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neonovember · 11 months

Note

Oh my GOD oh my for okay though that new fic you wrote with Carmy? 12/10 chefs kiss mwah mwah MWAH!! 💕💕💕 That part with Carmy going ballistic and beating the shit out of that asshole customer I LOVED it!! Now it’s got me thinking of Carmen going absolutely feral, just insane if he’s in the kitchen cooking and calling orders, while you’re out front taking orders from customers. He and the rest of the kitchen just go silent and stop in their tracks when they hear a guy just screaming at the top of his lungs at you, using the absolute most vile words against you and Carmen just sees red, especially if whoever it is ups and yells something along the lines of “You stupid fucking whore-“ and Carmen’s just a blur as he POUNCES on this guy. (Richie’s either cheering him on or trying with all his strength to claw Carmen off before he straight up kills the guy)

Office Doors

Oooh you guys are spoiling me rotten with these requests…I love a good feral fic every once in a while and this one was..well you'll know what i'm talking about once you've read it ;) I haven't written Carmen in a day and I miss him already, school has been up my ass so if you have sent me a request, don't worry it's being written, and re-written and-. Thank you anon for getting my gears going and your lovely messages 🥰🥺 ur support means the world

warnings: swearing, objectification and misogyny, angst, oral (f recieving), smut, thigh riding (?), porn with plot, feral!carmen

carmen berzatto x reader!

(This is totally and completely canon btw)

You stretch your body across the diner tables, dipping a dirty cloth into lukewarm soapy water before rinsing it out. The lunch rush had just slowed to a even pace, the sound of Carmen yelling out dishes from his line finally quieting down.

You have just a little time to spare, and you spent that time quickly wiping down the Beef’s tables that had begun to accumulate a few too many stains and unfinished crumbs of bread.

You had grown up in a home that was always messy, all the time. And no matter how much times you had asked, and no matter how much times you had just done the chores themselves, the clutter of dirty dishes and old wet clothes in the laundry had permanently been embedded into your family home.

It’s partially why you had loved the sterile laboratory of you culinary kitchens. Clutter caused your skin to itch with anxiety, it made you feel dirty, and with the way you scrub the diner tables a little too hard you wonder if it's another one of the many joy’s your family had given you.

And whilst the Beef was so different from your environment back in culinary school, it wasn’t necessarily worse. In fact, you had grown to fall in love with the quirks of the kitchen, the ‘fuck you carmen’ napkin holder, the too small walkway, the framed pictures of beloved regulars and the staff’s families. Most of all, however, was the family you had built here, the kind you couldn't find working under a domineering CDC.

The kind that had always been waiting for you, been planted deep into the earth like roots.

Besides, you and Carmen had bonded together during the late nights after most of the family had gone home. Were you both were left, scrubbing the floor together in a rhythmic silence that seemed to be more therapeutic than work.

You’ve nearly finished wiping down the last of the stools perched against the counter top of the front when a loud guffawing causes you to break your trance-like state.

Jovial yelling breaks into the rarely quiet restaurant as the door swings open, and a stream of rowdy men dressed in pullovers and fleece jackets, with scarves and basketball hats of distinct sport team colours wrapped around their necks.

One man is fully decked out, sporting the jersey and beanie of what seemed to be a hockey team. The boom of his voice indicates he was the loudest too, unaware of the grumble of patrons around the restaurant that had grown annoyed at the man's violent rambling.

You breath out a sigh, finishing off wiping down the bar stools and putting the bucket of dirty water under the front counter. Before ironing out any creases in your apron and preparing yourself for the absolute headache this would cause.

They were a familiar bunch, usually coming in after games late after the dinner rush. It seemed there was a game during the early morning, as they grumble about not having anything to eat the entire day.

Their loud and annoying and swear too much and Carmen hates the way one of them looks at you but they order a shit ton of food and fuck if the bear needs money, what can you say.

Your eyes glance at a cup of coffee Richie had accidently left under the register, and you suddenly crave your afternoon pick me up well after the afternoon. The men begin walking up to the register, ignoring your polite greeting and going straight into listing off items from the menu as if you were a machine. You nod along all the words they were saying, and soon enough you give up on writing it down as they’ve practically ordered the entire menu safe for a few appetiser's.

“Make it quick, yeah? We’re bloody starving '' One of the men calls out from his seated position in one of the booths and you give them a tight lipped smile, resisting the urge to throw that coffee mug at him.

Carmen peeks his head from the entryway leading to the kitchen, his unruly ashy blonde curls falling to the sides as he shares a look with you, as if to say ‘you alright? And you nod in that unspoken way the two of you have and tell him that you can handle it. Working in a kitchen didn't have to teach you how to deal with assholes, you had your family to thank for that one again.

You hear the familiar sound of Carmen shouting out orders, and the sizzle of pans and boiling pots increase in order to push out the lengthy order before more foot traffic would pour in.

You’re trying to fix the register when it happens, something gets caught in the old janky machine, causing the cash drawer to get stuck as you have to hit its sides at a certain angle to get it to open up again. Years and Carmen refuses to get it fixed, or buy a new one all together, resorting to having it taped up and banged every couple hours to get it working again.

You almost don’t see him, until he is leaning against the counter, into the space between the cash register and you, a greasy smile pulling at his features and he watches you. You bite back a grimace at the way his eyes trail down your apron, fixated on the dip of skin that peeks from the top of your shirt.

“Something you need Sir?” You ask politely, taking a tentative step back, your hand gripping the edge of the counter.

The man smiles strangely at your comment, cocking his head to the side before replying suggestively

“I definitely want something”

You cough, biting back your knee-jerk response to hurl at him, you can feel the burn of embarrassment against your cheeks and you swallow as you try to reply with a steady response.

“You’re food will be out in a short-while-”

“You know, I think I’ve seen you around here, are you new to town?” The man tries to strike up a conversation

“Came here a few years ago and haven’t left since” You reply with a tight smile

“Ah! I know where you're from exactly now” The man replies with a grin that pulls his face upwards, it's eerie, his smile, like he knows something he shouldn't.

“There’s this porn star online, looks exactly like you, it’s kind of insane” The man replies with a smile that deepens as you stammer

You feel humiliated as you stare back at him, you don’t know what to say, and his eyes continue trailing down your body in a way that makes you feel disgustingly objectified. He’s reduced you to an object for him to gawk at, and you see the way the men behind him jeer and laugh that this is all a play to intimidate you.

You want to run straight home and scrub yourself clean, wash away the feeling of his imprinted gaze down the drain.

“You think we can recreate one of her videos when you get off work here?” The man replies, a glint in his eyes.

“What? You- you” You stammer and he breaks out into a laugh

“Awh, look at her, fucking shaking. Don’t tell me this is your first time?” The man eggs on to his friends, who have begun laughing and cheering him on.

You grit your teeth, trying to get the words out as you glance towards the kitchen, where was he? He leg twitches in want, wanting to get Carmen, wanting to run from the restaurants, wanting to run from the embarrassment and disgust you felt.

The flashes of Richie and Syd passing by is all you can see, the booming voice of Carmen being too wrapped up in the orders to notice what was happening.

“C'mon, just give me your number” The man presses on, leaning in so that only you can hear “It isn't like I don't know where you work” Before he leans back, muttering a halfhearted kidding under his breath

“You are disgusting” You spit out, trying to sound as confident as you can, and the mans eyebrow twitches, and he cocks his head like he was confused.

“What? I’m doing you a favour here, I'm actually a nice guy you know? Not one of those assholes on the street” The man scoffs, moving closer towards you and you have a feeling the man is waiting for a reason to lunge at you.

“Just, just take your food and your buddies and go alright? There doesn’t have to be a fight or-or” You continue, trying to de-escalate the situation and get him to just leave you the fuck alone.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m doing you a fucking favour and now your kicking me out?” The man begins to get heated, and his friends behind him watch on in silence, you can notice other customers begin to look your way, sensing the rising anger filling the room. You slowly step back, looking for something to shield yourself in case he comes at you.

“What, you think because you work you have some- some what, control? I don't think you know how this works doll, you give me your number, and I dump my load in you because your nothing but a stupid fucking whore” The man bellow, it’s so loud that it echoes through the Beef, that it reaches even the kitchen sinks where Manny is washing up.

The man’s face grows red as the veins near his neck begin to pop out, he emphasises the last word, spitting it out like that was all you were.

The restaurant goes silent as the man heaves in exertion, the sound of Carmen shooting out orders is mute now, the slice of steel against bamboo stops, and the bear is fucking quite for the first time since it opened.

Your body is pushed against the wall, near the swinging doors into the Kitchen, and you can see Carmen back to you, he has stopped cutting at his station, and the outline of muscle contracts under his white shirt.

Carmen turns, slowly, he turns to the family, as they all momentarily stop their tasks in shock at what they had just heard. He begins to chuckle a little to himself, as he replies in a quiet voice you and the man can still hear.

“What did he just say?”

“Did he really say that? Did he really?” Carmen laughs to himself, nodding and gripping his hands into tight fists as the restaurant air gets thin. The man who had been screaming at you looks towards Carmen in confused fear, not knowing why this man was laughing and yet understanding he had completely fucked up.

The rest of the patrons can hear Carmen’s words, eyes widening, as they realise they were about to be collateral to a very one sided beat down. The crew looked at Carmen in silence, they had been used to Carmen's hot-headed temper, his bursts of anger that was more passion than rage. But this? This quiet silence of Carmen’s words, the way his chest heaves as you glances at your frightened position against the wall? They genuinely feared what he would do next, a silent rage like no other begins to envelop the restaurant, the air thin and suffocating as Carmen begins to walk through the kitchen and into the front counter.

“Don’t call an ambulance this time” Carmen mutters to Richie as he passes him by, Carmen’s eyes are fixed on you, trailing down your body before fixating on the shake of your hands. Carmen knows you well, and it’s the clench of your throat, like you're suffocating, like you can’t breath that snaps something in Carmen.

A malevolence Carmen has never felt spills into his gut, the burn of anger spreading against his chest until hes practically shaking with it, he is filled with this heart ache, like his heart is split in two and gushing as he realises his been cutting fucking chives whilst you nearly died.

And something predatory fills Carmen, like he must prove to himself he can protect you, and in one swift move, like muscle memory etched into his bones, Carmen jumps over the front counter and swings his fist in one clean motion, knocking the man across the room.

The man’s body crumbles as he slams into the hardwood floor of the Beef, the immediate groan of twisted pain and pleads leave the man's mouth and Carmen is just so sick of his goddamn voice.

It all went quiet then, the noise of Sydney yelling, of his friends, of the man’s heaving wet coughs, the air conditioner, all white noise. Carmen’s hand reaches for his ankle, dragging him back from his crawling escape.

“Oh, no no no, we’re not escaping now are we?” Carmen grunts, his voice lower than it usually is.

Carmen wraps an arm around his throat, holding him there as he brings down his fist across his face. The wet sound of bones crunching into muscle and skin go on forever, bouncing across the room until the throaty heave of the man is all that is left of him. Carmen cannot stop the swing of his fists, something possesses him and as one of the men in hockey colours tries to grab Carmen arm he throws him back into the stack of barstool's piled near the tables. He is facing his back to you again, and you state, fixated on how his body moves to support him, the contracts and outline of his strong back, his large forearms that break bone with a mere swing.

His face swollen beyond recognition, piss and blood leaking from him, eyes bloodshot and awry.

Carmen picks him up by his collar, the smudge of blood dripping down and staining his vest, whispering into his ear as the man’s eyes widen in harrowed fear.

“Apologise”

“..Whatnhn?” The man mumbles, the feel of his tongue swelling up and going numb, Carmen presses a hand against the man's bruised stomach, pushing against the broken bone of his ribs until the Man wails in agony.

“Apologise to her or I swear to god I’m breaking your fucking legs”

The man spits out an apology, but you’re not looking at him, staring transfixed at Carmen, at the way he’s golden curls fall across his eyebrows, at the way his muscles flex against his white shirt, at the way droplets of blood are splattered across the skin of his jaw. Carmen looks towards you, and something dark takes over his cerulean blues, blowing them out.

“Do you accept? Huh honey?”

You nod, letting an exhale out and Carmen tosses the man to a pile on the floor, reaching for your hand and dragging you to the office, you can hear the scatter of shoes as the men drag their friend out of the beef, and the crew looks towards each other in satisfaction, but also in knowing, in knowing they wouldn't dare open those office doors.

The soft glow of the office is a stark difference to the bright light of the front counter, and you have to blink a couple times for your eyes to adjust, and when you do Carmen’s face is inches from you, leaning you against the office doors, his arm above your head.

“You didn't- didn’t have to” You mumble, your voice caught in your throat for a different reason.

Carmen looks down at you, shaking his head in amusement

“Don’t lie to me, you enjoyed that more than I did” Carmen whispers, leaning down near your ear, pressing his nose against the curve of your neck.

You let out a breathless sigh, and Carmen groans as he smells that familiar vanilla always hinted on your skin Carmen could smell when you passed by you. Now, now, he can practically taste it right on his tongue.

The truth was, you did enjoy it, despite being non confrontational and cringing every time Richie would show you a fight where the crunch of bone on gravel makes you shudder, you were transfixed by Carmen.

By the way he broke the man to a heaving mess with just his fuckinf fists, those same arms that are edging closer and closer to you, how would they feel between your thighs? The thought wraps itself tight in your belly, and you have to squeeze your thighs for friction.

No one had done that to you, no one had done that for you, and in a strange way it felt nice to be protected. To be wanted, and it causes a need to start building deep within you.

Carmen's eyes fall to you, and his eyebrow twitches as a look of guilt washes over his features.

“I should’ve been there, I- fuck, did he do anything? Let me get a look at you” Carmen replies softly, grabbing your wrists to look for any bruises he feared you had.

“I’m fine, just a little, uhm, shaken up you know? Said some pretty horrible things” You reply, scratching at your neck as your mind replays the way he had reduced you to a thing.

Carmen shakes his head, his teeth grinding as he grips his fists, his biceps flexing.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with that, deal with people like fucking him, I swear to god if I find him on the street I’m gonna-“

“Gonna what? Finish off the job? There is always going to be guys like him, that isn’t going to change, and it’s something I have to deal with. But what I can’t deal with is if you get yourself thrown into a jail cell because of-of me” You reply, shaking your head and Carmen looks at you like he’s in love.

Gripping a hand to your chin, Carmen raises it so that you catch the burn of his cerulean blues as you can see.

“And That would be an honourable death for me” Carmen mutters, and you can’t take your eyes off him, until you're gripping his blood stain shirt tight against your chest until the suppression groans leaving his mouth are kissed into your neck.

You want him, want to taste him on your tongue, want to feel his weight against it.

“Fuckin come here” Carmen groans out, reaching to wrap his hand around your jaw as he presses his lips against your own. The muffled of your moans escape your lips and Carmen slips his tongue between them.

His pillowy soft lips wrap around your own, his nose bumping into your cheek as he wraps an arm around your back, pushing you against the office doors. It’s all teeth and tongue, the clash of teeth and muffled groans leaving the both of you.

The suppression of both your desires falling between you two until you don’t stop to come up for air.

It’s addicting the way he kisses you, and you have to grip his shoulder as an anchor as he begins to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nibbling at the skin there before dipping down to your clavicle.

You let out a moan as he blows cold air against the dip of your breasts, and Carmen looks down at you, his eyes heavy as he watches the way you shiver, waiting for him to give you what you want.

Carmen rips open your shirt, his eyes trailing across the curve and dip of your breasts, he mutters something under his breath, something like “beautiful” as his finger trailing the lace before unclipping it and tossing it behind him.

Carmen cups one of your breasts, circling your nipple before wrapping his lips around it and sucking, you arch your back to him, and he follows it until he rests and your hip, squeezing the skin there as his eyes roll back at the taste of you.

“Please..” You groan out, your eyes watching the way Carmen pressing soft circles into your skin, he looks up at you in confusion, the hint of a smile curving at his lips.

“Please what?” Carmen replies, sucking bruises beneath your tits, drawing it out on purpose, having too much fun watching you suffer.

“Nmfha” You mumble incoherently when Carmen flicks his tongue around your nipple, whilst squeezing the other in his cold hands.

“I can’t hear you, what do you want?” Carmen replies with a hint of a moan, he’s having trouble himself, bucking his hips up into you as he watches the way you shake from his lips

“Wanna feel you Carm, wanna taste you” You groan out with a moan, Carmen grunts at your response, his eyes growing dark and heavy, and in one swift move, he hoist you up and swipes the coffee mugs and papers left scattered across his desk before placing you on the edge.

You spread your thighs, making room for him and he steps between them.

“You wanna feel me sweet girl? You want me to take care of you? Please let me take care of you” Carmen pleads, rutting up against you as he tries to suppress the want pressing tight against his jeans.

“Carm” you groan out as Carmen tugs your jeans down leaving you in your lace underwear that Carmen grinds his jaw at, you don’t realise it but Carmen blue apron is discarded somewhere in the room, and as he carries you towards the coach you tug at his white shirt.

He rips it off him in one move, and you drag your fingers across the deep of defined muscle that flexes under your touch.

