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itsyou-itsme-itsus · 2 years

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Gambled away: Chapter 4

Dark!Steve x fem!reader

Warnings: 18 + ONLY MINORS DNI!!! Noncon, themes of Stockholm/kidnapping and CNC. Oral sex male and female receiving. P in V intercourse. gagging, spit. Unprotected sex (stay safe wrap it up) use of Daddy. rough sex. (If this bothers you please scroll on by. Its 100 percent fantasy.)

Notes: This one might be long.

Steve hung up the phone, he couldn’t see what you and Nat had put together for him. It would be about 12:30 am when he finally made it home. He stepped out into the brisk chilly night air, just outside Stark industries.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you, how he wanted to feel you tightly wrapped around him as he sunk his full length inside of you. He took a moment listening to the sounds of the city, cars honk and the clatter of trash cans.

Fury had called about Scott trying to make a police report on Steve. Nat had left the safe house where you were being kept to go straight to the police station to handle the situation. Maybe a little jail time would help Scott to get over you.

Steve climbed into the drivers seat shutting the door, when the passengers side door swung open and Sharon jumped in.

“Hey.” She smiled, she had a black hoodie pulled over her uniform.

“What do you want Sharon?” Steve grumbled, annoyed with yet another obstacle stopping him from wetting his dick with your pussy.

“I just thought we’d go have a couple drinks tonight, its been awhile.” She grinned her hand reached out and caressing Steve’s knee with her finger tips.

Steve sighed and peeled her hand away and setting it back in her lap. They had dated a couple years ago and it was fun having someone like her, who would jump in on being a dirty cop for him, Bucky and Nat. After awhile he had gotten bored with her clinginess and jealousy.

“I’m busy Sharon, go home.” Steve started up the car and Sharon ignored him, she stayed in the car.

“That’s ok, I can go home with you and we can hang out after you’re done.” She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth and scratched at the back of Steve’s neck.

It was Sharon’s way of letting Steve know she wanted to be the one for him to take out all his sexual aggression on.

Steve didn’t say anything he pulled out of the parking spot and began driving. He headed towards Sharon place to avoid the possible conflict if she found out Steve was keeping you.

Sharon had never been the type he could imagine having kids with, she was too selfish and conniving to be a stay at home mom. Maybe she’d be perfect for someone else but she admitted she didn’t even want kids. Although that didn’t mean she wasn’t the type to get pregnant just to keep someone around.

You on the other hand, Steve knew you’d make a great wife and a stay at home mom. He was never the type to get married and live a white picket fence life. If he liked you after tonight and you were a real peach in bed, He won’t pass up on that opportunity.

The streets were wet from a rain fall earlier that evening. The traffic lights reflected off the shiny asphalt. Sharon’s apartment was seven blocks away which would put Steve back about 20 minutes.

He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Sharon had been talking about something she did with Carol and Sam. He couldn’t be bothered to give her any of his mind’s attention as you had reserved all the space for the night.

The picture Nat had sent him with you laying on the bed, sitting up with your back against the head board. The same one he’d be gripping for leverage later on. Your cleavage looked stunning as the red dress clung tightly to each curve. Your makeup was perfect just enough to ruin it.

Thought of kissing those ruby red plump lips. His favorite part was how Nat positioned you, your legs slightly spread so he could see the outline of your puffy sex through the red panties. How the thigh highs hugged just right to the thickest part of your legs. The way she almost got you to smile just for him.

Steve almost missed the turn, the tires screeched loudly as they skidded across the wet ground.

“Whoa, someone’s eager.” Sharon laughed as they turned the corner. He was eager, just not for Sharon.

Steve parked his car just on the curb in front of the door that lead to the staircase of Sharon’s apartment complex.

“Go change into something sexier. I don’t want to fuck a cop.” Sharon rolled her eyes a chuckled but she listened and practically bounced out of the car.

Steve waited watching her disappear up the stairs, he could only see to the second floor. Sharon lived on the third floor, 4th apartment back. He waited a few minutes to be sure that she was on her floor before he curved the tires and peeled out.

Steve sped the entire way home, the clock in the car read 12:15am. It didn’t matter if you were sleeping or not when Steve got home, you’d wake up with his cock buried deep inside of you.

Sharon put on the small light blue dress, not only did it look great in contrast to her blonde hair and blue eyes, Steve had loved her ass in it. She fixed her hair and pulled on the blue strappy heels to match.

Sharon knew in her gut Steve had ditched her, the space where he had been was empty except for some trash.

“Steve?” She yelled out and walked a few feet, her hips swaying and heels clacking on the wet side walk.

She peered around the corner and then looked down both sides of the street, Steve’s car was gone.

“Fuck!” She spat, marching angrily into her apartment building. The sound of her heel magnified in the empty hallway. She pulled her phone out and began to call Carol.

“I think he likes that cunt!” Sharon growled into the phone slamming the door behind her with one foot.

“What do you want to do?” Carol asked she sat at the station with her feet propped up on the desk.

“Find out what you can about her from Scott. Pretend like you’re going to help him if you want.” Sharon snapped before hanging up. She kicked her heels off one flying across the room and the other one just a few feet away.

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Your stomach gurgled and you weren’t sure if it was from hunger or nerves. You had tried to sleep hoping that would save you from Steve’s advances if he got back too late. You knew it was late but didn’t know exactly what time it was.

It didn’t feel safe to leave the room so you paced around like a caged tiger at the zoo. The slam of the front door had your heart racing. You stood back from the door staring at it as if it were going to jump at you.

It seemed like time stopped and all you could hear was the blood rushing to your ears. Slowly the knob started to turn. It swung open to reveal Steve, he wore a blue button up dress shirt with the sleeves revealing his forearms and perfectly fitted slacks.

He was breathing heavily, He looked feral as he glanced over your appearance. He advanced towards you, making you back up until you bumped into the bed.

Steve towered over you, your body flush against his. His hands took a moment to follow the curves of your body that the dress accentuated beautifully. You remembered once your mother had told you not to let boys get too close to you, because once their hands started roaming it would feel like their hands were everywhere. This was the first time you truly understood what she meant. Steve pressed his forehead against yours, His hands sliding over your shoulders beneath the thin straps. He pushed them down running his hands over your arms. When the dress came dangerously close to sliding the material down exposing your breasts you jerked your arms up to block him. He squeezed your arms painfully as a warning.

“I’m tired of waiting.” He growled, the material brushing your nipples causing them to pebble. He leaned forward and kiss you, his lips parting yours so he could slip his tongue in your mouth. You didn’t kiss him back, but you allowed him to do what he wanted.

The dress was below your rib cage. One hand cupped your chin roughly tilting your head up. His tongue pushed against yours, finally you gave in and moved your tongue and lips with his. His other hand calloused and strong groped your breasts. He squeezed them and ran his thumbs over the tips of your nipples. It coaxed out a soft moan that was swallowed by Steve’s hungry lips. Scott never touched you or kissed you like this. It was always gentle, and he’d always check in with you, asking for your consent. Steve was going to take what he wanted for from you, man handling your body. Your mind and body struggled with conflict. Tears streamed down your cheeks out of fear, yet you pressed your thighs together feeling an ache within, wetness pooling inside your panties.

Steve’s hands followed your curves pushing the soft red material down to your hips. It snagged snuggly over your butt. He yanked downward the fabric ripping a little the material sat over your thighs pinning your legs together. He gripped your ass cheeks kneading and spreading them. Another moan slithered out from your throat. He couldn’t help himself he landed a sharp slap to your ass cheek feeling it jiggle before roughly grabbing it again. You whined and winced still smothered by his heated kiss.

Steve pulled back looking over your body he shoved you back onto the bed, pulling the dress the rest of the way off. He sneered at the wet spot on your panties.

“What a slutty pussy. You act like you don’t want me, but I know you do.” He pushed your legs apart; you covered your face too embarrassed that you were becoming aroused by his touch.

He drug his index finger from the wet spot up, pressing in to define your slit as he rubbed up until he pressed against your clit. the thin fabric doing very little to shield you from his touches. It only took a soft whimper before he was growing impatient with you. He pulled your panties off and knelt between your thighs. You smelled wonderful, he sniffed your soiled panties rubbing his nose along your slit, before kissing your upper thighs. His bread tickling your sensitive skin. It felt good, in away you hadn’t experienced before. He bit at the ample flesh making you squirm. Kissing his way along your folds tasting the sweet tanginess of your wet skin. He nuzzled closer as his hands pushed your thighs further apart. Your pussy betrayed you and flowered for him. He looked at you glisten and drip with sweet honey. His tongue dipped in gliding up opening your more, savoring the taste before he reached your pearl. He looked up to see you nervously looking down at him.

He smirked before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking you groaned and your head tipped back. His tongue lashed at your clit, it made your legs tremble. Having not been able to touch yourself or to have alone time mixed with all the stress made it so much more sensitive to be touched in this way.

Steve was careful to watch you, chest heaving as small moans escaped your reluctant lips. He attacked your clit with a feral hunger pushing you towards the edge, his beard adding to the sensation as it collected your nectar in it. That familiar coil heated deep within, tightening as that tingling feeling threatened to explode through your body like a super nova. It prickled its way along your spine, building to something stronger. You were beginning to lose your inhibitions. Steve liked upwards and began to kiss your stomach.

“Steve! wh-a? please.” You begged feeling confused as to why he stopped. The coils cooled as your body felt feverish and your pussy cramped with an ache to be filled.

“You’ll have to wait for making me wait for so long.” He kissed his way up your stomach leaving a trail of his saliva and your wetness. He kissed your breasts pushing his palms against the swell of them. He sucked one nipple into his mouth licking at the rubbery nub. His teeth grazing it gently making you arch your back and moan.

His kisses continued until he was licking along your jawline. Steve made you taste your own arousal on his lips. This time you kissed him back with your own hunger. He got on his knees bringing you up with him. The sound of his buckling clanking open followed by the sound of his zipper he pulled his pants down.

“Suck it.” He hissed fisting a handful of your hair as he pushed you down. His cock was huge, thick with an angry red bulbous tip, precum pearled at the end. You licked at it like a lollipop tasting the salty liquid. He pushed you down a few inches until your lips stretched around it and the tip poked your throat. You sucked in a deep breath trying not to gag.

