#like everyone will tell me that i’ll get used to it or eventually it’ll get easier or something along those lines but like

[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!

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw oneshot #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader fanfiction #bradley bradshaw blurb #bradley bradshaw drabble #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster imagine #rooster x you #rooster oneshot #rooster blurb #rooster drabble #rooster fanfiction #rooster x reader fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw fanfiction #bradley rooster bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw oneshot

[kimabutch]

So I used to have intense cooking anxiety, to the point of frequently crying and/or having panic attacks in the kitchen — and now I love cooking and it rarely stresses me out. In case anyone else is going through that same struggle, a) I’m really sorry, that sucks immensely and don’t let anyone tell you it’s silly and b) here are a few rules I’ve made for myself that have helped me tremendously.

Never cook while hungry. Ever. It makes me sad, tired, and frustrated, which makes me try to go faster than I should, which just makes me more sad, tired, and frustrated. I keep small snacks on hand at all times.

Abandon the oppressive clutches of time. Trying to cook at a “normal” pace was one of the biggest sources of anxiety for me, so I don’t try to do that anymore. The recipe says it’ll take X minutes? Fake number, ignore it. It take a million years to cut a clove of garlic? That’s fine, I’ll get better over time. Other people are hungry? They can have one of my small snacks. Doing two things at once is too stressful? Do them one at a time, fuck efficiency. I’m feeling overwhelmed in the middle of a recipe? Almost all recipes can be completely paused in the middle of cooking by simply taking them off the heat, with very little effect on the final product.

Look up anything and everything. The internet sucks in many ways, but it has also allowed me to search for “skillet” or “scallion” dozens of times when I’ve forgotten, without anyone else knowing. If I’m anxious about making a substitution, I look it up. If I don’t know why something’s taking so long to cook, I look it up. There’s no shame in it.

My kitchen, my rules. And when I’m cooking in a kitchen, it temporarily becomes my kitchen. I kick people out if I need to. I put on my music or stay in blissful silence. I know not everyone can do this one, but even something like putting on noise-cancelling headphones and asking people not to talk to me as I cook has been helpful in decreasing my stress when sharing a kitchen.

Repeat recipes. Making something I already know I can make is so much less anxiety-inducing than making something new. It lets me actually practice the techniques they use and eventually, to tweak the recipe (something that used to make me super anxious), and eventually go faster or be more efficient. Anyone who doesn’t want to eat vegetable fried rice once a week for a whole month doesn’t need to eat my cooking.

Hope that helps someone and good luck out there!

#my stuff #misc #maybe I'm wrong but I'm convinced this is almost as prevalent as phone anxiety #from the number of people I've met who also struggle with it

[ghcstao3]

ahh, you guys got me, i’ll write more statue!ghoap (i was already planning to who are we kidding)

part 1

-

John is quick to learn that Simon is selective with his speaking.

He never asks questions, only makes observations. He listens to John’s rambling as he’s toured around the museum, only responds when necessary and never dares to greet other wandering exhibits.

John doesn’t mind. He’s long since learned how to fill silence.

Simon also seems to understand their limitations easily, finding his original pose with ease as the night comes to an end when John instructs him to, freezing in wait of dawn. John can’t help the fond smile that grows on his face watching him settle, lingering just before he’ll have to return to his own place.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” John says.

Simon never responds.

John watches Simon as he had the day prior, once he’s set himself right. He has to fight the smile that doesn’t seem to want to leave him just as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the room.

Change, he may like, but it can’t always be afforded.

Simon is again constantly swarmed by observers and cameras, the centre of attention as new artwork often becomes for a week or so before the storm calms. John is comforted knowing that even in spite of this popularity, he’s the only one who gets to see what’s hidden behind the skull.

And how he can’t wait to see it again. How he can’t wait to see it every night following.

The museum’s opening and closing go by too slowly and mercifully quick all at once, and soon enough John is moving over to Simon yet again, excited to tell him all the things he’d thought of over the course of the day to share.

This time, Simon does relax with everyone else, but he doesn’t move from his pedestal until John reaches out his hand to help him down. The skull is left in his place as they go to wander.

It’s hours into the evening, when John has lost track of his rambling that Simon finally speaks for the first time that night.

“I don’t like how many people there are,” he remarks.

John has to pause a moment, bronze joints creaking at his sudden halt. He looks up at Simon and the distant expression that shadows his face, and finds himself rubbing a comforting hand along Simon’s bicep before realizing what he’s doing. Even still, Simon does not pull away.

“It’ll slow down in time,” John promises—he speaks entirely from experience, though he hadn’t ever thought much of the attention. “Just happens whenever there’s a newcomer, is all.”

A frown tugs at Simon’s face. “But I’m not new.”

John hums. “No,” he agrees. “But to them, you are. In a few days, everything will be quieter. It’s just the cycle for all of us.”

John already knows Simon’s tells for when he’s thinking. He wonders if it’s a cause of Simon’s expression being obscured by a mask for as long as he’s existed, up until the night before.

“I don’t like being a display,” Simon decides quietly, determinedly.

John knows the feeling. Knows it goes deeper than just wanting to be hidden away from thousands of pairs of eyes on the daily. Knows it stems from a want to be real.

“Me neither,” John says softly. Simon looks troubled—it takes strength to keep from trying to smooth the artificial crease in his forehead, a gesture he’s seen many times from museum goers, among many others. “But it’s either this, or be stuck in a crate, or under rubble and earth somewhere. Alone. It’s hard to avoid when it’s the purpose we were created with.”

It’s all something John had to grapple with himself, once upon a time. But he’s had decades, now, to get used to it.

He’s sure Simon will as well, in time. John can only help him to adjust.

“C’mon, let’s go visit the other exhibits from your time,” John proposes, gently taking Simon’s hand. “Maybe you’ll know a few of them.”

Simon doesn’t have much to say for the rest of the night as he follows along—but it’s alright. John revels in his company anyway.

He’ll come around, eventually. John is certain of it.

#scheduled #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing #statue!ghoap #more to come maybe

[destinyisastar]

Goodbye, Hello

Chuuya x Reader

Takes place during the dark era, and what happens when Dazai leaves the port mafia, leaving his assistant behind.

Reader is gender neutral.

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

When Dazai decided to leave the mafia, everything went to hell. No rock was left unturned, everyone was asked if they'd seen him, and if they did and hid it, they were severely punished.

Being Dazai’s assistant you were the top suspect.

You were supposed to know where he was at all times, watch him, answer his calls, do his biddings. Now you are in Mori’s office.

Mori hasn’t said a word since you came in. You are aggressively picking at your skin, trying to calm your nerves, even if you have nothing to hide. 

Dazai didn’t tell you he was leaving, but you could have guessed that. The death of his dear friend affected him greatly.

The day after he came into his office and you were there waiting for him. He looked the same. Those dead eyes of his staring blankly. You had no idea what to say to him. He was quiet which was strange. Dazai always had something to say, whether that be a stupid greeting or a new prank method he wanted to use on Chuuya.

You stayed there in his office the entire time, waiting for his orders.

He never said a word.

Eventually, he got up and turned to you just before he reached the door.

“Goodbye, Y/N.” he said looking at you, but now his eyes showed a bit of light.

“Goodbye, Dazai.” Those were the last words you said to him.

There's tension in the air as you stare at the desk in front of you. 

“Y/N, look at me.” commands Mori.

You're shaking a bit as you look up at him.

“Do you know where Dazai is?” Mori asks.

“No, sir.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No, sir”

“Have you ever lied to me before?”

You take a second to answer,” Never, sir.”

“Are you lying to me now?” 

You look straight into his red eyes, “No, sir.”

5 minutes pass as he stares right into your eyes.

Mori stands up from behind his desk and walks towards the window.

“You are free to leave.”

You bow your head towards him and slowly, but quickly, walk out of the room.

Once you are out of his office, you take a deep sigh of relief.

Your hands are trembling.

You didn’t know he was going to leave.

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

Chuuya finds you the next day sitting on a bench by the port.

“You haven’t been answering my calls, I was worried about you.”

You don’t look at him.

“It's not your fault he left,” Chuuya says, sitting down next to you, “He did it by himself.”

You beg to differ, if you had done something sooner, the boss wouldn’t have his suspicions on you. Now, you can be killed at any time.

You continue to stare at the distance.

“Be my assistant.” 

You quickly turn to Chuuya, “What?” 

“The boss is suspecting you of aiding Dazai, be my assistant,” Chuuya states, “It’ll get a rabid dog off your back.”

The rabid dog being Akutagawa. Akutagawa has been giving you a death stare since Dazai had been labeled as “missing”. You're sure he is plotting your death.

“ It might make people think that you were helping Dazai too.” you tell Chuuya.

“ Like I would ever help that mackerel with anything.” Chuuya tells you, almost disgustedly.

“I know you didn’t help Dazai,”Chuuya places a hand on yours,” Be my assistant, please.”

You look away from him, staring back at the ocean.