Carmen moves your thighs so that you're pushed towards the edge of the couch, and he kneels between you, pressing a soft kiss to your knee, before trailing up your thighs. Carmen had been teasing you before but now there is a frantic eagerness in the way he touches you, like if he doesn’t taste you on his tongue he might combust.

Carmen hooks a finger into your underwear,pulling them down until you were bare for him. Carmen’s eyes glisten as he states at you, naked under him and sweating. God the image imprints in his mind and he wishes he can stay here forever.

Carmen presses a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, and your thighs shake in need, Carmen flicks his eyes up to you, and keeps eye contact, as he licks one long strip across your folds, closing his eyes and he groans at the taste of you. You contort you back at the pleasure the waves through you, eyes rolling back at the pressure of his tongue sucking your clit.

“Fucking- taste so” Carmen mumbles, before dipping his tongue between your folds, dragging it up and down, the sound of your heightened moans ripping through him.

Dipping his tongue in your hole, Carmen pushes a finger between your thighs, presses soft circles around your clit as his tongue works your folds. Your thighs shake around the curls of his head and he pushes a hand down at your stomach to stop you from moving, making you take every wave of pleasure he pulls from you.

“Carm, please, they’re going to hear us” You groan out, and Carmen shakes his head, causing his tongue to drive deeper into you, before looking up at you,

“Let them”

Carmen stretches you out with his tongue, pushing it into you and out until your heaving, his thumb is pressed against your clit, and he pushes a finger into you before sucking onto your bud.

You begin to see flashes of stars, as he thrusts a finger into your hole whilst sucking you, he scissors you open, curving his finger in a way that hits a particular spot that has you raising your hips, trying to pull yourself off of him, the white hot burn of pleasure getting too much.

“There baby? Right there?” Carmen groans out, thrusting his finger to hit that spot over and over

Carmen grips your hips, pushing you down, deeper, harder onto his mouth and fingers, pressing a second digit into you as he curves it to pull that sweet moan from your lips.

Carmen had many names, but his favourite was the broken syllabus of his own between your lips when you fell apart on his tongue.

“S’ close, so close Carmy, please” You babble out, before resigning yourself to the burn of pleasure the feels like fucking nirvana, it’s all around you, Carmen, this pleasure, it’s all you can taste.

“I know baby, I know, I’m going to take care of you okay, sweet girl?” Carmen groans, thrusting his hips into the floor, searching for friction as he watches the way your eyes roll back.

Carmen laps at your core, pushing the digits deeper, curving them upwards until you were screaming, he pushes your face down to look at him, he wants to see your face as you fall apart, and the coil that has begun to wrap itself tight snaps when he nibbles at your over sensitive clit and you see the way his dark eyes watch you, his eyebrows furrowed and your slick coats his chin.

You can’t feel anything but the white hot pleasure that rocks through you, you aren’t in your body, floating away in the pure saccharine pleasure of Carmen’s tongue and he laps at the pleasure dripping between your folds.

You mumble incoherent words, the only thing leaving your lips is Carmen’s name as you babble, spit dripping from your open mouth as you're left in a heap, Carmen leaving you dumb.

Carmen works you through your release, licking and sucking at your sweet slick that he gathers on his tongue. You see the way he thrusts into the carpet, trying to find friction as the scene in front of him becomes too much.

The thought splits something within you, seeing how Carmen got off to getting you off was out of this world, causing the pleasure to start building in your core again.

You drag Carmen up to meet your lips, and then push his tongue between your lips, causing you to taste him on your tongue. Carmen pushes his finger between his lips, sucking on the shine of slick coated there, his eyes heavy as he watches the way you grind your hips against him.

He pushes his digits into your mouth, groaning at the way you suck on them eagerly. You push him to lean his back against the coach, before manoeuvring your hips to straddle him.

You rock your hips against his jeans, feeling the way the indent pushes and bumps against your core, Carmen throws his head back, his curls falling over his forehead and he grabs your hips, pushing you deeper, down down down until he is thrusting up into you.

You grip his shoulders raising your hips before pulling his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. Carmen forces himself to look down at you, his gaze watching the way you tug at his length, swiping a thumb across the red tip, dragging pre cum down the thick girth of him.

Carmen groans out, gripping your hips tight, and you raise up, lining yourself perfectly before sinking down on him.

Carmen’s groans are beautiful, rumbling from his chests as he squeezes his eyes shut, you fit so perfectly around him, the heat and warmth and slick of you wrapped tight around his cock. His length is thick and girth, and you have to adjust to his size, moaning at the way he fills you up just right.

As you begin to move, Carmen presses a hand, begging for you to wait

“Just, one second, fuck you feel so good I might cum from one thrust”

“Who says this is a one time thing?” You reply with a wicked smile, and Carmen groans loud at that.

You raise your hips, dragging your self on him before sliding down, your grind against him and he heaves in the pleasure of your tightness around him.

It had been so long, and the feeling of you is almost too much.

You struggle to raise your hips high enough, and Carmen wraps his hands tight around your hips before raising you himself, driving himself up into you and thrusting hard.

This new angle allows him to go deeper, and you meet his upward thrusts, groaning out as he fucks you dumb. You look gorgeous above him, the way your tits bounce with every thrust up has him hard all over again.

“Just like that baby girl, keep going, doing so fucking well, my baby” Carmen groans out, and you begin to shake at the combination of his praise the the feeling of his cock driving into you impossibly deep.

You want to make him feel good and you say this to him, causing his eyes to roll back when you squeeze yourself around him, hard, until his thrusts have to drive into you even harder.

The coach freaks loudly from Carmen’s pace, and he slams you down, positioning his cock deep into you, causing you to press half circles into your shoulder, scratching at his biceps and gripping the nape of his hair that causes him to rumble out your moaned name.

You can feel him getting close, his thrust growing sloppy and deep, you tighten around him, and his eyes are in a trance, watching the way you fit around him so perfectly.

Carmen moves to fold himself upright against you, and your eyes roll back to your head as you feel yourself climb up a familiar peak.

Carmen presses a hard kiss against your lips as you groan out, and as he slips a hand into your conjoined bodies, circling your clit you have to shove your fist into your hand to stop from screaming.

The feel of Carmen’s length driving into you and the sound of his ragged moans, mixed with the over stimulation against your clit, you can’t help but fall apart around his cock.

You squeeze yourself tight around Carmen, and he cries out, his thrusts growing slow as he joins you over the cliff, his cock thrusting up into you with spasms. His cheeks are a blush red, his tongue poking out as he follows both of your orgasms.

You fall against his chest, exhausted, pressing your cheek so that it rested against the hard muscle of his pecs. You swallow back a breath, gripping your hand around Carmen’s, as he brings it up to place a soft kiss.

Your thighs are still shaking from stimulation, and Carmen caresses a hand across them, rubbing soft circles and you lay across his chest.

You stay like this for a moment, basking in the bliss of pleasure and sex and the soft curves and dips of your bodies.

After a bit, Carmen has to slip his out cock from your thighs, eyes fixated on the way your ecstasy mixed with his one drips down your thighs.

“Fucking gorgeous” Carmen replies, and you look up at him in surprise

“What? You don’t think I'll find you gorgeous after this?” Carmen smiles down at your flustered state, he brushes back the sweat and tears dripping down your cheeks.

“That was..you are. Well fuck, Carmen, why didn’t this happen sooner?” You reply, he manoeuvres you so that your legs lay across his thighs.

“Yeah, uh, we’ll I’ve got a whole bucket of shit you don’t want dragging you down” Carmen replies scratching his neck, suddenly more shy as he lay his heart bare to you.

“Yeah, we’ll you gave me no choice when you practically murdered that man” You reply, biting back a smile, as you press soft circles around his thumb.

“Should’ve fucking murdered him…”

“What happens now?” Carmen replies, looking at you nervous that this was you just scratching an itch, because he was head over heels in love with you and he would never recover

“God Carmen, you didn’t realise I’m in love with you already?” You reply with a smile, “Practically the entire restaurant does”

Carmen looks up at you in wonder, his eyebrows furrowing as your words hit him hard. You loved him? You loved him. He wants you to repeat it a hundred times, he wants to hear your tongue say those words to him again.

“You are incomparable” Carmen mutters under his breath, before wrapping you tight against his chest, pressing a kiss that feels different now, less crazed and rushed and fueled by heated passion. It was new, it felt like a start of something.

“You think they’re okay out there?” You reply with a start.

“Hell no” Carmen replies, and you can’t help but laugh as you push your head through a shirt Carmen had passed to you.

You and Carm may have just confessed your love to one another, but you still had a goddamn restaurant to run.

4K notes · View notes

skyeknight-hyperfixations · 9 months

Text

Apparently, I can't be normal about Ambrosius, so here I am again. I feel that we should talk more about the injury he suffered at the climax, and I think it tends to get glazed over because they didn't show much evidences that Ambrosius had to heal from it because he didn't have a cast, unlike Sureblade who gets a final screen time wearing an arm cast.

First, I want to point out that Ballister landed on his bad side.

It clearly hurts, because we can see him favor it when he tried stopping the Director from getting into the laser machine.

His reaction here gets to me, the pursing of his lips. Maybe it's an emotional lip pursing, and his sympathizing with Ballister's grief. Slowly though, I think Ballister does lose consciousness, making him more of a dead weight.

Again, to the spot Ambrosius was injured. Speaking as someone who just got hit by a motorcycle (and still managed to literally walk away from it), the man's clearly doing his best to toughen it out.

So, the pursing of his lips may also be a silent wince he's hoping wouldn't get out. Ambrosius did cut off Ballister's arm, for him, taking the pain of Ballister leaning heavily on his injured side should be nothing. Maybe part of him thought it was a lesser pain than what he gave Ballister. (PS. Not that it should, mind you.)

Regardless, I want to focus on how much Ambrosius definitely loved and missed this man. They're both in pain, they're both hurting, but they're together again.

Remembering the words of Augustus Waters from the Fault of our Stars and Hazel Lancaster.

"That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt." -A.W.

"You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world. But you do have SOME say in who hurts you." -H.L.

Ambrosius knows he would rather suffer with Ballister than live a life free of pain without him. He didn't know what's going to happen between him and Ballister after this, if they would be "together-together" again, if Ballister would actually forgive him. But I'd like to think he knew one thing:

This time, he was going to be there for Ballister in this painful time, in whatever way Ballister would accept him.

#Nimona #Ambrosius Goldenloin #Ballister Boldheart #Goldenheart

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mirnightghost · 9 months

Text

Tw: blood

...it was supposed to be a comic, but a lot went wrong, so..keep this little description:

Sticky, warm blood spread across his chest, trying to hide the terrible wounds left by the cold metal. The eyelids grew heavy, and the boundless darkness crept up to forever take the knight into his silent realm of death. "Ambrosius...I'm...sorry."

Hands gently but tightly wrapped around his body. "Shh, it's okay, it's okay"

Oh, that voice. So dear to him voice now repeated these words with pain like a mantra, as if it could change something. But breathing became harder and harder every moment. “Oh no no no no don’t leave me. Bal, please don't leave me alone!"

Now it was like a prayer. A prayer that heavens will never hear. But the knight in dark armor heed this prayer. And hundreds of thoughts and words that he would like to say ran through his mind. And then everything went quiet. And he plunged into darkness.

I have to say that I am not a writer, so the structure of the text and the words may seem strange. Sorry~

Anyway, I would like to share with you the context of what is going on here and why!

I thought that, as in all existing societies, there will always be those who are against changes. It so happened historically that not all people are ready for changes, because changes are always scary. And, of course, no matter how heartbreaking the scene with Nimona is, you can never get the respect of the entire kingdom. Especially the elite, which can lose control. Since Ambrosius remained the only "main" person of the kingdom, he did the main work of changing people's minds. And that part of the elite that was against it, saw it as a conspiracy. Allegedly, Ambrosius did this not for the benefit of society, but for the benefit of his partner. Therefore, the ranks of the conspirators grew and became stronger. And when they gathered enough strength, the uprisings/resistance to new arrangements and power began.

And it is in one of the clashes with these conspirators that Ballister is mortally wounded...or not?

Yes, yes, you understood correctly, I have two endings. Of course.

Anyway, I find this concept more interesting, as it brings me a little closer to political things, making things darker and therefore more interesting. After all, what is happiness worth if you don’t have to fight for it?

▪︎

Oh...I don't think I want to write about how difficult it was to draw all this...just say i'm glad I finished it.

Thank you for your attention

See ya~

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ddejavvu · 10 months

Text

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 1) / Part 2 / 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: 11.3K / navigation / inbox

A/N: thank you to everyone who has encouraged me in my development of this series! it's three parts long, and each part will be posted one week after the one before it. that means you get chapter 2 next week, and chapter 3 two weeks from now. and after chapter 3 is released, i will post the full fic in one single post, so that it's easier to read. this series means a lot to me, it's the longest fic I've ever finished for this account, and I would really love to hear what you think of it. Thank you to the love of my life miss jade (@luveline), for being the first person to read this (!!), and for all of your wonderful feedback that cheered me on as I crossed the finish line for this series. I don't think I would have finished it if it wouldn't have been for your support, so thank you sweetpea <3

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

It’s 11:14 AM when you get the call. Your phone buzzes ballistically beneath your pillow, where you’d stuffed it haphazardly last night somewhere close to 4 AM. For the record, you’d only slept because your eyes hurt from being open for so long. You’re certain that, after what you’d done, you deserved to ache for eternity, but you’d succumbed to sleep when it pulled hard enough at you.

Raising the phone to your ear is a chore, especially because the number on the screen is unrecognizable, but you stretch your tired, bed-ridden limbs and hold the cool glass screen to your face. It’s jarring, and you long for the stuffy warmth of the pillow again.

“Hello?”

“Miss Y/N Mitchell?” It’s a man’s voice, deep and strong through the receiver. It’s no-nonsense, and you almost worry that you’ve misfiled your taxes, that someone from the IRS is tracking you down.

“That’s me,” You rub sleep out of your left eye, harder than necessary so that your vision is blurry when you open your eye again. You’re not very gentle with yourself these days.

“You’re listed as an emergency contact for Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. He’s currently a patient at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. He was brought in at 9:37 AM this morning when his jet malfunctioned mid-exercise, and he crashed into a canyon below.”

Your heart stops.

Your cheeks get hot, your hands start to tingle, and your stomach feels like it’s going to start turning cartwheels, sloshing your insides around until you vomit what little you’ve eaten.

Bradley’s dead, you think, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead, Bradley’s dead.

“We were able to airlift him out, and he’s stabilized now-” Bradley’s not dead, “-but he’s still unconscious. His parents are here, as well as your father, if you’d like to join them.”

It takes a long time for you to speak. It’s almost a full minute, and the man on the other end has to call your name to get you to respond.

“Miss Mitchell?”

“I’ll be there,” You blurt, heaving a shaky breath as you seal a hand over your mouth. You part your fingers only to make sure he hears you clearly as you confirm, “He’s alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive and stable.” The man informs you, “He’ll recover, Miss Mitchell.”

Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead. Bradley’s not dead.

“I’ll be there,” You repeat, and for the first time in almost 36 hours, you kick the crappy motel blankets off of your legs and stand, “Thank you, sir.”

Wearing a bra again after two weeks of lazing around in bed is awful. But you’ll do it for Bradley, if only to make up for the last thing you’d said to him.

“I can’t love you anymore!” Rings in your ears, and a vision of Bradley’s hands reaching desperately for you flashes through your mind, covering up the green light ahead of you.

Someone honks behind you, a BMW. You jolt to attention, stepping on the gas and jerking into the intersection.

Easy, you chide yourself, You’re going to the hospital to visit a patient, not to be one.

You’re able to pull into the hospital’s parking lot without nearly causing any more car crashes, and you briefly wonder if you should take the coward’s way out again as you trek over the asphalt towards the hospital. You’d run two weeks ago, why not now? Why not now, when what you’d been worried about that night has actually happened?

Urged by the regret flooding your veins since fleeing, you walk on, stepping through the automatic doors of the hospital and sidling up to the reception desk.

“I’m here to see Bradley Bradshaw,” You inform the nurse there, “Uh- Lieutenant. If that… helps.”

She sends you a kind smile, filled with sympathy that you’re thankful for as you stammer and stumble your way through speaking. You’re sure you’re not the most distraught person here, and you’re guiltily thankful for that.

“Room 624,” The nurse tells you, and oh, what a sick coincidence, “Down the hall and to the left, take the elevator up and follow the arrows on the floor.”

6/24 is not only Bradley’s birthday, but your anniversary; the day you’d kissed him on the swings in his backyard with hot fudge sticking to your lips. He’d been glum about his dad missing his birthday on deployment, and, of course, your dad couldn’t be there either. Carole had done her best to brighten up her boy, but some things couldn’t be mended with gift wrap, and you all knew that.

You’d snuck out to join him that night with a sundae, offering him the serving spoon thickly coated in the chocolate. He’d accepted it with a huffy eye roll, upset that you’d managed to cheer him up even a little bit with just one spoon of ice cream.

“It sucks,” Bradley mutters around the chocolate in his mouth, the syrup sticking his words together, “I know he can’t do anything about it. But I still want him here.”

“I know,” You hum, taking a bite of ice cream for yourself, “I’m sorry, Brad. If it makes you feel any better, he’ll probably get you something, like, really good when he gets back. He’ll feel all guilty, that’s what my dad did and I got a puppy out of it.”