He let you lick at the base and adjust to his length and girth before pulling your head back until the tip was resting on your tongue. He didn’t move his hips he just pulled and pushed your head up and down his cock as if you were just a fleshlight. Your jaw ached trying to accommodate his size as he worked more and more of himself inside your throat. In and out he slid himself deeper, finally you heaved and coughed as he lodged his dick in your warm throat. Your nose touched his pubes, swallowing instinctively as if trying to get rid of the object blocking your air ways. You slapped his thighs and tried to push back in fear he’d suffocate you, he held you tightly against him before pulling back. You gasped for air feeling the burn as your lungs filled back up with air.

spit and precum bubbled and dripped down your chin, He used your head to bob faster up and down his length not caring when you sputtered and gagged. His balls slapping your chin as he grunted, enjoying the feeling of your throat contract around his dick. He pulled you back with saliva and cum bridging between his angry red tip and your wet swollen lips.

“Lay down.” He husked lust filling his tone. He kneeled between your legs rubbed his cock up and down your slit. His tip nudged your clit mixing his precum with your slick.

“Beg me for it.” He demanded watching your face as he pushed his dick through your folds teasingly nudging at your entrance. Tears welled up in your eyes and you shook your head no.

“So we want to be bratty huh?” Steve pulled back a bit before landing hard slap with his hand on your pussy. You tried to shut your legs but his body blocked you. The sting spread through your folds and into your clit. He pushed you legs open again and then landed another hard slap, this time it stung even more.

“Aaah, Please Steve!” You cried out struggling to shield yourself but Steve caressed your clit with his thumb lowering your guard before delivering another rough slap to your pussy. You wailed and cried. It was becoming too painful and each time he slapped harder.

“Please fuck my pussy! I need it! I need you!!” You trembled under him waiting for him to spank your pussy again. Instead he lined himself at your entrance again. He was bigger than Scott for sure.

“Good girl.”

The tip pressed in already beginning to stretch you open, he went slow watching your tight hole spread wide to fit his length. His thumb rubbing circles over your clit. A gasp left your lips, and he grunted when the tip breached your walls. It would of been painful if you hadn’t been so wet. Still it tightly stretched over his girth like glove. Gripping the bed sheets you feared he would split you in half.

“Please! it won’t fit!” you cried when he pushed deeper. Steve gently hushed you, like trying to calm a frightened child. He pushed in until his tip pressed hard against your cervix almost painfully, if he pushed anymore he might break through it. He held it there watching you struggle in discomfort trying to allow you to adjust to his size.

Steve sighed in pleasure this was the moment he had been waiting for. It was so warm and tight hugging his cock perfectly. The pressure making his tip swell and his shaft twitch, He knew you could feel it too. He grabbed your breasts massaging them as he watched himself slide out inch by inch before resting the tip in the opening. Your walls clinging to him, trying to suck him back in. He pushed in feeling the delicious resistance again before bottoming out. He slowly repeated this in and out until you were panting and squirming.

“Yeah, you like daddy’s cock?” He husked teasing your nipple as he found his rhythm thrusting faster. Your body bounced beneath him with each thrust. He loved how your breasts jiggled with each thrust. Your pussy felt raw and sore, still that familiar tightening of tingling coils began to heat again. His pubes stimulating your clit.

“I asked you a question.” He hissed gripping your chin as he roughly pinched your nipple causing you to wince and whine.

“I-I love your cock.” Your voice sounded odd, small and submissive as it got lost in a sea of breathy moans.

Steve’s fingers slide down finding your neck. He gently squeezed feeling your pulse under his thumb. He kept the same pace but was slamming in hard enough to bruise your cervix. You wailed bouncing roughly with each thrust in. He kept pulling your nipple taught, the pain mixed with pleasure only made your body tighten more ready to release an intense feeling you had never felt before. A heady euphoria set in each time Steve squeezed your throat a little more. To his surprise you wrapped your legs around his waist and began bouncing to meet his thrusts.

“Steve!” You rasped chanting his name as your back arched, Steve realized you were close to cumming again. “Steve it hurts!” You cried.

“I know, it feels so good for daddy.” You began to tremble underneath Steve’s bulking frame. There was something about feeling so small beneath a man who was ruining you that made you feel so right.

“You gonna cum for me baby? Yeah, come on, cum all over Daddy’s dick.” Steve thrust harder his lips trailing along your collarbone.

“Yes! gonna cum for you daddy!” The words slipped out of your mouth before you knew what you were saying. Your whole body felt feverish and electrified as you tightened and loosened around him, a throbbing sensation cascaded from your belly and into your entire body. Steve did long strokes drawing out your orgasm as you shuddered and shook against him. Your walls clamped around his cock like a vice, pulsing and milking him. He grunted at the tighteness and the sounds of your high-pitched whines. Lewd squelching and slapping filled the room as your cream coated his thick cock.

Steve began pistoning in and out of you he pushed you pass your orgasm and overstimulating you. He planned to draw this out, but watching you come undone on his dick sent him over the edge. The whole bed violently slammed against the wall with his thrusts as you screamed for him.

“My dick is bigger than Scott’s isn’t it?” Steve growled in your ear. Steve pinned you down to the mattress by your throat.

“I want to hear you say it.” You could barely think as he pounded you roughly.

“Y-hess.” Incoherent garbles was all that came out as Steve coaxed one last orgasm from your body using it to milk his cock. His hands gripped your hips bruisning them as he pushed and pulled you slamming you up and down on his dick like a toy.

“Fuck!” He groaned his thrusts growing sloppy as he pushed in deep pressed against your cervix.

“N-nnnno-uh! Steve d-don cum in me. Please!” Steve ignored your pleas and moaned as the first spurts of hot cum splashed your walls. He huffed as he held you down by your hips tightly keeping you in place as He came filling your sore pussy.

Sweat dripped off his brow as he stroked himself inside you, squeezing out the last drops of cum inside you. He waited until he began to soften before sliding it out. He did so with a slight pop causing the entrance of your used canal to tingle from sensitivity. Your pussy felt too empty as if it needed his dick to fill it. His cum oozed out of you and made a small puddle on the bed. You wanted to scream and panic about his cum sitting inside you.

What if you got pregnant? You would truly be trapped then. Steve laid down and pulled you close to him, your hot wet and sticky naked bodies pressed in warmth together. Despite Steve roughly taking you, the way he held you tightly to him, made you feel safe in this moment. It became harder and harder to stay awake. Steve peppered gentle kisses along the shell of your ear.

“You never answered me.” Steve husked basking in the glow of your post sex beauty.

“You are bigger.” As if he had won some feat he grinned pressing one last kiss to your temple before settling in. The two of you quickly fell asleep in a tangled mess of limbs and soiled sheets. Tags

Tags: @cjand10 @existentialvacuum

@helenaeisenhower @psychadelichues

#gambled away fic #steve rogers x you #dark steve x you #dark!Steve rogers #noncon fics #chris evans fanfiction #CE character #Steve Rogers #captain america

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inazuma-eleven-au · 1 month

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At first i wanted to put Haru as key character but now when we have victory road demo i'm not sure... I can switch him with Charles and Acosta or someone say: "Mark Evans has other son but he's studying" or on vacation or in space fighting with aliens on the moon

Charles supposed to be: i say hi help with one thing and maybe i'll be in the ending

Now? Defender for raimon always in his own world

Sculptor and writer sometimes he draws but not much

Really nice and helpful but a little timid if he could he wouldn't go out from his basement

Maybe he was in one primary school with haru?

About "Mark Evans has other son"

His name is Taro Evans and he's like 13-14 years old

From ship Jude x Mark

I tell you more when i finish his drawings

I always say moe manga instead of manga moe

In my country they left his original name if you say mark gambling i proppably look at you and say "who tf?"

#fandom ships #anime and manga #inazuma eleven #inazuma eleven au #writing #mark gambling #noberu raito #light nobel #manga moe #noberu raito x manga moe #light nobel x mark gambling #jude sharp #mark evans #endou mamoru #kidou yuuto

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etxrnaleclipse · 3 months

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Cont. from @renaissanses || Theo and Evan (x)

The response that Theo gave caught him off guard and he blinked a few times, hiding his face behind his drink before knowing that he had to answer. "I- what? Liar? What makes you think I'm lying? I am happy for you, man. I want you to be happy and that makes me happy." Even if it pains me that you found your happy with someone who isn't me.

#renaissanses #renaissanses || theo shepherd #evan gamble || threads

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galaxofmuses · 5 months

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Bridget Luxhart (Left) and Evander Luxhart (Right)

// I love both of them so much your honor ;A;

Source for maker: X

#:: Guest Muse; Evander Luxhart; A father's love will always be imprinted on the heart of a son ::#:: Guest Muse; Bridget Luxhart; Motherhood is the biggest gamble in the world. It’s an act of infinite optimism ::#:: headcanon ::#// bless that this gives me a solid idea of what they look like. Evan was a bit more of a challenge but the quills are gonna be different #// also there are some development hints for Sky cuz whoo boy

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clemsfilmdiary · 1 year

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The Queen of Spades (1949, Thorold Dickinson)

1/19/23

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ofmusingsxandmayhem · 2 years

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Cont. from @springbreezc || Brent & Evan (x)

“Oh, yeah. No, I’m totally ok with that. I just didn’t wanna assume anything and make a bit of an ass out of myself. Sadly, I have a tendency to do that more often than I’d like to admit.” Evan laughed slightly, smiling over at the other man. “So what would you like to do? Dinner? Drinks? Both?”

#springbreezc #springbreezc || brent sanders #evan gamble || threads

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bri-cheeses · 2 months

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Idk why but the lyric “Devils roll the dice angels roll their eyes” gives Rosekiller. Like it makes me think of them being in Vegas and Barty gambling and shooting Evan a little wink. And the he rolls or whatever (idk how gambling works) and then Evan rolls his eyes at him because Barty’s an idiot and Evan loves him.

#rosekiller #evan rosier #barty crouch jr

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evan4ever · 1 year

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Vegas, baby

Evan Peters

Warnings: unprotected sex, handjob, fingering, pregnancy, one night stand, mention of divorce. I think that’s it?

Summary: your one night stand in Vegas turns into something more and you’re left with the hard truth when you realize there’s no other way to go about it.