“ I promise nothing will happen to you, I’ll take care of you.”His hand grips yours tighter.” I can’t lose you too.” His voice breaks at the last part.

You don’t want to lose him either.

You turn towards him and his face has gotten much closer to yours. Lips inches from each other.

“You promise to take care of me?” you ask in a whisper tone.

“You know I will.”

There's a moment of comforting silence between the two of you.

“Okay, I’ll be your assistant.” you say softly.

There’s a sigh of relief coming from Chuuya. “I’ll protect you with my life.” He pushes his forehead towards yours. “You won’t regret this, I swear.”

You laugh, “You're being way too sappy, what happened to the fierce Chuuya I know and love?”

Chuuya takes a moment to look at you, “Love?”

You blush slightly, “Of course I love you, you're very dear to me.” you look into his eyes, “Just don’t expect me to do all your reports.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

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

I honestly couldn't think of a title.

Peace out!

#chuuya x reader #dazai osamu #bsd x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara x reader #port mafia #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #dazai

[sopiao]

hiii, hope ur doing well both mentally and physically. :)))

can i request like a young, gen z, member of the 141 and konig. and just general scenarios and headcannons of what the base would be like???

-🧸

YEAH YEAH YEAH

dw pookies, i’ll always be ok writing for yall!!!

i’ve seen so many of these n there so creative 😭😭

this was def fun to write but i needed my bf for help on some.

(using my callsign again :3 ‘Shark’)

Not even a question that Shark would disrupt both Soap and Ghost to teach them how to do the stanky leg. Soap was literal ass with it, stiff and awkward, but he got the general idea.

Shark and Soap had to practically beg Ghost to do it, on their knees and hands clamped together. Shark even offered the last 7 dollars in their bank account for him to do it. Eventually he caved in. Surprisingly he’s actually really good, pretty smooth with it. But never again that this would happen. When pigs fly.

—

It was a daily occurrence for Shark to pester and poke at every member of the team. Today, it was König’s misfortune to be Shark’s victim today. Sitting in the common room while you bounced beside him. Hands up and guarding like you were boutta fight someone.

“Punch you in the face, elbow you in the face” You said in a stupid voice while fake punching him, stopping just before you actually touch him.

“Neck slice!” You take a little spin and hold the edge of your hand to his clothed neck. All König does is sigh and look up at you, obvious dark eye bags under his eyes.

—

Gaz suggested that everyone have a shared playlist amongst everyone, helps bring everyone closer, and it’ll be fun to listen to each others’ music while on mission or during training.

It was a good idea at first with everyone adding in their own songs. A weird mixed jumble of everyone unique and different music taste. But Shark’s was the most different, stuck out like a sore thumb. You could even tell when Shark would subtly do a little dance whenever it came on during a mission.

“My d-ck is big. My d-ck is very big. My d-ck is big, is big, is very very big” It boomed through the speakers of the training room, everyone froze or stopped their sparring when they heard the song. The only person who continued was Shark, swaying their hips a little to the beat of the song.

(Big Dick by Little Big)

—

Sweeping and empty establishment for any potential leftover enemies. König behind Shark against the wall with Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost against the other. It was an old apartment. Something caught Shark’s eye. Putting their hand up for everyone to stop.

Everyone thinking that they caught something, but instead they pull out their phone and take a photo of the four against a blue wall.

“What is it?” Gaz asks, wondering if they really did catch something but rolled his eyes when Shark started laughing at the fresh picture on their phone. Four men standing in front of a blue wall.

“You wouldn’t get it” They chuckled before stuffing their phone back in and signaling for everyone to continue.

“Remind me not to let them be lead again” Price muttered.

—

“Are you sure this is 100% safe to drink?” Gaz asked as he stared down at his cup, trying not to breathe in it’s toxic fumes.

“I’m pretty sure this stuff is radioactive” Ghost muttered under his breath. Holding the glass up to inspect it like it was a new found alien.

“I’m sure the old geezer would kick the bucket after a whiff of this” Soap chuckled to himself, earning a hard back of the head blow from the captain.

“You guys are being dramatic” Shark rolled their eyes. Earlier in the day, they begged Price to take them to buy something they wanted all of them to try. After enough begging and pleading he caved in.

“I don’t think zis is a good idea” König looked up at you, taking a single gummy worm from the rim as a little treat.

It was a mix of monster, half filled with cherry slushee, sour gummy worms rimming the plastic martini glass, 2 War beads dropped at the bottom, simmering at the top, a handful of sour patch kids, baby bottle pop powder mixed in, and a little bit of blue gatorade.

They saw it on social media and wanted to try it out, it wasn’t like it would be a daily drink, just to try it once. (Seriously though, do not consume this on a regular basis, let alone at all).

After enough hyping up, pep talk, and a countdown. They all took a mouthful of their witches potion concoction. Gaz spit it out, Ghost almost gagged, and Soap lost his vison. Price took it surprisingly well. Not even Shark was able to swallow half of it.

It gave them weird jitters and a big boost in energy. In one night they were able to deep clean the entire base, finally organize the arsenal, somehow separate all of the cereals. The marshmallows from the lucky charms, separate all the colors of the Fruit loops, and remove all the raisins in Raisin Bran.

They all woke up the next day feeling like they drank 19 gallons of alcohol the night before. Price slept like a baby, he actually felt a lil more energized when he woke up.

—

Price had been walking around all day, searching for Shark to ask for one of their reports. He knocks and barges into Gaz’s barracks. Finding him laying on his stomach on his bed and a comic book in front of him.

“Gaz, have ya’ seen Shark anywhere?” Price walks in with his hands on his hips. Gaz looks up at his captain then back at Shark that’s been discretely following close behind him for the past 10 minutes he’s been searching.

Looked at his captain, back to Shark, who shook their head and made and x with their fingers.

“Ehh.. No?” He hesitated, finding it amusing but needing to keep in a steady front.

“Al’right, champ. Thanks” He shakes his head before leaving the room with the missing soldier behind him, Price muttering frustrated remarks as he continues to search.

—

Shark took it upon themselves to make a little cup of coffee for Price since they know he likes to drink a cup in the morning. Placing it in front of him and taking a seat next to their captain with a cup in front of them.

“Aww. Thanks, kid! You didn’t have to” He smiles warmly at them before taking a deep sip of his cup. Watching his soldier do the same he notices it isn’t coffee. A more clear, pale-yellowish kind of color with steam coming off of it.

“Didn’t know we had tea. What kind did you make?” He initiates conversation, still looking down at his little sudoku puzzle on the newspaper.

“Tea?”

“What— What are you drinking?” He looked up at them then back at the mystery drink in front of them.

“Oh. I just boiled a can of Red Bull”.

“What—“.

“What”.

—

Walking into the lobby with a watermelon in one hand and metal knife in the other, except the actual blade was broken in the middle of the watermelon. They all stared at Shark, then the watermelon.

“We need a new knife”.

—

Waking up at 2 AM, sleepily stumbling into the bathroom, Price walked into the bathroom for a midnight piss. After he was done he walked by Soap’s barracks, seeing the light was on and the door was cracked open.

Opening the door, he saw Soap and Shark in their pjs, sitting on the bed with their backs turned toward him. They both froze and looked at each other.

“What’re ya’ doin’ so late at night?” He roughly grumbled and leaned against the doorframe, eyes still adjusting to the light. But, they wouldn’t turn to look at him, just answering and nodding their head.

“What are ya’ doing?” He asked more concerned and confused this time. Noticing how they wouldn’t face him and was super dismissive. Now that he was directly behind them, they accepted defeat and looked up. Both with pink bow or bunny headbands and a sheet face mask on each of them.

“What”.

A couple minutes later he’s laying on his stomach with a matching sheet mask and a black cat headband. Talking to his soldiers about his wife. Soap and Shark listening intently.

—

Visiting Shark’s home while they’re on a health leave to check on them, they all sat on the country house porch—Shark’s casted leg up on a stool— and talked about the missions they missed out on and how they were doing.

Gaz and König were playing and messing around with the farm animals, König’s was more petting and loving on the cows and goats while Gaz was feeding the little duckies.

König was running around, the cows playfully chasing him as he did.

“NO, LITTLE GERMAN BOY! DONT RUN INTO THE ELECTRIC FENCE” Shark called out once they saw him getting a little too close.

“Oh, mein gott! Zis fence is full of shocken!”

(Yes, I know he’s not german).

#call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod men #task 141 #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #price mw2 #gaz mw2 #cod headcanons #ghost headcanons #soap headcanons #price headcanons #gaz headcanons #cod modern warfare #ghost x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #lieutenant simon riley #kyle gaz garrick #cod konig #könig mw2 #könig headcanons #konig headcanons #konig x reader

[maximotts]

wanda pissing on u bc she needs to mark her territory teehee <3

This is 1000% sorority president!Wanda behavior and yes it did serve to derail me from editing the last few paragraphs of my fic to write these few paragraphs but I mean look at her, she’s so hot and possessive

Like, lounging around in her room with some other girls, but Wanda sees you paying too much attention to one of them and not only does she rip you away from the conversation, but forces you to move to her bed so she can sit on your lap and have to all to herself.