“We’ve already got a puppy,” Bradley gestures to the Bradshaw’s family dog, well on in years by the gray around his muzzle and his tendency to nap instead of move.

“Maybe you’ll get one that you can actually play with,” You offer Bradley another bite of the ice cream, and you only feel a little bad for making fun of Lewis. But the dog doesn’t understand your teasing, softly snoring on the porch.

“Maybe he’ll get me a car,” Bradley gushes, “A bitchin’ one, like a Bronco or something. Then we can put our surfboards in the back and go to the beach.”

“You don’t even have a license!” You elbow Bradley, laughing at his lofty dreams, “But a Bronco would be cool. You should send your dad a magazine clipping of one with your next letter and talk about how cool it is.”

“You’re smarter than you look,” Bradley muses, a smear of chocolate over his lower lip that he doesn’t lick away.

You scoff, stomping on his foot where it’s planted in the grass beside your own. He jolts away with a yelp, and in doing so, jerks the swing he’s sitting on, He catches his balance and you notice the syrup on his lip, reaching out to clean it with your thumb.

“You’ve got hot fudge on your face, doofus,” You sneer, happy to return his teasing, “You eat like a toddler.”

“I’m not the one who put three cups of it on the sundae!” Bradley insists, and his lower lip catches your thumb as he speaks. Teenagers in love, you’re hyperaware of touches like that, and your breath hitches in your throat at the contact. He notices it too, staring down wide-eyed at where your thumb hovers over his lips.

“Sorry,” He blurts, and in doing so, his warm breath fans over your hand. You jerk it away, eyes on the ground as you mumble away his concerns.

“It’s fine,” You mutter in a terrible attempt to remain nonchalant, “We’re not four, it’s not like I think you’ve got cooties or something.’

Bradley takes to the teasing, glad it’s not tense anymore, “That’s not what you say when I leave my underwear on the floor.”

“‘Cause that’s gross!” You launch into a rant, “That’s, like, personal! And they’re used too,” You shudder, handing him the sundae intent on scrubbing a hand over your face, “Nasty, bro.”

Despite your casual nickname for the boy beside you, you feel like anything but bros when his hand brushes yours. He takes the ice cream from you, and his hand half-closes around your own, sending a spark shooting up your spine.

Your breath catches in your throat again and this time Bradley hears it, looking at you through his lashes with those wide brown eyes.

Neither of you move away this time, frozen just like the treat in your joint grip.

You feel extra affection for the boy next to you today, the shared grief of losing your fathers every few months bringing you closer together. It’s what compels you to lean in, tilting your swing sideways to brush your lips over his own in a painfully awkward teenage-style kiss. Before you have the time to panic about whether you did the right thing, Bradley reciprocates, pursing his lips slightly to fit them around your top one. You follow his lead and it goes much better, a chaste kiss that’s sweeter than the chocolate staining your lips.

You’re glad you’d kissed him that day, you’re glad you had the balls to take the leap that resulted in a nearly twenty year long relationship. It would have been twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-five, fifty if you hadn’t chickened out two weeks ago, but you try not to think about that in the elevator lest you make yourself sick.

You find room 624 easily, the painted arrows on the floor leading you down the hallway that the room stands in. You wonder if you should knock first, you’re not too knowledgeable on hospital etiquette, but you decide that manners can be damned, your boyfriend- ex-boyfriend is in there.

You turn the handle and step inside, and Carole looks up from Bradley’s bedside immediately. You think she’s expecting a doctor, and her desperation for finding one breaks your heart. Her teary face splits into a sad smile, and she rushes to your side to envelop you in a hug. You let her have it because she’s grieving over her son, but you’re surprised she’s not immediately angry with you for breaking up with Bradley.

“Honey,” She gushes into your shoulder, “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re here! Brad’s gonna be okay, they said he’s just gonna need some help breathing until he gets stable. Then they can get him healthy and ready to go again!”

“That’s great,” You hold her close, relishing the last Bradshaw hug you’ll probably ever get, “Where’s Nick and dad?”

“Oh, they went to get food,” Carole releases you, swatting her hand in the air in an affectionately teasing manner, “You know those boys, always hungry for something.”

You laugh awkwardly, watching as she settles down by Bradley’s bedside again. She looks back up at you where you’re swaying on your feet, gesturing to the chair beside her, “Well come on, girl! Get in here!” She seems much more lively now that she has company, and you hate to think of her grieving her injured son alone.

“Oh- I, uh,” You stammer, darting for the seat beside her, “I wasn’t sure if-”

“Don’t worry,” She seems to misplace your concern, “He’s okay, sweetie-pie, you won’t hurt him just by breathin’ on him.”

“Right,” You smile, though its disingenuous with tension, “Um, so it was a mid-exercise crash?”

“Mhm,” Her face dims slightly, “Apparently there was some freak accident with one of the engines, 'set off the whole thing. And that’s two crashes in one week! First it was that Javy boy, I tell you, I think they should vet those engineers better. I mean, aren’t they supposed to catch that stuff beforehand?”

“Yeah,” You feel partially numb, but you’re not sure whether it’s emotional or physical. You’ve been trying to avoid looking at Bradley so far, using his bubbly, bouncing mom as a distraction, but now that the blonde has settled beside you your eyes drift.

He could be perceived as sleeping, if the color wasn’t drained from his face. His skin is still tan but it’s duller now, golden brown fading to a sickly, colder shade of it, like there’s no life beneath it. His eyes are shut and there’s a breathing tube up his nose; you wonder how pissed he’ll be when he wakes up to find out they’ve had to trim his mustache around the thing.

“Must be a Bradshaw family tradition,” Carole breaks your concentration, laughing weakly, her voice lined with a hint of tears, “Crashing, scarin’ their girls half to death.”

You remember the day of Goose’s crash like it was yesterday. You’d only been three at the time, freshly so. But grief like that, the panic you’d observed, doesn’t go away. It can’t be forgotten, it can’t drift out of your brain like so many memories do with age. You and Bradley had sat together in the hospital with Carole and your dad, and Nick still had the crummy plane drawings you’d done for him while waiting for him to wake up.

Carole’s usage of the phrase ‘their girls’ unnerves you. She’s been exceptionally nice to you so far, especially considering that she’s fiercely protective of Bradley, and should have kicked you halfway to Mars for ditching him like you’d done. But she’s leaning towards you in her chair, and you come to the dreadful realization that she doesn’t know you’ve broken up with Bradley.

“Now, I know you wanted to keep things hush-hush,” She gushes, happy to look at your animated face instead of Bradley’s still one for a moment. She reaches over to brace her hands on your knees, leaning eagerly into your space, “But I have to know, babycakes, how did it go?”

“Hm?” You look dazedly at her, still partially staring at Bradley.

“The proposal!” She squeezes your hands, sniffling weakly with the remnants of tears past, “I know that boy was finally manning up enough to ask you, 'should'a put a ring on you years ago."

Any other time, you'd groan at Carole's opinion on your relationship. She's been urging the two of you to tie the knot for decades, but you'd felt no burning desire to go to the courthouse. You were comfortable in your life, why spend an obscene amount of money to get a piece of paper that tells you you're in love? You knew that for free, in the way that Bradley looked at you, in the way that he memorized all of your fast food orders, in the way that his hand so often found yours beneath the sheets in his sleep. Now her teasing is a sore spot, one that gapes the wound already bleeding in your chest.

"-But when I asked him how it went he said he’d ‘share the details later’. I’m sure you wanted to make some big announcement or something, but I need this right now, honey, tell me what happened.”

She’s staring at you like she always has, like you’re the sweet little girl she helped raise when your mama had chickened out. Cowardice must run in the family.

There’s such pretty hope shining in her eyes that you can’t bear to crush it, ready to spew lies about how glorious Bradley’s proposal had gone, how you’d fallen to your knees to kiss him, how you’d shouted ‘yes!’ from the rooftops. Fortunately, you don’t have to lie to her, because the door opens and your dad and Nick step through.

“Hey,” Your dad cheers, tossing you a plastic-wrapped sandwich, “There you are, honey. I was worried you weren’t gonna show up, ‘thought you’d be mad at him or something.”

“You know she was mad at me when we went down?” Goose gestures to Carole incredulously, and you can’t see behind his sunglasses but you know he’s addressing you, “I wasn’t even flying the damn thing and I got lectured!”

He lets up, goes easy on Carole, you’re sure because he’d had to comfort her earlier. You see a slightly dark, damp patch on the left side of his Hawaiian shirt as he leans in to hug you, probably her tears.

“Good to see ‘ya, kid,” Nick rubs your back, “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah,” You nod, voice slightly shaky as you smooth your previously-folded hands down your thighs. The movement catches Carole’s attention, and you look away before you can see her reaction to your bare ring finger.

“He’ll be fine,” Goose leans over to slap Bradley’s calf, and Carole looks like she wants to scold him for it, as if he'll die right then and there, “He’s tough just like’is daddy.”

“His daddy should go get me some tea,” Carole huffs, placing her hand over Bradley’s as if it would make up for Nick’s slap, “And take Maverick with you, I don’t want you getting lost.”

“Oh, again-?” Goose grumbles, setting his lunch on one of the plastic chairs around Bradley’s bed, “You could’a told me that before we left, honey.”

“Didn’t want it until now,” Carole insists, “Now shoo, get some for Y/N, too.”

The second the door shuts behind the two men, a stiff silence falls over the room.

Carole’s sweet voice breaks it, but it’s the last thing you want to hear, “Where’s the ring?”

You stare at the sandwich in your lap, like it’ll open face and read like a book, giving you instructions on how to lie your way through this.

“I know he asked you,” She presses on, voice pitched up with tension, “I- I gave him the ring Nick used to propose to me. That was almost a month ago. We swapped it out for a wedding band, and- and I thought Bradley could use the engagement ring for you, too. I know he asked you.”

“Carole,” You can’t bear to look her in the eyes, not the woman who’d fed you macaroni and cheese when your dad was halfway around the world in a fighter jet and tucked you in extra tight during a rainstorm so that the lightning couldn't sneak through the gaps in the blankets to get you.

“No, tell me, where is the ring?” She raises her voice, the way she used to when Bradley would leave his scooter out in the rain to rust, “Just tell me-” Her voice peters out into a weak whimper, “-tell me you didn’t say no.”

“I’m a coward,” You finally mutter as her answer, hateful and wicked, “I got scared. I wish I’d said yes, really, I- I wish I could take it back, but-”

“What did you do?” Her face crumples at your admission and she nearly shrieks, squeezing her hand tighter over Bradley’s, “Y/N, what did you do?”

“I said no!” You sob, chest heaving as you wipe away a tear from your eye heavy-handed, “I was scared, Carole. After Coyote went down,” You blearily recall the last plane crash you’d heard about, a member of Bradley’s own squadron caught in a bird strike. He’d been fine, but waiting for the news took you right back to your youth, and you’d been hit with the striking realization that it could happen to Bradley, too. It could be you in that chair, it could be your love on the line. You’d been so sick with dread that you’d backed away altogether, running away to preserve your emotions.

“I just- I didn’t want it to happen to Bradley,” You confess, “I didn’t want it to happen to me. So when he asked, I was-” You sniffle, hard, “I was so scared. I didn’t want to marry him and then lose him. For some reason this-” You suppress a sob, throat aching and chest heaving, “-dating a pilot is different than marrying one. Dating is- it’s temporary, even if you plan on it lasting forever. It’s less serious, it’s not set in stone. But marriage-” You hiccup, “-marriage is the real deal. It's like- It's like I was dating Bradley, y'know, the teenage boy who took me to homecoming because I was sad no one asked me. But- but then all of a sudden I was marrying an aviator. And that’s- that was scary! That was real. I- we’d been together for twenty years!” You gush, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “I should have known marriage wouldn’t be any different. It’s not like we ever thought we’d break up,” You sniffle weakly, “Marriage was always sort of silly to me, 'cause we just thought we'd be together forever regardless. But I never realized how real it would feel. So I- I freaked out. When he asked me, I made up some stupid excuse, and I chickened out! But-” Your chest heaves with a sob as you finally lift your eyes to Bradley, “He crashed anyway. He went down even though I said no, and it still hurts.” You cry, face scrunched in despair, “It hurts so bad, Carole, I didn’t think it would still hurt.”

“You fool,” She huffs exasperatedly, but she reaches out to clutch your hand like a lifeline. She’s holding Bradley’s with her other, and you wish for a moment that you could cut out the middleman and hold his hand on your own. You don't feel worthy to touch him anymore. “You don’t stop loving someone by leaving them, you stop loving them by moving on. Of course it still hurts, you didn't move on; you still love him. And- and leaving him didn’t stop him from getting hurt, it just meant he probably went down wishing he got to tell you he loved you this morning, so you'd know.”

The thought breaks you, Bradley ejecting with you on his mind. Evidently he hadn’t fully accepted your breakup, not if he hadn’t even told his mom about it. You wonder if he was planning on trying to get you back, if after work today he would have come over with flowers and a thousand pleas on his lips that you didn’t deserve.

“He loves you,” She continues, tears wetting her own cheeks, “And even if you did say somethin’ stupid, I don’t think there’s anything you could tell that boy that’d make him stop loving you. Apologize when he wakes up, baby, he’ll understand. He'll be hurt, no doubt. But he’s been scared before, too, believe me.”

“I will,” You gush, nodding as she squeezes your hand and Bradley’s in sync, “I will, I promise! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“Just make it right,” She pleads, “Can’t have you two splittin’ up now, not after all this time.”

“I wish I hadn’t done it,” You weep, holding your hands to your eyes as if you can plug up the tears, “I- I just panicked! And I’ve been a wreck ever since, I- I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t-”

“Tea’s here!” The door opens, and Nick is suddenly a lot quieter as he sees you bent in half and crying, “Oh, honey.”

“C’mere,” Your dad edges around Goose, squatting by the side of your chair while Carole rubs your back. He’s always been fantastic at comforting you, which you marvel at because he was so active in his career. He wasn’t always around when you were little, but that didn’t stop him from knowing how you liked your back rubbed, your hair done, and your cookies warmed.

“He’s gonna wake up,” Your dad soothes you, wiping a tear away from your face, with the hand that isn’t rubbing your back, “Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” Carole promises, and you know she’s talking about something else entirely, “It’s alright honey, it’ll all work out.”

Nick feels a bit useless now, standing there with two cups of tea in his hands while everyone else comforts you, but he’s quick to notice a frown work its way onto Bradley’s sleeping face.

“Brad- hey! Look,” He gestures with one cup of tea, only spilling a tiny drop, “I think he’s wakin’ up.”

All of a sudden you want to go home. You’re not sure you can do this, you don’t belong here with his grieving family. You belong in your bed, kicking yourself for your cowardice and wishing you’d done better by him.

But there’s no time to flee now, not again. This time you have to brave it, you have to watch as his big brown eyes slowly blink open, a haze of sleep and medication clouding them over.

“Agh,” He groans, hand twitching by his side, “What-?”

“Hey, Bradley.” Nick leans over the bed, tea now set aside on a tiny table, “How y’feelin’ bud? You had quite the plane crash.”

Bradley takes a moment to observe his surroundings, blinking blearily at your dad, then you, then his mom. His eyes drift back over to you and they feel like they’re lasers, boring searing holes through your chest where your heart used to be two weeks ago.

The slow and steady beeping that had been long since tuned out slowly started to increase while Bradley regained consciousness. Your dad looked warily at the machine, watching Bradley’s heart rate rise.

“I’ll get a doctor.” He ducks out, and Carole stands.

“We should go,” She grabs Nick’s hand, looking pointedly at you, “We’ll give you a minute alone with him, honey.”

Nick starts to protest about being led away, something about how ‘-he came outta my balls! I can’t see him when he wakes up in the hospital?’ but Carole’s already corralling him to the nurse’s station in search of your father. If you weren’t so fond of the woman you’d be cursing her for sticking you alone with Bradley, but you know you can’t let yourself succumb to fear again; this time you have to be a big girl.

“Baby,” Bradley rasps, turning your attention back on him. You watch him weakly, eyes apprehensive as he reaches for your hand, “C’mere.”

You hesitate, and he lets out a weak chuckle, “Come on, now. You’re not gonna kill me by holding my hand.”

“Bradley,” You sniffle, reaching out for his limp fingers on the bed, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, “I’m okay. Comes in the job description, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” You repeat, grief-stricken as you clutch at his hand desperately, “I shouldn’t have left, I- I wish I had stayed.”

“Baby,” His brows furrow and he laughs sympathetically, “They wouldn’t have let you stay, you know that. I work on a naval base, not at a chipotle. You can’t sit with me all day. Plus, there was no way you would’ve known I was gonna go down. I’m glad you weren’t there, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see that.”

All at once, your chest burns hot, blazing with panic. Is he not going to talk to you about it? Is he going to pretend nothing happened? Is he going to refuse to acknowledge what you’d said? You stammer, “What-?”

“Mr. Bradshaw!” The doctor comes in, cheery now that his patient is awake. You turn your head, still dazed and fear-stricken at Bradley’s demeanor. “Let’s see how you’re doing here. Any chest pain?”

“A little,” Bradley shifts in his bed, wincing infinitesimally.