Your back instantly slammed against the wall as you both entered the hotel room, him closing the door behind him only to turn and grab your hips and pull you from the wall back to him, reconnecting your guys lips. He was quick to pushing you back against the wall and holding you there with his own body against yours, his hands roaming your body before grabbing the bottom of your short black dress and pulling it up and over your head leaving you in your perfectly chosen lingerie. You were planning on hooking up with someone tonight but you had no idea it would be the man whose hands were all over your body in your hotel room at this very moment.

You had just finalized a divorce, and to celebrate leaving the 8 year relationship, you were partying in Vegas with a few friends. You wore the shortest, most revealing outfit you could find and had been gambling with said friends at one of the large, people filled casinos. You had gotten a few glances and a couple men to approach you, but none of whom you were all that attracted to and not to mention any you felt safe sleeping with.

Did you feel like a whore? Yup. Did you care? Not in the slightest. You figured you had paid your dues trying to make the failing relationship last and deserved a little fun now. You felt sexy, you wanted to have a good time, but with who? Definitely didn’t think it would be thee Evan Peters. But somehow the world just worked out in your favor. You were a fan, but when he came up to you at the Black Jack table with literally your favorite drink even though you had never talked to the man, something screamed this is it. This is who you wanted to hook up with. And no, it wasn’t because he was famous. It wasn’t because he had money and has all the girls swooning over him. No. It was because he was kind to you, interested in you while ignoring everyone else. Made the effort to impress you and make you laugh. Maybe he just wanted a one night stand too, and if that’s all you were to him — even better. No strings attached. You didn’t care. He was attractive, he was funny, and you could give a shit less that he was a celebrity. It didn’t even come up. You guys slowly got more and more drunk together, more intertwined together, eventually ending up on one of the dance floors where he allowed you to dance and grind on him while your friends did the same with the men they had found. Evan was in pure ecstasy with you, watching the way you moved on him and around him. So effortlessly. He just wanted you.

And so here you guys were. 4 in the morning back in your hotel room at The Flamingo doing exactly what you both wanted the whole night. You quickly grabbed his shirt and he helped you pull it over his head while you let your hands reach for his belt buckle, undoing it swiftly and pulling his pants down. He stepped out of them and immediately grabbed your thighs, squeezing them almost harshly and lifting you up with ease. Your arms hooked around his neck, wrapping your legs around his torso and holding him to you tightly while your hands roamed through his dark, long hair. His lips trailed kisses down from your ear to your collar bone where he would bite the sensitive skin hard, quickly letting his tongue skin over the now darkening sensitive spot. Your eyes fluttered shut as he worked his way to the other collar bone to leave more marks. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours but tonight you both were surely going to act like it.

Finally after leaving more than enough marks on your olive colored skin, he pulls you from the wall and with ease, carries you over and lays you down on the large king sized bed, hovering over you. You waste no time in pulling his face back down to your in another heavy make out, you biting down on his lips earning you a desperate, deep moan from him. He took it as a challenge, allowing his hands to trace down your skin where he’d begin rubbing perfect circles over your clothed clit, your back arching at the sudden new sensation. It was right where he wanted you but fuck, you wanted more. You bucked your hips into his hand which only made him grab your entire heat hard, you letting out a gasp and clinging to him.

“You’re sure this is okay? Are you sure you want this?” The simple fact that he was not only doubling checking but triple checking that you wanted this, showing you just how respectful he was, made you want him even more. You nodded quickly, your hands taking ahold of either side of his face so you could look at each other perfectly.

“I want this. I want you.” You confirmed, never breaking eye contact with him. He only nodded, dipping his head back down to yours and placing a much more gentle kiss to your lips. It lasted only a moment before his hands began working on you again. You reached down and hooked your fingers inside your lace panties, attempting to pull them off and he was quick to help you remove them, tossing them off to the side. You took the chance to grab ahold of his obvious erection, letting your hands work on him now while watching his face, wanting to see exactly what you do to him. He let our low moans and multiple profanities at just the sight of your beautiful hand wrapped around his still clothed dick, finally removing his own boxers. You quickly wrapped your hand back around him and slid it up and down a few times, your thumb playing with the precum that was already dripping from his tip. He was so sensitive, his body jolting a few times before he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed your hand from his dick and used the advantage he had to pull you up more and allowing him to place himself between your legs. He grabbed his dick and placed it against your pussy and groaned at the feeling.

“You’re already so fucking wet for me,” he’d groan out as he moved his dick between your folds with ease. Your own beautiful moans would fill his ears, nearly unable to control himself from slamming into you right then and there. But he wanted to give you the time you needed, to make sure you were completely ready. He pulled his dick away and once again dropped his hand down and slowly entered a finger into you causing you both to moan in unison. “God you’re so fucking hot.” He stated, then entering another finger and allowing them to pump in and out of you, earning him more desperate moans from you.

After some time, he pulled his fingers out which only caused you to whine out but his lips attaching to yours in a deep, tongue filled kiss quickly shut you up. He positioned himself at your entrance and with his mouth still on yours, he slid his cock inside of you. You both moaned into the others mouth and you gripped his shoulders tightly while feeling him grip your hips in his large hands, squeezing and kneading them while he began fucking you. It started out slow and gentle but as soon as he knew you were okay and could tell you wanted more, he sped up and got rougher with each thrust.

He would pull away from your lips finally and place his head in the crook of your neck, the feeling of your nails scratching down his bare back only making him want to fuck you harder. You were a moaning mess, you didn’t even try to control how loud you were. It was Vegas. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

“Fuck, Evan,” you whined, bucking your hips into him again trying to feel as much of him as you could. This sex was already like no sex you’ve had before. You wanted to see his full potential. You wanted him to use you in every way he wanted. And as if he read your mind, he grabbed you and in one quick and swift motion he flipped you around so you were now in doggy style. He pushed your back down so your head was against the pillows and your ass in the air giving him the perfect view. Another deep groan left his throat at the sight, his hands grabbing your ass and squeezing hard before he began thrusting into you again at the same pace he was before, only now it allowed him even deeper in you. You practically screamed out in the pleasure the new position gave you, your hands gripping ahold of the sheets tightly while you pushed yourself back into him. He groaned at your movement, holding your waist into him before grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your body up crisp against his. He took the chance to remove your bra and wasted no time and grabbing your tits, his lips connecting to your neck again. Being able to hold you in place, he once again started fucking you and you both knew this was it. This was the position you both needed and yearned for to get that perfect ecstasy high when you’d both finally orgasm. It didn’t take long. Only a few more thrusts and you both reached your peak, his cum spilling inside of you while he held you against him and you cumming at his release. One of his hands reached down to run your clit again to help you ride yours out, his name leaving your mouth in squeaks while you squirmed against him, though he had no trouble holding you in place.

Finally, as you both came down from your shared highs, his hands loosened their hold on you and gently helped you lower yourself onto the bed where he’d collapse next to you. Your breaths were heavy and the room was now silent. You let your head fall to the side so you could see him and to your surprise, his eyes were already on yours. You shared a smile, then a laugh. The rest of the night was filled with your voices talking amongst each other, talking about your lives and what led you to where you both were. It was perfect, honestly, but you knew it wasn’t going to last. It was a one night stand for a reason and it was far too soon for you to get involved and he had too much on his plate to try to balance a new relationship. Sadly, it was going to come to and end.

And it did.

Until now.

You sat on the edge of your bathtub staring down at the test in your hand. It was positive.

All you could think was what the fuck were you supposed to do now? It has been 2 months since you slept with Evan. And it’s been 2 months since you last spoke to him that morning after. You guys had agreed to not share numbers or any form of contact considering you both only wanted some fun. That’s all it was supposed to be. And now here you were, pregnant with his child and with absolutely no way to contact him.

What we’re you supposed to do? If you didn’t tell him, it wasn’t fair. But he was a famous, popular celebrity who didn’t have Instagram and even if he did, what would make you any different than the rest of the hundreds of thousands of people who’d be messaging him. You didn’t even tell him your last name. He’d have no way of knowing that you weren’t messaging him as a fan, but as the woman he had a one night stand with in Vegas that was now carrying his child. You were quite literally at a complete loss. Do you just raise the child without him? Never letting anyone know who the child belongs to, including him? What we’re the odds you’d ever see each other again and even get the chance to tell him? Low, you figured. So that’s it, you thought. You had to raise this child alone, only you knowing the secret behind it.

You were going to have Evan Peters baby and as fucked as it was, he’d never even know. I guess that’s life.

So you thought.

a/n: okay this isn’t proofread so ignore any mistakes. but i’ve has this fic in my head for so long i had to write it. soooo let me know if i should continue and make it into a series or something? 🫶🏻

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purelyfiction · 2 years

Text

Crossfire ---✈︎ 1

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x F!Reader | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Word Count: 7,205

Summary: When you hit a certain point in your career, you tend to crave a challenge. Well what if that challenge included near impossible feats, 12 of the best pilots in the Naval Airforce and the last person you wanted to ever see?

Content Warning: This story will have TopGun: Maverick plot line elements to it and will possibly spoil the movie for you. Please be aware. This - and all of my stories - is 18+. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older and that any content you come across is by your own decision.

Author Note: It’s hereeeeee - I have the entire story ready to roll and will be posting it in sections as to better navigate through. I’ve worked so incredibly hard on this so I hope that you enjoy it as much as I do! I would be remiss to not mention the countless beta reader’s who have helped me edit and prepare this story so a massive thank you goes out to them for all their help!!!

✈︎ ✈︎ ✈︎

You knew that joining the Navy would be a gamble. The ratio of women to men in this field was beyond staggering, as you and your other female counterparts made up the meek 12% of all Naval pilots, so there were inevitable barriers to overcome. First were the misplaced doubts and beliefs that you wouldn’t be able to do the job. Next were the taunts, teases and unwelcome eyes.

By the time you crept up to your 10th year of service, most of your coworkers knew better than to mess with you. You and your squadron had grown close in the last three years since being stationed in New Mexico, especially since it wasn’t that different from California, where you’d initially begun your training and subsequently attended Fighter Weapons School. You’d worked so hard to get where you were today and you loved what you did along with who you worked with.

So maybe that’s why you were shocked to be sent back to California. You weren’t sure what the assignment was for, but the change of pace was more than welcome. With hesitancy, you’d agreed to leave, and your squad bid their rare ‘Moonshine’ goodbye, then you were on your way to return to Miramar.