And eventually she’s wriggling around so much you can’t even watch the movie anymore, but she’s already mad at you so you don’t dare say a thing about it. Wanda just refuses to leave you alone for one second with the others for fear you’ll get up and start hanging out with them instead.. You’re used to her getting off on you too so you don’t think this is anything different until she’s already done it and you’re so blindsided you fall out of off the mattress, large wet spot clear as day on your borrowed sleep shorts.

“What a fucking baby, pissing all over us like you don’t know any better.”

You’re so dumbfounded you can’t say anything back, but when everyone believes her and starts giggling amongst themselves all you can do is wait for Wanda to yank you off the floor and into the bathroom, gripping your arm so tight it’ll definitely bruise. “Don’t you dare tell anyone or I’ll spank your pretty ass raw in the living room until you actually do wet yourself for everyone to see.”

Which yes, does scare you for a little until she gives you a nice big kiss before turning on the shower, “It’ll be our special secret, little sis.”

#the only reason wanda is allowed to be in the mentorship program is bc she’s the president I stg #shes so.. gaslight gatekeep 💀💀 #sorority!wanda #mini thoughts. #anon asks. #answered.

[cranberrv]

fic with dally teaching the reader how to drive?

never let me go

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which you and dallas go for a drive

( not proofread , swearing, lowercase intended )

when you were with dallas, you felt free. he was so reckless, so hardcore, and completely bananas. you loved to tag along on his stupid adventures, and now, your new outing is to check on ponyboy and johnny at the church that they’re hiding out in.

“you know how to drive, doll?” he asks you after picking you up, tossing you the keys. “buck won’t let me drive this beauty, but he trusts you.”

you laugh. “well he’s stupid to trust me, because i can’t drive.”

“you’re kiddin’,” he can’t hold his dumb smirk back. the endearing smirk that he gives you whenever he’s about to do something you won’t like. “c’mon, try it then, sweetie.”

“no way, dal,” you shake your head, but he’s already taken your spot in the passengers seat. “i’ll kill you, i’ll crash the car or something, i dunno-“

“i trust ya, stop freakin’ out,” he interuppts, dismissive of your worries. “i’ll teach ya how to work everythin’.”

you debate, but nod and sit in the drivers seat. gosh, it really was more intimidating up there.

“it’s pretty simple, hun,” he starts out. “pedal to your left is your clutch, it’ll make the car drive, pedal in your middle is your break, and pedal to your right is gas. you’d be stupid to not figure it out.” he looks back at you after showing you the pedals, and see’s your expression. “no, no, no, don’t give me that look. you’ll be fine. i’ll hold the wheel for ya.”

he directs you further, and eventually, you get the car going. his left hand is on yours, holding the wheel from the passengers side, helping you keep the car steady.

dallas puts in an elvis cd, and the music echoes throughout tulsa. “finally don’t gotta listen to your shit music,” he teases.

you smile and roll your eyes. “oh shut it, dal, i know you secretly like lesley gore.”

“‘sunshine and lollipops’ is the worst song i’ve ever heard. i’d rather you crash the car than to listen to that fuckin’ mess.”

“you’re mean,” you tease back, and he laughs.

“alright, that’s it, i’m lettin’ go of the wheel. i’m letting you kill us.”

“no, no, no,” you insist. “don’t let go.”

“my arm is cramping, doll,”

“don’t care. never let me go.”

he smiles, and holds your hand a little tighter. the summer breeze is coating the entire convertible in its warmth, your hair is waving in the wind, and dallas is just watching you drive, the focus in your eyes unmatched.

you reach a red light, and finally get a short break to relax. you turn to dallas. “i dunno how you drive everywhere, dal, this is stressful.”

“baby, you’re doin’ just fine.” he assures. “haven’t even run over anything yet, that’s somethin’, huh?”

“i don’t wanna kill us, dal.”

he laughs at that. “i’d hope so.” he takes a drag of his cigarette, then looks around at everything. you’re out of tulsa, out of the city. “i ain’t never been to the country before.”

“really? it’s nice, huh? all the trees and fields and stuff.”

“it looks fuckin’ boring. nothin’ to do around here, does everyone just play checkers or somethin’?”

“you’re such a downer,” you joke. you look up, and realize the light has just turned green. “oh- dal, which one is the clutch, again?”

“you’re a dumbass.” is all he says.

“dal!” you insist, and he puts his hand up in fake surrender. “i mean it, i’m keeping these cars waiting.”

“it’s your far left, doll.” he finally tells you, and you thank him, and then start driving.

you continue driving to meet the boys, and the country scenery is engulfing the both of you. fields on farmland, apple orchards, small, sweet towns, everything was so wholesome and welcoming.

you feel free, like the world is just yours and dally’s. you were born to live this moment, to drive through the countryside in your red convertible, the sun hitting your faces so perfectly that it feels like a coming-of-age movie. you feel golden.

#the outsiders #dallas winston #dally winston #dallas #dallas winston headcanons #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston fluff #dallas winston x reader #dally winston fluff

[cjsmalley]

Wished Away 4

Do The Research (or, How to Sell Your Sister's Soul):

The Ghost King paused, blinking, “You’re not actually trying to sell her soul?”

“No!” Buffy shouted, “I want to sell my soul for her!”

The King blinked some more, “But the ritual sells Dawn’s soul, not yours.”

He stopped floating and poked at the ritual circle, pointing out, “You used the right runes to sell her soul, not yours.”

“I wanna sell my soul,” Buffy assured, almost desperately.

“Okay, time out,” the King made the motions needed, “why are you trying to sell me souls? What for?”

And so Buffy explained and the King listened attentively, asking questions as needed and obviously already planning an offense.

The King, Danny, clapped his hands, “Okay, so here’s how we’ll play this. I’ll accept Dawn Summers’ soul—ah, ah, ah, hear me out, Buffy—like I said, I’ll take Dawn back with me to my dimension while we all work together on this Glory situation. After the dust settles, I’ll send her back. I don’t actually want her soul. So I’ll technically own her soul but we’ll do…shared custody? If that’s okay with you?”

He thought some more, “I’ll also pay her bills; like child support.”

The Scoobies boggled.

“That’s it?” Xander finally asked, “you wanna…adopt Dawnie?”

“Yes? That’s how we treat any kids I get sold. Adopted. Ours. Dawn would be my fourth child, second daughter…although I would probably just act as her uncle in this case. Her care and keeping would still fall to me.”

“Buffy,” Anya spoke up, “take the deal. I don’t think he’s lying.”

“But—”

“Slayer,” murmured Spike, “he isn’t lying. Bloke’s bein’ honest. Take the deal, protect the Nibblet.”

“What do we tell everyone while I’m gone?” Dawn asked.

“That you went to yer wanker of a da,” Spike answered quickly, “he took ya away from Sunnyhell, finally answered his phone after yer Mum died.”

“We’ll pack some things, make it look good,” Willow added, “we’ll pack a lot of your things, like you really are moving out.”

“Everyone will be upset you’re gone,” Tara agreed softly, “so it’ll be an easy charade.”

“I do want copies of her medical records,” Danny spoke up mildly, before asking, “So, Buffy Summers, do we have a Deal?”

“Dawn?”

“If he can help with Glory—”

“If I can’t, I can find someone who can.”

“Then I’ll go with him.”

Buffy nodded, squared her shoulders and said, “Then we have a Deal.”

Danny nodded, “Well, then Dawn Summers, welcome to the family.”

Within the day things were packed and the needed files were gathered.

The Scoobies met Dawn’s new family, or, well, part of it.

Who quickly absorbed the entirety of the Scoobies into the family, very few questions asked and most of them about allergies and favorites.

Even Spike was accepted, though the King’s parents had questions for him about his biology.

Eventually, though, it was time to say goodbye and Dawn was taken through a portal.

Danny and his eldest son—who refused to give any other name than ‘Chat Noir’, or, in English, the Black Cat—stayed behind as the atmosphere shifted into something decidedly more…tactical.

#danny phantom #ghost king danny #harry potter #buffy the vampire slayer #miraculous ladybug #DP #HP #ML #MLB #BTVS #dc comics #DC #JLA #supernatural #SPN #danny phantom crossover #multi-crossover #star wars #SW #used google translate #long reads #Charmed(1998) #scooby doo #scoobynatural #Wished Away Series #inuyasha

[writeforfandoms]

Warrior Song 9

Find the series masterlist

In which we learn that old adages still hold true. Or, medic is a terrible patient. Fortunately, she has good friends to help her. 

Warnings: mention of blood, mention of injury, swearing, Spartan cuddles. 

Word count: 2.8k

The next 48 hours proved to you and everyone around you that those old stories about medics being awful patients were all true. 

You scowled up at John, impatient with your own limits and frustrated with the sheer lack of anything to do. “I’ll keep off my leg,” you promised.