“Probably just some discomfort due to the broken ribs. Headache?”

“Yeah,” Bradley admits with a groan, “That I’ve got.”

The doctor scribbles something down on his chart, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Bradley strains to think, “I… don’t know. I don’t even-" He grimaces, "I don't even remember the crash, ‘just know it happened ‘cause he told me.”

Bradley raises a shaky finger to point at Nick, who’s happy to see his son gain some mobility back, even if he is worried for the boy. The three adults had filed back into the room after the doctor, and you pointedly avoid Carole’s imploring stare.

“Think hard,” The doctor commands, and you squeeze his hand like it’s a play-dough machine, like memories will ooze themselves into his brain in star shapes and heart cut-outs.

“I remember…” Bradley rasps, turning his hand beneath yours to grasp it, “Jake’s birthday party. That was-” He glances over at you, “-last night?”

“That was three weeks ago,” This time your heart rate is the one to rise, echoing dully in your ears like the soundtrack of a horror film, “Is that-” You sniffle, “Is that the last thing you can remember, B?”

His eyebrows raise and he tries taking in the information, “Yeah- uh, shit. Three weeks ago. What does that mean, doctor?”

“It sounds like you’ve developed post-traumatic amnesia.” The doctor scribbles once more on his paperwork, “The good news is, we think you have only a mild concussion. And amnesia induced by mild concussions typically lasts only up to a week or two at most. But there’s a very real chance you could remember everything in just a few minutes.”

Amnesia.

He doesn’t remember.

“What I want you to do now is to rest, and we’ll have a nurse send up something to eat. Please,” The doctor eyes Nick knowingly, “Do not feed him the funyuns you’re holding behind your back.”

“Foiled again,” Goose laughs, tossing the packet of chips onto a chair beside his own lunch, “You got it, doc.”

“Alright, glad you’re awake,” The doctor bids you goodbye, “And- a nurse will be in to run a few simple tests later. For now, just sleep and eat.”

“Will do,” Bradley tries tightening his hand around yours but you worm away from him, and it’s heartbreakingly easy to do with his limited mobility. You stand abruptly, legs shaky and heart pounding in your chest as you stumble away from his bed.

Amnesia. Amnesia. Amnesia.

He doesn't remember.

“Honey?” Bradley calls warily, face scrunching into a tired frown.

His eyes follow you as you back right into your chair, the plastic scraping against the floor with an ungodly screech. Now the attention is all on you, and you give into that dreaded fight or flight response you seem to always fall victim to.

“I need to use the bathroom,” You ramble, rushing for the door, “I’ll be back!”

“Y/N-” Bradley tries calling, but his voice is weak enough where you can pretend you haven’t heard it as you try to refrain from running down the hall. You don’t make it ten steps before Bradley’s door closes with a sharp click, and the voice of one Carole Bradshaw cuts through the silence of the hallway.

“Y/N Mitchell!”

She’s using the same tone she used to use when you’d get in trouble for pulling a girl’s hair at school, or throwing mud at a boy who was mean to Bradley. You react just like you had then, spine stiffening and limbs locking.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” She warns, stomping towards you in her half-raised heels, “Turn around, young lady.”

You follow her orders even if the nickname is outdated. She’s got her pretty eyes narrowed, and as much as it pains you to be on the receiving end of one of her seldom-used withering stares, it’s better than being in there and watching Bradley’s eyes shift when he suddenly remembers you’d been the biggest douche on planet Earth.

“Did you apologize?” She inquires, and you nod obediently.

“But- but Carole, he doesn’t remember-!”

“He will,” She promises, “And when he does, you’d better apologize again. He needs you right now, y’know? He thinks it’s three weeks ago, before you ran off and left'im. As far as he knows, you’re still his adoring girlfriend who he’s probably yearning to see right about now. So go in there,” She reaches for your hand, “Kiss that boy on the mouth,” She demands, “And stop running away!”

“What? I can’t-” You gush, trying to pull away. But she’s stronger than Bradley is at the moment, and her hand tightens around yours, “I can’t lie to him! Not about this, I- how long am I supposed to pretend?”

“As long as you can,” She insists, already pulling you back towards his room, a woman on a mission, “You march right on in there, and tell him how worried you were, and let his memories come back to him on his own time. He’s traumatized right now, he just doesn’t know it yet, and he needs you there. If you break the news to him now, it’ll only stress him out more. Go play nice, and when he comes around in a few minutes, you can have a real talk.”

“I don’t want to lie to him,” You lament, and she stops pulling you down the hall to narrow her eyes at you.

“Babydoll?” She asks sweetly, and fooled by her kindness, you hum in question, “I don’t give a shit.”

She’s never foul-mouthed, so it catches your attention. She holds your incredulous gaze, “You want him back?”

“Yes.”

“You wish you’d never left?”

“Yes.”

“Well as far as he knows, you haven’t.” She huffs, the fabric of her skirt flowing near her calves, “So get in there and be there for your boyfriend of twenty years, and when he suddenly remembers you aren’t his girlfriend anymore, Grovel. Sound like a plan?” She raises an eyebrow, and you tamp down the nerves rising in your chest. You nod cautiously, resolutely, and she loosens her grip on your hand. She still holds it to lead you back to the room, but she stops outside the door to speak one last time.

“I know you love him,” Her voice is softer now, genuinely sweet and caring, “And I also know you like to run when things get scary. And that’s understandable, but it’s not okay, not right now. You can’t stop loving someone just ‘cause you don’t wanna lose ‘em. It’ll hurt worse if you walk away.”

“I know,” You breathe shakily, squeezing her hand, “Thanks, Carole.”

“Anytime, sweetpea,” She smiles, tears still gathered in her eyes, “Now get in there and kiss my son.”

“There they are,” Your dad stands as you reenter the room, “You ladies have a nice bathroom break?”

“‘Had the time of our lives,” Carole nods, letting you take the seat closest to Bradley’s head. Your feet feel burdened with lead weights as you step towards his bedside, and he watches you with worried eyes. You’re sure he knows you weren’t really going to the bathroom, not with the way you’d fled, but you’re glad he’s choosing to pretend for your sake. He seems worried, though, and you curse yourself for making this about you.

“Y/N,” He reaches out for you as soon as you’re in reach, his voice still hoarse. His hand squeezes yours instantly, and you feel for the panic he's probably experiencing. He deserves a shoulder to lean on, a hand to hold, and it should be someone better than you.

“Bradley,” You murmur back, trying to stop your lips from trembling, “I- can I kiss you?”

Carole’s voice rings in your ears, and you don’t have to turn around to know she’s smiling at the two of you. Bradley pauses, then his worried eyes soften and he nods weakly against the pillow.

“Oh,” Nick teases as you brace your hand on Bradley’s bed, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his lips, “Lovebirds!”

The kiss is nothing but awkward. It’s hesitant on your end, because you can’t believe you get to do it again. You’d really believed the goodbye kiss you’d shared with Bradley before he picked up dinner for the two of you would be your last one, so fitting your lips over his in the hospital seems like something otherworldly. You’re careful, too, because you don’t want to hurt him, not that you think you could ever smooch him to death. He doesn’t reciprocate much, he can’t, but the familiar prickle of his mustache against your lip is a welcome feeling that makes your heart feel light again, if only for a few seconds.

When you pull away, it’s gone. Because you have to look him in the eyes, the same ones you’d forced tears out of two weeks ago, and pretend like none of it happened at all.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” You gush, voice cracking, and it feels right starting off with the truth. You can get to the lies later, the ugly little abominations you’re cooking up so that he preserves as much mental energy as possible while on bedrest. You know Carole’s right, you know he needs to heal as much as he can before you make it worse with the news, but lying feels so wrong. He’ll find out sooner or later, and what if he really was done with you? What if he hadn’t told his mom so that no family drama erupted, what if it wasn’t because he was going to try to get you back? What if he hated you, and what if he hates you even more when he knows you’re lying through your teeth to him?

“Yeah, I’m okay.” He promises, his fingers curling slowly and carefully around your own, "Are you? You ran off, I was worried."

"I'm fine," You insist, waving away his concern with a shake of your head.

He doesn't seem satisfied with your answer; he can read you like a book. But he accepts your answer, and you admire him for not wanting to pry in front of everyone. He changes the subject, glancing briefly around the hospital room, “Baby my- my phone, can I have my phone?”

“It’s here,” Your dad hands it to him, and Carole watches your eyes widen infinitesimally. What if Bradley sees his text conversations? What if he sees that you haven’t talked in half a month? What if he finds messages from someone on a dating app he’d used, a rebound-in-the-making?

What if he’s changed his background? What if he wants an answer as to why it’s probably some picturesque sunset, a jet plane cutting through the clouds above. Or maybe it’s of Lewis, he’d recently had photos restored of the dog.

What if he notices your contact name is changed to something like ‘Do not answer’? What if he realizes he’s blocked you? What if all of your pictures together are deleted off of his phone, and he wonders why?

There’s a thousand things that could go wrong.

“Coyote called,” Bradley rasps, upon first sight of his screen. Then, “Hangman. Twice. Phoenix, Bob, Fanboy, Payback, I- I should send out a message.”

“I will!” You lunge for your own phone, digging in your back pocket with suspicious urgency, “Uh, I’ll let everyone know, you just- just rest.”

“Okay,” Bradley hesitates for only a second, letting his grip go loose around his phone so that it falls back to the bed.

He seems content to let you do it, if only a little deterred by your insistence. But you’ll play the part of the fussy girlfriend, not wanting her injured love to work harder than he has to.

Nick and Pete take the time that you’re creating a group thread to question Bradley more on his memories, and every answer he gives sets your heart on edge. Your fingers feel numb as you type out ‘Rooster’s stable now, he has a mild concussion and a few broken ribs, but the doctors say he’ll recover fully. His memories are a little hazy from the past few weeks but apparently those will be back soon. I’ll send you any updates we get.’

Before anyone even has a chance to reply, you set the thread on silent. You can’t bear even getting a notification that the message can’t be sent, because you’re sure Bradley’s team aren’t too fond of you right now, and you wouldn’t be surprised if they’d blocked you in solidarity for their friend. But Bradley hadn’t even told his mom, would he have told his team? Would he even need to? Or would they notice the circles beneath his eyes worsening, the stubble adorning his cheeks from a lack of motivation to do anything productive? Or, maybe even worse, would they have seen him with another girl hanging off of his arm at a bar? Would they have caught him out to lunch with a woman and figured it out themselves?

“Hey,” Bradley rasps, effectively breaking your zoned-out worry spiral. Your eyes don’t lose their intensity but they focus on his pale face, and he offers you a weak smile, “Anyone respond?”

“Always the attention seeker,” Nick laughs, creating a distraction so perfect that you don’t bother checking the text to answer Bradley. “Should we tell ‘em to bring flowers too, Brad?”

“Shut up,” Bradley’s voice is far too quiet to be menacing, but it’s the type of teasing he always engages in with his old man, “When you were in the hospital you said I had to draw you one picture a day or you’d think I didn’t love you.”

“And I only got fifteen out of eighteen,” If Goose is capable of a withering stare, it’s what’s directed at Bradley now, “I can’t believe I bought a Bronco for a kid who doesn’t love me.”

“Alright, you two,” Carole swats at her husband’s arm, “Cut it out, don’t overwhelm him.”

“His heart’s beatin’ real fast,” Nick snickers, “But that’s probably ‘cause Miss Mitchell is doting all over him.”

The attention’s back on you, and it means Bradley’s waiting to hear your response. You dry swallow after sending Nick a good-natured eye-roll, trying to act like your heart isn’t beating ten times faster than Bradley’s.

Miraculously, nothing awful awaits you in the group chat. There’s no error messages, no scolding, no pledges of hatred for you, and it makes you think that you really might be able to get away with this for a while. Carole won’t tell, and that doctor said Bradley might not retain his memories for weeks. It’s like everyone has hit undo on what might be your biggest mistake in life, and you don’t know how to take the opportunity.

“Bob says he hopes you recover soon,” You push the panicked fog out of your head, reading in a low voice, “Hangman says he’s gonna give you flying lessons when you get back so that you,” You snort softly, “Get the hang of it, and to that, he is receiving a barrage of middle finger emojis.”

Rooster lets out a laugh, one that’s genuine and thick from his chest. It’s unlike his voice has been so far, it’s not fractured or achy, and the sound warms your heart. Some of the sickly despair that’s been coating your heart like globs of poison dries up, and you almost feel normal again when you slide your hand into his. He holds your back, and it’s like nothing’s ever happened.

You have your Bradley back; the only question is for how long.

Lunch is a sorry state of affairs for Bradley. His tray consists of chicken and gravy that runs into his mashed potatoes, and the jello they give him has a layer of cherry red liquid pooling overtop. You and Carole take turns spoon-feeding the man, giving each other a chance to mow through your sandwiches between bites.

Your dad watches out for the doctors while you sneak Bradley some of your sandwich. It’s cafeteria turkey, and honestly you’d rather go for the chicken on his plate, but he hums gratefully at the spread of mayonnaise and mustard on the bread.

“Thanks, babydoll.” He croons, a smear of mashed potatoes in his mustache that you wipe away with watery eyes at the nickname. He puckers his lips to kiss at your thumb and it’s like you’re at home on his birthday, feeding him in bed and stealing kisses between bites.

Bradley’s eyes start to droop halfway through his watery jello, and your dad stands, brushing sandwich crumbs off of his jeans.

“Alright, buddy,” He squeezes Bradley’s foot reassuringly, “I’ll head out. Probably best to let you sleep. Get some rest, and make her give us updates,” He narrows his eyes at you, accusatory, “I know you’ll be too wrapped up in him to remember we exist, but take some time away from his lips to tell me if he’s still breathing out of ‘em, m’kay?”

“Don’t be makin’ out too much, “Nick goads, standing when Carole grabs his hand and does herself, “His heart rate’ll skyrocket and the nurse is gonna think he’s havin’ a heart attack!”

‘Yes, yes, they love each other very much,” Carole hums, leaning down to kiss Bradley’s forehead. He leans into it but his hand stays in yours, and you gladly accept the same gesture from the woman on your cheek, “Let’s leave him be, okay? Brad, I’m coming back tomorrow morning,” She promises, “Your dad and Pete have some work to do in the backyard, but they’ll join us after lunch.”

The men don’t seem to have known about this yard work until now, and they share equally exasperated groans.

“And I’ll be here,” You throw in, meeting Carole’s appreciative gaze, “I’ll stay until they throw me out.”

“You could always handcuff yourself to the bed,” Your dad hums, and you pointedly ignore Goose’s comment about the pair of handcuffs you ‘probably keep in your nightstand.’ It gets him a sharp smack upside the head from your dad, and you’re sure Nick will choose a better audience next time.

“We love you,” Carole promises, squeezing Bradley’s arm as he bids her goodbye, “We’ll see you tomorrow, baby!”

“Love you,” Bradley hums, voice less gruff than before now that he’s used it again, “See you tomorrow.”

The entire time he’s been awake, he hasn’t let go of your hand. He turns to you with those sleepy eyes of his, big and brown and begging for a kiss. You lean in before you can stop yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips.

His heart rate picks up.

You laugh against his mouth at the increased beeping, and he’s barely sheepish as he nudges his nose against your own. You feel like you’re loving on borrowed time, like any second now he’ll be slammed with the memory of you breaking his heart, stomping all over it like it hadn’t been yours for the past 20 years - maybe all of your life.

“I love you,” He murmurs, squeezing your hand, “Y/N, I- I love you so much. I don’t remember anything,” He’s slurring his words slightly with fatigue, and you kiss the corner of his mouth as he speaks, “But I know you could have lost me forever, and I’m sure it wasn’t easy to handle.”

He has no idea how true his words are. Of course, you’d nearly lost his life to the crash. But two weeks earlier, you’d lost his touch, his voice, his gaze, his love, and you’re grateful the tears that line your eyes look natural.

“Mhm,” You nod, sniffling, “It was- it was hard, Brad.” You admit, thinking back to the night you’d left. You’d checked into a shitty motel for the night, and you’d cried yourself sick in the shower. Even after your stomach was emptied you couldn’t bring yourself to eat for two days afterwards, and you’d only given into the mini fridge after nearly passing out. Your days were long and spent regretting your decision, wondering if you’d ever be happy without him by your side, and worrying that he might be able to.

“I just keep wanting to do it over,” You gush, feeling his hand tighten around your own as you sob, “I- I wanted to take it back, to-” You swallow a sob, remembering your lines, “-to stop you from going to work. If I’d just made you stay…” Your face crumples with a gush of tears you aren’t able to hold back, and you give up on speaking for now.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Bradley hums, kissing the space between your nose and your cheek. It’s all he can reach from the way you’re sobbing into his pillow, and you’re thankful for the comfort you might not be able to get soon.

“You couldn’t have changed anything,” He promises, and you nestle your head into his own to absorb his soothing voice, “My plane was still the one with the defect, baby. I would have gone down tomorrow if not today. ‘S only a matter of time.”

A wave of sickness washes over you at his choice of words, and you nod, trying to regain a grip. You lift yourself up from the pillow, neck aching as you crane it to kiss his chin. He smiles at you, his eyes so genuine and sweet that it makes you want to lose your lunch; it’s an expression you don’t deserve anymore, even if you long for it. It’s only a matter of time before he remembers everything, and you don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t want you anymore.