You remember the early days, back when you were just starting out. When men would prod and tease you about the stupidest things, where they would openly flirt with you, ask you out and consistently make you uncomfortable. ‘Sweetheart, do you even know the first thing about flying?’ Eventually, your mood towards them grew sour and you shot back at them. It’s because of this behavior; paired with your undeniable skill and strength in your field, that gave you the callsign you’d grown to love: “Moonshine.” It combined the strength and power you had, with a hint of sweetness and the clarity of wisdom. “Bitter at first but you’ll warm up to ’er.” It was the perfect name for you really.

There is always a sense of pride in you when you get to tell new acquaintances how you got your call sign and that was no different when you ended up at TOPGUN. You came in with your head held high and were ready to prove yourself. When you got there, you found pretty fierce competition within your class; out of the twenty of you, there were two women. You and Natalie ‘Spinner’ Evans or, Spins, as you affectionately came to call her. The both of you grew close over the nine months you spent together in California while at TOPGUN, as you were not far from one another in the dorms and you spent nights painting each other’s toenails and watching old school movies on Netflix. She was one of the few people you still spoke to out of your graduating class.

In the group of eighteen men you’d spent your class time with, there was one you absolutely couldn’t stand. Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw. That man had learned how to grind your gears within a week at Miramar. In every exercise the two of you were up against, you would be forced to wingman for one another and the other one would almost always abandon the other to get ahead in the instructor’s good graces. In the end, a few too many distractions (thanks to Rooster and his RIO) caused you to make some mistakes and some close calls near the hard deck, you lost points and ended up second overall in your class.

If he wasn’t giving you shit in the airfield he was giving you shit on base, in the recreation halls and at Hard Deck over billiards. Rooster would make a comment or two that would push you over the edge and you’d retreat before you did something that would get you kicked out of the program.

You’d been upset when your time at TOPGUN was over, but you were more than happy to get away from the arrogant son of a bitch. You’d had your bags packed the night before graduation, and were gone as soon as they’d let you leave. You didn’t want to leave the beautiful city, the gorgeous beach side sunsets, the few friends you had made in between competition - Carlos and Eddie still reached out now and then. You had even been stationed with Xavier for a five month long assignment and learned that he’d gotten married and had a little girl at home.

The memories of Fighter Weapons School were mainly fond, save for the unwelcome ones with Rooster in them, but you could deal with it to think on how far you’d come. You’d been invited back, for maybe a mission, maybe for an instructor position? You had no idea. Dropping your things in your assigned dorm, you made your way to the familiar bar from your early years.

Hard Deck always seemed to have this lingering smell of tanning oil, jet fuel, stale beer and body odor to it. You know that Penny had tried everything to get it to go away but the smell is nostalgic to you as you enter the lively bar on a Friday night. You can see countless faces and you don’t recognize many of them. Most were new recruits, older instructors keeping to themselves. Navy men and women doing what they do best, commiserating. You’re about to grab a seat when you hear your call sign, “Moonshine! What the hell?”

Turning you’re met with Hasan, one of the tower controllers you’d met while on a tour in the Gulf of Mexico shortly after Fighter Weapons completed. Cheering as you turn to him, you give him a hug. “Oh my god! How are you? What’s it been like four years?” The two of you stand in astonishment with laughter.

“Yeah, yeah I think so. I barely recognized you out of your flight gear.” He offers, making you look down at the more casual outfit, you’d changed the second you decided you were going off base. Too much khaki had a habit of wearing you down and right now, you were practically swimming in it; There were Naval officers, lieutenants, captains, blacktop attendants and air tower staff - the bar was packed with any and every position the Navy’s air force had.

“You know how it is, any chance to stand out.” You tease with a laugh. Hasan begins a conversation - until you see familiar faces, most of whom you’d never met before, but knew their faces from awards, their names paired with them. “Fitch...Trace...Floyd...Seresin..” You look at Hasan with a bit of confusion. “They all were top of their class at TOPGUN. Which means...they’re here for the same reason I’m here.” You look at the dark haired man next to you as he sips his drink.

“Don’t jump to conclusions..” You stand up, glancing around and starting towards the group, hearing your friend distantly as you walk toward the group. “And she’s jumped.”

You approach Phoenix and grin as she’s reciting your rank and full name. “Lieutenant.” You grin as she comes to the same conclusion you have, “We were just mentioning how strange it is that we’ve all ended back up at the same place.”

“Great minds think alike. I have no idea what this is about, but I’m curious to find out.” As you’re talking, Seresin approaches, sitting on the edge of the pool table to come to eye level with you.

“I don’t think we’ve met. Lt. Jake Seresin. Callsign Hangman, top of my class, first choice of mission once I was out.” He tilts his head to grin at you with impeccably white teeth. You don’t need to know him to know that he was the epitome of the standard know it all Naval pilot.

“Something tells me you won’t be letting me forget that one anytime soon.” You mutter under your breath as you take a sip from your glass, watching as he gets up in the direction of the jukebox.

“You’d be right. Care to dance?” He’s looking over his shoulder, aviators sat on his nose in the middle of a bar, finger pressing the track he’s selected. There is a dull attempt at a dance as he begins to approach you again, smirk plastered on his way too tanned face.

“Not particularly, Hangman.” You cross your arms over your chest as he moves about the table, taking a cue from one of the other players to take his turn. The group has gone back on to guessing what could have possibly brought you all to the same bar but moments before you can engage in the conversation, the jukebox dies out, making everyone in the bar look in its direction.

In front of the vintage piece, with another pair of aviators, Hawaiian shirt overtop a white ribbed vest and a mustache to boot - stood the very last person you ever wanted to see. You’re careful to duck out of his sights, watching as he settles into the spot at the old piano, jumping right into the chord progression of his go-to title only to gather an audience as he does so.

As people begin to surround him, you’re quick to make your escape. Though, when you do, you find someone hanging out just off the deck of the building, looking through the window. “He’s not that talented you know.” You comment, half-mindedly, watching as the older man looks back at you. “Who?” Your statement had come rather unprompted, so you’re quick to pull together an answer.

“The pilot at the piano. He intentionally pulled a fast one on me so he could make first in class during my time in Fighter Weapons. Not only that, but he blew so much smoke up their asses to catch up to the rest of us, he wasn’t even a Lieutenant until about two years ago. Somehow he managed to embarrass the shit out of me.” You sigh, seeing that the man outside is looking back through the glass again.

“Oh. He just... reminds me of someone, is all.” When he turns back again, you finally get a glimpse of his jacket and the name patch there. A laugh leaves you.

“Maverick. Of course. Well, I’ll be damned. The man, the myth and the legend.” You smile as he comes to stand in front of you. He extends a hand, which you take as you introduce yourself.

“It’s a pleasure, Lieutenant. I guess I’m still making impressions?”

“Who said they were good impressions?” You ask, seeing his face fill with laughter.

“Okay, okay, I get it, I get it.” Nodding, he pockets his hands. “At least you’ve got great examples of what not to do.” He snickers and you agree.

“I thought you were out doing every menial assignment they could give you, Captain.” You’d heard stories, knew they’d been trying to get Maverick out for years. He taught briefly at Fighter Weapons before getting into trouble elsewhere and every time he broke a rule, the Navy would look to get rid of him. Someone would end up vouching for him, usually Admiral Kazansky, which meant he’d stick around for just a little longer.

“I’ve been reassigned. Something to do with my ‘less than ideal’ piloting skills.” He hums, starting to walk with you down the beachside path. “And who am I to say no to orders?” The captain smirks as you two continue back around to the parking lot.

———————————————— ✈︎

The following morning, you were up way earlier than you initially anticipated being awake at, mainly because you’d not slept well. So you’d taken your time putting your hair into regulation, getting showered and dressed. You’d then decided to take a quick walk around the base as the sun rose.

As you were wrapping up your walk you see that you’re about 15 minutes from debrief, so you head to the hangar. You can feel the nerves in your stomach that had kept you up the whole night. You’d been here before, but it’s nearly twice as intimidating the second time around.

When you arrive, you find that there’s a lectern, an old school projector screen and twelve desks. It looked like a carbon-copy of one of your high school classrooms, with most of the desks being full, except one. It was in the front row, next to the blonde you’d had a ‘pleasure’ of meeting with the previous day. “Morning Moonshine. Oh that’s got such a ring to it, don’t it?” Hangman grins at you and you can’t stop the somersault that your eyes do. Sitting down, you’re looking behind you to see who’d ended up there. Phoenix was here, Fanboy and Payback, Bob - and of course:

“Rooster.” You nearly spit the call sign out. He isn’t initially looking at you, and once his head is raised, you can see the way his shoulders shift.

“Moonshine.” A snicker runs through him. “I thought it was the best of TOPGUN, not the runner-ups.”

“You should consider yourself to be so lucky to be included then.” Quickly, the retort leaves you as Phoenix kicks your boot, seeing two admirals entering the hangar. The twelve of you face rapidly forward and give them your attention as they begin.

They’ve been speaking for almost ten minutes before you hear footsteps echo in the hangar as they start the instructor’s introduction. Hangman daringly interrupts Admiral Bates’ lecture, cutting him off when he sees who had come into the room. “You’re joking. Man, you are hilarious.” Laughing as his hand comes to his chin, the older man reaches the lectern. Tugging off his aviators, a beaming smile, Maverick looks over you all.

“Good morning aviators, this is your captain speaking.” He’s looking over the group in front of him with a coy smirk before he’s jumping into explaining the timeline. A month. You had a month to train to do the impossible. Nervously, you’re looking around, seeing hesitancy in each other's faces as Maverick describes the parameters. Looking back to the front, you watch the screen move to the Fighters Weapons logo.

“Let’s fly.”

It would take some getting used to flying with a new RIO, but you would manage. Luckily for you, getting up in the air was familiar and second nature for you. Each time you came to a level cruising altitude, you had a moment, a reminder of how important your job was. How few individuals got to do this, and you got to do it every single day.

In the first exercise of the entire training period, you’d been put up against Phoenix and Bob. While on the tarmac, you’d heard Hangman’s daring bet, and knew you were all in for it. You were flying with Maverick as the bandit, which meant that this wasn’t going to be an easy day.

In less than ten minutes you were dead and grounded. Hangman went back up, leaving you with Rooster on the airfield as you did push-ups with Hondo over your shoulders. “Hangman really can’t keep his mouth shut, can he?”