“No.”

“Just let me go sit and snark with the team! That won’t impact my healing at all.” 

“No.” 

“John–” You sucked in a breath when he sank to his knees next to your bed, putting you two closer to the same height. 

“You need to rest.” He frowned ever so slightly at you. “The team is not restful.” 

Well. You couldn’t actually argue that, much as you wanted to. “John. I’m losing my mind.” 

“No. You’re just bored.” He moved slowly, one hand cupping your cheek, his other covering one of yours. “You’ll be fine.”

You blew out a breath but nodded, a little grudgingly. “I could be better,” you muttered, half-hopeful. 

His lips twitched minutely. “If there’s something else you want…” He trailed off, almost teasingly. 

“Kiss me?” You tipped your head a little, watching him to make sure you hadn’t overstepped. 

Instead he complied, leaning in the rest of the way to kiss you, gently at first but with slowly building heat between you. For someone who you would bet had very little experience kissing, he sure learned fast. It took almost no time for you to reach up, scratching lightly at his stubble. The soft noise he made against your lips was entirely worth it.

Eventually, though, he pulled back. Far too soon for your liking, and possibly his, based on the way his gaze dipped down to your lips. 

“You are trouble,” he rumbled, though the way his fingers brushed over your cheek belied his words. “I have things I need to do. I’ll come back at dinner.” 

You pouted. “Since you can’t stay, can Joy share whatever information you’ve gathered with me? Maybe a fresh set of eyes will help.”

John hesitated, thinking it through. You gave him time - pushing wouldn’t help, not with him. Not with this. Then he nodded. “Behave,” he murmured, almost teasingly. And he was gone. 

You gave yourself a minute to just grin stupidly at your own hands, which were still tingling a little. And your lips. And… other parts of you.

Then you picked up your tablet. “Okay, Joy. Let’s go over everything from the top.”

“From the top?” She sounded faintly confused, shimmering blue hologram peering up at you from the tablet. 

“From the beginning, basically. We’re going to go over everything.” You smiled and shrugged. “I don’t know that I’ll have anything useful to contribute, but it’ll keep me in bed.” 

Joy grinned at you and started, as requested, from the beginning. You were not at all surprised that she had more information than Fernando did, as well as a deeper understanding of the Halo itself. 

“So this Harbinger knew what was on this Halo,” you murmured, tapping your fingers against your good thigh. “And she was looking for them, too.” 

“Right.” Joy shrugged. “We never found whatever she was looking for, though.” 

“The Endless.” You tipped your head back, frowning up at the ceiling. “The way she talked about them is… It sounds like the Forerunners were scared of them. They locked the Endless away, but why? What did they do that was so bad?” You huffed out a breath. 

“That’s what I’ve been wondering, too!” Joy perked up at having someone share her curiosity. 

“Unfortunately, I doubt we’ll get any answers without finding these people first,” you grumbled. “And that sounds like a bad idea, honestly.” 

Joy sighed. “You’re probably right. Despondent Pyre tried to tell us more, but…” 

“Right.” You hummed a little. “But we know that the Harbinger wanted to get to the, uh, what was it called?”

“Silent Auditorium,” Joy provided helpfully.

“Yes, that. But we don’t know exactly where that is.”

“Right.”

“And at this point we just have to assume that nobody else is trying to release the Endless.”

“Also right!”

You sighed. “No wonder command wants answers,” you grumbled. “Do you think there’s actually enough information in the Halo to help you find all of this?” 

“Probably. Somewhere.” Joy shrugged.

“Well. No pressure, then.” You snorted quietly. 

“Something like that.”

You jumped and then swore when your thigh pulled tight with the motion. John was next to you a moment later, moving your tablet to the side. 

“I apologize,” he murmured, one hand landing on your knee. 

“It’s fine.” You breathed slowly, willing the ache to go away. “Just didn’t hear you coming.” 

“Let me see.” John pushed up the hem of the loose shorts you were wearing until he could examine the bandages for himself. There was no blood, fortunately. (Yesterday he’d very calmly freaked out when he discovered you nearly bled through a gauze pad because you tried stretching out your leg.) 

“I’m fine,” you told him, warmly exasperated. “No need to fuss.” 

He gave you a look that very clearly disagreed with that statement, but he smoothed your shorts back into place anyway. “Are you hungry?” 

You shrugged. You’d been too busy to think about food, and your appetite had been… finicky while you were stuck in bed. “I could eat,” you hedged. 

“Fernando is bringing food.” 

“Oh so you finally decided I’m well enough for some company?” You smiled at him to take the sting out of your words, putting a hand over his.

“I was overruled.” The words were completely deadpan, but you could see the humor in his eyes. 

“Ah, he finally staged a rebellion.” You nodded wisely, fighting to keep your expression neutral. “Good man.” 

John huffed his soft laugh, fingers tickling your thigh just under the hem of your shorts. “Behave.”

You squeaked and batted at his hand, but it was too late. He’d already noted your reaction. “Don’t you dare,” you threatened, pointing a finger sternly at him. 

“Hm.” He left you guessing for a few moments before he carefully eased his hand back. “Not until you’re healed.” 

A knock on the door interrupted things from devolving any further, and Fernando stepped inside carrying three trays carefully balanced in his arms. 

“A little help, big guy?” he asked, stepping forward carefully. John stood to take two of the trays from him, and Fernando heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” You shrugged, taking your tray from John and carefully settling it across your lap. “Still going stir-crazy, but less so since Joy and I talked.” 

“When are you going back to medical?” Fernando snagged the chair before John could, sitting at the little table. 

“Tomorrow.” You huffed out a breath and pushed your food around. “I’m not sure if they’ll clear me to go yet.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat, the weight of words you couldn’t say lodging there for a moment. You should go without me. You need to keep working on this, before something else happens. It’s not worth waiting for me.

Fernando waved a hand. “Not everybody heals like these guys,” he said, nodding to Chief. “Not a bad thing. He’s too quick to throw himself off things.”

“Off things?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows. A quick glance at John showed him eating mechanically, refusing to rise to the teasing. 

“Oh yeah. Called me for an extraction once and just threw himself off the tower. Had to catch him in the back of the Pelican.” 

“Seriously?” You looked at John, incredulous.

He shrugged. “It was falling apart.” 

You shook your head, snorting. “Well. I guess that’s one way to evac.” 

Fernando smirked, mischievous and amused. “We could always find something to throw you off of,” he teased.

“I can still go find more cuddle pollen,” you threatened. “Don’t think I won’t.” 

“That was an experience,” Fred said from the doorway. “Definitely worked on Chief.”

John shot the other Spartan a quelling look, but Fred merely smirked and found an open space on the floor to sit. Kelly and Linda followed him in, leaving your room absolutely crowded. Linda ended up perched cross-legged on the end of your bed. 

“What, are we having a sleepover party?” you asked, grinning. “I can probably find a good movie, but I’m afraid I’m fresh out of nail polish and gossip rags.” 

“I’m not explaining why we’re hauling blankets in here,” Fernando immediately said. “One of you can do it.” 

“Dinner first.” Linda gently jostled your foot on your uninjured leg. 

“Yes ma’am.” You rolled your eyes but obediently started eating. You almost missed Fernando snickering and nudging John with his foot. Almost. But you didn’t press for now, just watching with a smile as everyone relaxed and ate their dinners. 

You’d been joking with the sleepover comment, but Linda and Kelly gathered up all the empty trays and left, while Fred and Fernando (mostly Fred) moved the table and chair to make a tiny bit more room on the floor. John only moved to gently nudge you a little further up and then sit behind you on the bed. Confused but more than willing to roll with it, you leaned back into his warmth. 

It didn’t take long for Kelly and Linda to return with arms full of blankets and pillows. Linda just threw her whole armful at Fred, and for a moment you wondered if your room was about to become a warzone. But John cleared his throat, rather pointedly, and they settled down. 

“So, what’re we watching?” Fernando eyed the Spartans for a moment before he shrugged and sprawled across the floor, taking up as much room as physically possible. 

“I’m torn between a terrible old sci-fi movie and a terrible old romcom,” you drawled, subtly snuggling back into John. One of his hands landed on your hip, warm and comforting. 

“Is the terrible old sci-fi something I can laugh at?” Kelly asked, shoving one of Fernando’s legs out of her way. 

“Sure, go for it.” 

“Then we’re watching sci-fi.”

“Kelly, you are the only person here who has not been in charge of Blue Team,” Fred grumbled, casually manhandling Fernando into behaving like a normal person and sitting up with the others. 

“Guess I’m in charge tonight.” Kelly shrugged, looking pleased with herself. 

You ignored the minor squabble breaking out on the floor to take your tablet, picking an old sci-fi movie you knew Kelly would have fun making fun of. It took a bit of doing, but you got it projecting up where everyone could see it. 

You paid attention to the movie… for about the first five minutes. Then John tucked his nose behind your ear, nuzzling gently against your skin, and you were lost. A gentle kiss pressed to the skin there made you melt, eyes closing in near-bliss. 