“You’re tired,” You hum, and he nods against the pillow, “Sleep, baby. You need rest.” You sniffle, wiping away a tear from your eye more forcefully than you need to. You try to lean back in your chair but Bradley stiffens, and feel him tighten his grip on your hand.

“Please don’t leave me,” He begs, and more of that nausea comes rolling in. They’re the exact words he’d whimpered just next to your ear two weeks ago, keeping the door closed with one hand while the other wound around your waist. Then, you’d wormed your way out of his grip, ripping the door open despite his efforts to stop you and running off to your car. Now though, you meet his eyes, scared and desperate and lost, and you nod, scooting forwards to lay your head on his chest.

“I’ll stay,” You promise, and he raises a hand to brace it against your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm, and he strokes a thumb over your face, “I’ll stay, Bradley, I promise.”

The nap that you take on Bradley’s chest is the best sleep you’ve had since you left. Being in his embrace once more practically erases your undereye circles, and it takes you a few seconds after you wake up to remember that anything is out of the ordinary in the first place. Then it all comes flooding back, and you cycle through each stage of grief respectively while still slumped onto the bed. Then you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, and you realize that Bradley’s nurse has shaken you awake.

“Hi,” The man smiles down at you, “Sorry to interrupt. I’m sure you didn’t want to wake up.”

“Oh,” You laugh hesitantly, slipping out from beneath Bradley’s hand and wiping away a slight glob of drool that had accumulated around the corner of your mouth, “No, no, it’s okay. What time is it?”

“Dinnertime,” Another nurse chimes from by the door, carrying another tray of meat and potatoes for Bradley, “Around six-thirty, Miss Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome to eat here with him,” The first nurse informs you, “But you’ll have to get something from the cafeteria, or order in. And visiting hours end at eight,” He levels you with a sympathetic smile, “But if you’ve got one bite left I won’t kick you out.”

“Thank you,” You chuckle wearily, your voice barely thickened with tears, “I appreciate that. Bradley,” You hum, squeezing his hand and stroking your free one through his hair, “Wake up, baby. They brought you some dinner.”

He comes to groggy, and you don’t blame him. He blinks a few times, then recognition washes over his face as he remembers why he’s there, and hopefully nothing else.

The nurses get busy with moving his bed, pressing buttons on the little remote strapped to the side until he’s inclined enough to eat his meal. The tray hooks into the sides of the bed so that he doesn’t have to hold anything, but you take his fork for him anyways, leaving his hands completely free.

“Thank you,” You nod gratefully at the nurses when they retreat for the door, a smear of mashed potatoes already gathered on the utensil in your hand. Bradley’s happy to let you feed him, humming at the taste of the beef they’ve given him.

“Better than the chicken,” He hums, his voice gaining back a bit of its grating quality from earlier. He’s usually rough-voiced after a nap, so you don’t worry too much about it. Typically you indulge in his raspy morning voice, but now it seems insensitive.

“Good,” You croon, scooping mashed potatoes and gravy onto a bite of the beef, “And it doesn’t bother your stomach?”

“What’s there to upset it, salt?” He grumbles around a mouthful, “Barely tastes like anything.”

“Sorry, Brad,” You hum, stroking a stray strand of caramel colored hair back into place, “I’m not supposed to feed you anything else, though.”

“I know,” He relents, lips puckering to kiss your wrist instead of wrapping around the spoon in your hand, “Not your fault, baby. But,” He rears back to takes the bite, chewing thoughtfully while you wait for his next sentence, “Can you bring me cookies tomorrow?”

You laugh, trying to keep it quiet in the slowly darkening hospital room. There’s no one around, and the door is closed, but his voice isn’t loud and you don’t want to overpower him.

“I just said I wasn’t allowed to feed you anything else,” You roll your eyes affectionately, a teasing gesture you thought you’d never be able to do with the man anymore, “What makes you think I’d bring you cookies?”

“Um, ‘cause you love me?” Bradley drawls, voice finally rising to a healthy volume. Maybe it’s the food in his stomach, or maybe it’s a switch that was suddenly flipped in his chest, but he sounds like himself again.

His words sober your fantasy intoxication, and you smile sadly at him where he lays in his bed. You set the fork down to lay your hand over his cheek, your palm soaking in the warmth of his skin that’s newly returned.

“I do love you,” You promise, leaning in to kiss him. You have to lean over his plate to do so, and you’ll worry later about any potential gravy stains on your shirt. You go slow and gentle, worried that he’ll push you away for reasons he doesn’t remember yet. But he doesn’t. In fact, when you pull away to give him some air, he catches your wrist in a surprising display of agility for his weakened muscles, and you freeze in place.

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs, mustache shifting slightly with his apology, “I can’t stop thinking about you getting that call. I never-” His voice cracks, “I never wanted you to go through that.”

“Me neither,” You feel tears pricking at your eyes again, the same that are shining in Bradley’s, “But you don’t have to be sorry. None of this was your fault, and what matters is that you’re okay now. I have you back, Bradley, I- I didn’t lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me,” He vows, and your lips sting with the force of your bite to repress a sob.

He lifts his head from his pillow, the first time he’s done it since waking up. He kisses your temple as you try not to cry, lips dotting staccato kisses against your skin as you tremble slightly.

“I promise, baby,” He hums softly into your skin as his hand comes up to hug you, “You won’t lose me.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” You cry, your fist gripping his hospital gown desperately. You want to believe him but it’s not even really Bradley talking, it’s three-weeks-ago Bradley that doesn’t remember you walking out of his life for self-preservation. It’s Bradley that doesn’t know the worst of you yet, but who could remember at any moment and cast you away.

“You won’t, I promise.” He coos, stroking up and down your back. You feel silly, accepting comfort from a hospital patient who went down in a fighter jet less than 24 hours ago, but you feel even sillier that it's the same man you’d torn to shreds days prior. But he’s comforting you, he’s rubbing your back, he’s kissing your face, and he’s promising you that you’ll never lose him, so you let him, because you love hearing him lie, even if he doesn't know he's doing it.

“You promise?” You look up at him with watery eyes that blur out his face, but you see him nod. It’s unfair to ask, not when he doesn’t have the knowledge to truly promise. He cranes his neck forwards to bump noses with you, letting you cry against his skin.

“I do, honey.” He nods, holding you close like you’d never left at all, “I promise.”

Going from crying into each other’s embraces back to eating bland mashed potatoes is hard, but you ease Bradley into it with a bite of granola bar you’d found in your purse. He’s grateful for something with flavor, and you’re glad to finally be rid of the half-eaten snack.

“Oatmeal raisin cookies, please,” Bradley begs as he chews the snack, going as far as to bat his pretty lashes at you, brown eyes shiny with hope.

You scoff, wiping a tear away from your face with a fond, albeit trembling smile, “Okay, Brad. Oatmeal raisin.”

“You’re the best,’ He hums, grinning with a mouthful of oats and chocolate. You check your phone to find that you’ve only got twenty minutes left until visiting hours are over, and your eyes dim as you glance back up at him.

“I have to go soon,” You lament, “Visiting hours are over in twenty.”

His face fades from its pretty smile, some of the newfound color draining from his skin once more. You’re sure he’ll have a nightmare tonight, something about jet crashes and dying alone, and you hate leaving him here so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry, baby,” You sniffle, squeezing his hand, “They open back up at 8 tomorrow, so as soon as I make those cookies I’ll be back, I promise.”

“I know,” He nods, raising your intertwined hands to kiss at your wrist, “It’s okay. Not your fault.”

“I’d stay overnight if I could.”

“I’d sneak you into my bed,” Bradley grins sadly, “S’alright, baby, just get a good night’s sleep. You deserve it after today.”

“You too,” You squeeze his hand, smiling sweetly at him, “And if you have a nightmare, text me, and I’ll crawl through the window, ‘promise.”

He laughs again, and now that he’s got most of his strength back it’s a normal sound. It’s not weak, it’s not subdued, it’s perfect. It’s Bradley.

“I’d like to see you try,” He teases, and you wipe a smear of chocolate off of his lower lip, remembering the first time you’d ever done that with a fond smile.

“I’m on the sixth floor.” He reminds you, and you shrug, sucking the chocolate off of your finger.

“Meh,” You crumble up the granola bar wrapper in your fist, “I could scale that easy.”

“Oh, really? Yeah, I bet you could,” Bradley chuckles, “You’re Spider-Man, suddenly? Sticking to walls? I must have forgotten your transformation.”

“Yeah, you did,” You grin with a laugh, “Actually, while I rushed over here to see you, a truck full of radioactive spiders crashed, and I got bitten by one. You’ve missed a lot, Brad.”

“Right,” Bradley’s brows raise, eyes alight with amusement, “Those radioactive spider trucks are a real nuisance, I hear.”

Giggling sweetly with him feels normal. The kind of normal you crave, the kind that isn’t settled for, but yearned for. And you’re clinging to it, pushing the truth out of your mind and playing the part perfectly.

A knock on the door interrupts your gigglefest and you turn in time to see the nurse from before entering, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“I’m supposed to kick you out,” He jokes, holding Bradley’s chart, “And you’re free to sleep whenever, Mr. Bradshaw, we don’t need to conduct any more tests tonight. You’re just here to be monitored."

“Alright,” Bradley nods and you stand, still clasping his hand in yours. The doctor busies himself with straightening up the chairs around the bed, and you take the privacy he so kindly grants you.

“Sleep good,” You recite your pre-bedtime deployment sendoff to Bradley, the phrase having gathered dust in the back of your head since his last overseas assignment, “Sweet dreams, and call me when you can.”

“I will,” Bradley leans up to kiss you, going for your lips, then your cheek, then your chin, “You too, baby. Get some rest. I’m okay, I promise.”

“Yeah,” You beam down at him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead, “You’re okay, Brad.”

"See you tomorrow!" He calls as you leave, and you turn to nod.

"See you tomorrow, baby." You promise once more, hand on the door handle, "Goodnight."

“Sleep well, Mr. Bradshaw,” The nurse bids Bradley goodbye with a smile and a nod as you trail out behind him, and at the click of the door behind the two of you, it’s like you’re the recovering amnesia patient. Now that Bradley’s not there anymore, not smiling at you, not telling you he loves you, it’s like you can’t be sure of anything, like you’re still that imposter you’d been when you’d first stepped in. You come to the sickening realization, only after the fact, that you'd loved lying to Bradley, and it makes you feel worse. Your reverie is shattered, and the nurse beside you notices your shaky breathing as you trail down the hallway.

“Miss, are you okay?” His brows furrow in concern, and you nod.

“Yeah, just-” You smooth your hands down your pants, your palms sweaty, “It’s a lot. Being in there, seeing him like- like that. I guess I wasn’t prepared.”

“No one is,” The nurse smiles sympathetically at you, leading you to an elevator, “But he’s right, Miss Mitchell. He’ll be alright. And hopefully, his memories will restore themselves overnight. There’s a good chance he’ll wake up remembering it all.”

You’re sure that was meant to soothe you, but it’s only sent more nausea rolling through your body. You nod, forcing a smile as the doors shut between you, “Thank you, Nurse.”

Once the doors shut, you want to burst into tears. You don’t want the reception desk to see that, though, so you rush through the motions of leaving, practically running to your car. Once you’re safely inside the floodgates open, and you’re surprised you don’t trigger the horn from how hard you’re sobbing against the steering wheel.

You try to channel Bradley’s voice, ‘I promise baby, you won't lose me.’ but it makes things worse, it piles guilt on top of your sickness and makes you want to run away again. Because he’d promised you that he’d never leave you, not that he’d ever let you come back if you’d left him. And that’s what you’re worried about now.

Running away hadn’t stopped anything bad from happening, it just made you feel worse when bad things did happen. Thankful for your second chance, you swear to yourself in the stuffy silence of your car that you’ll do anything to fix this, and that you’re not going to fuck this up again because you’re scared. Love is scary, giving yourself completely to another person is scary, but Bradley’s always been good at soothing your fears, and there’s no one you’d rather give yourself to.

You steel yourself as you prepare to drive back to your motel, but second-guess it when you remember that Bradley has his phone with him. You have each other shared on Find My Friends, and he doesn’t normally check it unless he’s worried about your safety, but you’re paranoid that he’ll find your pin at a crappy motel and know something is wrong. So you punch in Bradley’s address instead, the one you used to share with him, still labeled as ‘home’, and set off.

The drive looks familiar in no time, and it reminds you of how much you’d missed it. The big oak tree on your neighbor’s lawn, the flag perpetually at half-mast because the man across the street fell while adjusting it and never fixed it, the tricycle on the sidewalk beside your front door that the toddler next door always seemed to leave on your walkway. You check the mail and feel something stabbing at your chest when your name is on one of the letters, and your house key is cold with disuse as you slide it into the slot.

You hesitate when the doorknob turns beneath your fingers. Walking into Bradley’s space will tell you exactly how he feels about what happened between you. There’s either going to be empty bottles strewn everywhere with pictures laying around covered in tear stains, or there’s going to be a hot pink bra in his bed, and a new woman’s makeup kit in his bathroom. Hell, maybe she’ll even still be there, maybe you’re about to walk in on your replacement.

But the promise you’d made to yourself in the car wasn’t for show, and you turn the knob after taking a deep breath, stepping into the darkened home.

You call out an uncertain ‘hello?’ into the place, waiting with bated breath for a woman’s voice to respond. But it never does, and you flick the light on beside the door.

You’d been right with one of your guesses.

It’s messy. Not exactly the outwardly disastrous type of messy you’d imagined earlier, but knowing all of the little things about Bradley means that you know he’s let himself go over the past two weeks. His running shoes are gathering dust by the door, which seems to suggest that he’s been lazing in bed just like you have. The living room is pristine, the pillows all arranged the way you set it up that Bradley doesn’t care to replicate, and you wonder if he’s sat on the couch at all the entire time since you’ve been gone. There’s no grocery list on the fridge and upon further inspection, the appliance is close to empty, one lonely beer left alongside ketchup, mustard, and a rotting head of lettuce. Unless he was eating the worst burgers known to man, you don’t think he’s been eating anything from the kitchen. Your heart aches for Bradley; you hope he’s been ordering food in.

Walking through the space is like revisiting a crime scene as the killer. Everything here is because of you, the pictures stripped from the walls are gone because of you, the lonely toothbrush in the dual holder is because of you, the neatly made side of the bed with its messy counterpart is because of you.

You realize that it’s your side that’s slept on, Bradley’s still tucked neatly in place, unused. You spot a red covering over your pillow, reaching for it and finding it to be an old t-shirt of yours that Bradley had raided your dresser drawers for. It’s one he’d bought you at a tourist trap on your vacation a few years ago, and it was your favorite to lounge in. You notice a dark spot on the fabric and only then realize that you’re crying, that it’s a tear that had fallen from your eye. Then it’s like everything hits you all at once, and you sink onto the mattress clutching the pillow. It smells like Bradley, and you know he’s been clinging to it every night, a thought that solidifies your sneaking suspicion that you might be the worst person on the planet.

You curl up and cry there, you don’t know for how long. All you can do is sob, soak your pillow with tears that you thought you were out of, clutch the bedsheets like they’ll reveal Bradley, hidden underneath and eager for a cuddle. This bed feels as empty as the motel’s had, maybe even emptier, because you’ve never slept in it away from Bradley. When he’s on deployment you always have a sweatshirt of his and a picture of him tucked under the pillow, but you know it won’t be there now. Now you’re alone, really alone.

Your eyes droop and you know you need sleep, especially if you’re going to wake up early to make Bradley cookies in time for visiting hours to start. But you can’t bring yourself to sleep without the picture of him under his pillow, so you stumble out of bed to fetch it from your box of memories.

Your fingers close around the slightly wrinkled photo, a shot of you in a gown and Bradley in a suit. It’s one you’d taken yourself at your graduation, high school turned college sweethearts. He had wanted admission into the Naval Academy, but in order to spend more time with you, you’d enrolled together at a university. It’s your favorite photo to have with you, and you reach out to Bradley’s pillow to slide it underneath. Upon lifting the pillow, you find a stack of pictures already there. Each one of you, most with Bradley pictured in them too. They only make you cry harder, and you recognize some as the inserts of the picture frames that had been taken down from the hallway.

It looks like Bradley hoarded photos of you, and some are stiff and stained with tears. The sight is something out of a movie, a dramatic indication of the inner turmoil of its main character. You see a shot of your silhouettes together, faces darkened by the sun streaming in behind you. You’re kissing on the beach, and without paying much mind to the structural integrity of the photo, you clutch it to your chest.

You’re a wreck. You just want your Bradley back, but your Bradley isn’t yours anymore. You want three-weeks-ago Bradley back, the one who you didn’t run away from. But he’ll probably have his memories back by tomorrow, and there’s no telling if he’d even want you to visit again. Looking at the sorry state of his apartment, you know he misses you, but whether he wants you back is another question altogether. All you can do is wait and worry, and worry you do. As you sob and heave in the bed, your brain shuts down, and eventually you drift into a dreamless, unpleasant sleep, nose still buried in your shirt that smells like Bradley.