“Apparently, neither can you.” Rooster huffs and you scoff.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I the one who challenged a TOPGUN instructor with a wild streak to such a challenge? I don’t think so.” Before Rooster could get in another word, Hondo is instructing you two to focus and keep going.

Back up in the air. Dead. Back to the tarmac for push-ups. Back in the air. Dead. Again. By the time you’re done with your last set of push-ups, you’re standing with exhaustion. Payback is slapping your shoulder with a bit of pride, “Can’t say it’s been a boring day.” He snickers.

Carrying your helmet in your hand, you’re walking with him with amusement as you enter the base operations building. You enter an instruction hall where the other pilots are sat in little rows intently listening to the radio tower and all the radio comms of pilots currently dispatched. The room feels tense as you enter. “What’s going on?” You question softly, not wanting to break the tension. Quickly, you sit down as you’re pushing your helmet under your chair while Bob looks back at you with a whisper.

“Rooster and Maverick are in a downward corkscrew toward the hard deck.” He explains and your eyebrows furrow, looking up to the screen. He’s right. The two identified planes are currently spinning at high speed toward the ground, circling around themselves with no real sign of stopping. What the hell were they doing?

It’s a high stake game they’re playing. At the speed they’re going, they could not only run to ground, but they could end up disorienting and crashing into one another when they did get out of their positions but soon, Rooster breaks and pulls up. The tower grounds them both leaving the remaining crew to look at one another in sheer shock.

———————————————— ✈︎

With the sun setting, and the crew dispersed for the day, it leaves you to change and head to the gym. You were certain after a long day of push-ups, there couldn’t possibly be anyone to bother you there so you’re alone with your headphones clutching to your head as you’re pulling the barbell from its spot on the floor. You’re watching your form in the mirror, carefully calculating your breaths. Your music is so loud you think there’s someone speaking somewhere in the room. When you drop the weights, you’re looking back up in the mirror, realizing - someone had been speaking to you, but it’s not someone you’re willing to talk to. You turn to the male with displeasure written on your face. “I’m surprised they didn’t kick you off base.” You retort, pulling the headphones from your head as Rooster drops his workout bag on a nearby bench.

“I’m lucky they didn’t.” He plops himself on the bench, pulling his gym shoes from his bag. This is the first time you’re seeing him outside of his usual floral getup or his flight suit. A faded and relaxed black colored fabric sits on his shoulders, a darker silkier fabric on his hips. His shirt looks like he cut the sleeves off a while ago, the openings having been cut deep for ventilation. It showcases his tanned biceps and suddenly you’re physically shaking your head: they didn’t need to be ‘that’ deep, he was such a show off, ‘Peacock’ would’ve been a better fit for a callsign. Yet as you continue to judge the scene in front of you, you find that you’re unable to pull yourself away. Finally, you break away from the gaze, a shiver of disgust running through you. “Thought I was gonna be the only one here after what Hangman pulled earlier.” The reference of push-ups makes you snicker.

“I thought the same thing. Guess not.” With your water in your hand you tilt your head. “What happened up there?” You take a sip as Rooster stands fully upright. You forgot how tall this shit was. He’s moving from the bench area to the free weights, probably looking to warm up, as if the hundreds of push-ups you’d both just done weren’t enough.

“I’d rather not go into it.” He mutters, going over his options from the rack, leaving you to tilt your head.

“Sorry, what was that again?” You ask with a bit of contention towards him. “You pull a stunt mid-air and won’t bother to tell me why?” Your water bottle ends up on the bench as you come closer to him again. He groans and looks back at you.

“Frankly, it’s none of your damn business.” You huff and take a step forward.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rooster, but a team’s being made here. One way or another you’re gonna have to talk.” He drops the weights in his hands, turning to you - towering near you, intimidating and broad. There’s still sweat lingering from being outside all day - both of you are covered in it.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Moon, but I seriously doubt there’s going to be room for you on that team. At least not any team I’m on.” He nearly growls at you and all you can do is turn to grab your stuff.

“You wanted the work out room for yourself? You’ve got it.” You’re almost out the door when you hear him.

“That’s it? You’re just gonna run away again? Is that your solution to everything? ‘Rooster’s in the way, so I can’t possibly be here.’ You said it yourself. Team’s being built. You’re gonna have to deal with me at some point.” Standing still in the doorway, one hand on the door handle you look back at him, seeing a coy smirk on his features. It would be so easy to just go back to your dorm, run a bath and forget this entire interaction ever happened but part of you knows you’d be a hypocrite if you did so. After all, you’d been the one so adamant about team building. “You know I’m right.” He chimes in with another reminder. Finally, with a groan you come back to the floor, dropping your things again, but this time keeping your distance.

“For the sake of team building.”

You’ve given him the free weight floor, keeping to the treadmills and other machines. Avoiding his eyes, you’re climbing onto the machine, hearing the other again. “Running? I thought you swore off running after that challenge to run the ops building?” It was true. You’d had a bet with Rooster back in your class days, that the one with the least amount of targeted kills in a day had to run around the ops building, about two miles, twice. You’d lost that bet four times in a week. Your knee had been so bad because of it that when you went to the infirmary they gave you a pass for two weeks for no impact on your knee. It was still messed up even today, but it was better than that week.

“Someone’s never heard of what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” You throw back, starting the pace slow, your eyes locating him as he looks at you through the mirror. “Are you going to work out or are you just gonna stand there?” Rooster watches you with a slight smirk on his features, putting his headphones on and getting started.

You’re heading into a jog when you realize - you don’t have your headphones. Glancing behind you, you see them on the bench, next to Rooster’s stuff. The last thing you want to do is to break your pace, just for the sake of music, so you choose to go without this exercise. You’re only doing a mile and a half, so it should go by pretty fast. You stay focused on the window ahead of you all while you’re making a metaphorical laundry list of things you need to do when you get back to your room.

Steam flight suit

Finish unpacking

Organize drawers

Find my-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a very prominent sound. Looking from its direction, you see Rooster, suspended in the air on the power rack, lifting his legs up to form an ‘L’ shape with his body. When he pulls them up again, another grunt comes from him. There’s the rational part of you that says ‘stop staring’ but you can’t. Mainly because he’s taken his shirt off causing him to glisten in the fluorescent lights above you. Fully unaware of your gaze, he’s still moving, grunts and groans coming from him as he moves. You nearly trip on the tread you’re running on, catching yourself, yet still not turning away. Eventually, brown eyes shift towards you and you rapidly turn your head away from him. You increase your speed, giving yourself that to focus on instead of the sound coming from your coworker. He keeps going, and with each sound you can feel your face flush. Eventually though, you hear a thud. Glancing back, you see Rooster collapsed on the floor causing you to slightly panic. You’re quickly moving to shut off your treadmill, jumping to the padded floor and over to him.

“Rooster, hey, are you alright? Can you hear me?” A hand goes to his back, moving to push him upright. When he does sit up, he is laughing, hard. You’re quick to shove him, making him move to his other side, still laughing as you grab your things.

“Oh come on! It was a joke.” He laughs and you glare at him.

“That shit’s not funny.” You’re quickly tossing your things into your bag, sitting down and pulling off your gym shoes and then changing into a more casual pair. You avoid his gaze the entire time, but can hear him as he stands up.

“Lighten up, I’m fine. It was just a joke.” Once you’re on your feet, you pull your bag over your shoulders. When you finally turn to face him, you’re greeted with his chest mere centimeters from yours. He’s looking directly at you, giving you a gateway to look deeply into his eyes. There’s a brief glint to them, thanks to the low intensity of the lights in the gym, but they have flecks of a golden brown that make them so warm and inviting. Yet there’s specks of green that cool them ever so slightly, warning you. Telling you to keep your distance. Neither of you say a word.

You can still feel the anger flooding through you, but you can feel your stomach turn on a dime. You’d never thought he was intimidating, so what changed?

Shifting your gaze, your eyes instinctually move to look around his face. Somehow despite the work he’s put in for the day, his hair doesn’t seem to stray out of place, the rest of him well groomed to match. You can see the beads of sweat that catch in the light, the overpowering smell of Old Spice hitting your nose as it worked overtime to keep his body odor at bay. It’s a surprisingly welcome scent. That paired with the all too perfect swoosh to his hair, he looked like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Wellness. How perfect. You could picture the issue now, ‘the charming faces of our US Navy’. All oiled up on the Commander’s beach.

Had it been any other person, the idea of such a photoshoot would have put your stomach in knots. Since it wasn’t? It leaves you physically shuddering at the mental image.

It then puts you back into the gym, reminding you how pissed you were at this stupidly and conventionally attractive man. Feet nearly fly off your body as you leave the gym, snapping yourself out of whatever stupid trance he’d put you into.

You absolutely despised this man. Furthermore, you hated that he seemingly couldn’t do any wrong, to absolutely anyone else. Between the begrudging truth that he was rather photogenic and was ever the lady’s man; he was the Navy’s shining star. TOPGUN’s prodigal son. But you saw what everyone else seemed to ignore or were simply blind to. He had a god complex and never failed to make you feel inferior, uncomfortable or a burning rage when he pushed your buttons and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of distracting you again. Not this time. He hated your guts and you hated his. End of the story.

You’d thought about the entire interaction in a loop while you’d showered. How close he’d been to you and how you felt some of your composure crack when you’d admitted that he’d actually looked pretty decent given the day you’d had.

Yet it angered you. You wanted the entire thing to disappear from your mind. From the curve of his biceps to the scent of his deodorant. None of it belonged on your mind. It took you a little while to push that moment away. You’d tried to write it down and burn the paper, flush the idea literally down the toilet (clogging it in the process. Day three back at Miramar and you’re already putting in help tickets) do anything you could to forget it.

But the memory flooded back when you saw him again for class days later. Typically you two kept to yourselves, out of ease of getting through the work day, but your eyes meet briefly as you spot him in the lecture hall. You told yourself you weren’t going to let it bother you, and you needed to remind yourself of that. And you do, seeing the details of the mission that were being laid out for you. Instead of the intensity you’d felt in your stomach at the gym, worry and anxiety sit.

The exercise that day was to practice the turn route. You knew this was going to be difficult, but getting up in the air was more nerve-wracking than you remembered. It used to be so instinctual but now you have to recite the manual in your mind. You hadn’t been nervous to fly in years, but the pairing of the speed and the terrain of this mission could be deadly, and that’s what made your stomach drop.