And, really, you were warm and comfortable, with the familiar sounds of the movie in the background. The gentle kisses were soothing more than anything, the weight of John’s hands reassuring. 

What else could you do but fall asleep?

You woke over-warm to a very full room. Fred, Linda, Kelly, and Fernando were all sleeping on the floor, and you were still reclining against John… who had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall to keep you comfortable. 

Your heart absolutely melted and you very carefully started to wiggle your way out of his arms. 

“Where are you going?” His voice was extra rumbly first thing in the morning, and his arms tightened around you, just a little. 

“Bathroom,” you muttered, patting one of his hands. 

He grunted softly but helped you stand, holding out one arm to help you hold steady while he stood. 

“I’ll try walking on it,” you murmured. “Just. Carefully.”

John nodded but still boosted you over the pile of snoozing bodies on the floor so you wouldn’t have to navigate that on your own. Which, admittedly, was probably a good idea.

But you were able to do a hop-shuffle down to the bathroom and back, which you counted as a win. And very definite progress.

“When are you going down to medical?” John asked as he helped you back to bed. 

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “Any time, I suppose,” you grumbled. “Doesn’t matter too much.” 

John nodded, giving you a few moments to get situated again. “I’ll go with you.”

That earned him a smile. “Thank you.” 

Fernando groaned from the floor. “Too early for this,” he grumbled, even as he pushed himself upright. 

“You are in my room,” you pointed out mildly. 

“Shared property now,” he grunted back. “Think they still have coffee?” 

“Probably.” You grinned at the way he perked up almost immediately. “Go on, go get some. Shoo.”

Fernando gave you a mock salute while the other three Spartans got up, and all of them trooped out together. Too cute. You tried to hide your grin, probably unsuccessfully. You couldn’t help it - all of these people had made room for themselves in your heart. 

“John?” 

He blinked at you, one hand resting on your knee. 

“Don’t delay the mission for me.” You swallowed hard. 

“I’m not.” He squeezed your knee gently. “We’re still assessing the best way to proceed.” 

You eyed him for a moment, worried he was stretching things. But he met your gaze steadily, so you nodded. 

“Okay. Good.” You let out a slow breath, battling back the low-key anxiety. 

“Ready to go?” John asked quietly, watching you closely.

“As I’ll ever be,” you agreed with forced cheer. “Let’s get this over with.”

John nodded and helped you to medbay, making sure you didn’t injure yourself further. But the biofoam had done its job, as far as you could tell. 

At least, your thigh hurt less than it had after you’d gotten shot, so you were figuring that was a good sign. 

Of course, that didn’t stop the chief medical officer from scowling at you when you came limping in, using John as a crutch. 

“Sit, in there.” She pointed down the hall to a room, and you wrinkled your nose at her tone but obeyed. John stayed quiet and out of the way as you got settled. 

It took no time to get the bandages off, and you breathed a sigh of relief to see almost no blood on them. The wound was still tender but it was healing fast. One of the benefits of biofoam - it helped to get tissue rebuilding faster than it would on its own. 

“Well, you’re in luck,” she told you, sounding only a little sour. “Looks like you’re healing well. Keep weight off of it for another couple days if you can, and you’ll be fine.” She stripped her gloves off and tossed them. “You know where we are if you need more help.”

You clenched your jaw at the subtle dig but managed to not respond, instead focusing on getting to your feet. Well. Foot. You happened to agree with the assessment of keeping weight off of your leg for a little longer if you could. More time to heal could only be a good thing in this case. 

Wordlessly, John offered you his arm again, and you squeezed his forearm gently in thanks. 

“That was about as close to an all clear as I’ll get from her,” you said, walking carefully back towards your room. “I was planning to keep off my leg as much as possible anyway, at least until it’s more healed.”

John nodded, looking thoughtful. Something about that look caused you some concern. 

“You know, if you were happening to be thinking anything along the lines of leaving me behind because this is dangerous…” You let your words trail off into a vaguely threatening silence. 

He huffed softly. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, dry as dust.

“Good.” You nodded your satisfaction, tightening your grip on his arm as you very nearly tripped over some bits of rubble. “Because otherwise I’d have to figure out how to kick your ass with one working leg.” 

He huffed again and wordlessly scooped you up into his arms. Ignoring your soft swearing, he carried you the rest of the way to your room. 

“Joy will update you after today’s meeting,” he promised. His lips twitched, gaze warm as he lowered you into bed. “Behave.” 

A quick kiss and he was gone, striding out of your room again like a man on a mission. And, well, he kind of was. He kind of always was. Or. Almost always. 

Maybe you could get him to relax more, give him more nights like last night. Some times where the mission wasn’t the only thing on his mind.

#warrior song #john-117 x reader #master chief x reader #f!reader

[dragongirl028]

Onyx Equinox: All Hope is NOT Lost!

So for those of you who don't know, Anna Lencioni (the wife of Onyx Equinox creator and Executive Producer, Sofia Alexander) has begun to regularly host live streams on Twitch every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon to chat with fans while animating segments of her upcoming Indie series Enceladus V. Who should walk in and join for a little while on the latest stream, but Sofia herself (shocker)!

Not just that, but the two divulged on some super juicy, super hopeful information regarding the future of Onyx Equinox, and, let me say, folks: All hope is NOT lost on this series! There's a chance we'll be getting more information, and possibly even more seasons, in MUCH due time. Here's every detail I noted down from the stream relating to the future of Onyx Equinox (SPOILER WARNING (duh)!!!):

• Sofia wanted to explore K’in in a more nuanced way in season 2; he was going to have a lot of growth in that season, since he finds out Yun never wanted to be an ulama player, and was pressured into it by his twin brother • “I think you should come onto my stream and tell everyone what would’ve happened in season 2… we gotta schedule that one… we might have to do an English and Spanish simulcast.” - Anna • Ship-hinting/queer characters/more LGBTQ+ representation in Onyx Equinox: Yes, yes, and yes. More info will be given in the exposition stream • Gustavo “would probably work for free” on future seasons • “Crunchyroll doesn’t give a SINGLE fuck.” High Guardian Spice's OST was released, and Crunchyroll didn’t care about that • Gustavo technically owns Onyx Equinox’s OST, he’ll likely be the one to release it, once he’s less busy

• If properly finished, Onyx Equinox would have three seasons AND a movie; the movie would be pretty much an origin story, focusing on Tezcatlipoca and Quetzalcoatl vs. Cipactli • Crunchyroll DID ask Sofia to write a season 2, but then the merger with Sony happened, and, well, we know what happened from there... • Coyolxāuhqui was going to be in season 2 as a “major fan” of Mictecacihuatl, and [Micteca] was going to be on “the good side… one of the heroes, so-to-speak.” • “There is a contract. I think Sofi has rights [to Onyx Equinox] in her version, but we haven’t explored it yet, and I think we need to.” • “I have become a little bit selfish about sharing more [about Onyx Equinox and the characters], because I feel like the industry already sucked me dry… eventually, I’ll be healed enough to say ‘Yeah, let’s give it another try, and fight for this.’ I feel that if Onyx is meant to be told, it’ll be told, even if it takes a little bit.” - Sofia • Final words of the stream: “We’ll keep you updated on the Onyx Equinox exposition stream!”

So, yes! As Miracle Max from The Princess Bride has said, Onyx Equinox is "only mostly dead". Will we need to wait while for more information and content? Absolutely. Will it be worth it? AB-SO-LUTE-LY! The Gods have heard us, folks! Onyx Equinox someday, will be back!

#onyx equinox #commentary #long post #signal boost

[hiraya-rawr]

so i betrayed you, my love– (3/5)

Xiao Version || Childe Version || Thoma Version || Gorou Version || Ayato Version

synopsis !! Part 2 of “You Were The Enemy All Along” featuring the aftermath of betrayal and confrontation, with more depth to their stories! (Part 1 of each character was also included to make reading convenient.)

contains !! some character lore spoilers / a little violence / dialogue heavy in some scenes / reconciliation but also complicated relationships mending together / cameos of other characters! / might be easier to understand if you knew the lore of the characters 

notes !! This was commissioned by the wonderful @mh8 who allowed this to be posted in public for everyone to enjoy! thoma's part was written on a plane and during my exams, so i hope the mood isn't too chaotic.

THOMA

wc !! 1.6k

Stares at you in disbelief before trying to make sense of the situation; were you forced? Why were you doing this? are you in need of help? Even with how obvious your betrayal is, he begs you for an answer, desperately looking for any excuse.

"You know I'll take your side if you could just– tell me why," It's a plea from his lips. Even when you bring out your own weapon, he hesitates to fight you. He'll only do so in self-defense, blocking every fatal blow you throw at him but he's too distracted with the way his heart aches that you actually hurt him for real.