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

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breaddwoo · 1 year

Text

-Bloody Kisses-

pairing: wednesday x vamp! reader

word count: 3.22k

warnings: slight nsfw, blood

desc: wednesday helps you with your blood deficiency and becomes addicted to the pain of your bite :)

a/n: lowkey erotic despite there being nothing sexual 😭😭 will probably write a pt 2!!

edit: pt 2 is out :)

tonight was like any night for wednesday; pitch black gear on to help camouflage her in the dead of night, hoping to once again get a glimpse of the hyde.

what she didn't expect was to watch a girl tumble limply down the incline that wednesday took shelter at the bottom of.

she heard a few coughs, painful ones that sounded full of death. coughs like those came from people close to hades' door.

in her intrigue, wednesday couldn't help but lift from her hiding spot and slowly trek towards the girl laying face down in the fallen autumn leaves. she knelt, placing a hand on the girl's shoulder to flip her upright.

who she saw was someone she recognized to be one of enid's closest friends. from enid's stories, her name is (y/n) and she happened to be part of the vampire division of the school.

wednesday noticed your eyelids begin to flutter with consciousness and she took a step back.

when you fully opened them, it took you a second to recognize where you were. taking in your surroundings, wednesday's attentive gaze smothered you.

your arms began to lift you from the ground, but they went limp and you collapsed into the leaves once more.

"you look awful," wednesday said in her monotone voice.

you looked up to her, eye twitching with pain, "gee, thanks."

"i suppose you're (y/n)."

"and i suppose you're wednesday addams," you retorted, a painful coughing fit following soon after.

"how come you're in this state?" she questioned. it almost sounded like concern, but you knew enough from enid that wednesday doesn't feel emotions like that.

you let out a self-pitying laugh, "i can't ingest the animal blood offered at school. i always throw it up, no matter how hard i try. i'm dying and i can't tell anyone."

"are you not already dead?"

her insensitivity was astounding.

"my bad for not using the correct terminology," you spat, another coughing fit taking over your lungs and causing you to clench the soil beneath.

as wednesday watched your life drain from your weak body, an idea dug itself into her thoughts. "is it human blood that you desire?"

you looked at her like she was stupid. the expression on your face was answer enough, so she continued, "i will give you some of mine."

now your pale face was dumbstruck. is this bitch crazy?

"why the fuck would you want to do that?" you asked, thinking her suggestion was absolute nonsense.

"to say that i am curious about the feeling of a vampire bite would be a... crude understatement," she replied, her eyes the color of the sky above, omitting the stars.

you shook your head defiantly, "absolutely not. i don't think i could control myself, i might just suck you dry."

wednesday's mouth twitched, restraining a masochistic smile.

"do you really have a choice, (y/n)? "

you looked down at yourself. your throat felt like hell fire and every single limb held an unbearable ache. you were treading a thin line between immortality and mortality, and that scared you.

running a hand through your hair, you gazed back up at her, "fine. we do this once, and i will owe you. just please, please don't tell anyone. i'm afraid everyone will believe i'll go ballistic without blood and i'll get expelled."

wednesday nodded and slowly sat beside you, her small frame accentuated by the moon light behind her. getting a better look, you could tell how pretty she was. enid never mentioned that.

"what is it that you need me to do?"

you looked at her, examining what she was wearing. a black spaghetti strap dress that zipped from behind with a long sleeved turtle neck beneath.

realizing what you were about to say, your face began to warm, "uhm- you'll need to uh, to removed the turtle neck under your dress."

she nodded, then said, "it would be easier if you would unzip the dress for me."

how she kept a calm, emotionless expression on her face was beyond you. having this much contact with someone you've only heard about through stories made your face flush red.

after unzipping her dress, wednesday didn't even hesitate to pull the turtle neck over her head. this exposed most of her bare, pale back and the inky lace bra that her clothes had hidden. you were intensely mortified.

"w-wait, are you okay with me seeing this? i-" your words of embarrassment were cut short by more hacking, this time with a string of blood down the side of your mouth.

"i am fine," she stated, moving the dress back up and concealing her bra once more. now her shoulders and neck were fully exposed. your mouth practically flooded with saliva at the thought of piercing the smooth skin with your fangs.

"(y/n), " she said, this time with a little force in her tone, "do it. i want you to."

these words made your chest tighten. you tried to breathe a little more steady, "okay."

scooting closer to her, you moved one of her black braids from the left side of her neck to let it hang behind her. you took her bare shoulders in your hands, leaning close to the skin of her exposed neck.

though you felt awful for what you were about to do, you also felt completely exhilarated.

and, surprisingly, so did wednesday. the way you gently caressed her as your warm breath tickled the skin about to be pierced; it had her mind tangling in knots that she couldn't be bothered to unravel.

the prick of pain that followed the penetration of your teeth made wednesday's entire body shiver. she was hyper aware of the blood draining from the spot you assaulted but the feeling was intensely pleasing.

she felt warm. then she felt cold. her shoulder went fuzzy, like it no longer blonged to her. then her mind floated in a euphoria she'd never experienced before; the pain was like a bruise she enjoyed pressing on.

you also felt incredible. with each second that passed by, it felt like life was entering your body once more. the liquid vitality that you consumed almost made your still heart beat again.

you loved the feeling. you wanted to drink. you wanted all of it, all of her. but in the back of your mind, a small voice screamed at you to stop. the voice got louder until you forced yourself to pull away.

a small stream of blood dripped to wednesday's collarbone. "you can lick it," she said in a monotone voice laced with need. you shook your head, wiping your mouth.

wednesday couldn't wrap her head around the euphoric feeling that your bite had inflicted on her; all she knew was that she wanted to experience it again.

with your fangs on full view, color returned to your face and a body back to it's original state, you looked like a whole new person. this thought set a fire ablaze in her stomach and she couldn't tell if she enjoyed it or not.

her arms felt like wet noodles. she tried to lift them, attempting to put her garment back on; it was to no avail.

you saw this, "i'm sorry, i drank too much. let me help you."

as you went to help her, she fell backwards onto your lap. eyes widening in concern, you lean close to check her complexion, "wednesday, are you okay? i'm sorry, i really should have restrained myself. "

"no," she shook her head adamantly, "i requested this. and it's not like being in this state is unenjoyable."

you pressed your lips together in a line full of judgement, but said nothing. after her clothes were placed back on her, she tried to lift herself off of you.

"wait, wait- trust me, if you can't put your own clothes on then you can't stand by yourself," you said with care, standing and placing her arm around your shoulders.

the walk back to nevermore was quiet. neither of you spoke a word, wednesday too light headed from the painful pleasure of your teeth. she even forgot what she had been doing outside in the first place.

when you arrived at her dorm, she was still weak and needed support. wednesday held a finger to her lips. her dead eyes motioned to the door. you knew that enid was inside, and hopefully, she was asleep.

with the door unlocked, you assisted wednesday to her bed. when you went to set her down, however, you tripped on the corner of her bedsheets that hung to the floor.

wednesday's eyes widened in surprise as you came crashing down on top of her. chest to chest, the details of her face were in close proximity. you could practically trace patterns in her constellation of freckles.

shuffling and the sound of a comforter moving came from the other side of the room. enid.

wednesday's arms encircled you as she pressed you closer to her chest, forcing your head to hide in the crook of her neck.

your face was practically on fire. this is so not how tonight was supposed to go.

"shhh," she whispered, completely unfazed. you could tell she was being cautious of her sleeping roommate.

as her soft, black hair began to tickle your nose, she released you. you quickly backed away from her, making sure you stayed quiet.

"thank you," you whisper. she gives you a slightly perplexed expression in response.

tiptoeing to the door, you open it. looking behind one last time, you notice that wednesday has situated herself into a more comfortable position. you waved at her, and close the door without a sound.

wednesday lay there, mind recounting the events of the night. she tried to cipher through them, but one thought continued to surface through the rest:

she smells like vanilla.

> > >

wednesday wanted to see you again. it seemed like every time she caught a glimpse of you in the hallway, you soon disappeared as if you hadn't been there.

it was starting to frustrate her. were you avoiding her?

the thought made her grind her teeth; it also made her insanely confused. normally, she would prefer that people avoided her. but with you, it just made her want to scratch at her skin.

finally, during lunch period a week later, she saw you sitting with enid and her group. wednesday contemplated whether or not it would be a good idea to go up to you; she had promised to keep the ordeal a secret. no one knew the two had any connection to one another.

her heart outweighed her brain in the end and she stepped into the maze of lunch tables.

"(y/n)," she called. the words you were speaking to enid dropped from your mouth when you noticed the girl in black next to you.

you smiled, fangs displayed, "oh, uh- hey, wednesday."

wednesday's eyes turned to where your tray should be, noticing that you had nothing to eat.

"i need to talk to you," she stated, "in private."

enid raised a brow, trying to subtly ask her why? but wednesday pretended to be ignorant; though, she knew she wouldn't be able to avoid an interrogation later.

you awkwardly laughed, giving a strained smile, "sure."

when wednesday lead you to a deserted hallway, her expression changed into a slightly angry one.

"are you avoiding me?" she asked bravely. you were surprised.

"well, we're not friends so i didn't think we needed to see one another."

the answer irritated her.

she tried to restrain her snarkiness, "i see you're still avoiding the animal blood."

you nodded, afraid of where this was going. it's not like you didn't enjoy what you both did a week ago; it was quite the opposite actually.

every time you thought of her your breath caught in your throat. the image of her bare shoulder basically served on a silver platter plagued your mind. god, avoiding her was awful.

you just knew that if you saw her again, you wouldn't be able to control yourself anymore. the little restraint you had was terrifying.

"so? what do you want?" your words came off a bit harsher than you intended, but you were afraid of her intentions.

she cracked a small smile, but it quickly dissipated as she said, "i want to do it again."

you knew it.

"wednesday, what we did- we can't do it again. i'm not as strong as you think," you tried to explain, "i was able to restrain myself last time. i won't be able to again."

wednesday took a step closer; her cold breath sending a ghostly chill down your spine.

"what if i don't want you to?"

you didn't know what to say. her words were painfully tempting; if you could, you would tear her uniform in the middle of the hallway and consume a waterfall.

you stayed silent for a moment, then cracked, "okay, fine, meet me at my dorm tonight. my roommate has plans so she won't be there."

elation filled wednesday to the brim; if she could scream and jump up and down in excitement she would've. instead, she nodded her head once and said, "see you then," before slipping into the darkness of the empty hallway before her.

you took a seat on a nearby bench, putting your head in your hands.

she really had you wrapped around her finger.

> > >

as you had instructed wednesday later in the day with a slip of your dorm key in her hand, she snuck into your room at the devil's hour.

there she caught you in pajamas, reading a book on your windowsill. she cocked her head a bit. the scene perplexed her.

wednesday had never seen you in casual clothing before; nor did she know that you enjoyed reading. this information was practically useless but it made her feel a closeness to you that felt impossible before.

your room wasn't bright like enid's; there were a few pinups of different artists and a cd collection on a small bookshelf. warm lighting made the room feel comfortable, unlike the white hospital lights that wednesday utilized in her own.

it took you a second to realize wednesday had arrived, quickly placing a bookmark in a page and turning towards her.

"are you sure you want to do this again?" you asked, wanting to reaffirm her consent.

wednesday already began taking off the black cardigan she wore over her tank top, looking at you with eyes that spelled are you daft?

you nodded, socked feet making small thumps on the ground as you walked toward your bed.

you patted the spot to your right. wednesday understood this signal, sitting close enough that her thighs touched your own.

a shaky breath left your throat. you were going to do this. it was too late to back out now; not with wednesday waiting patiently before you.

she pushed the strap of her tank top off her shoulder, leaving it completely naked. then you realized that the position the two of you were in wouldn't make this process comfortable enough.

"wednesday, do you mind- uh, shit, how do i say this," you were practically sweating as you swiveled towards her, legs criss crossed.

she mirrored your movements. her eyes were leveled with yours, patiently waiting for your directions.

"please- fuck, please sit in my lap. it'll give me the best angle so that i don't hurt you too badly."

you swore you saw a little flush spread on her freckled cheeks.

"alright," she agreed, crawling over to you. wednesday put her hands on your shoulders as she placed herself in the divot between your crossed legs. in this position, she was basically straddling you.

shit, isn't this a tad too intimate?

your thoughts were far beyond obsurd considering this was your request. knowing this, you sighed and let your eyes wander to her exposed shoulder.

"you're looking at it as if it's a buffet, you know," wednesday stated. you looked up at her, giving an annoyed face.

"i'm just nervous, geez."

wednesday's icey hand slithered up your back and rested at the nape of your neck. she guided your head closer, encouraging you to feast.

"do it," she whispered, her breath tickling your ear. by now, any self-discipline you tried to scrounge up had long vanished.

you leaned in. licking the chosen spot on her neck for a second, wednesday shuddered under your touch.

when you let your teeth puncture the virgin skin, you couldn't help but wrap her in your arms as you gripped her back.

wednesday let her head fall back, closing her eyes. the painful ecstasy was hers once again. this time felt different, though.

this time it was more than just the fangs deep in her skin; it was you, holding her tight as the familiar fragrance of vanilla washed over her senses. pain and pleasure were two sides of the same coin and wednesday felt light headed as she experienced both at once.

your fingers found their way under her tank top, wanting to grab at more than fabric. the taste of her blood made the world turn to static. your ears went deaf and all you could focus on was the girl in your lap and the way her jet black hair brushed against your face.

this act was like a drug administering the same affect on both addicts. you felt drunk and as your teeth sunk further in her shoulder, so did wednesday.

with her abdomen against yours, there was no room for you to get closer. when you pulled away, wednesday looked at you with her eyes half-lidded.

your mind was in a fog as you gazed at her. with the taste of blood still afflicting your tongue, your only thought was how beautiful wednesday looked.

and as she met your inebriated gaze, an overwhelming urge to kiss you took hold of her actions.

she leaned in. despite knowing close to nothing about you and wanting little to do with romance, she wanted you. she wanted you and the painful pleasure you bestowed upon her.

you got swept up in the moment and kissed her back instantly. you squeezed her closer, grazing her lip with your fang. irony blood tainted your lips. the taste left you higher than any drug.

opening her mouth, wednesday deepened the sinful kiss and you reciprocated in full. you felt like you couldn't breath. you didn't want to pull away.

just as wednesday's tongue skimmed your teeth, you pulled away.

deep breaths fogged the cold windows of the small dorm room. you still held her as her dead eyes held something a little more than a dark abyss; something even wednesday couldn't understand.

she wanted to continue, to ask you to bite her again and again and again. it didn't matter if you took all of her; it would be a great headline on a tombstone.

so, once you'd filled your lungs, wednesday stole away the distance of your lips once more.

you fell back, holding her. by now it was far past four in the morning, with school in three hours.

neither of you cared. the bloody kisses were an intoxication full of need; tonight would feel like forever.

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday imagine #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday oneshot #wednesday addams oneshot #wednesday x you #wednesday x y/n #wednesday/you

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d6volution · 6 months

Note

im a need a cain x reader smut, but like the reader can get in heat since there a type of animal i dont know what animal you can choose one. so like the reader chooses caine to release their thung idk i was thinkinh about it and now im trhiving to jhave it written so ofcourse i came to my fav writers inbox

i get it! im not the best at writing heat fics (i dont think??) but i tried 🤧

Caine/Cat Hybrid!Reader

(afab parts)

tags: bondage, reader in heat, man handling

minors dni | nsfw below the cut.

It had been years in this digital world, and with every new person to enter Jax was always the only anthropomorphic animal to be in the circus. Until you came along, cat like ears sprouted from your head and tail protruding from where your tailbone should be.

Of course the other members either reacted in awe, or just didn't really care. Or some in between like Jax who loved pulling at your ears and tail as it usually made you squeak like a toy.

Even Caine wasnt immune to your cuteness it seemed, he'd make the odd comment about your apperance here and there but it was always positive. Maybe that's why you chose him..? Or maybe it was because he was the showrunner, he had power and could protect you and ... your young. That's usually the things mates would looked for..? Right? Damn it you didn't know. You were human before all this was completely new to you. But your body didn't care, this.. heat cycle hit you like a sack of bricks. You'd been holed up in your room for a few days now, ignoring the knocks at your door.

Lest you jump on the person on the other side of the door and beg them to fuck you until you can't remember your name.

You thought maybe after taking care of yourself this .. feeling would go away but no, you came on your fingers several times but it wasn't close to being enough. It was like you were losing yourself to this feeling, all you could think about was being filled..

In the haze of your thoughts Caine came to mind again, you knew his opinion on things like this but you had to try. Something.. anything, and pray that in the process to getting to his room you wouldn't run into anyone else..

A few moments later when you got the resolve to finally peek out of your room you moved as quickly as you could in your state, luckily remembering the path to the ringmasters quarters. A big grand red door was at the end of the hall and you tugged at the door but it didn't budge.

"C.. Caine.. ? You there..?" Your voice sounded pathetic, dripping with need. A soft mewl even escaped your lips in frustration.

It felt like a century until you felt eyes on you, but.. from behind you. It was Caine just floating there, in the same confusion as yourself. "C.. Caine? Why aren't you in your room?" Your senses were going ballistic now, it cried for you to present yourself to him. Beg for him to take you right here and now.