With the timer going, you’re starting the path, watching the simulation on the screen to help calculate your moves. As you focus on the task, you hear a set of system alarms go off. Part of you thinks it’s someone else’s system, until you see the flashing on your control panel. One of your engines is failing. Naturally, you level out the plane, as you begin flipping switches on the control board. You’re quickly notifying the tower, as well as Maverick, of your every move, keeping them updated as you try to get it going again, staying as calm as you can. A deep breath as your RIO reads off the status over the radio. You’re tuning everyone else that’s attempting to help you through the radio. Instead you’re zeroed in on restarting the engine before the one that was keeping you in the air gave out.

No sooner than it began, the siren tones stopped, the engine kicked back on, which sent you lurching forward against the brace of the seatbelt and on your way back to a solid path. With a breath of relief, you lean back in your seat, hearing them clear the warning from ground control. You’ve been commanded to land so the maintenance team can take a look at the plane, to ensure it wouldn’t have a repeat event for the next flight. When you’re back on the tarmac, you’re still stuck thousands of feet in the air, even though your feet are on the ground. Maybe it’s because your brain was still computing the event, putting all the pieces together when they had been so scrambled when they were introduced. There had been countless words said over the comm line, but you’d only paid attention to your captain’s and air control’s.

As you analyze the new information, you realize: Rooster had been speaking to you. Something along the lines of staying calm? The more you think about it, you’re not sure he ever said your name, or that it was even directed toward you. Had he been talking to himself? Breathe. It’s fine. They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine. She’s got this.

When you enter the operations building, you’re passing a room as you start towards the locker room. You were going to change and go home, try to take a shower and get some food in you. Your head was still reeling from the event after all but you stop when you see the flash of flight suit green out of the corner of your eye. Backing up, you find Rooster sitting in an empty room, walls filled with awards and photographs. Very carefully, you enter with heavily calculated steps. You keep your hands behind your back, looking at the photos until he’s ready to address you.

Rooster’s still zoned out when you finally look at him, slowly approaching. “Rooster? You good?” Still no reaction. Dazed and staring ahead. “Bradshaw.” A little firmer this time, which finally breaks him out of it. He looks at you, this time hazel eyes are highlighted by the sun peeking into the room from the window on the far wall. When you break his stare you look at the photo he’s fixated on as you speak again. “Everything okay?”

“‘M fine. Nothing you need to concern yourself with.” He answers, leaving you to examine the plaque tacked to the wall.

You’re glancing back at him while facing the wall. “I don’t know about that. The whole, ‘team’ thing, remember?” It doesn’t take long for him to stand up again. He comes to your side, looking toward the plaque in front of the two of you now.

“Yeah. Team.” His head drops, a sigh leaving him. You’re turning so your body is completely facing him.

“If the whole engine thing freaked you out-“

“It’s not that.” He looks at you deliberately. “I just.. I lost my dad in a training exercise accident. I guess the panic just kind of kicked in when your engine shat the bed.” He’s fidgeting with a flap on his suit, the metal clasp on it making a ringing noise with each time the fabric returns to its intended position. There’s deep somberness in the air from his confession. It takes a few seconds to realize his eyes are trained back to the photo from earlier, where you finally take in the details. Fighter Weapons Class of ‘86. There’s names listed, and beside one another sits Mitchell and Bradshaw.

“Maverick was your dad’s pilot?” You ask it so softly, you’re nearly scared to even ask.

“Yeah. It wasn’t his fault, the whole thing was an accident, like I said.” Rooster’s turned away from both you and the wall now. He’s sinking into his chair again, letting you follow slowly. You sit down next to him, looking out the window.

“Is that why you and Mav don’t get along?” Rooster sits up, crossing his arms.

“No, that’s not it. It’s just a reminder… no matter how great a pilot.. accidents happen.” He shrugs, as though there’s nothing else lingering.

“You two went spiraling towards the hard deck within hours of being around each other. I think that something has to cause that kind of animosity?” You suggest, which finally snaps the band that’s holding him together.

“Maverick pulled my papers. Happy?” You frown as he scoffs. “God, I don’t even know why you even -“ you cut him off before he can launch into a new argument.

“I care because it affects me too. Both of you being on edge puts me- and the whole team on edge. It makes our environment more hostile, makes everyone uneasy, which honestly, is the last thing we all need.”

Rooster lets out a sigh as he’s running a hand through his hair. Finally, he pushes his weight off of his knees, helping him stand, his wrist rolling over to look at the watch that sits there.

“I need a drink.” He says it so swiftly, as he moves to the door. He pauses at the doorway, looking back at you. “Are you coming?” Pointing a finger at yourself, you begin mockingly looking around the room, a scoff moving from his chest. “C’mon, Moonshine. In the spirit of team building?” It’s almost mockingly spoken, causing you to roll your eyes. You spot the smirk on his lips as you stand.

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot at Hard Deck.” You snicker, quickly leaving the room and making your way back to your dorm.

———————————————— ✈︎

Your room is a mess. Not that you particularly care, but seeing that you hadn’t finished unpacking, you couldn’t find anything decent to wear. At least that’s what you told yourself as you put on the tenth outfit you decide against. It’s not as if it mattered what you were wearing. You’re not dressing up for anyone. With this reminder, you decide on an old tee and some shorts. Maybe you’d end up on the beach after drinks, as a walk in the sand sounded nice, it would give you some stress relief. Some respite to the adrenaline you keep pent up after each exercise at work.

You’re headed out the door when you spot Phoenix, also headed to the parking lot. She gives you a smile. “Hey stranger. You disappeared after that engine scare, everything okay?” Reassuringly, you give a nod.

“Oh yeah, I kind of went walking to clear my mind, you know?” She smiles.

“I’m glad to hear it. I’m meeting Bob and Payback at Hard Deck, you coming?”

“Yeah! I was actually meeting Rooster there.” A shrug, until you see Phoenix's response to your words. Her eyebrows have risen in surprise, something of a smirk and a smile.

“Wait, he actually agreed to having a drink with you?” The two of you start to the parking lot after you’ve locked your door.

“Actually, he invited me, believe it or not.” You speak with a hint of laughter as Phoenix unlocks her car. She nods to the door on the other side, indicating she’s giving you a ride. Climbing into the Jeep, you continue. “He was kind of somber after our exercise today. I was headed out and he was kind of distant in the trophy room.” A shrug before you watch the gates open to let you out as you start the short drive to Penny’s workplace.

“Well, I mean when something like that happens, it’s easy to get lost in the reminder of how dangerous our job actually is. Especially when you consider what the end goal of all this training is meant to be.” It’s her turn for a solemn sigh. Both of you grow quiet.

It’s not until you pull into the parking lot that the chatter begins again. You’re easily and quickly spotting the male, leaning up against his truck, staring at something on his phone. Phoenix slams her car door shut, which catches his attention. “I heard we were drinking?” She suggests with a grin, Rooster matching hers as he tucks his phone away. You’ve climbed out of the car, catching his wave of his hand as Phoenix makes her way into the bar. The light brown haired male waits for you to meet him by his car before walking with you.

“Didn’t feel like driving?” He questions, making you shake your head as he opens the door.

“Nah, I just happened to run into her on the way out. Ended up riding together.” As you enter the bar, the familiar smell cascades over the two of you and you’re scanning the crowd to see where the others disappeared to. You spot them at the far side of the bar, and are quick to lead the way. Rooster falls closely behind you. He meets up with Fitch at the bartop, glancing towards you.

“Beer?” He’s holding up two fingers, implying he’s grabbing one for himself as well, only for you to correct him.

“Ugh, actually, coconut rum, mint and soda, if you will?” He gives you a curious eyebrow raise, but turns to Penny with your order. Soon you’re roped into a game of billiards, moving to team with Bob and Phoenix.

When it’s your turn, you’re taking the cue, ready and aiming at an orange striped ball, seeing Payback and Hangman sipping and watching. You’re about to take your shot when Hangman stops you. “Hold on, sweetheart, let me help.” He’s quick to take the stick out of your hand - and then takes your shot. He’s returning the stick to you, with a wink and a cigar between his teeth, leaving you with your jaw slacked. You’re about to say something when you hear a bell ringing. Turning around you see Rooster rattling the bell and Penny with a wide grin on her face.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Lt. Seisen has just bought everyone a round!” Rooster’s voice booms over the crowd, followed by a subsequent cheer. Your astonished slack jaw shifts to one of amusement and glee. Hangman looks at the two conspirators by the bar as Rooster approaches with your drinks.

“What?? For why??” He cries out as you take your drink from Bradshaw. The mustached man points to the sign above the bar.

“Disrespect a lady, the Navy or put a phone on the bar. You sir, broke 2 outta three of those rules. A lady in the Navy.” He points out before taking a sip of his drink, your custom order. He then looks at you with a grin. “Damn, Moon knows her way around a drink!” The rest of the group are chuckling along with him and you shrug.

“It’s a Cojito, I learned about it when I was in New Mexico. It’s damn refreshing, I’ll tell you that much.” Soon enough, you’re returning to your previously interrupted game of pool with free drinks in hand.

Thanks to some alcohol and well timed jokes, the entire crew were in good spirits. Playing games and singing songs without a care in the world. You’re wrapping up a game of darts with Bob when you spot Rooster heading out to the back porch. Following him, you’re quick to reach his side, watching the waves roll in along the almost completely set sun. “Hey.” You speak with intention, grabbing his focus. When he’s looking at you, you spot something on his face you’d not noticed before. Reaching up you’re about to touch the spot on his chin - but stop yourself, letting your hand fall. “What did you do here?” You question, looking at the three hashed scars on his skin. A smile breaks out on his features at the question, a hand running over the spot.

“Oh that’s,” he laughs as his hand drops, “that’s an accident from when I was a kid. Biking on our driveway - all rocks - the tire popped below me and I went straight over the handlebars.” His hand moves to describe the actions as he says them. Your own hand has moved up again, glazing at his eyes to sense any uneasiness. When you don’t see any, you gently run your finger over the raised skin.

“And this one on your jaw?” You ask with a laugh, hand moving up to trace the one just below his cheek.

“You know… I actually don’t remember that one.” Smiling, you pull your hand away, looking at him. Both of you sit with alcohol warming your stomachs, and your smiles before you speak up again.

“I wanted to say thanks - for earlier. With the ball and Jake thing.” You finally get back to the entire reason why you’d pulled yourself away from the group.