Even with an injury, he can't bring himself to use his vision against you. Ayato has to intervene, quickly coming to his aide and once you're gone and away, Thoma sits there feeling lost. The healers tend to him and he doesn't even flinch at their ministrations, eyes staring distantly at where you last were.

He thinks of you often.

No matter how much he tells Ayato and Ayaka that he's fine, that it's over with, and that he's gradually forgetting you ever left a mark in his life— he still thinks of you often. It's in passing moments and every close of his eyes, he sees you and remembers— not just your betrayal, but everything. You and him laughing, you and him doing chores, you and him carrying out classified missions at the dead of the night (missions you would eventually relay to an informant, who would then relay it to Watatsumi’s army. You traitor, you traitor, you traitor—).

“How is your injury, Thoma?” Ayato breaks him from his trance. This isn't good, he's thinking about you again. Sometimes he wonders if he could deal with this better had he been more sound of mind; less sensitive, less attached, more tough. If you were here, you’d scold him and say that he's amazing just the way he i— again! You on his mind!

“Thoma?” Ayato repeats.

“It's getting better, Waka. It doesn't even bother me when I do my chores!” He plays off and -as if to prove himself- he rolls his left shoulder in little circles, ignoring the tinge of pain it sends.

“Hmm. . . alright. I’d still rather you stop doing chores altogether and wait for a full recovery but I’ll trust your judgment.” Ayato sighs. No, it isn't that he trusts Thoma’s judgment— heck! Thoma would do chores even if the injuries made it impossible. The only reason Ayato and Ayaka agreed for him to continue working would be because he –with all the shame in the world– acted like a lost man. Recovering from his injuries meant sitting still, sitting still meant looking up at his bedroom ceiling, watching out the window, thinking.

~

“What if we decorate your ceiling?” You once asked, leaning on his chest as he gently strokes your head. It was an exhausting day which led to a calm night of cuddling. Simply basking in each other’s presence.

“Why would we do that? What would you even add to it?” He asks nonchalantly, almost humming.

“It’ll make nights like these more interesting. More things to see when we lie down together.”

~

Thoughts. It's you again. This happens every time he stops working, every time he gives himself a minute to think, you slip inside his mental barriers and try to break him down all over again.

He wonders when did he lose you. Was it the day he found out? The day you first met? Or perhaps, he never had you to lose you in the first place.

It was the beginning of the cracks; Watatsumi and Narukami, head to head with growing tensions. Nothing was clear about the situation, just that news of Watatsumi rebelling against the newly placed decrees turned the relationship between the two islands to turn sour. Kokomi, who always planned ahead for every “what if” scenario, placed you exactly for the likelihood of unexpected tension. You took the job believing you could foster peace. It was every hero's idealized dream— with you disseminating information to the army, perhaps this little rebellion could end without worries. 

But like cracks on the walls, you underestimated how much it would spread— and how terribly violent it turned out to be. Soon enough, people were dying, committing war crimes, civil feuds. The information you sent became a matter of life or death.

Death to Thoma’s side, Life to yours. Until—

“We're working with the Watatsumi army?!” Thoma exclaims, hand on the table as he looks at Ayato, baffled. “But– the Shogun! The Sakoku decree! The guards!” And you. Your name is on the tip of his tongue and it almost slips out. There's you and how you turned your back on them (on him). How could he just bury that? No way could Ayato have forgotten!

“I understand where you're coming from, Thoma, but this was a decision made after much consideration. Ayaka is already aware of it and even contributed to forming an alliance. Besides,” Ayato pauses to look at Thoma, almost deliberating whether he should say it or not, “We should not forget. . . Kazuha. Our families have been allies for generations.”

Thoma knows the name that Ayato was supposed to say to convince him, but he's a time bomb and even the young commissioner is unsure whether your name could bring good weather or cause a storm in Thoma.

So he relented, “. . . Yes, Waka.”

It's odd to transition from thinking about your betrayal in every waking moment to thinking about this. . . alliance. Regardless of the Yashiro Commission’s silent support, it doesn't change the fact that they stood on a fence, waiting for the best benefits. You betrayed them and that was that.

Breaking your loyalty was one thing. Never having any sort of loyalty to them was another.

It was unforgivable.

~

It's been a while since the fall of the vision hunt decree and the opening of borders; A month since the start of peace talks and trade relations. You've grown used to attending the long meetings, mostly fueled by tension and backhanded insults, each side wishing to reap as much benefits from the other as possible. However, this was the first meeting you get to attend in Narukami Island. Kokomi and Gorou insisted on needing your knowledge of the area and it proved useful for navigating and discussion.

While you were proud to be included, the role you played was insignificant enough to escape to the courtyard without notice. It was exhausting to even breathe the same air as those politicians in that room.

~

He sees you first before you see him. Dressed in his retainer uniform, it seemed like he dropped Ayato off at the front before taking a stroll through the intricate courtyard.

He sees you first and his heart clenches. Ayato once told him disloyalty was unforgivable and he repeated it like a mantra in hopes of learning to hate you.

He sees you first and you see him second but the world stops all the same– fluttering butterflies and falling petals don't exist in the space you've both made as your eyes met, the world froze over.

You looked terrified, if not drowning in your own guilt. Yes, you worked for a good cause, but that didn't change how you used them. What would he say? How will he say it? Your mind runs on anxiety as you replay all the times you broke his trust (his trust, Thoma’s trust! How could you do that to someone so kind? So loving?). Will he call you a traitor? Ask you brokenly why you did what you did? Coldly look away from you? (You don't think you could take it if he turns the other way. Please don't turn the other way).

His steps rush towards you, hurried and face void and indescribable. 

Do you hate me now, Thoma? You think as anxiety spikes up, your feet frozen in place. ‘Will you scream? Demand why I’m here? Ask why I did it?’

At the last moment, right when you readied yourself for the inevitable, his arms reach out to you instead.  An embrace that encompasses warmth, as genuine as his pyro vision. You can't help the violent flinch at his touch but he doesn't let go, reassuring. It was simply an embrace. 

“I missed you,” He whispers when you didn't think he'd say anything, his grip tightening, “So much.”

And the floodgates begin. It's nonstop, the way your tears stream down your cheeks as if you've been holding back all this time. You grieved when you lost him. It's guilt that builds in you; climbing from your stomach to your throat to the tip of your tongue. Guilt desperately tries to escape you in words, and it does—

“I’m sorry, Thoma,” You cry, gripping onto him with equal desperation, “I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” You repeat like a mantra, “Archons, I’m so sorry, Thoma, I’m sorry I had to-”

He shushes you softly, cupping the back of your head to his neck. Comfort. “It's okay, I know, I know, I understand why you had to–”

“No, no,” You sob, shaking in refusal. Don't give me kindness now, you think, how dare you be so understanding? So sweet? “No, I hurt you. I hurt all of you and I’m really so, so sorry, Thoma–”

He falls silent, only resorting to gently rubbing your back with his hand, the other hand unable to release its grip on you. You're here now, you're back to him.

How could you ever deserve someone like him? Curse his empathy, his quiet forgiveness, how could he be so kind when you've beaten yourself up over and over for what you've done and how you've hurt him?

“I. . . know there's a lot we have to talk about. And a lot of things happened,” He starts clumsily, holding the back of your head to the crook of his neck in comfort. “But it's okay,” There's a lump in his throat which he tries to hide, “We’ll figure it all out. We have time.”

~

“And here I thought you despised disloyalty.” Yae Miko raises an eyebrow at the blue haired male as she looks away from the courtyard. They sat in the upper tearoom, the warm light contrasting the cool moonlight outside.

Ayato merely hums as he sips his tea, “I’m not as shallow as to disconsider the context. At the end of the day, Thoma is quite dear to me. I wouldn’t have planned this meeting otherwise.”

+ + +

thoma // honestly hard to write for because i was so stuck on imagining him mad, i completely forgot that thoma is capable of forgiving everything bc he’s selfless that way. He might run from his problems tho, which is why ayato makes such a good partner, helping him put everything together hnfjegni

#thoma #thoma x reader #genshin thoma #genshin thoma x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #genshin angst/comfort #thoma x you #genshin impact fanfic

[nishik1]

you jealous, nishimura? — does she like him? (smau + written)

|prev|masterlist|next|

warnings: NOT PROOF READ, this chapter is mainly written (im sorry 😭)

wc:903!!

“is it just me or has Niki been acting a little off today?” Heeseung says, causing everyone to look over to the boy to the tall boy who is sitting in the corner scowling as he watches you talk to Kai from across the studio.

“its nothing, he’s just jealous is all.” answered Sunghoon as he looked away from the boy and back at his phone.

“jealous? why?” Sunoo asks, tilting his head slightly and furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“because he saw Kai ask for Y/N’s number and now hes being all salty about it” Sunghoon explained, earning an “ohh” from all of the boys.

“did you say anything to him about it?” Jake asks as he sets his phone down next to him, looking directly at Sunghoon.