"Simple, my dear! I don't sleep! This room is merely a prop of sorts!" He retorted, "Are.. you alright, y/n? You're looking a little, under the weather." He seemed to actually be concerned, and you started squirming.

"N.. No I need.." Your ears flattened out of embarrassment, tail wrapping around your leg for self comfort. "need.." Your voice trailed off, "... s'your fault Caine.. you made me like this..!"

"Now, now, calm down y/n I don't necessarily get to choose your new bodies—!" You cut him off by pawing at his leg, clinging to it to keep him in place. He tried to keep his balance.

"Please Caine.. need you.." You nuzzled at his leg, then moved up his thigh trying to nuzzle at his crotch as the smell of him was inviting you. "T.. This is hardly appropriate, let's *ahem* get you inside." Caine looked both ways to assure no one had saw you two. He then scooped you up by the waist, holding you like luggage and carrying you inside his room.

As soon as you two were in the room he dropped you onto the bed unceremoniously.

Caine tugged at his tie and allowed it to loosen up, "Well, now. What to do with you." He snapped his fingers and you were bound to the bed in a very lewd manner, knees bent and pressed at your chest being held by red ropes that seemed to match his suit. "C... Caine wha.." You whimpered, tears forming in your eyes as he seemed to just be toying with you.

"Tsk, tsk this won't do at all! You're making a mess of your clothes!" And now they were gone too, you instinctively pulled your binds helplessly. "Please.." You whined, not knowing exactly what you were pleading for.

"Yes, yes.. I think I know what's happening to you, now be patient dear! I'm breaking many a rule for you, y'know!" He said, now appearing suddenly in between your legs , two gloved fingers delving into your cunt suddenly. "Hhck..!" Your ears pointed straight up out of shock and your body moved against the binds again, "Come now you can handle this!"

"N.. Not that.. need.. you inside.. please.." Your cunt was senstive sure, but it was more frustrating that he was using his fingers, "Please Caine.. breed me.." Your words made him swallow and he had to compose himself. He was only doing this because he had to, he couldn't have to wandering off and trying to pounce on anyone else!

He pulled himself from his pants, he didn't realize until now that his cock was straining against them a few moments ago. You desperately wanted to present yourself to him, spread your cunt and open your legs but he had you tied up like some kind of animal.

His tip nudged at your cunt, the slick causing him to slip past your hole a few times. You mewled and bucked your hips a little as if to encourage him.

Another thrust and he buried himself completely inside of you, your cunt swallowing him up immediately, it was like he was made for you. You were made for each other. "Ngh.. there we go, stubborn little thing.." He said with a grunt, hovering over your body.

He was finally inside of you and your body begged you not to let him go, not until he came inside of you at least three or four times at least! "Caine.. more .. mn.." He felt like you were calm enough to get rid of the bindings so he did, snaping his fingers and they seemed to fade away into the air.

Your legs immediately wrapped around him, tugging him closer.

"How impatient, very well then. Hold tight my dear," He said, hands planted on the sides of your head as he started to move his hips, rocking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered shut, ear twitching a little as a soft purring sound rumbled in your chest.

His thrusts picked up speed quickly, you were responding so well to them that he was slowly beginning to loose himself as well. Family friendly? Behind the doors of his room that would have to disappear from now on. "Nh.. thats right.. to keep everyone.. in check!" His words matched the rhythm of his heavy thrusts.

"Hha.. Caine, caine..!" You cried out, legs tugging him closer, "N.. Need your cum.. make me pregnant p-please..!"

His hips stuttered a little, your words seemed to be getting to him whether he liked it or not. He shoved two fingers into your mouth to keep you quiet so he could focus. How distracting your dirty mouth could be was impressive. Your moans and cries were muffled, saliva dirtying his gloves.

Caine put his full weight behind his thrusts , your smaller form quite literally being fucked into the mattress. "Nnhg, almost there, y/n..! Be a dear and a cum with me." He said in a mocking voice, his hand removing itself from your mouth and instead pushing your lower stomach. Adding more pressure to your already stuffed cunt.

"Gh..hhaa.. Caine, cu.. cumming.. cumming..!" You yelped and clung to him, legs keeping him locked in so he couldn't pull away from you. He'd be force to fill your cunt to the brim. "Inside.. fill me up..!" Your tongue lulled past your lips , cunt clamping down on his dick as you hand a nearly blinding orgasm.

Caine couldn't help it, your cunt was practically milking him and he spilled into your cunt without a second thought. Though he didn't seem at all out of breath.

"Well that sure was.. something.." Caine noted, his dick still twitching inside of you as the last few spurts of cum filled your stuffed cunt.

You panted, looking up at him with half lidded eyes, a lewd smile painting your lips. "Caine.. m'not done.. need more.."

Did he really think one round would be enough?

#the amazing digital circus #ask #minors dni #caine x reader #tadc caine #the amazing digital circus caine #caine x reader smut

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envy-of-the-apple · 2 months

Note

Hello, first of all HAPPY BIRTHDAY !!! I hope you had a happy birthday today !

I recently read your recent fic (The Sun eats the Moon) and the writting was amazing. But I have some question in my mind like :

"After that maybe 'Reader' could take contraception in secret, no ?"

"Is she (or they) gonna end up married to him, and forced to be a housewife or just following him where he goes ?" honestly I think her destiny is tragic no matter the result.

"How did he react to her disappearance, did he tried to find her (honestly my question was why he didn't ask her parents or search where did she goes, but honestly its a good thing that he didn't search) ? And during 10 years, how was to him ?" Maybe the only thing we can say "good" about him is he will only looking toward her and not any women after THAT day...?

And last question, I was wondering what will happen to them after THAT day like I know fr that in the media there will be news, but honestly I think the conclusion is well writting, the fact you first introduce the concept about the Moon and conclued with the detailed about the Moon and how tragic the ending is for them (Moon and 'Reader'). And if you are going to a Geto's it's will also be interesting because he was there to.

Sorry for the long message (eng isn't my first language) and thanks you to read that ! Have a nice day or night !

Thank you!!!!!!All great great great questions! I'll try to answer them as best as I can before giving tooo much away lol:

Why cant Ms.Moon take contraception?

yes Ms.Moon (that's my nickname for the mc now lol) could definitely try to take contraception in secret but I don't think it'll be a good ending if Gojo finds out. In the comments of the fic, many ppl were pointing out that Gojo was intentionally trying to get Ms. Moon pregnant back when they were "dating" buuuut it was sort of an afterthought for him. His logic was 'oh well it doesn't matter either way. you're staying with me regardless' but now that he's seen that Ms.Moon is 100% willing to leave him his next course of action is 'k well can't do that if you have a kid'. It's really not about Ms.Moon having a baby, rather it's insurance that bestie won't just dip again. He cares about you more than any kid you'd make together (awww thats so....sweet???)

Will Gojo force Ms.Moon to get married?

Probably, he's a romantic at heart teehee. But also he loves the attention. Part of the reason he was so effective in "keeping" Ms.Moon (in high school) was largely due to public pressure. Now, where he's basically a celebrity, his obsession with the spotlight has only increased. He's gonna be on talk shows and never shy about your relationship to the press. Gojo will definitely describe your relationship as 'newly reunited highschool sweethearts'. People at work will definitely bombard you for the details, and you were never one to be defiant so you'd probably just mutely agree with him (that's why he loves you so much: you're so agreeable). He'd make sure your wedding is the biggest celebration of the year. And then he'd drag you to Aruba or something for yalls honeymoon:)

Why didn't Gojo try to find Ms. Moon?

He did! When you dipped (graduated early and left for college) he went ballistic. I totally forgot to add this in, but Gojo is a huge reason why Ms.Moon doesn't talk to family anymore/anyone in that town. You didn't even tell your parents what college you were headed off to. I bet Gojo harrassed your family for a bit, because he's Gojo Satoru, but when it's clear you just disappeared I bet he was depressed. As terrible as he was, he did love you. It was also a pride thing for him. No one's ever 'won' against him, and you technically did. He'd greatly underestimated you and you got away. I bet he'd be a little impressed at that. I think in the fic it was greatly implied that he was searching for you buuuut eventually he forgot because he got so busy with his life. He still thought about you, but its was probably more along the lines of 'damn, can't believe i lost that bitch' And then you unceremoniously fell from the sky. Surprising, but he's grateful. It was fate to meet you again or was it? *cackles in omniscient author*

The Aftermath

Yeah, you're not living a normal life after that ever again. You're moving in with him, he's getting that marriage certificate ready bye bye freedom. I don't think he'd lock you up, buuuut having a security detail on you at all times, putting a tracker in your phone, and constantly calling/texting you is pretty close to life in prison right? EVENTUALLY, he'd limit your social network, then not-so-gently encourage you to quit your job. By the end of it, you'll be his little housewife but I think he'd be nice about it. (kind of)

#yandere #x reader #yandere jjk #dark content #dark jjk #dark gojo satoru #gojo satoru #asks #yandere gojo satoru #“The Sun Eats the Moon” Asks #SEM

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starrycassi · 8 months

Text

Ballister's been through this many times. Ambrosius comes into his room, hysterical, to announce him of some ridiculous upper crust rule or ball or challenge that he's got to participate in. He knows the drill by now; listen to him, reassure him and help him get ready, be it brushing his hair or co-writing a speech for him to give.

The Goldenloin family puts up an act for people to show off Ambrosius and his many qualities every so often. He doesn't really care, not anymore. He used to panic alongside Ambrosius, when they were thirteen. He's seventeen, now, and the novelty of it has worn off — it's just kind of funny, really, to see his boyfriend suffer through hours and hours of whatever bullshit he's supposed to do now.

This upcoming event, however, is doing a number on Ambrosius's nerves. He's pacing back and forth the room, and he hasn't even looked at Ballister yet. His tic — the one in his left eye, is back, and his lips are red and swollen in the places where he's been bitting them. It's barely five am, and Ballister knows that this is going to be a long day.

"You're going to get nauseous if you keep spinning around, Amber" he tries to start the conversation, voice soft and words slow. Between them, Ambrosius has always been the worst when it comes to keeping his emotions under control. Ballister's learnt, by now, that sometimes it's just better to give him space.

"I'm nauseous already. Some spinning won't hurt, I'm sure" he snaps back, almost screaming. Ballister decides that talking to him won't be possible right now, and goes back to the project on his table, making sure to hold the screwdriver at the right angle.

After fifteen minutes or so, Ambrosius finally stops. He whines, letting his body weight drag him down on Ballister's mattress.

"What is it, this time?"

Ambrosius's silent, only whining a bit more after the question, like a wounded dog. That's new. He usually loves to go on rants about how everything is going to go wrong and how the whole world hates him in secret. Ballister puts down the tools, quickly scribbles down what he's supposed to do next to avoid future mistakes, and sits down next to his boyfriend, threading a hand through the other teen's hair.

They stay like that some minutes, Ballister working his way through the blond strands and Ambrosius simply lying there. Ballister's starting to think that he's fallen asleep, when Ambrosius finally speaks up, face still buried in pillows.

"They're marrying me off, Bal"

The world stops spinning.

Ballister goes static. His whole body freezes, and his heart stops beating. He can feel the blood on his veins going cold, so cold his bones feel stuck, too.

This was a expected situation, kind of. Captain Gloria, Ambrosius's mom, had been married off, too. She didn't like her husband in the slightest and they never talked to each other. Ambrosius told him all that.

She had also promised to keep her son away from that predicament. But Ballister knew better than to trust mothers. His own had abandoned him some years ago, after all.

"What... How? What?"

Ambrosius sits up, criss cross, hugging a pillow. He's such a kid. His eyes are already watery, and he's got a red nose, probably from slamming his face into the pillows.

"Not- well, not actually marrying me off. Mum doesn't want that, y'know" He shrugs, looking at his own hands. "But she can't really... just go against tradition, I guess. So, uh, there's going to be a tournament, figths, you know? And I know I'll probably win, she chose combat because she knows I'm good at it, but what if I don't win?"

He takes a deep breath, grunting. Ballister's brain is struggling to catch up, so he can't do much more than nod, encouraging his boyfriend to keep talking.

"It's not going to be like here, only us, cadets and students, where I know I will undoubtedly win. Actual grown ups could get in there, Ballister. My mom's been screaming to anyone and everyone about how ridiculous everything is, but- I guess rules are rules. I haven't slept. We stayed up all night on the phone, she tore down the whole family's library, called all of our lawyers, we tried every single article and law ever written. Nothing. The best we can do is... hope"

"The Captain's right. This is ridiculous, Ambrosius. What do you mean grown ups? Why? That's fucking creepy. Can't you guys just... say no? You're a Goldenloin, surely you-"

Ambrosius grunts, again, tugging at one of his hair strands.

"It's not that easy!" He screams, shutting Ballister up. "I've been getting proposals for... for forever! It's not really a matter of love as it is a matter of money, Bal. I've been getting proposals even from before I was actually born. Political alliances and all that. Mom's been doing her best, I know she has, but when a heir has said "no" enough times, then a duel or something can be called up, and an actual tournament would be way easier than just fighting every single idiot that wants to get my last name!"

Ballister's never been happier to be an orphan commoner than right now. His only worry when it comes to marriage is whether or not he can afford a pretty ring.

It's not like commoners don't marry for money. Arranged marriages were a pretty common thing around him, young kids marrying older people to try and get their families ahead, forced by their parents, their "spouses" or their economical situations. He just... never really had to worry about it, ever since he became a knight.

"That's incredibly fucked up, Ambrosius"

"I know ! I am well aware of how weird this must be for you, Bal. And I have absolutely no backup plan. My mom's confident that I'm winning, because Goldenloins never lose, but I'm not her! She can still beat me when we spar together, what am I going to do if someone else wins? Just... get married?"

Trying to come up with a solution, Ballister stutters and stammers his way through a sentence.

"You could, uh, get married and have a divorce, right?"

"No! Totally no! You don't get it! Whoever wins gets to ask whatever they want from my family, money, land, my hand- whatever, and then that's irrevocable!"

Stressed out, Ballister screechs. Of course he doesn't get it. No one ever bothered to explain this to him. He knew that parents could force their kids to marry (Captain Gloria once told him the story, very drunk and very mad at her departed dad) but not that a whole fucking event could be staged even if the family said no.

"It's not my fault I don't get it, you twat! Do you think the knigth training automatically gave me political marriage bullshit training, too? Well, no, it didn't! I'm so sorry for not knowing you weird ass nobility traditions, Ambrosius, I didn't realize I was supposed to!"

Getting up from the bed, mad at the world for being unfair and at himself for snapping, he runs his hands through his hair, with the impulse to simply rip it all off. It quickly gets replaced by guilt. Ambrosius has done nothing wrong, and here he is, being an asshole instead of helping.

"Amber... Shit, I'm sorry. This is just-"

Chuckling humorlessly, Ambrosius waves his hand in the air. He looks up at Ballister, and shakes his head.

"You're right. Sorry. I just forgot. I always do"

They already went through this, too. Ambrosius is good at keeping Ballister up to date, always happy to explain the situation, but sometimes things just... slip his mind. It isn't anyone's fault, but it's still annoying when it happens.

"Sorry, too. For calling you a twat"

Ballister leans down, tentatively. Ambrosius doesn't hesitate to lift himself up, and they share a quick kiss. All is forgiven.

"So... what now?"

Silently, they both try their best to think. Ballister's mind is blank, just screaming at him to get a sword and go decapitate however wrote the fuckin rules. He ignores that voice, per usual. The fucker's probably dead, by now, anyway.

Ambrosius is the one who gasps, and smiles all of the sudden, so bright that the sun should be jealous. He bounces on the bed a couple of times, clapping to get his boyfriend's attention.

"We're both idiots!"

Ballister frowns, confused. An awkward smile is all he can offer Ambrosius, wondering if his man finally went crazy.

"I see no correlation between our supposed idiocy and the problem at hand, Amber."

"Come on, Bal! This is easy. I have the best plan" he giggles, like a kid that just got a new toy. Ballister can tell that this plan probably will suck and get them in more danger than necessary. And he's so on board. Always on board, when it comes to Ambrosius.

"Which is?"

"You!" Exclaims Ambrosius, rolling his eyes. "You're my plan"

"Excuse me?"

"You're going to compete and win, Bal"

Perhaps he never should've become a knight, that way he never would've fallen in love with this absolute trainwreck of a man. Is it too late to go back to being a random kid and forget about all this? Probably.

#goldenheart #nimona movie #ballister nimona #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister boldheart #nimona (2023)#ambrosius nimona #ambrosius x ballister #nimona #ballister blackheart #i should be doing homework #forced marriaged but he's trying to save his boyfriend from it #tournament au

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 months

Text

He Who Shows His Real Side

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4003

Summary: After searching, We'ar-ow cannot find who has attacked you. Without any evidence of the attacker, he finally reveals himself smugly. He belittles the Monarch, saying he bested her. Nearly going ballistic, Reader calms We'ar-ow with a touch. We'ar-ow doesn't allow him to make a fool of her.

Author Note: Now comes the time we have learned of who this mysterious attacker is. I know I don't respond to everyone's comment but I greatly appreciate all of your kind and amazing words to me! They mean the world to me and help me stay motivated as well!