“Don’t mention it. Got to keep each other in check, right?” He shrugs, before you hear his callsign from the bar.

“You’re being paged.” You hum, leaving him to nod, raising his - empty - glass at you as he heads back in. You’re following him shortly after

———————————————— ✈︎

Did you enjoy this? Consider buying me a coffee!

#top gun #top gun maverick #Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw x reader #Bradley ‘rooster’ Bradshaw x reader #rooster Bradshaw x reader #rooster x reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x reader #Bradley Bradshaw x f!reader #Bradley rooster Bradshaw x f!reader #roo

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dduane · 1 year

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I've just acquired some partly mismatched old paperback copies of your Middle Kingdoms books and I have to say, having already become familiar with how you see the characters, it's absolutely wild looking at how these cover images depict them. That said, I'm looking forward to reading them and seeing what the fuss is about.

(snicker) Yeah. The first two would be, uh, diagnostic.

...Now, let's be realistic. A new author's very first book cover will only rarely have any kind of serious money spent on it, unless different conditions have been explicitly specified in your contract. (For example, if your book was sold at auction for some significant sum.) And that's just the way it goes. The first time out, you and your work represent a gamble. The publisher's not sure when (if ever) they're going to recoup their investment in you, and so they limit their expenditure accordingly by hiring in new or low-cost artistic talent for your cover, or reusing generic material that they've already got filed away in-house.

And even so, despite having been warned, I can remember how the breath went out of me when I opened up my mailbox and found the envelope holding my very first cover proof inside. I opened the envelope, and found that first image, and it was—

Let's just say "Not exactly what I'd been hoping for," and move on.

The second one, the cover for the Methuen British edition—which was the one I finally framed and hung up—seriously seemed like something of an improvement. And yet imagine my bemusement when I discovered that it was apparently one of those recycled-in-house covers, also used on something of Andrew J. Offutt's. (Which at least made some kind of sense, because if Horny-Helmet Guy there was supposed to be Herewiss, then I'm not at all sure who that Nekkid Broad is supposed to be. And whose blood is that? And who are all those dead people? And, and—! ....But then publishers’ art directors often make artists do things that may make little sense in the context of the book.)

(sigh) (laughter) Never mind. I later heard many tales of people pressing the book with the first cover on it into other people's hands and saying "Just ignore the cover and read this." ...So it all worked out, mostly. :)

ETA: I really have to link to this Daily Kos post of 2011 by Lisa Evans, which I hadn't seen until today, and which—while being incredibly complimentary about Fire—also mentions the Dell SF paperback prominently for cover-bizarreness right alongside the old Ballantine covers for the Lord of the Rings trilogy. That’s some exalted company there. …There’s also passing mention of the Susan Shay Collins art for Fire on the Bluejay Books trade paperback edition, usually affectionately referred to around here as "the Blazing Saddles cover." That was one of the two that @anavar-immela was referring to at the top of the post. The third was the 1993 Tor hc/pb cover by Romas Kukalis.

...Anyway. In the meantime, for the books' newest iteration, we've gone to abstract/non-character-image covers. Because frankly, I don't think this bunch would be able to handle the style above at all well...

#Middle Kingdoms #Middle Kingdoms meta #cover art

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etxrnaleclipse · 11 months

Text

@thefvrious liked for a Gamble sibling starter

"I can't decide if you're lucky or not... The fact your car broke down is hardly ideal, but the fact that you were near one of the only houses for miles... what are the chances?" Evan chuckled slightly as he appeared from underneath the truck. "Should be fine, though. Maybe just let the engine cool down a while."

#thefvrious #thefvrious || mateo sandoval #evan gamble || threads

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my-castles-crumbling · 6 months

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Sixth Chapter- Clandestine

In celebration of Sirius's birthday, here's the next chapter!

CW: internalized transphobia, transphobia, poor coping mechanisms, vague mentions of blood, improper binding, descriptions of illness, vague mentions of abusive parents.

Regulus

Pandora became his ally- the only person besides Sirius who knew.

Though he hated the idea of someone knowing such a vulnerable secret, he soon realized it was necessary. Sirius knew how to be a boy, but Pandora knew how to have a uterus, and he realized that though he hated it, he needed both areas of knowledge.

Pandora was also some sort of angel- even at such a young age, she had a way of phrasing things that didn’t cause the goosebumps to form on Regulus’s neck. She never accidentally said ‘she’ or ‘her’ and only looked at Regulus with a vague, non-judgmental gaze when he lamented about his stupid, traitorous body.

With the patience of a saint and none of the squeamishness that Regulus himself possessed, she taught him the reality of what his body was doing, beyond the facts he had read in his anatomy textbooks.

In secret, she helped apply balm to his back when the bandage cut into him. She made sure he had everything he needed when his body inevitably bled once a month. She joked about something called “syncing up.” She never complained. She always remembered.

He had only ever felt so appreciative of Sirius.

He’d dreaded the holidays. The subject had been taboo between himself and Sirius- as if bringing it up would somehow make it approach faster.

Somehow, the idea of having to act like a girl felt even more nauseating after spending the past three and a half months as a boy. It felt like he had finally let himself breathe (Metaphorically. The bandage made actual breathing difficult sometimes.), and now he had to go back to holding his breath, gasping for air, breathing through the tiniest straw imaginable.

He had nightmares about it.

About having to respond to his old name. About being forced into petticoats and elaborate tutus. About looking down to see the swell in his chest.

Barty and Evan became concerned that the pressures of homework were getting to him.

But then, a miracle happened.

Dragon Pox.

The rumor went that a seventh year student in Gryffindor had interacted with a Peruvian Vipertooth while on holiday with his parents and had fallen ill. He was currently under quarantine in the Hospital Wing.

Where Regulus headed almost immediately.

He knew Dragon Pox could be lethal, but usually only to older people, so the gamble was worth it, in his mind.

Sneaking out was not his thing. Sirius was the rule breaker, the one who lost points and got detention. But he knew he had to do it.

So the night after he heard the rumor, he waited for Barty and Evan to fall asleep, then crept quietly from his bed out of the Common Room.

He made it about five minutes before bumping into someone.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. How had he not seen him? He was sure the corridor had been empty.

But there he was, suddenly and completely. James Potter.

“R-Regulus?” the taller boy asked incredulously.

Regulus sighed, knowing this would not end well. “Yes.”

“You know it’s one in the morning, right?” Potter asked, still looking shocked.

Regulus drew himself up to his full height (which was still much shorter than Potter) and retorted, “I could say the same to you!” He tried to ignore his sweaty palms and nervous heartbeat. Merlin, Potter was tall.

Potter hesitated for a minute. “I…fancied a stroll.”

Regulus smirked a bit. “Same.”

They looked at each other with raised eyebrows, clearly not believing each other for a moment.

Finally, Potter shrugged and offered, “Filch is down that hall. There’s a secret passage here,” he gestured to the portrait in front of them. “Brings you to the fifth floor. But, erm….stay away from the girls bathroom near there, yeah? There might be…a surprise. You don’t want to get seen nearby.”

Regulus snorted. Potter had no idea how right he was.

But he had other concerns. “Are you going to tell Sirius you saw me?”

Potter thought for a moment before asking, “Are you going to tell any Professors you saw me?”

He had no reason to. “No.”

Potter grinned. “Then no.”

Within 8 hours, Regulus had Dragon Pox and the fifth floor girls' room was covered in mirrors that screamed insults when you looked in them.

Dragon Pox was awful. It was terrible and miserable and uncomfortable and the worst sickness Regulus had ever had.

It was also ten times better than going home for Christmas.

He spent the first three days half-delirious with a fever, resisting the urge to itch at the pustules on his body, avoiding looking at the way his skin had turned green. Admittedly, he was already avoiding looking down, as he had to remove the bandage to allow his skin, and himself, to breathe properly.

Madame Pomfrey visited him three times a day, bubble-head charm around her mouth and nose, to give him potions and food.

By the fourth day, he finally could keep the food she gave him down and sleep without dreaming of Puffskeins sitting on him or Sirius growing wings and a beak. Pomfrey informed him with the air of telling him that someone had died, that he would, unfortunately, not be able to go home for Christmas. He couldn’t fight back a smile. She also told him, a bit more angrily, that his parents had chosen not to visit. He grinned at that.

She left his bedside muttering about Regulus and Sirius being ridiculously similar.

He was finally allowed out of quarantine on the 27th of December. He awoke to a tired-looking Remus Lupin in the bed next to him, and a very excited-looking Sirius bouncing in his seat energetically, literally sitting on his hands to keep himself from moving, it seemed.

“The fuck…” he mumbled, quickly pulling the covers up to cover his clothed but unbandaged chest.

“Merry Christmas, Reggie!” Sirius all-but screamed, waking Lupin in the bed next to him.

Regulus felt that his annoyance was mirrored in Lupin’s disgruntled expression.

“Sirius, it’s early,” Lupin complained. Regulus nodded his head emphatically.

“But Regulus is out of Dragon Jail and you’re okay and we can celebrate!” Sirius screeched, grinning from ear to ear.

Lupin groaned and pulled the sheet of his bed over his head.

“Why are you here?” Regulus asked, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice. It was nice of Sirius to visit as soon as he was able, but he could have waited a few more hours.

“Because Remus was here too– he had a migraine last night– and we’ve been waiting for you to get better to open presents, and now you’re better so now we can!” Sirius blabbered, bouncing in his seat again.

‘Better’ was a strong word. His skin was still a bit green and he felt weak. But Sirius’s enthusiasm was also contagious. “Alright. If Lupin is up for it, I’ll go,” Regulus muttered.

Lupin threw him a scathing look behind Sirius’s back that Regulus returned with a grin.

Christmas had never been so different.

Sure, they were celebrating two days late. But they were also celebrating. Sirius snuck Regulus into Gryffindor Tower, which was warm and bright and gave a distinctly Christmassy feel, and the three boys opened their presents while Sirius sang carols loudly and off-key, replacing the traditional lyrics with inappropriate verses.

Regulus was overwhelmed by the presents he received- books from Barty and Evan, new flying gloves from Dorcas and Pandora. An engraved knife from Sirius. Even Potter, Lupin, and Pettigrew had chipped in to get him some sweets. He tried not to think too hard about James Potter buying him Chocolate Frogs. Had he ordered out for them? Gone to Diagon? How–?

