks as your mother’s head tremors. “You’ve been sitting out here for a while. Maybe I could send you over something instead.”

“I’m good,” she insists, gripping the sides of the chair. She stands with an effort. She doesn’t look well.

“Alright, I’ll get stuff ready. Could use some help,” he looks at you. Your mother rubs her lower back and flutters he lashes in your direction.

“I can help,” she insists before you can answer.

“Really, Holly, relax,” Steve counters, “I know you want to help, but...” he pauses and reaches to grab her quivering hand, “you should probably just sit down.”

“Oh,” she looks at his grip before it falls away. “Yeah, I... you’re right. I’m... thanks.”

She sits down, uncharacteristically demure. You’ve never seen that in her. Any time you reminded her of her sickness, even unintentionally, she got defensive. Not this time. She almost looks sad.

“Come on, I’ll share my famous recipe with you, then you can make some for your mom,” Steve says as he waves you towards the doors.

You shuffle behind him, offering no resistance. You wouldn’t want to stay in case your mom chose to direct her shame at you. She won’t say it to his face but she won’t have any problem sharing her displeasure with you.

You leave your shoes by the door, overly aware of your surroundings. Steve’s house is clean and spacious. He might have just moved in but you suspect it’s as much his standards as the newness. He leads you into the kitchen and you stand awkwardly by the counter.

“Should wash your hands,” he goes to the double sink and grabs the dish soap, “come here.”

You near him, hunched slightly, and he squeezes soap into his own hand before aiming the nozzle toward you. You hold out your hands and he squirts the liquid onto your palms. The water scours from the tap and you wet your hands, forced to stand closer than you like as you lather up the bubbles. You scrub your nails and get between your fingers, making sure to get as much as the residue as you can.

You rinse off and he grabs a hand towel, offering it to you first before he takes it and dries his hands. He hangs it and turns to the fridge. That’s fancy too. The door is glass and you can see the contents without opening it. He pulls the door and reaches within.

You wait listlessly as he takes out his ingredients. You shy away as he moves towards you, opening cupboards to pick out seasoning, then bending to grab a bowl from below. He plunks the large dish on the counter near you.

“How about you make us a salad, sweetie?” He grabs several veggies from his horde and sets them by the bowl, “knives are right there.”

He points to the block then opens another cupboard. He takes out a spinner and sets that out as well. He has all these nice things and fresh food. Your salads come out of plastic containers or bags.

You rinse off a pepper and put it on the cutting board. You slide out a knife and stare at the veggie before you slice into it. You chop it in half and seeds spill everywhere. You frown as they stick to your fingers. You try to move the heavy wooden board but can’t budge it. Instead, you rinse the inside of the pepper then wipe the board with your hand.

“Here, let me show you a trick,” Steve turns and takes the knife, “Cut the sides,” he takes the yellow pepper, “like this.” He expertly trims off each side then cuts them into neat slices, turning them to dice into squares. You watch quietly and he turns the handle of the knife to you. “See.”

You nod and take the knife. Doesn’t matter much, the red ones already halved. You do your best to cut out the middle with all the seeds and slice slower than him, careful of your fingers. It takes you far too long to do the tomato, with no shortage of gushing juices, and the onion.

As you add them all to the rinsed lettuce, Steve adds some crumbled soft cheese and croutons. You clean up the remnants of your work and he points you to the metal bin. You step on the pedal and dumb it all inside. You return to the counter as he pulls out another bowl.

“Now the burgers, we got the meat,” he unfolds a paper package and dumbs the ground beef into the bowl, “bread crumbs,” he shakes the tin, “but most important is the seasoning.”

He takes each slender container, measuring out the powders and dried herbs by sight alone. He names them each but you can’t keep track. He caps the last one and spreads his fingers wide.

“Now the good part,” he proclaims and kneads it all together with his hands.

You watch his fingers work, deft and confident. He mashes in the bread crumbs and seasoning then holds up his messy hands.

“You can help with the next part,” he takes a handful and rounds out the meat into a patty shape. “Just like that. Think we’ll do what? Six or so? Might want seconds after all that hard work.”

“Okay,” you reach in and take the cold beef. The texture is unnerving. You mimic his own motion, rolling it into a ball then flattening it. He puts the first one on the plate and you add yours to it.