Masterlist

Ao3

Besides your form pressed the tense body of We’ar-ow, you timidly laid a hand on her thigh. The massive Yautja didn’t jolt at the touch. Instead, her own hand engulfed yours and cradled it. No words were needed in the moment. You wanted to stay at the safety of her side. The only place you’ve found refuge while on this cursed ship that’s given you suffering in the end.

Dark bruises still painted the area of your neck, easily showing the print of someone’s large hand, attempting to take your life. You bowed your head at the thought and shuttered. Death was so close, right there. But the lights… they were your only saving grace in that moment. Or else… nothing. You would be nothing.

Tears prickled the corner of your eyes. Your hand in her palm clenched. We’ar-ow firmed her grasp and even tugged the limb up closer to her torso. An action that helped you pull away from your thoughts and glance up at her.

Her alien features have grown on you over the last year being here. The way the Yautjas looked didn’t bother you anymore. Just like any other human. She was… pretty to look out. Definitely a creature that could kill you with a single move, but she didn’t.

No, here she is. With you cradled to her side and holding your hand as she worked away at the device before her. You still hadn’t figured why she wanted you in the first place or why she still has you. Shouldn’t the novelty worn off already? Shouldn’t she already dumped you to the side?

A simple sigh passed your lips. You nuzzled deeper into her side for the comfort. You jolted when a growl vibrated almost your skin and caused the hairs on your arms to rise.

The moment you tried to pull away from her, fearful you pushed the relationship too far, We’ar-ow tugged you back. Her hand squeezing yours. “Calm, my ooman,” she spoke, tone soft and nearly sweet. “That wasn’t meant for you.” You didn’t take the growl to heart afterwards and nodded your head.

You take a chance to peek at her features again. We’ar-ow was already looking at you with her bright eyes that could find every little detail on your face. You instantly looked away to find the ground an easier sight to observe.

Pink entered your vision. Rough fingertips pinched your chin and tilted your head back towards We’ar-ow. Your eyes were wide as you looked at her again. “What is the matter, little ooman?” she asked with teasing, mocking tone in her gruff voice. Honeyed, trying to draw you in.

Hook. Your brows were pinched together and up. A look of sweet innocence on your face. Heat rushed to warm your cheeks, now frozen to only peer into her blazing gaze.

Alien but notable as a smirk graces her face. You felt small, minuscule under her gaze. Something you could tell she wanted by the look she held. She leaned in closer, well as much as her torso could allow her in the position she sat in. “Oh, little pet, you make it hard…” she trailed off and ran her thumb along the softness of your lips.

As sweet as the moment was, We’ar-ow broke it off. Her shoulders slightly sagged. She, herself, pulled away but kept her hand wrapped firmly around yours. Work is to be done. No time to get distracted.

It was hard to ignore the burning in your face or the racing of your heart that she had to hear. Yet, your heart also quivered, terrified on why you were feeling this way. You curled into yourself, still lodged against the pink Yautja’s side. A side you would have to be torn from for the time being despite the embarrassment filling your veins.

Movement roused you from a nap. We’ar-ow looked down at your lack form and tightened her mandibles. She crouched down to your level and brushed a stray lock of hair out of the way. Your eyes were still closed but fluttered at the touch. A smile gracing her face at the sight before she stood up and collected her items.

She’s delayed the start of the day long enough while mulling over the lack of information she’s been given. None of the cameras were working in the sector. Whoever disabled them was sneaky and smart, able to cover up their digital footprints and leave no trace.

From the depths of her hunters instinct, she knew it had to be Dwainet. The prick would not stay down after the embarrassing fight he endured. But he’s profession was hunter. He wasn’t part of security or knowledgeable enough to know about technology to do what had been done. We’ar-ow knew it had to be him who hurt you. Who else would care you that much to kill you. There was peace within the clan that We’ar-ow strived for since her first day as Monarch. Her only enemy would be Dwainet.

Unless he had help.

The throne didn’t offer any relief. The walls of the grand room echoed her thoughts back to her. She settled down for the day and pulled up the camera feed for her quarters. There you laid, on the comfort of the couch. Even floors away, she’ll keep a watchful, protective eye on you while doing her job as Monarch.

The device was set to the side, within sight. Only a single flick of her eyes to see the screen clearly. Her gaze was drawn away when the doors slid open and revealed the first Yautja of the day to deal with. It wasn’t the most exciting thing but it was her job. She rather be back in her quarters, holding you close and making sure her pet was safe.

Throughout the dragging hours of the day, she kept vigilance over your form. Wherever you went in her quarters, she watched and ensured your safety. No matter what room. She wouldn’t lose sight of you. The last time she let her eyes off of you, someone dared to try to take your life. We’ar-ow picks up on things swiftly, this was no different. Maybe it made her even more vigilant due to the fact you were far more fragile than what she’s used to. Glass ready to shatter if you even looked at it wrong.

When the room was cleared once more of anyone, We’ar-ow locked her gaze on the screen. On the other side, you were padding into the kitchen and sifting through the refrigerator. That reminds her to pick up some more ooman friendly foods on the way back. You were allowed to eat anything you wanted, if it was safe of course. Ooman’s eating times were different than Yautjas. We’ar-ow also picked up on the usual times your kind eats at, even with the hours difference. The snacks you also munched on between the main meals.

Though, your first few days under her care, We’ar-ow observed everything she could about you. She also scoured your ooman’s internet to find out what was normal within your society.

Now, that it’s been about two months with her, she has everything down to a T.

You plucked something from the refrigerator before spinning on your heel and finding a spot in the main room to plop down on. Though, We’ar-ow would prefer you to stay in her room, she couldn’t control what you did. Pet or not, you were your own person. Your personality wasn’t something she would take away. The fire in your eyes burning bright in her presence yet the timidity not allowing you to act out.

The soft pitter-patter of feet drew her gaze to an incoming Yautja. With a hesitate sigh, she pulled her gaze from the screen to find one of her councilmembers entering the chamber. We’ar-ow sat up higher and watched the female Yautja draw to a stop at the steps of her throne. A simple, respectful bow was given before eye contact was made.

Throughout the entire discussion, We’ar-ow continued to flicker her gaze over to the screen to check up on you. The bouncing of your knee while sitting on the couch was the first sign.

While on your tablet she gave for you entertainment, you started to chew at your nails and reading at the page. Your eyes flicked between the screen before you and to the exit of her quarters. Your fear of what was on the other side was a well known terror We’ar-ow knew about. Nearly two weeks of healing and recuperating has given her the clear details.

There were two things running through your mind right now. Either the want to have her with you again for protection or the terror of the unknown. The unknown being someone busting down the door and killing you. An action We’ar-ow would not allow to happen. You are hers after all.

In her position, she couldn’t go back and hold you close. We’ar-ow had been gone long enough and had to return to her job as Monarch. The ship couldn’t last long without a mighty fist to rein in the unruly Yautjas that would run rampant. That’s why she won all the tests thrown at her and bested all the other worthy opponents.

Yet, you needed comfort, the knowledge of her being close by, ready to defend you when the time came. This was no longer a game of chance. Now, it was of when and where. You can bet your life she’ll be there.

Forcing the video to minimize to the side, We’ar-ow pulled up a messaging system and sent a short text demanding you come to her. On the camera, you had jumped at the minute ding from the device before sagging at the message.

From the pits of her stomach, she hoped it was from relief.

You stood from the couch, put away the fruit you were snacking on, and stood at the door that blocked you from the rest of the ship. Out into the place full of predators. And you were the prey. In the lions den where they weren’t hungry but turning their noses up at the sight of you.

A deep breath of air not fully designed for your lungs filled them to the brim. You raised a timid hand then pressed the necessary button to open up the hatch.

Nothing came launching out at you. That was taken as a good sign. Courage brewing inside your chest. You took the needed steps to find your way to end of the hall, trying to built up the strength needed to go to We’ar-ow.

Vigilant as ever, you peered slowly around every corner before continuing. Your head was built on top of a swivel. Not only were you paying close attention to what lied ahead of you, but also behind your slinking form. Any Yautja you came across, you scampered past them, nearly on the verge of sprinting away at full speed. Anything to get you to safety of your Yautja.

It took about half the time it usually took to find yourself panting at the open throne room doors. There in her glory was the Monarch of the ship, sitting upon her throne like the royalty she was. You patted your way in and ignored the looks the random three Yautjas gave you.

Without hesitation, you climbed the stairs and ready to sit down at the feet of We’ar-ow, in your normal spot. A firm hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged into the pink body of her. You jolted the touch at first then raised a brow at her in question. A simple jerk of her head downwards had surprise boiling in your mind. Her lap.

Another tug had you following through her silent instructions. You could care less on who stood at the foot of the stairs. The warmth and protection that radiated off of her was what you needed. No one would or could hurt you within her presence. A guardian angel on a ship full of demons that despised your guts.

You wiggled into a more comfortable position for the moment. Strewn across her lap, two legs propped up one of the arm rests. Your back to the other one. All while the tablet still was clung tightly in your digits. You finally settled down.

We’ar-ow gave you a singular look after you stopped moving then returned her attention to trio at the base. This position is something you stayed in for awhile, to afraid to disturb the inner discussions of the mothership.

Now, under the watchful eye of We’ar-ow, literally in her lap, you focus on your tablet but for different reasons. Instead of studying your route for escape, the last attack only forcing your hand more, you played a few different games downloaded.

To be honest, when you found out they had digital games, that surprised you. Their culture, their entire species seems to revolve around primitive ways while working with powerful technology that allows for space travel. It’s shocking. Some of the rules and regulations of their culture don’t always make sense. But, if you want to live, you keep to those as if it was deity telling you so.

A species that actively hunts for their food while living on this massive ships that harbor at least hundreds, if not thousands of Yautjas with incredible technology. You never thought you would ever leave earth’s atmosphere, yet here you were. The farthest a human has ever gone, at least alive. Probably.

The current game of the day was raising breeding hounds… for hunting. So, not straying off their mark too much. It is enough to keep your mind stimulated without listening to droning words of Yautjas and the translator embedded to your skin.

Despite hating the fact you were out in the open, where whoever attacked you could just come and finish the job, you hoped We’ar-ow wouldn’t easily let that happen. She’s cared about you for this long. She even allows you, more like forces, to sleep in her bed with her. Not skin to skin but close enough to hear her breathing, feel her warmth, to know she’s there. Anything to chase off the terror of meeting Death for real this time.

While the day rolled along, you were content where you were perched upon. Despite knowing you should’ve been flushed with heat and wide eyed the entire time, it was the safest place for you to be.

More Yautjas began to file into the expansive room and took up the offered space as they waited for their turn. You, on the other hand, didn’t like the influx of bodies. You tensed up and watched from the corner of your eye of the growing crowd, heart beginning to thud in its bony cage. Your breath growing quicker at each passing second.

We’ar-ow only moved an arm and rested across your lap. The weight gave you a comforting feeling and grounded you back to floor of the mothership. Your heart and breath started to slow down but you didn’t dare take your eyes away from the crowd. Who knows who lies in there?

Any of those faces could’ve been the one, shrouded in darkness.

In the sea of people of varying heights and colors, out stepped a form that had you looking longing at. Memories of the past flooded you at the sight of him. Both sides of the coin; good and bad. But that’s how life was… until he threw you off to the side.

Your chin lifted up, upturning your nose at him. You did not care about him anymore, or at least that’s what your mind supplied in the moment. He was nothing but trash at your feet, groveling after the beat down he endured. We’ar-ow has given you more care and a strange type of love than you thought possible in this weird relationship between the two of you.

To him, you were a burden, nothing more than wasted space.

To her, you may be a pet, but decorated with expensive clothing and jewelry designed for you. You have your own room, though no longer used. You are fed three times a day, snacks are always provided. You have a tablet for entertainment.

This difference is staggering.

Even with your nose upturned, you kept a piercing gaze on him encase he dared to do anything. Yet, the Yautja filed into line, nonchalant and lax. His eyes never met yours, but you knew he knew you were there, on We’ar-ow’s lap. Your hand finds We’ar-ow’s and clamp your hand on it. To keep you grounded in reality and knowledge of your safety.

She gave you a subtle squeeze back. “Dwainet step forward. Do not hide,” We’ar-ow demanded, voice booming in the chambers and echoing back at everyone.

Dwainet snorted and made his way to the edge of the steps where he stopped. As a male, he was already short but with the steps, he was forced to tilt his head up to peered at the two of you. A position that exposed his throat any incoming attacks.

“Hide? You act like I have something to hide,” he snarked. Gone was the scared, shamed male of the past. Now, stood a male who thought himself as top of the food chain. You gripped her hand tighter.

The powerful thighs of the pink Yautja twitched under you. For a fleeting moment, they tensed but instantly relaxed. “State your business then scamper off like the dishonorable male that you are,” she snapped back and pulled on her full Monarch façade. She looked down at him over the bridge of her inner mouth and mandibles.

Those words didn’t discourage him. Instead, a full smirk grew on his face. He crossed his arms. We’ar-ow growled deep in her chest and sent vibrations crawling across your skin.

He cocked his head to the side all the while still looking up at her. “I heard about that attack on your pet’s life. Such a shame that the big powerful Monarch couldn’t protect something so feeble.” You inwardly flinch at his words. Your brows burrowing down with hurt etched into your features.

How could someone you once loved say such nasty words?

We’ar-ow was ready to launch out of her throne and give the punk another beat down of his life by the way she held herself. You peered up at her cracking stoic façade. Something had to be done.

Your hand shifted from gripping the side of her palm to intertwining your fingers together. The pride that flooded your veins when she relaxed back into her seat was astonishing. It nearly gave you the power to march down these steps and gut Dwainet like the coward he was.

“My pet is free to roam the halls of my ship. There is no need for constant vigilance.” Roaming is something you wouldn’t do, unless it is for your escape.

“You should keep a tight leash on the damn thing… or else I might get my hands on it again,” he sneered with a prideful look on his once handsome face. A face you once enjoyed looking at. Now though, he taunted We’ar-ow, as if asking for her to sign his death wish.

Her digits clutched yours threading between the open spaces of them. He could never have you again, over your dead body. “Stop playing coy. Say it!” she demanded and held onto your hand in a near crushing grip. You took the shocks of pain racing up your hand, anything to keep her from leaping up and tearing the male apart. You’ve never… seen her so riled up and easily showing her cards.

The calm and collected Yautja wasn’t what you saw now.

He turned his head to look the Yautja straight in the eye. “I attacked your pet. I want it dead.”

Your lips parted. The only thing you could do in spilt second given to you was stare at him, tears welling up in your eyes. You thought he was talking about the day had abandoned you at first… but Dwainet had attempted to take your life. The person you shared a bed with, your body with, your love with.

Like the hammer of gun being released, We’ar-ow coiled her muscles to launch herself at the Yautja who just admitted to the crime. You were the safety. You reached up instantly and place a palm against her chest as if you, a feeble thing, could hold back a raging female.

She stopped.

She settled fully into her chair and took a breath. “You attacked another’s pet? That is a crime. You are continuously racking up charges. Are you wanting to be exiled, marked as a Bad Blood?” We’ar-ow turned to her more logical side rather than acting out on impulse.

The pet status, though the lowest thing in the clan, still offered your protection from any harm. Unless those who would want to be marked as a Bad Blood. You are to have read up on some things about the inner workings of a Yautja clan.

Despite being told of his crimes and a punishment worse than death, Dwainet doesn’t falter. He only peeks behind him and jerks his head up to the two of you.

From the crowd, thirteen Yautjas step out of the line and stand behind Dwainet, siding with him. “We have grown weary of this, Monarch,” he spat out the words with disgust. “You were once thought to be what we needed after the last reign. But you’ve grown soft, weak with this ooman around. If an ooman can cause our leader, our guiding hand to falter like this, we seek out a new Monarch. One who won’t take such things as pets.”

A cold terror flooded your veins, freezing you from the inside out. The thing he was implying had you terrified of what this could mean. You only know so much about the politics of Yautjas as it can differ from clan to clan.

Was he challenging her to a fight again? Did he seriously want to die? He only survived last time because you begged We’ar-ow not to kill him.

And that seemed to come back to bite you in the butt.

“Your words mean little in the eyes of the crimes that would deem you as a Bad Blood,” We’ar-ow is quick witted to put down Dwainet. She shifted in her seat and pushed her hips out a little more, showing off a laxer posed. She was no scared of him or those who side with him. A one v. thirteen that she believed she could best.

After the throw down she gave to Dwainet, you saw her power. But even she had her limitations.

“A meeting will be called to discuss your crimes, Dwainet. You are barred from leaving this ship until your fate has been decided. Your days numbered. Count them.” With a flick of her hand, she dismissed the group from the chambers.

You saw the fire in Dwainet’s eyes. He had wanted a bigger reaction from her by the looks of it. With a crowd to witness an explosive reaction would’ve added fuel to his fire. What did he want from this? What was his goal in the end?

The male you once loved snarled his annoyance before spinning on his heel and pushing his way through his crowd. They followed him, quieter about their leave. An air of unsure left in their wake.

Everyone else who wasn’t part of the revolution, began to murmur to each other before We’ar-ow ordered for the next to step up. As if nothing had occurred, the pink Yautja returned to work. You, on the other hand, fretted over what this could mean for the two of you and your safety and security on this ship.

Once believing you were safe, you questioned it all.

You had to get off this ship.

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