He received no gifts from his family, though he got cards from both Andromeda and Alphard, addressed to R. Black and wishing him a Happy Christmas. He stared at them for some time, wondering what they meant- did some of his family still support him?

Missing were the presents from his parents. When Lupin left to use the bathroom, Sirius explained with a shrug that he couldn’t resist, and he’d opened the gifts, only to find ‘nothing of value.’

“I burned it all,” Sirius shrugged with a small smile.

Regulus knew that meant the presents were probably either ridiculously feminine items or letters telling him to ‘see sense.’ Either way, he was thankful.

Regulus found over the next week that he genuinely liked Lupin. He was unassuming and didn’t push, and possessed the same sarcasm that Regulus prided in himself. He seemed to calm Sirius a bit, but was still good-natured enough to put up with many more of Sirius’s antics than Regulus ever would have. He understood why the two were close.

He also gave off an energy of safety that few other people did. It reminded him of Pandora- between his overly large sweaters and stacks of books, Remus seemed inherently non-judgmental, as if Regulus could spill his soul to him and Remus would just nod and turn back to whatever tome he was immersed in.

He was also delighted to find that Lupin also shared his joy of teasing Sirius. It took about a day for Regulus and Lupin to warm up to each other, but soon Sirius was whining about them ganging up on him.

“You have far too big a head as it is,” Regulus remarked with a smirk, earning a snort from Lupin.

Friendship was something that Regulus contemplated deeply over the next few months. Perhaps it was because he was so isolated as a child- his parents had never allowed him to play with the neighborhood children and no Wizarding children had ever been deemed worthy. Only interacting with his family had given him a skewed version of reality- of what it meant to be a friend.

He was very selective about those he allowed near him. He knew that he was risking more than the average person by spending time with people, by letting them in. And he’d learned from the best to keep people at an arm’s length.

For some reason, though, Barty, Evan, Pandora, and Dorcas were the exceptions.

It took him a while to realize that true friends could, perhaps, be trustworthy. That it was possible for friends to enjoy spending time with him with no ulterior motives.

He learned this through learning about his friends. Through them being vulnerable with him.

He learned that Dorcas lived with her grandparents. That her mother and father had been killed in a Potion-making accident, and she was the oldest, with four younger brothers. He learned that she had to take care of her siblings sometimes and absolutely hated being told she wasn’t capable of something. He learned that she’d pierced her own ears last year as soon as she’d gotten to Hogwarts and wasn’t friends with her roommates because they were bigoted; because her parents had raised her to stand up to shite like that. He learned she was protective and unapologetically fierce and terrified of something happening to the people she loved. He wondered for a while why she wasn’t in Gryffindor, until he saw her curse an older Ravenclaw for making fun of Pandora. The Ravenclaw was in the hospital wing for a week.

He learned that Evan and Pandora had been ‘unplanned,’ that their parents had never really wanted kids and had ignored them for most of their childhood. Like Regulus, they had been raised in wealth and with a Pureblood ideology, but they’d been so ignored that their parents hadn’t even realized that they’d made friends with the Muggles of their neighborhood. He learned that Pandora was desperately kind and cried when inanimate objects broke because she felt bad for them, but also could throw a mean right hook. He learned that Evan had once snuck a pet snake home and it had taken an entire week before his parents noticed. He still talked about it sometimes.

And he learned that Barty had a father in the Ministry who had such high expectations of him that he sometimes felt he would break under the pressure. That his father was horribly disappointed in him for being sorted into Slytherin, and he requested weekly grade reports from all of the Professors to make sure Barty stayed in line. “He only loves me when I get good marks,” Barty murmured one night, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. It was.

And in turn, Regulus allowed his friends to learn that his parents were Purebloods who expected him to act a certain way. Who were bigoted and conservative and were disappointed in him for not being the same. He allowed them to learn that his parents and family disliked him, that there was a barrier there. That he was somewhat in pain because of it.

But he didn’t tell them why. Only Pandora knew that.

In the Spring, James Potter made the Gryffindor Quidditch Team as a reserve Chaser. Regulus had taken to flying in the early evenings, practicing hairpin turns and quick dodges for tryouts in the Fall.

It just so happened that Gryffindor practiced in the evenings.

And James Potter on a broom was a sight. He was a natural- his movements were quick and fluid and effortless. But most of all, he looked joyful.

Regulus felt envious.

Lupin caught him watching one evening.

He looked dead on his feet and Regulus briefly wondered if he was having another migraine, but he seemed cheerful enough.

“D’you like Quidditch?” the older boy asked conversationally, sitting near Regulus, but not close enough to make him feel that they had to continue talking if he didn’t want to. Merlin, he wished everyone was like that.

“I want to be on the Slytherin team,” Regulus was surprised by his own confession. Only his closest friends knew that.

“Too violent for me,” Lupin said with a laugh. “I’m prone to too many injuries already.”

It was true. For a boy who seemed to enjoy a night in the library more than on the Pitch, he was covered in scars. Regulus gave a snort in acknowledgement.

“Does Sirius know? That you want to play?” Lupin continued, watching Potter fly loop-the-loops lazily.

“He knows everything about me,” Regulus murmured vaguely, entranced by the way Potter flew. He wanted to be that good.

Lupin looked at him a bit strangely, but said, “He’s good at that. Keeping secrets.”

And Regulus finally looked towards him, a bit startled. “Who said I had a secret?”

Lupin smiled gently. “Nobody. But if you did, I think Sirius would be good at keeping it.”

Regulus nodded his head slowly, relaxing again, refocusing on the streaks of red in the sky.

The Spring also brought back old anxieties. Old nightmares. Old nausea.

Because Dragon Pox could only be caught once. He would have to go home now.

As the professors started warning of end-of-the-year exams, Regulus started panicking. He tried to distract himself, to zone in on conversations with friends and Quidditch games and studying. But he couldn’t.

His friends were worried again.

He knew it, because he saw the way they exchanged glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. He became even snappier and meaner than usual.

Sirius told him that it would be okay, that they would get through the summer together.

He cried.

He didn’t cry often, but he cried on Sirius’s shoulder and worried for what the summer would bring. He truly questioned if he could make it through. What would his parents do when they found out how he’d spent his year?

It was only a matter of time before someone else found out. He’d just thought- feared, really- that it would have been Evan or Barty.

But Dorcas was the one who found him one evening, circling the Pitch long after dark, sniffling and wiping tears and snot from his face with his sleeve like a child.

“Oi!” she yelled, waving him down.

If it had been Barty or Evan he might have stayed in the air. But he never said no to Dorcas or Pandora- he hated making Pandora sad and he was terrified of Dorcas, though he would never admit either fact.

He touched down to the ground a bit sheepishly, avoiding the older girl’s eyes.

“Something is wrong,” she stated firmly, not for the first time.

“No,” he muttered, sounding like a petulant toddler.

“Regulus Black, I swear to Merlin if you don’t tell me right now I will-” Dorcas started in, eyes flashing.

“It’s May, Cas! I have to go home, soon!” he erupted, feeling the weight in his chest ease slightly. “I– you have no idea– I just–”

Dorcas’s brown eyes looked like they were aflame as she asked hesitantly, “How bad is it, Reg? You don’t really talk about it…”

He was on a roll, now, “Bad enough that I purposely got Dragon Pox to avoid the holidays, I–”

“The fuck, Reg?” she cut him off, looking both distraught and incredulous. “You can die from that!”

He took a breath and shrugged. “I mean– we’re young. It only kills adults, usually.” He already regretted admitting to what he’d done.

She looked like she wanted to slam her head against the stands. “Reg, you can’t–”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Cas,” He cut her off. “You have no idea…” He was choking up again now, thinking about that house, those voices, the spells, the hunger, the outfits, his name. The feeling that his body didn’t belong to him.

But Dorcas saw him about to crumble and pulled him into an embrace, even as he squirmed a bit- he usually avoided touch from anyone other than Sirius, for fear someone would somehow feel something suspicious.

But he only fought for a moment before breaking completely. “I don’t want to go back,” he whispered desperately between tears.

“Why, Reg?”

She sounded anguished, and he felt his heart in his throat. He needed to talk more about it, needed more people who knew, who understood, who loved him for him.

So he opened his mouth and the truth spilled out.

Dorcas was the first person that he told by choice. That he told, understanding (as best he could at his age) all the consequences, knowing more about how to word his feelings. Sirius had been through desperation, his parents and family had been accidental, his teachers had known already, and Pandora had figured it out.

Dorcas was an informed choice.

And when Dorcas tilted her head to the side and was silent, he took it as a rejection.

“I…I should go…” he murmured, heart pounding, wanting to melt into the ground.

She then snapped out of it and grabbed his hand. “No! No, Reg, I just….can I ask questions?” she asked in a panicked voice.

He thought about it for a moment. Of all the responses, that was not the one he’d anticipated. “Erm…sure.”

She exhaled, still looking nervous. “So…you’re…a girl?”

He shook his head vehemently, feeling his stomach lurch. Why had he done this? Why had he told? “No. No, I’m a boy.”

She scrunched her eyebrows, trying to comprehend. “But you…used to be a girl?”

He had to consider that one for a moment. Had he? He used to wear girly clothes, but he’d never liked it. Never wanted to. “No, I’ve always been a boy, I think.”

“You think?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“But you…?” She gestured to him.

“I…my body is like a girl’s,” he confirmed, feeling the goosebumps start to form as Dorcas’s eyes raked curiously over him.

They were silent for a minute. Then two. Their eyes met.

Then Dorcas nodded. “Alright. If you say so.”

Regulus wasn’t sure how to react to this. “If I say so?”

She shrugged. “Who am I to tell you if you’re a boy or girl? If you say you’re a boy, you’re a boy, right?”

Relief washed over him. She made it seem so simple. “Right,” he whispered.

“But your parents don’t agree?” she asked, looking angry, now.

“No…they…they force me to…to be a girl. They talk to me like I’m a girl. They….punish me if I…if I say anything,” Regulus murmured.

“Fuck that,” Dorcas swore vehemently. “Come home with me.”

Was it Christmas again?

“I…you have so many sibling, and your grandparents…” Regulus protested halfheartedly.

“Yeah, they won’t even notice an extra kid around!” Dorcas grinned. “Plus you can help me babysit. It’ll be fun!"

“I…I’ll ask,” Regulus relented with a small grin.

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