“I asked if he was jealous and if he liked her, to both which he said no. we all know thats a lie though, he makes it too obvious” Sunghoon chuckles, remembering the look on Niki’s face. His clenched jaw and intense stare practically carved into his mind. Niki wasn’t typically the jealous type, so when he is jealous, its usually a sight to see.

“he’s just in denial, I mean him and Y/N have been friends ever since he moved here. i mean ever since they were kids most of the time he spent with her he probably thought of her as a sister. but now that they’re older he’s starting to realize he doesn’t view her as a sister anymore.” Jay says, causing Heeseung to laugh.

“you’re saying that like they’re not just 17 years old.” Jake laughs.

“hey Sunghoon, do you think Y/N likes Kai?” Jungwon asks, earning everyone’s attention.

���I’m not sure, I haven’t seen them talking until today.” he shrugs his shoulders, earning a soft groan from Jungwon.

“well do you think she likes Niki?” Jungwon sighs.

“I’m not entirely sure about that either. the way she looks at him definitely isn’t the way best friends look at each other but she seems completely oblivious to this. I saw the way she looked at Kai though, theres definitely a difference but I can’t tell what it is.” Sunghoon says.

“and you think Niki likes Y/N, right?”

“oh not a doubt about it, he’s just totally in denial and won’t accept his feelings. I mean honestly, I’m okay with him dating Y/N. I trust him, he knows her probably even better than I do. I know he’ll take care of her, and if he hurts her then I’ll fight him.” Sunghoon says with a soft smile on his face as he looks over to Niki who is no longer scowling, but who is now furiously typing on his phone.

“you’re not wrong about the being in denial part. It’s so painfully obvious he likes her but he just doesn’t want to accept it. if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought they were dating.”

Heeseung says, agreeing with what Sunghoon said.“do you think he’d ever ask her out?”

“i think this is the first time he’s ever felt this way about my sister so it’ll take him some time to realize he likes her. but eventually, yeah i think so. i mean just the way they treat each other is enough proof for me.” Sunghoon says as he fishes his phone out of his pocket before turning it on to mindlessly scroll on social media. an amused smile growing on his face as he scrolls a bit.

“so you guys think it’d be a bad idea for us to try to get them together?” Jake asks, shoving a piece of candy into his mouth.

“maybe, i say we just let them figure it out themselves.” Jay shrugs his shoulders.

“Sunghoon what are you smiling about?” Heeseung says, peaking over Sunghoons shoulder to reveal a thread of tweets from Niki.

upon seeing the last two replies, Sunghoon whips his head around to look at you and Kai, who’s legs were barely touching, causing him to click his tongue at look back onto his phone.

“He has another private that he didnt tell us about?” Jake asks, slightly offended.

“He made it like two days ago, chill.”

“oh look, theres more.” Sunghoon says, clicking on the newest thread.

“hey guys, check this out. I think he’s finally starting to understand what’s happening.” Sunghoon says with a soft smirk, showing the thread to the boys who are sitting with him, causing them to giggle at Niki, who is absolutely down bad for you.

“hey, you ready to go home?” your brother asks, walking up to you with a small smile on his face.

“yeah, lemme go get Riki.” you say, getting up from the couch to go find your best friend. Sunghoon watches with a smile as you run up to your best friend. the boy who was once upset not to long ago has a wide smile on his face, just because of you.

“hey ‘Ki! you still wanna hang out later?” you say with a wide smile on your face as you wrap your arms around Niki, giving him a big hug.

“yeah of course, you wanna wear our matching outfits?” Niki asks, looking down at you as he wraps his arms around you.

“ew! match? with you? NEVER!” you say sarcastically as he pushes you away and flicks your forehead.

“oh whatever. now come on, Sunghoon Hyung is waiting!” Niki says, quickly dashing away from you as you scream at him for leaving you behind.

NOTES- this chapter is honestly really chaotic and im worried it makes no sense 😭😭 BUT OUR BOY NIKI IS STARTING TO UNDERSTAND HIS FEELINGS A LITTLE BETTER WOOHOOO!! also im sorry this chapter is mainly written 😭 i swear the next one will be a normal smau

taglist: open! @en-chantedtomeetyou @st4rfiles @txtbrainrot

#niki x reader #enhypen smau #niki smau #nishimura riki #enhypen #niki nishimura #nishimura niki #riki x reader #sunghoon #enhypen riki #riki enhypen #enha riki #enha smau #jungwon #niki enha #heeseung #you jealous nishimura #niki fluff #enhypen sunoo #enha sunoo #jake enha #jay enha

[ncitylights]

Holy Mother Mary - stalker!doyoung

Warnings: brief smut, noncon, pet names (baby and love), angst, doyoung is a bit of a sadist and isn’t as holy as he seems, doyoung threatens reader, knife usage (could be referred to as knife play), doyoung has a huge cock, jeongyeon (twice) is readers new best friend and is briefly in the story, doyoung has a dacryphilia kink (tell me if I missed something 😞 not proofread)

wc - 1.1k

Masterlist

Doyoung was sweet. Sweet to everyone that he encountered or crossed paths with. Constantly using his manners and giving people bright, cute smiles. That’s what made you love him.

You two were best friends. You both met in church – both age 7 – and being the sweet, friendly person that he is, he approached you first. You’re usually shy so you hesitated to talk to him as well, but eventually opened up after a few days.

Of course, you never had feelings for him, only loving him the way best friends are supposed to love each other, but he was an entirely different story, falling for you back in college. You told him that you didn’t want to ruin the friendship, and of course, he understood that so he didn’t bring it up anymore.

And that’s also when he started to hang out with others and leave you hanging, always making excuses to meet up with other friends. You didn’t like it when he left you alone after promising to hang out with you or come to your house to binge movies or tv shows.

So you started to avoid him as well, only occasionally talking to each other. You missed him more than anything but you thought that this was for the best.

That was all a year ago, and you two stopped talking months prior. Now, everywhere you go, you felt eyes on you.

“God, jeongyeon, what do I do? Everywhere I go, I feel like I’m being watched. Maybe I should go back to church.” You said in between grumbles, your head in your hands as you sat, frustrated and scared.

“Maybe you should. You’re probably just paranoid. Ever since you and Doyoung stopped talking, that’s when all of this began. You maybe miss him too much.” She replied, sipping on her coffee. You both were in a café, talking about work and drama, as usual.

“I’ll go later. It’ll make me feel closer to him.” You replied, lifting your head to look back at her, she lifting an eyebrow, placing the cup back down.

“You miss your Christian boyfriend that much? God, give me a break, he’s too happy for me.” She rolls her eyes in annoyance, clearly tired of you talking him.

“We never got together! He confessed once!” You argued back, loud, but not loud enough to attract attention to the table.

“Whatever. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. He gives me bad vibes.” She said, gathering her things, clearly ready to leave.

“Where are you going, jeong?” Your gaze follows her as she walk by you, your tone clearly confused and surprised.

“I have to get to work. My boss texted me before our get together and told me to come in,” She replied, a soft smile coming across her face as she kisses your cheek, the kiss not surprising you because that was the way you both said goodbye to each other.

“I promise you that I’ll text you later, mhm? Be careful.” She finished before leaving, leaving you all alone.

Sighing softly and grabbing your things, you left the café not long after her, walking to your car. As you hopped inside, setting all of your belongings down, that’s when you felt it. The cold feeling of being watched. You sighed, thinking nothing of it as you closed the car door, backing out of the parking lot and driving onto the road.

Today was gonna be a long day.

—

The church looked different from the last time you visited. Veins all around the building and in need of a pressure wash. Still, the church was your childhood.

You walked into the building, looking around immediately, a smile spreading across your face. The church still had the Jesus and Mary adorned walls, the statue of Jesus on the wall behind the alter, and the freshly polished pews. It almost made you feel like you were younger. You walked farther into the church, but something felt off..

“Reminds you of our childhood, huh?” A voice behind you said, the voice making your hairs stand on end. You turned around and just as you thought, your childhood best friend was there. He looked different. His natural black hair a bit messy and features more sharp and pointed. He still had the rosary that you gave him when you both were younger, which warmed your heart. He walked closer to you, an unknown glint in his pretty eyes.

“You still look the same from the last time I saw you, __.” He said, looking you up and down before licking over his lips, which slightly made you uncomfortable.

“I’ve been thinking about you so much, love.” He continued, walking even closer, causing you to back up, your back hitting the alter after a while.

“Following you everyday, waiting for the perfect time to get my hands on you. Waiting to get back at you for breaking my heart. I’ve been nothing but a sweetheart to you and you say that you don’t wanna be with me?” He grabs both of your wrists, turning you around before bending you over the cold alter.

Fear filled your eyes as you put the pieces together, understanding his true intentions. You open your mouth to scream but just as you do so, you feel something cold and sharp across your neck.

“Fucking scream and I’ll slit your pretty throat, understand?” He said as he put the knife back away and pulled your pants and panties down, holding your wrists with just one of his hands. You nod quickly so that you wouldn’t have any more problems with him. You can hear his buckle being undone and his jeans and boxers being pushed down his legs. You gag in disgust as he slaps his huge cock on your ass, a throaty chuckle erupting from him as he brings his fingers down to your cunt, rubbing small circles on your clit.