“You’re quiet,” he comments.

You flick your eyes up and back down, reaching for more meat.

“Not that it’s bad. Shy? I know we’re just getting to know each other. That’s cool. But I get it,” he says as he takes a handful, “you know, it’s really something the way you look after your mom.”

You nod then shake your head, “she’s my mom.”

“Yeah, but... not everyone... would,” he says. “You know, you should give yourself more credit.”

You grumble and put down the patty in your hands.

“Well, if I’m gonna be around, I wanna help out, you know? You shouldn’t be taking this all on yourself. It’s amazing you’ve done it so far but... you’re young, you deserve to have some fun.”

You press your lips and roll another patty. You focus on the task as you watch your hands. He sniffs and lets out a deep breath.

“One day, you’re gonna make some lucky guy a good wife,” he says, “so you might as well enjoy your free time while you got it.”

You blink, surprised by his suggestion. That’s a far way off, if it ever happens. You don’t really know what will happen... after. You only ever worried about today. Tomorrow can wait.

[moonshynecybin]

Do you think the ranch visit 2014 ended with like slightly annoyed sex because Vale just annoyed with Marc beating his record but also slightly admiring him

i love this because its true. marc is ANNOYING ! of course it cannot be ignored that vale is ALSO annoying (max biaggi fight. hello.) like they match each others freak in that regard, but at what point do you look at this sexy ass twink who is obsessed with your dick and your bike (sex to vale. is motorcycle racing lest we forget he keeps that m1 in GROPING distance and marc is like GOD i wish that were me so it does. work comma sexually. for them. like a lot. but i digress) and obsessed with your ability to ride it and be like hmm. maybe this habit is NOT so cute. when beforeeee you thought hey hes just like MEEEEE and got HORNY about it. well obviously if youre vale it is when he doesnt let you win at your own goddamn track at your own goddamn house in front of your own goddamn brother and various peers. that shit is irritating. which i do think marc realizes now, but is also largely unrepentant about because he's hilarious. free my girl he did all that but it was funny. our marc not famous for his wealth of tact and restraint on the track. and vale is thirty six staring down one last chance to maybe win his tenth. and earlier that week when he beat marc at that karting event he said finally somewhere you dont win. so yeah when marc doesnt roll over and let him get the lap record that day in 2014 all of those endearing traits where they overlap and are similar. change. morph. arent so cute anymore. the light shifts. the music hits a minor chord. ominous. foreshadowing. chekov's gun carefully being placed on the wall. and suddenly. kind of a theme with them huh. vale hates him for all the things he learned from vale.

so. we are here to ask how that emotion translates to nasty sex. obviously. like all of these complex emotions do NOT mean that vale does not want to get his dick sucked lmao. like he's here he's thirsty marc's been in a tiny little titty huggin black tshirt all day its happenin. AND. it should be noted that in a very real sense this is their first sleepover. first time fr hanging out outside the paddock in a place where there is PRIVACY. no real REPORTERS. an actual locking DOOR. no way to hide from the fact that theyve been all over each other for like TWO YEARS now. AND multiple yamaha M1S that can be used as somewhat SEXUAL PROPS. (vale feeling also perhaps. emotionally complex here. a lil delicate. like YEAH i can invite my coworkers i like to hang at my track thats bro stuff but what about my years long situationship that —*static noises in vale's brain* like remember this is where MARC thinks things start to change between them...)

so yeah vale ends up like. amping up that competitive edge a little in bed. making this a fuckbuddy thing more than a RELATIONSHIP thing as much as he can in his head and with his hands and failing miserably and feeling even WEIRDER about that. so he's. i think he's working hard at putting marc where he wants him. hot hands a little rougher on the curve of marc's waist. cupping his ass making him gasp. sending him to his knees and making him suck his dick hot and nasty. teasing a little edging on the little feminine nicknames theyve never talked about but that make marc squirm and flush prettily. edging marc with three fingers in his ass while he whines for it. dragging it out. exerting a little control. not mean at all everyone is having fun (marc. out of his MIND.) just. excising some tension. its probably nothing hes just in his head. holding marc in his hands as he looks up at him. and marc trusting it. marc going. marc being just where vale wants him. just like he never does on the track. and marc thinks everything is fine when its happening thinks everything is AMAZING. but after that is when vale starts to go a little cold......