You bite your lip to keep quiet, refusing to give in to him. He grinds slowly, rubbing his cock on your perky ass. You glance down in complete disgust as Doyoung smacks your cunt, ripping a scream from your mouth, the beads of his rosary clinking together.

“There you go, baby. So fucking wet, I could never tell that you were scared to begin with.” He said with a fake coo, pushing his cock into your cunt, a disgusting, obscene squelch sounding in the echoey church. You begin to cry as he grabs your face, turning it to the Jesus statue in the front of both of you, the tears running on his soft, veiny hands.

“So pretty when you cry.” He groans out, pulling back before thrusting into you hard enough to knock the breath out of your body.

“How about we give him a little show, hm?”

#nct drabbles #nct hard hours #nct #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios #nct doyoung #nct hard thoughts #nct 127 drabbles #nct 127 doyoung #nct 127 hard hours #nct 127 hard thoughts #nct angst #nct smut #nct 127 x reader #kim doyoung #doyoung #tw noncon #🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️ #nct scenarios #nct ff #nct fanfic #nct fic #nct imagines #nct 127 imagines

[mikkomacko]

After reading the recent chapter of Him & I, the image of teen Nico and the others trying to adjust to life in NJ has me in a chokehold lol

May I request for any shenanigans our boys may have gotten into during their first few months in the states? 👀

Stop I love this request! Just a bunch of silly teen boys in a new country together haha

Thanks so much requesting! Let me know if you want some more funny moments between the guys

~~~~

“Nico, I love you man but when am I gonna get my own bed?”

Timo is sprawled out across the queen size bed, McDonald’s fries and a burger resting in his lap. It’s been his obsession food for the last month they’ve been in Jersey and Nico is patently waiting for the day it all makes him sick.

“I’m trying Timo,” he huffs, looking up from the hoard of emails he’s been sifting through. His first order of business when he got to Jersey was finding something in the area to invest in. That something was a beloved bar in the area that had been shut down a few years ago and now he’s trying to build it all back up. “A few more weeks and I’ll look for somewhere new, ok?”

The apartment is nice, not a penthouse but large and luxurious. Enough to keep them all comfortable until he can afford an equally nice place for everyone. Technically leased under Nico’s name, it’s his permanent home now. And the home of the friends he brought with him. Three bedrooms in all, but Jesper and Jonas brought their girls with them, and Nico felt it was best they got rooms for themselves. Leaving him and Timo to double-up unless someone wanted the couch.

“Not that I don’t like the bonding,” Timo laughs, shoveling fries into his mouth. “I just didn’t realize how much of a cuddler you are.”

“Shut up!” Nico grumbles, cheeks heating up. He’s not that much of a cuddler, it just happens. It doesn’t help that Timo is such a bed hog either. What else is he supposed to do when his friend is rolling onto his side of the bed?

Timo snickers, hitting play on the next episode of Friends. Nico goes back to work, approving orders and installs for the bar so that it’ll be ready to open by the end of the month. Eventually the loud, smacking footfall of Jonas float in and the elder Swiss boy’s head is poking into the master bedroom.

“What are you watching?” He ask innocently, and Timo pats the bed next to him. That’s all the invitation Jonas needs before he’s crashing into the mattress, settling against the headboard and stealing some chicken nuggets from Timo.

“Ladies at work tonight?” Timo asks him, and he nods. Nola and Nicole had both gotten work together at a fancy clothing store a few streets down. The pay isn’t great, but they’re able to save up and support themselves with Nico taking care of housing and food for everyone. And once the bar is up and running, him and the boys will have more work to do.

Jonas pulls out his phone, sending a text that’s barely buzzed in the group chat before Jesper is running into the room as well. He shoves Nico’s beanie down over his eyes, leaping onto the bed with the other boys.

Nico yanks the hat off, tossing it towards the closet and refocusing. He doesn’t even get five minutes of work done before Jesper is calling for him.

“What?”

“Come on boss,” he teases “working too hard. Join us in bed.”

Nico rolls his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You’re not my type.”

“Which one of us?”

“All of you.” Nico deadpans, looking up over his screen to find them all staring at him with puppy dog eyes.

“You love friends, come watch.” Jonas tells him. “I’ll let you sit next to Timo so you can snuggle?”

They all bust out laughing and it’s enough to get Nico to close his laptop. Rising from the desk, he pads over to the bed and knees his way up between Jonas and Timo.

He settles into the pillows, crossing his arms over his chest. Timo and Jonas are warm on either side of him, everyone’s biceps pressed tight against each other as they squish together.

Sometimes when Nico’s here, just him and his friends from home without thinking of everything he has to do, everything that comes with being the boss, he remembers his age. Still freshly 18 with too much money in his bank account and a responsibility to take care of the five other people he’s drug into this with him.

It makes him feel small. In a safe way though, because he’s got the people that believe in him and have his back. He’s got the Devs with him.

Maybe Jesper is right, maybe he is working too hard to make this work because he wakes up in the morning to a photo of him sleeping on Timo’s shoulder, a an arm and leg thrown over his best friends body.

#him and i #mob boss Nico blurb #mob boss Nico hischier #timo meier #jonas siegenthaler #jesper bratt #him and I blurb #requested

[hyatoro]

Sinbad Sub Headcanons

Sinbad

Part 2 of a request. You can find Kouen’s part here. 

SFW

Sinbad is a generous lover but because of everything that’s happened to him you can tell it’s all very surface level. Sure he can get up in people’s spaces and charm their pants off with his natural and hard earned charisma, but when it comes to his genuine relationships (as like a person) the ones that know him best have stuck with him even after seeing his ugly sides. 

How he loves and lets himself be loved can vary depending on what phase of Sinbad we’re talking about, but I’ll be sticking with the Sinbad we meet in early Magi. Not his prequel, and not late game Sinbad, though those are all sides of him. He is very welcome to public displays of affection, especially during festivals, but he hopes that his partner understands time and place, like when he has important meetings to arrange business deals. 

In contrast to Kouen, you wouldn’t need to be necessarily on his level djinn-wise. He just needs someone with a strong will to reign him in. He’s not as concerned about marrying another position of power. You’d likely still be somewhat of a power couple, since everyone he keeps around him is useful in one way or another. If we’re talking about having a relationship that has dom/sub stuff happening, then yeah. If he went to some red-light district and got dominated that’d be more a one time thing.

Your characterization is more open ended. As long as you find a way to make conversation with him and prove yourself, then you’re in. It’ll start as a fascination, and then evolve into an infatuation. Which honestly, he’d lie to himself about it because he doesn’t actually want to get distracted from his goals, which is what he thinks of it at the beginning. A distraction. Then he convinces himself that because you’re such a useful person that he’s just getting close to you to keep you in his arsenal. But then eventually he’d fold and admit that he’s weak for you. 

NSFW

Maybe he finally spills the beans when you corner him about why he’s been so annoying. “Why did you schedule me for so many meetings? All of which actually already have you in them so I don’t know why you would need me there.” 

Nervous sweating. “UH-”

He’s been in this wild mental state of “God she’s so hot and amazing and I’d be ok if she slapped me man i wish she would lol wouldn't that be funny” and “Haha eyes on the prize. Wake up and grind king.” 

So when you have him pushed up against a wall he’s frozen. And you already know he’s more than capable of just bolting if he wanted to. Then you realize exactly what weird emotions he’s feeling so you make the first move. 

A knowing look crosses your face and he gulps as you lean closer. You’re bent so that you’re looking up at him and he’s frozen like prey caught by a predator. And it’s kinda nice. 

You grab him by the collar of his shirt and whisk him away, and he can’t help but follow. Tired of dealing with his mental dilemma he surrendered the decision, the control, to you. 

As seen in my bondage headcanon for him, he needs a lot of trust. And that applies to all of this really. You may point out that dom/sub relationships need that in the first place. You’d be surprised. 

Of course he gives off his authoritative aura that exudes leadership, but he’s also just a silly goofy man sometimes. So it’s much easier to reign him in and transition to that dom/sub dynamic whenever, as opposed to Kouen where he has a hard line between private and public. 

Sinbad is down to get messy anywhere. 

Does not like choking. Is okay with gags if he’s not tied up. Basically if you want to tie him up you have to be thorough in making sure he’s comfortable. He doesn’t like anything around his neck like a collar or a choker because of his slave days. 

He likes edging and overstimulation. Testing his will and stamina gets him going and you can easily make him go crazy with little effort, or a lot. 

Kind of a masochist so he likes pain, but not to the point where you’re like actively trying to cause damage. It’s not like he hasn’t had worse but he doesn’t think getting beat is sexy. Spanking, pinching, slapping is all good. 

#magi the labyrinth of magic #magi #magi sinbad #sinbad magi #sinbad x reader #dom!reader #sub!sinbad #request